Hello Blog! It's been a hell of a long time, I know.
I could have blogged about when we moved to the 5-Cities. It's fan-freak'n-tastic, where we live. Out in the country (but apparently *too country* because we can't get mainstream renters insurance, due to CA wildfires & subsequent mudslides) - the cats & dog love it, we love it. Sure, there are down-sides like random gunfire (Seriously. What the HELL, people!) and Diablo Nuclear Power Plant sirens scaring our pants right off, but like I said - you win some and you lose some and this place lands squarely in the Win column.
But before that, I could have blogged about moving from the sweetest home I probably ever lived in, given the circumstances at the time. We had moved from the Central Valley, after losing our home to foreclosure. I hated that area so very much that I never tried fighting to keep our residence. No really. Hated. It. As we were losing it, The Mike lucked into finding us a rental back on the Central Coast (my hometown and where we met originally). Initially, I was reluctant but Hubs kept on and on about what a great place this new home was. And it was. That great. For crying out loud, it's a house at the San Luis Country Club. We were over the proverbial moon and we loved it dearly - rent was affordable (remember, both of us were on Unemployment at the time), it was freshly revamped, yet luckily the owner is a fellow bass fisherman and Hubs had an "in". It's that place I blogged (and flickr'd) about several times. Loveloveloved it. Unfortunately, the SLO utilities drove us out.
No really. The rent we pay at this place is $200 more a month, but we save over $500 a month on the costs of gas/electric/trash/water versus SLO.
Thus, the opportunity arose to move here to "the sticks", and we jumped. Jumped high & jumped hard.
It may be smaller in size than our house in the Valley and our place in SLO, but I love it to bits.
Right after we moved here, The Mike got a bona-fide job with a bona-fide plumbing company! Probably should have blogged about that too :chagrin:
His work is hard physical labor. Damn hard. More-so because he'd gotten hired to do commercial plumbing. Ever look at the pipes running through your house? Commercial pipes are easily 3 times larger in diameter and 6 times heavier. Cast iron. It's not a job for the physically or mentally weak. You have to wake up every morning knowing that your day will be nothing but hard physical labor.
He did that, every night before work and every morning before work. Running through his mind the upcoming day's activities. Lugging pipe onto the work truck, being on his knees on concrete while drilling, manhandling cast iron tubes while balancing on a ladder 8 feet (or more) up. Outside of that physical work, while in and of itself is enough to tax a person, he worried about his placing in the company hierarchy. He's the "new guy". Times are slow and times are tough for businesses and business owners - in all venues, but more so in "New Construction". Banks are not giving loans to builders, some local builders have burned local banks and businesses (Hi Mr. Gearhart, Mr. Scum.) and across the board businesses are playing everything close to their vests.
I get that. I've worked in the professional world for over half my life. I've done the taxes, given business advice when asked, had to fire people, hire people, let people go through no fault of their own - fielded audits, Labor Board disputes. I've had employer issues as egregious as employee issues. You name it.
For The Mike today? Laid off. Told work is slow. It is! Work IS slow. The thing that makes me saddest the most? He worked his ass off. Never called in sick, always followed his supervisor's instruction, and never complained about his working environment to anyone he worked with. Ever. Things like coworkers smoking cigarettes in the company vehicle (he doesn't smoke cigarettes but had to breath that air while commuting over an hour each way), never complaining about his coworkers smoking pot on their breaks (Why yes, thank you for asking, power tools and heavy equipment are used on the job frequently!), was ready and willing for any changes in work schedule (which happened regularly), accomplished his 90 day probationary period and breathed a sigh of relief.
Here are our questions though:
1) Why doesn't Knect's Plumbing & Air drug test? If they did, their list of banned employees (from failed drug tests) could be the prime start to culling their workforce without any harm to the good employees, new or not.
2) Following #1,Why not ban any employee that goes to ANY work site, let alone the Cal Poly campus, and leaves a crack pipe & pornography in plain view inside the company work vehicle (double parked for double the Stupid)?.
3) Why lay off an employee that has been nothing but positive for your company - in his work ethic and his appreciation of employment? Someone that can pass a drug test on the spot and endured hard physical labor for the privilege of being employed by a business he believed in.
Chris Knect? Today you made a choice, and with your choice you lost a real asset to your company. Too bad you never knew him.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
It Can't Be Real If It Doesn't Happen:
The news, with their reports of Michael's impending funeral/memorial/whatever, is a double-edged sword.
