Bo Ba Log

Passage Home

2011-10-11T08:33:00.002-05:00

A quick glance to the right will tell you that its been a while since I posted anything to this blog.

Much has occurred in the nearly 5 years since I ended the game being IT. Very much. And in some ways, I am not sure I have the same grasp, or even a similar grasp on the context of my life that I had then.

I've had similar customer service horror stories, as yet unshared. More songs have entered and exited my life, along with other things. Joys and sorrows common to every life, struggles, pain, and . . . more of the same. But the only constant in any of our lives, change, in turn changes us.

I take these very first tentative steps back because, at the core of it all, THIS makes me feel good about something. THIS makes me see that I was called to do something, back, way back in the early days of my adulthood.

I am, in answer to the long hanging question offered by my first college professor, a writer.

I remember when I first was married, and my wife got her first job as a writer at the University of Pennsylvania, we discussed how there is a thrill answering in small talk at some party;

"What do you do?"
"Why . . . I'm a writer."

A writer! I did not ever really get the chance to say that, but my wife does. She is one, and a good one. But our styles are different. She is technically far superior to me. She can rely on a strong understanding of structure and punctuation, and . . . well, all things English. I on the other hand rely on a little voice inside me, THE voice. I believe that any writer that reads this knows what I mean. THE voice. The voice in your head that sounds right to you, that creates your style. Its the voice every reader hears too, hopefully.

And now, 5 years into the gulf I left when I stopped here, the family has two more writers, Ben and his daughter, Elizabeth. The really interesting thing is, neither of them know this about me, that 35 years ago I started on the path they have all taken after me. That I embraced a similar vision. And while they have all surpassed me in accomplishments, I still have them all beat for longevity.

So, I return, slowly, haltingly, to what is a long dormant part of me. I hope it entertains, but there is a truth here, a reality first explained to me by that first professor, as he probed whether or not I truly was what I said. He asked me a follow up question, meant to make me consider the veracity of those words.

He said; "Are you really?"

What he went on to explain was that writing is not easy, nor is it neat and clean. To truly be a writer is cannot be a choice, it must be a compulsion, a passion. Because a true writer, at the very critical moments, whether it be the height of joy, or the very darkest point imaginable, will hear a question somewhere deep in the back of their mind, detached and unemotional.

"Can I use this?"

A writer must write. Just as birds must fly, and fish must swim. The scorpion must plunge its stinger into the back of the frog as they cross the river. Its the nature of the beast. Those moments come to us all. Hopefully, mine are the foundation for this next journey.

I always end the game being it!

2006-12-13T14:30:00.000-05:00

3 Things that scare me: Walking in front of cars, Falling from great heights, My wife when I've F'd up, oh . . . and drowning (shiver)
3 People who make me laugh: Chris Rock, Tommy (I swear to god he's human), myself mostly
3 Things I love: My wife, My Family, My home
3 Things I hate: Liver, Driving in traffic, Neo-conseveratism and Facists and Extermists
3 Things I don't understand: Mean people, Speeding up when you're being passed, Dead languages
3 Things on my desk: Easier to name three things that aren't
3 Things I’m doing right now: wondering why I am actually doing this tag, perusing, differentiating
3 Things I want to do before I die: Win the Tour de France, see democracy defeat theocracy, experience the Eagles winning the Super Bowl
3 Things I can do: make potato salad; remove, repair and reinstall the engine of a 1968 VW Beetle; Drive from Cape May, NJ to Philadelphia, PA with my eyes closed
3 Things I can't do: Make sense of the Christian Right agenda, wait patiently, stand on my tippy toes
3 Things I think you should listen to: Someone elses point of view when you disagree with them, Dylan's Modern Times, reason
3 Things you should never listen to: People that tell you your ideas are stupid, The O'Reilly Factor, well mostly that first one
3 Things I'd like to learn: Gaelic, 5 string banjo, the reason why
3 Favorite foods: A great burger, Black Diamond Cheddar, Poached salmon
3 Beverages I drink regularly: Water, Beer, Red Wine
3 Shows I watched as a kid: Rowan & Martin's Laugh In, Anything with WARNER BROS. cartoons, The Sally Starr Show
3 People I’m tagging:No one, no where, no how

I'm evil, I know . . . but I couldn't resist

2006-11-10T10:29:00.000-05:00

I saw this story while cruising the web a few weeks ago. Okay, I was working, yes . . . but my job requires visual stimulus in order to keep me on my creative edge. I KNEW it would freak out Chris (son in law) and to my considerable credit, I did not post this blog THEN.

. . . so, yeah . . . I've really just been too busy to do it, but at least I didn't freak out Chris, alright? Well, that was until today. And then I read his blog about the Atlanta Aquarium. I know Chris better than to say he bragged about NOT freaking out, but needless to say, I believe he was proud of himself for standing there and photographing the large whale sharks that inhabit the 6 million gallon tank.

But let's get serious . . . When we talk about sharks, we're really talking about A SINGLE SPECIES of shark. An we're not talking some lame 80's hair band whose only real contribution in the last 15 years were greatest hit albums covering the previous 8 years . . . we're talking about the Great White.

Sometime in September, a small great white was caught in a fishing net off the coast of California, and has now spent about two months in captivity. This is the longest by far of any great white, besting the previous record of a mere 16 days. So far, she hasn't begun to nibble on any of the other fish in her tank . . .

Okay . . . this picture will give you a good idea of the actual size of this beast, about 4 feet long.

Now I have taken great care to arrange this page so that you'll have to scroll down to see the rest of the pictures.

Chris . . . slide your chair back from the computer.

Here she is taking food from one of the staff. Since Great Whites are "lungers" the food needs to be placed on a pole to be presented to her. And, she's just as likely to take a piece of the pole as the food . . .

After spending a few weeks at a "halfway house" enclosure in open seas, she was moved to the Monterey Bay Aquarium in California. Here she is in a mobile holding tank during the move.

Finally, she was set loose in the million gallon tank at the aquarium. A a female, she could grow to over 20 feet in length, and is is unclear how long she will be able to remain in captivity.

As Steve would say "Isn't she a little beauty. Just a magnificent animal."

Home Sweet . . .

2006-08-04T10:34:00.000-05:00

Wow . . .

Have you ever driven for 15 straight hours to find yourself in the middle of some giant toaster oven?

A few weeks ago, that's exactly what we did, driving from Cape May, NJ to the great state of Indiana, home to the Evansville Otters. Although the temperature when we arrived was reasonable. It quickly turned on the afterburners to that I'd break into a profuse sweat simply by . . . oh . . . rolling out of bed.

The heat was really something. I used to think it was only the coast that got so humid, but after a couple of days in the heartland of Hell, I've decided to rethink all that.

But one thing I do have to say, this is a beautiful country, it really is. We drove out through Maryland, West Virginia and Kentucky to get there. While I have always loved the ocean, I still have some of the Pennsylvania farmland blood in me and I always feel like I am home when I see rolling hills. And can there be a prettier spot than the mountains of West Virginia? And just watching the horses run through the pastures near Lexington, Kentucky is soothing and peaceful.

This kind of brings me a small point. Travel is very cool. By my calculations, I have driven through 32 of the 50 states in this country . . . and I know that of the 18 left, I am missing some of the most spectacular areas this country has to offer. And of the 32 I've actually seen, I feel like I've only scraped the surface.

This got me to thinking though, of the value of travel. As we move around this planet, we are exposed to other peoples and other cultures in a way that we cannot experience them on the internet or on TV. And we gain an appreciation for the value of diversity. I fear that so many of us, so many Americans, have no real appreciation of the wonders that surround us. I mean look at how many people go to Florida, and almost no place else. As I walked around the square in a little town in southwestern Indiana, I got a sense of how previous generations of Americans went about their lives, and yet how close we are to losing those things that made us who we are. Nearly every area I travel through nowadays is experiencing some type of development. I think they used to call it the stripmauling of America (my spelling, and yes it was intentional). Now we could call it Wal-Martation. There are some really cool places in this country that are dying, because everyone hops in their car and drives to the outskirts of places where all the big box stores are hunched down onto asphalt deserts.

I mean, have you walked across those parking lots in the middle of a 100+ degree-day? No wonder people get so bent out of shape over parking spots. I mean that stuff can kill you!

Meanwhile, back in the town center, cool old architecture sits empty, or in threat of the wrecking ball because there is no reason to go "downtown".

Listen to the old man. Go downtown once in a while instead of driving to Walmart or Target. Look around you. This is your heritage and it is disappearing. A time will come when you will wish you had paid closer attention to the look and feel of your past. Take tons of pictures of old houses and old buildings, heck take pictures of everything and put them away. In about thirty years you will be amazed at how much the world has changed.

I mean, take gas stations. Who can remember when they were really "service" stations? These buildings used to be designed individually for their location. Nowadays, they are little more than concrete block boxes with soda machines outside. But a time will come when even they will disappear.

Personally, I have rich memories of the sounds and smells of gas stations, and believe me, they are only memories because those things don't exist anymore. And the truth is, I never understood how much I'd miss them when they were gone.

30 days

2006-07-07T08:23:00.000-05:00

I just made it.

I started looking at all the regular blogs today, and realized it had been a month since my last. So this blog is almost entirely about making it under the wire before the Blog Police come and shut down the doors.

It has been a busy little while. I had full responsibility for the household for a little while, and discovered that I CAN do it myself, though A) Not as well as when I have the lovely Diana to pull the greatest load, B) Its just a whole lot nicer to have her companionship and voice and physical manifestation around. All of us feel that way (I mean the animals and I). Poor Tommy has been stressing sooo much that hair was just dropping off his body.

Other than the medical drama that is still playing out its course in western PA . . . I had my own little technology drama. I am blogging this morning on my new Mac G4 Powerbook, which I bought on Ebay for an astonishing $925.00. This is not your ordinary Powerbook. It's a 15inch 1.67ghz Dual Layer Superdrive with 2 gigs of RAM and a 1440 x 960 res screen. What does that mean to mere mortals? It means it is the last true Powerbook made by Apple before they went over to the dark side. It probably sold for nearly 3000.00 as late as April, before the new Macbook Pro models were introduced. I got a DEAL.

Though it came at some expense . . . this was the worst Ebay experience I ever had. But you'll need to wait for the blog to fully appreciate. Stay tuned.

Is it just me, or did anyone else look at the Queen's comments about Oscar as, well . . . let me quote them here . . .

"And on the home front, I have final caved and have Oscar sleeping in the bed with me. I haven't had a good night sleep for the past month because he is always waking me up in the middle of the night. He kills me. So, lastnight I let him sleep w/ me and so it begins. I feel as though I have just made a huge commitment. I am committing to sleeping with that little terror for what I assume will be like the next 10 years. But I woke up yesterday morning @ 4:45 to him jumping against the bed and thought. Whatever. Maybe I will sleep better. All I know is, it didn't seem to be that big of a deal when I was 10 and had just gotten Crackers. Again, whatever. he is lucky he is so cute. And he makes me laugh allot. And it helps that he loves me."

Okay, I know he's a dog and YOU know he's a dog . . . but if you didn't know that . . .

I keep imaging some diminutive, dark, Latin lover throwing himself against her bed in a failed attempt to initiate some passionate romantic congress only to have her awake and send him to the corner once again. Until finally, that magic moment when she smiles and winks, throws back the covers and pats the bed along side her . . . and now for the next ten years she'll have a Mariachi festival going on between the sheets.

Okay . . . maybe I am projecting just a bit, but even so . . .

Soundtracks - My First "Our Song"

2006-06-07T07:09:00.001-05:00

I don't know whether this is still "a thing" or not.

Back when I was coming up, every couple had "a song." And when you were, oh say 13 or 14, it was some syrupy sappy "I'll love you forever and ever and ever and . . . ), well you get the idea.

I mentioned Beth Fuller in a previous blog, my first "official" girl friend. Wait, a couple of thoughts here. I say "official" because I had actually had earlier girl friends. Yes, the story in my family is that my FIRST girl friend was Janice Gazilla at age (I'm guessing here) 4, maybe 5. I WAS sweet on Janice, but we never, uh consummated, the relationship (i.e., I never kissed her). Actually, I don't believe I ever spoke to her until her brother and I played baseball together when I was 16. At that point, I was double dating with him and some girl I don't remember, and Vicky Kennerly. Oh yeah, much later . . . After Janice, I'd say my first reciprocal crush was Carol Smith in 5th grade. Now, that was a major coup, because EVERY boy liked Carol. But somehow, inexplicably, when asked which boy she liked back, she picked me. I was so excited, I went to school the next day in a coat and tie, only to be picked up by my rivals in the playground and taunted in front of Carol.

To her credit, she berated the bullying behavior and cemented her position in my heart for the rest of my life. She was cute, and though she moved at the end of the year (she was an Army brat) she held a special place in my social development at that young age. You see, I couldn't believe she liked me back, and always thought that she REALLY liked my friend Bud Croker, and just didn't want to tell anyone. But in the strange way these things work in our youth, being named by Carol as THE ONE, raised my stock with all my peers.

Anyway . . . back to Beth.

My first official date was a class field trip, where Beth and I sat on the bus together and talked. That was the location of the infamous "Incense and Peppermints" conversation. What I discovered on that first date was that holding up my end of the conversation for a full day was a lot harder than I thought. I suppose this is one factor contributing to the"foot in mouth" syndrome. But I muddled through, and even endured the sometimes-oafish behavior of still another group of spurned rivals. (What is UP with little boys and their reactions to being shot down in favor of ME, anyway?)

Well, love was in the air apparently, and soon 8th Grade was just teeming with young romance. Soon, Beth and I were invited (separately, in line with social mores of the time) to a party. And at that party, I got my first taste of . . . "Spin The Bottle".

Okay . . . not really. In the lame way 8th graders might "arrange" to get to kiss another 8th grader, being selected by the bottle simply meant you got to kiss your main squeeze.

I swear to God, the first time I kissed Beth (or any girl for that matter) I missed her mouth. I sort of smooched her on the little space below her lips and above her chin. Being the trooper she was, Beth never mentioned it, and I soon got another chance to improve my technique, though this time with the lights out, huddled on the floor with four other couples.

I don't know about you, but as goofy as that all was, I knew right then that kissing was WAY better than trying to think up clever chit-chat. And in those early hormone infused moments of my puberty, it was a joy unto itself. No groaning, no mislocated hands, no naughtiness at all. Just the exhilaration of being close to someone who smelled really nice. Years later when I saw Beth at a high school reunion, she looked at me and gave me a big hug and marveled at how good I looked. It was an incredible, since I was in the midst of one of the most emotionally difficult periods of my life. She then introduced me to her husband as her first boyfriend. It was sweet and sincere and nice . . . the way it always had been.

