Here is one of those random blogs where I ramble on . . .
I made it into the adoption pool. I got my license from DCFS (because I am adopting a kid from another state). What does the pool mean? I submitted a "Dear Birthparent" letter, where I have one page to talk about myself and try to convince potential birthparents to pick my file to look at. Yikes! I have a hard enough time not using run-on sentences when I speak. Then if they pick my file, they can review it and determine if I am the one they want to raise their child. Could be a day, could be a year from now when I get a kid. But I have that license, which says my home is fit for a child and that I meet all parenting standards set by DCFS. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had to do that before bringing a child into the world? Maybe child abuse would disappear . . . but, then again, you have to have a license to drive a car (and people are still lousy drivers).
I have had three trials in a row this week. One was over money and assets and finessing settlement language. Boring and mind-numbing and I wanted to strangle everyone. Yesterday was a custody trial. My client was seeking sole custody. I actually felt bad cross-examining the other party (I made her cry on the witness stand), but ultimately, my job is argue for the best interests of the child, not the party losing custody. Today's trial - whether a house is worth $200K or $250K. Waste of time and money, but in family law, people lose all sense of rationality. It's my job as a lawyer to keep that sense of rationality going.
This past Saturday, I received unexpected news. Our Associate Pastor called me, while he was away at a youth ministry convention, to let me know personally that he had accepted a Senior Pastor position at another church. Ouch! This Pastor is the reason I joined the church I am at (well, the community of this church is why, but he is the conduit). I was also confused - he apparently wanted to call a select group of people and confidentially tell them first. Why me? I guess even in my short time there, I managed to make an impact. Now, I could be selfish and say that I am angry and sad at him for leaving (and I am - because that is a normal reaction). However, I am glad. I am glad that he was called to service for another church (God is always speaking). I am glad that he found a role that suits his talents. I am glad that others will get to experience the Cheese Song. I am glad that God led me to this church to meet this man. I wish only the best for him, and I fully expect that as he reads this, he knows that we will be singing more songs again soon (did I mention that I have a song about bologna?) I leave this topic with this quote: "Greatness is not measured by how many people celebrate your presence, but by how many people mourn your absence."
Music. I couldn't imagine a day in my life without music. In fact, I would probably make music out of anything if I didn't have a radio around and my voice was hoarse. I have been singing more and more. Cantatas, karaoke, community chorales, you name it. I bought a new instrument, a djembe, which I have been banging on after work. Great for just having fun and making noise. I even, with trepidation, have restarted my music theory lessons. No, I don't plan on becoming a composer, but I am so weird, I even love to learn about music. Music is probably one of the most difficult languages ever written by man, and the most powerful. When aliens come to visit (watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind), music will likely be the best way to communicate, trust me.
So that is my mad ramblings for this week. Oh wait, we had a snowstorm last Thursday. And all those morons with licenses to drive proved once again that having a license to do something doesn't make you good at it.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Yabba Dabba-loo-yah - December 20, 2006
Cartoons. I have written about them before. Why? Simple. In cartoons, anything is possible. A coyote can order malfunctioning weapons of false destruction that only work against the buyer. Rabbits can talk. A groups teens (an effeminate pseudo-male, a stuck-up hot chick, a lesbian, and a pothead) and a talking dog can drive in a psychadelic van, not attend school, and solve the unsolved mysteries that have plagued local police departments around the country. A hyper-intelligent dog and his boy Sherman can travel through time to teach history to kids. Yep, cartoons can do it all.
I have written before about cartoons. But today, it is special for me. Joe Barbera (of Hanna-Barbera) passed away today of natural causes (Bill Hanna died in 2001). This team is responsible for "Tom & Jerry," "The Flintstones," "The Jetsons," "Huckleberry Hound," "Scooby Doo," "The Laff-a-Lympics," Yogi Bear," "The Smurfs," "Quick Draw McGraw," "Johnny Quest," "Snorks," "Hong Kong Phooey," "Top Cat," "Dexter's Lab," "Captain Planet," and many, many more. Yep, I gosh darned loved Hanna-Barbera. Seriously, you have at least one favorite cartoon that came from Hanna-Barbera.
HB Cartoons are everywhere. Cartoon Network's Adult Swim is full with HB tributes - Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law!!!!! Find a person on the street who can't sing the theme to the Smurfs. Find me a child of the 80s who can't tell you who Captain Planet is and how he is "by your powers combined."
Now, I also just learned that on November 20, 2006, Chris Hayward passed away. You are scratching your head??? Does Dudley Do-Right ring a bell? No. Okay, he was the writer for Rocky & Bullwinkle . . . and the creator of the Munsters. And, of course - he was partly involved with Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman. I don't usually go a month without saying "Quiet, you." to someone.
Most of the cartoons by these two men found their way into a Chris Rice song called, "What If Cartoons Got Saved?" The song asks how cartoons would respond if they were saved by Jesus. No matter what, we do give human-ness to cartoons. They are often our first experiences when the TV is turned on. It's not surprising how important cartoons are to people. They teach us to sing. They teach us to count. They teach us to share. They teach us that no one is subject to the laws of gravity unless they realize they are subject to the laws of gravity. They teach us that kindness usually wins out. And, they make us laugh our asses off.
And of course, there are still a list of cartoon things I want to know:
*When Megatron (Transformers) transforms into the hand-held gun that fits into the hands of Starscream, a robot of equal size, where does all of Megatron's mass go?
*Scooby Doo can talk (and apparently think). Why doesn't he think, "Why I am driving around with these weirdos? Where is Pam Anderson?"
*Does Charlie Brown ever think, "Screw this. I am kicking Lucy in the damn head!"?
*Why didn't Yosemite Sam, Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, and Wylie Coyote team up? I am tired of Bugs and the Road Runner winning the day?
*Where are Donald Duck's pants?
*Where is Mickey Mouse's shirt? Seriously, between Mickey and Donald, they had one outfit. And why does Goofy get pants, a shirt, and a vest?
*Is knowing really half the battle? Or is getting people to apply what they know half the battle? Who knows? I think the glass is still half-empty.
*How did capturing a bumble bee in a clamshell allow Fred Flintstone to shave?
I guess I will never know, but thankfully, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and Fairly Oddparents will teach me new things about how to live a good life. Oh, and Jane - Stop this crazy thing!!!!!!