On one hand, I want to attend anything that will be public at Neverland Ranch. It's like 40 minutes south of me and an opportunity to be with other like-minded fans (and yes, some of the nutjobs, but the same could be said for a KISS concert too). On the other hand, the press keeps giving out wrong information in their hurry to be "first" and "breaking" that it's becoming a joke.
The family is being rather hush-hush on funeral arrangements at this point. Staples Center? Gary, Indiana? Neverland Ranch?
Maybe if there isn't any funeral/memorial/whatever, I can pretend this whole thing never happened. Watching the released footage of his last run-through days before he died, I can easily believe Michael is alive & well and doing just fine. No one with that much talent and ability at 50 can be but a mere 24 to 48 hours away from sudden death.
Right?
On one hand, I want to attend anything that will be public at Neverland Ranch. It's like 40 minutes south of me and an opportunity to be with other like-minded fans (and yes, some of the nutjobs, but the same could be said for a KISS concert too). On the other hand, the press keeps giving out wrong information in their hurry to be "first" and "breaking" that it's becoming a joke.
The family is being rather hush-hush on funeral arrangements at this point. Staples Center? Gary, Indiana? Neverland Ranch?
Maybe if there isn't any funeral/memorial/whatever, I can pretend this whole thing never happened. Watching the released footage of his last run-through days before he died, I can easily believe Michael is alive & well and doing just fine. No one with that much talent and ability at 50 can be but a mere 24 to 48 hours away from sudden death.
Right?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Never Can Say "Goodbye"
This is the start of my "OH MY GOD, I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IT" blogging about the second biggest thing to shape my life.
Mr. Michael Joseph Jackson, born August 29, 1958.
I was born October 12, 1968, and am the typical product of my generation . . . except when it comes to music.
Music.
Weirdly, I can't sing. Or dance. Just ask my husband. But music is in me, some way, some how.
Michael, as well as many others, speak to me.
When I was a little kid, I remember being given a Beatles record and hounding my birth mother (yeesh - I must have been about 5?) to play it. Play it again. Play it again and again and again.
To this day, I prefer the Beatles over the Rolling Stones - not because the Rolling Stones are in any way inferior. Blame it on "early influence of a 5 year old" lol. In my mind I "grew up" with the Beatles.
Songs resonate in my soul. They just do.
I remember being a little kid (roughly 8 or 9) and putting the 8-track tape into our (me and my next-oldest sister's/youngest brother's - we had to share that shit back then) 8-track player and hitting the 20 acres we lived on, as it pertained to the various machinery and wilderness we played on. Next to the "Old Barn" was a mobile home we played around and near it was various "in-different-states-of-disrepair" vehicles that we loved - especially the one old ice cream truck.
To this day I hear Chicago, and think back about then.
That whole musical era flashes me back to my "life on the farm" - "Comanche the Brave Horse", "Stand By Your Man", "The Gambler", "Wichita Lineman" Kenny Loggins (because he performed here once, when I was a kid).
Music. It's in me, it's formed me and I love it more than I love a lot of things. The surroundings I hear a song in sculpt my memory of that song and cement that moment.
Case in point: The sound-track of me being "un-adopted" is Lionel Richie's "Can't Slow Down". :shudder: It's the tape my adoptive parents had playing as they drove me from SLO to Santa Barbara (on Christmas Eve and without warning . . . HELLO!) to hand me over to my biological mother.
The Mike loves Lionel Richie and plays his songs all the time. I get that. He loves Lionel with a heart that is pure for the music. Lionel is a musical icon to him. Just not to me.
He has musical icons I can't begin to understand - KISS. George Straight. Janie Frickie (sp?) the list will always go one because he always finds new talent to appreciate - Chris Cornell makes the same sense to him that Manhattan Transfer makes to me.
I'll take "black coffee in bed" and he'd rather "rock & roll all night" but we will always agree that "you and I must make a pact".
Michael Jackson has, and will always, transcend. Me and the Mike just can NOT believe he's gone and no way will we ever say "goodbye" to him.
Don't know what my next post will be, except it will be more memories of Mr. MJJ.
Mr. Michael Joseph Jackson, born August 29, 1958.
I was born October 12, 1968, and am the typical product of my generation . . . except when it comes to music.
Music.
Weirdly, I can't sing. Or dance. Just ask my husband. But music is in me, some way, some how.
Michael, as well as many others, speak to me.
When I was a little kid, I remember being given a Beatles record and hounding my birth mother (yeesh - I must have been about 5?) to play it. Play it again. Play it again and again and again.
To this day, I prefer the Beatles over the Rolling Stones - not because the Rolling Stones are in any way inferior. Blame it on "early influence of a 5 year old" lol. In my mind I "grew up" with the Beatles.