I often regret how quickly I moved on from those early feelings. The sweet innocence of being close to another person (a GIRL person) soon dissipated into wanting to be even a little “closer”. How fast we all want to grow up, to move on. But I have found, all these years later, that as my relationship grows with my wife, that many of those feelings return to me. In some ways it is the routine moments of our lives, the simple touches of my hand, the feel of the weight in bed next to me that bring me the most comfort. It is those quiet moments of my life that give my life meaning.

So here, nearly 40 years since it became my first “Our Song”, I will name it, or at least it’s sentiment, as the way I feel today about my wife. It’s by those wild things, The Troggs.

Quizzical

2006-06-02T12:07:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay . . .

Since I'm being HOUNDED, by literally no people to start blogging again, I guess I will.

Actually, one or two of the busiest months I've ever had with freelance are now behind me (at least for now) and I wanted to get a post in before I get on with some new projects.

First . . . Am I an American? Dunno . . . let me take this test and find out!!

You Are 50% American

America: You don't love it (That is NOT true) or want to leave it.
But you wouldn't mind giving it an extreme make over.(This is true)
On the 4th of July, you'll fly a freak flag instead...
And give Uncle Sam a sucker punch! (Man . . . I'm a lover not a sucker)

I've got a funny feeling that if I could have altered the answers to faithfully reflect my thoughts and beliefs, I might have been less of an American. Funny thing about that is that those are the things I think make me more of an American. Oh, these quizzes are . . . skewed up.

Now if I had actually answered the military question, banned flag burning, and not actually paid attention to Iran-Contra and how well low and middle class families benefitted from supply side economics in the 80's, I'd be ranked as a FAR BETTER American.

And what should I major in? This . . . is no surprise.

Your Scholastic Strength Is Innovating

You are the master of new ideas, techniques, and ways of looking at things.

You are talented at structuring thoughts, decision making, clarifying, and making deadlines.

You should major in:

Marketing
Psychology
Design
Cognitive Science
Economics
Photography

And I'm detail oriented . . . so much so that I had to fix their spelling of Design.

And be afraid . . . be VERY afraid!!

You Are 68% Evil

You are evil. Evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.

In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.
And you're too evil to care.

And as for what kind of Muppet I am, I'll take your guesses.

And just for your info;

I could pass Eighth Grade Science
My Pimp name is Professor Shagswell
My Irish name ia Alistair Daly

I act 32
I am calm and rational, though my stress level is 55%
I should be a musician.

My Porn star name would be Jack in the Box.
I should weigh 195

I am Super Spicy.
I am Beef.
So not surprisingly I am also Mexican Food,
though I am also a Peach Jelly Bean.

My candy heart says "Cutie Pie"

I am a little scary.
I am 40% weird.
I am Mystique.
It is somewhat likely that I have no soul.
My hair color should be red.

I am 90% Irish.
And I am a "Found in a diaper gold" rejected crayon color.

Life begins at . . .

2006-05-10T10:39:00.000-05:00

One of the things I can tell you, having gotten to my age relatively sane and healthy, is that there are things you look back on and wonder "Why did I ever lose one second sleep over . . ."

Milestones!

If we are lucky, we will have many in our lives. Our first day of school, first crush, first kiss, getting our license, moving out of our parents house, graduating . . . you get the idea.

Sometimes . . . those milestones make us think about our lives and worry about where we're going, what we've accomplished and sometimes it causes . . . what's the word I want to use . . . angst, concern, worry?

While I never got freaked about how old I was, I did mourn the passing of my twenties. It might sound strange, but the real reason is that I like the number 2 better than the number 3. And to add to the problem, the next number I really like as well as 2 is 7. I know that sounds dumb, but it is true. I loved being 27. As a number, 30 was just awful, and even 32 and 37 didn't hold any comfort for me.

But I got to tell you . . . I truly loved being IN my thirties.

I felt at the height of my powers in my thirties. I had just that right mixture of experience and youth in my thirties. I didn't feel old, I didn't act old, and I still partied my S off.

Once, in elementary school, a teacher asked the whole class what age they thought they'd want to be, if they could be one age forever ( I was like 9 years old). Most chose 21 because, back then, 21 was the age you got to do all the good stuff, drink and vote!! I opted for a slightly older age, 25.

Now, as I approach the inverse of 25, I want to change my answer for Mrs. James. Now, I'd want to be thirty something.

This day, thirty years ago, Rachel was brought into the world by her mother. She has since brought great joy into first, her mother's life, then into her sibling's and stepfather's lives. (Okay, maybe Ben didn't really appreciate you for the first little while, but I'm sure that's changed over the years.) We never quite seem to have as fun much as when she is with us, and trust me babe, we are all laughing WITH you, and we wouldn't change a thing about you.

So, Rach, just in case you are worried , or anxious, or concerned . . . chill. In my book you're still fabulous.

Hippy Birday, Racho!

Nice . . . .

2006-04-26T11:50:00.000-05:00

First . . .

Yes, I will acknowledge that I have been absent for nearly 4 weeks. Sometimes life just takes the driver's seat back. The last weeks have been such a period of time.

The family knows we went to Columbia and had a great time, despite the hectic pace we always tend to push on ourselves. We both love Columbia, we both love visiting the family and I love nosing through the shops and stores no matter where I am. And Columbia just has better weather in early April.

But we love visiting family in Pennsylvania as well, and Easter was a delight at the corporate offices of Automated Workflows. Especially when teamed up with Milk Chocolate Orange Creams and Dark Chocolate Nonpareils. I did share them, by the way, and they are all gone.

The biggest factor in my absence was that task master freelance. The last three weeks, except for our trips and some volunteer work with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Department, was dedicated to my big freelance job of the year. On the positive side, it adds accolades as well as cash flow to my life, and if you haven't heard, The Gable's Rainbow Directory won the 2006 NJ Governor's Tourism award for Excellence. I hope that is in some way due to the fact that I design and print the publication, but it is, after all, the brainchild of Vince Grimm and he deserves the lion's share of credit, along with the cool glass trophy.

Anyway . . .

That brings me to the picture above. Yes . . . it's the Dixie Chicks and their newest album is due to hit the stores in the latter part of May. But one of the songs from the album is getting airplay now, and can be purchased from iTunes. Not Ready To Make Nice is the Chicks musical response to those that villified them for their negative comment about George W. Bush during a London appearance in March, 2003.

I want to share just one verse from the song . . .

I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over

The verse refers to the death threats and the boycotts that followed.

I like this song just as I liked the Chicks before the comment. And they've stood their ground in the face of a huge onslaught of negative reaction. I believe that takes courage and conviction.

It is no secret that political opinion in this country has become increasing polarized during the past decade, actually even further back than that. But as someone who came of age during the Vietnam War, I have one question for those people that would have every dissenting voice silenced. When did you decide that it was better to be American than to believe in America, and what America has always stood for? For two and a half centuries, American men and women have paid the ultimate price for one thing . . . Our Freedom.

And that freedom encompasses many things . . . religious, political, social, and personal. While it might seem like a good idea to trade our freedoms for security, or ease our minds by jailing or deporting suspects in violation of their civil rights, or shouting down and drowning out dissenting voices, not one of those things is American. America, at least the America I grew up to love, embraces diversity, protects the right of the individual against the mob, risks everything for freedom. The truest patriots stand for EVERYONES rights, even if they don't come easy and they don't come cheaply. And even if their opinion is different.

American men and women have died all around around the world protecting your freedom and mine. I, for one, will not disgrace their sacrifice by not exercising that freedom.

I am glad to see the Dixie Chicks back and unbowed.

HB AKR!

2006-04-01T10:08:00.000-05:00

First things first, especially on the 1st.

Hoppy Birday, Kayo!

Ms. Reid is 29 (aaaah . . . correction, 28. I need to check my facts.) today . . . yay!! Our own little April fool. Her mother and I are looking forward to visiting the great state of South Carolina in a week and seeing her and her boy, and yes . . . we'll come bearing gifts . . .

In other news . . .

This story just cannot be believed . . .

Needless to say, we're not stopping in Haywood County on our way through North Carolina.

Tabhair póg dom, is Éireannach mé

2006-03-17T08:57:00.000-05:00

'Tis always a special day for me, this 17 March.

Some years ago, I embraced the Irish portion of my heritage and began celebrating the day in earnest. I once had a pretty sizeable collection of decorations, music, green clothes and party recipes with which to enchant and amaze my friends. And I'm not speaking of green beer and Irish potatoes. I had a corned beef dish that people still remember. And Harp, my friend, no McCoors or O'Millers here.

Sadly, a spat with a red haired girl took care of all those bits, including a very special set of crystal shot glasses (Rita, I'll never forgive ya.)

Anyway . . . there's nothing quite like marryin' an Italian girl to spruce up the St. Patrick's Day celebrations. No one I know of can compete with the culinary skills of this wonderful woman (and her skin even has an olive tone). The luvly missus treats me each year to a wondrous traditional Irish meal, this year being the Corned Beef and Cabbage, and we listen to the reconstituted library of Irish tunes and imbibe of a few good beers. A trip to the homeland a few years back afforded us the opportunity to add a nice bottle of Black Bush to the liquor cabinet and tonight I'll toast the ancestors with a few good friends and a wonderful wife.

Pionta Guinness, le do thoil

Alas, I do not always drink that true symbol of Irish Brewing superiority for the black beverage found in this country cannot hold a candle to that found in any pub on the emerald island itself in terms of freshness. But the tale be told, it's a sadder one than that of freshness and taste.

"Why's that?" says you.
"American's are heathens when is comes to drinking Guinness." says I.

Not four days after returning from Ireland, my wife and I made our way to the closest thing to a real pub we had at the time, a high stepped place in North Wildwood, whose name I willna mention. We walked in the door, overhung by a sign claiming they proudly serve imperial pints of Guinness, and squeezed into a table and ordered our pints. When they came, they were served in plastic cups (16 ounces) and had quite obviously only been drawn once. If you dunna understand the problem with that, you're a heathen too, my friend . . . but today of all days me heart embraces you despite your ignorance and I pray the good Lord sees fit to save ya, despite your failings and your woeful ways.

May the road rise to your footfall
and the wind be always behind you.
May the sun shine warm on your face
and the rain fall soft on your fields.
May the friends that surround you be true
and the hearts that love you be dear.
And until we meet (again)
May the Lord hold you safe in His hand.

Of course, what would the day be without another bit of Irish Music. I include this song, as I can remember hearing it time after time on our trip, including an early morning alarm clock radio wake up in Kenmare, and a live version in Doolin by a local patron who stood up and entertained the crowd along with members of the band. I know my dear heart might not agree with me, but to live my life out on the stoney coast looking out upon the Aran Isles would go a ways toward making me content, were it not for the loved ones I'd leave behind in America.

And I'm sending along a contortion picture as well. I don't believe she's Irish, but she bears an uncanny resemblance to the banshee that has me crystal, and it does me heart good to see her twisted like a pretzel, through no fault of me own.

I'm It!

2006-03-09T08:34:00.000-05:00

Tagging . . . who came up with this idea, anyway? And its a good thing that I actually read Katie's blog, else how would I have known I was tagged . . . huh? WOULDJA TELL ME THAT!!

Four jobs I’ve had
Farm Hand (Every one should get their hands dirty once)
Parking Lot Attendant/Valet (An awesome job, I've driven Ferrari's, Lamborginis, Bentleys, Rolls Royces, Panteras, Aston Martins, you name it, but my fave is still the Porsche 911S)
Dog Sitter
Actor/Director

Four movies I can watch over and over (Other than The Natural and Rear Window, All Time favorites of mine)
The Quiet Man (Oh, boy St. Patrick's Day is coming!!)
Kelly's Heros
Used Cars (Dated, but "That's too F---'in" funny.
LOTR any or all

Four TV shows I love to watch
Deadwood
My Name is Earl and The Office (Gotta count as one)
Ken Burns "The Civil War"
5 minutes of Telemundo every once in a while ( What does the "T" in the corner REALLY stand for?)

Four places I’ve been on vacation
Ireland (the best)
Lucca, Italy (the best)
Bimini, Bahamas (the best)
West, baby (two weeks with D & K that ranks way up there)

Four favorite dishes
Diana’s Caper Pasta (sorry Chris, I gotta go with the original)
The Ugly Mug's Ocean Burger
Most every dinner that Diana likes enough to make three times
Pizza Hut's Pepperoni Lover's Pan Pizza (can't help myself)

Four websites I visit daily
NPR
Ebay
Google
Comcast

Four places I’d rather be
Doolin, Ireland
Key West, FL
The open air market in Rome ( ah . . the olive bread)
1876

Four bloggers I’m "tagging"

nope . . . not doin' it

Soundtracks - Mbube

2006-03-06T09:25:00.000-05:00

Listening to PRI's The World last week, I happened upon an interesting story about a South African migrant worker, Solomon Linda, who wrote a song in 1939, Mbube, that has since been recorded by more than 150 artists. What made this a story, is that Linda sold this song for a mere 60 cents and died nearly penniless in 1962. However, on February 18, an out of court settlement with a US publishing company cleared the way to make Linda's heirs exceedingly weathly.

Okay, so what makes this one of my soundtrack songs? One of the more recently recordings of Mbube was made by Mahotella Queens. If you listen, you may catch a clue.

Pete Seeger heard this song in 1952, and he changed the Zulu word Uyimbube to a nonsensical word, wimoweh, and recorded the song with his group, The Weavers. Then, in 1961, it became a number 1 song in the US for The Tokens. For my generation, it was known as The Lion Sleeps Tonight.

Back in the early sixties, I shared a room with my brother, and much of my earliest exposure to music was what he'd play on the old forties style radio that sat at the foot of his bed. Well, either that or one the the 45 records he'd play over and over and over and over after he'd broken up with one girlfriend or another. (Actually, this happened only once that I know of, but has attained mythical proportions within the family with a song called Patches. . . .Down by the coal yards. . . . but that's another story.) Anyway in 1961 I'd have been just about 7 years old, but I carry a distinct memory of lying in bed in the dark bedroom looking out at the Christmas lights around my window listening to The Lion Sleeps Tonight. More than any other song I can think of, this one evokes memories of those early winter nights when all thoughts were about the impending holidays. Memories of Christmas as a child are some of the most powerful. I can remember everyday being filled with excitement and anticipation. How even school became festive with arts and craft projects and special bulletin board displays. It seems like every Christmas was snow covered and every Christmas tree was lush and beautiful and silver in my childhood. Every nighttime seemed filled with cookie baking and sledding on the hill behind the house. Each trip in the car with my parents seemed like an event, and each ride home filled with caroling in the car and oogling the snow covered Christmas decorations of every house we drove by.

I suppose it isn't true, of course. But it doesn't matter. As I listen to this song, I am still transported to those Christmas memories of my childhood, whether they be how they really were, or how I imagined them.

