It's a Blogaversary!!

It's been one whole year since this little site came on line. One year ago, Brave Sir Robin signed on. I was hoping to vent a little, to share my opinion, to pass on news, both good and not so good. Also, I was hoping to give myself a little focus and direction after breaking things off with Rene'.

I'm not sure how successful I was. Certainly, 2007 was a mixed bag for me. I went through several periods of pretty deep depression, I went back to her twice, (with the same results each time), and I made some great friends here in my little corner of the tubes.

I'd be lying if I said I haven't been missing her a lot over the holidays, but I managed to stay pretty busy, which most certainly helps. Being busy is of course, it's own mixed bag. I go back to work on the 2nd, and I'm pretty sure I will be exhausted and my house will be filthy.

Too bad.

It is a sign that I have grown a bit in that a messy house no longer freaks me out the way it once did. My kids are healthy, they are very happy, they are all four making excellent grades.

I don't really make New Years Resolutions, but I do have some general goals for myself and this site that I'd like to share with you.

I want to be more grateful for what I have this year. As I've told you before, I tend to be a glass half empty type. I really want to try to focus on being more aware of the full half of the glass.

I want to post more consistently. I can't imagine I will ever be able to post every day, but I want to stop being afraid of posting when the dark time comes. Forcing myself to act during those times is the best thing for making it go away.

I want to continue to value myself more. I do deserve better than Rene'. I didn't believe that at all this time last year. I do believe it now, but I need to be reminded from time to time. I hope to move on.

Happy New Year to all of you.

You will never know the difference you have made in my life.

Thanks.

Merry Christmas

Well, since it's been 5 days since I've posted, I thought I'd let you all know that I'm alive. I just haven't felt real "bloggy" this week.

This is a hard, hard, hard time for me, and I've been trying to stay very, very busy so it can pass.

It has somewhat been working.

I have very good friends who take very good care of me.

I worked Friday, went to Houston Saturday and Sunday, last night I spent Christmas Eve out at the bayhouse (aka: Rancho Gordo) with D&L's family. I was delighted to see that my dear friend Tink was there with her husband and lovely daughters.

The kids come home tomorrow and I can hardly wait.

At present, it is straight up noon CST Christmas Day 2007. I am in sweatpants, drinking excellent coffee enjoying Christmas morning with 4 of my favorite ladies.

(In no particular order because I have the CD player on shuffle all disks):

Lucinda Williams
Amy Winehouse
Edie Brickell
Norah Jones

Right this minute I'm hearing this :


Merry Christmas to all of you who helped me through the year. Trust me friends, if you read and commented here this year, you did help me through it.
Stay tuned!! My blogaversary is right around the corner!!

It's My Blog And I'll Wax Nostalgic If I Want To

Just because I like it . . . .



So who do you like better? Heat Miser or Snow miser?

I'm a snow guy. He's so damn smooth.

Edwards Leads In Iowa?

I don't know if I believe it, but the latest poll shows Edwards ahead in Iowa.

I certainly hope it's true.

Best Of The Christmas Ad's?

Regulars to this site know that Hillary isn't my first, or even second choice. I will vote for her if she's the nominee, but I prefer Edwards.

That being said, I love her Holiday Ad. I think it's the best of the lot, as far as they go. It has a great message and it humanizes her in a way that I haven't yet seen.

It kills me how the wingnuts are falling over themselves to rip it. Of course they're all over the fact that SHE DOESN"T USE THE WORD CHRISTMAS!!!!!!

Oh for fucks sake!!

She's wrapping Christmas presents, and The Carol of the Bells is playing in the background. I guess the wingnuts don't know the words to that song.

"Ring Christmas Bell, Ring Christmas Bells" anyone?

Typical of the nutters to focus on the delivery and not the message.

Could it be that they are scared to death of the message?

I'm just sayin' . . . . . .

Random Flickr Blogging IMG_2550

Random Flickr Blogging Explained.

Sorry so late. Three of the pictures I wanted to used were blocked. Anybody else running into that?

Sometimes, the jokes just write themselves.

Kari smiled, she knew she wouldn't have to sleep on the wet spot tonight.

A drought or not, the Kayak club of Atlanta was determined to hold their annual race.

IMG_2550.JPG

Originally uploaded by Starla Steward Photography

New for TV this fall, "Big Love, The Early Years"

YES, YES, YES, YES!!!!!!