I have written before about cartoons. But today, it is special for me. Joe Barbera (of Hanna-Barbera) passed away today of natural causes (Bill Hanna died in 2001). This team is responsible for "Tom & Jerry," "The Flintstones," "The Jetsons," "Huckleberry Hound," "Scooby Doo," "The Laff-a-Lympics," Yogi Bear," "The Smurfs," "Quick Draw McGraw," "Johnny Quest," "Snorks," "Hong Kong Phooey," "Top Cat," "Dexter's Lab," "Captain Planet," and many, many more. Yep, I gosh darned loved Hanna-Barbera. Seriously, you have at least one favorite cartoon that came from Hanna-Barbera.
HB Cartoons are everywhere. Cartoon Network's Adult Swim is full with HB tributes - Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law!!!!! Find a person on the street who can't sing the theme to the Smurfs. Find me a child of the 80s who can't tell you who Captain Planet is and how he is "by your powers combined."
Now, I also just learned that on November 20, 2006, Chris Hayward passed away. You are scratching your head??? Does Dudley Do-Right ring a bell? No. Okay, he was the writer for Rocky & Bullwinkle . . . and the creator of the Munsters. And, of course - he was partly involved with Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman. I don't usually go a month without saying "Quiet, you." to someone.
Most of the cartoons by these two men found their way into a Chris Rice song called, "What If Cartoons Got Saved?" The song asks how cartoons would respond if they were saved by Jesus. No matter what, we do give human-ness to cartoons. They are often our first experiences when the TV is turned on. It's not surprising how important cartoons are to people. They teach us to sing. They teach us to count. They teach us to share. They teach us that no one is subject to the laws of gravity unless they realize they are subject to the laws of gravity. They teach us that kindness usually wins out. And, they make us laugh our asses off.
And of course, there are still a list of cartoon things I want to know:
*When Megatron (Transformers) transforms into the hand-held gun that fits into the hands of Starscream, a robot of equal size, where does all of Megatron's mass go?
*Scooby Doo can talk (and apparently think). Why doesn't he think, "Why I am driving around with these weirdos? Where is Pam Anderson?"
*Does Charlie Brown ever think, "Screw this. I am kicking Lucy in the damn head!"?
*Why didn't Yosemite Sam, Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, and Wylie Coyote team up? I am tired of Bugs and the Road Runner winning the day?
*Where are Donald Duck's pants?
*Where is Mickey Mouse's shirt? Seriously, between Mickey and Donald, they had one outfit. And why does Goofy get pants, a shirt, and a vest?
*Is knowing really half the battle? Or is getting people to apply what they know half the battle? Who knows? I think the glass is still half-empty.
*How did capturing a bumble bee in a clamshell allow Fred Flintstone to shave?
I guess I will never know, but thankfully, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and Fairly Oddparents will teach me new things about how to live a good life. Oh, and Jane - Stop this crazy thing!!!!!!
As the Days Go By - December 7, 2006
Here is one of those random blogs where I ramble on . . .
I made it into the adoption pool. I got my license from DCFS (because I am adopting a kid from another state). What does the pool mean? I submitted a "Dear Birthparent" letter, where I have one page to talk about myself and try to convince potential birthparents to pick my file to look at. Yikes! I have a hard enough time not using run-on sentences when I speak. Then if they pick my file, they can review it and determine if I am the one they want to raise their child. Could be a day, could be a year from now when I get a kid. But I have that license, which says my home is fit for a child and that I meet all parenting standards set by DCFS. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had to do that before bringing a child into the world? Maybe child abuse would disappear . . . but, then again, you have to have a license to drive a car (and people are still lousy drivers).
I have had three trials in a row this week. One was over money and assets and finessing settlement language. Boring and mind-numbing and I wanted to strangle everyone. Yesterday was a custody trial. My client was seeking sole custody. I actually felt bad cross-examining the other party (I made her cry on the witness stand), but ultimately, my job is argue for the best interests of the child, not the party losing custody. Today's trial - whether a house is worth $200K or $250K. Waste of time and money, but in family law, people lose all sense of rationality. It's my job as a lawyer to keep that sense of rationality going.
This past Saturday, I received unexpected news. Our Associate Pastor called me, while he was away at a youth ministry convention, to let me know personally that he had accepted a Senior Pastor position at another church. Ouch! This Pastor is the reason I joined the church I am at (well, the community of this church is why, but he is the conduit). I was also confused - he apparently wanted to call a select group of people and confidentially tell them first. Why me? I guess even in my short time there, I managed to make an impact. Now, I could be selfish and say that I am angry and sad at him for leaving (and I am - because that is a normal reaction). However, I am glad. I am glad that he was called to service for another church (God is always speaking). I am glad that he found a role that suits his talents. I am glad that others will get to experience the Cheese Song. I am glad that God led me to this church to meet this man. I wish only the best for him, and I fully expect that as he reads this, he knows that we will be singing more songs again soon (did I mention that I have a song about bologna?) I leave this topic with this quote: "Greatness is not measured by how many people celebrate your presence, but by how many people mourn your absence."
Music. I couldn't imagine a day in my life without music. In fact, I would probably make music out of anything if I didn't have a radio around and my voice was hoarse. I have been singing more and more. Cantatas, karaoke, community chorales, you name it. I bought a new instrument, a djembe, which I have been banging on after work. Great for just having fun and making noise. I even, with trepidation, have restarted my music theory lessons. No, I don't plan on becoming a composer, but I am so weird, I even love to learn about music. Music is probably one of the most difficult languages ever written by man, and the most powerful. When aliens come to visit (watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind), music will likely be the best way to communicate, trust me.
So that is my mad ramblings for this week. Oh wait, we had a snowstorm last Thursday. And all those morons with licenses to drive proved once again that having a license to do something doesn't make you good at it.
I made it into the adoption pool. I got my license from DCFS (because I am adopting a kid from another state). What does the pool mean? I submitted a "Dear Birthparent" letter, where I have one page to talk about myself and try to convince potential birthparents to pick my file to look at. Yikes! I have a hard enough time not using run-on sentences when I speak. Then if they pick my file, they can review it and determine if I am the one they want to raise their child. Could be a day, could be a year from now when I get a kid. But I have that license, which says my home is fit for a child and that I meet all parenting standards set by DCFS. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had to do that before bringing a child into the world? Maybe child abuse would disappear . . . but, then again, you have to have a license to drive a car (and people are still lousy drivers).