Songs resonate in my soul. They just do.
I remember being a little kid (roughly 8 or 9) and putting the 8-track tape into our (me and my next-oldest sister's/youngest brother's - we had to share that shit back then) 8-track player and hitting the 20 acres we lived on, as it pertained to the various machinery and wilderness we played on. Next to the "Old Barn" was a mobile home we played around and near it was various "in-different-states-of-disrepair" vehicles that we loved - especially the one old ice cream truck.
To this day I hear Chicago, and think back about then.
That whole musical era flashes me back to my "life on the farm" - "Comanche the Brave Horse", "Stand By Your Man", "The Gambler", "Wichita Lineman" Kenny Loggins (because he performed here once, when I was a kid).
Music. It's in me, it's formed me and I love it more than I love a lot of things. The surroundings I hear a song in sculpt my memory of that song and cement that moment.
Case in point: The sound-track of me being "un-adopted" is Lionel Richie's "Can't Slow Down". :shudder: It's the tape my adoptive parents had playing as they drove me from SLO to Santa Barbara (on Christmas Eve and without warning . . . HELLO!) to hand me over to my biological mother.
The Mike loves Lionel Richie and plays his songs all the time. I get that. He loves Lionel with a heart that is pure for the music. Lionel is a musical icon to him. Just not to me.
He has musical icons I can't begin to understand - KISS. George Straight. Janie Frickie (sp?) the list will always go one because he always finds new talent to appreciate - Chris Cornell makes the same sense to him that Manhattan Transfer makes to me.
I'll take "black coffee in bed" and he'd rather "rock & roll all night" but we will always agree that "you and I must make a pact".
Michael Jackson has, and will always, transcend. Me and the Mike just can NOT believe he's gone and no way will we ever say "goodbye" to him.
Don't know what my next post will be, except it will be more memories of Mr. MJJ.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
'Member? You 'member!
Remember when I made the comment about "Female Victim-Vision"?
That thing that Frosts My Already Chapped Hide?
Hand to heart, it just pisses me the fuck off, and it's been going on For. Ever. For freak'n ever.
Tonight, my local knittas got to gabbing about what they do (and don't) watch on the telly box.
One participant was very honest with her views of what television she enjoys and also eschews.
That part there, though, got me typing about what, in the end, is so very wrong with current (HELLO 2009!) tele choices
Again.
Remember that I am 1000% not behind televised "Victim Vision".
Our house has a ton of T.V. available (part of our living arrangement) but I've decided to step away from the siren song. It was hard, since there is so much freak'n garbage on there that I could easily fall into.
I had to realize it's "garbage" when you get down to it.
Now I knit a ton more than usual and enjoy books like I haven't in several years.
My biggest pet-peeve, regarding "that stupid box in our living room" is what I call "Female Victim-Vision". I am so freak'n tired of noticing women in the victim/provocative role.
1) Cut to the female victim: tied up, scantily clad, then enduring physical abuse before being "saved".
2) Cut to woman wearing provocative clothing and subsequently becoming "the victim" - see #1
3) Scene opens with dead woman, scantily clad . . . 'nuff said.
That thing that Frosts My Already Chapped Hide?
Hand to heart, it just pisses me the fuck off, and it's been going on For. Ever. For freak'n ever.
Tonight, my local knittas got to gabbing about what they do (and don't) watch on the telly box.
One participant was very honest with her views of what television she enjoys and also eschews.
That part there, though, got me typing about what, in the end, is so very wrong with current (HELLO 2009!) tele choices
Again.
Remember that I am 1000% not behind televised "Victim Vision".
Our house has a ton of T.V. available (part of our living arrangement) but I've decided to step away from the siren song. It was hard, since there is so much freak'n garbage on there that I could easily fall into.
I had to realize it's "garbage" when you get down to it.
Now I knit a ton more than usual and enjoy books like I haven't in several years.
My biggest pet-peeve, regarding "that stupid box in our living room" is what I call "Female Victim-Vision". I am so freak'n tired of noticing women in the victim/provocative role.
1) Cut to the female victim: tied up, scantily clad, then enduring physical abuse before being "saved".
2) Cut to woman wearing provocative clothing and subsequently becoming "the victim" - see #1
3) Scene opens with dead woman, scantily clad . . . 'nuff said.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Keep Breathing:
About 11:15pm-ish, my phone rang (rather late, but not a total shocker).
Mike answered, since he was closest to it. When he read the display - my brother - it became a very wanted call. See, my brother and his wife had just been in town (Central Coast of CA) and were headed back, via highways & bi-ways, to their home in New Mexico.