Ceiling cat has waved his paw!!!!

Peter Jackson has agreed to produce The Hobbit.

It didn't look like it was going to happen. It will apparently be two films!!!!!!!

Pinch me.

Oh Shit!!! This Is A Red Flag!!!!!

Just what we need. Another Republican Presidential candidate with "Daddy Issues".

Because it worked out so well last time.

Apparently, Mitt Romney is running for president because he want to complete his Daddy's work.

Where have we heard that before?

From the article:

“If people understood that equation of George Romney and his impact on my life and on Mitt’s life, they wouldn’t be so curious about why Mitt is running for president. He is why Mitt is running.”

Sheesh!!
Go read it.
Be amused . . . .
. . . . . Or scared shitless.

Friday Monday Pussy Blogging

DAY FROM HELL!!!!!

I will give you Random Flickr tomorrow.
I promise.

Even the worst days can be brightened by a site like this.


Cappuccino has found a new place to nap. Isn't he lovely?

Thanks Dan

Dan Fogelberg has died of prostate cancer, he was 56.

Dan Fogelberg 8/13/51 - 12/16/07

Busy, Busy, Busy . . .

Addios Andrew!!

Friday afternoon was dark time again.

I don't know what triggered it, except maybe the holiday's fast approach. I know I'm staring at a week or so without the kids, and I'll have time to sit and miss her, I guess. Anyway, as I'm pretty much reeling with that, I see her pull up next to me at a light. Thankfully, the light changed almost immediately, and we didn't lock eyes.

The boys had their first performance of their Christmas play that night, so I trudged through it. It actually helped, and I didn't have time to dwell on it.

Saturday morning, I got up early and went to do the shopping for my holiday baking. I ran by D&L's house to drop off something for Andrew's going away party. As I was leaving there, heading back to my house, guess who?

About three block away from D&L's she was getting into her car at the house of some mutual friends. We locked eyes. She looked hurt. I would much rather her have looked angry or indifferent.

Fuck.

Sheer force of will made me get on with my tasks.

One of which was attending and photographing Andrew's going away party. The party itself deserves an entire post. Let me just say this. There are a coupe of reasons you don't see many pictures of me on this site.

One - I'm usually behind the camera.

Two - When I actually make it in front of the camera, alcohol and silliness are often involved.

Brave Sir Robin, donning the dreaded "China Glasses"
. . . . Details coming to a future post, stay tuned . .

Bottom line, I'm doing a lot better today.

Repeating the mantra seems to help.

Happy Birthday Shirley Jackson

Shirley Jackson was born on this day in 1916. She shares this birthday with my brother, Scottie (1965)

The Lottery (1948)

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o'clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather. surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. "Little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers' coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves's barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up--of heads of families. heads of households in each family. members of each household in each family. There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. with one hand resting carelessly on the black box. he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. "Clean forgot what day it was," she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly. "Thought my old man was out back stacking wood," Mrs. Hutchinson went on. "and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running." She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, "You're in time, though. They're still talking away up there."

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said. in voices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, "Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and "Bill, she made it after all." Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." Mrs. Hutchinson said. grinning, "Wouldn't have me leave m'dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?," and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson's arrival.

"Well, now." Mr. Summers said soberly, "guess we better get started, get this over with, so's we can go back to work. Anybody ain't here?"

"Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar. Dunbar."

Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde Dunbar." he said. "That's right. He's broke his leg, hasn't he? Who's drawing for him?"

"Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws for her husband." Mr. Summers said. "Don't you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?" Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

"Horace's not but sixteen vet." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this year."

"Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, "Watson boy drawing this year?"

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Here," he said. "I m drawing for my mother and me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said thin#s like "Good fellow, lack." and "Glad to see your mother's got a man to do it."

"Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that's everyone. Old Man Warner make it?"

"Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded.

A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. "All ready?" he called. "Now, I'll read the names--heads of families first--and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?"

The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, "Adams." A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. "Hi. Steve." Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. "Hi. Joe." They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart from his family. not looking down at his hand.

"Allen." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson.... Bentham."

"Seems like there's no time at all between lotteries any more." Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs. Graves in the back row.

"Seems like we got through with the last one only last week."

"Time sure goes fast.-- Mrs. Graves said.

"Clark.... Delacroix"

"There goes my old man." Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went forward.

"Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the women said. "Go on. Janey," and another said, "There she goes."

"We're next." Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.

"Harburt.... Hutchinson."

"Get up there, Bill," Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed.

"Jones."

"They do say," Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, "that over in the north village they're talking of giving up the lottery."

Old Man Warner snorted. "Pack of crazy fools," he said. "Listening to the young folks, nothing's good enough for them. Next thing you know, they'll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about 'Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.' First thing you know, we'd all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There's always been a lottery," he added petulantly. "Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody."

"Some places have already quit lotteries." Mrs. Adams said.

"Nothing but trouble in that," Old Man Warner said stoutly. "Pack of young fools."

"Martin." And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. "Overdyke.... Percy."

"I wish they'd hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. "I wish they'd hurry."

"They're almost through," her son said.

"You get ready to run tell Dad," Mrs. Dunbar said.

Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip from the box. Then he called, "Warner."

"Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery," Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd. "Seventy-seventh time."

"Watson" The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, "Don't be nervous, Jack," and Mr. Summers said, "Take your time, son."

"Zanini."

After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his slip of paper in the air, said, "All right, fellows." For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. "Who is it?," "Who's got it?," "Is it the Dunbars?," "Is it the Watsons?" Then the voices began to say, "It's Hutchinson. It's Bill," "Bill Hutchinson's got it."

"Go tell your father," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.

People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!"

"Be a good sport, Tessie." Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, "All of us took the same chance."

"Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hutchinson said.

"Well, everyone," Mr. Summers said, "that was done pretty fast, and now we've got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time." He consulted his next list. "Bill," he said, "you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?"

"There's Don and Eva," Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. "Make them take their chance!"

"Daughters draw with their husbands' families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said gently. "You know that as well as anyone else."

"It wasn't fair," Tessie said.

"I guess not, Joe." Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. "My daughter draws with her husband's family; that's only fair. And I've got no other family except the kids."

"Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it's you," Mr. Summers said in explanation, "and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that's you, too. Right?"

"Right," Bill Hutchinson said.

"How many kids, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked formally.

"Three," Bill Hutchinson said.

"There's Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me."

"All right, then," Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you got their tickets back?"

Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. "Put them in the box, then," Mr. Summers directed. "Take Bill's and put it in."

"I think we ought to start over," Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. "I tell you it wasn't fair. You didn't give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that."

Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box. and he dropped all the papers but those onto the ground. where the breeze caught them and lifted them off.

"Listen, everybody," Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.

"Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and children. nodded.

"Remember," Mr. Summers said. "take the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave." Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. "Take a paper out of the box, Davy." Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. "Take just one paper." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you hold it for him." Mr. Graves took the child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

"Nancy next," Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box "Bill, Jr.," Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.

"Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.

The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, "I hope it's not Nancy," and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of the crowd.

"It's not the way it used to be." Old Man Warner said clearly. "People ain't the way they used to be."

"All right," Mr. Summers said. "Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave's."

Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr.. opened theirs at the same time. and both beamed and laughed. turning around to the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads.

"Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.

"It's Tessie," Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. "Show us her paper. Bill."

Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir in the crowd.

"All right, folks." Mr. Summers said. "Let's finish quickly."

Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up."

Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said. gasping for breath. "I can't run at all. You'll have to go ahead and I'll catch up with you."

The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few pebbles.

Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. "It isn't fair," she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, "Come on, come on, everyone." Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him.

"It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

Well, I Do Live in Texas . . . .

Do you have a favorite Christmas song?

Red Queen had a post about her favorite ones and I started thinking that Christmas was only 11 days away and I haven't heard hardly any Christmas songs yet. As I don't really listen to regular radio, I guess that's not such a big surprise.

To me, it's not Christmas until I hear (in no particular order . . .)

Merry Christmas Baby - Bruce Springsteen

Please Come Home For Christmas - the Eagles

Father Christmas - The Kinks

And my favorite Christmas song? . . . .





Maybe this week I'll listen to some Holiday music. Maybe then I won't be such a humbug.

Tonight is the boy's Christmas play at church. (They still go) Rumor has it their Mother will be in town for the event.

That is never good for Brave Sir Robin.

Merry War on Christmas!

h/t to Red Queen and Phydeaux, without whom this post could not have been shamelessly stolen.

The One Where I Finally Remember To Do Heather's Tag . . .

