I suppose I ought to take a minute and let you know what we found out today. It looks as if an X and a Y chromosome got together this time. Or, as a friend put it, I'm "not shooting pink bullets anymore!"
Wow, a boy this time? I'm delighted. But I would have been just as happy if we were having daughter #4. Ten fingers, ten toes, and we're good. Oh yeah, and no genetic defects either, please. The rest of the story behind that one:
Earlier this month, we were called by the blood testing lab. They told us some red flags had gone up. They ran a test for Down's Syndrome. Wasn't that. They ran a test for another disorder called Trisomy 18. Whaddya know? Fairly high chances of having that one. 1 in 89 they said, compared to the standard of 1 in 1,000. I dunno, I thought 1 in 89 chance that something really bad would happen also meant there was an 88 in 89 chance that it wouldn't.
So we talked to the geneticist today. He very nicely explains what the disorder is all about (you know, words like 100% mortality rate, etc.), and that one of the hallmark symptoms of Trisomy 18 is very slow growth and development. Then we went in for the ultrasound, and can you even imagine the big sigh of relief I felt when our bouncing (yes, he was bouncing) baby boy was exactly the right size, and exactly as far along as he was supposed to be. I was giddy. It wasn't so much the extra appendage that my three previous kids had lacked, as much as the fact that the baby was normal, healthy and doing fine. At least they were 99% sure of that. That's okay; those are odds I'd feel comfotable with any day.
And my wife. Yes, she's elated. Which means we're all happy, 'cause if da mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Monday, June 27, 2005
The shining American legal system
"Truth, Justice and the American Way" don't seem to be synonymous any more.
To borrow a catch-phrase from Oldsmobile, "This is not your father's [country]."
So what do we do with someone stabbed, strangled, shot and raped 10 people? Well hell, we don't kill em! No, that would be inhumane. We lock him away for the rest of his life into a place where he gets three square meals a day, cable television, free college education, free gym facilities, etc.
Apparently the lives of the guilty are worth more than ten of those that they "bind, torture and kill".
Says the AFP:
Just sick and wrong.
To borrow a catch-phrase from Oldsmobile, "This is not your father's [country]."
So what do we do with someone stabbed, strangled, shot and raped 10 people? Well hell, we don't kill em! No, that would be inhumane. We lock him away for the rest of his life into a place where he gets three square meals a day, cable television, free college education, free gym facilities, etc.
Apparently the lives of the guilty are worth more than ten of those that they "bind, torture and kill".
Says the AFP:
Rader will not be eligible for the death penalty because the murders occurred before Kansas reintroduced capital punishment in 1994.
Just sick and wrong.
Quasi political-religious rant about...
The Ten Commandments. I'm not some fundamentalist bible-bashing religious freak, but I do have a few things to say.
What is it about these Ten Commandments that offend so many people? First off, my beliefs do not depend on whether or not the Ten Commandments can be displayed on public property. I just find it so amazing that there is such hostility concerning this topic. What is the big deal about the Ten Commandments that people will go to such great lengths to have them removed from a public environment?
The First Amendment is often cited in reference to the display of the ten commandments on public land, so here's the first amendment:
(sound of crickets chirping)
Oh, I get it. It’s all in the interpretation of the phrase. That makes sense. So whose interpretation is correct? Is it the person who has an axe to grind against all things religious? And how exactly is congress establishing or supporting a religion in allowing the Ten Commandments to be shown?
Not only Christians, but Jews and Muslims revere the Ten Commandments as well. So, which of the literally hundreds of factions between those three major faiths would the state be endorsing as its official religion if it allows the posting of the Ten Commandments?
And what if your faith isn’t congruent with Judaism, Islam or Christianity? Why worry? Why not celebrate the fact that you live in a country that allows you to worship however you may? (Within reason, of course. Last time I checked, human sacrifices - virgin or not - are still highly frowned upon by legal community.) Let's take a look at the big ten, just to see what the uproar is about:
The first four of Ten Commandments deal with honoring deity. If you believe in God, then obeying those first four commandments are between you and God. If you don't believe in God, then those first four really don't apply to you, do they? The next six commandments are commendable for just about any social code.
Just because the commandments are displayed somewhere - maybe even on public property - does not mean that you have to abide by them; in fact many people don't. Other than the obvious moral element, The commandments do have historical value in being a foundation upon which many different legal systems worldwide have been based.
One of the four definitions of “religion” found in The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition is as follows:
What is it that makes the belief system of atheists so much better than those who subscribe to a belief in a God?
Quite honestly, I believe it is all about power. The power of the few over many. The ability to tell a large number of people just how they can live their lives, and what they can and can't do in public. And while those who argue that this is precisely what organized religion is, I submit to you that exactly this definition fits those who are fighting for the removal of the Ten Commandments from public parks and courthouses.
It's like the mere presence of the monument is an itch underneath a plaster cast that they can't scratch, and there is no shortage of lawyers willing to milk tax dollars out of small towns and large cities to make these people feel better. (Lawyer, consoling client): "Now there, there...you managed to get the monument removed and you won 1.4 million dollars in damages...does that make the hurt go away? Besides that, you got to rub it in the faces of all those religious people..."
Don't get me wrong! I think the context in which the commandments are presented is also important. It should be presented in a manner that demonstrates its historical value, and the moral values that our country was founded upon. The monument shouldn't be used to ramrod Christianity, Judaism or Islam down someone's throat at taxpayers' expense.
For those of you who believe that just its simple presence does that, I would have to disagree with you. That would be like saying that law enforcement officers all over the country who wear six-pointed stars are actually out to enforce the Law of Moses (over 600 different rules!), or that the Washington Monument (also on public ground) promotes ancient Egyptian religions. Poppycock.
What is it about these Ten Commandments that offend so many people? First off, my beliefs do not depend on whether or not the Ten Commandments can be displayed on public property. I just find it so amazing that there is such hostility concerning this topic. What is the big deal about the Ten Commandments that people will go to such great lengths to have them removed from a public environment?
The First Amendment is often cited in reference to the display of the ten commandments on public land, so here's the first amendment:
"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”That’s It? Wait a minute, where’s all of the “Can’t say ‘God’ in the Pledge of Allegiance, and “Can’t have anything remotely religious on public land” and “Can’t have the symbol of the cross on official seals” and all of that?
(sound of crickets chirping)
Oh, I get it. It’s all in the interpretation of the phrase. That makes sense. So whose interpretation is correct? Is it the person who has an axe to grind against all things religious? And how exactly is congress establishing or supporting a religion in allowing the Ten Commandments to be shown?
Not only Christians, but Jews and Muslims revere the Ten Commandments as well. So, which of the literally hundreds of factions between those three major faiths would the state be endorsing as its official religion if it allows the posting of the Ten Commandments?