I suppose even in these days of political correctness, kids still are making memories that they will think back on as adults when the holidays come around, but somehow those golden sheltered years of my early childhood seem like the best memories anyone could have ever had. How odd that it would be THIS song, written by a Zulu tribesmen almost on the spur of the moment while sitting in front of a microphone way back in 1939, that should evoke such powerful and wonderful memories for me.

For the back story of this song and it's many twists, this website is most informative.

Soundtracks - Isn't Life Strange

2006-02-22T08:41:00.000-05:00

I'm jumping ahead in my soundtracks here, but this seems to be the appropriate song for this moment in time.

I need to say that not every song of my soundtracks is a song i love, or that I'd want on my ipod, and this song really qualifies as one of those. The Moody Blues did some really great songs, but this one from Seventh Sojourn isn't especially well sung or played, and its kind of a syrupy mess . . . but it transports me to a time and place every time I hear it.

In high school, I turned out to be more of an artist type than a jock. Not that I didn't have the physical ability or skills (I was an all-star shortstop in my Babe Ruth league), but I just got involved in artistic types of pursuits. I had a good friend, Nancy who was dating a wrestler with whom I also became friends. Our wrestling team had its own set of cheerleaders called the Wrestlerettes and Nancy was one of them, so I also got to know, superficially, the other Wrestlerettes. One of them was a girl named Marilynn Martin, or Marti for short. A really nice girl who really didn't come across as "stuck-up" or snobbish. She and I had a couple conversations, though nothing ever in depth.

After graduation, Marti became engaged to her high school boyfriend, a guy named Gary, from the wrestling team. I do not know any of the details, but late one night as Gary was driving her home, they had a car accident and Marti was killed.

The death of someone I hardly knew at the age of 19 hit me harder than I can explain. Perhaps it was the moment when I realized I was mortal or that life was really fragile, but I can remember going to the viewing and seeing this beautiful young woman lying in a casket and feeling a strange and surreal emptyness, like the fabric of my own life had been rent and things would not ever be the same.

This song by the Moody Blues played in my head as I drove from the funeral home, and it reminds me of Marti everytime I hear it.

But as I reach this stage of my life, I begin to think about the people I know now, and how we NEVER know whether we'll see them again when they drive away. So when I hear this song, I think how each and every one of our departures from this life will be surrounded with tears and saddness, but that life will go on.

I grieve for those friends and love ones facing their mortality or the mortality of ones they love, but I hope to remember this . . . that there will be time for tears and saddness, for now I want to revel in my life, and those I love. And I will go home tonight and kiss my wife and think about how wonderful life is that she is here with me, and I will not worry about tomorrow, because it will come and go no matter what I do. For David and Tricia, I send my prayers and my sincere hope that they have many, many more moments to share . . . and who really knows, because Isn't Life Strange?

Isn’t life strange
A turn of the page
Can read like before
Can we ask for more?
Each day passes by
How hard man will try?
The sea will not wait
You know it makes me want to cry, cry, cry -

Wished I could be in your heart
To be one with your love
Wished I could be in your eyes
Looking back there you were,
and here we are. . .

Soundtracks of my life, Song 2

2006-02-17T09:39:00.000-05:00

As I began looking for songs that took me back to points in my life, I discovered an interesting thing. A lot of the earliest songs I can remember that I'd want to put on this list are from 1967. I thought about that for a little bit, and I realized that while I did listen to some music before that, it was really bubble gum stuff. I suppose at that time in my life, my tastes started to change, and music was more than just sounds. While I may add some of the songs prior to 1967 at some point, it is really the music from that point on that fits the idea of life soundtracks, at least for me.

What I realize in looking back is that music did not play an important role in my life prior to 1967. The significance of that fact does play a role in where songs fit into my life, anyway . . .

This next song is one that made me realize that. I spoke earlier of how the idea of girls started to change for me about this time. After that first school crush of Amy McLean, there was another girl, Beth Fuller. Beth and I shared classes, so I actually had the opportunity to talk to her, a definite benefit when try to actually "make the moves."

One of the social skills that I never really mastered was small talk, chitchat, whatever you call it when you are trying to sound interesting to another person, usually of the opposite sex. One of Beth and my early conversations concerned popular culture, i.e., what music you listened to. Not wanting to sound like a complete dork and say The Monkees (whom my sister had already informed me were not really a music group but a bubble gum concoction made up by TV), I struggled to think of a less "fad" kind of group. As I said earlier, music really wasn’t that important in my life to that point so I blurted out the first name that popped into my head, The Strawberry Alarm Clock.

In an early lesson about why you should not try to be extemporaneous without knowing at least a little bit about what you are talking about, I was then thrust into the following conversation.

Strawberry Alarm Clock. Do you like Incense and Peppermints?

What?

Incense and Peppermints

I . . . uh . . . have never heard of them.

It's not a them, it's a song. . by The Strawberry Alarm Clock.

Oh . . . yeah . . . what was I thinking. No, I really like their other stuff better.

Oh, you do? Like what?

Uh, I can't really think of the names right now, my minds drawing a blank. Uh . . . What about you?

Now a quick Google of The Strawberry Alarm Clock will show that they had one (count 'em) one Number One song, that being Incense and Peppermints. They did put out a couple of albums, but their next closest hit was a song called Tomorrow that made it to Number 23. Needless to say, I HAD NEVER HEARD IT.

So, I was caught, . . . bullshitting some girl I was trying to impress with my worldliness . . . at age 13. You'd think I would have learned my lesson right then. But like the dog I could always prove myself to be, this was just the first of several foot-in-mouth events of my life. Thankfully I survived, and I NEVER EXAGGERATE ANYMORE!!! Really . . . you don't believe me?

Anyway, here is the song that always reminds me of that conversation.

Oh . . . and as for Beth . . . well I overcame that little obstacle and she did become my first official girlfriend, thus teaching me the counter-lesson that bullshit did not ALWAYS walk.

One final note. This song is really a GREAT example of music from the psychedelic era, oh around 1967 to 1969, even if the band was pretty much a one hit wonder. This song is like, really far out man. Oh wow, don't laugh like that . . . you're freaking me out.

Off the mark . . .

2006-02-16T09:23:00.000-05:00

Those who know me may be surprised at this statement . . . I always liked Dick Cheney.

I first saw him giving news briefings during the Desert Storm Campaign. Now, I did not like the fact that we had gone to war, but at that time saw it as a necessary evil. While I do not think that the senior President Bush always made good foreign policy decisions, I accepted that invading Kuwait was the proper action at the time.

And as Secretary of Defense, I thought Dick Cheney had the proper image and portrayed a strong, competent image of that invasion. Interestingly enough, what I liked most about him was that he stood in front of the press and answered questions. He never seemed to dodge the hardballs. I accepted that his political philosophy did not mesh with mine, but saw him as the right man for the job.

Similarly during the recent campaign, I saw Dick Cheney as the strongest candidate. I remember remarking to my wife that I wished Cheney were running for President instead of Bush. Not that I liked what he stood for, but that you knew what you had with Cheney . . . he pretty much told you what was on his mind and didn't feel the need to apologize for it.

I have now come to the decision that what we have here is a glowing example of the "Peter Principle" at work. Perhaps Mr. Cheney has risen to a level that is beyond his capabilities.

I feel bad for him. Shooting another human being accidentally must be a terrible thing, and I will not criticize him for that. God knows we all have done things that we regret and when we stand up and take responsibility, we show a quality that makes us honorable, even at our lowest ebb.

If only he had.

In the days after the news was announced, I was surprised when I heard that the Cheney had called Whittington and expressed his support. That was the way it was described, "expressed his support." Maybe it's just me, but I think the report should have had Cheney expressing an apology.

Small detail? I don't believe so. Initially the Vice President's aides floated the balloon that perhaps the victim was culpable.

Former Cheney aide Mary Matalin was the first to test that strategy Sunday when she told reporters that the vice president “didn't do anything he wasn't supposed to do.”

Other than shoot his friend, of course.
San Diego Union Tribune

Then, he basically stoned walled the press until the 15th, finally succumbing to the pressure when he granted an interview to Fox News where he accepted accountability. Good, excellent . . . had this been done immediately, and at a press conference with all news media outlets. This was not the time to manage the press. Standup, take your lumps, be honorable. This is not a policy matter, or a difference of opinion. You SHOT someone. Say you're sorry. Be a human being. Dammit, say it even if you don't mean it, force yourself to do the right thing. Answer the hard questions!!

What I liked about Cheney in Desert Storm was that he faced the bright lights and spoke his mind. Here, he hid behind his office until forced to come clean.

This of course, is not just about Cheney. But what supporters of the Vice President miss about all this is that his handling of this matter has damaged the entire administration, giving further fuel to the argument that they do whatever they want, that they, somehow, are above the responsibility of the rest of us mere citizens. If someone on my staff were this disloyal, I'd need to see the back of them. That is very unlikely to happen here.

Unfortunately, that is a symptom of the same arrogance.

Happy St. Val . . .

2006-02-14T12:28:00.000-05:00

Ah, February 14th! Happy Valentine's Day to all my friends and loved ones, especially my beautiful wife.

Does anyone else remember being in Grade School and getting those boxes of Valentine's cards that came wrapped 20 to a box, all with puppies and ducks and other little furry creatures? You'd spill them out on the kitchen table and agonize over who got the best cards.

It was fun . . . sort of. I remember one year somebody sent one little girl a skunk card. I never saw the offending card, and I don't know if it said something rude, or whether the printer of those cards just thought that skunks were cute furry creatures and never gave it another thought. I DO remember it raised quite a stink with the teacher, and that an investigation ensued. If the culprit was ever found, it was all settled behind closed doors, and subsequent years included a warning issued pre-February 14 about mean cards not being tolerated.

I do still like the holiday, even if Hallmark invented it (an unsubstantiated rumor, I suppose) but now I don't get to buy those fun packs of cards any more. I like the chocolate, I guess, and roses are pretty on the dining room table. But I really like that we set aside a day that is all about telling those we love that . . . well . . . we love them. That's actually pretty cool, that we have a love day.

Maybe we should have a peace day too, where we can send little notes to all those people we don't deal well with, telling them that no matter what, today of all days we are not going to fight with you about anything. Nothing. Nada.

If it worked, we could expand it to a week . . ..

Kind of a postscript . . . I just heard one of the women at work say that she hadn't gotten her husband a card yet. Another woman told her that she could stop after work and get one, that she had time. I wondered if she were to forget, would her husband freak out on her for forgetting Valentine's Day. I discussed this with another co-worker and we decided that he probably wouldn't, that in the back of his mind he'd figure . . . "Cool, now I have a card credit . . . in case I forget one someday." But we also decided that there is a statute of limitations on that credit, so our profound judgment to any man out there whose significant other forgets to get them a card today . . . be understanding, but be vigilant. Safer to remember the card days than foolishly pin your hope of amnesty on some stupid idea like a card credit.

Only a man would even come up with that idea!

Early, very early soundtracks

2006-02-12T13:34:00.000-05:00

Okay, I think I am ready to experiment.

AS I mentioned in my previous post, there are songs that just transport me back to moments in time. For some, like this one, I don't actually remember liking the song so much at the time, rather when I hear it now I think about a particular time in my life.

One of the convenient little facts of my life is that I entered elementary school in 1960. What's convenient about that is that I can immediately tell what grade I was in when talking about any particular year. So when the Hollies released this single I was in 7th or 8th grade, and would have been 11 years old. (I was 5 when I entered first grade, the result of a late December birthday.)

On A Carousel speaks to me of the awakening of puberty, that time when girls turned from odd creatures that trotted around the playground pretending to be horses to odd creatures that seemed to affect your internal chemistry when they walked by. One of my first crushes was on this cute little blonde girl named Amy McClean. She was in 7A and I was in 7C, so we had a combined homeroom together. But I was very shy, and I don't think I ever spoke to her without coming away from the conversation feeling like I had proven my innermost fears of being a dork.

I never did get to first base with Amy, but despite feeling so awkward, I smile when I think of it even now. I mean, I WAS a dork!! And what I realize now is that was okay. She was very possibly out of my league at the time, but I grew up to realize that didn't need to be a permanent situasion. Years later, after I had matured a bit, I could have pursued that first crush but had moved on to different crushes, different insecurities.

This song takes me back to a time when every word seemed critical, where every clothes choice seemed monumental and yet every day seemed brimming with possibilities.

Life's Soundtrack

2006-02-10T10:02:00.000-05:00

I was driving to work yesterday, when I accidentially hit the CD button on the car stereo while trying to switch radio stations. Normally, that wouldn't do anything, but on my recent trip south, I had found an old Bruce Springsteen compilation I had made a few years ago. This particular compilation was mostly acoustic stuff I had garnered from my vast collection of bootlegs, and it began with an almost dirge-like version of Thunder Road. Instead of switching back over to the news, I eased back into the seat and let the music play.

I did not listen to Bruce Springsteen at that time in my life when I could have seen him before stardom, when he repeatedly played small venues like the Main Point or The Tower near Philly. So his songs really never were part of the soundtrack of my youth, as was , oh say . . . Jethro Tull. But as I listened yesterday morning, speeding along into the dark, lyrics touched and prodded almost ancient feelings that consumed me back then, back when I felt completely alone, that it almost felt like I HAD listened to those songs back then. Almost like they had been written about my feelings. And I really can't explain what feelings that they touch, but it made me think of the many songs I listened to that had that quality, that power to allow you to make that song YOUR song. And how even today when I hear them I can be transported back to a moment in time and relive that moment so vividly that I can even feel the temperature, and see the condensation roll down the car windows.

Interestingly, today I read an interview with Bruce by Nick Hornby, and they both touched on the subject;

NH: Does it feel like young man's music to you now, the first three, four records?

BS: I would say that it is, you know, because a lot of young people actually mention those records to me. . . . a lot of the music was about a loss of innocence, there's innocence contained in you but there's also innocence in the process of being lost. And that was the country at the time I wrote that music . . . immediately preceding the end of the Vietnam war. . . . We were a funny amalgam of things at that moment. There was so much familiarity in the music that for a lot of people it felt like home; it touched either your real memories or just your imaginary home, the place that you think of when you think of your home town, or who you were, or who you might have been. . . . And yet at the same time we were in the process of moving some place else, and that was acknowledged in my music also . . . That's why 'Born to Run' resonates and 'Thunder Road'; people took that music and they really made it theirs. I think I worked hard for that to happen . . . It's the motive when you go out there. You want that reaction: 'Hey, I know that kid. That's me!'. Because I still remember that my needs were very great, and they were addressed by things that people at the time thought were trash, popular music and B-movies . . . But I found a real self in them that helped me make sense of the self that I grew up with - the person I actually was . . .