OK - Catching up on all my "Tags"

This one is from Gourmet Goddess

The rules:
1. Put your music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT(this is in capital letters, so it is very serious.

1. IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY? Tuesday Morning - Michelle Branch

2. WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY? Overtime - Lucinda Williams

3. WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL? Since U Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson (HA!)

4. HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw? - Jimmy buffet (Boy, I hit that one huh?)

5. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE? Apache Rose Peacock - Red Hot Chili Peppers

6. WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO? Reelin' In The Years - Steely Dan

7. WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU? Under Your Spell - (Tara from the Buffy Once More With Feeling Soundtrack)

8. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS? Hey, Hey, What Can I Do? Led Zeppelin (uhm, YES!!!)

9. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? Driven To Tears (live) - The Police. (indeed)

10. WHAT IS 2+2? Gasoline Alley - Rod Stewart

11. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? Ramble On - Led Zeppelin

12. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE? The Grand Finale - Styx

13. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? One Of My Turns - Pink Floyd

14. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Little Rosa - Letters To Cleo

15. WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? White Moon - The White Stripes

16. WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? The Nearness Of You - Norah jones

17. WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING? Refrigerator Car - The Spin Doctors

18. WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? When I Come Around - Green Day

19. WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? It's Alright For You - the Police

20. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? You're Not Drinking Enough - Don Henely

21. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? Jungleland - Bruce Sringsteen

22. WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS? It Ain't Me Babe - Bob Dylan

Some of those came out pretty funny!!

I, Splotchy: This Story Is Virus

Ok Phydeaux my friend, I finally am doing this. . . . . . .

I, Splotchy: This Story Is A Virus :

Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

MathMan has tagged me to add to the story, which reads....


I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

"That's strange," I said out loud to no one in particular. My fingers slowly reached towards the jar again. My body experienced a wave of apprehension as weighted blanket covering me as I did so. The jar was completely frozen.

I picked it up and stared at it, my fingers stung with little knives of chill. "What the..." again I spoke aloud. Then I realized what had happened with a shock. Suddenly the jar flew from my hand. It shattered creating a collage-like mixture of frozen applesauce and glass shards on my kitchen floor, the lid lazily rolling to a stop across the room. (FranIam)

I stood for a moment considering what all this meant. Oh, I knew what it meant, I didn’t need to waste time thinking about it. He was back. And he was mad.

I ran down the hallway and flung open the door at the end. I was immediately hit with a blast of cold. I took a step back as I tried to catch my breath. I bent over, hands on my knees panting. He always had this remarkable effect on me. After so much time, it no longer scared me, but it was a shock nonetheless……

“You know,” I panted, “There’s no need to break things to get my attention.” (DCup)

I woke up in the same position as in my dream, on my knees. I was sweating even though room was freezing. (mathman6293)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

The nightmares began during the following spring. The apple trees came to life in my dreams. At first the trees spoke and I thought they were amusing. That changed when the messages arrived. Lately, their anger was directed at me. (mathman6293)

The sound of the front porch floorboards creaking snapped me out of my reverie. I stood up, grabbed my shotgun and made sure a round was chambered, then quietly made my way into the front room and over to the window. As I peeked out past the closed curtains, my heart began to beat rapidly.

It can't be, the incredulous thought came, I saw him die last year!
(Phydeaux)

There was no doubt it was him. I knew the minute he tried to meow and managed only a croak. I could feel him purring before he even reached my leg. As he started to rub against me I bent to pick him up but that’s as far as I got.

I smelled her perfume. I didn't see her and the scent was very faint, but a man doesn't forget the smell of a woman like her. As my arms pulled Sylvester to my chest my eyes were closed. The smell of her was strong on him, and my mind carried me back to the last time I'd buried myself in that heady fragrance.

"Sorry I took your cat", she said.
(Brave Sir Robin)

Well, I have never tagged Red Queen (but if she lived closer I sure would try) So Red Queen my dear, you get the next paragraph.

Pardon Me While I Puke

From the You Gotta Be Shitting Me files -

Alberto Weasel Gonzales named Lawyer Of The Year.

Since it is the end of the year and we'll be seeing more " ______ of the year" lists and awards let me add the following.

If Weasel is Lawyer of the year then . . . . . .

Gay Rights Activist of the year - Larry "Wide Stance" Craig

Peacemaker of the year - George "Shrub' Bush

PETA - Animal Rights Angel of the year - Michael Vick

Natural Athlete of the year - Barry Bonds

Marksman of the year - A tie! Bobby Knight and Dick Cheney


You get the point?