I have had three trials in a row this week. One was over money and assets and finessing settlement language. Boring and mind-numbing and I wanted to strangle everyone. Yesterday was a custody trial. My client was seeking sole custody. I actually felt bad cross-examining the other party (I made her cry on the witness stand), but ultimately, my job is argue for the best interests of the child, not the party losing custody. Today's trial - whether a house is worth $200K or $250K. Waste of time and money, but in family law, people lose all sense of rationality. It's my job as a lawyer to keep that sense of rationality going.
This past Saturday, I received unexpected news. Our Associate Pastor called me, while he was away at a youth ministry convention, to let me know personally that he had accepted a Senior Pastor position at another church. Ouch! This Pastor is the reason I joined the church I am at (well, the community of this church is why, but he is the conduit). I was also confused - he apparently wanted to call a select group of people and confidentially tell them first. Why me? I guess even in my short time there, I managed to make an impact. Now, I could be selfish and say that I am angry and sad at him for leaving (and I am - because that is a normal reaction). However, I am glad. I am glad that he was called to service for another church (God is always speaking). I am glad that he found a role that suits his talents. I am glad that others will get to experience the Cheese Song. I am glad that God led me to this church to meet this man. I wish only the best for him, and I fully expect that as he reads this, he knows that we will be singing more songs again soon (did I mention that I have a song about bologna?) I leave this topic with this quote: "Greatness is not measured by how many people celebrate your presence, but by how many people mourn your absence."
Music. I couldn't imagine a day in my life without music. In fact, I would probably make music out of anything if I didn't have a radio around and my voice was hoarse. I have been singing more and more. Cantatas, karaoke, community chorales, you name it. I bought a new instrument, a djembe, which I have been banging on after work. Great for just having fun and making noise. I even, with trepidation, have restarted my music theory lessons. No, I don't plan on becoming a composer, but I am so weird, I even love to learn about music. Music is probably one of the most difficult languages ever written by man, and the most powerful. When aliens come to visit (watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind), music will likely be the best way to communicate, trust me.
So that is my mad ramblings for this week. Oh wait, we had a snowstorm last Thursday. And all those morons with licenses to drive proved once again that having a license to do something doesn't make you good at it.
Waiting for Wednesday - November 19, 2006
Did you ever have someone learn something about you that you did not possibly expect them to learn? Well, I did, but the kicker is, I put that stuff in a blog on this page. So, how in the hell did I expect people not to learn this stuff about me. My pastor, Kirk (I will let you search on your own for him, look up "The Cheese Song"), stopped me last Wednesday and mentioned that he "googled" me. Shit! He knew about this blog, about my old blog on blogger.com, about my sad attempt at web design from my Law and Technology class. Dammit! I swear in my blogs. I write about the things I observe. These are not for church, let me assure you. For days, waves of mortification plagued me. Allow me to lay some background though . . .
I was born into the Catholic Church, communed there, and just about confirmed there. Before the handcuffs and blinders were placed upon me, we moved away and slipped into heathenism. Then in middle school, mom sought to make sure that I did not end up somewhere in hell (trust me, I have enough jokes about how I am going to end up running hell), so she took me to the Lutheran church she had liked. My first exposure to Protestantism, and certainly, my first steps into rebellion and inquisitiveness that are imbued in my character today. Great-grandma, Irish Catholic extraordinaire, was none too pleased. And there I stayed, a Protestant, a Lutheran . . . occasionally, I battled with bouts of atheism, or more appropriately, agnosticism. I even ventured back to the Catholic Church a few years ago, but I never felt good at church. Something was missing. I wasn't doing it right.
Flash forward to finding the United Church of Christ (the "United Church" of Christ, not the United "Church of Christ" - which means something different). I walked into the local UCC church near where I live. There was music, and something that I had never really experienced at church, JOY. People were damn glad to be there. I was immediately drawn in. The message to me was very simple at this church. God has spoken, God speaks. And guess what, he is still here . . . listening.
Which brings me back to the whole blog thing . . . Kirk has read my blog. He tells me this right before we go upstairs for Crazies (the youth group). It's Wednesday. I am podnering in my little noodle what Kirk now thinks about me as he mentions "I even read the circumcision blog." Earlier this morning, I came to church renewed. I sang "Flood" during the offretory. But I was not alone. Roger, the Praise Band leader, Kirk, and his son each added their talents on the piano, guitar, and djembe, respectively. As these gifts from God filled the room, you could actually see joy spread through the sanctuary. It was uplifting. I couldn't imagine a better feeling. I was thankful, and remain thankful for the gifts and talents God has given me. More than the song, He has given me a church, one where the true meaning of church hits me - a gathering of people in the name of Christ to praise and worship God. How cool is that!
As I type this, I am listening to the Cheese Song, by Kirk, which I purchased from iTunes. I am looking forward to Wednesdays, where I have decided to work with youth ministries. Wednesdays, where for now, I sing with dedicated people pulling together a Cantata for the Advent season. Wednesdays, where I find things just naturally fall into place. I am not mortified thinking about who has read my blogs anymore. It's me and read them for what they are worth. And trust me, I do have some humorous religious stories in the hopper. Later gators . . .
I was born into the Catholic Church, communed there, and just about confirmed there. Before the handcuffs and blinders were placed upon me, we moved away and slipped into heathenism. Then in middle school, mom sought to make sure that I did not end up somewhere in hell (trust me, I have enough jokes about how I am going to end up running hell), so she took me to the Lutheran church she had liked. My first exposure to Protestantism, and certainly, my first steps into rebellion and inquisitiveness that are imbued in my character today. Great-grandma, Irish Catholic extraordinaire, was none too pleased. And there I stayed, a Protestant, a Lutheran . . . occasionally, I battled with bouts of atheism, or more appropriately, agnosticism. I even ventured back to the Catholic Church a few years ago, but I never felt good at church. Something was missing. I wasn't doing it right.
Flash forward to finding the United Church of Christ (the "United Church" of Christ, not the United "Church of Christ" - which means something different). I walked into the local UCC church near where I live. There was music, and something that I had never really experienced at church, JOY. People were damn glad to be there. I was immediately drawn in. The message to me was very simple at this church. God has spoken, God speaks. And guess what, he is still here . . . listening.