And what if your faith isn’t congruent with Judaism, Islam or Christianity? Why worry? Why not celebrate the fact that you live in a country that allows you to worship however you may? (Within reason, of course. Last time I checked, human sacrifices - virgin or not - are still highly frowned upon by legal community.) Let's take a look at the big ten, just to see what the uproar is about:
- "Thou shalt have no other Gods before me"
- "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image"
- "Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain"
- "Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy."
- "Honour thy father and thy mother"
- "Thou shalt not kill."
- "Thou shalt not commit adultery."
- "Thou shalt not steal."
- "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour."
- "Thou shalt not covet"
The first four of Ten Commandments deal with honoring deity. If you believe in God, then obeying those first four commandments are between you and God. If you don't believe in God, then those first four really don't apply to you, do they? The next six commandments are commendable for just about any social code.
Just because the commandments are displayed somewhere - maybe even on public property - does not mean that you have to abide by them; in fact many people don't. Other than the obvious moral element, The commandments do have historical value in being a foundation upon which many different legal systems worldwide have been based.
One of the four definitions of “religion” found in The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition is as follows:
“A cause, principle, or activity pursued with zeal or conscientious devotion.”"Atheism", as defined by the "Skeptic's Dictionary" is thus:
"Atheism is traditionally defined as disbelief in the existence of God. As such, atheism involves active rejection of belief in the existence of God."Sounds like Atheism is a religion to me. Sounds like it's lobbying to become the state-supported and funded religion (with the help of the likes of the ACLU and Society of Separationists).
What is it that makes the belief system of atheists so much better than those who subscribe to a belief in a God?
Quite honestly, I believe it is all about power. The power of the few over many. The ability to tell a large number of people just how they can live their lives, and what they can and can't do in public. And while those who argue that this is precisely what organized religion is, I submit to you that exactly this definition fits those who are fighting for the removal of the Ten Commandments from public parks and courthouses.
It's like the mere presence of the monument is an itch underneath a plaster cast that they can't scratch, and there is no shortage of lawyers willing to milk tax dollars out of small towns and large cities to make these people feel better. (Lawyer, consoling client): "Now there, there...you managed to get the monument removed and you won 1.4 million dollars in damages...does that make the hurt go away? Besides that, you got to rub it in the faces of all those religious people..."
Don't get me wrong! I think the context in which the commandments are presented is also important. It should be presented in a manner that demonstrates its historical value, and the moral values that our country was founded upon. The monument shouldn't be used to ramrod Christianity, Judaism or Islam down someone's throat at taxpayers' expense.
For those of you who believe that just its simple presence does that, I would have to disagree with you. That would be like saying that law enforcement officers all over the country who wear six-pointed stars are actually out to enforce the Law of Moses (over 600 different rules!), or that the Washington Monument (also on public ground) promotes ancient Egyptian religions. Poppycock.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Stranger in Paradise
Have you ever found yourself clinging to a moment, wishing it would never end?
August, 1990 Cap D'Agde, France
I spent the summer of 1990 in a town named Béziers, France. The town was located just 15km from the Mediterranean, and was an ideal setting as my roommate Kent and I loved to take long bicycle trips through the countryside. We helped teach an English class in town, and that is where we met Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude was about 40-ish, and still lived at home with his dad (who was well in to his 70's). Having never married, he didn't strike me as the kind of guy who dated a lot. But he latched onto me and Kent and made it his personal mission to show us as much of southern France as he could.
Well, Jean-Claude took us all over the place in his POS car (that was probably as old as he was). One of the places that he took us was to a rather highbrow affair in Cap D'Agde, a seaside resort town just 30km away from Béziers. It was a rather famous pianist in concert, and he played some of the most beautiful piano music I've heard. The concert was right on the marina, against a backdrop of small boats tethered at the dock. I can't think of a more fantastic scene than the one I drank in for two hours that night, as the sun set over the ocean, leaving a sky of purples and pinks, with boat masts gently swaying in the breeze, and golden lights from the town reflecting onto the harbor.
Many times we simply endured Jean-Claude. But there were times that he showed us some rather amazing things. This one was at the top of the list.
August, 1990 Cap D'Agde, France
I spent the summer of 1990 in a town named Béziers, France. The town was located just 15km from the Mediterranean, and was an ideal setting as my roommate Kent and I loved to take long bicycle trips through the countryside. We helped teach an English class in town, and that is where we met Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude was about 40-ish, and still lived at home with his dad (who was well in to his 70's). Having never married, he didn't strike me as the kind of guy who dated a lot. But he latched onto me and Kent and made it his personal mission to show us as much of southern France as he could.
Well, Jean-Claude took us all over the place in his POS car (that was probably as old as he was). One of the places that he took us was to a rather highbrow affair in Cap D'Agde, a seaside resort town just 30km away from Béziers. It was a rather famous pianist in concert, and he played some of the most beautiful piano music I've heard. The concert was right on the marina, against a backdrop of small boats tethered at the dock. I can't think of a more fantastic scene than the one I drank in for two hours that night, as the sun set over the ocean, leaving a sky of purples and pinks, with boat masts gently swaying in the breeze, and golden lights from the town reflecting onto the harbor.
Many times we simply endured Jean-Claude. But there were times that he showed us some rather amazing things. This one was at the top of the list.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
In Absentia...
I'm working on a bust-ass project for the next few days, which means I don't have a whole lot of time to post. So instead, I've included some links to different places I like to frequent:
Humour:
Interesting:
IQ Tests (Exercise that Grey Matter!)
Humour:
- BBSpot Amazing, original humor provided by Mr. Brian Briggs. I could (and have) spend hours on this site. This is one of his classics. Check him out.
- StrangeCosmos This is where you can find most of those funny stories and pictures that get circulated around in the email. And then some.
- Extreme Ironing Bureau Just beyond words. Really. This is the type of thing engineers do in their spare time. You need to check out the photo galleries.
- The Brick Testament Many of the stories from the Old and New Testaments set to.... Legos. Produced entirely by a self-ascribed atheist, he chose the Bible because "it is chock full of fascinating stories."
- WWWF Grudge Match Red-shirted ensigns vs. stormtroopers, Terminator vs. Predator, Urkel vs. Tattoo... They've got em all! Another site that I have been guilty of spending many hours on.
- Comic Book Universe Battles If you like the WWWF Grudge Match, this is the same type of stuff, and this site is still running!
- YIRMUMAH Online Comics Comics with attitude. I really liked the Star Wars Episode III stuff.
Interesting:
- All I really Need to Know... Another cute list of "Life Wisdom" with a Highlander theme.
- How to make a potato gun Another thing engineers do in their spare time: Build and test stuff like this.
- Pixel Dam Creating a city one block at a time. Built entirely of user-submitted gif images. Fun.
- Pixel Moon The extra-terrestrial sequel to PixelDam.
IQ Tests (Exercise that Grey Matter!)
- Uncommonly Difficult IQ Tests An array of fun intelligence tests to stretch the ol' neural matter.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Monday, June 20, 2005
My new level of insanity
This is almost as bad as re-using plastic eating utensils.