Yeeesh!!

Any to add to this list?

Wheel Of Time Author Chosen

The family of Robert Jordan has selected an author to write the final Wheel Of Time Novel.

Brandon Sanderson, author of the Mistborn novels has been chosen.

Well, it is great to see this series will be finally completed. I was very sad to hear that Jordan had died this summer.

Have any of you read Sanderson's books? I haven't, so I can't say if this is a good choice or not. It will be interesting to see if he tries to mimic Jordan's style or use his own to tell Jordan's story.

I know some of you are Wheel of Time readers.

Discuss please.

Random Flickr Blogging IMG_0852 . . . (2 days late)

Sorry these are so late. Thanks for bearing with me.

As always, Random Flickr Blogging Explained.
You may click on each picture to go to the original.

Two proud graduates of Dover High School, where Creationism and Abstinence are always in the curriculum.

WiiiiiiiilllllBUR !!!!!!!!

The Lee family, though new to the USA, was eager to partake in all of it's customs. Here, they are preparing to carve their first Jack o lantern.

Ravi couldn't concentrate on the service. The only thing he could think of was, "Only Four more days until Sitar Hero III comes out"

Follow. But! Follow only if ye be men of valour, for the entrance to this cave is guarded by a creature so foul, so cruel that no man yet has fought with it and lived! Bones of full fifty men lie strewn about its lair. So, brave knights, if you do doubt your courage or your strength, come no further, for death awaits you all with nasty, big, pointy teeth.

Then did he raise on high the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, saying, "Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy." And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the lambs and toads and tree-sloths and fruit-bats and orangutans and breakfast cereals ... Now did the Lord say, "First thou pullest the Holy Pin. Then thou must count to three. Three shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe.

No, The Writer's Strike Has Not Affected This Blog....

A few things . . .

I am really busy at work.

A conversation with my well meaning but insensitive mother has put you-know-who in the front of my consciousness.

The dreams are back in full force.

I've been listening to music that I shouldn't.

So yes, I'm having a bit of a dark time.

It WILL pass. Please bear with me. I have been repeating my mantra all day.

I owe you:

Monday's Random Flickr Blogging

A Movie Review

At least 2 Memes

My eternal gratitude for not chastising me.

Brave Sir Robin is not feeling at all brave, but he plans on doing better. He is so not a Holiday person.

Suck It Bill Donahue!

Ha Ha Ha Ha HA!

I'm taking the kids to see The Golden Compass!!!!

We are leaving right now!!!!!

It's Supposed To Be WINTER!!!!!

It's 12:08 AM December 8th, and it's 84 degrees outside with 100% humidity and my air conditioner is running.

I hate South Texas.

Tonight was the local ((War on) Christmas parade and nobody was wearing a jacket, or a scarf, or anything remotely resembling winter clothes.

I wish I lived in New England.

Let's All Chip In!!

I've found the perfect War on Christmas present for Shrub. It's slightly used, but seeing as he's never heard of it, he shouldn't know the difference.

It's expected to sell for between 20 to 30 million, but that's a pittance compared to it's value.

Anyone care to pitch in?

An original (1297) Magna Carta to be auctioned off.

(Editing Mine)

The document, which Sotheby's vice chairman David Redden calls "the most important document in the world," is expected to fetch a record $20-30 million.

While earlier versions of the royal edict were written and then ignored, Redden said, "the 1297 Magna Carta became the operative version, the one that was entered into English common law and became the law of the land," ultimately effecting democracies around the world.

Today, its impact is felt by perhaps a third of the world's people, he said. This includes all some of North America, India, Pakistan, much of Africa, Australia and other areas that made up the British Commonwealth.

"When it's something as enormously important as this, you try to get a handle on it," he said. "It is absolutely correct to say the Magna Carta is the birth certificate of freedom. It states the bedrock principle that no person is above the law — that is the essence of it."

Like I said, a perfect gift.

Yeah, They Wrote This Song For Me

One of those days.

Really.

Can't get her off of my mind, so I'm trying to work up some anger/indignation.

Luckily, as I was looking up some appropriate music for duel celebration of Repeal Day and Zappadan, I came across this little gem. I'd never seen this cover.