This was the expected call of "Hey guys! We're home now! Yeah, it's late, but you demanded we call y'all when we arrived safely, so here it is at 11-something pm. Love ya and talk with you soon! We're home!"
But that wasn't this call.
They were involved in a serious accident about 24 hours ago.
He has a "Frankenstein" gash across his forehead (subcutaneous stitches as well as topical) and his wife has a fractured collarbone.
They were in separate vehicles and hit by the same tractor-trailer semi. First her - hit from behind and then completely run over by the cab of the semi. He was hit by the jack-knifed trailer attached. She was ran off the road and he flipped (once or twice - he's not sure).
Again, this was just over 24 hours ago. Roughly 10:30-ish Friday night. He said they were released from the hospital at about 3/4-ish A.M. Saturday morning. She has an arm splint and he has stitches. One of them has an Rx for a muscle relaxant and the other has an Rx for scrip Motrin.
They're now in an Arizona hotel, with no vehicles, scant personal belongings and left to figure it all out on their own.
My heart hurts for them both, and more-so for my brother because I know he wants to "fix" this horribly broken situation and alleviate his wife's suffering - emotionally, physically and . . . and concretely. To make it like it never happened. All the while with a gash on his own head and his own personal experience of the accident.
Immediately after the accident, while still on the side of the road, his first call was to his wife's mother. I cannot even imagine what that must have felt like, for him and for her.
Here's where I blow my stack, and then let go, something that makes me angry as Fuck.
For real, not even kidding pissed. I know it's my adrenaline and protectiveness taking over but swear to fucking God I am so mad.
After Bro & SIL finally got some real sleep, they called her mom (a very sweet woman and she probably had sat by the phone for hours waiting for an update!) and then our sister (local to me on the Central Coast). They had stayed at her house the few days they were in town.
She then called . . . not me. Her OTHER sister . . . then not me. Then *her* parents . . . then not me.
Lemme break it down for you:
Me and my brother are blood relatives.
We were adopted into our sister's family (mom, dad, two sister siblings much older)
I was "unadopted" at 15
Brother was given to foster family just after that
*Her* parents haven't been in our lives for . . . oh . . . almost 20 years?
Other sister has been married and distant for . . . oh . . . about 18 years.
And me - blood fucking sister, through thick & thin in this fucked up family. No call, no voice message, no email, no fucking anything. Not anything.
Should I blame my brother for not calling me first? Yeah. Honestly, I'm a bit taken aback. I've also been in a car accident (or three - HELLO $4.something million dollar lawsuit) and know from disorientation, shock, surprise, anger, whathaveyou.
My husband, having answered the phone tonight and listened to my brother's ordeal first-hand, later kept saying what he knows I feel in my heart but probably wouldn't have said so soon:
"How could she not call?"
How could she not have called?
No matter what though, he's okay and so is his wife. All we want, all of us, is for him and her to get through this horrible ordeal intact.
Breathe.
For him, for her, and for them when they forget to.
Mike answered, since he was closest to it. When he read the display - my brother - it became a very wanted call. See, my brother and his wife had just been in town (Central Coast of CA) and were headed back, via highways & bi-ways, to their home in New Mexico.
This was the expected call of "Hey guys! We're home now! Yeah, it's late, but you demanded we call y'all when we arrived safely, so here it is at 11-something pm. Love ya and talk with you soon! We're home!"
But that wasn't this call.
They were involved in a serious accident about 24 hours ago.
He has a "Frankenstein" gash across his forehead (subcutaneous stitches as well as topical) and his wife has a fractured collarbone.
They were in separate vehicles and hit by the same tractor-trailer semi. First her - hit from behind and then completely run over by the cab of the semi. He was hit by the jack-knifed trailer attached. She was ran off the road and he flipped (once or twice - he's not sure).
Again, this was just over 24 hours ago. Roughly 10:30-ish Friday night. He said they were released from the hospital at about 3/4-ish A.M. Saturday morning. She has an arm splint and he has stitches. One of them has an Rx for a muscle relaxant and the other has an Rx for scrip Motrin.
They're now in an Arizona hotel, with no vehicles, scant personal belongings and left to figure it all out on their own.
My heart hurts for them both, and more-so for my brother because I know he wants to "fix" this horribly broken situation and alleviate his wife's suffering - emotionally, physically and . . . and concretely. To make it like it never happened. All the while with a gash on his own head and his own personal experience of the accident.
Immediately after the accident, while still on the side of the road, his first call was to his wife's mother. I cannot even imagine what that must have felt like, for him and for her.