Music has an incredible power in our lives, and I guess I believe it has it's most influence when we are young, when we are trying to discover who we are. We often take the words to popular music almost as the words of prophets, and we can hear in those songs the same questions that burn in our souls, and hope somehow that they will also help us with the answers.

So I've decided on a new thread for this blog, my life's soundtrack. These will be songs that I'd use as an overlay of the movie of my life, but they will also be the songs that helped me through those hardest moments of my youth. Hopefully I can relay those stories along with the songs, and if possible I'd like to figure out how to include the links to the songs.

I think this will be an interesting journey . . . hopefully you'll agree.

And I'll gladly acknowledge anyone with a solution to the link issue.

Okay, while I'm sharing . . .

2006-02-03T11:48:00.000-05:00

I'm not really a big video game freak. Okay . . . that's not true. I was totally hooked on Tomb Raider and Doom a couple years back. But I haven't played anything recently.

Well . . . that's mostly because I don't own a console. I'd probably wile away hours and hours playing stuff like Halo, had I ever plunked down the bucks on a PS2 or an Xbox. But I didn't, and I have to get some credit for that, I think. I am, after all, really still a boy at heart.

And I am having trouble getting over the whole "Microsoft is the evil empire" thingy as well. I bought my first Mac in 1984, and I guess for as long as there are Mac's I'll be a little anti-Windows.

But besides that, I came across this XBox 360 commerical that never made it to TV, and its kind of a hoot. So I thought I'd share.

Tiki Bar . . . Or Get It While It's Still Hot

2006-02-02T12:19:00.000-05:00

It has happened several times in my life, that I have been around to see the beginning of something, to see it before it became too polished, too slick.

Rock and Roll in the Buddy Holly era, for example. Okay, I didn't listen to Buddy Holly, but technically I could have.

Television in the 1950's is another great example. Later examples might be music video's and MTV in the 80's, or even the World Wide Web of the mid 90's. These were all times when the people that were the true pioneers didn't have a model to follow, they simply tried stuff. Some worked, and some didn't, but the raw, untested nature of it was exciting to watch, and was as interesting as it would ever be.

This brings me to podcasting, where you download little audio programs that you can listen to on your ipod. It's like Tivo only portable.

Yesterday, I was on the iTunes site downloading The Onion podcast, when I noticed this video podcast called Tiki Bar TV, and the comments people made about it. Turns out it's a very popular program that is one of the top downloads. So I checked them out, and so enjoyed this nutty, campy, hilarious bit of video, that I spent all of last evening watching the rest of their twelve episodes.

A bit of warning here, this is not your children's podcast. There is sexual innuendo, salty language, and over indulgence in alcohol. But it is funny stuff. And as I watched this low budget, high talent little adventure, I realized I was seeing yet another media in its infancy. People can still do this stuff in their basements and get national exposure, and compete on an even footing with the largest of media outlets.

I don't think that we can say that for long, so check it out. You don't need a video iPod, you can watch them using iTunes on your computer (a free download) or just go to the Tiki Bar TV website.

Catching Up . . .

2006-01-25T14:33:00.000-05:00

Okay, it's been a while since my last substantive post.

As I finally settled down to do this, I had a lot of thoughts about what to attribute the hiatus to, but I settled on telling the truth. Here it is.

Actually, the lovely Missus was away for a good bit of time starting the 5th, and between work, feeding the dog, feeding the cats, playing with the dog, explaining to the cats that I didn't love them less than the dog but he was just more fun to play fetch with, and trying to fight the uphill battle that is not letting the house turn into an absolute pig sty while I am alone in it, I just never really had the time to sit down and wax prosetic . . . okay that's probably not a word, but I don't try to be poetic.

Secondly, I did leave Dodge myself for 9 days and traveled to meet up with my wife in Atlanta, then on to Sunny South Georgia to visit the inlaws. This did involve driving for 9 straight hours (okay, I stopped in North Carolina to use the facilities) and arriving in Columbia, SC at 4:30 am at "The Kids" home to sleep before moving on to the big city.

I want to stop here a second and tell you all that I love Georgia. Rural Georgia reminds me of the rural Pennsylvania that was the scene of my youth. This isn't in any way intended as a slight to Georgia, or to imply that they are 40 years behind us in the north. No, in fact, I believe Georgia has it right and I only wish that my home town still possesed the strong bond to the land that Wrightsville, GA has. People there are real, they have real neighbors and they may not agree with your politics, but they are real polite to you.

This is not to say that there aren't some of the old issues floating around there, largely unspoken in mixed company. But for the most part, that is exactly the culture I grew up in. And it just doesn't get better than whiteacre peas, hoe cakes, grits, and fried catfish. Unless, of course, you add a side of turnip greens and some fried chicken and biscuits.

The north needs to learn about these buffets . . .

As we always do, my wife and I discussed the possibility of moving to the area we are visiting, and with the exception that the work I do keeps me in a more urban area, I can see myself winding out the golden years on a back porch looking out over cotton fields.

One of the nicest things about going away, however, is coming home. And the cats seem to have forgotten the whole fetch thing, so I guess we're okay again.

Redemption . . . I think not.

2006-01-04T08:16:00.000-05:00

Okay, this post will probably not interest anyone in my family, but I paid the price for it. I watched until 1:00am EST to see the Orange Bowl struggle end on the 29 yard field goal shown above, and I'm gonna write about it, dammit.

For an alum like myself, it felt like the football program at State had finally returned to its former glory . . . that is until I thought about it for about two seconds. Remember, I'm an old timer.

Born and raised in eastern Pennsylvania, I never gave a single thought to another college. Well . . . okay, I did consider the California Institute of Art, but only briefly. Truth is, I was a PA boy and I was gonna go the PSU almost from the time I realized that college was in my future.

Look, I am not a rah-rah kind of guy, but I love Penn State. I loved my experience there, I love my diploma, and I love telling folks I'm a Penn State alum. Maybe it was the position that Penn State holds in the mind of college aged Pennsylvanians, the tradition, the standard of excellence. Or maybe it is the ideal of what Penn State means, especially in the arena of big time college sports. And the one most responsible for that ideal, in my lifetime, is Joe Paterno. Folks, without prejudice, this man can truly be called a legend. JoePa always seemed like a shining example of how things SHOULD be done in college sports. Honesty, integrity, and honor. And he won football games. A LOT of football games. And more often than not, his athletes graduated with degrees. For Joe, it seemed like it was more important that his kids graduate than they play. I don't know if that is true, but it was the way it seemed.

The Nittany Lions were an anachronism. Plain blue and white uniforms. Plain white helmets. No names on their uniforms. No high flying vertical offense. A stone wall defense and an offense of 3 yards and a cloud of dust. And they didn't run up the score on obviously outmatched teams, EVER. (Despite what Syracuse thinks, when you can't stop the fourth string offense, that's YOUR fault) No flash. Well, except for '94 . . .

Their style of play never garnered them a lot of accolades, as shown by the 5 undefeated seasons that did NOT end with a national championship. But as an alum, you were pretty much assured of a winning season and a spot in the top ten. Year after year.

Until a few years ago . . .

And then the losses started piling up. Maybe the biggest blow was when their record of 50 some years without a losing season was snapped. We thought that would never happen to us, not while JoePa roamed the sidelines. Hey, Penn State doesn't rebuild, they reload.

But suddenly the Nittany Lions were not a top ten team. No, now they were a Big Ten team, and they were losing. Sure they had the 1994 team that went 12-0, and then couldn't play in the National Championship game, but even that was becoming a distant memory. And suddenly people were talking about the unimaginable . . . firing JoePa. They said the game had passed him by. College sports was about offense, and Joe just didn't have what it took. They said he was too old, that kids wouldn't go there because they didn't believe that Joe would be there for their whole career, that recruiting was suffering. The truth is that the move to the Big Ten did make things harder. They were playing better teams, other teams were recruiting better, and maybe State's edge had evaporated.

Someone asked me once what I thought, should Penn State fire their long time coach, the man who had brought them so much glory? The answer I gave is the answer I still give.

JoePa has to go out on HIS terms. We owe him that. Even if he had 10 losing seasons in a row, you shouldn't ever fire Joe Paterno. He's meant too much to Penn State, to the whole state. He's meant too much to the students. And maybe . . . maybe we wouldn't know what to do without him.

Last night Joe won his 354th game as a football coach, ALL with Penn State. He beat a team coached by the only man to win more games than himself, Bobby Bowden. As the winning field goal went through the uprights, the ABC announcer told us that this was a season of redemption for JoePa. Like I said . . . after about two seconds I realized that returning to the top ten was not redemption for Joe. He is, and has always been a top ten coach, one that should be judged on the whole of his program, not the wins and losses. While the team may have returned to the rankings this year, JoePa has never left them, not in my book. And truly, Penn State football is forever linked to the stature of this coach.

Congratulations Joe!!

Coach Bowden, by the way, showed such great sportsmanship at the end of that game to prove to me that there are still gentlemen in collegiate sports. My hat's off to him as well. Thanks Coach.

One final thought about that little game they play tonight in Pasadena . . .

Hook 'em Horns!!

Only the coolest animal in the world.

2006-01-01T21:43:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's a Liger.

His name is Hobbs, and he weighs a dainty 900 lbs, about twice that of a full grown Siberian Tiger, (the largest non-extinct naturally occurring member of the cat family.)

So the answer to the question, "What does a Liger eat?"

. . . Anyone he wants!!

Oops . . .

2005-12-22T07:53:00.000-05:00

I am remiss in not posting this yesterday . . .

Happy Birthday, Unk.

And for an appropriate little Christmas Cheer for all you little Chirpers out there (with thanks to Zippyjake for finding this), a very special edition of Silent Night . . .

One question . . .

2005-12-21T14:23:00.000-05:00

As a belated birthday gift, I decided to post a long overdue contortion photo. And as you look at this photo, ask yourself one question. Well, make that two.

1. How did she get into this position, with her legs resting against her shoulders and the tops of her feet on the floor?

And 2. How does she stand up from this position?

Okay, I have a third. Just how bad of a wedgie do you think she had after this photo was taken?

"B" Day

2005-12-20T09:48:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's true. My birthday was yesterday, and thanks to family and friends who called up and sang "Happy Birthday" on the phone, sent thoughtful gifts, and mostly made me feel like there are people who love me and take the time to remember me. These are the things that give me that little catch in my throat so that I have to make an extra effort to act like a tough guy.

Seriously, I feel the love and want to tell you how much it means to me.

Now, ever since I got married to a woman who had three children, I made an attempt to make my birthday a family event. See, I came into a fairly well established family situation and wanted to make myself feel part of it. So my birthday celebration always included the sinful pleasure of Pizza Hut Pepperoni Pan Pizza and the family movie of the year. It started out with stuff like Toy Story and The Santa Clause.

Not that the kids were that young, it just felt like a family event and we used appropriate entertainment.

When Titanic came out on December 19th some years ago, we graduated to more mature themes in movies. Over the last few years, Lord Of The Rings made the yearly decision a no-brainer.

I was never really a fan of the original King Kong, but since Peter Jackson directed the just released version, King Kong won out over The Chronicles of Narnia this year. So last night my wife and I took in the blockbuster at the local theatre.

I don't want to ruin this movie for anyone, but let me tell you that it is fairly faithful to the original, as well as I can remember it, but that it adds the depth and pathos that the original lacked, on a human level. And expect to come out of the theatre believing that a gorilla has an actual shot at an acting Oscar.

I've been a special effect junkie since Star Wars, but WETA is really starting to get scary. I saw one mistep in a scene with Jack Black and Adrien Brody running from some large . . . uh . . . dangers, but I defy you to watch this movie and tell me what is real and what is CGI.

Overall, I'd give King Kong three and a half stars filled with surprising performances from lesser known actors, another star quality performance from the faceless, and faced Andy Serkis, and solid if understated performances by Brody and Watts.

As for Jack Black, well . . . you're not going to see him, are you?

"B" Line

2005-12-18T10:37:00.001-05:00

Beads, Booze and Bawdy Behaviour.
I think a lot of Fantasy Fest can be summed up with "B" words.

Boys being boisterous.

Babes baring boobs.

Beer bloating bellies

Bangles bedecking bystanders.

Bare bodies bearing blues (and other hues)

Okay, you need more than b's, but there certainly were lots of b's about.

For people who do not know, Fantasy Fest usually occurs at Halloween, and encompasses a number of events, not all of which include the B line , Beads, booze, blah, blah, blah . . .

There are Headdress Balls, Celebrity Look-A-like Contests, A Beach Party with a Homemade Bikini Contest, Body Paint Contests, Epidermal Arts Contests, a Kid's Parade. Tea Dances, Street Fairs, A Toga party and much much more. It is a rollicking, rowdy, raucous event that usually takes 10 days to put on. Many of the events that require entrance fees raise funds for various charities, and they do a bang up job. But this year, thanks to Hurricane Wilma, it was pushed back to December and squeezed into 4 days.

At first glance, it might seem like an immoral event, but after having seen the still lingering effects of Hurricane Wilma on the area, I have come to understand that this is about a lot more than bacchanalian pursuits. Preparing for 4 hurricanes each of the last two years has a cumulative effect. You can see the stress in the locals when they talk about having to stop working to prepare for storms that did not hit, and the one that did, or of the difficulties of doing the normal daily routine. Many businesses are still struggling with cleanup while trying to get open in order to make the money needed to pay for the cleanup. Others are almost incapacitated by the enormity of the devastation. Some people are still without refrigerators a month and a half after the storm. I know one woman who's business was a total loss because it sustained 5 feet of water in an area that had never flooded before to anyone's knowledge. Every tool she had is gone . . destroyed.

Fantasy Fest is a Blow-off steam party, but it also a life line. It is a huge economic engine for the Keys. For people who only visit resort areas around the country, you may not understand how vital such events can be to the people that actually live in these areas. If your season is 5 months long and you lose a month and a half to a hurricane, you are in deep shit.

For Key West to pull together even a watered down version of Fantasy Fest in a little over a month is an extraordinary feat. What my wife and I experienced was estimated at being less than half the normal crowd size, so the economic impact was huge. And I suspect that some businesses may not survive the blow.

To me, "Better to boogie than be buried by bad . . . uh, stuff?"

And yes, that is a candy bead bikini. Guess what the most common comment she got was?

What the f...! Cell Phone Etiquette

2005-12-16T21:03:00.000-05:00

I know I am not alone in this . . .

Look, I like the convenience of cell phones, we all do. It's great being able to communicate with others during the dead times we all experience; the times waiting on line at the bank, driving to work, stuck in traffic, or even just looking through movies at the video store. They are a great time saver. They also allow us to get information in a timely manner; "What do you need from the store, I'm there right now. . ." , or "I just stepped out of a meeting, can you get the price of the McGovern job for me?", kind of stuff.

