Wow, the bus I almost took home was stopped ahead of the bus I actually took home this evening because of some kind of medical emergency. It stopped ahead of mine and there was a fire truck and an ambulance next to it. They let most of the people off the bus and I saw a defibrillator and a gurney trucked out. I guess a passenger had a heart attack, although I didn't stay to see -- when my bus was stopped behind that other bus, the driver opened the doors to let the other passengers on, and I got out and walked home, since it was close enough to get there.
Exene's still sick, as I said; she may be reacting to the antibiotics she's taking, although we'll see. The doctors are still up in arms about what exactly is wrong with her; she's going to see another specialist next week. Weird shit.
B2 accidentally stomped on my bad toe this evening, which made it bleed (again). Aargh! I knew what was gonna happen!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Bus
There's a guy on the bus who is terminally preppie, and who somewhat resembles what's his name -- Christian Bale -- the kid totally looks like him except that it's is "American Psycho" incarnation. Anyway, it's disturbing to me, as he often hits my morning or evening commute, and he really calls to mind "American Psycho." This morning, I saw that he has a tattoo of his frat's letters at his ankle (which I could see because he's wearing his loafers without socks). That's astoundingly lame, like the lameness trifecta: ankle frat tat. And that he looks so "American Psycho," it adds to that psycho vibe even more.
Oh, and remember that couple I saw on the bus a few times, the leonine babe with the odd cheek piercing? (sorry, I'm not back-linking on it -- it was a month or so ago) I was wondering their ethnicity? Well, the guy is French, so odds are she is, too. I saw because he had his ID badge at his belt and I saw his name and where he works, and he's definitely French. I was pleased that I saw that, answering my own question.
Oh, and remember that couple I saw on the bus a few times, the leonine babe with the odd cheek piercing? (sorry, I'm not back-linking on it -- it was a month or so ago) I was wondering their ethnicity? Well, the guy is French, so odds are she is, too. I saw because he had his ID badge at his belt and I saw his name and where he works, and he's definitely French. I was pleased that I saw that, answering my own question.
More on Wonder Woman
SALON's Broadsheet groused about the new Wonder Woman duds, which I understand. Wonder Woman without her characteristic look is less wonderful! I wonder how long this look'll last?
Bored.
Let me just come out and say it: I AM BORED. Fucking bored. Damned bored.
I got used to that fix of World Cup action during my workday, and now I have to wait until Friday for the next match. WTF? Seriously. I'm so bored, I'd watch Brazil v. Portugal again. I'd watch England v. Algeria. I'd watch Paraguay v. Japan. Just to have something on during the workday.
I don't know what I'm going to do when the World Cup's over (July 11). How'm I going to possibly navigate my workday?
Oh, and you sourpusses who're like "How about doing your job?" -- I would point out that I came up with an elegant system whereby I actually managed to be more productive than normal while watching games. I worked it out.
But right now, I'm fucking bored. I'm going to be super-bored tomorrow, too. Lordy.
The last World Cup, I had my first real blogs (both of which were immolated by me around 2007, in a fit of blog-loathing). So I don't even have that to fall back on for comfort.
Another coworker and I were joking about it, talking about how we felt listless and irritable without our soccer fix. And then I found out that FIFA's store were apparently out of the Cameroon t-shirts I ordered. Yes, Cameroon were out of it (unfortunately -- I liked how they played, and it's fun to say "Cameroon" -- try it. Say it. Fucking SAY IT. See? "Cameroon."), but I can't even get a shirt? It's like the terrorists have already won. FIFA fucked me on that Cameroon tee as surely as they fucked England with that goal against Germany.
So, here I am, drinking water and eating a little bag of Cheetos, and I'm completely fucking bored. Oh, I guess I'll get back to work.
Also, I'd tune into NPR, but they're doing a fundraising drive, so there's THAT, too. WTF? It's like the Cosmos is busy trying to bore the fuck out of me, just to see what I'll do next.
I got used to that fix of World Cup action during my workday, and now I have to wait until Friday for the next match. WTF? Seriously. I'm so bored, I'd watch Brazil v. Portugal again. I'd watch England v. Algeria. I'd watch Paraguay v. Japan. Just to have something on during the workday.
I don't know what I'm going to do when the World Cup's over (July 11). How'm I going to possibly navigate my workday?
Oh, and you sourpusses who're like "How about doing your job?" -- I would point out that I came up with an elegant system whereby I actually managed to be more productive than normal while watching games. I worked it out.
But right now, I'm fucking bored. I'm going to be super-bored tomorrow, too. Lordy.
The last World Cup, I had my first real blogs (both of which were immolated by me around 2007, in a fit of blog-loathing). So I don't even have that to fall back on for comfort.
Another coworker and I were joking about it, talking about how we felt listless and irritable without our soccer fix. And then I found out that FIFA's store were apparently out of the Cameroon t-shirts I ordered. Yes, Cameroon were out of it (unfortunately -- I liked how they played, and it's fun to say "Cameroon" -- try it. Say it. Fucking SAY IT. See? "Cameroon."), but I can't even get a shirt? It's like the terrorists have already won. FIFA fucked me on that Cameroon tee as surely as they fucked England with that goal against Germany.
So, here I am, drinking water and eating a little bag of Cheetos, and I'm completely fucking bored. Oh, I guess I'll get back to work.
Also, I'd tune into NPR, but they're doing a fundraising drive, so there's THAT, too. WTF? It's like the Cosmos is busy trying to bore the fuck out of me, just to see what I'll do next.
Grumble
I'm jonesing for some fucking World Cup, and have to wait until Friday for my fix. Sigh. Next to the Olympics for me is the World Cup -- I love the international events, makes me glad to see the rest of the world. The US is so insular and parochial -- it's nice to see us out in the big, bad world.
So, Exene's still sick. She responded somewhat to the meds they gave her, but the symptoms haven't vanished -- still swollen glands at the neck, night sweats, sore joints, fever, loss of appetite. She's 121 lbs. right now. She's got some follow-up appointments with doctors. She's peeved. We'll see how it develops. All of the infectious disease tests they did (and they did a lot) came up negative. Not sure what to make of it all, exactly.
There's the Exene people think they know, and there's the Exene I know/knew, and there's whatever she actually is, somebody nobody but her actually knows. I know her better than anybody (including her family), but even I only know a sliver of whatever is actually going on behind the mask she wears. That Exene (or those Exenes) will be colliding in the face of something serious, healthwise.
I've been productive on some prose fiction -- a book I'm working on. I shelved the screenplay; it was nagging at me, and I don't want to pay to enter it into a competition only to lose and be out that money at a time when money's at a premium for me. I'm comfier in short story writing and novel-writing, so I'm staying in that primarily at the moment, even though the opportunities for me to be noticed seem as remote as ever. We'll see.
So, Exene's still sick. She responded somewhat to the meds they gave her, but the symptoms haven't vanished -- still swollen glands at the neck, night sweats, sore joints, fever, loss of appetite. She's 121 lbs. right now. She's got some follow-up appointments with doctors. She's peeved. We'll see how it develops. All of the infectious disease tests they did (and they did a lot) came up negative. Not sure what to make of it all, exactly.
There's the Exene people think they know, and there's the Exene I know/knew, and there's whatever she actually is, somebody nobody but her actually knows. I know her better than anybody (including her family), but even I only know a sliver of whatever is actually going on behind the mask she wears. That Exene (or those Exenes) will be colliding in the face of something serious, healthwise.
I've been productive on some prose fiction -- a book I'm working on. I shelved the screenplay; it was nagging at me, and I don't want to pay to enter it into a competition only to lose and be out that money at a time when money's at a premium for me. I'm comfier in short story writing and novel-writing, so I'm staying in that primarily at the moment, even though the opportunities for me to be noticed seem as remote as ever. We'll see.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Worldly
Spain won! Yay! (1 - 0 over Portugal, no mean feat, given Portugal's great defense) So, we're in the quarterfinals, now. I'm rooting for...
With Germany, I'm supporting their dynamic, attacking style of play. They're a young team, but have played with remarkable tactical finesse that is impressive to watch. Their match against Argentina should be fucking cool, as Argentina is very much of an attacking team. I think Spain should be able to stomp Paraguay, judging from how Paraguay has played (very, very defensive -- Portugal, the #3 ranked team tried that against #2 ranked Spain, and lost -- I think Spain should beat'em).
Ghana is another young team, and they are the little engine that could -- bold, dynamic play. Not nearly as tactically ironclad as the other teams I've seen play; they tend to rely on a strong offense, versus positional play like, say, the Dutch (or, surprisingly, Brazil). They should be able to smoke Uruguay -- which is a little bittersweet, because if the US had managed to advance past Ghana, we could've been up against Uruguay, who would've been arguably easier than anybody else we had to face.
The Brazil v. Holland match could be cool if Brazil kicks it up another notch, or it could be excruciating, if they just mutually grind against each other in this positional, tactical kind of play that depends on the other side making a grievous error for your side to win. We'll see. Or I'll see, anyway.
We're nearing the last week of the World Cup, which is, after the Olympics, my favorite sporting event. I just love the international spirit of it, seeing those teams go at it (and it's only every four years, so you only have to see me nattering on about it once every four years -- hahah!)
The final match is July 11, which'll have me in North Carolina with the boys, visiting my family at my older stepsister's summer place. I already told my folks we totally have to watch that final match, which'll surely be more soccer than my family can handle, but I'm sooo not missing it.
- Spain
- Ghana
- Germany
With Germany, I'm supporting their dynamic, attacking style of play. They're a young team, but have played with remarkable tactical finesse that is impressive to watch. Their match against Argentina should be fucking cool, as Argentina is very much of an attacking team. I think Spain should be able to stomp Paraguay, judging from how Paraguay has played (very, very defensive -- Portugal, the #3 ranked team tried that against #2 ranked Spain, and lost -- I think Spain should beat'em).
Ghana is another young team, and they are the little engine that could -- bold, dynamic play. Not nearly as tactically ironclad as the other teams I've seen play; they tend to rely on a strong offense, versus positional play like, say, the Dutch (or, surprisingly, Brazil). They should be able to smoke Uruguay -- which is a little bittersweet, because if the US had managed to advance past Ghana, we could've been up against Uruguay, who would've been arguably easier than anybody else we had to face.
The Brazil v. Holland match could be cool if Brazil kicks it up another notch, or it could be excruciating, if they just mutually grind against each other in this positional, tactical kind of play that depends on the other side making a grievous error for your side to win. We'll see. Or I'll see, anyway.
We're nearing the last week of the World Cup, which is, after the Olympics, my favorite sporting event. I just love the international spirit of it, seeing those teams go at it (and it's only every four years, so you only have to see me nattering on about it once every four years -- hahah!)
The final match is July 11, which'll have me in North Carolina with the boys, visiting my family at my older stepsister's summer place. I already told my folks we totally have to watch that final match, which'll surely be more soccer than my family can handle, but I'm sooo not missing it.
This and that
I'm about to watch Spain v. Portugal. I sure hope Spain beats'em!
I love how my left foot is nearly better from the hairline split last month, and then I fuck up that toenail on my right foot! D'oh!
I got to work on some fiction last night, which always makes me feel good. I love writing. I'm going to write every damned story I have in my head, just get'em all down on paper, and see what I can do with them. My peril is always that I love the art of writing, but not the business of it -- I try to write good fiction, but I'm not so good at self-promotion and marketing. Gruh. I need to tackle that and get aggressive about it.
B2 is going to be a skilled musician. I can see it already. He's naturally dextrous and is a born performer (for example, he's playing on the toy piano, a "song" he made, and then when he's done, he says "Okay, CLAP!" I usually applaud, anyway, but if it's not forthcoming, he exhorts the applause). And when he sees any new instrument, he wants to know how to do it, asks me how to play it, and I show him, and he picks up on it immediately. He and I were playing a vuvuzela duet this morning (not full-on playing it, more like using it as a megaphone, since if you actually play it properly, you only get that B flat) -- I'd play a melody, and B2 would match the melody I played. He loved going back and forth with that. Love it. I can see him doing that, can see him acting, can see him being a chef, and something athletic. He's a natural with that stuff -- that blend of dexterity and charisma -- and he's naturally assertive (and is a total diva). I see it so clearly.
B1 is more complicated -- very smart, very sensitive, he keeps so much of of himself in reserve on some level. He's open and accessible and is, in his own sweet way, very willful. But what he honestly likes to do is a little less clear than it is with his baby brother. I can see B1 being a doctor, engineer, architect -- something like that. He's interested in systems and a sense of order, and has a warm and open personality -- and yet, he also keeps a lot of it close to the vest. In that way, he's a lot like his mom. My task is to encourage him to explore and really find what he enjoys and is good at. He was playing on the toy piano the other day, and was curious about the scales -- I walked him through some of the ones I knew, just so he could hear them. I think the internal order of them intrigued him.