Which brings me back to the whole blog thing . . . Kirk has read my blog. He tells me this right before we go upstairs for Crazies (the youth group). It's Wednesday. I am podnering in my little noodle what Kirk now thinks about me as he mentions "I even read the circumcision blog." Earlier this morning, I came to church renewed. I sang "Flood" during the offretory. But I was not alone. Roger, the Praise Band leader, Kirk, and his son each added their talents on the piano, guitar, and djembe, respectively. As these gifts from God filled the room, you could actually see joy spread through the sanctuary. It was uplifting. I couldn't imagine a better feeling. I was thankful, and remain thankful for the gifts and talents God has given me. More than the song, He has given me a church, one where the true meaning of church hits me - a gathering of people in the name of Christ to praise and worship God. How cool is that!
As I type this, I am listening to the Cheese Song, by Kirk, which I purchased from iTunes. I am looking forward to Wednesdays, where I have decided to work with youth ministries. Wednesdays, where for now, I sing with dedicated people pulling together a Cantata for the Advent season. Wednesdays, where I find things just naturally fall into place. I am not mortified thinking about who has read my blogs anymore. It's me and read them for what they are worth. And trust me, I do have some humorous religious stories in the hopper. Later gators . . .
Running Without Scissors - October 31, 2006
Since the new millenium, there have been a slew of movies about dysfunctional families . . . such as "The Royal Tennenbaums," "The Life Aquatic," "Little Miss Sunshine," "Running With Scissors," and many more. Why do many people like these movies? Commiseration! There is nothing better than sitting back and observing just how fucked up the lives of others really are. Is it limited to movies? Hell no. Pick up a David Sedaris book (I recommend "Me Talk Pretty One Day"), or read the two tomes by Dave Eggers (U of I grad), or enjoy "The Kid" by Dan Savage. Dysfunction is big business and I'll be damned if I don't want in on the action.
How do you begin to write a magnum opus of family decline and disruption? You could undergo hypnosis to dredge up horrific memories of verbal and mental abuse heaped upon you by your parents. I don't need to do that, as I only need to look at old photo albums to see the clothes my parents dressed me in (who puts corduroy pants on a kid in the middle of summer? sadists, I tell you). As I have looked back on pictures from my youth, I smile at some of the pictures that carry trauma and the overcoming of adversity all in one.
When I was nine, I had recently lost my status as only child. My mom had just given birth to my baby brother. My dad was unemployed (again). My mom had to work a second job to make ends meet, while dad made sure the tv set wasn't stolen. Halloween was fast approaching and I didn't have a costume. Far be it from my father to tear himself away from the latest wrestling match, I was left to my own devices to find a halloween costume. I had construction paper and a box, and out sprung a great idea. I needed some electrical tape, and thus began my costume design night. Skipping ahead, I made myself a Rubik's Cube costume. But, I was nine and lacked the forsight to plan appropriate armholes. Yep, you guessed it - I cut the armholes on the sides of the box, instead of the front (which would have made trick or treating much easier). It's a funny story, but would it sell in a dysfunctional family movie? (Probably wouldn't warrant more than a one to two minute flashback).
Ooh, a picture of me at my high school awards night. Yep, dear ole dad was absent from that. Soccer pictures? Not even sure if my dad knows I ever played soccer. And here is where the blog turns into a whiny rant. Poor Sean. *sniffle* Allow me to wipe my ass with these memories. And then a picture that warrants a story . . .
The picture is of a 1979 Buick crashed through the back of a detached garage. It's my garage. It's taken from the backyard of my best friend (at age 5), Mark Vlodman. As the tangent comes in to this story, I have no idea what happened to Mark after I moved away at age 10. What is important is how the car crashed through the garage - and the tangents that go with it. When I was five, my mom didn't know how to drive. She couldn't take driver's ed in high school because my grandma believed that only sluts drove cars. My dad was actually employed at the time and had just been given a company car, the 1979 Buick. It was about to rain. My dad was mowing the lawn in the backyard, conveniently enough, behind the detached garage. My mom, not wanting to leave the car out in the rain, thought she would pull the car into the garage. Well, the accelerator apparently stuck and the car lurched through the back wall of the garage. The car crashed through and knocked my dad and the mower into the air. Yes, the mower missed his head and he lived. Mark and I were in the driveway (contemplating ways to improve the performance of our big wheels) and shouted with glee, "Do it again!" Tell me that Wes Anderson could have written a scene like that?
There are many other moments of dysfunction - like me, as an 8 year old, getting yelled for misplacing the tools that my father never used. "Gee Dad, I'm eight-fucking-years-old. What the fuck would I do with a crescent wrench?" Each one on its own warrants a small chuckle. Taken together, I sometimes wonder why I didn't consume mass amounts of sedatives, become an alcoholic, knock up the neighbor girl, and move right into a shack outside of town. I guess I could pen some novel of epic proportions and earn my way into a meeting with David Sedaris to write a play that would win many awards.
Fuck that, though. Dysfunction is more fun when you get to tell your friends about the time your dad tossed you into the kitchen wall because he had a bad day at work (re-employment happened frequently for my dad). Why put it on the big screen? Excuse me while I go write the postscript to all the characters in my little saga . . .
How do you begin to write a magnum opus of family decline and disruption? You could undergo hypnosis to dredge up horrific memories of verbal and mental abuse heaped upon you by your parents. I don't need to do that, as I only need to look at old photo albums to see the clothes my parents dressed me in (who puts corduroy pants on a kid in the middle of summer? sadists, I tell you). As I have looked back on pictures from my youth, I smile at some of the pictures that carry trauma and the overcoming of adversity all in one.
When I was nine, I had recently lost my status as only child. My mom had just given birth to my baby brother. My dad was unemployed (again). My mom had to work a second job to make ends meet, while dad made sure the tv set wasn't stolen. Halloween was fast approaching and I didn't have a costume. Far be it from my father to tear himself away from the latest wrestling match, I was left to my own devices to find a halloween costume. I had construction paper and a box, and out sprung a great idea. I needed some electrical tape, and thus began my costume design night. Skipping ahead, I made myself a Rubik's Cube costume. But, I was nine and lacked the forsight to plan appropriate armholes. Yep, you guessed it - I cut the armholes on the sides of the box, instead of the front (which would have made trick or treating much easier). It's a funny story, but would it sell in a dysfunctional family movie? (Probably wouldn't warrant more than a one to two minute flashback).