But you know what . . . there is a time and place for discussing the intimate details of your life. Or even the rather mundane events in your life.

I'm pretty sure it's not in the crowded Ft. Lauderdale terminal while chowing down your airport pizza.

I don't have a problem with people making calls from public places. I do have a problem when they talk in such a manner as to intrude on everyone else's peace and quiet. People, if you are going to speak loudly on your cell phone, remove yourself to a less crowded area. I don't personally care about your colonoscopy results, and I certainly don't want to hear you discuss your boss' extramarital affairs with coworkers at 7 AM in the Dunkin' Donuts.

I also don't want to hear about your personal financial affairs while waiting for a plane, which brings me to this most recent event, and a question of etiquette.

We are at the gate in Ft. Lauderdale waiting for the plane back to Philly, and a young guy, business suit, briefcase and a mini pizza sidles up to a desk kind of seat in the corner of the gate. The spot is at the window along a wall so that the effect is that of a small ampitheatre. He is using an ear piece on his cell as he faces directly toward the window, meaning that nothing is blocking his voice, and he speaks in an elevated tone, as if trying to add power to the signal. It seems he has some questions about the disposition of some payment he made and is calling to speak to a contact at the firm he is dealing with. The problem is that the contact is in a meeting.

So he leaves his cell phone number for a callback.

Here's the question.

Is it out of line to crank call this guy from the airport payphone?

Spinners . . .

2005-12-15T10:45:00.000-05:00

Wheeew!

After a week of balmy 70-80 degree temperatures, my lovely wife and I are securely on the ground in the wintery northeast. Nothing quite says Christmas in Philly like 22 degree wind blasts through the airport shuttle ways.

Anyway, I've been instructed to tell one story from our stay in Key West, that of Diana's snorkeling adventures. I promised I'd put it on the blog so here goes.

Back some time ago, I took scuba lessons, and really got into the sport. The first time I used scuba in the local college pool, I got the feel of flying in slow motion, and I was hooked. I've since gotten more advanced certifications and even considered teaching, but life happened and I've gotten away from the sport. But a few years ago, while vacationing in the Keys, we introduced Diana to snorkeling.

She loved it. The only drawback was that while snorkeling on Looe Key Reef, the sun disappeared, so she never got the full impact of what reef diving can be. We did paddle around one of the coves but that is nothing compared to the reef. So this trip, our friend Leslie and her sister and brother-in-law, Maryanne and Bob, wanted to give Diana the opportunity to try it again, though this time the location was some coral heads that were much closer to shore.

Typically, the weather did not cooperate, and as we anchored, the sun disappeared. Ever the trouper, Diana donned mask and snorkel and went in anyway. I had to pass, as my back is kinda cranky these days and swimming with flippers tends to tighten me up quite a bit. Bob, hoping to catch a little dinner, grabbed his spear and went in as well.

Even though the sun was hidden, it was a pleasant day, and Les, Maryanne and I chatted as the other two floated about. Then I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye, a large splash off in the distance, maybe 40 feet, maybe 50.

"Oh", I said. "Do you think those could be dolphins.", pointing to the area of the splash where a bronze colored dorsal fin turned quickly though the water in tight circles.

Les turned and gazed out at the activity in the water, which was now joined by another curved dorsal . . . and then another.

"No . . . ." she said, "I don't think they're dolphins . . ." As she spoke, one of the fins rotated into the water, exposing the sleek white underside of what was unmistakably a shark. And a pretty large shark at that.

"Uh . . . they are a ways off, do you think we should call Diana and Bob back in?", I said.

"Well" said Les "I don't think it would be a problem, except that Bob is spearfishing. If he were to hit something and it bled into the water, or didn't die immediately, that could bring them over."

I called to Diana, who poked her head out of the water, and we waved her back toward the boat.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I don't want to tell you, not until you get back in the boat." Les quipped.

Diana swam back, not hurried, but not slowly either. Maryanne called out to Bob, who was probably three times as far away and put her finger tips together and spread her elbows to make a triangle, then pointed in the direction of the splashing sharks. I turned to look at them, then back to the swimmers. Bob had covered the distance to the boat rather quickly and was helping Diana remove her flippers so she could climb the ladder.

Once everyone was back in the boat, we all watched as the sharks closed to within 30 feet of the boat, before drifting back away, probably with the school of fish they were feeding on. I did take some blurry video of the cavorting sharks, but it was too shakey and too far to get any good footage. But I think we have been able to identify them as Spinner Sharks. It is difficult to tell size without a frame of reference, but they were easily the length of a human, and they are known to get up to 9 or 10 feet. I'd estimate that one was full size.

In all the time I scuba'd, I never once saw a shark while in the water. (Half my dives were probably at night over the last few years I dove, so ignorance is bliss.) But for Diana, this was just her third time snorkeling. It's the luck of the . . . er . . . Italians?

But it reminds me what one of my instructors once told me. Every time you put your feet into salt water, statistically you are within 300 feet of a shark. Unless, of course, you are diving a reef, or in Australia.

Then the distance is within 100 feet.

There is much more of our adventures in the Southernmost City, and there may even be nudity. Stay tuned.

I like Pie!!

2005-12-06T12:47:00.000-05:00

Okay, a couple talking points here.

First, I like to check out the blogs of the various people who comment on my posts. It seems fair, and is actually quite interesting. While I do not necessarily comment on their posts, rest assured, I've been there, lurking in the dusty corners.

Second, I really don't want to start doing all these, "What kind of a . . . " quizzes that I keep seeing. Okay, that's not true. I like doing them, I just don't want to post about them, as they start to feel like email birthday cards. You know, you want to remember someone, but actually going out and looking for a card and then getting it into the mail proved to be more than you could handle at this particular moment. See, I really enjoy blogging, and I would rather, at this point, put in the effort of coming up with something new than rely on these quizzes to create content.

Ahem . . . that being said . . . Anonymous Shannon , who prefers to remain ANONYMOUS, put up her results of a Pie quiz. Now I am a big pie guy. My mother was a big pie maker. My wife, God bless her floured hands, is a truly wonderful little "Pie Aficionado". And I believe that as you enter the Pearly Gates, there are pie shops lining both sides of Hallelujah Boulevard.

That being said, I took the quiz.

My dear mother would have been able to predict this outcome, though my wife would have been able to offer viable alternatives. Actually, I think the result had a lot to do with whipped cream, but here it is, the desert that, while just 3 years old I refered to as Monkey Pie . . .

You Are Pumpkin Pie

You're the perfect combo of uniqueness and quality
Those who like you are looking for something (someone!) special

What Kind of Pie Are You?

Thanks Shannon, and good luck with the ankle.

Oh, and extra points for whoever comes up with the movie from which the title of this post comes.

Spectacular Spectacular

2005-12-05T12:12:00.000-05:00

December 7th in the vernacular of my parents was a day that they will always remember where they were when they heard the news that Pearl Harbor was attacked. For me, and possibly many of my generation, it is the day before John Lennon was shot.

But this year, my friends, it is the day my wife and I wing off to sunny Florida, well Key West actually, to attend Fantasy Fest.

Those familiar with this spectacle will say, "Wait, it's too late for Fantasy Fest, that occurs on Halloween Week." Those in the know will simply nod their heads and say, "Ah yes, but not this year, my friend, not this December."

We had our flights to Ft. Lauderdale booked for October 26th. Some may remember that on or about the 23rd of October, the late season arrival of Hurricane Wilma to South Florida scuttled most everything in South Florida. On Wednesday morning the 26th, United Airlines cancelled our flight, and as we pondered what to do with our tickets, word came that Key West had rescheduled the Fest for, yes you guessed it, December 7th through the 10th. Without hesitation, we re-booked for that time.

I've never been to Fantasy Fest. I first heard of it some years ago when Diana and I visited our friend on Ramrod Key in early November. She mentioned to us that we should come down for Fantasy Fest sometime, that it was a wild time.

Needless to say, in the intervening years, Key West has become more of a destination, and the Fest has become more of a spectacle. Personally I probably would prefer the Key West of the 70's and early 80's to today's version, but since I cannot turn back the clock in South Florida any more than I can in South Jersey, I intend to make the best of it. If you check the cams, I will be the attractive middle aged man slurping down a beverage of choice on Duval Street, while snapping digital photos of the . . . uh . . . costumes being paraded about by men and women of all ages and sexual preferences.

I will NOT be the pot bellied middle-aged bald guy sporting the air brushed painting of an African Elephant . . . if you know what I mean.

Not that I COULDN'T be, I just choose not to be.

What's a pirate's favorite letter?

2005-12-02T10:10:00.001-05:00

aaaaaarrrrrr . . . of course!

I actually had to answer a tie breaker to decide which hero I'd be . . . it came down to Jack Sparrow and Lara Croft. I prefered rum+sun+sea+beach to tight fitting costumes.

And how fitting, because I want to come back in my next life as Johnny Depp and have a clandestine sexual affair with Angelina Jolie.

Which Action Hero Would You Be?

created with QuizFarm.com

No, actually I want to come back as Spiderman, who was the third on the list, but the whole moody, nerdy teenage thing just doesn't work for me

Captain Jack Sparrow

Tommy can you hear me . . .

2005-11-22T19:26:00.000-05:00

Well, he's here. All the way from Lee County, VA is our newest member of the family. Poor little guy was a mess when we picked him up. He was dirty, smelled, had red itchy skin, was shedding like crazy, and spent the ride back from the rescue sound asleep in my arms.

Once we got home, he got a well deserved bath, and spent the first night sleeping at my feet on the couch. He was exhausted. Now a couple days later, he smells better, has lots of energy, and just loves his new home. We took him to the vet (actually Diana took him to the vet) and we found out he had a broken leg and pelvis, probably from being hit by a car a few months back. His pelvis healed fine, but the leg looks like a pretzel in the x-ray. But he's a tough little guy and he is obviously a survivor. And he runs like hell on three legs. But he can use the leg, and I'm hoping as it gets stronger, he'll use it more.

But now he's ours . . . and it is good.

Oh, and the name, Tommy . . . that song just kept playing in my head all the way home.

Ooooo . . . Tommy . . . Tommy. Tommy can you hear me . . .

Smart little guy answers to it already. I didn't think good ol' boys from Virginia were into the British Invasion.

Stop Alien Abductions

2005-11-21T13:30:00.000-05:00

Okay, look . . . I couldn't help myself on this one.

Here's a nifty little website to help stop alien abductions. And it makes a real fashion statement as well. Check out the "Thought Screen Helmet".

Now all I have to decide is . . .

Who gets this for Christmas!!

(Duh . . . that's obvious isn't it?)

RIP Overstock.com

2005-11-11T10:25:00.000-05:00

As what can only be described as an exercise in pure delight, I just filled out a survey for Overstock.com. Well . . . maybe delight isn't truly accurate. You see, they annoyed me immediately upon sending me the following email.

Dear Customer,

Regarding your recent contact with Overstock.com, would you please take a minute
to answer a few questions. Your feedback will help us in our commitment to excellence.

http://echo.benchmarkportal.com/overstock/survey.taf blah blah blah

To respond to our survey, please click on the web address above. If that does
not work, please cut and paste the entire web address into the address field
of your browser.

NOTE: Please respond within five days so that you can provide timely feedback
to us. This survey will be available for only 5 days.

Thank you for your help!

Overstock.com Customer Support

Okay, if you've followed closely in your books, and understood the significance of my little color changes, then you've been paying attention, give yourself a gold star.

I was further annoyed by the fact that this survey is really a generic piece a pablum. You'd think, considering the THOUSANDS of customer complaints they had in the last month or two, that they'd focus on what they really did wrong. Instead, this particular survey focused on courtesy of agents, ease of navigation, quality of merchandise . . .

Wait . . . I NEVER GOT THE FRIGGIN' PRODUCT. Isn't it a little, oh, I don't know . . .

STUPID

to ask me what I thought of a product I never received.

to ask how pleased I was with the shipping and handling. (Hello, it was NEVER SHIPPED)

to ask me how well CS is doing when I had to talk to 6 different people, to contact them 5 separate times, wait 4 separate "waiting periods", scream and yell 3 separate times, write two separate blog entries ( and a partridge in a . . . oh forget it)

They give you a bunch of "Agree, Somewhat Agree, Strongly Agree, Really Really Agree, I Don't Know Maybe I Agree Maybe I don't Agree" kinds of multiple choice questions. I was able to give them one "strongly agree". They can apologize with the best of them. But they do give you a space where you can enter 2000 words of comments.

I didn't need all two thousand.

;-)

The Perfect CS employee?

2005-11-09T12:23:00.000-05:00

Contortion Photo fix # 4.

Now I ask you, doesn't this just make your back hurt?

Overstocked, underwhelmed.

2005-11-08T12:00:00.000-05:00

It's nice to know that incredibly inept customer service can bring people from all over the globe together. I'm beginning to feel like part of one big unhappy family. Maybe we could start having a reunion every year.

Actually, maybe I need to call the White House and see if I can make that case to the State Department.

And it's even bringing me fame, if not Fortune. Check out the third comment to my last Overstock rant. If you go to the first link page and do a search on the page for "boba" it will take you to the two mentions of my blog.

And this is the second time I've been described as funny. I'm starting to like that! But for REAL funny, use the second link and read about the "Phantom Menace." Maybe it's just me, but I'm thinking anytime you have the CEO of a large online retailer send an email to a Fortune writer and ask her; "So, why exactly did you become a reporter? Giving Goldman traders blowjobs didn't work out?", you've got the makings of a good HBO sitcom.

I'm not sure why the commenter attached the Fortune link, (I mean it's not about me, hello) but it is entertaining reading, especially in light of how warm and cuddly I'm feeling toward Overstock.com.

One for the Vatican

2005-11-06T10:22:00.000-05:00

While I don't continue to carry on about it, I have been known to be critical of the Catholic Church. And I did spend at least one post here detailing why I could not remain a catholic. A lot of that post dealt with what I feel is hypocrisy between teaching and actions.

Well, it would be hypocritical of me not to acknowledge what I see as a positive statement from the Vatican; one that is reasonable and one that indicates to me that there is hope here.

I especially agree with the warning that religion risks turning into fundamentalism if it ignores scientific reason.

Now if they'd only stop telling me for whom to vote.

Unhappy Endings . . .

2005-11-05T12:08:00.001-05:00

When I started this blog, I wrote mostly about things happening in my life which affected me in a profound manner. As time went on, I developed a more detached tone, and tried to interject some funny where I could. Today I need to send up the unfunny flag, as a random event last evening has thrown a pall over my weekend.

