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Showing posts from September, 2010

Wheels

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People say I'm crazy, doing what I'm doing.
Well they give me all kinds of warnings, to save me from ruin.
When I say that I'm O.K., they look at me kind of strange.
Surely you're not happy now, you no longer play the game.

People say I'm lazy, dreaming my life away.
Well they give me all kinds of advice, designed to enlighten me.
When I tell them that I'm doing fine, watching shadows on the wall.
Don't you miss the big time boy, you're no longer on the ball?

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go 'round and 'round.
I really love to watch them roll.
No longer riding on the merry-go-round.
I just had to let it go.

People asking questions, lost in confusion.
Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions.
Well they shake their heads and look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry...I'm just sitting here doing time.

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go 'round and 'round.
I really love to watch t…

Holy Mother

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It's been a long time since I have been inside a Catholic church to contemplate Life. Been inside others, for other reasons, but not a Big 'C' in quite a while. But man are they hauntingly gorgeous. Beautifully terrifying. So much New and Old Testament orchestrated simultaneously. Claire's post about it really captures the mood of it, for any of you non-Catholics out there.

I wonder how I would feel were I to enter one today.

I'd feel like shit.

For no other reason than I just feel like that today anyway.

What's in there?

Only what you take with you.


It's been dreary, cloudy and rainy for two days and I miss my Mother, plain and simple.

She left yesterday morning and I am only now able to write about it. And I had a difficult morning with Bennett, he just flipped out on me during breakfast and I couldn't figure out why and I...well, I was more fragile than usual and I didn't lose it or anything I just spent the morning with as wet a face as his was.

My M…

A Boy's Best Friend is His Mother

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And mine is here, visiting for a long weekend, which started early yesterday. Thus the lack of blogging and lack of perusal of the bloggage of the usual crew. Far be it from me to ignore Mother in favor of all of you readers. Especially this year, since I will have only seen her once the entire year. That's far too little.

So far, a great visit. She and Bennett are bonding well, and Carter always loves spending time with her. The two of us have had some interesting, wonderful and wall-breaking talks (a part of my 'Operation Re-Lillification' thingie), a few of which she has even given me permission to write about, which is great. You know me...I get jazzed about tantalizing fodder for the noggin and the bloggin'.

Anyway, time to watch a DVD with the family.

And oh yeah...these still scare the brown stuff right outta me.


OUT

What Scares the Brown Stuff Right Outta You?

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OK, I know the stuff that scares most of us SN Parents, about our kids...that kind of thing I truly understand. And this question has nothing to do with those fears. In fact, should someone ever ask you a question about what frightens you the most the 'go-to' response of ANY parent should be regarding their kids.

If not you flunk Parenting 101.

But aside from that, and family and friends and junk, I'm talking primal, piss-your-pants type FEAR. We all have a few. Some of us have fears that are so paralyzing that they absolutely, positively affect our behavior. For example. I have a tremendous fear of these creatures that all need to be hunted down and killed.


Is that not the scariest image on the planet or what? DAMN it creeps me out just looking at that thing. What is most disturbing about the image is how calm the water is around the shark. Usually you see photos of sharks and they are exploding out of water at something.

This one is more...I dunno...beckoning. Like...c'…

Remembering Meighan

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Last year, around this time, we were still kind of reeling from the surgical recovery. We were quite literally wiped out, emotionally, physically, so I did not have the energy to post last September 21, the 20th anniversary of the death of my friend Meighan Grassey. I remember thinking about how much I wanted to, and I wrote a blog about having lots I wanted to write about but no energy to write it, as I was very down on 09-22 of last year.

But I always think about her this time of year, easy enough to do because of the impact she had in my life, the fact that she died two days after my birthday, and the circumstances surrounding her death, via heart problems, at SUCH a young age.

Death for anyone sucks, don't get me wrong, I hate it. We all do.

But death of someone close to you in your life who is young is somehow extra difficult.

Not sure why.

Meighan and I did not attend the same high school, we met through the Youth Group I joined at St. Margaret's, the Catholic church I beg…

43

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An ordinary number, when you get right down to it, but I turned that (43, not ordinary) yesterday. To those of you who read this blog and who also do the Facebook thing and sent Birthday well-wishes, thank you. To the Baltimore Ravens, thanks for nothing. No scratch that. Thanks for pissing all over what was, aside from watching you embarrass yourselves, a perfectly fine Sunday afternoon.

You know me, I am never one to just sit on my ass and let an opportunity pass me by to look for meaning in things, so I did a little thinking and digging to find out what, if any, significance the number 43 might ACTUALLY have to me.

Ironically it is the number of Pittsburgh Steelers Strong Safety Troy Polamalu, who happened to be the one and only player that the company I worked for in 2009 was able to release a resin mini-bust of. I was laid off before any of the others were released. Not sure if any more came out this year or not, but I don't think they did.