Let's just say, the lyrics speak to me.
And Damn!! Frank Zappa can play the shit out of the guitar.

But then, you knew that didn't you.

Whippin' Post

I been run down, I been lied to,
I dont know why I let that mean woman make me a fool.
She took all my money, wrecked my new car.
Now shes with one of my goodtime buddies,
Theyre drinkin in some crosstown bar.

Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel,
Like I been tied to the whipping post,
Tied to the whipping post,
Tied to the whipping post,
Good lord, I feel like Im dyin.

My friends tell me, that Ive been such a fool,
And I have to stand by and take it baby, all for lovin you.
Drown myself in sorrow, and I look at what youve down.
But nothin seems to change, the bad times stay the same,
And I cant run.

Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel,
Like I been tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post,
Tied to the whipping post,
Good lord, I feel like Im dyin.

Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel,
Like I been tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post,
Tied to the whipping post,
Good lord, I feel like Im dyin.

Tag, I'm it.

I have been tagged. Actually, I was tagged about a week ago.

Finally, I will respond.

First, I must post the rules:

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.

2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

3. People who are tagged write their own blog post about their eight things and include these rules.

4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged and that they should read your blog.

5. Thou must post eight. Eight shall be the number of the posting and the number of the posting shall be eight. Nine shalt thou not post, neither shalt thou post seven, excepting that thou then proceedeth to eight. Five is right out. Once the number eight, being the number of the posting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Tag in the direction of thine fellow bloggers.

1. I do not eat liver. Not beef liver, nor chicken liver, or any other creature that it might be pulled from. I do not eat foods that have liver in them.
   

2. I love shoes, I have many, many pairs, but 98% of the time I wear one of three favorite pairs. I have a pair I love that is about 5 years old that I have worn exactly once, because they don’t match anything I own.
   

3. The first blog I ever read on a regular basis was way back in 1997. It wasn’t even called a blog, because I’m pretty sure the word hadn’t been invented yet. It was rebekah.org, and is no longer around. I miss it.
   

4. If you’ve ever seen the concert/documentary film Scorpions World Wide Live, there is a scene in a record store, where they are signing autographs. I was there.
   

5. I drink my coffee black. No cream, no sugar. I also like it rather strong.
   

6. When I was a senior in high school, I made the finals in an international casting call for the musical GODSPELL. While at the auditions, I met James Marsters. He was cast as Jesus, I didn’t get a part. (17 years later, I played the Lamar part)
   

7. I stuffed envelopes and knocked on doors for Gary Hart in 1984.
   

8. My biggest fear is loneliness. I worry about dying alone, or just being home alone and having a heart attack, and there being no one to call 911.
   

I tag - (I know, some of you may have done this) Anne, Gourmet Goddess - (it doesn't say you can't do it again), Jennifer, Camera Obscura, Tink, Tart, Robin, and Boxer Rebel.

The Apple Doesn't Fall Too Far From The Tree . .

When I was in high school, my favorite thing in the whole world was going to speech tournaments. In some parts of the country they may be called forensic meets. Basically, it is a competition for speech and drama geeks. Prose and Poetry Interp, multiple acting events, debate, and of course, ample opportunity to flirt with like minded young ladies from other schools.

Heaven!!


#2 Son (a freshman), went to his very first tournament Friday. Look what he came back with.



That, dear reader, is the BEST ACTOR award for the entire tournament!!!

As a freshman!!

At his first meet ever!!!!

Wow.

Just Freaking Wow.

Way to go Dylan.

Gee, what are the odds . . . . . .

92%DRUNKARD

ht: Robin

Raging Rudolph

Remember that old Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer animation that was on TV every year when you were a kid?

Now imagine if Martin Scorsese directed it. You get the idea. Just think of it as my little contribution to the War On Christmas.



Merry Freakin' Christmas!!

I remember this on Mad TV many, many years ago. I was very glad to find it on You Tube.

Isn't the internet wonderful?

Random Flickr Blogging IMG_5744

Random Flickr Blogging explained.
You may click on each picture to go to the original.

R I funny? . . . R I amuse U? . . . R I here to fucking amuse U?

The gig was up. It was only a matter of time until the "Jerry Garcia is alive and well, living in Russia" rumors started.

"No, it looks better on you." "No, don't be silly, it looks so much better on you."

Somehow, Aha's early work wasn't as well received as the later stuff.