Diana and I had dinner with friends in town, and we were driving home when we saw a small dog running down the middle of the road toward us. I stopped the car and my friend opened the door and called to the dog, which bolted away from us, but returned to running down the road. We turned the car and followed it a short way. I got from the car and walked slowly toward the animal, calling softly. The dog was afraid and ran from us, but again into the road.

Another passing car had pulled over, and a woman was attempting to the call the dog as we approached. At first it approached her, only to bolt once again. It ran passed me, and I reached over a guardrail to try and grab it. This terrified the dog which started yelping and running even faster down the road, dodging my friend as he attempted to catch the dog.

Again we followed. Again failure. Diana tried as well, with no success. Suddenly more traffic appeared on the road. Cars began pulling over and flashing their lights to other cars to slow down. I pulled over and waited for Diana to get in the car so that we could pursue.

That's when it happened. The driver of a large pickup truck either did not understand what the purpose of the flashing lights were, or was distracted, or maybe something worse.

As the dog stood in the middle of the road, the truck ran it down.

As I pulled up along side the animal, it was stiff and groaning. The woman from the other car that had being trying to help was frantic. "I flashed my lights at the truck and he didn't slow, he didn't even stop." I got a blanket from the trunk of my car to cover the dog, which was now bleeding badly, and making pitiful sounds. I scooped it up and held it to my chest and it seemed to be comforted.

At that moment, I truly did not know what to do, and kind of staggered back and forth with the poor thing in my arms. Diana came and took it from me and suggested we go back to the house and call a vet.

In our area, the procedure, I found out, is to call 9-1-1 and the Police will send Animal Control to the scene. They transport the animal to emergency veterinarian care. As we waited, the dog experienced several seizures, but continued to breathe. Finally, with great trepidation, we handed the injured animal over to Animal Control. And this poor little spec of a life rode out of our lives to a future we will not know.

In that space of 30 minutes, I feel like something profound occurred which I cannot fully comprehend. I know there are great tragedies in the world. Thousands of people are homeless after hurricanes in Louisiana and Mississippi, and thousands and thousands more in South Asia. People suffer everyday from poverty and illness right here in my own community. Yet as I felt this small animal's life ebb and flow in my hands, its suffering touched me in a way that those other things do not, and I felt more powerless than ever to do anything.

In the night, as I woke from restless periods of sleep, the image of that tiny face floated to my mind and I'd begin to say Hail Mary's until I'd fall back asleep.

The reason I write this is to say that even though we tried to do something good and right, I am left with a heavy feeling of responsibility, and an overwhelming sense of failure. And I think of those people, especially the people I love, who take on work that they believe in, knowing they are fighting against the odds.

And they still do it.

And I grieve for every thorn prick their choices cause them, because I believe that it is truly Christ's work that they perform.

You guys should know that I'm really proud of you.

Finally, a link for the Humane Society, on what to do when you find a stray.

Overstock means having to say you're sorry

2005-11-04T11:50:00.000-05:00

I think I've discovered the cause of the computer problems at the Overstock website.

To refresh, I ordered a little something there on October 20th, only to have the order cancelled 4 days later because of a computer issue they've had that ignored payments made to them by Paypal. That began the odyssey, which is customer service in the 21st Century.

What I've found out in the meantime is:

• Overstock employs a lot of people who are very good at saying they are sorry. Really, really extraordinary apologists. Outstanding in their field, seriously.

• When Overstock says 24 hours, they must mean 48 hours plus. 4 days is really supposed to be 4 days, but in practice should actually be a week. But it really means 10 days or 2 weeks. I wonder what kind of math they use there. Is it a "new" new math?

• When they say they are escalating an issue, that doesn't necessarily mean they are they are going to resolve the issue in a timely manner. It might mean they are raising the level of frustration. (I'm not sure.)

• This glitch apparently went on for two weeks before being either discovered or resolved, during which time all their orders paid for by Paypal were cancelled, even though the money was deducted from the customer's Paypal accounts.

• There appears to be only one person at Overstock handling the Paypal issue. A supervisor told me that person currently has over 1,500 emails pertaining to issues with payments received via Paypal where the ordered was cancelled.

• Overstock.com apparently believes it is better to frustrate customers with their inability to deal with this problem in a timely manner, rather than . . . oh, maybe hiring temp help to help slough through the backlog.

• That the first level of customer service sole purpose for existence appears to be to apologize, gather information about a customer's issue, redirect that issue to another department, ask if there is anything else they can do for you (even if they haven't done anything) and then thank you for visiting their site and wish you a great day.

So finally today, I broke down and called customer service (which actually was faster than the online chat option) and spoke with a real live person. She apologized eloquently and offered to escalate yet again (Level 4, if this was "Doom" I'd have really cool weaponry by now.) I told her I'd been escalated 3 times already without resolution, and I was tired of the process. She told me I could speak to a supervisor, and I accepted.

When this guy got on the phone, he had obviously read all about what was happening, as he had my whole story down. Yet all he could do for me, he said, was to escalate me yet again.

I freaked.

You know what, I'd had it. I had been promised timely help, and not had it. I had been guaranteed a resolution and not gotten it and I'd been assured a positive outcome and not seen it. I told him what I thought of escalating this for the 5th time.

This is when he narc'd on what kind of problems they had with the Paypal stuff, and how long it really would be before I saw the end of it all. I told him I didn’t care about their problems, because that was their issue. I told him that if they knew what the issue was, they could have just shipped the twenty-dollar item and I'd have received it a week and a half ago and everyone would have been happy. Instead they did this, and they had lost me as a customer forever, and I was out in the world telling my story.

He asked if I could hold on while he called up two levels.

When he got back on, he promised that I'd have my credit by the end of the day.

So I got off the phone sometime after 11 AM, and at 11:35, I got a message from Paypal stating:

Overstock.com (paypal@overstock.com) has issued you a full or partial refund for your payment.
Please do not reply to this email. Email sent to this address cannot be answered.

Message From Seller:
Refund $21.95 in reference of invoice #21640412 that cancelled due to system error. Thanks

Now the truth is that I've spent more time and energy than it was worth to get this refund, but on the same token I couldn't let them have my money. So now they have me as a pissed off ex-customer. They didn't sell me anything, and they never will. Don't they realize that?

If I had been Overstock, here's what I would have done.

I'd have emailed all those people whose orders were cancelled and ask that they reply with their Paypal confirmation number. Then I'd have shipped those orders. I'd have made the sale, and wouldn't have created the nightmare. I'd also have had the chance to tell all those people that I'd ticked off by canceling their order that I'd made a mistake, but was going to follow through in a method that was the least inconvenient to them. Then my apology might not have sounded so hollow. And then I'd have felt that I could really ask if there was anything else I could do for them without feeling like such a smacked ass.

Bad days at the office.

2005-11-01T21:26:00.000-05:00

Ever have one of those days? You're doing the best you can, but things just keep going downhill. I had a few of those at work recently. But I feel like it's important to remember, at those times, that things could be worse. I mean, I'm a graphic artist for goodness sake. Other than deadlines and unreasonable customers and uncooperative coworkers, how bad can it really be?

On days like this, I want to see pictures of OTHER people's bad days, to kinda, well, . . . uh . . . cheer myself up. Okay, that's cruel and insensitive. But it kinda works.

Take this guy, for example.

Somedays, you get the bull, somedays you get the horns.

Dude . . . someone thinks I'm funny

2005-10-30T21:47:00.000-05:00

I was checking out the comments to my recent post and I noticed someone from the Blog Patrol had checked out my dog. "Hmmmm . . .", I said. What is the Blog Patrol? I did a search and found this.

In honor of this momentous occasion, I'm bringing out the hard core stuff. Stay tuned for even more special pictures. Cuz you know I'll find something. (tee hee)

Twisted!

2005-10-30T11:50:00.000-05:00

Having been told of my blog, the future family pet has begun stretching exercises, in order to insure a permanent home with the family.

These Fox Terriers are REALLY smart!!

Who's ready for Halloween?

2005-10-30T11:07:00.000-05:00

And who's ready for a nice, scary contortion photo?

This girl is good!!!

Overstock.com . . .The answer to phone trees

2005-10-29T09:36:00.000-05:00

BAD CUSTOMER SERVICE.

I did this as a job once, where I was the entire department for a publishing company. Yeah we were on the small side, but we had tens of thousands of customers, and I did all the customer service. It's not an easy job, and you really need to think on your feet. You also need the ability ( and authority) to do whatever it takes to resolve a customer's problem. Being polite helps too, and many of you may be surprised to hear that I was good at that job. Seriously. And our customers were all lawyers!

Anyway, the other day I ordered something from Overstock.com, and used my Paypal account to pay for the item. It was like 20 bucks, nothing major.

2 days later I get a notice that my order was cancelled because Overstock had not received my payment. "Hmmmm", I thought. "I kinda remember getting an email from Paypal confirming the transfer." So I checked. Sure enough, payment had been made and confirmed within seconds of my order. So I emailed Overstock (my first) back with the confirmation number, and got an auto-reply saying,

"Thank you for contacting Overstock.com Customer Service. We are in receipt of your e-mail and will respond to your inquiry within 24 hours. Thank you for shopping Overstock.com."

Two days go by with no contact, so I email them again (my second), getting the same auto-reply. This gets a little confusing.

Shortly after the second to Overstock, I get a response to my first, saying they have to escalate the issue to another department that has access to the information, and I will receive a resolution to the issue in 4 days. Three days later, I get a response to my second, stating that they see that my issue had been escalated on the 24th, and that I should wait until the 28th for a resolution before taken alternative action.

Now, this whole time, they are talking about refunding my money, not sending me my item, which I thought was strange. But I also see that, up to this point, the customer service messages coming from people with names that might be more commonly heard on the streets of Dehli, and they may not have understood my undertone of wanting them to ship my order.

Anyway, this morning, the 29th, I decide to get on the site and look for a phone number. Now for me to actually search out a phone number to talk to someone (I dislike talking on the phone) means that my frustration level has escalated to a different department, one with access to all the loud words I know. Low and behold, I find that Overstock has a Live Chat with customer service. You can log on and "chat" with a customer service type. Great, I try that. What follows is the transcript (edited only slightly for the order of comments, no language changes.)

-----------------------------------

Please wait for an Overstock Chat Agent to respond.
Chat Information Welcome to Overstock.com Customer Service, you are now chatting with Angelo.

Angelo: Thank you for visiting Overstock.com's secure live chat. How may I help you today?

Jim: My order was cancelled last week, because of an Overstock.com error and I am still waiting for a resolution.

Angelo: I would be happy to help you with that.
Angelo: May I have your order number please?

Jim: My order # was XXXXXXXX, is that different than the account number?

Angelo: Yes the order number is different from the account number. Please allow me to check this for you.
Angelo: I apologize for the cancellation of your order.
Angelo: Jim, it was cancelled because we never received confirmation of your payment from PayPal.
Angelo: In order to use PayPal for your Overstock.com order, you must complete the PayPal "Payment Details" section of the checkout process.
Angelo: You may have inadvertently missed this step, which would cause the cancellation of the order.

Jim: I wrote on the 22nd and gave the confirmation number. Paypal indicates that Overstock received payment at 18:01:29 PDT on October 20
Jim: This payment is verified by Paypal

Angelo: I am extremely sorry to know that your Pay Pal account has been charged.

Jim: My records with Paypal indicate that that payment to Overstock was completed at 18:01:29 PDT and that receipt of the payment was verified. The ID is: # 2PG4xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Angelo: I am sorry for the inconvenience caused and I apologize for the miscommunication.
Angelo: After reviewing your account, I see that this issue has already been escalated on 10/24/2005.
Angelo: Please be assured this matter will be resolved within 2-4 business days to your satisfaction.

Jim: It may have been escalated, but Overstock has now had my money since the 20th. On the 24th I was promised that the issue would be resolved within 4 days, That was yesterday.

Angelo: I understand your concern and I would have been in your place I would have felt the same.

Jim: I do not want to hear that it will take another 2-4 days. This is inexcusable

Angelo: I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience caused and the miscommunication.
Angelo: Please stay online while I forward this issue to the specialized department once again so that the matter will be resolved as soon as possible.
Angelo: Thank you for staying online.
Angelo: Jim, to provide you with the correct information required to answer your email regarding the payment made by PayPal towards the cancelled order, I have forwarded your message to a specialized representative who has access to the information needed to answer your request.
Angelo: I am sorry for the inconvenience caused to you.
Angelo: Please be advised some questions can take several days to answer as we need to contact third parties. However, we guarantee you will be contacted via email or phone within four business days.

Jim: What is your guarantee? I have already received that promise. What happens if it is not resolved again?

Angelo: I apologize for the additional time this will take, and look forward to a positive resolution.
Angelo: Please be assured this matter will be taken care as I have made a note on your account that you were not contacted within the promised time frame.
Angelo: I apologize for the inconvenience caused to you.

Jim: Maybe you are a nice guy, Angelo, but the company you are working for kinda sucks in the customer service area. The truth is that this problem all resides with Overstock.com. I didn't make a mistake and neither did Paypal.
Jim: And promises have already been broken here

Angelo: I understand your concern and such occurrences are rare I hope that you will give us another chance to demonstrate our services.

Jim: After already being promised to be contacted in a specific time frame and having that not happen three times, would you?

Angelo: I apologize for the inconvenience caused due to not being contacted within the promised time.
Angelo: Customer satisfaction is our prime goal. Please be informed that this is not our usual way of doing business. Once again, I apologize for the inconvenience caused.

Jim: Yeah, thanks . . .

Angelo: Due to our system upgrading such instances are happening on our site at present, I really hope that you will give us the second chance to prove our services.

Jim: Your system upgrades aren't my concern, I'm sorry to say. You have my money, and you won't send me what I paid for, and keep telling me to wait for a resolution.

Angelo: I understand your concern and request you to wait for 4 business days. I assure you that your money will be issued back to your account within 2-4 business days.

Angelo: Is there anything else I can assist you with today?

Jim: no, not really. Just make a comment on my account that I am REALLY upset by this service

Angelo: I have noted your account and please be assured that the matter will be taken care as soon as possible.

Angelo: Is there anything else I can assist you with today?

Jim: You don't seem to be able to help me any today, thank you.

Angelo: I do understand your concern the only way I can resolve this issue is by escalating to a concerned department so that this issue will be resolves as soon as possible. Please give us another chance to provide you the better service.

Jim: Whatever! AS you said, That was done on the 24th, and I am still waiting.

----------------------------------------------

I am still at a loss as to why it would take 10-12 days to resolve an issue, when the entire transaction (order, ship, receipt) would only take 4. But Overstock still wants me to give them a second chance to prove themselves. I'm thinking about it, but I guarantee I'll have an answer for them in 4 days. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience my delaying that opportunity might cause them.

In Defense of the Wicked Queen

2005-10-28T12:04:00.000-05:00

One of the benefits of age (yes, there are some) is that as you gain more experience, and you have an open mind, you might look back on events, stories or whatever with new eyes from a new perspective.