Ooh, a picture of me at my high school awards night. Yep, dear ole dad was absent from that. Soccer pictures? Not even sure if my dad knows I ever played soccer. And here is where the blog turns into a whiny rant. Poor Sean. *sniffle* Allow me to wipe my ass with these memories. And then a picture that warrants a story . . .
The picture is of a 1979 Buick crashed through the back of a detached garage. It's my garage. It's taken from the backyard of my best friend (at age 5), Mark Vlodman. As the tangent comes in to this story, I have no idea what happened to Mark after I moved away at age 10. What is important is how the car crashed through the garage - and the tangents that go with it. When I was five, my mom didn't know how to drive. She couldn't take driver's ed in high school because my grandma believed that only sluts drove cars. My dad was actually employed at the time and had just been given a company car, the 1979 Buick. It was about to rain. My dad was mowing the lawn in the backyard, conveniently enough, behind the detached garage. My mom, not wanting to leave the car out in the rain, thought she would pull the car into the garage. Well, the accelerator apparently stuck and the car lurched through the back wall of the garage. The car crashed through and knocked my dad and the mower into the air. Yes, the mower missed his head and he lived. Mark and I were in the driveway (contemplating ways to improve the performance of our big wheels) and shouted with glee, "Do it again!" Tell me that Wes Anderson could have written a scene like that?
There are many other moments of dysfunction - like me, as an 8 year old, getting yelled for misplacing the tools that my father never used. "Gee Dad, I'm eight-fucking-years-old. What the fuck would I do with a crescent wrench?" Each one on its own warrants a small chuckle. Taken together, I sometimes wonder why I didn't consume mass amounts of sedatives, become an alcoholic, knock up the neighbor girl, and move right into a shack outside of town. I guess I could pen some novel of epic proportions and earn my way into a meeting with David Sedaris to write a play that would win many awards.
Fuck that, though. Dysfunction is more fun when you get to tell your friends about the time your dad tossed you into the kitchen wall because he had a bad day at work (re-employment happened frequently for my dad). Why put it on the big screen? Excuse me while I go write the postscript to all the characters in my little saga . . .
I Wanna Be Brett Scallions - October 10, 2006
For those of you who know me, a little or a lot, you know I love karaoke... Well, you know I love to sing... I would sing at the drop of a hat... You remember that show "Cop Rock?.. The one where they sang in the courtroom and all that?.... Sometimes, I think that would be cool..(and yes, then I realize how strange that would actually be, but fuck off anyways)..... So is all this singing talk going to get to some point?.. Who knows.
But, to start, a few weeks ago, I was rocking out at Cheerliters (not a spelling error), where everyone knows my name..... My friend Lauren was eyeing this scruffy looking guy (whom she said looked like the dead guy in Weekend at Bernie's), and I went up to sing "Hemorrhage" by Fuel... Look at my face - do you think I could rock out like Brett Scallions?.. Well, guess what?.... I can (but only Hemorrhage and Shimmer, because I fail at Bad Day). Now, scruffy Bernie-guy comes up to me after that song and explains to me that he has a band that needs a lead singer and he is going to bring his band in next week to hear me at karaoke (he did do that).....
So.."Bernie" and I talked for a bit and I didn't put any stock in the conversation... However, my imagination wandered and I thought about how much I missed performing... Nope, never had a real band... But I sang a lot, with show choir, and open mic nights at the Channing-Murray Center, and once on the street with a homeless guy at Christmas... Everyone has some secret desire that they never plan on acting on... Mine is to be rock star... Apparently, someone has other plans for me.
At my church, like at many other non-Catholic churches, we have a Praise Band, and seriously, they do rock... Pastor Kirk, upon the instruction of a member of my church who is now a sitting judge, invited me to sing during one of the services... Obviously, Fuel is not going be part of the liturgy, so who to sing?.. I found two bands that I can sing their songs and would not scare the congregation into revoking my membership... One is Jars of Clay, one of my all-time favorite bands (yes, I love this band)... The other is Run Kid Run (an edgier Christian Rock band)... Now, I am working on the songs, seeing if I can pull of playing the guitar (probably not, so thankfully Pastor Kirk can play)...
And then tonight, "Bernie" called and told me that his band is practicing this week... Cop Rock, here I come . . .
But, to start, a few weeks ago, I was rocking out at Cheerliters (not a spelling error), where everyone knows my name..... My friend Lauren was eyeing this scruffy looking guy (whom she said looked like the dead guy in Weekend at Bernie's), and I went up to sing "Hemorrhage" by Fuel... Look at my face - do you think I could rock out like Brett Scallions?.. Well, guess what?.... I can (but only Hemorrhage and Shimmer, because I fail at Bad Day). Now, scruffy Bernie-guy comes up to me after that song and explains to me that he has a band that needs a lead singer and he is going to bring his band in next week to hear me at karaoke (he did do that).....
So.."Bernie" and I talked for a bit and I didn't put any stock in the conversation... However, my imagination wandered and I thought about how much I missed performing... Nope, never had a real band... But I sang a lot, with show choir, and open mic nights at the Channing-Murray Center, and once on the street with a homeless guy at Christmas... Everyone has some secret desire that they never plan on acting on... Mine is to be rock star... Apparently, someone has other plans for me.
At my church, like at many other non-Catholic churches, we have a Praise Band, and seriously, they do rock... Pastor Kirk, upon the instruction of a member of my church who is now a sitting judge, invited me to sing during one of the services... Obviously, Fuel is not going be part of the liturgy, so who to sing?.. I found two bands that I can sing their songs and would not scare the congregation into revoking my membership... One is Jars of Clay, one of my all-time favorite bands (yes, I love this band)... The other is Run Kid Run (an edgier Christian Rock band)... Now, I am working on the songs, seeing if I can pull of playing the guitar (probably not, so thankfully Pastor Kirk can play)...
And then tonight, "Bernie" called and told me that his band is practicing this week... Cop Rock, here I come . . .