Here's where I blow my stack, and then let go, something that makes me angry as Fuck.
For real, not even kidding pissed. I know it's my adrenaline and protectiveness taking over but swear to fucking God I am so mad.
After Bro & SIL finally got some real sleep, they called her mom (a very sweet woman and she probably had sat by the phone for hours waiting for an update!) and then our sister (local to me on the Central Coast). They had stayed at her house the few days they were in town.
She then called . . . not me. Her OTHER sister . . . then not me. Then *her* parents . . . then not me.
Lemme break it down for you:
Me and my brother are blood relatives.
We were adopted into our sister's family (mom, dad, two sister siblings much older)
I was "unadopted" at 15
Brother was given to foster family just after that
*Her* parents haven't been in our lives for . . . oh . . . almost 20 years?
Other sister has been married and distant for . . . oh . . . about 18 years.
And me - blood fucking sister, through thick & thin in this fucked up family. No call, no voice message, no email, no fucking anything. Not anything.
Should I blame my brother for not calling me first? Yeah. Honestly, I'm a bit taken aback. I've also been in a car accident (or three - HELLO $4.something million dollar lawsuit) and know from disorientation, shock, surprise, anger, whathaveyou.
My husband, having answered the phone tonight and listened to my brother's ordeal first-hand, later kept saying what he knows I feel in my heart but probably wouldn't have said so soon:
"How could she not call?"
How could she not have called?
No matter what though, he's okay and so is his wife. All we want, all of us, is for him and her to get through this horrible ordeal intact.
Breathe.
For him, for her, and for them when they forget to.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
What Medium of Expression Speaks to You?
Let me first say that I'm absolutely no scholar on anything "artistic". At all and period.
I read all sorts of books . . . in many genres, I gaze upon art in all forms, I tap my foot to music and I know what strikes me in knitting architecture. Tagging isn't art to me, and neither is cookie-cutter design, in any form.
My all time favorite forever artist is Larry Bell. A long time ago, I worked for Robert Higashi, CPA and lucked into meeting a few of his wife's art patrons and clientele. My stereotypical Libra soul felt a kinship in minimalist art. Diptychs and triptychs of solid colors in different saturation (but I didn't know that term then) spoke to me.
It's also where I first learned that our country interned Americans of Japanese decent during World War 2. Americans! I don't think I'll ever wrap my head around that fact.
I've learned and experienced so much in 40 years. SO much. Everything has made me who I am today, and today will help shape my tomorrow.
In the end though, music is the one thing I could not give up. We all have our favorites - swing, do-wop, rap (not so much, but I could pick ONE artist!), A cappella, piss-cutter, oakie, arena rock, 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's, soft rock, hard rock, glam rock, the Motown Sound, Rockabilly, you name it.
Music speaks to my heart and soul. It's no wonder I married a closet singer from such a musical family, lol.
What medium speaks to you, my friend?
I read all sorts of books . . . in many genres, I gaze upon art in all forms, I tap my foot to music and I know what strikes me in knitting architecture. Tagging isn't art to me, and neither is cookie-cutter design, in any form.
My all time favorite forever artist is Larry Bell. A long time ago, I worked for Robert Higashi, CPA and lucked into meeting a few of his wife's art patrons and clientele. My stereotypical Libra soul felt a kinship in minimalist art. Diptychs and triptychs of solid colors in different saturation (but I didn't know that term then) spoke to me.
It's also where I first learned that our country interned Americans of Japanese decent during World War 2. Americans! I don't think I'll ever wrap my head around that fact.
I've learned and experienced so much in 40 years. SO much. Everything has made me who I am today, and today will help shape my tomorrow.
In the end though, music is the one thing I could not give up. We all have our favorites - swing, do-wop, rap (not so much, but I could pick ONE artist!), A cappella, piss-cutter, oakie, arena rock, 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's, soft rock, hard rock, glam rock, the Motown Sound, Rockabilly, you name it.
Music speaks to my heart and soul. It's no wonder I married a closet singer from such a musical family, lol.
What medium speaks to you, my friend?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Parents By Proxy:
It's Thursday night y'all. The night of which we've spent the day excitedly anticipating the newest Survivor episode . . . and it didn't air, no thanks to Basketball. BOOOOO on Basketball! I think it was College Basketball, which is even more of an insult. The only way I will ever find basketball interesting is if they paint gridlines on the court, erect goal posts at each end, use a ball made out of pigskin that has pointy ends and call it football. Not a moment sooner.