I have a pretty cool looking box of Kleenexes on my desk. I used the last one on Friday. So today, I carefully cut the bottom of it off, tore open a plain-looking box of Puffs, and refilled my nice box with them.
A defective Jolly Rancher candy broke way too soon in my mouth, causing me to bite a hole in my lip. Pending lawsuit to Jolly Rancher company for $250,000 for the mental and emotional trauma this has caused (bwahahahahahahah... you would have to know my feelings towards lawyers and frivolous lawsuits to fully appreciate that. Maybe we can get Senator John Edwards to "channel" the piece of candy)
I have a pretty cool looking box of Kleenexes on my desk. I used the last one on Friday. So today, I carefully cut the bottom of it off, tore open a plain-looking box of Puffs, and refilled my nice box with them.
A defective Jolly Rancher candy broke way too soon in my mouth, causing me to bite a hole in my lip. Pending lawsuit to Jolly Rancher company for $250,000 for the mental and emotional trauma this has caused (bwahahahahahahah... you would have to know my feelings towards lawyers and frivolous lawsuits to fully appreciate that. Maybe we can get Senator John Edwards to "channel" the piece of candy)
Weekend news items from my life...
The deadly Uinta Mountains...
A second boy scout is missing in the Uinta Mountains. An 11-year old boy has been missing for four days now, and searchers are once again combing the Uinta Mountains. Last fall, a 13-year old scout went missing in the same mountain range and was never found. My heart goes out to the family; not knowing if your child is alive and suffering or dead has to be the closest thing to hell on this planet.
The equally deadly "bottom two stairs"
Can you say Happy Father's Day? My dad broke his leg last night. Falling down the last two steps at my grandparents' house. You might think that's a stupid way to break your leg. He sure did. But the thing to remember is that he is still partially paralyzed on the left side of his body from a serious stroke last year. Good thing it was his bum leg, instead of the one good one.
Family Picnic
We had a family picnic with my wife's family in Millcreek Canyon just above Salt Lake last Saturday. Dutch oven cooking.... Mmmmm! Unfortunately, half of the family couldn't enjoy the food, because of self-imposed diets. Wife's sister Amy is a rabid vegan, and so the potatoes that were cooked with onions, cheese and BACON were so off limits to her. Another sister, plus mother-in-law couldn't eat anything with wheat germ, but the sister is on the Atkins diet (hello fat, greasy food) and mother-in-law is also somewhat diabetic (goodbye sugar). I was one of the few that could eat just about everything, and so I did. Without any guilt whatsoever.
Dog in the Dog House
The proverbial one, that is, since I haven't built her one yet. Dippy Doo-Dah Dog decided to eat the kids' inflatable pool last Thursday night. Pavlov's dog must be of no relation to mine, because she has absolutely no common sense or at least memory recall. It doesn't occur to her that chewing up our stuff is bad, and will get her ass kicked clear across the yard. Friday, we bought her a huge bone from Wal-Mart, and she spent most of the day knawing on it. 2:00am Saturday morning, the dog is at the back door, barking. I go downstairs to see what the problem is, and she's dancing around like she's gotta pee a gallon or two. I let her out, and she makes a beeline for the bone, and begins chewing it. Stupid dog.
That's all for now...
A second boy scout is missing in the Uinta Mountains. An 11-year old boy has been missing for four days now, and searchers are once again combing the Uinta Mountains. Last fall, a 13-year old scout went missing in the same mountain range and was never found. My heart goes out to the family; not knowing if your child is alive and suffering or dead has to be the closest thing to hell on this planet.
The equally deadly "bottom two stairs"
Can you say Happy Father's Day? My dad broke his leg last night. Falling down the last two steps at my grandparents' house. You might think that's a stupid way to break your leg. He sure did. But the thing to remember is that he is still partially paralyzed on the left side of his body from a serious stroke last year. Good thing it was his bum leg, instead of the one good one.
Family Picnic
We had a family picnic with my wife's family in Millcreek Canyon just above Salt Lake last Saturday. Dutch oven cooking.... Mmmmm! Unfortunately, half of the family couldn't enjoy the food, because of self-imposed diets. Wife's sister Amy is a rabid vegan, and so the potatoes that were cooked with onions, cheese and BACON were so off limits to her. Another sister, plus mother-in-law couldn't eat anything with wheat germ, but the sister is on the Atkins diet (hello fat, greasy food) and mother-in-law is also somewhat diabetic (goodbye sugar). I was one of the few that could eat just about everything, and so I did. Without any guilt whatsoever.
Dog in the Dog House
The proverbial one, that is, since I haven't built her one yet. Dippy Doo-Dah Dog decided to eat the kids' inflatable pool last Thursday night. Pavlov's dog must be of no relation to mine, because she has absolutely no common sense or at least memory recall. It doesn't occur to her that chewing up our stuff is bad, and will get her ass kicked clear across the yard. Friday, we bought her a huge bone from Wal-Mart, and she spent most of the day knawing on it. 2:00am Saturday morning, the dog is at the back door, barking. I go downstairs to see what the problem is, and she's dancing around like she's gotta pee a gallon or two. I let her out, and she makes a beeline for the bone, and begins chewing it. Stupid dog.
That's all for now...
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Father's Day 2005
Tonight I made a memory. It was a "father" type memory that I will treasure always.
In our unfinished basement, with only a small reading lamp casting a glow in the corner, I held my six-year old daughter in my arms, while listening to old John Denver songs on the computer. She would ask me questions about different things, and then make comments about others.
The choice of music was hers, but surprisingly it got me thinking. It brought back memories from when I was her age, thirty years ago. I remembered road trips to Julian (California), or just lazily laying on the living room floor, with my feet propped up on a pillow, listening to the music while the golden glow of the setting sun filled the room.
One simple little event, that probably took less than thirty minutes, bridged a gap of thirty years. It also got me thinking about my dad.
I remember him as a younger man. When I was six, he was only twenty-five. A full head of dark hair, a mustache and a very youthful appearance. I think of who he was then, and who he has become today. Now, at fifty-five, his hairline has receded, his hair and mustache have become grey, and have been joined by a beard. He had a serious stroke about a year and a half ago, from which has has recovered amazingly, but not totally. There is still a slight paralysis in his left arm and left leg. Sometimes his words don't come out as easily as they form in his mind. But, for the condition he's in now, he's actually very happy with the way life is going. It slowed him down, and his near brush with death made him realize just what life is all about: It is to be lived and savored. He expresses his emotions so much more easily than he used to; I have received more hugs, and heard the words "I love you" more times from him in the past year and a half than I did in the previous fifteen years combined. He is also doing what he's always wanted to do: Teaching college students and writing books. It took him many, many years to figure out what he wanted out of life, and I think it must be genetic.
He wasn't the sharpest tool in the "fatherhood" shed at the age of 19, but as I get older and experience more in life, I'm convinced that none of us dads are. We're terrifyingly underqualified when it comes to raising children, but we do the best we can, and many of us improve a little with age.