I was a Teenage Activist - September 22, 2006
Yesterday, I got a letter from Senator John McCain... Not the family Christmas letter I usually get, where John waxes poetic about the meaning of Christmas, especially the Christmases he spent in that Viet Cong prison camp... No, this letter was John's impassioned plea for my help in fighting global warming... It hit me, aside from the times I sent John a birthday card, this was the first time John Wayne McCain had talked about the environment with me... Talk about shell shocked . . . I felt like I had just left Saigon in 1973, as I read what..John wrote about the desolate, Waterworld-esque future that awaits us if global warming goes unchecked.
All that thinking made me remember my days in high school, where I would have affectionately been known as a causehead..... I was the founder of an environmental action club (hey, it was 1990 and the 20th Anniversary of Earth Day - I was hip with the timing too)... We did everything from saving a swamp behind our school to instituting a paper recycling program in our school to ridding the cafeteria of styrofoam... I mean, I took global warming, landfills, endangered species, oil dependence, and toxic chemicals very seriously.
And yes, I worked at the PADS shelter in my town, a shelter for homeless families and battered women... I didn't have any hang ups about getting dirty or any of that... It was just what we did as part of my church, so I did it... I had no desire for accolades or any of that - although we did get in the paper sometimes, which meant more donations for PADS... Cool?.. I thought so.
But there was one time in high school that I joined a cause I had no interest in... I joined the club because I was in love with a girl... This girl was into Amnesty International and she wanted to start a club at our high school... Sadly, she didn't have nearly enough members, so I offered my environmental club members, which gave her the numbers she needed... At 17, I could give a rat's ass about political prisoners in Papau New Guinea or genocide in Botswana... I did give a rat's ass about this girl... I was so hot for her that if she told me that there was oppression in Siberia, I would have gone to yell at someone... All I wanted was a kiss (which, for the record, I got months later at the Winter Wonderland dance)... So for months, I learned about the evils that governments do to people who speak out... And I didn't care... I was mesmorized by a blonde teenage girl with beautiful looks, nice breasts, and blue eyes.
What does this have to do with global warming?.. Does this mean I have a thing for John McCain?.. Well, I was just thinking about how much idealism I had at 17... And no, I admire Senator McCain because he speaks his mind, but he'll never compare to my Amnesty girl from 16 years ago... How bout that?
All that thinking made me remember my days in high school, where I would have affectionately been known as a causehead..... I was the founder of an environmental action club (hey, it was 1990 and the 20th Anniversary of Earth Day - I was hip with the timing too)... We did everything from saving a swamp behind our school to instituting a paper recycling program in our school to ridding the cafeteria of styrofoam... I mean, I took global warming, landfills, endangered species, oil dependence, and toxic chemicals very seriously.
And yes, I worked at the PADS shelter in my town, a shelter for homeless families and battered women... I didn't have any hang ups about getting dirty or any of that... It was just what we did as part of my church, so I did it... I had no desire for accolades or any of that - although we did get in the paper sometimes, which meant more donations for PADS... Cool?.. I thought so.
But there was one time in high school that I joined a cause I had no interest in... I joined the club because I was in love with a girl... This girl was into Amnesty International and she wanted to start a club at our high school... Sadly, she didn't have nearly enough members, so I offered my environmental club members, which gave her the numbers she needed... At 17, I could give a rat's ass about political prisoners in Papau New Guinea or genocide in Botswana... I did give a rat's ass about this girl... I was so hot for her that if she told me that there was oppression in Siberia, I would have gone to yell at someone... All I wanted was a kiss (which, for the record, I got months later at the Winter Wonderland dance)... So for months, I learned about the evils that governments do to people who speak out... And I didn't care... I was mesmorized by a blonde teenage girl with beautiful looks, nice breasts, and blue eyes.
What does this have to do with global warming?.. Does this mean I have a thing for John McCain?.. Well, I was just thinking about how much idealism I had at 17... And no, I admire Senator McCain because he speaks his mind, but he'll never compare to my Amnesty girl from 16 years ago... How bout that?
The First Cut is the Deepest - September 11, 2006
Okay, so part of the debate with adopting an infant is the snipping issue. If it's a girl, not issue. If it's a boy, should the baby be circumcised. Here is my answer - HELL NO!!!!
For those of you who don't know, human males are born with a foreskin that covers the tip of the penis. Originally, it can be assumed that the foreskin was there to protect the penis while we were walking around unclothed. So logically, now that we wear clothes, all excess protective skin should be removed. That's right, excess skin on the elbows? Trim it down because we wear clothes.
Now rest assured, I am not one of those people who believes that the kid will years later suffer the trauma of circumcision. That's not my reason. My reason is that circumcision is a barbaric practice. Look at the device used to strap the child down:
A Circumstraint
Now, look at the torture devices used to do the deed:
Why in the name of all that is decent would I do that to a child. Yes, the kid will probably not remember. But I will. And I won't do that.
"But Sean, your child won't be as clean." Excuse me? Can I not afford soap and washcloths? My child will be very clean. What are you telling me? That I should cut off any body part that is difficult to clean? Well, let's pull out the back teeth because it's hard to floss there. Sew that ass shut because that is not easy to clean. And what about the middle of your back? Jeez, that sounds awful. And more importantly, the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) states: "The uncircumcised penis is easy to keep clean. No special care is required."
"But Sean, everybody's doing it?" Really, as of 2003, around 60% of the newborn males in the United States are circumcised before discharge. In Canada, Australia, and England, the rate of circumcision is around 12%. And in New Zealand, it is less than 1%. And the rest of the world too. Since I am not Jewish, there is no religious reason to do so. "But Sean, the other boys will make fun of him," or "He won't look like his daddy." Number 1, I don't want my child hanging around with people who are only interested in his penis. Number 2, my child and I will not be comparing penises.
"You know, women won't like it." Well, first and foremost, I don't want my child dating any person who suddenly turns him away because of his penis. Those people are shallow and lame. If women are like that, then fine - I like nice firm breasts. All women should have barbaric, unnecessary surgery to please my aesthetics. Going back to not liking it. Smegma is the issue - the dead skin and bacteria that sometimes collect at the foreskin. Again - my child will be a clean child. So get over it.
"It's just not normal." Oh, so because we have mutilated children for hundreds of years, we should keep doing that. Okay, do you want me to use leeches to "bleed" the sickness out of me too? Should I go back to owning slaves? You tell me. Traditions are not always things to continue.