Last year the musically expansive Reid family added to my CD collection by giving me the "Ghosts That Haunt Me" CD from Crash Test Dummies. I actually started listening to them because I just loved how Brad Roberts voice had such an affect (duh), especially on "Superman's Song" and "Androgynous".

As I was reading the liner notes (do they still call them that) I noticed the name Ellen Reid. Hey, interesting coincidence, the Reids gave me the CD, Ellen has the same last name. Cool.

So like any good child of the internet age, I googled Ellen Reid and found her website.

So why am I telling you this? Well besides a couple of goofey/cute pictures of her kissing puppets, blowing kisses (see above), she has MP3s available for download for FREE. Gotta love free. Especially when the stuff is good stuff. This brings me to the title of this entry, In Defense of the Wicked Queen.

Download this song. It has become one of my favorites, because it takes an alternative look at the Queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs as a woman who chose to take care of herself rather than take the traditional path. And, how she is villanized for it by a society that sees women only as good when they are happy homemakers with no more ambition than to cook and clean and sew.

I find it funny because despite my best efforts to be an advocate for the women in my life, I still overlook what children's stories really say about women and how pervasive society's attitude is about a "woman's place."

I know . . . duh again! But look, I feel stupid enough, alright.

Anyway, I wanted to share this song. And maybe signpost my gradual enlightenment.

Breaking loose . . .

2005-10-27T11:22:00.000-05:00

Okay, so it's been quite a ride for a little while . . .

It started way back in the spring with Michael Feldman. Then of course with Mom in the hospital and the car breaking down and more recently it picked up steam with Diana's health issues. Over this past weekend, as Wilma settled in for a two day stay in Cancun, Diana took up the new position of animal umpire. Then as the weather in Key West went south (or northeast, actually) we found ourselves in the unenviable postion of waiting for the shoe to drop. Would we go, would we stay, what? It's funny how so many of our plans were tied up in this one event that we had NO control, or even influence, over.

Sadly, for the residents of South Florida, Wilma turned out to be a worse storm than expected and on Wednesday, United Airlines cancelled our flight. We, of course, were disappointed not to be going on vacation, but humbled by the tragedy to people's lives in that portion of the country. Our thoughts are for their speedy recovery.

The good news is that we've rescheduled our trip for December 7 through the 14. And Key West will be Fantasy Festing for 4 days, the 7th through the 10th. Booyah!

And today, with so many decisions made for me, I feel like the log jam has broken. Things are starting to move. The car goes in for a final fix on Monday. I turned down a "waiting to be your worst nightmare" freelance job yesterday and Diana's finally on the mend. I feel a calm coming over me at last.

Maybe I should resume practicing yoga.

Sunday . . .

2005-10-16T12:27:00.000-05:00

Really, the end of a horrid week, but an end that makes up for all the rotten stuff that life saw fit to squeeze into 5 days. I won't go into it.

Cool stuff, though . . .We got word that the dog will be transported to Delaware on Nov. 19, in time for Thanksgiving. This all seems kind of prophetic. Way back when I became part of the family ( which at the time included 3 kids, 2 dogs, 2 cats, a finch and a stressed out mother) , I remember asking about the age of the dogs, as other than Diana, they were the only ones who seemed truly glad that I was sticking around. With the information at the time, I kind of settled on a date in November as a likely birthday for both Woody and Gru(e), who were about the same age. The date? November 19th.
Then, the last time the family was all together (while the dogs were alive) was Thanksgiving 2002, and it was during that visit that we first realized that Woody was ill. Now, Thanksgiving 2005 looks likely to bring us all back together again, and this time, if Rachel comes and brings Oscar, we will be 3 kids, 2 dogs, 2 cats, 2 mothers, 2 grandkids, and Chris and I. We need a bird. Or two.

Mom found her way back into the hospital with a fever of 102, and the attitude of an angry hornet. Once she got there, she was happier about the food and the response time of the nurses, but not much else. Then a day or so later, her blood pressure bottomed out, and she was taken into the ICU, where they determined that she had a low blood count, which possibly indicated an internal bleed. They scoped her and found a tear in the intestine, which they repaired. She's back in Acute care now, but angry about a lot of things. Long story short. She getting better, though her PT has suffered.

Finally, our 11th anniversary was a wonderful, relaxing day that ended with a great bottle of wine we lugged back from Italy two years ago and a sumptuous dinner at Copper Fish in Cape May, NJ. Here's to the next 11.

Do you think I'm sexy?

2005-10-12T05:19:00.000-05:00

You know, the internet is a wonderful thing. Since I logged on for the first time, back in 1996, I have found endless hours of enjoyment just seeing where things lead me. (Mostly, that has turned out to be Ebay.)

You get to see stuff that you'd never believe . . . So the other day when I found a link to a contortionist site, I had to look.

So, is she sexy?

Mondays!

2005-10-10T07:15:00.000-05:00

First, Mom's had a setback. My father called last night to say she'd developed a fever on Sunday, and couldn't keep any food down. The nursing home sent her to the hospital for observation. They are going to keep her, I just found out. She's distraught, because she was looking forward to going home.

Second . . .

Okay, those of you that had bets that we'd get a dog after Rachel spent a day here with Oscar (her little shitz whatever) may have won your bet. Over the weekend I was looking at a puppy rescue site and found Dappler (rotten name, we'll have to change that). Right now he's being treated for a skin condition, but should be available to us in early November. Diana appears reluctantly to have agreed to the new addition.

Idn't he cute?

So we hate the name, and we are accepting alternatives for this Fox Terrier. Suggestions so far are; Muldar, Hobbes, Fox, and "Did Groo the Wanderer have any sidekicks?" (I’m not fond of Rufferto, but it’s a maybe.) So let us know what you think, we have time . . .

And she's off . . .

2005-10-07T08:53:00.000-05:00

Quickly, I stopped in to see Mom yesterday. I guess she wants to go home.

She is getting out of bed, getting herself into her wheelchair, and getting herself into the bathroom. She isn't actually walking unassisted, but she is getting up and standing.

That is actually kind of huge.

And she told me the Doctor said she might get to go home on the weekend. That's pretty ambitious but she looks the best she has since this whole thing began. Obviously, it doesn't end here. She has plenty of health issues, and they both need to be in a better living situation, but she is getting better way faster than anyone expected.

Eeeeeeewwwww !

2005-10-07T06:25:00.000-05:00

Okay, so much for volunteering in the Florida Everglades

What the f. . . . . Other Drivers! # 1

2005-10-05T13:01:00.000-05:00

Okay, you're driving. Its a 4 (or more) lane highway and you are crusin' along when you see someone in your rear view mirror coming up on the outside. Do you . . .

A. Do nothing, allowing the other car to pass normally.

B. Take the opportunity to whip out your cell phone and call out for pizza.

C. Turn on your turn signal and pull into the lane ahead of the passing car, then promptly slow down.

D. Same as above, only without the turn signal.

E. Allow the car to come along side of you, then press down on the accelerator, refusing to allow them to pass.

Alright, I'll admit that I've felt the urge to speed up, I've even found that I subconsciously do it myself. But since I've gotten cruise control on my car, I am amazed at how few people can honestly answer anything but E to that question.
Admittedly, I do a lot of driving, nearly 50,000 miles a year, but I am still astounded by how . . . uh this isn't PC, but . . . RETARDED people get behind the wheel of a car. I mean, Hello . . . you don't think I recognize that I just passed you? And you weren't behind anyone at the time? You were doin' like 10 mph less than you are now? What is this, a freaking RACE. Tag? Dude, you're busted. You are acting like you think you've got a tiny weenie and you can make up for it with your CAR. Which needs to be washed, by the way. Your car that is . . . I'm making no judgements concerning your weenie.

You know, some days are worse than others, but the last two were astounding. My car is in the shop (wait for a What the f . . . Car Dealer Repair Shops post soon) so I've been borrowing a friend’s car. This car is a bit smaller than mine, and it seems that it bugs people even more to get passed by a SMALL car.

I'm relaxed, cruising, quite a bit slower than I usually do in my own car. Maybe 72. I pass a truck, maybe doing 5 mph less than me, and, after a small distance, return to the right lane (just like you are supposed to . . . hello PA drivers). No sooner do I pull over then the guy pulls out and re-passes me, then refuses to return to the right lane. He gets a little ahead of me, then matches my speed (remember, I'm on cruise control.) A couple miles down the road, he finally pulls back infront of me, slows down and forces me to hit MY brakes as he pulls off at an exit. (was he afraid I'd get in front of him on that exit?)

Next car, mid-size, in the right lane. I'm approaching at a speed a bit higher than hers. I pull into the right lane to pass, get just about even with her . . . and she speeds up. No gradual increase of speed, more like a "dump-the-quad, drop-into-passing-gear, you-aint-gonna-git-in-front-o-me-mutha-fuka" mashing of the accelerator into the floorboards kind of thing. She gets a few hundred feet ahead, then returns to her previous speed. This, of course means that for as long as we are on the road together, we will reenact this scene. Five times! With the finale punctuated by a digital display of her IQ. ( Okay, maybe it was my IQ, but whatever . . .)

Oh, now I know about the whole wind resistance thing, that as you are just about to pass another car, the air that they are pushing out of their way is having its greatest affect on you, but come on now. We passers are not stupid. We know you just can't help yourself from squeezing down on the pedal a little. But please, PLEASE, 5 times??? Try and hold yourself back from re-passing us just because we smoked your weenie butt, cuz if ANYTHING makes you look like a potential road rage dispenser, its speeding up by 10 mph just because someone passed you.

Oh, and don't think we don't recognize that you try to close the gap between you and the car in front of you, JUST so we don't have the audacity to merge in front of you. I mean really, how dare we . . .

Dude, we all know, you're not REALLY a weenie . . . its just your car making you act like one. So next time, get an Escalade. That way, we won't be able to see far enough around you to dare and pass you.

Becoming an adult . . .

2005-09-30T12:59:00.000-05:00

I guess I always knew this day would come.

Wednesday, I assumed the role of the parent of my parents. I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea it was this hard.

My mother was transfered to a nursing home from the hospital. She was informed that she would be there until such time as she could get out of her wheelchair and walk at least three steps. It may be that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but that second and third appear daunting.

As I stood by her bed at the home, she and my father both making chatter to the nurse, the inescapable weight that she might never return home settled on my shoulders. I saw them for the first time as two people who could no longer fend for themselves. It drove me deeply into thought. . . .and dread . . . and anger.

On the long drive home, I had to fight constantly with the anger. Why had they let this get this far. Why didn't they take action when they first talked of it three or four years ago. Why did they leave it to me to make the decisions none of us want to make. Why did my life so suddenly suck.

When I arrived home and talked with Diana, I began to turn the corner on the anger, because I realized that I was not alone, that I would have support.

This will not be an easy journey, now I know. I will be distracted, quick to outbursts, sullen and moody. But I will get through this with the support of my family. I apologize in advance for being an SOB at the worst possible times.

And you thought kids were hard . . .

Render unto God that which is God's

2005-09-27T07:00:00.000-05:00

In April of 1986, I began a journey with a number of other candidates to become a Roman Catholic. I was not engaged to a Catholic. I was not even involved with a Catholic. In my conversations with the Sister in charge of the program, I thought I began to understand how I was being called to the faith, how many things in my life brought me inexorably to the decision, how God was moving in me.

At the Easter Vigil in 1987, I was baptized. It was a wonderful and warm moment. The sense of community was so strong, so compelling, that I was truly filled with joy. And for my part, knowing that I made these decisions without a sense of obligation to another person made me even more sure that what I had done was the right thing for me, and for me alone.

Over the years, many of the most wonderful moments in my life occurred within the walls of a Catholic Church. As the Best Man at my cousin's wedding, I was able to take communion with he and his bride. Later, I became godfather to his first child, as well as godfather to another dear friend's first child.

I married my best friend in the world in a Catholic Church and was welcomed into an entire new family.

Now I have come to realize, 20 years after becoming one, that being Catholic was not the end of the journey for me. My struggles with Vatican doctrine, with what I can only call wholly unchristian acts of some church leaders, have brought me to a crossroads. I see, most clearly, that when God moved in my life so many years ago, he called me to become a Christian. The Catholic Church was a means to that end, but it was not THE end.

I believe, that in his teachings, Jesus really wanted us to love each other. He taught about compassion, understanding, forgiveness. Hate the sin, love the sinner kind of thing. He also spoke of resistance to the evil in our lives, even if that evil is present in the form of powerful governments and institutions.

Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's.

Each of us must choose our own way in this life. We must ultimately be true to ourselves if we have any hope of salvation. In understanding this, I know there are many Catholics who disagree with statements made by the Vatican or made from the pulpit, yet find the Church a spiritual beacon in their lives. They may feel they cannot turn from the church because of their deeply held beliefs that it is better to agitate change from within rather than leave. While it saddens me, I do not feel that way.

Maybe because I was first politically aware and then spiritually aware, I have ALWAYS believed that religious beliefs may shape our political decisions, but they should not dictate them. The principle on the separation of church and state is central to my belief of what is just and right in American Society. It protects me as a Christian, just as it protect Jews, Muslims and Atheist, from persecution. If Congress passed a law stating that anyone who wanted to live in this country must be a baptized Christian, I would have to leave it even though I am Christian, in short, because it would be just wrong.

I can no longer participate within an organization which preaches love on one hand, and espouses hate on the other; one which allows it's Bishops to protect the "brotherhood" at the expense of our children; or bars homosexuals from the priesthood, insinuating that the child abuse inflicted by priests is solely due to those with that particular sexual orientation.

So I render unto God my belief that he will continue to move within my life, even if the rest of my important moments occur outside the walls of the Catholic Church.

May God be with you in your journey, as well.

Speaking of things that piss you off

2005-09-24T13:58:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is the first of what I want to call something like "Why the f...?" You'll recognize this as what most people now call rants. But I'm of a different generation, and I'm made of . . . well. . . coarser stuff.

So my first is . . . Why the f... can't manufacturers get together and make all the AC adapters they send along with their little electronic devices work with all the other devices? I mean, is this really difficult?

I don't have that many "personal" electronic devices; an iPod, a cell phone, a digital camera and a Palm Pilot. But my life is a freaking amazon of various cords and wires. And why is this? Because every manufacturer has their own "special adapter".

Personally, I feel like if they were all that special, they'd do something besides charge/power the device they were plugged into. Maybe something like . . .act as an emergency lighting device in case of power failure. Think about it. The next time the wind blows out your power, instead of stumbling through a dark house to find a flashlight only to find that the batteries are shot, you'll have all the little ac adapters in your house helpfully lighting your way.