One thing that I will always be grateful for: Music in my life. And this comes from my parents and grandparents. My parents loved listening to the current music of their time while I was growing up. Subsequently, about three fourths of the songs contained in my massive collection of CD's and tapes evokes some sort of memory connected with my childhood or teenage years. My grandpa was a music composer, and would always take his children and their families to the Nutcracker Ballet for their Christmas present. That started my love of classical music.
My wife and I haven't played much music in our home during our 10 years of marriage. Occasionally, I'll throw in a dance music CD for the girls, and watch them go hog wild for the next 70 minutes. And if I want to listen to Rachmaninov as I drift off to sleep, I have to do it when she's out of town or when I take a nap down in the basement. Music just doesn't lull her off to dreamland like it does me. But we're gonna play more. We're gonna fill our home - and our children's memories - with music, so that one day my six year old daughter (maybe as a thirty-six year old woman by then) will hear "Sunshine on my Shoulders", and think back of a time when she laid in her daddy's arms and got to know him a little better.
In our unfinished basement, with only a small reading lamp casting a glow in the corner, I held my six-year old daughter in my arms, while listening to old John Denver songs on the computer. She would ask me questions about different things, and then make comments about others.
The choice of music was hers, but surprisingly it got me thinking. It brought back memories from when I was her age, thirty years ago. I remembered road trips to Julian (California), or just lazily laying on the living room floor, with my feet propped up on a pillow, listening to the music while the golden glow of the setting sun filled the room.
One simple little event, that probably took less than thirty minutes, bridged a gap of thirty years. It also got me thinking about my dad.
I remember him as a younger man. When I was six, he was only twenty-five. A full head of dark hair, a mustache and a very youthful appearance. I think of who he was then, and who he has become today. Now, at fifty-five, his hairline has receded, his hair and mustache have become grey, and have been joined by a beard. He had a serious stroke about a year and a half ago, from which has has recovered amazingly, but not totally. There is still a slight paralysis in his left arm and left leg. Sometimes his words don't come out as easily as they form in his mind. But, for the condition he's in now, he's actually very happy with the way life is going. It slowed him down, and his near brush with death made him realize just what life is all about: It is to be lived and savored. He expresses his emotions so much more easily than he used to; I have received more hugs, and heard the words "I love you" more times from him in the past year and a half than I did in the previous fifteen years combined. He is also doing what he's always wanted to do: Teaching college students and writing books. It took him many, many years to figure out what he wanted out of life, and I think it must be genetic.
He wasn't the sharpest tool in the "fatherhood" shed at the age of 19, but as I get older and experience more in life, I'm convinced that none of us dads are. We're terrifyingly underqualified when it comes to raising children, but we do the best we can, and many of us improve a little with age.
One thing that I will always be grateful for: Music in my life. And this comes from my parents and grandparents. My parents loved listening to the current music of their time while I was growing up. Subsequently, about three fourths of the songs contained in my massive collection of CD's and tapes evokes some sort of memory connected with my childhood or teenage years. My grandpa was a music composer, and would always take his children and their families to the Nutcracker Ballet for their Christmas present. That started my love of classical music.
My wife and I haven't played much music in our home during our 10 years of marriage. Occasionally, I'll throw in a dance music CD for the girls, and watch them go hog wild for the next 70 minutes. And if I want to listen to Rachmaninov as I drift off to sleep, I have to do it when she's out of town or when I take a nap down in the basement. Music just doesn't lull her off to dreamland like it does me. But we're gonna play more. We're gonna fill our home - and our children's memories - with music, so that one day my six year old daughter (maybe as a thirty-six year old woman by then) will hear "Sunshine on my Shoulders", and think back of a time when she laid in her daddy's arms and got to know him a little better.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Something In The Air...
Warning: Soul bare and open. I can't really blame it on the pollen. There's something in the air, and it is all about change. I'm living a double life, which in essence, is living a lie. It's self destructive when your mind starts having problems remembering who it's supposed to be. Herein is the lie: Because of certain criticisms in the past, there's just a lot that I haven't shared with my wife and others. Nothing bigger than that, really. BUT because of that, she no longer really knows who I am. And I can't say that I truly know her anymore, either.
Fate stepped in and helped us out a bit. The other morning, as I was getting dressed, she asked me "So, are we married, or are we just friends?" I turned around and answered "You tell me what you think, because I've been wondering the same thing." Then a good, open and honest conversation followed, and we started rebuilding bridges that had long ago fallen into disrepair. My wife once asked what I would buy if I could buy anything. I told her a Harley, which surprised her. I want to have life in my face (along with the splattered bugs and all that), instead of viewing life through a windshield, television or a computer monitor. I want to experience it, not just see it. She understood that. I've since retracted my Harley wish in favor of another motorcycle, mainly because of maintenance costs.
She found out that I also love photography. What she doesn't know yet is how much I enjoy writing. I have 21 different books that I am writing - all concurrently - on my hard drive at home. Eight of them, perhaps, I work on regularly. It's always more impressive to say "books" even when some of them are only a few pages long. But fiction is definitely an enjoyable hobby for me. (Just in case you might be wondering, Polyester Nightmare parts 1 & 2 are not fiction. Those actually did happen.) Amazingly, even though I sometimes think I lead a boring life, there are always funny things like that happening.
Having reached out in many, many different directions to experience life at several different levels, I think I have figured out who I am. I am a daddy and husband first and foremost, but I am also a creature that enjoys all of the following:
I enjoy all of the above things, but you won't see many posts on religion, politics and sex; mainly because they are polarizing subjects, and I want my visitors to feel comfortable at this site. I don't want someone thinking they have to have a particular mindset in order to enjoy my writing.
Now that I know who I am, I need to regroup. I have been spread so thin in so many different directions. So, all of my IM accounts, extra email accounts, and online journals (with the exception of this blog) will be closed down within the next week. And there will be times that I won't post for days, because I will be honoring my commitment to life.
Nilo
Fate stepped in and helped us out a bit. The other morning, as I was getting dressed, she asked me "So, are we married, or are we just friends?" I turned around and answered "You tell me what you think, because I've been wondering the same thing." Then a good, open and honest conversation followed, and we started rebuilding bridges that had long ago fallen into disrepair. My wife once asked what I would buy if I could buy anything. I told her a Harley, which surprised her. I want to have life in my face (along with the splattered bugs and all that), instead of viewing life through a windshield, television or a computer monitor. I want to experience it, not just see it. She understood that. I've since retracted my Harley wish in favor of another motorcycle, mainly because of maintenance costs.
She found out that I also love photography. What she doesn't know yet is how much I enjoy writing. I have 21 different books that I am writing - all concurrently - on my hard drive at home. Eight of them, perhaps, I work on regularly. It's always more impressive to say "books" even when some of them are only a few pages long. But fiction is definitely an enjoyable hobby for me. (Just in case you might be wondering, Polyester Nightmare parts 1 & 2 are not fiction. Those actually did happen.) Amazingly, even though I sometimes think I lead a boring life, there are always funny things like that happening.