Although the Running of the Bulls gets all the press, the San Fermin festival's "Running of the Cougars" is just as popular.

"yeah, potted meat food product MY ASS"

Excuse me, miss? There seems to be a mistake. I believe I ordered the LARGE cappuccino!

Oh! Well, I guess the Cubs can win the World Series this year.

Pictures at Eleven .....

So I promised pictures of the cheesecake, which btw was yummy. It probably could have stayed in the oven a little longer. It was really fine, I'm just being picky. Everybody seemed to love it.

Sorry about the quality of the pictures, (alcohol may have been a factor.....)
You may click for full size





More pictures from the weekend ..........

There was food

Sam is desperately hoping someone drops some turkey

There was fishing

There were flowers

Let us not forget naps in the hammock

It doesn't suck to be Clinton

Brave Sir Robin is very thankful for his friends, his family, and for those of you who care enough to stop by here and read my musings.

Thanks for stopping by. I am working on a long post to tell the whole Rene' story once and for all. It may be serialized, after all better bloggers than me have done it.

Today's Task.....

My good friends D & L were in Canada skiing over Thanksgiving, and missed out on a traditional meal, so today we are all going to their house for a belated Thanksgiving feast. My task is to make a pumpkin cheesecake, (recipe below) and whatever else I choose. Since I still have an abundance of rich turkey stock in the fridge, I will probably make a pan of stuffing.

However, my main task today, and every day it seems, is to purge my mind of Rene'.

My Mantra:

I am in love with who I thought she was. It is even fair to say I am in love with who I hoped she was, who I wanted her to be. I am in love with who she could be. I am in love with who she pretends to be, and perhaps even who she wants to be.

That person does not exist.

That person is a facade, created by a careful set of lies and manipulations.

Boy, thinking it is one thing.

Saying it out loud to myself is another thing.

Seeing it written down here for the world to see is something else entirely.

I know in my heart that what I've written is true, but that doesn't make the memory of that love any less real or less bittersweet. I am deeply in love with a person that never existed. The question of whether she could be that person if she choose to be is the one thing that keeps me going back for more each time.

I'm not sure she can.

Pumpkin cheesecake

Crust

• 1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs
• 1 cup ginger snap crumbs
• 3/4 cup finely chopped toasted pecans
• 1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
• 1/2cup granulated sugar
• 3/4 stick unsalted butter, melted

Press crust into bottom and a little up the sides of a 9 or 10 inch springform pan. Put in freezer at least 20 minutes. While preparing filling, pre-bake crust 10 minutes‚ at 400° and let cool.

For the filling:

• 1 1/2 cups solid pack pumpkin (fresh makes a huge difference, but it can be made with canned)
  
• 3 large eggs
• 1 1/2 t. cinnamon
• 1/2 t. freshly grated nutmeg
• 1/2 t. ground ginger
• 1/4 t. allspice
  
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/2 c. packed brown sugar
• three 8-ounce packages softened cream cheese
• 1/2 c. granulated sugar
• 2 T. heavy cream
• 1 T. cornstarch
• 1 1/2 t. vanilla
• 3 T. bourbon

In a bowl whisk together the pumpkin, the cinnamon, the nutmeg, the ginger, the salt, and the brown sugar. In a separate bowl, beat the eggs until just mixed, then fold into the pumpkin mixture. In a large bowl with an electric mixer cream together the cream cheese and the granulated sugar, beat in the cream, the cornstarch, the vanilla, the bourbon, adding the pumpkin mixture last, and beat the filling until it is smooth. Note: do not over mix after the egg/pumpkin mixture is added. excess air whipped into the eggs will cause cracking later.

Pour the filling into the crust, bake the cheesecake in the middle of a preheated 350°F. oven for 50 to 55 minutes, or until the center is not quite set, and let it cool in the pan on a rack for 5 minutes.

For the topping:

• 2 c. sour cream
• 3 T. granulated sugar
• 3 T. bourbon liqueur or bourbon, or to taste
• 3/4 c. chopped candied pecans
  

In a bowl, whisk together the sour cream, sugar, and bourbon. Spread the sour cream mixture over the top of the cheesecake and bake the cheesecake for an additional 5 minutes. Let the cheesecake cool in the pan on a rack and chill it, covered, overnight.

I've Been Tagged!

I'll get back soon on this one.

Biggest problem?

I don't think I have 8 readers (who blog)!