You know Polamalu is the ONE Steeler …

License to Parent

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You know, in certain places in this country, you actually need a license to go fishing. That is correct. You have to apply for a license to be able to go put a slimy worm on a hook and toss it in the water and try to get some dumbass fish to chew on it long enough for you to get it out of the water long enough for you to eventually chew on it.

Damn...that's one nice-lookin' fish up there, ain't it?

You need a license to sell insurance, you need a license to get married, you need a license to drive a moped in some places, and obviously you need a license to drive a car. You need a license in some places to coach youth sports, you need a license to have a yard sale and you certainly need a license to practice medicine or teach.

Being a parent, having a child, is probably the single greatest responsibility a human being can ever and WILL ever have in their lifetime, unless maybe if you're the President or the lead Astronaut on our first manned flight to Mars or something wit…

Dagger of the Mind

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This article about converting brainwaves (thoughts) into actual words (speech) is worth taking a look at. Not just because of how scary it is as far as how its application could be so horribly abused in the wrong hands if the technology were ever perfected, but about how amazingly huge the leaps might be in the medical community with patients who, for whatever reason, have lost the ability to communicate via speech.

It also leads one to hope that if this is possible, it could open doors to other possible technological breakthroughs in understanding the brain. And you know me and the brain. We keep trying to understand one another.


The implications of this kind of technology are staggering to me. Not just as a parent of a child who I cannot communicate very well with at this time. Not just as a parent of a child who I wonder if I will EVER truly have a communicative rapport with. But as a member of the human community, it scares me as much as it titillates. Hee hee...titillates.

But a lot…

Some Nifty Hardware

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Jen discovered some stuff, of which I was of course blissfully unaware (though I recently discovered how to add props to my Avatar in X-Box Live), regarding tools to help Bennett learn to eat. Even though they are made of the Evil of Man known as Plastic, they are very functionally designed for that extra push that kids that need a little help figuring out the whole spoon/fork thing require.



Now keep in mind. We started using this a week ago. He had no ability at all to feed himself with a fork and spoon without us having to load each spoonful or forkful, and of course the plate/bowl had to be constantly held down by a nearby parental unit. These place-mats suction to the surface of the table, the bowls suction to the cup on the placement. Pull the release, bowl come up, peel up place-mat, wash. The utensils have extra curvature to help keep the foods from spilling out. We tried it with Cheerios in milk and he actually did very well.

Frankly, this session (of which you saw but a small p…

Breakfast Epiphanies

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Part III of Phase IV of Operation: Re-Lillification began this morning at approximately 8:17 AM. WTF?!? Phase IV? Of...of what? Who do you think you are Lilly? George Fuckin' Lucas? You've got the belly for it, that much we can see...and the plaid shirts, but face it baldy, you do NOT have the locks, and you haven't even told us about Phase I - III yet!!!

I KNOW you have no friggin' clue what I'm talking about and why should you? I haven't been able to complete and post the whole postponed '300th Post', the huge tome of 6000 plus words (and growing) that will, somehow (I hope, hope, hope...) explain why I went from occasionally posting over the summer about what a miserable life I have and how much I like to bitch about it compared to where I am at this moment in time, a place where I am being more optimistic, less bitchy and actually having plans within plans, schemes within schemes.

Much like a shark does. Hee hee.

I say that only because recently I was…

And Lo...I Feel A Tingling in My Pants

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And there was MUCH rejoicing.

Many men do feel the aforementioned tingling this time of year, that's the beauty of it. It's a brutha-hood, a special club of schweaty, frustrated wannabe superstars who celebrate their loyalty, their passion and their love of pure, un-spoiled competition.

Each year as I enter the month of September two things occur. I dread the knowledge that I am turning one year older and I get as giddy as a schoolgirl at the fact that there is that ONE thing that, no matter what happens from one year to the next, remains the same...NFL football becomes the primary focus of my free time for the next several months.


THE SEASON IS HERE. TODAY.

Tonight (and I like to let this roll on my tongue slowly because it really still does feel very sweet to say it) the Super Bowl Champion New Orleans Saints take on the Minnesota Vikings and the Waffle-King, um, I mean Brett Faaaahhhvreh. The Saints are 4-point favorites over the Vikings. I don't actually BET on games, I am…

So...Where's 300????????

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Those are the words typed by my Mother in this morning's Facebook message (yes, with that exact amount of question marks) that I discovered while sipping away at the morning Java.

Ah, the words of our Mother's, how they echo in our heads, don't they guys? In a good way though. Most of the time. :)

So...the answer is twofold. First, because I just answered the question, the 300th blog post is right here, with very little fanfare and even less substance.

My grandiose plan to create an amazing, intricate post for Number 300 will no longer be realized. However, you should know that I consider this TO BE A GOOD THING. This has been a giant monkey that I am delighted to have off my back.


The actual post itself has been growing. And growing. And growing. It is simply too long to be a single blog. Right now it is 6,217 words and maybe not even 3/5 of the way finished. There is no way in all that is Holy that anyone would ever read the entire thing.

They just couldn't.

Not in one …