B1 mastered the proper vuvuzela sound immediately, which was cute to see and hear. I'm always going to encourage my boys to explore and really stretch themselves.
Off to watch Spain v. Portugal!
I love how my left foot is nearly better from the hairline split last month, and then I fuck up that toenail on my right foot! D'oh!
I got to work on some fiction last night, which always makes me feel good. I love writing. I'm going to write every damned story I have in my head, just get'em all down on paper, and see what I can do with them. My peril is always that I love the art of writing, but not the business of it -- I try to write good fiction, but I'm not so good at self-promotion and marketing. Gruh. I need to tackle that and get aggressive about it.
B2 is going to be a skilled musician. I can see it already. He's naturally dextrous and is a born performer (for example, he's playing on the toy piano, a "song" he made, and then when he's done, he says "Okay, CLAP!" I usually applaud, anyway, but if it's not forthcoming, he exhorts the applause). And when he sees any new instrument, he wants to know how to do it, asks me how to play it, and I show him, and he picks up on it immediately. He and I were playing a vuvuzela duet this morning (not full-on playing it, more like using it as a megaphone, since if you actually play it properly, you only get that B flat) -- I'd play a melody, and B2 would match the melody I played. He loved going back and forth with that. Love it. I can see him doing that, can see him acting, can see him being a chef, and something athletic. He's a natural with that stuff -- that blend of dexterity and charisma -- and he's naturally assertive (and is a total diva). I see it so clearly.
B1 is more complicated -- very smart, very sensitive, he keeps so much of of himself in reserve on some level. He's open and accessible and is, in his own sweet way, very willful. But what he honestly likes to do is a little less clear than it is with his baby brother. I can see B1 being a doctor, engineer, architect -- something like that. He's interested in systems and a sense of order, and has a warm and open personality -- and yet, he also keeps a lot of it close to the vest. In that way, he's a lot like his mom. My task is to encourage him to explore and really find what he enjoys and is good at. He was playing on the toy piano the other day, and was curious about the scales -- I walked him through some of the ones I knew, just so he could hear them. I think the internal order of them intrigued him.
B1 mastered the proper vuvuzela sound immediately, which was cute to see and hear. I'm always going to encourage my boys to explore and really stretch themselves.
Off to watch Spain v. Portugal!
Sonshine
Monday, June 28, 2010
*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZT*
The boys' (and, hee hee, my) vuvuzelas arrived! Two green, and one orange. The boys loved'em, began blaring them immediately. I showed them how to "play" them, had them aim them at Exene.
She grumbled "NOT an Elvish instrument." *BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZT*
She grumbled "NOT an Elvish instrument." *BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZT*
Univision
I have to say that Univision gives the best coverage of the World Cup. Who cares that I can't speak Spanish?! I'm amused that they have special-issue team soccer kits for the babes!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
I believe it!
http://www.salon.com/books/nonfiction/index.html?story=/books/feature/2010/06/27/sex_at_dawn_interview
Although I'm more of a serial monogamist, in some way, shape, or form. Still, I think their critiques of American conceptions of love, sex, and marriage and what-not are on the mark.
Although I'm more of a serial monogamist, in some way, shape, or form. Still, I think their critiques of American conceptions of love, sex, and marriage and what-not are on the mark.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Sacre Bleus
I am highly amused by the French National Team's coach, Raymond Domenech, and his apparent dedication to astrology in laying out his team. Especially his apparent distrust of Scorpios (wise man! "Domenech has a particular aversion to picking Scorpios for his squads, referring to them as 'feckless, unreliable, troublesome, pleasure-obsessed attention-seekers'" -- CACKLE) and not wanting Leos in his defense ("When I have got a Leo in defence, I've always got my gun ready. I know he's going to want to show off at one moment or another and cost us.")
Whatever his team's astrological lineup (and I'd love to know what signs he deemed worthy of fielding, but I'll wager from the results that he didn't have nearly enough Ariens on the front lines. He should have; then maybe France would've had better results.
Ah, here's the team. Yep, on a quick glance, I only see one Aries on his team (midfielder Franck Ribéry). Big mistake. One of the goalkeepers (Steve Mandanda). Beyond that, a fragrant melange of Cancerians, Virgos, Pisceans, maybe Capricorns. Too much Earth and Water make for mud!! You need FIRE to win!! Wind and Fire!
Whatever his team's astrological lineup (and I'd love to know what signs he deemed worthy of fielding, but I'll wager from the results that he didn't have nearly enough Ariens on the front lines. He should have; then maybe France would've had better results.
Ah, here's the team. Yep, on a quick glance, I only see one Aries on his team (midfielder Franck Ribéry). Big mistake. One of the goalkeepers (Steve Mandanda). Beyond that, a fragrant melange of Cancerians, Virgos, Pisceans, maybe Capricorns. Too much Earth and Water make for mud!! You need FIRE to win!! Wind and Fire!
Sheesh
Sorry about that foot photo; had to share, it was so annoying and painful! Stupid big feet and tiny apartment (and it was because I stumbled on a toy one of the boys had left on the floor. D'oh!)
So, the US were bested by Ghana. I warned'em! Ghana's a really good team. I wanted Ghana to advance, but not at the expense of the Americans. But Ghana mostly outplayed'em, and the US just couldn't match them.
Tomorrow I'm rooting for Germany over England, and Mexico over Argentina! Hope they're good matches.
So, the US were bested by Ghana. I warned'em! Ghana's a really good team. I wanted Ghana to advance, but not at the expense of the Americans. But Ghana mostly outplayed'em, and the US just couldn't match them.
Tomorrow I'm rooting for Germany over England, and Mexico over Argentina! Hope they're good matches.
Footie
I just fucked up my toenail (third toe) -- I was cleaning in the boys' room, and totally snagged that toenail, almost completely ripping it off. OUCH! I snapped a picture of it, although it frickin' annoyed the hell out of me. Ironically, I had fucked up the left-hand toenail years ago, almost identically, losing that toenail, too. I mean, I basically ripped that toenail off (like 85% off)...
Piano Key
I got the boys a toy piano; it's mainly for B2, who loves any musical instrument he runs across, and I'd like to find some constructive outlets for his passionate, fiery spirit! I love watching B2 play on it. He really enjoys it, saying "I LOVE to play on my piano!"
Today I'm looking forward to the USA v. Ghana game in the World Cup. I'm really hoping the US advances. It's something of a longshot, as Ghana is a very good team.
Today I'm looking forward to the USA v. Ghana game in the World Cup. I'm really hoping the US advances. It's something of a longshot, as Ghana is a very good team.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Lookin' & Cookin'
*Which I habitually avoid, because it's insane and who really wants alligator cheesecake on a stick?
Hurly-Burly
I'm most definitely a stress-puker. I had an ulcer in late 1998, and maybe it didn't ever fully go away, not sure. But I've found that I get reflux really bad if I'm stressed, and I can totally go from normal to pukelicious when stressed. I really try not to internalize stress, really, really try to roll with things, but sometimes when confronted with something I can't roll with, the puke button gets hit and voila. Had that happen last night in a lengthy (yet coldly undramatic) confrontation with Exene. I really, really hope she gets the job she's interviewing for today (this is the third interview). Then I can finally move on. I can't believe the metric tonnage of emotional pain I soaked up over the years with her. It didn't break me, but sheesh. My stomach, however, is definitely my weak point. I've been fine for months and months, and we get in an argument last night (she confronted me about the Chore Chart, and away we flew) and it was hurlin' time (not a lot), and then I had reflux all night and had to sleep sitting up. I keep worrying about that with my own job hunting looming, thinking "PLEASE let me be able to manage interview stress without getting hurly."
I'm gonna watch the Brazil v. Portugal game this morning and then Spain's game against Chile later today, and just chill out in general. I'm generally a cool customer, but I'm passionate, emotional, and very sensitive, and I just soak up bad vibes like a sponge -- strongly empathic. That's good and bad. I'll work out extra-long tonight to help get at stress via cardio.
I had a dream last night that I was running. Running and running, chasing two people down in my childhood neighborhood. I couldn't fathom how I was losing the race, and just poured on the energy, to the extent that my dream-brain was like "You hate jogging; WTF??" I woke up before I reached my destination, kind of annoyed, as I was hauling ass in my dream, my eyes fixated on the sidewalk shooting by in my downward field of vision, my feet pounding. And, no, I honestly can't fully remember who I was chasing. It wasn't Exene, I know that for sure. There might've been a zombie apocalypse element to the dream, too.
I'm gonna watch the Brazil v. Portugal game this morning and then Spain's game against Chile later today, and just chill out in general. I'm generally a cool customer, but I'm passionate, emotional, and very sensitive, and I just soak up bad vibes like a sponge -- strongly empathic. That's good and bad. I'll work out extra-long tonight to help get at stress via cardio.
I had a dream last night that I was running. Running and running, chasing two people down in my childhood neighborhood. I couldn't fathom how I was losing the race, and just poured on the energy, to the extent that my dream-brain was like "You hate jogging; WTF??" I woke up before I reached my destination, kind of annoyed, as I was hauling ass in my dream, my eyes fixated on the sidewalk shooting by in my downward field of vision, my feet pounding. And, no, I honestly can't fully remember who I was chasing. It wasn't Exene, I know that for sure. There might've been a zombie apocalypse element to the dream, too.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wow
Apparently 90,000 people were without power from the bad storms last night. My 'hood wasn't one of the ones affected; one of the benefits of living in a good 'hood, I guess! The power grid is always reliable, so the Chads and Trixies aren't made peevish.
I snapped a ton of pix of the sky after the storm, as it was surreal. Here's one...
The sky was actually yellow-orange, btw. It wasn't just the sunset; it was some weird storm-induced diffraction of light. Really weird stuff. And lightning every now and then. Wild skies.
I snapped a ton of pix of the sky after the storm, as it was surreal. Here's one...
The sky was actually yellow-orange, btw. It wasn't just the sunset; it was some weird storm-induced diffraction of light. Really weird stuff. And lightning every now and then. Wild skies.
Header
Many thanks to Corvina for the fab header redesign for the blog. It looks way sharper than what I had before!
Can You Drink from the World Cup?
Lordy, after the US's nail-biting squeaker of a win yesterday (seriously, that was one crazily intense game), to Italy's amazing/stunning defeat at the hands of the plucky Slovakia team, I don't know how much more drama I can take! There have been some incredibly exciting matches of late. So, who advances to the elimination rounds? (it's not done, yet) My favorites are in italics...
Tomorrow has Portugal v. Brazil (10 a.m. EST) and Chile v. Spain (2:30 p.m. EST), among some other games. Both of those should be fucking sweet, if those teams play well. Normally I wouldn't root for Portugal, but going up against Number 1 Brazil, I totally am. Get'em!
Except that if Brazil manages to spank Portugal, AND Ivory Coast manages to clobber North Korea, then Ivory Coast could miraculously advance. The odds are very long for this, but I would like to see another African nation advance to the final 16.
- Uruguay
- Mexico
- Argentina
- South Korea
- United States
- England
- Germany
- Ghana
- Paraguay
- Slovakia
- Netherlands
- Japan
Tomorrow has Portugal v. Brazil (10 a.m. EST) and Chile v. Spain (2:30 p.m. EST), among some other games. Both of those should be fucking sweet, if those teams play well. Normally I wouldn't root for Portugal, but going up against Number 1 Brazil, I totally am. Get'em!
Except that if Brazil manages to spank Portugal, AND Ivory Coast manages to clobber North Korea, then Ivory Coast could miraculously advance. The odds are very long for this, but I would like to see another African nation advance to the final 16.
Better Living Through Chemistry?
Still haven't gotten the test results back for Exene (or haven't heard, anyway). The meds she's on at the moment seem to have finally made a dent in whatever the hell she's got going on. She particularly liked the steroid (big shock; I said she'd be quaffing beers and getting a mullet in no time), and yesterday was the first day she'd been without a fever in five weeks. We'll see how the meds continue to work, and what happens when she's off them. Weird shit.
She's got a promising lead on a good job downtown, which, if/when this clicks (I don't want to jinx it; lord knows I don't want to), it'll make everything infinitely easier. Fucking FINALLY -- an end to the financial stalemate and a way forward.
We had some wicked storms pass through here last night. Even tornado warnings, which are rarities. The klaxon for the tornado warning really sounds like some crazy calliope, and when it sounded, B1 asked what it was, and I told him it was an Evil Clown Warning Siren, and he said "No, Daddy, it's a TORNADO SIREN." (in that classic little kid "My Dad is an Idiot" tone of voice).
