from the comments
Walt:
Having Nickelback perform at the Closing Ceremony may be the closest thing we Canadians ever get to knowing how you Americans felt being represented by Bush.
Amy said
This is someone’s version of hell. Michael Bublé and inflatable beavers.
At an auto show yesterday
It’s a Fiat.
If you see something, say something
Overheard.
6-year-old girl: Mom, what does that [automated bus announcement] mean “You are the eyes of New York”?
Mom: Well, it means we should look out for anything dangerous. Like an unattended package left somewhere.
7-year-old girl: Well…I see something dangerous…
Mom: Oh?
7-year-old: Snow! Someone could slip in it.
6-year-old: I see something dangerous–a bus! It could hit someone.
7-year-old: I see something dangerous–a tree! It could fall down.
…
7-year-old: Mom, I see something really dangerous…
Mom: What.
7-year-old: Cardboard in the street!
6-year-old: Someone could trip on it.
7-year-old: (Singing) “Cardboard in the street! Cardboard in the street! Nothing more dangerous than cardboard in the street!”
1937 BMW 328 Mille Miglia
So
I stumbled on a Dallas Tea Party rally yesterday.
Update: Cindy, I did get one good shot.
Chatroulette Challenge
Renner, should you choose to accept it, I challenge you to 17 minutes on Chatroulette and a report of what you find.
from the spam
When Lanthan backed up a step, putting distance between them, something behind her heart twisted. His hands came over her eyes, which wouldn’t see then the black truly took over. Brevin gave thought to seeing his own mother but decided to visit his brother instead. Eyrhaen sipped her wine and decided that, tonight, she would be in a good mood. His control rushed up around hers, holding her in, holding her back. Now, again, there were tunnels.
spam name
Ola Sands.
Since we’re doing this. . .
1963~Nugget and I were both three years old. He was a wise pony.
We Have A Lucy, Don’t We?
(via)
Did I already post this? (another for Andrew)
Tampa StripperMobile Grounded
FYI
StripperMobile, the strip club on wheels, will not return to the streets of Tampa Friday night as originally planned.
For Andrew (ala Sheila)
Thinking about grief, thinking about my brother.
For Andrew
in response to Photography and Parenthood.
The first few years, I was really just a social drinker.
from the comments
My little brother died five years ago and, believe me, there is no end to human insensitivity in times like this. I’ve begun to try to think longer about the people who show that rare ability to really listen, empathize, and hold space. Those people are awesome and are perpetually astonishing to me whenever I find them.
Stupid
It may very well be the most terrifyingly destructive force in existence.
What are your thoughts?
How do we grieve now?
Something has been confusing me this week, so I thought I’d ask you: are we still allowed to grieve? See, here’s the thing: when my dear Uncle Ray passed away last year–a profound loss–a friend told me two days later that I “wasn’t fun anymore”. I don’t think he meant it in the dickish way it sounds, but I would have to concede that I was not particularly playful, sarcastic, or mischievous a couple of days after the greatest loss in my life.
Earlier this week I put my dear 13-year-old cat Cassius to sleep. It was fairly unexpected–I had anticipated returning from the vet with a vial of medicine but instead came home with an empty carrier. I drank myself a bunch of whiskey that night and cried and kicked a lawn chair. My boy and I were close.
So, the next morning a close family member (would be better not to say which one, but it rhymes with “schmother-in-law”) saw me crying as I was typing a message at my computer and said, “You need to get over it and move on–pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” Less than 24hrs had passed. That felt to me like a punch in the stomach and a malicious disrespect to the memory of my friend. I have been unable to bring myself to speak to her since.
So, ‘flockers, that’s why I’m coming to you. I’m not looking for sympathy (though I’ll take it), but I’m really just trying to answer this question: what is the etiquette for grieving these days? Keep it totally to yourself? Cry at a funeral for an immediate family member but not beyond? Only for humans but not for pets? Between being no fun and taking too many hours to mourn a non-human, I’m just not sure what one does anymore.
What do you do?