Only in my house, I'd need switches to turn the lights off, because it would be brighter when the lights went out.

Anyway, you can go to Radio Shack and buy one that fits almost anything. Why can't they just supply them? Why can't they all get together and fix on one plug? Hell, why can't one manufacturer decide on one plug. I've had three Motorola cell phones in my life and they've each used a different plug. Why is that?

Think about the resources used for all these adapters. Think of the man hours, the packaging, the toxic waste, the MONEY.

And don't tell me that they create jobs. It the adapter was standardized, we'd have another whole industry grow up around creative ideas of how to intergrate these adapters into our everyday life, our home wiring, or our car wiring. Things would be BETTER. And then we'd all be marketed to to buy generation 3 of the "new" smoke detector / ac adapter. Jobs for marketers, commercial producers , shippers & manufacturer's.

Why the f... not?

Okay, there is intelligent life?

2005-09-23T17:16:00.000-05:00

Finally, we have made contact.

Through the cold, silent vacuum of health care, we have received a message. We are working feverishly to decipher it, but we have been able to ascertain that it is a friendly message. It reads something like . . . "Oops, someone misunderstood what we were doing."

Apparently when doctors have an ultrasound done on a person's arm to check for veins (or is it arteries . . . nope veins) suitable for dialysis, that does not mean that they intend to PERFORM dialysis.

Our bad. Turns out they were looking IN CASE they wanted to PERFORM dialysis.

Okay, here it is. Technically, Mom is in renal failure, but that means, in this case, that her kidney function is abnormal. This translates to her having 20 percent function. That is not as dire as it sounds, but it is serious. They expect that once they get the blood infection sorted out, she should rise to around 35 percent function. And with therapy, they should get it even higher than that. None of these levels are such that they'd have her hooked up to the aforementioned DIALYSIS machine.

So they will be moving her to a nursing facility so that they can monitor her antibiotic IV (since Medicare will not pay to have the drip done at home (broken, broken broken healthcare). Now, I have to get her a cell phone, because the nursing home does not have phone in the rooms.

Say what?

I guess this is so we can put our elderly parents in home and not have to feel guilty when they call to talk to us? WTF?

This adventure continues . . . but I do have one piece of good news that comes from all this. This morning they were going to move Mom to the nursing home and she told them she wasn't going anywhere until they got the doctor in to tell her what the heck was going on.

I guess she's going to live after all.

. . . whisper down the lane

2005-09-23T07:42:00.000-05:00

Well, maybe I spoke too quickly . . .

After work yesterday, Diana and I had decided we'd drive to the hospital and visit Mom. We called just to make sure she hadn't been moved, and after some trouble, the hospital informed us that she was still there, just not answering her phone.

We arrived to find her sound asleep in front of the TV, so Diana suggested that we talk to a nurse to find out what we could. I guess we looked like we needed help, since one of the nurses on the floor came up to us right away and asked if we needed help.

I may not be the only one writing blogs about the state of the health care system.

I am sorry I didn't get her name, as this nurse was very nice and very helpful, probably more helpful than she should have been from the hospital's viewpoint. She described the difficulty that patients AND nurses have trying to keep track of doctors. From what I could gather, hospitals now employ doctors full time on staff, called Hospitalists. These doctor have no practice other than the hospital's patients, and they, or members of their "group" perform the rounds and speak to patients. Needless to say, the individual patient may see five or six different doctors from one group during their stay, and may never see the same doctor twice. Additionally, if as in my mother's case, the patient may see a number of specialists. As may also be the case, one specialist may decide that the patient's malady may be outside their specialty and refer them to another specialist. This, of course means that you could see a doctor once and never again. Add to this the number of staff that enter a patient's room for any number of reasons (meds, blood samples, vital statistics, etc.) and you have a situation where the patient, even if alert and clear headed, becomes easily confused.

Much of this could be avoided if the various doctors involved would explain clearly what was going on. Perhaps they can't . . . maybe it is too complicated for even them to keep track of all the patients, all the results. all the stories. In any case, confusion reigns in today's hospital beds.

After first explaining that she really couldn't give us information without my mother's permission, the nurse told us a number of things that were both informative and distressing. My mother is in some level of renal failure, and apparently she was unaware of this until the nurse herself told her that just a few hours earlier. Mom has a number of things wrong with her, but this is potentially life threatening. But the nurse was not able to tell us (because she did not know) what that meant in terms of long term care. She did not know whether it was permanent, how long she'd have to stay in the hospital, when or if they would perform dialysis.

At one point she shook her head, acknowledging how hard it is for patients to keep track. She was openly annoyed that the doctors had not explained this condition to my mother. She felt like people of my mother's generation never learned that they needed question their doctors. or what kinds of questions to ask, but obviously felt that the doctors should understand that.

She took a lot of time with us, wrote down a few numbers and explained to us how to navigate the system to try and find out information.

So here, on day seven of my mother's hospital stay, I still do not know the full story. As Diana mans the phones and begin the process of tracking down the doctor with the most recent version, I am reminded of the child's game refered in the title and wonder . . . will we ever get a clear picture of what is going on? Will the story translate from one set of lips to another, until such time as the last person to hear it blurts out something that bears so little resemblance to the original as to actually be in contradiction to it?

Maybe you've heard the comment that an elephant looks like an animal made by committee? Our healthcare system is the elephant in the hospital room we all need to talk about.

I thought everyone knew that bureaucracy was inefficient . . .

Tapping time.

2005-09-22T12:17:00.000-05:00

I'd like to follow my last post with a loud sigh and let you all know that everything is fine with my Mother. And I almost could, if it were not for the lingering doubts in my own mind about what has gone on over the last week. In short, I don't feel like I have all the facts, ma'am.

I was never a patient child. I literally struggled with my impatience for as far back as I can remember. I can remember fighting with one old girlfriend because I was tapping my foot as she was talking to a friend in a parking lot outside church on one Christmas Eve. Well, between that and the loud sighs, she wasn't really very happy with me.

And I haven't improved much with age. When I find myself in this particular position - one where I must bide my time until medical tests are in, or for the doctor to show up, or some other stinking little roadblock - I can feel many of the old demons crawl into my consciousness.

You should see me in traffic . . .

Mom has a UTI (urinary tract infection for us mere mortals) that somehow developed (they think) into a blood infection.

"Uh, Doc . . . how does that occur?"

They don't know how, or really even if, this occurred. They do know she has an infection that needs treatment, so they are transferring her to a nursing care facility so that she can be kept on intravenous antibiotics for 10 days. So now they are, one of these days, shipping her off to one of three possible nursing homes in the immediate area. Maybe today . . . maybe tomorrow . . .

I keep thinking that they perform surgery and send you home the same day, and they will be keeping my mother for nearly two weeks for an IV drip.

Tap, tap, tap.

Okay . . . look. It isn't that I don't believe that she needs the care, but this is very frustrating. She's had something like 5 different doctors look at her; a urologist, an endocrinologist, an infectious disease specialist, a cardiologist and . . . hmmmm . . . there was another one . . . . Anyway, with all this speciality, how come we aren't getting any closer to an answer?

I remember a time when doctors made house calls. (Yeah, and they did walk uphill, in the snow, BOTH WAYS) All right, no they didn't, but you did feel like they took ownership of their patient's care. In this age of managed health care and specialized medicine, it feels like we have more doctors and less oversight, more tests and fewer answers, more information and less understanding.

I don’t think that doctors are any less committed than they used to be, or that yesterday’s doctors were better or more educated than today’s. But I can’t shake the feeling that in the days that Doc Bucher lived down the street, and dropped by the house on his way home for dinner, somehow we had more faith in our medical care.

I do want to thank everyone for their thoughts and prayers on behalf of my mother. It meant a lot to me.

Age, condition and ultimately . . . price

2005-09-18T08:49:00.000-05:00

I've had the distinct advantage, in my life, of having had both parents throughout 100 percent of it. They were always together. They were always healthy. They were always there. Even at the times when I'd do something so completely stupid as to risk my life, and the lives of friends by driving the back roads of Hunterdon County in a rainstorm in the middle of the night after four Tequila Sunrise at the Shady Lane, just three months after crushing two vertebrae, my parents stood by me. Oh, they did NOT take the bullet for me, but they did support me through the tribulations I brought upon myself.

My mother was not Harriet Nelson. She did not appear at dinner with matching bracelets and earrings dispensing Rockwellesque meals on a long dining room table covered in clean, ironed linen. My mother worked outside the home. She worked for a local auctioneer, preparing the location of the next auction. She moved furniture, she emptied attics, disassembled kitchens and then she recorded each and every transaction on sale day. She was a laborer and she labored daily.

She also was a businesswoman. (I do not like the politically correct notion of calling everyone a "person", as it assumes that you believe being a woman is inferior to being a man.") She ran an antiques business for many years, and extended to me a love of things old and things almost forgotten. I know she didn't make a lot of money, as some do in that business. But it was her passion, and she plied that trade for most of my childhood. The tales that rose from her interactions with her colleagues used to be the main portion of all conversation that occurred in our house.

My life was filled with the characters of my mother's sideline. Odd men in dusty, work clothes would appear at our door with items they had procured at some auction in some town of which I'd never heard. Even stranger men in filthy coveralls smoking stinking ropes of cigars would pick her out of the crowd in auctions to ask about her last antique show. Eventually all these people would turn their attention to the day's purchases. Together they'd paw through boxes of items wrapped sloppily with newspaper and discuss ages, condition and ultimately, price. Sometimes these sessions would evolve into trading sessions. Sometimes explorations of discovery. Most often they ended with a smile and a wave as the visitor would back his aging truck out of our driveway, or disappear into a knot a people bunched around a fast talking auctioneer.

In my entire childhood, I never understood the attraction. In those days, the farms and old homes that went under the gavel were the places of previous generations, my parent’s parents and my parent’s grandparents. The stuff was old, and often dirty beyond recognition. And many times, its purpose was a mystery to me.

Those who know me will understand how far I've traveled since then.

Some years ago, my mother's arthritis robbed her of the pastime she reveled in through so much of my own life. No longer able to get through the crowds or sit for long periods in front of the main auctioneer, she began experiencing this love from greater and greater distances. I think that every once in a while now, she will attend one particular auction, but that is a rare event indeed. Coincidentally, my own interest waxed and I began to experience an unremembered joy of discovery of diving into box lots procured at nominal prices. My relationship with my mother morphed into one of mentor/student as she would check to see whether or not I had her eye. Alas, though she never told me this, I did not. But she still takes such pleasure in the conversations about age, condition, and ultimately, price.

Last evening my father called at 10:30 as my wife and I sat reading in bed. The convenience of Caller ID takes on an ominous nature when the hour is late and the caller is a parent. True enough, he related shortly, Mom was in the hospital and they did not know what was wrong with her. Pain in her chest, difficulty breathing, coughing, fever . . . all non-specific enough to make you freak at the prospects, yet all innocuous enough to let you convince your self that it’s nothing. With reassurances that the morning would bring more details, my father and I hung up and I drifted off into a quiet sleep.

When he called again at 8:30 and spoke with Diana, I could tell he was having trouble talking without breaking down, though from her half of the conversation, I could tell that Mom was still with us, so I waited until I received the phone from her and was able to hear his side of things. My father has become a very emotional man in his later years, or rather . . . I have come to recognize this aspect of my father in mine. Slowly, he relayed the glaringly insufficient information he had, that the doctors were looking for blood clots in her lungs, that she didn't want visitors, that she was uncomfortable and sick.

If he was nothing else, my father was a steady presence in my life. As predictable as the 12 noon fire siren in my hometown. Now I was trying to shore up the crumbling foundation of this rock as he caught a glimpse of life alone. "She'll be fine . . . she's in the best possible place she can be if something happens. You know her, she's too much of a pain in the butt to . . . "

But for the first time in my life, I caught a glimpse of life without her as well. And I guess the fact that it made my thoughts grim instead of teary made me know that I'd truly become my mother's son after all these years.

I spoke with her myself shortly afterward, and found that the comfort level of speaking with her is, as it always was, greater than that with my father. But we do not speak of the bad things that can happen. We are both aware of what they could be so we move on to other things.

I might not recommend this to my kids, or my wife, or even complete strangers. But this is how my relationship with Mom has always been. To my recollection, my mother has never uttered the words "I love you." to me. And I have only told her that only once in my life (the aftermath of the failed trip home from the Shady Lane that rainy night.) But I have never felt anything but loved by her. I have never required verbal confirmation of the continual act of love that was my life with her. I know as I write this, that I will have to break down and tell her one more time, and probably sooner rather than later. But as I look back on fifty years that always had my mother's presence as the first foundation of my existence, I know that if I don't ever get that chance, at the point when our souls once again reunite, she is more likely to ask if I ever finished that old postcard collection than why I never told her I loved her.

Age, condition, and ultimately . . . price.

My mother's love was for my entire life, abundant and . . . free.

I am quite certain she'd be uncomfortable with that conversation.

For those that do that sort of thing, prayers for her comfort and peace are greatly appreciated.

Hmmmmm . . . now what?

2005-09-16T11:38:00.000-05:00

This . . . is a random new experience. As I watch the young'uns delve deeper into cyberspace, I feel strangely out of it. As I guess my parents did when I first brought my 128k Mac into the house and logged on with MacTerminal and played my first text-based adventure game.

Maybe this happens with all parents when the family disperses . . . I feel as if I'm slowing down my pace, just as they accelerate theirs.

Still, this isn't necessarily a bad thing.

I feel less like I need to watch over them now. I think they will do far better than I ever dared to hope, whether that is making a fortune or making a difference. And that makes me proud. Not proud of anything I did, as by the time I came along these guys were well on their way to being adults. But I am proud that they are such . . . well its sounds corny . . . but nice people. And this is a pretty great reward for my kind of lucking into the family.

Anyway, I digress. So now, so soon after my son-in-law starts his blog, I begin one of my own. There is a story to go with this, and I'll relay here is, mostly for his benefit. I got his email announcing the launch and I went to it to see what he had to say. (He has such interesting . . . uh . . . interests, and I like that about him) I was going to post a comment to his post, and somehow ended up creating my own blog. Yes, it was a freakin' accident!! This is one of the reasons I feel so out of it. I mean . . . is this hard? Couldn't I have simply posted without creating a whole damn Blog? Life, I'll tell you. It just keeps happening, no matter what you do. But I decided that like so much of my life, I'd just go with it.

So there it is.

We'll see what happens . . . Stay Tuned!

Oh, and the title. This kind of sends me back to those Saturday serials they played for kids on TV during the 50's and 60's. Like "The Lone Ranger" or "Sky King". You know where good always won over evil. And the good guys quite literally wore white hats. I kind of wanted this blog to be that perspective, coming from a time when we thought we really could stop all the bad things in the world, just by being, well, good.