I really need to record that klaxon. It is the most dreadful-sounding thing. I'll give it credit, however -- it's impossible to ignore, even if it really does make you think some insane clown is going to go after you.
I snapped a bunch of pix of the skies last night. The sunset was particularly cool, owing to a skyful of lightning and this swatch of sunlight at the horizon. Lots of people were on their balconies and roofs, snapping photographs at the incendiary sky. I just missed capturing a lightning stroke (it was just out of the frame of one of my sunset shots).
Oh, I scissored my left index finger last night -- I was cutting something and got distracted by SYTYCD for a second and cut my finger -- a nice, v-shaped slice. D'oh! My editing finger! Oh, noooooo! ; )
She's got a promising lead on a good job downtown, which, if/when this clicks (I don't want to jinx it; lord knows I don't want to), it'll make everything infinitely easier. Fucking FINALLY -- an end to the financial stalemate and a way forward.
We had some wicked storms pass through here last night. Even tornado warnings, which are rarities. The klaxon for the tornado warning really sounds like some crazy calliope, and when it sounded, B1 asked what it was, and I told him it was an Evil Clown Warning Siren, and he said "No, Daddy, it's a TORNADO SIREN." (in that classic little kid "My Dad is an Idiot" tone of voice).
I really need to record that klaxon. It is the most dreadful-sounding thing. I'll give it credit, however -- it's impossible to ignore, even if it really does make you think some insane clown is going to go after you.
I snapped a bunch of pix of the skies last night. The sunset was particularly cool, owing to a skyful of lightning and this swatch of sunlight at the horizon. Lots of people were on their balconies and roofs, snapping photographs at the incendiary sky. I just missed capturing a lightning stroke (it was just out of the frame of one of my sunset shots).
Oh, I scissored my left index finger last night -- I was cutting something and got distracted by SYTYCD for a second and cut my finger -- a nice, v-shaped slice. D'oh! My editing finger! Oh, noooooo! ; )
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Tiramisu
You know you want some.
I used coconut rum, espresso, semisweet chocolate, and marble poundcake (and, of course, marscapone). I didn't plate it nicely, was too eager to dig into it, it's so good.
Mal-aria?
So, the ENT specialist did tests on Exene to see what the hell's wrong with her (where to start? I can think of a few key areas) and the results aren't back, yet. Meantime, they've got her taking Clindamycin and a six-day course of Cadista (methylprednisolone, a steroid) for the inflammation. She also had to quaff a barium smoothie tonight (mmm, banana-flavored barium beverage) for the CT scan tomorrow morning, just to check out that inflamed spleen. I'll be curious what the test results indicate, when they finally come in. The ENT hadn't entirely ruled out mono (wonder where she picked THAT up? Probably those sailors from Smolensk), saying that the original test used can often give false negatives. The ENT doc also thought maybe her tonsils have warehoused some particularly nasty bug that can't quite be dispatched or overcome, and she may have to get her tonsils taken out, assuming it is some kind of pathogen at work, here. Exene's under the delusion that tonsil removal can be an outpatient operation that won't require her getting knocked out, but I told her that it's very likely that it will, which predictably has her being obstinate and pig-headed. She's motivated to get them out, if that's the problem, but doesn't understand the procedure so much. I got mine taken out in the mid-70s, when I was a little kid. I remember getting that done at St. Elizabeth's, long, long ago, in my hometown. Anyway, we'll see what the deal is, and you'll know as soon as I do, just because it's weird.
We're supposed to get serious storms tomorrow at some point, and the high'll be around 92 degrees. Yowza. Hot stuff, comin' through!
I got fuck-all for sleep last night, so I should be way sleepy, but for some reason, I'm not. I had some of my homemade tiramisu earlier this evening; maybe that's the culprit. I should post a picture of it, so you can see it and covet it. It's sooo good.
We're supposed to get serious storms tomorrow at some point, and the high'll be around 92 degrees. Yowza. Hot stuff, comin' through!
I got fuck-all for sleep last night, so I should be way sleepy, but for some reason, I'm not. I had some of my homemade tiramisu earlier this evening; maybe that's the culprit. I should post a picture of it, so you can see it and covet it. It's sooo good.
Exene
Curious things are afoot with Exene. She's been sick on and off since February, which I haven't mentioned too much. Her symptoms are fever, night sweats, swollen lymph glands, and most recently, swollen spleen. She'd gone to the doctor a few times over the past few months, getting antibiotics, but nothing worked, the fevers (often around 102 degrees F) persisted. Symptoms have been gradually worsening (in my view -- first fever, then tonsilitis, then night sweats, then fatigue, then swollen lymph glands, then swollen spleen).
Not sure what it is, but she's got five of eight symptoms for lymphoma. She's getting a CT scan this week, and is seeing an ear, nose, and throat specialist (and infectious disease specialist) at the recommendation of our GP, who was concerned with the swollen spleen (which is the newest symptom). Either she's a victim of stregoneria, some novel infection (she's been tested several times, no strep, no mono, no other routine pathogens implicated), or else it's lymphoma. She's pretty blasé about it at the moment, but we'll see where she's at once this whatever-it-is gets diagnosed.
She also appears to have broken one of her toes -- she says somebody stepped on her foot on the El, and one of her little toes was all swollen and looked broken. Needless to say, she's not done much running of late.
Also, she's interviewing for a good position today; I hope she gets it, as it'll make everything else far easier in this dreadful economic (and household) situation!
Not sure what it is, but she's got five of eight symptoms for lymphoma. She's getting a CT scan this week, and is seeing an ear, nose, and throat specialist (and infectious disease specialist) at the recommendation of our GP, who was concerned with the swollen spleen (which is the newest symptom). Either she's a victim of stregoneria, some novel infection (she's been tested several times, no strep, no mono, no other routine pathogens implicated), or else it's lymphoma. She's pretty blasé about it at the moment, but we'll see where she's at once this whatever-it-is gets diagnosed.
She also appears to have broken one of her toes -- she says somebody stepped on her foot on the El, and one of her little toes was all swollen and looked broken. Needless to say, she's not done much running of late.
Also, she's interviewing for a good position today; I hope she gets it, as it'll make everything else far easier in this dreadful economic (and household) situation!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sigh
Spain smoked Honduras today (2 - 0; and Portugal flayed North Korea, 7 - 0). Spain's soccer play was really lovely to watch -- just good stuff. They should have won 10 - 0, just from the number of attempts that should have yieled goals, but beyond that, they played beautiful soccer, the loveliest I've seen so far in the World Cup. The Swiss played a strong (but futile) match against Chile, losing to them (barely) but still showing serious strength.
I'm bummed out today. Got the "How in the hell am I ever gonna make it as a writer" blues in a big way. I won't give up, I never give up (on writing, anyway), but it's frustrating just how hard it is to get noticed, how arbitrary and connection-driven it is. I really should have played the game in my youth -- I would send stories out when I was 18 and 19, but I should have entered the Iowa Writer's Workshop, get the connections one apparently totally needs to get seen. The editorial firewall is still so hard to get past. All I focused on was writing well (or at least as well as I could), when I guess I should've properly positioned myself and played the game more on the front end. Now I'm a 40-year-old writer, not even a "young writer" anymore. WTF? Bleah. Sucks. At least my boys'll have all of the writing I've done, so when I'm gone, maybe they can make hay out of it. And maybe THEN people will enjoy the work. Hah. By the time I eventually die, I'll have written so much stuff, at the rate that I go. It'll be a library's worth of unread fiction.
I'm keenly feeling just how shitty this economy is. Unless you work in some kind of boutique industry that serves the wealthy, you're really fucked in the Great Recession. God, do I ever need to find a good job to escape the Asylum before the walls come down. The main reason I sweat it is because I want the boys to be better off than their dad was, and I worry that in the far-more socially rigid America that is the unspoken reality we face, I've done them a disservice by not being a captain of industry...
Social Immobility in America
Sigh. I see my writing so much as me creating cultural capital -- creating something from nothing, something of value. But until I can make it work for me, it's nothing. Just a big pile of nothing. I want to help my boys any way I can, help them deal with the bullshit of "the game" that our society foists on us all -- certainly, I'm more attentive and supportive to them than I ever got. I am looking at what they enjoy, and what they're good at, and I try to encourage them to test their limits and explore. I don't want my sweet boys to be casualties in the "new economy" (that is, the medievalization of the American economy -- which is really the US becoming a de facto banana republic).
I'm bummed out today. Got the "How in the hell am I ever gonna make it as a writer" blues in a big way. I won't give up, I never give up (on writing, anyway), but it's frustrating just how hard it is to get noticed, how arbitrary and connection-driven it is. I really should have played the game in my youth -- I would send stories out when I was 18 and 19, but I should have entered the Iowa Writer's Workshop, get the connections one apparently totally needs to get seen. The editorial firewall is still so hard to get past. All I focused on was writing well (or at least as well as I could), when I guess I should've properly positioned myself and played the game more on the front end. Now I'm a 40-year-old writer, not even a "young writer" anymore. WTF? Bleah. Sucks. At least my boys'll have all of the writing I've done, so when I'm gone, maybe they can make hay out of it. And maybe THEN people will enjoy the work. Hah. By the time I eventually die, I'll have written so much stuff, at the rate that I go. It'll be a library's worth of unread fiction.
I'm keenly feeling just how shitty this economy is. Unless you work in some kind of boutique industry that serves the wealthy, you're really fucked in the Great Recession. God, do I ever need to find a good job to escape the Asylum before the walls come down. The main reason I sweat it is because I want the boys to be better off than their dad was, and I worry that in the far-more socially rigid America that is the unspoken reality we face, I've done them a disservice by not being a captain of industry...
Social Immobility in America
Sigh. I see my writing so much as me creating cultural capital -- creating something from nothing, something of value. But until I can make it work for me, it's nothing. Just a big pile of nothing. I want to help my boys any way I can, help them deal with the bullshit of "the game" that our society foists on us all -- certainly, I'm more attentive and supportive to them than I ever got. I am looking at what they enjoy, and what they're good at, and I try to encourage them to test their limits and explore. I don't want my sweet boys to be casualties in the "new economy" (that is, the medievalization of the American economy -- which is really the US becoming a de facto banana republic).
The Longest Day
Happy First Day of Summer, motherfuckers! It's all downhill from here! Winter's right around the corner. It's funny, because over the weekend, I remember thinking "Wow, what a long fucking day." and not even associating it with the Summer Solstice. And here we are, on THE longest day of the year...
Scene from "The Longest Day"
Scene from "The Longest Day"
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
Happy Father's Day to me! ; )
Off to watch the Slovaks take on Paraguay in the World Cup. Go, Slovakia!
Off to watch the Slovaks take on Paraguay in the World Cup. Go, Slovakia!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Pianoforte
I got B2 a little keyboard. It's cute watching him play on it. He said "I wanted a PIANO, Daddy." but I told him this was a start for him.
Gonna take B1 out and play frisbee.
Gonna take B1 out and play frisbee.
What a dick!
First I thought this headline in the Chicago READER was about me, but then I realized it was about performance artists... This Guy's Penis Is a Work of Art. Ah, performance artists. *eyeroll* I think he needs to petition patrons for a bigger endowment. ; )
Piano Man?
B2 came over with two handfuls of Lincoln Logs and asked me "Daddy, can you make a piano out of THESE?"
Worst Word Ever
Want to know one of the absolute worst words in the realm of fantasy fiction?
Try saying it and NOT laughing. The writer, R.A. Salvatore, is a NYT bestselling writer, and he coined that term as a Drow (dark elf) word for "cloak." The Drow are supposed to be super badasses -- and anybody who was an AD&D gamer geek like I was as a boy can't mention the Drow without thinking "Badass." So, along comes Salvatore, looking to make some money writing throwaway fantasy fiction, and does quite well with it. But he created the word piwafwi.
And for that, in truth, he should live in infamy. Just try sound like a badass while saying "Piwafwi." You invariably turn into Elmer Fudd. "Where's my piwafwi? Where is it, you wascally wabbit?!" Tone-deaf writer.
"Piwafwi."
Try saying it and NOT laughing. The writer, R.A. Salvatore, is a NYT bestselling writer, and he coined that term as a Drow (dark elf) word for "cloak." The Drow are supposed to be super badasses -- and anybody who was an AD&D gamer geek like I was as a boy can't mention the Drow without thinking "Badass." So, along comes Salvatore, looking to make some money writing throwaway fantasy fiction, and does quite well with it. But he created the word piwafwi.