Having reached out in many, many different directions to experience life at several different levels, I think I have figured out who I am. I am a daddy and husband first and foremost, but I am also a creature that enjoys all of the following:
- Sex. Need I say more?
- Politics. I am fascinated by the amount of unbelievable bullshit that is taking place in America's two main political parties.
- Religion. I love learning about other people's beliefs and how it defines them; there are also questions that religion can answer that science can't.
- Music. I love it. Most kinds, anyway. While I enjoy rock, country, classic alternative, etc., I love going to sleep to classical music.
- Architecture. I love the artistic combination of form and function. Architecture is one of the things a society is remembered by.
- Humor. You need to laugh in life. A lot. My sense of humor can be particularly twisted.
- Women. Their bodies are beautiful and fascinating; their minds even more so.
I enjoy all of the above things, but you won't see many posts on religion, politics and sex; mainly because they are polarizing subjects, and I want my visitors to feel comfortable at this site. I don't want someone thinking they have to have a particular mindset in order to enjoy my writing.
Now that I know who I am, I need to regroup. I have been spread so thin in so many different directions. So, all of my IM accounts, extra email accounts, and online journals (with the exception of this blog) will be closed down within the next week. And there will be times that I won't post for days, because I will be honoring my commitment to life.
Nilo
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Polyester Nightmare, part 2
Picture, if you will, a cold January day in 1993. The wind is sweeping the frost over the empty, snow covered fields adjacent to the ITT Technical Institute in Salt Lake City. There is a biting chill in the air. In the distance, there stands on a street corner a lone figure, pacing back and forth to keep warm. That figure is me.
(In order to fully appreciate this story, read part 1 first)
One of the downsides of being a poor, starving student is the reliance on often unreliable public transportation. One of the downsides of unreliable public transportation is that it is often late, when you really, really, really need it to be on time.
In the distance, another figure approaches. The blowing snow manages to obscure the identity of the stranger until the distinct sound of polyester pants hit my ears. Time seemed to stop. Where IS that bus?!? There are times that I would trade places with even the most unlikely people, say maybe a passenger on the Hindenburg, or the slow, sick wildebeast that will unquestionably be picked off of the herd by a pack of hungry hyenas. Both of those have it pretty good compared to what I will have to endure. He steps up to the bus stop.
Mr. Golden Arches didn't indicate whether or not he had remembered me from the last time. He probably sees that crazed look in everyone's eyes as they look for ways to escape him. "We're getting a lot of snow", he says.
"Yep", I offer vocally, while thinking bitterly with my inside voice "That's why the #&#**#$^ bus is late and I'm still here!"
The snow has started to let up a bit, and you can actually see the other side of the street at this point. Not that there's much to look at over there. He looks wistfully off into nowhere, and starts to reminisce.
"I remember two years ago, we got a TON of snow in our yard, " he started off. I nodded. Doh, suppress nod! He then started weaving a tale of nine feet of snow, and building igloos with his brothers. Igloos of enormous proportions that can apparently house lawn chairs and space heaters. Three of them, in his front yard. I kept nodding occasionally, then kicking myself for nodding.
Jenny pulled up to the intersection across the street and waited for the green light. She looked over at me at the bus stop, pointed, laughed and then sped away. Glad that I could be someone's humor fodder. I pull my attention back to the prattle of fiction that is emanating from Burger Meister.
"...And so then, I made this catapult out of a car jack, and started launching these snowballs that were the size of bowling balls at my brothers forts...." I could feel the fabric of reality being stretched to its very limits, and immediately started looking around for something I could cling to, should a wormhole open up nearby. Truly, he had missed his calling. What he lacked in artistic ability, he clearly overcompensated for in the storytelling department. Specifically fiction. Something wasn't right, though. His parade was just yearning for me to rain on it, and yet, you know what they say about arguing with a crazy person.
"Umm...." I ventured, trying to break into his kevlar-coated bulletproof conversation. "I was just wondering, how did you make that catapult out of a car jack? I mean, because, you know, I've never seen a spring loaded car jack."
He stopped talking, and a blank look came across his face. I went into auto-pilot mode and watched myself continue. "Most car jacks are hydraulic, except for those screw-drive types. And all of them take a few minutes to get your car off the ground."
"But, you see, snowballs are a lot lighter than a car" he countered. Truly, his intellect was dizzying. I scanned the road for any sign of the bus... or any vehicle, for that matter, that could conveniently hit a patch of ice and take either one of us out. I'm not choosy at this point!
"And you said this was two years ago?" I asked. "What part of town do you live in?"
"Murray" he replied.
"Ah, well, I remember that year. I live on the east bench of the valley, you know, where we get a lot of snow? We hardly had six inches of snow in our yard at any one time."
"Oh. Well, we got a lot that year." he replied, a bit on the defensive.
"Of course you did" I said, suprising even myself at the dripping sarcasm that accompanied my words. I moved a few feet further away, calculating my chances of survival if he were to go nuts and attack me with a spatula. Mr. Snowball Express remained mysteriously quiet. The muffled sound of a city transit bus emanated from further down the road. Thus ended the sequel to my polyester nightmare, as I graduated from ITT two months later, and always - always managed to catch the earlier bus from that point on.
(In order to fully appreciate this story, read part 1 first)
One of the downsides of being a poor, starving student is the reliance on often unreliable public transportation. One of the downsides of unreliable public transportation is that it is often late, when you really, really, really need it to be on time.
In the distance, another figure approaches. The blowing snow manages to obscure the identity of the stranger until the distinct sound of polyester pants hit my ears. Time seemed to stop. Where IS that bus?!? There are times that I would trade places with even the most unlikely people, say maybe a passenger on the Hindenburg, or the slow, sick wildebeast that will unquestionably be picked off of the herd by a pack of hungry hyenas. Both of those have it pretty good compared to what I will have to endure. He steps up to the bus stop.
Mr. Golden Arches didn't indicate whether or not he had remembered me from the last time. He probably sees that crazed look in everyone's eyes as they look for ways to escape him. "We're getting a lot of snow", he says.
"Yep", I offer vocally, while thinking bitterly with my inside voice "That's why the #&#**#$^ bus is late and I'm still here!"
The snow has started to let up a bit, and you can actually see the other side of the street at this point. Not that there's much to look at over there. He looks wistfully off into nowhere, and starts to reminisce.
"I remember two years ago, we got a TON of snow in our yard, " he started off. I nodded. Doh, suppress nod! He then started weaving a tale of nine feet of snow, and building igloos with his brothers. Igloos of enormous proportions that can apparently house lawn chairs and space heaters. Three of them, in his front yard. I kept nodding occasionally, then kicking myself for nodding.