We lucked into some pork ribs on sale at the grocery store the other day, and knowing our current house-guest and his son love them some meat on the bone (as does The Mike. Me? I have an almost freakish disgust of meat being eaten off bones. The concept is so barbaric I would probably starve to death if that was the only way to gain sustenance. For reals.) we had the big plan of bbq-ing this evening.
As we're starting the grill, our house-guest comes home from work and proceeds to tell The Mike that he's off to stay in a motel in Morro Bay with his girlfriend (who is on her way from Fresno to MB that very moment)and oh yeah . . . his son will be staying the night with us thankyouverymuch.
Here's the deal.
Wanna stay here for a week or three? No problem
Wanna bring your well-behaved and all-around good kid with ya? No problem
Wanna have your kid stay with us overnight while you have "a night" with your gf? No problem
Do not communicate these desires until the last freak'n minute. Big problem
My sneaking suspicion is that he didn't want to give us any wiggle room to say no, which seriously chaps my hide. That's not a real friend, in my book. The Mike though, he'll put up with shit like this even though he isn't impressed either (and I know this because he tells me but no one else, grrrrr).
The bottom line in this latest scenario, for me, is that I feel bad for the kid, J. He's well aware that his dad left him here so said dad can have "time" (wink wink nudge nudge) with the gf. Dad hasn't taken the kid anywhere or done anything with him for the last four days they've been on the Central Coast, but now he's off hanging with someone else. I had a single mom at one point, and maybe this is bringing up my own feelings, projected onto J. He's had a single dad for a long time, and really crappy mom for even longer, so maybe he's more okay with the situation than I am. He's definitely a nicer and less-bratty kid than I was at that age, for sure. 'Course, back then, I didn't have an iPod and a cell phone to keep me occupied . . . just my own inner thoughts and books to escape into, lol.
Lest I make this blog a diary of all my "gloom and doom" musings, here's something I really like:
Knitting.
I love it so very much. It makes me happier than reading books for pleasure and I never thought I'd utter those words. Ever. One of my earliest memories is reading my own book alongside my mom as she read (and who is an avid reader and instilled that love in me). She loved crochet though, and I just can't wrap my head around that craft. Go figure!
We lucked into some pork ribs on sale at the grocery store the other day, and knowing our current house-guest and his son love them some meat on the bone (as does The Mike. Me? I have an almost freakish disgust of meat being eaten off bones. The concept is so barbaric I would probably starve to death if that was the only way to gain sustenance. For reals.) we had the big plan of bbq-ing this evening.
As we're starting the grill, our house-guest comes home from work and proceeds to tell The Mike that he's off to stay in a motel in Morro Bay with his girlfriend (who is on her way from Fresno to MB that very moment)and oh yeah . . . his son will be staying the night with us thankyouverymuch.
Here's the deal.
Wanna stay here for a week or three? No problem
Wanna bring your well-behaved and all-around good kid with ya? No problem
Wanna have your kid stay with us overnight while you have "a night" with your gf? No problem
Do not communicate these desires until the last freak'n minute. Big problem
My sneaking suspicion is that he didn't want to give us any wiggle room to say no, which seriously chaps my hide. That's not a real friend, in my book. The Mike though, he'll put up with shit like this even though he isn't impressed either (and I know this because he tells me but no one else, grrrrr).
The bottom line in this latest scenario, for me, is that I feel bad for the kid, J. He's well aware that his dad left him here so said dad can have "time" (wink wink nudge nudge) with the gf. Dad hasn't taken the kid anywhere or done anything with him for the last four days they've been on the Central Coast, but now he's off hanging with someone else. I had a single mom at one point, and maybe this is bringing up my own feelings, projected onto J. He's had a single dad for a long time, and really crappy mom for even longer, so maybe he's more okay with the situation than I am. He's definitely a nicer and less-bratty kid than I was at that age, for sure. 'Course, back then, I didn't have an iPod and a cell phone to keep me occupied . . . just my own inner thoughts and books to escape into, lol.
Lest I make this blog a diary of all my "gloom and doom" musings, here's something I really like:
Knitting.
I love it so very much. It makes me happier than reading books for pleasure and I never thought I'd utter those words. Ever. One of my earliest memories is reading my own book alongside my mom as she read (and who is an avid reader and instilled that love in me). She loved crochet though, and I just can't wrap my head around that craft. Go figure!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
You there. Scoot Over and Make Room:
When plurk came along, I admit I checked it out. There are some really good knitters and popular knitting podcasters on it, so yeah, I spent a tiny bit of time there.
It didn't grab me and keep my attention, so after a few days I pretty much walked away.