And for that, in truth, he should live in infamy. Just try sound like a badass while saying "Piwafwi." You invariably turn into Elmer Fudd. "Where's my piwafwi? Where is it, you wascally wabbit?!" Tone-deaf writer.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Coming Storm
Another seriously heavy storm is passing through Chicago tonight. Incredibly gusty winds. I love storms, and these have been pretty damned fierce. On top of that, somewhere in one of the units in this building, I can hear a woman getting it on somewhere -- could hear her crying out, borne on the wind; no idea where, plenty of people have their windows open. I just love that sound. It's so beautiful! Now I just hear thunder, wind, and downpouring rain, drowning everything out; that's beautiful, too.
Guess I should sign off before my computer gets fragged by the lightning and hail and whatever else is coming down from above!
Guess I should sign off before my computer gets fragged by the lightning and hail and whatever else is coming down from above!
*SNIFF*
B1 and I were talking earlier, and I was mentioning what a good memory he has, and he said "I wish I could forget things, too." and I said "Like what?" and he said "Sad things." and I said "Like...?" and he said "Like Newt dying." And I could see him fighting back tears, asking me about why his kidneys failed, etc. I held him and told him that he needed to just remember all of the good things about Newt as a way of keeping Newt alive in his heart. It was so heart-breaking to see B1 fighting back tears. He's a crier, like I am, but this is the first time I've seen him shed any tears over Newt -- and, uncharacteristically, he was fighting them back a bit. I just tried to comfort him. Sweet lil' guy. He's such a good kid. He's got a big heart like I do. I'm glad for that.
I've had a couple of "ghost cat" dreams, like seeing Newt watching me from the hallway and such. B2 keeps asking every now and then where Newt's gone. B2 was trying out a new face today -- his "statue face" -- he did some amazing acting! He stood there with a neutral expression and then, without breaking character one bit, he let his eyes go blank -- it was a marvelous metamorphosis, and I'm impressed that he already could do that. Also, he was being loud at one point and I pretended to turn the volume down on him, turning an imaginary knob on his shoulder -- I said "Let's get this down to 3, howsabout?" and he whispered to me. Then I said "Well, maybe 5." and then he talked in a softer voice, but louder than the whisper. I was impressed that my four-year-old could understand that and, on the first try, get that just right.
I've had a couple of "ghost cat" dreams, like seeing Newt watching me from the hallway and such. B2 keeps asking every now and then where Newt's gone. B2 was trying out a new face today -- his "statue face" -- he did some amazing acting! He stood there with a neutral expression and then, without breaking character one bit, he let his eyes go blank -- it was a marvelous metamorphosis, and I'm impressed that he already could do that. Also, he was being loud at one point and I pretended to turn the volume down on him, turning an imaginary knob on his shoulder -- I said "Let's get this down to 3, howsabout?" and he whispered to me. Then I said "Well, maybe 5." and then he talked in a softer voice, but louder than the whisper. I was impressed that my four-year-old could understand that and, on the first try, get that just right.
*KOFF*
I took a day off of work, as B2 was sick, I took him to the doctor's. He's got pneumonia, the poor lil' chap! He got prescribed amoxicillin for it, and is already rebounding nicely, but I'll be sure he takes the 10-day course prescribed. Definitely not one of those antibiotic short-shrifters.
We had a serious-ass storm blast through Chicago around 4ish. Really powerful. Amazing.
This weekend: writing and World Cup!
*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT* <-- vuvuzela impression
We had a serious-ass storm blast through Chicago around 4ish. Really powerful. Amazing.
This weekend: writing and World Cup!
*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT* <-- vuvuzela impression
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The face in the window
For some reason, the worthless iPhoto program on my Apple, despite rotating the file in iPhoto (and it showing it as having been rotated), apparently hasn't rotated it for real. I'm confused. Anyway, that's the image I was alluding to the other day. Feel free to flip it at your leisure.
@#$% iPhoto.
Viagrette?
This new "female Viagra" out on the market, I dunno. Are there really lots of straight women who just don't have strong sex drives? Or is it other things, like, hmmm, I dunno, maybe them being gay and not admitting to that? Or perhaps being clinically depressed? Or perhaps not loving and/or finding their spouses attractive and/or sexually compatible? Or maybe that their spouses are inept lovers? Or maybe they experienced some kind of trauma that has short-circuited their sexual response? Or they have some pathetic religious hang-up that brainfucks them?
Rather than pathologizing the female sexual response, I'd be tempted to look into other factors first, because having actually seen straight woman sexuality in action, I will say that it's a wonderful and marvelous thing to behold. If a woman is into you, you know. It's abundantly clear when she's turned on and excited (heh, "sexcited") by you. It just is. I honor and cherish it!
And when that's not there, then *something* else is at work, there. Either something they're not admitting to, or something. It feels too pat to chalk it up to some kind of hormonal condition, too convenient.
I'm not saying that there may be a small percentage of women who may have some kind of hormonal situation where they simply aren't very sexually driven, have low libidos, but I doubt the majority of women in the prospective market for this drug qualify. It's like the overuse of antidepressants, in my view -- there are, clinically, some people who absolutely do require them, but they're not the majority. And the industry works hard to create that need to sell the product. Take this to feel "normal" -- and make a tidy buck in the process.
I imagine some women taking this drug in lieu of addressing whatever the REAL issue is, and thinking they can somehow fake it till they make it, without getting at whatever the actual problem is. I'm just always wary about the whole "take a pill, make everything right" ethos of our country. We're not a very introspective culture as it is, and the magic pill is just such an American thing.
I mean, even the original Viagra bugged the hell out of me -- what, a guy's so fat and out of shape that he can't get it up? No problem! Take a fucking blue pill and get a stiffy! Yay! What a country! Never mind that the guy should trim down and get in shape so then he'll be able to get hard again. Now he won't have to! He can be just as slovenly and fat as before and still walk around with a boner. *gak* Do some more pushups, fellas. Get fit.
Our culture is very good at pathologizing whole sectors in "need" of a drug. Kid too active? No problem, put'em on antidepressants! Feeling blue? Why not give yourself some, too? I worked with a boss who had serious, serious mental issues -- she should have been institutionalized, I swear. She was on three different antidepressants at the same time, and she was STILL incredibly fucked up (her primo loony-line was saying she wanted to have a child one day, and if it was a boy, she'd abort it, because she only wanted a girl. Mother of the fucking year, there. How fucking creepy is that? Thankfully, there was zero risk of her ever finding some guy blind enough and/or insane enough to impregnate her, although she did adroitly maneuver her way through the adoption system to snag a Third World kid -- horrifying to anybody who knows her, who worked with her. I saw her and the kid on a park bench one day. Apparently, the poor kid is deaf, which might be a boon, since it would mean not having to listen to her psycho bullshit, but on the sad side, the kid's probably thinking "Lord, please deliver me from this insane fucking woman." Her insanity was bad enough for people with hearing; I can't imagine it seen through the eyes of a deaf child.)
Anyway, the point is, there has to be some reason why somebody's got low libido, because our survival as a species depends on libido, for fuck's sake! And we've done alright by it for a very, very long time. I refuse to believe suddenly something's gone wrong and Big Pharma has a pink pill to make it alllll better.
Rather than pathologizing the female sexual response, I'd be tempted to look into other factors first, because having actually seen straight woman sexuality in action, I will say that it's a wonderful and marvelous thing to behold. If a woman is into you, you know. It's abundantly clear when she's turned on and excited (heh, "sexcited") by you. It just is. I honor and cherish it!
And when that's not there, then *something* else is at work, there. Either something they're not admitting to, or something. It feels too pat to chalk it up to some kind of hormonal condition, too convenient.
I'm not saying that there may be a small percentage of women who may have some kind of hormonal situation where they simply aren't very sexually driven, have low libidos, but I doubt the majority of women in the prospective market for this drug qualify. It's like the overuse of antidepressants, in my view -- there are, clinically, some people who absolutely do require them, but they're not the majority. And the industry works hard to create that need to sell the product. Take this to feel "normal" -- and make a tidy buck in the process.
I imagine some women taking this drug in lieu of addressing whatever the REAL issue is, and thinking they can somehow fake it till they make it, without getting at whatever the actual problem is. I'm just always wary about the whole "take a pill, make everything right" ethos of our country. We're not a very introspective culture as it is, and the magic pill is just such an American thing.
I mean, even the original Viagra bugged the hell out of me -- what, a guy's so fat and out of shape that he can't get it up? No problem! Take a fucking blue pill and get a stiffy! Yay! What a country! Never mind that the guy should trim down and get in shape so then he'll be able to get hard again. Now he won't have to! He can be just as slovenly and fat as before and still walk around with a boner. *gak* Do some more pushups, fellas. Get fit.
Our culture is very good at pathologizing whole sectors in "need" of a drug. Kid too active? No problem, put'em on antidepressants! Feeling blue? Why not give yourself some, too? I worked with a boss who had serious, serious mental issues -- she should have been institutionalized, I swear. She was on three different antidepressants at the same time, and she was STILL incredibly fucked up (her primo loony-line was saying she wanted to have a child one day, and if it was a boy, she'd abort it, because she only wanted a girl. Mother of the fucking year, there. How fucking creepy is that? Thankfully, there was zero risk of her ever finding some guy blind enough and/or insane enough to impregnate her, although she did adroitly maneuver her way through the adoption system to snag a Third World kid -- horrifying to anybody who knows her, who worked with her. I saw her and the kid on a park bench one day. Apparently, the poor kid is deaf, which might be a boon, since it would mean not having to listen to her psycho bullshit, but on the sad side, the kid's probably thinking "Lord, please deliver me from this insane fucking woman." Her insanity was bad enough for people with hearing; I can't imagine it seen through the eyes of a deaf child.)
Anyway, the point is, there has to be some reason why somebody's got low libido, because our survival as a species depends on libido, for fuck's sake! And we've done alright by it for a very, very long time. I refuse to believe suddenly something's gone wrong and Big Pharma has a pink pill to make it alllll better.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
This and that
B2 was asking around for Newt this evening. I'd told the boys about Newt going away, and B1 had accepted it, but B2 hadn't really processed it, little kid-style. He was asking around for him, keeps putting food in his bowl (we haven't packed that away, yet). He got sad when I told him Newt was gone, said "But I LOVE Newt." and got all sad. Then B1 suggested we get a new cat and call him "Newt." That's very B1 -- sweet-yet-practical.
While on the bus, I was in a quiet, thoughtful state. Halfway sleepy, but my mind was spinning, and I saw this woman texting the seat ahead of me -- just a little detail -- she was texting about her mom, and was wrestling with "biopsy," how to spell it. That's what caught my eye, like her writing "byopsy" and then pausing over that, then correcting it to "biopsy," and then writing some more, backtracking, changing it to "byopsy" again, and writing some more, and then running a spellcheck (at last) and getting "biopsy," before hitting SEND.
I watched "So You Think You Can Dance?" tonight. It was nice seeing some of the past contestants filling in as dance partners for the new contestants. The field looks pretty strong, although I'm surprised how quickly they whittled it down to 11 dancers. I missed a couple of episodes or something.
B1 is nearly done with school -- hard to believe he'll be a 3d-grader next year. My lord. He's growing up so fast. I remember being able to pick him up with one hand, when he was a baby. Now he's a big boy. Man, oh man.
B2 gets one more year of preschool, just because of where his birthday falls. He'll be lil' Mister Badass when he's finally in school, more than ready for it. B2 loves music. He has corralled all of the instruments we have in the apartment -- a recorder, a harmonica or two, drums; even my guitar (he tries to get it, anyway). He really wants a little piano, which is very cute. We have a keyboard in storage, which I might bring up, if I can find the damned plug-in cord for it. I'm tempted to get him a vuvuzela, although lord knows what he'd do with that.
While on the bus, I was in a quiet, thoughtful state. Halfway sleepy, but my mind was spinning, and I saw this woman texting the seat ahead of me -- just a little detail -- she was texting about her mom, and was wrestling with "biopsy," how to spell it. That's what caught my eye, like her writing "byopsy" and then pausing over that, then correcting it to "biopsy," and then writing some more, backtracking, changing it to "byopsy" again, and writing some more, and then running a spellcheck (at last) and getting "biopsy," before hitting SEND.
I watched "So You Think You Can Dance?" tonight. It was nice seeing some of the past contestants filling in as dance partners for the new contestants. The field looks pretty strong, although I'm surprised how quickly they whittled it down to 11 dancers. I missed a couple of episodes or something.
B1 is nearly done with school -- hard to believe he'll be a 3d-grader next year. My lord. He's growing up so fast. I remember being able to pick him up with one hand, when he was a baby. Now he's a big boy. Man, oh man.
B2 gets one more year of preschool, just because of where his birthday falls. He'll be lil' Mister Badass when he's finally in school, more than ready for it. B2 loves music. He has corralled all of the instruments we have in the apartment -- a recorder, a harmonica or two, drums; even my guitar (he tries to get it, anyway). He really wants a little piano, which is very cute. We have a keyboard in storage, which I might bring up, if I can find the damned plug-in cord for it. I'm tempted to get him a vuvuzela, although lord knows what he'd do with that.
*BRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT*
Gabby Crabby
Today's a lovely, properly summery day. I went to Subway (again -- two days in a row!) to snag some lunch, and walked across campus, soaking up the silence and the sound of the breeze, and city summer sounds in general. Just a pretty day. A good hand-holding day, although I didn't see anybody doing that; it's what I'd have done -- held hands and wolfen glances.
There are a LOT of pregnant women in the city, I've noticed. And it's not my doing, in case you wondered! But I swear, there are just tons of them. I haven't kept track, but I must've seen nearly 50 very pregnant women in the last month. Almost bums me out, because it means those kids are going to be what, Cancers? The world definitely doesn't need more Cancerians. At the Asylum, where I work, I've worked with more Cancerians than any other sign -- like at least 10 -- I guess editing appeals to Cancerian natures, somehow.
An abortive date-n-dalliance with a Cancerian when I was 19 is what led me to Exene. I could go on a total screed about Cancerians -- the pretensions and affectations, the phoniness, the self-righteousness, the superficiality, the endless whining about abso-fucking-lutely everything -- but I won't. I remember being bummed out to find that Mary Stuart Masterson, my adolescent celebrity crush (who, goddamn her, also paved the road to Exene because Exene superficially resembled Watts back in the day -- anyway, SHE is a Cancerian, too. I'm way past my crush on Masterson, but I look back on her and think "Huh. I thought you were alright, Mary Stuart Masterson, but you're a Cancer. So, you're likely NOT alright."). My older stepsister's a Cancer, too. Don't get me started on her.
Anyway, this baby boom I'm observing around the city, I keep thinking "Great. A whole crop of Cancerians. Just what this world needs." And if you're a Cancerian and you're reading this, and are put off by it, well, so much the better -- I've given you something to whine about for today. Just because it would annoy a Cancerian, I'll put this below in honor of them...
I will give you one prop to feed your vanity: you photograph well. I've yet to see a Cancerian who isn't reasonably photogenic. I suspect their innate tendency to pose their way through life makes them natural photographic subjects. They have the Art of the Pose down. Artifice is like breathing for them.
Well, I finished my sandwich (Tuscan Chicken Melt with provolone, on Italian, with lettuce, green peppers, black olives, cucumber slices, red onions, black pepper, oregano, and their Tuscan chicken dressing. I got it toasted), so I guess I'll go back to work.
There are a LOT of pregnant women in the city, I've noticed. And it's not my doing, in case you wondered! But I swear, there are just tons of them. I haven't kept track, but I must've seen nearly 50 very pregnant women in the last month. Almost bums me out, because it means those kids are going to be what, Cancers? The world definitely doesn't need more Cancerians. At the Asylum, where I work, I've worked with more Cancerians than any other sign -- like at least 10 -- I guess editing appeals to Cancerian natures, somehow.
An abortive date-n-dalliance with a Cancerian when I was 19 is what led me to Exene. I could go on a total screed about Cancerians -- the pretensions and affectations, the phoniness, the self-righteousness, the superficiality, the endless whining about abso-fucking-lutely everything -- but I won't. I remember being bummed out to find that Mary Stuart Masterson, my adolescent celebrity crush (who, goddamn her, also paved the road to Exene because Exene superficially resembled Watts back in the day -- anyway, SHE is a Cancerian, too. I'm way past my crush on Masterson, but I look back on her and think "Huh. I thought you were alright, Mary Stuart Masterson, but you're a Cancer. So, you're likely NOT alright."). My older stepsister's a Cancer, too. Don't get me started on her.
Anyway, this baby boom I'm observing around the city, I keep thinking "Great. A whole crop of Cancerians. Just what this world needs." And if you're a Cancerian and you're reading this, and are put off by it, well, so much the better -- I've given you something to whine about for today. Just because it would annoy a Cancerian, I'll put this below in honor of them...
Well, I finished my sandwich (Tuscan Chicken Melt with provolone, on Italian, with lettuce, green peppers, black olives, cucumber slices, red onions, black pepper, oregano, and their Tuscan chicken dressing. I got it toasted), so I guess I'll go back to work.
Faces
Neighbors across the way have this big plasma screen television on their wall, and often they're watching something and I'll see this big face seeming to watch from their windows. This morning, they had this face freeze-framed, and, bizarrely, a candle lit. Not sure what's going on, there, but I had to capture it. I'll post it later, when I have time.
Also, I had my 50th toe stub of the year! Left big toe -- caught it on B2's little bicycle training wheels.
Also, I had my 50th toe stub of the year! Left big toe -- caught it on B2's little bicycle training wheels.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Shuttle Diplomacy
B1 loves the Space Shuttle. And while researching it to talk to him about it, I saw that the last two shuttle flights are this year (mid-September for Discovery, and mid-November for Endeavour), and told him that. He said "But I love the Space Shuttle Program; I don't think they should cancel it." And I could hear a little hitch in his voice, so I gave him a hug. He said "What are they replacing it with?" and I told him that there wasn't anything lined up, yet, and he couldn't understand why they hadn't done that. I didn't have the heart to tell him that our country's increasingly becoming an economic and cultural basket case and things like space programs are going the way of art and music programs in the public schools. Sigh. Then he sweetly came up with some alternative plans for space programs. He's such a smart, sweet lil' guy.
Toes
Hey, I may stub my toes an awful lot, but I'm not clumsy! It's just that I have big feet and a small apartment! If I lived in a loft, I'd probably do somewhat better. Especially without furniture. Hah! Big Man + Small World = Stubbed Toes.
I've been eyeing these units in my building that have balconies. I'd really, really love a balcony. I'd put a bunch of potted plants and trees up there around the perimeter, make it a nice little sanctuary. That would be awesome. I'd love that. My boys would love it, too. I'm sure the units with the balconies are pricey (maybe even condos? Who knows?) but they look so awesome.
I need titanium-toed slippers until I get to a large enough residence where toe-stubbing is less likely. What can I say? I'm a man of action -- I move swiftly, and if something's in my way, I run into it.
My left foot still isn't 100% better. It's getting there, but not yet. Hairline fracture. Grumble grumble.
I've been eyeing these units in my building that have balconies. I'd really, really love a balcony. I'd put a bunch of potted plants and trees up there around the perimeter, make it a nice little sanctuary. That would be awesome. I'd love that. My boys would love it, too. I'm sure the units with the balconies are pricey (maybe even condos? Who knows?) but they look so awesome.
I need titanium-toed slippers until I get to a large enough residence where toe-stubbing is less likely. What can I say? I'm a man of action -- I move swiftly, and if something's in my way, I run into it.
My left foot still isn't 100% better. It's getting there, but not yet. Hairline fracture. Grumble grumble.
Touchdown!
Touchdown Jesus Destroyed By Lightning
God does work in mysterious ways. He's not a fan of graven images, but don't tell the fundamentalists that!
God does work in mysterious ways. He's not a fan of graven images, but don't tell the fundamentalists that!
Good Quote
"In the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt."
-- Bertrand Russell
-- Bertrand Russell
Monday, June 14, 2010
Newt, 1992-2010
Tonight we had Newt put down; he had terminal renal failure, which is often what does in old cats. And he was an old cat. Sweet to the end, dying with feline grace around 6:00 this evening. He was snow-white, with golden eyes, and had this high-toned, sweet meow. He loved people, especially gals, although I was usually the one to take care of him, and since I usually woke up earliest in the household, he'd meow at me to get some food or whatever he needed. A very talkative meower. He was a big, strong American Shorthair bought in southern Ohio, he was around 20 lbs. at his peak, and that was muscle. We never had him declawed (I just never believe in that -- fuck the furniture -- not like I had any furniture valuable enough to worry about that).
Newt was always a charmer, a people-pleaser. He was boundlessly curious, would come trotting out to check you out and loved attention. He was a pretty good mouser (I discovered this at the Black House), although not as good as his sister, Jinx, who was a really prime mouser. But Newt was very quick. In his youth, he could jump very high -- like maybe 62" straight up, which was pretty impressive for a cat. As a kitten, we had him and his sister blocked off in a room of the first apartment we ever rented, and entertained guests in one of the other rooms. And we heard this scrabbling and tiny Newt had managed to crawl his way up and over the barricade, peeking his lil' head over and mewling, to everybody's delight. He and his sister caught fleas, and turned that apartment into a real flea trap, prompting a major chemical war on those damned fleas.
I remember giving him a bath to get him clean, and Newt just hating that, mewling and refusing to make eye contact for a day or so. But he was ultimately an incredibly sweet and forgiving animal, with this calm and even temper. The only time I ever saw Newt bristle was when he saw an opossum on the other side of a sliding glass door at our apartment circa 1999 -- Newt didn't know what the hell that thing was; and when the in-laws brought one of their dogs in, and Newt actually swaggered out and growled at the intruder dog (I thought it was stupid of them to bring their dog in, anyway). Newt just moseyed up to the dog that was easily three times his weight and he'd whack her with his paws. She came from a house with a cat and only wanted to be friends, but Newt was having none of it. Newt was named from the character, "Newt," from ALIENS, which we'd watched maybe the weekend before getting him and his sister. I don't really remember how we decided on Newt, but it stuck, and everybody was calling him Newt in short order, our peers from college in our college town, where we got him. When we took him and his sister from the cages and let'em roam around the pet store, kitten-Newt terrified these guinea pigs -- Newt ran up to them (they were in their cages) and peeked at them and they did that guinea pig distress-trilling, which was funny, since they dwarfed Newt back in the day. I remember as kittens, Newt and his sister would cuddle up by my shoulders and purr during the night, before they grew up and got too cool for that, although even as an adult, Newt would crawl up onto my chest and peer at me (usually at night, with that white fur of his and his eyes all dark in the night, very "Ghost Cat") and he'd sometimes lay down on my chest, touching my chin with his paws, or he'd just stand there and give me an interrogative meow.
Newt loved when I'd comb him -- he'd just sit there very patiently and let me groom him, in this Sphinxlike pose with his legs out. Sometimes he'd hold that pose and fall asleep, and his head would droop down between his paws, which was adorable. Most of my pix of Newt are from the old days, before the digital camera came along. Around 1993, the day before Exene was going to get her state ID photograph, Newt used her face as a springboard to launch himself to a windowsill, which scratched her face. She got up, jolted awake by that, and then promptly fainted. She was chagrined that her ID picture had her with this fresh scar on her face. Newt really was a great cat. I put his picture (above) on our wall -- it was a photograph taken by a mutual friend from the "Summer of Love" (as I ironically called the summer after college graduation, when our group of college peers hung out and just basically partied and had a good time, everybody still friends, all of that -- me stupidly deciding on getting married at 22 years -- dumbass). Anyway, that friend managed to capture Newt's essence perfectly in that photograph. It's quintessential Newt, as a young cat, laying there, curious, paw extended, wanting to explore. Totally, totally him (there's a companion shot of Jinx, too, which is also very her -- but Newt's open expression is just so sweetly him). Anybody who met Newt knows how sweet a cat he was. He'd just come out and say "Hi" and want to be petted. He wasn't afraid of anybody, loved everybody.
Later, Newtral. I love you, lil' guy. *NOSETOUCH*
Imposter!
NPR's "Fresh Air" had Jackie DeShannon on, and they played one of the songs she wrote...
The Fleetwoods, "The Great Imposter"
In addition to sounding like something David Lynch would put in one of his movies (likely in a scene of terror of some sort involving a straight razor), it's sooooo a song that hearkens back to the very dark time of early 2009. Hard to hear it without wincing!
The Fleetwoods, "The Great Imposter"
In addition to sounding like something David Lynch would put in one of his movies (likely in a scene of terror of some sort involving a straight razor), it's sooooo a song that hearkens back to the very dark time of early 2009. Hard to hear it without wincing!
Horny
B FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT
Constantly. Torture. I try to tune it out, but it's almost impossible to.
Weekend Worrier
I wasn't as impressed with the Old Town Art Fair (OTAF) this year as I've been in previous years. I don't know if the jury composition changed or what, but there were too many jewelry makers there, and there was way too much meh 2D Mixed Media. I don't object to 2D Mixed Media, but it should be "Wow!" and not "Meh." Still, I always enjoy ambling around the OTAF and seeing what's going on.
I've been encouraging B1 to read to his brother. B2 loves to read, but B1 is more reluctant to do so, trends toward nonfiction. I try to have him read some nonfiction and fiction daily, so he can (hopefully) get into the habit more. His baby brother loves to, but can't properly read, yet (although he really wants to). So, I've been having B1 read to his baby brother, and it's adorable to watch them curled up together with a book. I ordered (and just received) "Icarus at the Edge of Time" by Brian Greene, which is a retelling of the Icarus myth with a black hole in place of the sun -- it's right up B1's alley, and I can't wait for him to see it. He'll love it.