Jenny pulled up to the intersection across the street and waited for the green light. She looked over at me at the bus stop, pointed, laughed and then sped away. Glad that I could be someone's humor fodder. I pull my attention back to the prattle of fiction that is emanating from Burger Meister.
"...And so then, I made this catapult out of a car jack, and started launching these snowballs that were the size of bowling balls at my brothers forts...." I could feel the fabric of reality being stretched to its very limits, and immediately started looking around for something I could cling to, should a wormhole open up nearby. Truly, he had missed his calling. What he lacked in artistic ability, he clearly overcompensated for in the storytelling department. Specifically fiction. Something wasn't right, though. His parade was just yearning for me to rain on it, and yet, you know what they say about arguing with a crazy person.
"Umm...." I ventured, trying to break into his kevlar-coated bulletproof conversation. "I was just wondering, how did you make that catapult out of a car jack? I mean, because, you know, I've never seen a spring loaded car jack."
He stopped talking, and a blank look came across his face. I went into auto-pilot mode and watched myself continue. "Most car jacks are hydraulic, except for those screw-drive types. And all of them take a few minutes to get your car off the ground."
"But, you see, snowballs are a lot lighter than a car" he countered. Truly, his intellect was dizzying. I scanned the road for any sign of the bus... or any vehicle, for that matter, that could conveniently hit a patch of ice and take either one of us out. I'm not choosy at this point!
"And you said this was two years ago?" I asked. "What part of town do you live in?"
"Murray" he replied.
"Ah, well, I remember that year. I live on the east bench of the valley, you know, where we get a lot of snow? We hardly had six inches of snow in our yard at any one time."
"Oh. Well, we got a lot that year." he replied, a bit on the defensive.
"Of course you did" I said, suprising even myself at the dripping sarcasm that accompanied my words. I moved a few feet further away, calculating my chances of survival if he were to go nuts and attack me with a spatula. Mr. Snowball Express remained mysteriously quiet. The muffled sound of a city transit bus emanated from further down the road. Thus ended the sequel to my polyester nightmare, as I graduated from ITT two months later, and always - always managed to catch the earlier bus from that point on.
Thursday, June 9, 2005
Hollow Man
Today has been really difficult at work. I can't concentrate on the task at hand, and it feels like I'm living in a bubble, where I'm disconnected from the outside world. I feel so nebulous...
And no, I haven't been hitting the good cough syrup. I am just feeling unwell, generally. I feel like a large passenger ship, steaming through the north Atlantic one chilly April night in 1912....
And then, as if things weren't bad enough, we hit an iceberg...
My wife calls shortly 2pm this afternoon, sobbing. The laboratories that run the tests on her blood draws from the OB-GYN appointments called to say that my wife has a high potential (1 in 89 chance) for having a baby with Down's Syndrome or one with a heart defect - that if the baby survived the pregnancy, it would die soon after birth.
What the hell kind of thing is that to tell an expectant mother?! I mean damn, she already has gallons of hormones coursing through her blood, and she is already so emotionally invested in the child... I sure as hell wouldn't want the job that had to break that kind of news.
"Call ahead to Davy Jones' locker for a reservation..." My concentration - weak as it was today - is totally sunk.
Unfortunately, this isn't the kind of thing that I can break back in with happy news tomorrow. There will be an ultrasound on the morning of June 29th, with a geneticist present. Then, if they don't find anything wrong, they will still plague us with the "what-ifs" until the baby is actually born.
We had to fight so hard with the last one. Five weeks early, in the NICU for three weeks. She is a fighter, and came through in flying colors. I hope with all my heart this next little one can do the same.
And no, I haven't been hitting the good cough syrup. I am just feeling unwell, generally. I feel like a large passenger ship, steaming through the north Atlantic one chilly April night in 1912....
And then, as if things weren't bad enough, we hit an iceberg...
My wife calls shortly 2pm this afternoon, sobbing. The laboratories that run the tests on her blood draws from the OB-GYN appointments called to say that my wife has a high potential (1 in 89 chance) for having a baby with Down's Syndrome or one with a heart defect - that if the baby survived the pregnancy, it would die soon after birth.
What the hell kind of thing is that to tell an expectant mother?! I mean damn, she already has gallons of hormones coursing through her blood, and she is already so emotionally invested in the child... I sure as hell wouldn't want the job that had to break that kind of news.
"Call ahead to Davy Jones' locker for a reservation..." My concentration - weak as it was today - is totally sunk.
Unfortunately, this isn't the kind of thing that I can break back in with happy news tomorrow. There will be an ultrasound on the morning of June 29th, with a geneticist present. Then, if they don't find anything wrong, they will still plague us with the "what-ifs" until the baby is actually born.
We had to fight so hard with the last one. Five weeks early, in the NICU for three weeks. She is a fighter, and came through in flying colors. I hope with all my heart this next little one can do the same.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
Polyester Nightmare, part 1
This should entertain you. Years ago, I was a student at ITT Technical College in Salt Lake City, working on a degree in Computer-Aided Design. Technical Schools tend to attract quite a variety of people. Enter Exhibit A: Completely and proudly clad in the polyester uniform of McDonalds, strides in a short, awkward red-haired guy with thick glasses and a bad case of acne. I'm a people watcher, and so when people notice me watching, I will nod my head in a sort of greeting. Mr. McDonalds took this as an invitation to sit down at my table in the break room. I was probably the only one there, and there were surely a dozen or more empty tables that would have been just as suitable for him, but Burger Man was looking for a target.
"Wanna see my artwork?" He asks, in a voice surprisingly deep for someone who still looks like he's 14.
"Um, sure" I reply, having no idea what I'm getting myself into.
He removes a folder from his backpack, but not before suspiciously looking around to make sure that no one was watching. "Hmmm..." I thought, "he must have the secret plans to the Death Star in there..." He opens the folder, and pulls out a few sheets of lined paper and passes them over to me. I looked at them.
I'm not sure what what sound a red flag makes when it pops up, but there were dozens popping up all at once. They were saying things like "Back away slowly" and "Feign death...he might leave you alone" and such things. If he had drawn diagrams of home-made explosives, or a route into a local bank vault, I would have felt more comfortable. If he had drawn nude women or big, horned satanic creatures, I would have felt more at ease. Staring back at me were comic book style drawings of star fighters, asteroids and aliens. Complete with dashed-line laser beams. I thought maybe he had stolen them from a nine-year old.
"Erm...., uh....." I grunted.
"It's called Space Wolf!" He said, in his oddly deep and acoustic voice.
"Er, yes... so it seems" I replied, weakly. I felt like the fat sheep with a broken leg, watching the wolf pack close in on me.