Facebook? Nope. Not even close to interested. There isn't anyone from H.S. that I want to find or have find me. I already know what my two best childhood friends have been up to, and I'm pretty up-to-date on my very first love's life since that time. Whatever random stranger from this area is not on my list of "must meet" and really, there's a much better online resource I enjoy.
MySpace? Hell to the No. Last I checked, my age and lifestyle are counter to the usual denizens over there. Think I'm kidding? Meet my niece . . . and her boyfriend. :shudder: Not my thang.
Today, though? Today I climbed right on board the Twitter bus, elbowing my way to a window seat! Not because of my friends Alex, or even CJ! Nope. It's all because of this guy. The man, the myth, the legend, the D.C. regional treasure, Mr. Don Geronimo (Michael Sorce).
I fell in love with the show about 1994-ish. Before I knew my husband, before I knew of this thing called "internet", and well before I ever started knitting. The Don and Mike show is one of my most favorite things in the world, despite it not even being on the air any more. One time, I flew from SLO to DC, stayed in a complete stranger's home and had people in several states all meet up at the station - completely grassroots and one of my treasured memories. On the airwaves, I've listened to his son grow up, him and his wife agree, disagree and laugh together, his heartbreaking talk when Freda suddenly died (and I still tear up just writing that), antics with the other guys on the show, descriptions of his bat cave, the princess phone and his thoughts while viewing television shows. Years and years and years of 4-hours-a-day, 5-days-a-week funny ass shit. There is an entire online community based around the D&M Show (and remember, the "D" in that show left the airways quite a while ago!) and it's where I'm the only female moderator and have been since around 2001. I love the show that much.
Today I found out that he twitters, and so now I'm a bangwagon-jumper-on-er! Oh, you bet'cha I'm following his tweets!
It didn't grab me and keep my attention, so after a few days I pretty much walked away.
Facebook? Nope. Not even close to interested. There isn't anyone from H.S. that I want to find or have find me. I already know what my two best childhood friends have been up to, and I'm pretty up-to-date on my very first love's life since that time. Whatever random stranger from this area is not on my list of "must meet" and really, there's a much better online resource I enjoy.
MySpace? Hell to the No. Last I checked, my age and lifestyle are counter to the usual denizens over there. Think I'm kidding? Meet my niece . . . and her boyfriend. :shudder: Not my thang.
Today, though? Today I climbed right on board the Twitter bus, elbowing my way to a window seat! Not because of my friends Alex, or even CJ! Nope. It's all because of this guy. The man, the myth, the legend, the D.C. regional treasure, Mr. Don Geronimo (Michael Sorce).
I fell in love with the show about 1994-ish. Before I knew my husband, before I knew of this thing called "internet", and well before I ever started knitting. The Don and Mike show is one of my most favorite things in the world, despite it not even being on the air any more. One time, I flew from SLO to DC, stayed in a complete stranger's home and had people in several states all meet up at the station - completely grassroots and one of my treasured memories. On the airwaves, I've listened to his son grow up, him and his wife agree, disagree and laugh together, his heartbreaking talk when Freda suddenly died (and I still tear up just writing that), antics with the other guys on the show, descriptions of his bat cave, the princess phone and his thoughts while viewing television shows. Years and years and years of 4-hours-a-day, 5-days-a-week funny ass shit. There is an entire online community based around the D&M Show (and remember, the "D" in that show left the airways quite a while ago!) and it's where I'm the only female moderator and have been since around 2001. I love the show that much.
Today I found out that he twitters, and so now I'm a bangwagon-jumper-on-er! Oh, you bet'cha I'm following his tweets!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Humanity? Color Me Done:
The Mike's fishing partner (and a really good friend of ours . . . usually . . .) showed up this last Sunday night. To stay for the week. Not just him, but his teen-aged son. Ayup. Please to be knowing that they live in Porterville. Two-and-a-half-freak'n hours away.
Call me koo-koo-krazy, but wouldn't the average duck either 1) call about a week ahead of time to clear it or 2) at least take 5 minutes somewhere during that 2.5 hour drive to call ahead and clear it.
Y'all know how this story played out, I'm sure. No call until they were a few minutes away.
He shows up, not only with a packed case for him and his kidlet, but gawd-damn pillows to boot. Again, if you have time to put extra pillows in your hooptie, you're thinking about the ending of your journey (our house!) and should take a few minutes to get on the horn and give your "friends" a heads-up. And by "friends" I mean me and The Mike.
Don't get me wrong - we love them to pieces and bits and would never turn them away. Our friend is a pleasure to know and his son is from the same mold.