:)

If This Doesn't Scare The Shit Out Of You...

Wow.

This post over at Pensito Review outlines a scenario that hadn't really occurred to me.

What if Cheney's atrial fibrillation is just a ruse to allow him to flee to Paraguay resign. That would allow a newly incumbent V.P. to slide into a nomination, bypassing a less than acceptable lineup of current candidates.

Normal people often overlook how hierarchical Republicans are by nature. They prefer to anoint their candidates in an orderly way: In the absence of a sitting vice president, as George H.W. Bush was to Reagan in 1992, a senior statesman is anointed, as Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole was in 1996 — or, better yet, they can satisfy their aristocratic yearnings by anointing the son of a former president, as they did the current Bush in 2000.

This year, in the absence of a clear choice, Republicans find themselves facing a roster of unacceptable candidates: a philandering liberal, a Mormon, an aging warrior who’s considered insufficiently doctrinaire, a lazy television actor, a former preacher with a weak record as governor of Arkansas and a Libertarian kook.

The strain of this disorderliness must be tormenting the GOP power base. And all of it could be wiped away in a simple fiat — the replacement of Dick Cheney with a new vice president whom they could anoint right away to become Bush’s successor.

So who might fit the bill — who could be counted on to beat the Democrats next November and keep the Bush family secrets for at least four more years?

Only one name comes to mind. He is experienced and available, and tanned and rested — and his name is Jeb.

I'm not sure about Pensito's choice of replacement, (God I hope not!) but it sure might shed some light on Lott's sudden retirement, less than a year into his new term.

Go read it all.

h/t to Pookyshoehorn

Purrrrrrrrrrfect Way To Relax

Via Robin, an instant way to relax and melt the stress away.

Have your speakers turned on.

Enjoy

What I Can Do

As most of you are aware, we are in day four of the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender Violence campaign.

Today Melissa over at Shakesville had an excellent (as always) post about what men can do.

I urge you to go and read it in its entirety. Much of the post struck home with me. For example:

See, the thing about men who are violent toward women is that they don't respect women, or what they have to say, or even their basic rights—and when you consider that the responsibility for preventing violence against women has traditionally been left to women, you start to see the problem. We need other men to communicate to them loudly and clearly and constantly that violence against women is totally unacceptable. We need male allies, just like the LGBTQ community needs straight allies, just like people of color need white allies.

Yes, I consider myself a feminist, and of course I abhor the thought of violence against women. That being said, I haven't really done much else. I have made the occasional post about it, but honestly I am a bit uncomfortable writing on the topic and I often punt, if you will, to Melissa. If I see something that offends my sensibilities, I usually email her and she will write a post about it. I will probably keep doing that because she is a better writer than I am and she does have about a few thousand hits more a day than I do.

So, back to the question: What can I do?

Well, this list (via A Call To Men) is a good place to start:

10 Things Men Can Do To End Men's Violence Against Women

1. Acknowledge and understand how sexism, male dominance and male privilege lay the foundation for all forms of violence against women.

2. Examine and challenge our individual sexism and the role that we play in supporting men who are abusive.

3. Recognize and stop colluding with other men by getting out of our socially defined roles, and take a stance to end violence against women.

4. Remember that our silence is affirming. When we choose not to speak out against men's violence, we are supporting it.

5. Educate and re-educate our sons and other young men about our responsibility in ending men's violence against women.

6."Break out of the man box"—Challenge traditional images of manhood that stop us from actively taking a stand to end violence against women.

7. Accept and own our responsibility that violence against women will not end until men become part of the solution to end it. We must take an active role in creating a cultural and social shift that no longer tolerates violence against women.

8. Stop supporting the notion that men's violence against women can end by providing treatment for individual men. Mental illness, lack of anger management skills, chemical dependency, stress, etc… are only excuses for men's behavior. Violence against women is rooted in the historic oppression of women and the outgrowth of the socialization of men.

9. Take responsibility for creating appropriate and effective ways to develop systems to educate and hold men accountable.

10. Create systems of accountability to women in your community. Violence against women will end only when we take direction from those who understand it most—women.



Thanks Liss, for the suggestion and the work you do.

Pearl Jam - H.R. Pufnstuf Theme

How is it possible that I have never seen this before?

Awesome.

I loved this show as a kid.

You might want to have a little "something to share" before viewing.

I'm just sayin' .....