I examined the drawings a little closer, my mind flashing back to when I drew Star Wars pictures in the third grade, or pictures of Battlestars blowing the hell out of a planet. Third Grade, yes! Technical School? How old is this guy?! And then, as if reading the comics weren't horrid enough, he had to narrate them. Complete with sound effects. And now, people were starting to appear, their attention drawn inexplicably towards me and Mr. Space Burgers as he made laser blast sounds and explosions (I did mention how acoustic his voice was, didn't I?). I looked around in desperation for help. There were plenty of sniggering smiles, mocking my pain, and a few expressions of pained sympathy.
"So, you're interested in space?" I queried, ignoring the fact that my table had now become a stage with several glaring, hot spotlights focused on it.
"Yeah, that's why I'm here!" He replied. Several of those little red flags now had question marks on them...big ones.
"Here...at a technical school?" I asked. "You're an electronics student, aren't you?"
"Well yeah," he replied, "that's how I'm going to get into space!" More flags with question marks.
"Wouldn't it have been a bit more - I don't know - productive to go into a field like, say Astrophysics? Or become a test pilot?" I asked. He looked a little deflated, and slightly defensive now.
"Well they need electronics technicians on the space shuttle..." he replied.
"Actually, they need astronauts on the space shuttle. Really, I think you ought to contact NASA and ask them what kind of career path will land you in space."
And then there was Jenny - God bless Jenny. Having been raised in a rural town, she had a no-nonsense attitude of "Git er done". She marched over and pulled me from my misery. "Nilo, I need your help in the computer lab! I've got this blue screen on the computer...something about 'Fatal Application Error'" She said, with a twinkle in her eye. And then I was gone, having learned my lesson about watching people, or at least making eye contact with them.
Epilogue:
Hopefully I helped this guy make a course correction in his career path, as the tuition costs for the two year electronics program were about $18,000 at the time. I did feel a bit sorry for him, though. A 9 year old caught in an 18 year old body. He really didn't seem to fit in, and I can only hope that he's since matured, or that the mother ship showed up and took him home.
(On to Part 2)
"Wanna see my artwork?" He asks, in a voice surprisingly deep for someone who still looks like he's 14.
"Um, sure" I reply, having no idea what I'm getting myself into.
He removes a folder from his backpack, but not before suspiciously looking around to make sure that no one was watching. "Hmmm..." I thought, "he must have the secret plans to the Death Star in there..." He opens the folder, and pulls out a few sheets of lined paper and passes them over to me. I looked at them.
I'm not sure what what sound a red flag makes when it pops up, but there were dozens popping up all at once. They were saying things like "Back away slowly" and "Feign death...he might leave you alone" and such things. If he had drawn diagrams of home-made explosives, or a route into a local bank vault, I would have felt more comfortable. If he had drawn nude women or big, horned satanic creatures, I would have felt more at ease. Staring back at me were comic book style drawings of star fighters, asteroids and aliens. Complete with dashed-line laser beams. I thought maybe he had stolen them from a nine-year old.
"Erm...., uh....." I grunted.
"It's called Space Wolf!" He said, in his oddly deep and acoustic voice.
"Er, yes... so it seems" I replied, weakly. I felt like the fat sheep with a broken leg, watching the wolf pack close in on me.
I examined the drawings a little closer, my mind flashing back to when I drew Star Wars pictures in the third grade, or pictures of Battlestars blowing the hell out of a planet. Third Grade, yes! Technical School? How old is this guy?! And then, as if reading the comics weren't horrid enough, he had to narrate them. Complete with sound effects. And now, people were starting to appear, their attention drawn inexplicably towards me and Mr. Space Burgers as he made laser blast sounds and explosions (I did mention how acoustic his voice was, didn't I?). I looked around in desperation for help. There were plenty of sniggering smiles, mocking my pain, and a few expressions of pained sympathy.
"So, you're interested in space?" I queried, ignoring the fact that my table had now become a stage with several glaring, hot spotlights focused on it.
"Yeah, that's why I'm here!" He replied. Several of those little red flags now had question marks on them...big ones.
"Here...at a technical school?" I asked. "You're an electronics student, aren't you?"
"Well yeah," he replied, "that's how I'm going to get into space!" More flags with question marks.
"Wouldn't it have been a bit more - I don't know - productive to go into a field like, say Astrophysics? Or become a test pilot?" I asked. He looked a little deflated, and slightly defensive now.
"Well they need electronics technicians on the space shuttle..." he replied.
"Actually, they need astronauts on the space shuttle. Really, I think you ought to contact NASA and ask them what kind of career path will land you in space."
And then there was Jenny - God bless Jenny. Having been raised in a rural town, she had a no-nonsense attitude of "Git er done". She marched over and pulled me from my misery. "Nilo, I need your help in the computer lab! I've got this blue screen on the computer...something about 'Fatal Application Error'" She said, with a twinkle in her eye. And then I was gone, having learned my lesson about watching people, or at least making eye contact with them.
Epilogue:
Hopefully I helped this guy make a course correction in his career path, as the tuition costs for the two year electronics program were about $18,000 at the time. I did feel a bit sorry for him, though. A 9 year old caught in an 18 year old body. He really didn't seem to fit in, and I can only hope that he's since matured, or that the mother ship showed up and took him home.
(On to Part 2)
Tuesday, June 7, 2005
Bits & Pieces of News
To follow up from yesterday, all is well with baby. Daughter #2, however, doesn't want the baby to come. Seems to think that it's the baby's fault that she had to clean her room. Makes me wonder if she's been getting into the good cough syrup.
Is it cats or dogs that have nine lives? My wife was tempted to find out yesterday after dipshit dog chewed up one of the kids toys that had taken her weeks to find. It was a toss-up between sending the dog to the pound or the kids, who spent most of the day bickering and fighting. It only took them being home for the holiday to convince my wife to sign them up for summer school. Yay summer school!
The Hacking saga comes to an end. Finally. The whole damn thing just nauseates me to no end. The money quote from the whole thing? "I deserve to be in prison . . . for the rest of my life." Well, duh!
Is it cats or dogs that have nine lives? My wife was tempted to find out yesterday after dipshit dog chewed up one of the kids toys that had taken her weeks to find. It was a toss-up between sending the dog to the pound or the kids, who spent most of the day bickering and fighting. It only took them being home for the holiday to convince my wife to sign them up for summer school. Yay summer school!
The Hacking saga comes to an end. Finally. The whole damn thing just nauseates me to no end. The money quote from the whole thing? "I deserve to be in prison . . . for the rest of my life." Well, duh!
Monday, June 6, 2005
A Shout Out...
This is a shout out, giving thanks and recognition to the following people:
Chris K., who is probably the best friend and neighbor I've ever had. He's the nicest, most giving person there ever was, always willing to help anyone with anything. You rawk, dude!
Nate S., whom I helped build his house, and inadvertently shot with a nail gun. Also the friend, who upon hearing that we were expecting child #4, recommended a good doctor for a vasectomy. You also totally rawk!
Mark S., who put up with having a weird, neurotic, screwed-up friend through all of high school (uh, that would be me, folks). May you live long, and continue to attract psychotic women.
My Parents, for not suffocating me in my sleep.