Our old cat is dying. I took his sister to the vet a few years ago -- she was my cat, and her brother was Exene's cat. Anyway, after 18 years, his number's finally up. I told Exene it was on her to take him to the vet's, since I'd done that with his sister, when she was dying. So, predictably, she didn't do anything all weekend, and poor cat's condition worsened. I tried to take care of him, but he's suffering from terminal renal failure, which is common with old cats. He's conducted himself with rather amazing grace, just trying to keep it together, cat-style, but it's still very sad. Exene finally called the vet's this morning, and is going to take him after work. I'm annoyed at how she dithered on that. The moment he got to the point of no return, she should've taken him in, rather than waiting four+ days to tend to it. *headshake*
I've been encouraging B1 to read to his brother. B2 loves to read, but B1 is more reluctant to do so, trends toward nonfiction. I try to have him read some nonfiction and fiction daily, so he can (hopefully) get into the habit more. His baby brother loves to, but can't properly read, yet (although he really wants to). So, I've been having B1 read to his baby brother, and it's adorable to watch them curled up together with a book. I ordered (and just received) "Icarus at the Edge of Time" by Brian Greene, which is a retelling of the Icarus myth with a black hole in place of the sun -- it's right up B1's alley, and I can't wait for him to see it. He'll love it.
Our old cat is dying. I took his sister to the vet a few years ago -- she was my cat, and her brother was Exene's cat. Anyway, after 18 years, his number's finally up. I told Exene it was on her to take him to the vet's, since I'd done that with his sister, when she was dying. So, predictably, she didn't do anything all weekend, and poor cat's condition worsened. I tried to take care of him, but he's suffering from terminal renal failure, which is common with old cats. He's conducted himself with rather amazing grace, just trying to keep it together, cat-style, but it's still very sad. Exene finally called the vet's this morning, and is going to take him after work. I'm annoyed at how she dithered on that. The moment he got to the point of no return, she should've taken him in, rather than waiting four+ days to tend to it. *headshake*
Sunday, June 13, 2010
400,000
I heard on NPR the other day that Ohio has lost 400,000 jobs over the past four years. That's a lot of jobs gone. It has something like a 10.8% unemployment rate. The Republicans have really buggered that poor state.
The World Cup is fun so far. Ghana won their match with Serbia, Germany smoked the Aussies (4 - 0 -- ouch), Slovenia squeaked by Algeria (1 - 0), and of course the US tied with England. I think England and the US will smoke Slovenia and Algeria (they're in the same group), so things are looking good for the US.
It rained a lot today. I went to the Old Town Art Fair, will comment more on that later, as I need a shower (so humid and rainy today, I feel like I'm in some kind of temperate rain forest!
The World Cup is fun so far. Ghana won their match with Serbia, Germany smoked the Aussies (4 - 0 -- ouch), Slovenia squeaked by Algeria (1 - 0), and of course the US tied with England. I think England and the US will smoke Slovenia and Algeria (they're in the same group), so things are looking good for the US.
It rained a lot today. I went to the Old Town Art Fair, will comment more on that later, as I need a shower (so humid and rainy today, I feel like I'm in some kind of temperate rain forest!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Buffalo Chicken?
I had bought some bison burgers last week, cooked'em up. I made a couple today, and, on a whim, I later made my kickass BBQ sauce in the same pan, using the grease (of which there isn't much -- bison is pretty lean) as the shortening for the recipe, instead of the usual. I liked the idea of using the savory from the bison in the BBQ sauce. It tastes extra-yummy! I slathered it on the chicken and it's cooking right now, making the place smell yummy!
In other news...
England 1
USA 1
Awwwoo! A draw!
In other news...
England 1
USA 1
Awwwoo! A draw!
Who Killed the Electric Car?
I watched "Who Killed the Electric Car?" last night, on a whim. I usually avoid documentaries like that because it just gets my blood boiling. And this was no exception -- it's a good documentary, and they lay it out methodically. It's a clear case of an automobile company sabotaging and scuttling one of their own products in the interest of serving Big Oil. It just kills me, because the EV1 was clearly a cutting-edge vehicle. 100% electric battery-powered, no emissions, fast and powerful, it was a real forward step. GM had the opportunity to corner the market on a new and exciting product, and they backed away from it and, instead, went with SUVs. And not only did they scuttled the EV1, but they took them all back from folks who leased them and had them all crushed and impounded on a GM lot! Amazing. Near as I can tell (although this isn't explained in the movie, I'm just theorizing, here) they realized they weren't going forward with electric cars, and they didn't want the EV1s out there to 1) show that electric cars were desirable and realizable, and 2) potentially be snagged by competitors and reverse-engineered, giving a competitor access to a fine electric car that they had no intention of mass-marketing.
In the wake of the Gulf Disaster, the open wound in the world that it represents, this documentary is a must-see, because you really see how Big Oil calls the tune in our country. It's especially fascinating to see the damning appraisal of hybrids and hydrogen fuel cell cars -- both of which are blind alleys intended to keep gasoline front-and-center. Fuel cell cars are inordinately expensive, relative to electric cars, and are, even in the best-case scenario, a stopgap technology. There's been plenty of money poured into them, and they're still a prohibitive blind alley -- compared with that, the electric cars are a far-cheaper, user-friendlier real-world alternative.
Anyway, the movie shows a clear case of companies acting against their long-term economic interest and actually foregoing commanding market share because of the easy, oily money being made in the here-and-now. And how they will work tirelessly to ensure that emission-free electric cars don't displace the gas-guzzlers anytime soon.
Amazing stuff, well worth a viewing, but if you have an iota of liberal and progressive values in your heart, it'll piss you off.
It's also staggering to see that the first electric cars appeared in 1897.
In the wake of the Gulf Disaster, the open wound in the world that it represents, this documentary is a must-see, because you really see how Big Oil calls the tune in our country. It's especially fascinating to see the damning appraisal of hybrids and hydrogen fuel cell cars -- both of which are blind alleys intended to keep gasoline front-and-center. Fuel cell cars are inordinately expensive, relative to electric cars, and are, even in the best-case scenario, a stopgap technology. There's been plenty of money poured into them, and they're still a prohibitive blind alley -- compared with that, the electric cars are a far-cheaper, user-friendlier real-world alternative.
Anyway, the movie shows a clear case of companies acting against their long-term economic interest and actually foregoing commanding market share because of the easy, oily money being made in the here-and-now. And how they will work tirelessly to ensure that emission-free electric cars don't displace the gas-guzzlers anytime soon.
Amazing stuff, well worth a viewing, but if you have an iota of liberal and progressive values in your heart, it'll piss you off.
It's also staggering to see that the first electric cars appeared in 1897.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Drink: Hey, There
Cocktail recipe...
Hey, There
2 jiggers Coconut Rum
3 dashes Bitters
V8 Fusion (Strawberry-Banana)
Ice
1 spear of mango
Fill Collins glass with crushed ice. Then add Rum and bitters. Then pour V8 Fusion. Stir. Garnish with a spear of mango.
Hey, There
2 jiggers Coconut Rum
3 dashes Bitters
V8 Fusion (Strawberry-Banana)
Ice
1 spear of mango
Fill Collins glass with crushed ice. Then add Rum and bitters. Then pour V8 Fusion. Stir. Garnish with a spear of mango.
Today
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Weekend
This weekend, let's see... Tomorrow: take the boys to the ticker tape parade tomorrow for the Blackhawks, since I've never been to a ticker tape parade before, and the boys certainly have never seen one, so that should be fun. Then start watching the World Cup (Yay! Yeah, right -- most of the episodes are on ESPN, which I don't have).
Saturday, B1's last soccer game. And then either (or both) Saturday and/or Sunday, take the boys to the 61st annual Old Town Art Fair. Also, I think the US team plays at the World Cup Saturday, so watching that, too, if it's broadcast.
England vs. USA (2 p.m. EST on ABC)
Nothing solid planned Sunday. I'm gonna try to get that damnable screenplay done and out the door, so I can move onto my next writing project. Probably a grocery run in the mix, too.
Saturday, B1's last soccer game. And then either (or both) Saturday and/or Sunday, take the boys to the 61st annual Old Town Art Fair. Also, I think the US team plays at the World Cup Saturday, so watching that, too, if it's broadcast.
England vs. USA (2 p.m. EST on ABC)
Nothing solid planned Sunday. I'm gonna try to get that damnable screenplay done and out the door, so I can move onto my next writing project. Probably a grocery run in the mix, too.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Tallboys
The boys have grown since I last measured them in May! Like a half-inch for B2, and a quarter-inch for B1!
B1: 4'6.5"
B2: 3'7.5"
They're growing and growing!
B1: 4'6.5"
B2: 3'7.5"
They're growing and growing!
Whew (2)
Yesterday's diatribe was my 400th post on this particular blog. Just carrying a lot of emotional pain, alas. I roll with most everything in life, but there are a few things that are just too painful to roll with, and he's one of those things. I swear, the past couple of years have been packed with emotional pain! Good timing! It can only get better, I think. Move forward, onward, upward. That kinda thing. Try to stay productive, get writing done, get Exene the hell out of my mix (the dire economy of 2008-09, the Great Recession, really, really made those years dreadful), and find the fun and the happy. Get my own little place, move forward. I have discovered that I can handle a lot of emotional pain and remain functional; something I didn't realize I had that in me.
I've been watching Season 1 of "The Wire" -- good show. I don't generally like cop shows, but it's entertaining. HBO typically has it sewn up, those dramas. The absence of ad breaks and the ability to follow stories from episode to episode (versus having it wrap up in an hour), it makes a big difference. Good stuff.
I've been watching Season 1 of "The Wire" -- good show. I don't generally like cop shows, but it's entertaining. HBO typically has it sewn up, those dramas. The absence of ad breaks and the ability to follow stories from episode to episode (versus having it wrap up in an hour), it makes a big difference. Good stuff.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Whew
Man. Blogger was down and I was unable to blog for about 24 hours. Not sure what that was about.
My biological father is dying. I didn't find this out from him directly, but from one of my half-sisters, who thought I'd known about it. But she was closer to him than I ever was -- he was a rotten dad. So much of who I am comes from reacting against who he is, finding the way to Good by understanding the Bad, where parenting is concerned. Not everybody's cut out to be a parent, I guess, which is about the most charitable thing I can say. It's weird for me, because his ghost has been with me since my folks divorced in 1975, and I've found my way without really ever understanding what of him was in me (besides height and smarts). I don't know, because he was singularly guarded about everything that he was, and you could never be sure you were getting a straight answer from him or not. The emotions I remember most with him are those of reproach, guilt, fear, anger -- I remember pain and hurt. I remember him locking me out of the house and taunting me from the other side of the screened door and saying that I couldn't get inside to see my mom. This was me at four or five years of age. I can still see it and hear it, me crying and furious and him mocking from the kitchen. One of many happy memories. I asked my mom about that and other things, what it was all about, and she theorized that maybe he was jealous, because he realized she liked me more than him, and he took it out on me. Not sure.
I remember always packing a handful of quarters (for a telephone) and a pocket knife (for self-defense) and being sure the door was unlocked on the car, and mentally rehearsing what I'd do if he tried to kidnap me -- I was always afraid he'd try to kidnap me and take me from my mom and stepdad. I remember him being willing and able to ruin absolutely everything he touched, taking the fun and joy right out of anything. If a good dad makes their kids feel wanted and loved, he was most definitely a bad, bad dad. Plenty of stories about that I've kept inside. I learned my lesson and am very good at being a daddy; my boys cherish me, and it's because I'm always there for them, I never hurt them, I always listen to them, I treat them with love and kindness and respect and I let them know how special they are to me. I read to them, and almost never raise my voice (sidenote: B1 commented over the weekend that he liked that I don't "overyell," like mommy does). My boys know their daddy loves them, and they take solace and comfort in that. I'm there for them until my dying day. My own father never, ever was. I don't even think he really wanted to be a father. I last saw him when I was 26, when he cycled up to Chicago without so much as a heads-up that he was approaching; before then, I saw him when I was 18. So, we haven't been close. It's been 14 years since I last physically saw him. In many ways, the ghost of who he is has been with me my whole life, more so than the flesh-and-blood man, and that's actually a good thing.