I will leave you with the American Association of Pediatricians, and their most recent policy statement on circumcision (1999):
Existing scientific evidence demonstrates potential medical benefits of newborn male circumcision; however, these data are not sufficient to recommend routine neonatal circumcision. In the case of circumcision, in which there are potential benefits and risks, yet the procedure is not essential to the child's current well-being, parents should determine what is in the best interest of the child.
For those of you who don't know, human males are born with a foreskin that covers the tip of the penis. Originally, it can be assumed that the foreskin was there to protect the penis while we were walking around unclothed. So logically, now that we wear clothes, all excess protective skin should be removed. That's right, excess skin on the elbows? Trim it down because we wear clothes.
Now rest assured, I am not one of those people who believes that the kid will years later suffer the trauma of circumcision. That's not my reason. My reason is that circumcision is a barbaric practice. Look at the device used to strap the child down:
A Circumstraint
Now, look at the torture devices used to do the deed:
Why in the name of all that is decent would I do that to a child. Yes, the kid will probably not remember. But I will. And I won't do that.
"But Sean, your child won't be as clean." Excuse me? Can I not afford soap and washcloths? My child will be very clean. What are you telling me? That I should cut off any body part that is difficult to clean? Well, let's pull out the back teeth because it's hard to floss there. Sew that ass shut because that is not easy to clean. And what about the middle of your back? Jeez, that sounds awful. And more importantly, the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) states: "The uncircumcised penis is easy to keep clean. No special care is required."
"But Sean, everybody's doing it?" Really, as of 2003, around 60% of the newborn males in the United States are circumcised before discharge. In Canada, Australia, and England, the rate of circumcision is around 12%. And in New Zealand, it is less than 1%. And the rest of the world too. Since I am not Jewish, there is no religious reason to do so. "But Sean, the other boys will make fun of him," or "He won't look like his daddy." Number 1, I don't want my child hanging around with people who are only interested in his penis. Number 2, my child and I will not be comparing penises.
"You know, women won't like it." Well, first and foremost, I don't want my child dating any person who suddenly turns him away because of his penis. Those people are shallow and lame. If women are like that, then fine - I like nice firm breasts. All women should have barbaric, unnecessary surgery to please my aesthetics. Going back to not liking it. Smegma is the issue - the dead skin and bacteria that sometimes collect at the foreskin. Again - my child will be a clean child. So get over it.
"It's just not normal." Oh, so because we have mutilated children for hundreds of years, we should keep doing that. Okay, do you want me to use leeches to "bleed" the sickness out of me too? Should I go back to owning slaves? You tell me. Traditions are not always things to continue.
I will leave you with the American Association of Pediatricians, and their most recent policy statement on circumcision (1999):
Existing scientific evidence demonstrates potential medical benefits of newborn male circumcision; however, these data are not sufficient to recommend routine neonatal circumcision. In the case of circumcision, in which there are potential benefits and risks, yet the procedure is not essential to the child's current well-being, parents should determine what is in the best interest of the child.
The Kids Are Alright - August 22, 2006
It seems that I hooked you all with the adoption story, so I have no choice but to continue blogging about this. That, and the adoption agency said I might want to create a record of the process so that I can share it with the kid when he or she is older. Ya right! I swear like a truck driver; do you think I am going to let the kid know that?
Okay, so I said I would talk about what kind of kid I want. I am not here to debate the concept of "buying a kid." But I will tell you that it is cool to think about just what kind of kid you want. So here goes . . .
I want a boy. Duh! I want to have a son, not to carry on my name, but because sons are cool. Daughters are fine too, but let's look at the drawbacks for a single father. Bra shopping - what the hell do I know about bras, except for how to remove them with one hand. Periods - yes, I know what they are and can explain them to a child. But, is a preteen/teen girl going to want to talk about womanly changes with her father? Hmm . . . but like all parents, if I have a daughter, I will learn to adapt. And learn how to shoot a shotgun (teen boys beware of trying to date my daughter). Anyways, a son is what I hope will happen. Cubs games, balsa wood airplanes, and all that. I love it.
Race and ethnicity is a big issue in adoptions. Obviously, I am best suited to have a caucasian kid. I am familiar with African-American culture, but it would kinda be like giving cultuaral Cliff's notes to the child. Could I handle a Hispanic or Asian kid? Yep. Just seems easier for me. I may come off as racist, but I am being honest.
Other than that, I hope for the same thing all parents hope for - a healthy kid with all the right appendages (not that any parent would hope for an unhealthy child). Could I cope with a deaf child? Could I work with a child suffering from drug addiction due to birthparent drug use? I believe I could, but I don't want that to happen.
So, that is the story of kid choice. Next time, I will tackle the interesting and odd subject of circumcision (no, really, I will . . .)
Okay, so I said I would talk about what kind of kid I want. I am not here to debate the concept of "buying a kid." But I will tell you that it is cool to think about just what kind of kid you want. So here goes . . .
I want a boy. Duh! I want to have a son, not to carry on my name, but because sons are cool. Daughters are fine too, but let's look at the drawbacks for a single father. Bra shopping - what the hell do I know about bras, except for how to remove them with one hand. Periods - yes, I know what they are and can explain them to a child. But, is a preteen/teen girl going to want to talk about womanly changes with her father? Hmm . . . but like all parents, if I have a daughter, I will learn to adapt. And learn how to shoot a shotgun (teen boys beware of trying to date my daughter). Anyways, a son is what I hope will happen. Cubs games, balsa wood airplanes, and all that. I love it.
Race and ethnicity is a big issue in adoptions. Obviously, I am best suited to have a caucasian kid. I am familiar with African-American culture, but it would kinda be like giving cultuaral Cliff's notes to the child. Could I handle a Hispanic or Asian kid? Yep. Just seems easier for me. I may come off as racist, but I am being honest.
Other than that, I hope for the same thing all parents hope for - a healthy kid with all the right appendages (not that any parent would hope for an unhealthy child). Could I cope with a deaf child? Could I work with a child suffering from drug addiction due to birthparent drug use? I believe I could, but I don't want that to happen.
So, that is the story of kid choice. Next time, I will tackle the interesting and odd subject of circumcision (no, really, I will . . .)
And Baby Makes Two - August 15, 2006
Holy shit dear readers . . . I am writing this Portland, Oregon. Why have I left the safety and sanity and security of the Midwest for the Northwest? Well, I have decided to adopt a kid. No, the kid is not here yet. No, I haven't foregone the idea of getting married - just not in a rush to figure that part of my life out yet.