Four Poems by a Cranky Old Man
SCARED STRAIGHT
Boys your age shouldn’t be
playing with balls all the time.
Sports turn a fellow queer.
Now go on. Get out of here
or else I’ll make you blow me.
I’m not homo, just really lonely!
###
LIVE & LEARN
Everybody loves kittens.
Kittens are cute.
You know what’s even better?
Kittens are mute.
But the neighbor puppy
& his shrill little bark —
that’s what I couldn’t stand.
You should’ve seen him
arc through the air.
Unfortunately, dogs don’t land
as reliably as cats.
Or so I just heard
from the crybaby kid next door.
###
GOLDEN ENOUGH
That beer is really your favorite?
My piss has more kick to it.
I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed.
What? Where are you going?
You try living on a fixed income!
###
PRACTICE NOTHING
My underwear today
are older than you.
I’d like to review
your medical school
degree, if that’s okay.
I’m old, not dumb
or crazy.
And not every doctor
plays with my prostate.
out out damn cow
Four days after cows broke into her home, a woman in Murfreesboro, Ark., says she’s still in shock.
Photography and Parenthood
That we would prefer the shadows over the things themselves is, of course, nothing new:
For a parent, this time-consuming vocation has twin payoffs: it wins you a break from your actual children while bringing you closer to their images. Pictures of kids, like idealized Victorian boys and girls, can be seen but not heard.
The child’s life, reciprocally, becomes that of a model — and more. Every aspect of the family business becomes familiar to a child. Early on, she learns that she can examine a photo on a viewfinder as soon as it’s snapped; that she should monkey around rather than pose, as “film” is distinctly not at a premium; that a substantial share of her parents’ mysterious clicking at their computers consists of organizing and reorganizing images of her. My own son’s first word for laptop, when he saw a woman plugging away at one at Starbucks, was the word he used for himself: “baby.” What else could the woman be doing so intently at a screen but what he saw me do — paging through picture after picture of him?
Threatcon Delta
Image via Wikipedia
This morning I watched CNN‘s coverage of the SeaWorld killer whale incident with growing horror. Horror that a killer whale (gasp) killed? Horror that a sentient mammal was taken from its habitat to perform in a stationary circus for fat little kids with popsicle syrups melting down their slack-jawed little faces? Horror at what CNN has become?
Truthfully, yeah, a little of all of that. Yet, that wasn’t the root of my horror. As much as I probably should, I don’t have strong emotions about animal attacks, unnatural captivity, or Jack Cafferty. No, my horror was much more visceral, provoking fear and loathing such as I have not felt in almost a decade.
The year was 2001; the month was August. 19 jihadists were confirming their seat assignments while an absentee commander-in-chief posed with a chainsaw and ignored warnings along the lines of SOMETHING REALLY BAD IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN AND WE KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. Meanwhile, an oblivious public–even those safely ensconced in states without a coastline–were nearly unanimous in their rabid fear of…
Yes, the summer of 2001 was dubbed the Summer of the Shark. A nation was paralyzed by fear. And, yes, it was stoked by a media with little interest beyond the crisis of the moment. Perfect match of media and market.
If 2010 is about to spawn the Summer of the Orca, I recommend canceling that summer vacation and buying a ton of distilled water and… what was it… plastic sheeting and duct tape? If we have a unifying national talent, it’s a seemingly bottomless capacity for taking our collective eye off the ball (think Randy Johnson pitching to Ray Charles). Let’s hope it’s only Panty Bombers this time around.
I can deal with big fears; it’s the little ones that scare the shit out of me.
I Can Be Free
Yeah yeah, I know you don’t watch videos at work, whatever. You can even watch this with the sound off and it’s amazing.
I just… I just… Simone says it’s the best thing he’s seen all month, and I wholeheartedly agree.
Bowie, 1966
biblical exegesis on unusual blogs
Yesterday, Drew asked about some of the language of the Lord’s prayer and today there is a reference to a section of Galatians at (!) The Awl. What is going on with you people and why are you making me use my koine Greek on Friday?