If you want some sense of him, take Johnny Cash (esp. the voice; he loved Johnny Cash -- I can't heard Johnny Cash without thinking of that, him listening to that), Tony Randall (esp. the fussy, pretentious, I'm Smarter Than You manner), and Peter Sellers (esp. the inaccessible weirdness) and blend them. He looks like a fusion of them, and acts like them all, in truth. I can't even watch this clip of Tony Randall without seeing him. Looks like him, and just acts like him...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-u8lcqwXjs
Without letting on that I knew he was dying, I sent him some recent pix of the boys (and myself). A small kindness. I wrote to him about the boys, their prospects, who they are. He wrote back a comment about how B1 looked like he had a date with an orthodontist in his future. It hurt. I'm trying to be kind, and he's slamming his own grandson? This in his last days? Give me a fucking break. And yet, it's so him. He's an emotional trainwreck -- he couldn't even show proper love to his own child, which should be the most natural human emotion a person can express, right?
Anyway, his days are literally numbered (what that number is, I don't precisely know). I'm not going to see him. There is no closure that can be gained with him -- what's he going to say? That he feels sorry he was so rotten to me when he was my dad? If he even sees that, can even get that? I don't know. He was hateful and hurtful. I know that I historically have better relationships with women than men, and I know it's because of him -- I would often be afraid of people's dads when I was a kid, and it's because, early on, I learned to be very wary around dads, because of him, of what he did. I remember hurt after hurt after hurt. I was trying to divine a good memory, and the closest I could come up with was around 1975, and me making a Lego house, working hard to make it wonderful, a model of our unhappy home (and it was very unhappy -- I remember my parents loudly arguing then, and being afraid of that). I heard him coming home, and I ran to show him what I'd made, my Lego house, and I tripped and fell and dropped the Lego house, and, of course, it broke to bits, and I was crushed that it had broken before he'd seen it. And he yelled about me making a mess in the kitchen, and I just cleaned it up. I remember riding on the back of one of his motorcycles (he always had motorcycles) and enjoying that, until I realized that I'd rested my foot on the tailpipe of the cycle, and it had melted the rubber of my shoe on the tailpipe, and he was furious about that, took me censoriously to task for that. That's about as close to a "good" memory as I have with him. He could take the fun and joy out of absolutely everything.
I grew up resolving to be better than he was, and I think I have, at least as far as being a parent is concerned. I try to find the fun and the joy in the world around me. I've succeeded in that, at least, but that's not because of him. People who know me and see me with my boys always marvel at how good a parent I am, but it's a very conscious reaction to what I experienced, doing the opposite of what he did, and banishing that ghost as best as I can.
Vae Victis.
My biological father is dying. I didn't find this out from him directly, but from one of my half-sisters, who thought I'd known about it. But she was closer to him than I ever was -- he was a rotten dad. So much of who I am comes from reacting against who he is, finding the way to Good by understanding the Bad, where parenting is concerned. Not everybody's cut out to be a parent, I guess, which is about the most charitable thing I can say. It's weird for me, because his ghost has been with me since my folks divorced in 1975, and I've found my way without really ever understanding what of him was in me (besides height and smarts). I don't know, because he was singularly guarded about everything that he was, and you could never be sure you were getting a straight answer from him or not. The emotions I remember most with him are those of reproach, guilt, fear, anger -- I remember pain and hurt. I remember him locking me out of the house and taunting me from the other side of the screened door and saying that I couldn't get inside to see my mom. This was me at four or five years of age. I can still see it and hear it, me crying and furious and him mocking from the kitchen. One of many happy memories. I asked my mom about that and other things, what it was all about, and she theorized that maybe he was jealous, because he realized she liked me more than him, and he took it out on me. Not sure.
I remember always packing a handful of quarters (for a telephone) and a pocket knife (for self-defense) and being sure the door was unlocked on the car, and mentally rehearsing what I'd do if he tried to kidnap me -- I was always afraid he'd try to kidnap me and take me from my mom and stepdad. I remember him being willing and able to ruin absolutely everything he touched, taking the fun and joy right out of anything. If a good dad makes their kids feel wanted and loved, he was most definitely a bad, bad dad. Plenty of stories about that I've kept inside. I learned my lesson and am very good at being a daddy; my boys cherish me, and it's because I'm always there for them, I never hurt them, I always listen to them, I treat them with love and kindness and respect and I let them know how special they are to me. I read to them, and almost never raise my voice (sidenote: B1 commented over the weekend that he liked that I don't "overyell," like mommy does). My boys know their daddy loves them, and they take solace and comfort in that. I'm there for them until my dying day. My own father never, ever was. I don't even think he really wanted to be a father. I last saw him when I was 26, when he cycled up to Chicago without so much as a heads-up that he was approaching; before then, I saw him when I was 18. So, we haven't been close. It's been 14 years since I last physically saw him. In many ways, the ghost of who he is has been with me my whole life, more so than the flesh-and-blood man, and that's actually a good thing.
If you want some sense of him, take Johnny Cash (esp. the voice; he loved Johnny Cash -- I can't heard Johnny Cash without thinking of that, him listening to that), Tony Randall (esp. the fussy, pretentious, I'm Smarter Than You manner), and Peter Sellers (esp. the inaccessible weirdness) and blend them. He looks like a fusion of them, and acts like them all, in truth. I can't even watch this clip of Tony Randall without seeing him. Looks like him, and just acts like him...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-u8lcqwXjs
Without letting on that I knew he was dying, I sent him some recent pix of the boys (and myself). A small kindness. I wrote to him about the boys, their prospects, who they are. He wrote back a comment about how B1 looked like he had a date with an orthodontist in his future. It hurt. I'm trying to be kind, and he's slamming his own grandson? This in his last days? Give me a fucking break. And yet, it's so him. He's an emotional trainwreck -- he couldn't even show proper love to his own child, which should be the most natural human emotion a person can express, right?
Anyway, his days are literally numbered (what that number is, I don't precisely know). I'm not going to see him. There is no closure that can be gained with him -- what's he going to say? That he feels sorry he was so rotten to me when he was my dad? If he even sees that, can even get that? I don't know. He was hateful and hurtful. I know that I historically have better relationships with women than men, and I know it's because of him -- I would often be afraid of people's dads when I was a kid, and it's because, early on, I learned to be very wary around dads, because of him, of what he did. I remember hurt after hurt after hurt. I was trying to divine a good memory, and the closest I could come up with was around 1975, and me making a Lego house, working hard to make it wonderful, a model of our unhappy home (and it was very unhappy -- I remember my parents loudly arguing then, and being afraid of that). I heard him coming home, and I ran to show him what I'd made, my Lego house, and I tripped and fell and dropped the Lego house, and, of course, it broke to bits, and I was crushed that it had broken before he'd seen it. And he yelled about me making a mess in the kitchen, and I just cleaned it up. I remember riding on the back of one of his motorcycles (he always had motorcycles) and enjoying that, until I realized that I'd rested my foot on the tailpipe of the cycle, and it had melted the rubber of my shoe on the tailpipe, and he was furious about that, took me censoriously to task for that. That's about as close to a "good" memory as I have with him. He could take the fun and joy out of absolutely everything.
I grew up resolving to be better than he was, and I think I have, at least as far as being a parent is concerned. I try to find the fun and the joy in the world around me. I've succeeded in that, at least, but that's not because of him. People who know me and see me with my boys always marvel at how good a parent I am, but it's a very conscious reaction to what I experienced, doing the opposite of what he did, and banishing that ghost as best as I can.
Vae Victis.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Family Man
I took a personal day yesterday, because the boys had several special things to do that day. I got the boys breakfast, made their lunches, took B1 to a class picture photo shoot, dropped him off to class, then walked B2 down to the grocery store, got groceries. I then took him to his gymnastics final (which was very cute -- he was delighted to have me in the audience, kept waving and saying "Daddy! Hi, Daddy!" and telling his friends in the class "That's my Daddy. His name is [says my name, very emphatically].") Calling it "gymnastics" is probably a stretch at his age -- it's just things like somersaults and skipping, etc. Then I dropped him off at preschool, then had a few minutes to myself for some lunch. I then biked up to B1's school, because they were having a special school spirit parade parents get to walk in, and I took pix of that and walked with B1, until I had to leave and bike back down to B2's preschool and pick him up. Then I took B2 back to the apartment, stowed my bike, and he and I hung out a bit, I gave him a snack, and he and I trekked back to B1's school to pick him up. I use the stroller for the treks to B1's school, just because it's a long way to go for B2's little 4-year-old legs, and he conked out in the stroller. Then we walked down to a salon and I got B1's hair cut, a nice short cut for the summer. Then we went to the grocery store for some ice cream sandwiches and popsicles -- by request of the boys, since is was super-humid and summery, and then home (at last), where I cooked pizza for dinner (Exene brought pizza home), and THEN off to B2's preschool performance show, and then had the boys play in the park a bit to (literally) run off steam. Then home, finally. Whew.
I made like seven trips to B1's school -- I think I logged a little over six miles of foot traffic yesterday! My thighs are a little sore. I was particularly pleased with the bike bit, since I was sweating how I'd get to go with B1 on his parade, and yet cover the distance to get B2, when the bike solution came to me.
My boys are such daddy's boys. It's so apparent. At the evening performance, B2 kept waving to me, saying "Daddy! Hi, Daddy! That's my daddy!" And then he'd remember that Exene was there for that, and would tack on a "Hi, Mommy." and wave to her, and then "Hi, [B1]!" for his brother.
B2 amused me -- like the consummate performer he is, he actually gets a bit of performance anxiety before a gig. For example, before going to his gymnastics, he's like "Daddy! How do I do a somersault? I don't know how!" (he actually does know) I showed him a couple, walked him through'em, and before going to the evening performance, he said "How do you sing? I don't know how to sing!" But he totally does, he sings all the time. So, I made up a song and sang it to him, explaining how to sing with the lyrics. He's very much of a sing-a-long type, so that helped. It did amuse me, however, him getting the lil' jitters or something.
Today I'm taking B1 to his soccer match, with B2 coming along for the ride. I think Exene has a race she's running today, or the usual "Mom In Absentia" kind of stuff she pulls. For somebody who insists on shared/joint custody, I just don't see how she's going to be able to handle it -- like all the stuff I did yesterday, she'd have whined and complained about having to do that, and wouldn't have tacked on grocery-shopping or the hair cut in the mix. Guaranteed.
B2 complimented his brother about something (oh, that reminds me -- it was cute -- B2 saw one of his classmate's shirts at preschool and said "I LIKE that shirt, [Classmate]" -- I loved that he noticed that. He's my lil' fashionista! Anyway, B2 complimented his brother, and B1 was like "Yeah." and Exene said "When someone says something nice to you, or does something nice for you, you should thank them for it." And B1 just watched the show he was watching, didn't react. I said "Wow, he's just like you or your dad. It's been passed down. From him, to you, to [B1]." And Exene said "More like from my grandma, to my dad, to me, to [B1]." And I thought "Ah, four generations of taciturn Teutonic ingratitude." Her grandma was a complete hardass. Seriously. A hard, hard woman. I'm sure Exene picked a lot of that up, honestly. This was a grandma who Exene told me would use an ice cream scoop to pick up dogshit, and then later, Exene saw her using the same scoop to serve her grandchildren ice cream. I'm sure she cleaned it (she was a nurse, after all), but still, Exene commented that she'd not eat the ice cream, and didn't tell her siblings about it until after they ate their ice cream. Now, the visceral reaction to that is "What kind of grandma would DO that to her grandchildren?" and, having met the woman a few times over the years, I can say, without hesitation, that she is exactly the type of grandma who would do that. A hard, hard woman. And Exene most definitely has that, although even she'd not pull Scoopgate on kids, let alone grandkids.
Thankfully, B1's Teutonic lineage is strongly offset by my Celtic ebullience. It sweetens the Sudeten sourness!
I made like seven trips to B1's school -- I think I logged a little over six miles of foot traffic yesterday! My thighs are a little sore. I was particularly pleased with the bike bit, since I was sweating how I'd get to go with B1 on his parade, and yet cover the distance to get B2, when the bike solution came to me.
My boys are such daddy's boys. It's so apparent. At the evening performance, B2 kept waving to me, saying "Daddy! Hi, Daddy! That's my daddy!" And then he'd remember that Exene was there for that, and would tack on a "Hi, Mommy." and wave to her, and then "Hi, [B1]!" for his brother.
B2 amused me -- like the consummate performer he is, he actually gets a bit of performance anxiety before a gig. For example, before going to his gymnastics, he's like "Daddy! How do I do a somersault? I don't know how!" (he actually does know) I showed him a couple, walked him through'em, and before going to the evening performance, he said "How do you sing? I don't know how to sing!" But he totally does, he sings all the time. So, I made up a song and sang it to him, explaining how to sing with the lyrics. He's very much of a sing-a-long type, so that helped. It did amuse me, however, him getting the lil' jitters or something.