My only complaint, which starts with them but expands to life in general, is . . . where is the civility any more?
The civility that calls before it shows up?
The civility that uses voice-to-voice instead of text messages?
The civility that says "Thank You" when a food server tops off your beverage.
The civility that makes eye-contact with the person behind the check-out counter.
The civility that hangs up their goddamn cellphone in order to maintain human interaction.
The civility that keeps our middle finger tucked down as we pass the slow driver over in the passing lane.
Really. Just the (used to be) common courtesy we all had instilled in us from our parents.
Maybe I'm turning into that stereotypical old lady that shakes her fist against interlopers on her suburban lawn, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least.
I'm just so damn done with people who don't appreciate other people's boundaries.
Oh, and our friend that showed up Sunday with his kidlet? He's here working for this week (and many more after)and his son J is "off on break" from Monache (yeah, where we just escaped from) and "would it be okay if he (J) hung out here?".
Ain't no way we're saying no. J is a very good egg and we respect him immensely (yeah, I just wrote that I not only just respect a teenage boy, but that I respect him immensely. So. Get. The. Irony.)
Bottom line is, our very good friend dropped his (and his kid's) visit on us Last Effing Minute. When did that behavior become not only passable, but fucking acceptable?
Call me koo-koo-krazy, but wouldn't the average duck either 1) call about a week ahead of time to clear it or 2) at least take 5 minutes somewhere during that 2.5 hour drive to call ahead and clear it.
Y'all know how this story played out, I'm sure. No call until they were a few minutes away.
He shows up, not only with a packed case for him and his kidlet, but gawd-damn pillows to boot. Again, if you have time to put extra pillows in your hooptie, you're thinking about the ending of your journey (our house!) and should take a few minutes to get on the horn and give your "friends" a heads-up. And by "friends" I mean me and The Mike.
Don't get me wrong - we love them to pieces and bits and would never turn them away. Our friend is a pleasure to know and his son is from the same mold.
My only complaint, which starts with them but expands to life in general, is . . . where is the civility any more?
The civility that calls before it shows up?
The civility that uses voice-to-voice instead of text messages?
The civility that says "Thank You" when a food server tops off your beverage.
The civility that makes eye-contact with the person behind the check-out counter.
The civility that hangs up their goddamn cellphone in order to maintain human interaction.
The civility that keeps our middle finger tucked down as we pass the slow driver over in the passing lane.
Really. Just the (used to be) common courtesy we all had instilled in us from our parents.
Maybe I'm turning into that stereotypical old lady that shakes her fist against interlopers on her suburban lawn, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least.
I'm just so damn done with people who don't appreciate other people's boundaries.
Oh, and our friend that showed up Sunday with his kidlet? He's here working for this week (and many more after)and his son J is "off on break" from Monache (yeah, where we just escaped from) and "would it be okay if he (J) hung out here?".
Ain't no way we're saying no. J is a very good egg and we respect him immensely (yeah, I just wrote that I not only just respect a teenage boy, but that I respect him immensely. So. Get. The. Irony.)
Bottom line is, our very good friend dropped his (and his kid's) visit on us Last Effing Minute. When did that behavior become not only passable, but fucking acceptable?
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Brass Tacks:
I know (I know, I know I know (hides head in shame, trust you me) it's been a Coon's Damn Age since I've talked over at my Blue Content page.
Here's where I talk The Truth, ugly as it may be, and trustyoume, it's fucking ugly.
The economy (lower case) is in the toilet. Everywhere we turn, we're bombarded with Bad Economy, Bad Investment, Bad Investors (Hi Mr. Madoff), bad start-ups, BAD BAD BAD.
Who lost this round? You, me and every small business owner we personally know. Who won this round? I'm thinking every Insurance/Investment/Government Contract Holder tied to big business six ways to Sunday.
That's my Brass Tacks vision at the moment. We (as Americans) have some big damn issues to deal with. Don't think we don't, because we do. We certainly do.
What are you all doing right now?
Here's where I talk The Truth, ugly as it may be, and trustyoume, it's fucking ugly.
The economy (lower case) is in the toilet. Everywhere we turn, we're bombarded with Bad Economy, Bad Investment, Bad Investors (Hi Mr. Madoff), bad start-ups, BAD BAD BAD.
Who lost this round? You, me and every small business owner we personally know. Who won this round? I'm thinking every Insurance/Investment/Government Contract Holder tied to big business six ways to Sunday.
That's my Brass Tacks vision at the moment. We (as Americans) have some big damn issues to deal with. Don't think we don't, because we do. We certainly do.
What are you all doing right now?
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