My Wife, for not suffocating me in my sleep.
My younger brother, for not bludgeoning me to death with any handy, blunt object, or suffocating me in my sleep.
And finally, Maggie, my dog - for not eating her own poop too much, and then trying to lick me.
Chris K., who is probably the best friend and neighbor I've ever had. He's the nicest, most giving person there ever was, always willing to help anyone with anything. You rawk, dude!
Nate S., whom I helped build his house, and inadvertently shot with a nail gun. Also the friend, who upon hearing that we were expecting child #4, recommended a good doctor for a vasectomy. You also totally rawk!
Mark S., who put up with having a weird, neurotic, screwed-up friend through all of high school (uh, that would be me, folks). May you live long, and continue to attract psychotic women.
My Parents, for not suffocating me in my sleep.
My Wife, for not suffocating me in my sleep.
My younger brother, for not bludgeoning me to death with any handy, blunt object, or suffocating me in my sleep.
And finally, Maggie, my dog - for not eating her own poop too much, and then trying to lick me.
Live From Arrakis...
Anybody remember the movie "Dune" that came out in the 80's? The one where Sting made his theatrical debut as Feyd Rautha? Remember the home world of Arrakis? Sheets of rain, accented by more sheets of rain? That would be our corner of the world now. It's either Arrakis or Seattle. Probably Arrakis, as we don't have any seafood markets here. But I digress...
Today is my wife's 16 week checkup on the baby. Since all of the young 'uns are home now (school's out, eh!), they will all be accompanying her to the hospital to listen to the baby's heartbeat. This reminds me of some neighbors up the street, who about three years ago were doing exactly the same thing. They had everyone all settled in to the ultrasound room, when the doctor turned on the machine. A few seconds later, the doctor signalled the nurse, who immediately said "Hey kids, why don't you come with me? I've got some treats right down the hall here..." The kids were escorted out of the room, and the doctor continued to probe around with the ultrasound. He stopped a minute later, turning to our friends and saying "I'm sorry, I cannot find a heartbeat." The loss devastated our friends, and when we found out we were expecting about 8 months later, they avoided us for a while.
While I know that history has a way of repeating itself, I am hoping there are no "blasts from the past" today, or anytime soon. What a morbid thing to think about! Damned weather; it's all to blame.
Today is my wife's 16 week checkup on the baby. Since all of the young 'uns are home now (school's out, eh!), they will all be accompanying her to the hospital to listen to the baby's heartbeat. This reminds me of some neighbors up the street, who about three years ago were doing exactly the same thing. They had everyone all settled in to the ultrasound room, when the doctor turned on the machine. A few seconds later, the doctor signalled the nurse, who immediately said "Hey kids, why don't you come with me? I've got some treats right down the hall here..." The kids were escorted out of the room, and the doctor continued to probe around with the ultrasound. He stopped a minute later, turning to our friends and saying "I'm sorry, I cannot find a heartbeat." The loss devastated our friends, and when we found out we were expecting about 8 months later, they avoided us for a while.
While I know that history has a way of repeating itself, I am hoping there are no "blasts from the past" today, or anytime soon. What a morbid thing to think about! Damned weather; it's all to blame.
Friday, June 3, 2005
You might well have noticed...
...That my posting has been pretty sparse, and about as exciting as whale shit. There's a reason for that.
If I could figure it out, I'd probably take a few lines and explain it to you. But since I can't, this post will be that much shorter. I may have disproved the theory of using popular words for baiting unsuspecting Blogger visitors. It seems there really is no correlation between saying things like "Aviator", "Britney Spears" and "free porn" and the amount of traffic on my site.
In other news, I got really freakin' bored today at work, and so I'd hit my favorite blogs, like, every five minutes or so, just to see if they'd added anything new. So no, I didn't mean to appear as though I was stalking, but I was really, really bored. And that damn clock just couldn't move fast enough.
I've hit the "passionless" part of my anxiety and depression trip over the past week, meaning that right now, I really don't give a rat's ass about much at all. Oh, I still like eating, sleeping, sex and all the basics, but it's really hard to get my butt in gear to do anything else. Maybe a good night's sleep would help.
And to all you new visitors out there in "Four out of Five" land, let me wish you a big welcome and howdy-do. Make yourself at home here, pull up a chair and pour yourself a drink (it's on the house), and I'll give an extra twenty points to the people who mention how they stumbled across my little abode. If you can't tell, I'm still new at this. I like visitors, and you're welcome to say hi. This site would be a hell of a lot more interesting if I could figure out the #$%@! Blogger-Bot and Picasa for uploading pictures, but that's a rant for another day.
If I could figure it out, I'd probably take a few lines and explain it to you. But since I can't, this post will be that much shorter. I may have disproved the theory of using popular words for baiting unsuspecting Blogger visitors. It seems there really is no correlation between saying things like "Aviator", "Britney Spears" and "free porn" and the amount of traffic on my site.
In other news, I got really freakin' bored today at work, and so I'd hit my favorite blogs, like, every five minutes or so, just to see if they'd added anything new. So no, I didn't mean to appear as though I was stalking, but I was really, really bored. And that damn clock just couldn't move fast enough.
I've hit the "passionless" part of my anxiety and depression trip over the past week, meaning that right now, I really don't give a rat's ass about much at all. Oh, I still like eating, sleeping, sex and all the basics, but it's really hard to get my butt in gear to do anything else. Maybe a good night's sleep would help.
And to all you new visitors out there in "Four out of Five" land, let me wish you a big welcome and howdy-do. Make yourself at home here, pull up a chair and pour yourself a drink (it's on the house), and I'll give an extra twenty points to the people who mention how they stumbled across my little abode. If you can't tell, I'm still new at this. I like visitors, and you're welcome to say hi. This site would be a hell of a lot more interesting if I could figure out the #$%@! Blogger-Bot and Picasa for uploading pictures, but that's a rant for another day.
Wednesday, June 1, 2005
Just say the magic words...
I'm not a traffic whore or anything, but...
I have a site counter, just a little something that clicks off the number of visitors that pass by here, and you should have seen the numbers soar yesterday when I made mention of "The Aviator" in my previous post! My mind boggles at the power of popular words. I really only write what's on my mind, and not for any audience in particular, but it's nice to know that if I want attention, I can type things like "The Aviator", "Revenge of the Sith", "Paris Hilton" or any other number of popular search terms, and I have the eyes and ears of the world.
Not that I would.
I'm jus' sayin'.
I have a site counter, just a little something that clicks off the number of visitors that pass by here, and you should have seen the numbers soar yesterday when I made mention of "The Aviator" in my previous post! My mind boggles at the power of popular words. I really only write what's on my mind, and not for any audience in particular, but it's nice to know that if I want attention, I can type things like "The Aviator", "Revenge of the Sith", "Paris Hilton" or any other number of popular search terms, and I have the eyes and ears of the world.
Not that I would.
I'm jus' sayin'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)