Today I'm taking B1 to his soccer match, with B2 coming along for the ride. I think Exene has a race she's running today, or the usual "Mom In Absentia" kind of stuff she pulls. For somebody who insists on shared/joint custody, I just don't see how she's going to be able to handle it -- like all the stuff I did yesterday, she'd have whined and complained about having to do that, and wouldn't have tacked on grocery-shopping or the hair cut in the mix. Guaranteed.
B2 complimented his brother about something (oh, that reminds me -- it was cute -- B2 saw one of his classmate's shirts at preschool and said "I LIKE that shirt, [Classmate]" -- I loved that he noticed that. He's my lil' fashionista! Anyway, B2 complimented his brother, and B1 was like "Yeah." and Exene said "When someone says something nice to you, or does something nice for you, you should thank them for it." And B1 just watched the show he was watching, didn't react. I said "Wow, he's just like you or your dad. It's been passed down. From him, to you, to [B1]." And Exene said "More like from my grandma, to my dad, to me, to [B1]." And I thought "Ah, four generations of taciturn Teutonic ingratitude." Her grandma was a complete hardass. Seriously. A hard, hard woman. I'm sure Exene picked a lot of that up, honestly. This was a grandma who Exene told me would use an ice cream scoop to pick up dogshit, and then later, Exene saw her using the same scoop to serve her grandchildren ice cream. I'm sure she cleaned it (she was a nurse, after all), but still, Exene commented that she'd not eat the ice cream, and didn't tell her siblings about it until after they ate their ice cream. Now, the visceral reaction to that is "What kind of grandma would DO that to her grandchildren?" and, having met the woman a few times over the years, I can say, without hesitation, that she is exactly the type of grandma who would do that. A hard, hard woman. And Exene most definitely has that, although even she'd not pull Scoopgate on kids, let alone grandkids.
Thankfully, B1's Teutonic lineage is strongly offset by my Celtic ebullience. It sweetens the Sudeten sourness!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Y-Town in the news
NPR's "All Things Considered" had a piece on Youngstown tonight.
Also, there's this...
http://www.inc.com/magazine/20100501/semper-youngstown.html
Also, there's this...
http://www.inc.com/magazine/20100501/semper-youngstown.html
Recipe: Rum Cake
I made coconut rum cake last night. Yummers!
Rum Cake
Preheat oven to 325 F
1 yellow or white cake mix
1 container of vanilla pudding
4 eggs
.5 cup cold milk
.5 cup rum
1 cup pecans or walnuts, chopped
Mix cake ingredients (except for the nuts -- pour the nuts into the bottom of either a bundt cake pan or a tube pan). Pour the batter into the pan, over the nuts. Cook for ~1 hour (Obviously a bit less if your oven runs hot). Remove when done and let the cake cool a bit.
For the glaze:
1 stick of butter
.25 cup water
1 cup of sugar
.5 cup rum (or up to 1 cup , to taste)
In a saucepan, melt the butter. When that's melted, add the water and the sugar, and boil for 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat, stir in the rum. Then you pour the glaze on the cake as it sits in the pan.
Once it soaks up the glaze, then carefully remove the cake, and voila!
Rum Cake
Preheat oven to 325 F
1 yellow or white cake mix
1 container of vanilla pudding
4 eggs
.5 cup cold milk
.5 cup rum
1 cup pecans or walnuts, chopped
Mix cake ingredients (except for the nuts -- pour the nuts into the bottom of either a bundt cake pan or a tube pan). Pour the batter into the pan, over the nuts. Cook for ~1 hour (Obviously a bit less if your oven runs hot). Remove when done and let the cake cool a bit.
For the glaze:
1 stick of butter
.25 cup water
1 cup of sugar
.5 cup rum (or up to 1 cup , to taste)
In a saucepan, melt the butter. When that's melted, add the water and the sugar, and boil for 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat, stir in the rum. Then you pour the glaze on the cake as it sits in the pan.
Once it soaks up the glaze, then carefully remove the cake, and voila!
Heh
I just wrote perhaps my most sarcastic comment on SALON, ever. It's the first comment in the article "My Baby Is Too Boring To Blog About." I'd link to it, but SALON seems to be bogging, or my computer's bogging. Not sure which. Anyway, it had to be said!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Wow
I'm listening to NPR's "Fresh Air" at the moment, and Samantha Bee (from "The Daily Show") is being interviewed, and listening to her, what she was saying, I thought "I bet she's a Scorpio." I could just tell. And you know what? She is. October 25, 1969. I just looked her up. Now I can even spot Scorpios without seeing them! I didn't even have to see a picture of her. I knew.
Oh, and a thing I always notice about Scorpios: they routinely cross their arms like that.
Serial Killers, American Style
Isn't it weird that most serial killers are American? Like if you look at serial killing around the world, the vast majority of them occur in the US. There are serial killers everywhere, but they are most common in this country, with the UK having the next-largest number. What is it about American and British life that lends itself to serial killing? What socio-cultural conditions exist that make this so? I have no answer; I'm just wondering. Are Americans just that much more violent than their peers in other countries? Are we more isolated and anomic? I would chalk it up to size of country and/or media, but we have far more serial killers than, say, Russia. What is it about American (and British -- since we have to remember that our cultural roots are British) culture that fosters this? Is it sexual repression? Cultures of violence? As countries adopt an American or British socio-economic model, does serial killing grow there? Is it perhaps tied to our mass media?
I scrolled down the lists of killers by country, and it appears that more Westernized/Americanized a country was, the more serial killers it had. Many Americans like to suck their own dicks about our cultural hegemony, how great and wonderful Western Civilization(tm) is (and how uniquely exceptional and virtuous American culture is), and yet, it has this shadow creeping in its wake, in the form of the serial killer, as well.
I scrolled down the lists of killers by country, and it appears that more Westernized/Americanized a country was, the more serial killers it had. Many Americans like to suck their own dicks about our cultural hegemony, how great and wonderful Western Civilization(tm) is (and how uniquely exceptional and virtuous American culture is), and yet, it has this shadow creeping in its wake, in the form of the serial killer, as well.
Gnash gnash
This makes me gnash my teeth and stomp my hooves. Of course, the guy's pedigree (Iowa Workshop AND Harvard) no doubt helps, it still is killing me. Especially the reference about publishers scooping up paranormal tales -- which publishers?! AAAAUGH!
*GNASH*
*GNASH*
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Gored?
I don't wish'em any ill will, really (except Tipper's record labeling thing was really annoying). Al would've been impeached if 9/11 had happened on his watch -- seriously, if Monicagate was impeachable for Bill Clinton, then 9/11 would've had the Republicans howling for Gore's blood, if it had happened to him (yes, quite the opposite stance of their whole "Let's put politics aside" charades in the wake of 9/11). He was probably better served as a presidential also-ran (or a "Hey, I actually won, but the fucking opposition actually stole the motherfucking election") than actually being a president.
The pictures at left amuse me -- photobooth pix are fun! I regret not having done nearly enough of'em! Something I'll have to remedy in the future!
Farming the Sun and Wind
As I watch that blight in the Gulf grow and grow and grow, this symbol of death and insanity and the lack of a coherent energy policy in our country (sorry, 'Baggers, but "Drill Baby Drill" doesn't count as a coherent energy policy), I find my mind drifts toward our country's farm subsidy program (quote Wikipedia)...
$20 billion a year. What if, instead of subsidizing farmers not to grow various crops, or to grow others, what if that farm subsidy money was used to encourage the creation of wind and solar farms? We always hear about the decline of family farms and what-not, and the reality of American energy independence is something that's been in dire need of being addressed for the past 40 years, so, I'm thinking of a reform to the farm subsidy program to have them develop actual alternative energy sources (wind and solar -- FUCK ethanol. Let me repeat that: FUCK ethanol).
Benefits: 1) help move American energy policy into the 21st century; 2) help with climate change; 3) help our country attain energy independence; 4) help the farms produce something of value (instead of being paid either to NOT grow things and/or to grow unnecessary things); 5) decentralize our country's energy grid, giving more power (literally and figuratively) to the local level (and making our energy infrastructure resistant to terrorist attacks); 6) contribute to rapid investment in and advancement of alternative energy in this country.
Try as I might, I just can't see anything wrong with this, EXCEPT that it steps on the toes of the fossil fuel industry, AND it would decentralize our energy grid.
The disaster in the Gulf qualifies as actual eco-terrorism, although it won't be seen as such, but the damage it'll do is worse than what happened on 9/11, hate to say it. More people will be impacted, more lives ruined, on and on and on. It's a clarion call (or should be) that our country absolutely must develop a proper alternative energy infrastructure. I've heard estimates that it's a $1 trillion market just waiting to be tapped -- and yet, it's always kept off the table. The technology is here, the need is here, the national will for change is even there. Win, win, win.
Must be why it's not being done.
The United States currently pays around $20 billion per year to farmers in direct subsidies as "farm income stabilization"[10][11][12] via U.S. farm bills. These bills date back to the economic turmoil of the Great Depression with 1922 Grain Futures Act, the 1929 Agricultural Marketing Act and the 1933 Agricultural Adjustment Act creating a tradition of government support.
The beneficiaries of the subsidies have changed as agriculture in the United States has changed. In the 1930s, about 25% of the country's population resided on the nation's 6,000,000 small farms. By 1997, 157,000 large farms accounted for 72% of farm sales, with only 2% of the U.S. population residing on farms. In 2006, the top 3 states receiving subsidies were Texas (10.4%), Iowa (9.0%), and Illinois (7.6%). The Total USDA Subsidies from farms in Iowa totaled $1,212,000,000 in 2006.[13] From 2003 to 2005 the top 1% of beneficiaries received 17% of subsidy payments.[13] In Texas, 72% of farms do not receive government subsidies. Of the close to $1.4 Billion in subsidy payments to farms in Texas, roughly 18% of the farms receive a portion of the payments.[14]
"Direct payment subsidies are provided without regard to the economic need of the recipients or the financial condition of the farm economy. Established in 1996, direct payments were originally meant to wean farmers off traditional subsidies that are triggered during periods of low prices for corn, wheat, soybeans, cotton, rice, and other crops." [15]
Top states for direct payments were Iowa ($501 million), Illinois ($454 million), and Texas ($397 million). Direct payments of subsidies are limited to $40,000 per person or $80,000 per couple.[16]
The subsidy programs give farmers extra money for their crops and guarantee a price floor. For instance in the 2002 Farm Bill, for every bushel of wheat sold farmers were paid an extra 52 cents and guaranteed a price of 3.86 from 2002–03 and 3.92 from 2004–2007.[17] That is, if the price of wheat in 2002 was 3.80 farmers would get an extra 58 cents per bushel (52 cents plus the $0.06 price difference).
Corn is the top crop for subsidy payments. The Energy Policy Act of 2005 mandates that billions of gallons of ethanol be blended into vehicle fuel each year, guaranteeing demand, but US corn ethanol subsidies are between $5.5 billion and $7.3 billion per year. Producers also benefit from a federal subsidy of 51 cents per gallon, additional state subsidies and, federal crop subsidies that can bring the total to 85 cents per gallon or more.[18] (US corn-ethanol producers are also shielded from competition from cheaper Brazilian sugarcane-ethanol by a 54-cent-per-gallon tariff[19][20])
$20 billion a year. What if, instead of subsidizing farmers not to grow various crops, or to grow others, what if that farm subsidy money was used to encourage the creation of wind and solar farms? We always hear about the decline of family farms and what-not, and the reality of American energy independence is something that's been in dire need of being addressed for the past 40 years, so, I'm thinking of a reform to the farm subsidy program to have them develop actual alternative energy sources (wind and solar -- FUCK ethanol. Let me repeat that: FUCK ethanol).
Benefits: 1) help move American energy policy into the 21st century; 2) help with climate change; 3) help our country attain energy independence; 4) help the farms produce something of value (instead of being paid either to NOT grow things and/or to grow unnecessary things); 5) decentralize our country's energy grid, giving more power (literally and figuratively) to the local level (and making our energy infrastructure resistant to terrorist attacks); 6) contribute to rapid investment in and advancement of alternative energy in this country.
Try as I might, I just can't see anything wrong with this, EXCEPT that it steps on the toes of the fossil fuel industry, AND it would decentralize our energy grid.
The disaster in the Gulf qualifies as actual eco-terrorism, although it won't be seen as such, but the damage it'll do is worse than what happened on 9/11, hate to say it. More people will be impacted, more lives ruined, on and on and on. It's a clarion call (or should be) that our country absolutely must develop a proper alternative energy infrastructure. I've heard estimates that it's a $1 trillion market just waiting to be tapped -- and yet, it's always kept off the table. The technology is here, the need is here, the national will for change is even there. Win, win, win.
Must be why it's not being done.
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