Before I ruminate on the adoption, let me share some thoughts on Oregon and Oregonians. Driving in Portland is essentially the same as sex on the third date. You are anxious to see what's there, nothing goes right and the signs are confusing, but in the end, you kinda did it right and got where you needed to be. But in all seriousness, it sucks. Every street I saw was a one-way street in one driection or the other. The lights stay green for about 22 seconds. The speed (limit) is 25 just about everywhere. I say "limit" in parenthesis because the signs just read "speed."
The people in Portland are very nice. They talk just like Midwesterners, but they appear to be a little bit afraid of speaking too often. I think this is because they do not want to be confused with California, or maybe Seattle. There are a large number of "homeless" in Portland. Most are young and they beg for change. I tell them to fuck off because hey, I am trying to get a kid and need the money - and these lazy prats seem quite capable of doing any job. I mean, are there no record stores in Portland (surprisingly, I didn't see many record stores - an untapped market for these "homeless" youths).
So, about this kid. I am working with an open adoption agency in town. Open adoption means that the birth parent picks the adoptive parent and the adoptive parents and the birth parents maintain a relationship after the baby is born. I like that idea. Makes the kid know that he was chosen and that his or her birthmother chose the people to raise the kid. I have heard all the lines about being a single male who wants to adopt. Most of my friends have been very great to me about my decision. My mom is a tad against the idea. But, I am old enough not to need her approval and when the grandkid stares her in the eye, she'll melt like butter.
So, that is the beginning of the story. I will share my kid wishes (what kind of kid I want) next time.
Later gators!
Before I ruminate on the adoption, let me share some thoughts on Oregon and Oregonians. Driving in Portland is essentially the same as sex on the third date. You are anxious to see what's there, nothing goes right and the signs are confusing, but in the end, you kinda did it right and got where you needed to be. But in all seriousness, it sucks. Every street I saw was a one-way street in one driection or the other. The lights stay green for about 22 seconds. The speed (limit) is 25 just about everywhere. I say "limit" in parenthesis because the signs just read "speed."
The people in Portland are very nice. They talk just like Midwesterners, but they appear to be a little bit afraid of speaking too often. I think this is because they do not want to be confused with California, or maybe Seattle. There are a large number of "homeless" in Portland. Most are young and they beg for change. I tell them to fuck off because hey, I am trying to get a kid and need the money - and these lazy prats seem quite capable of doing any job. I mean, are there no record stores in Portland (surprisingly, I didn't see many record stores - an untapped market for these "homeless" youths).
So, about this kid. I am working with an open adoption agency in town. Open adoption means that the birth parent picks the adoptive parent and the adoptive parents and the birth parents maintain a relationship after the baby is born. I like that idea. Makes the kid know that he was chosen and that his or her birthmother chose the people to raise the kid. I have heard all the lines about being a single male who wants to adopt. Most of my friends have been very great to me about my decision. My mom is a tad against the idea. But, I am old enough not to need her approval and when the grandkid stares her in the eye, she'll melt like butter.
So, that is the beginning of the story. I will share my kid wishes (what kind of kid I want) next time.
Later gators!
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Did You Know . . . . Funny Laws
So, I am a lawyer. Save the jokes. Here are some funny laws and my comments (in italics):
You can't plow a cotton field with an elephant in North Carolina. And thank God, because not only do we need to protect the native elephant population in America, but also, elephants get in the way of the
In Lehigh, Nebraska it's against the law to sell donut holes. *insert corn hole joke here*
Under the law of Mississippi, there's no such thing as a female Peeping Tom. Because who would want to peep on their inbred male relatives?
Lawn darts are illegal in Canada. America, Jr. follows our lead.
In Idaho, a citizen is forbidden by law to give another citizen a box of candy that weighs more than 50 pounds. Who likes someone that much??? Also, if you are not a citizen of Idaho, does that law apply to you?
Every citizen of Kentucky is required by law to take a bath at least once a year. This one is just too easy - but okay . . . they also have to brush their tooth once a month.
It is against the law to whale hunt in Oklahoma. Who wrote this law? That's like saying sand is illegal at the beach. Of course, this law had to start somehow. Did some jackass kill a whale at the Tulsa aquarium?
Before the enactment of the 1978 law that made it mandatory for dog owners in New York City to clean up after their pets, approximately 40 million pounds of dog excrement were deposited on the streets every year. The real question is: did anyone notice? It is New York City after all.
Connecticut and Rhode Island never ratified the 18th Amendment: Prohibition. And does anyone even care?
Vermont, Alaska, Hawaii, and Maine are the four states in the U.S. that do not allow billboards. If you in Hawaii, why would you look at a billboard anyways? In Alaska, they used them all for heat. And no one goes to Vermont or Maine anyways.
In Saudi Arabia, a woman reportedly may divorce her husband if he does not keep her supplied with coffee. But that bitch is fucked if she drives a car, shows her face, or talks to a man who is not her brother, father, or husband.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Holiday Letters
Some of you probably send Christmas cards and those cards sometimes come with lengthy letters which are a year in review. They are attempts to say, "hey, we're better than you and here's why." I always wanted to write a letter for my card that would horrify my friends and family. Here goes.
Dear Family and Friends (because I am too damn cheap to write to you individually),
This year has been one for the history books. My fucking bitch of a wife pushed me one time too many, so gave her five across the eyes. The doctors say she will heal up nicely, but probably won't see so good out of the left eye. Thinking she had learned a lesson, I went to pick her up but the nurses said there was some kind of restraining order against me. Fucking whore and her lawyer brother. Then to top all that off, she filed for divorce. I will kill her before she gets Jackie and Sean Jr.
Speaking of the boys, Jackie is tearing it up in pee wee football. The other coaches complain that he is too rough, but he's just doing what his daddy taught him. He's the star of that team and the referees know it too. That's why they slap all those penalties on him. Sean Jr. started high school this year. We all know he is a quiet boy, which I can't figure out because I encourage him to talk. Oh well, he has a new friend named Pete and they study all the time in Sean Jr.'s room. I got a rocket scientist growing up in the house for sure.
I am hoping that in 2006, I will find a new job. My boss and I didn't see things the same way at the mill and well, long story short, the insurance will cover his prosthetic hand. Worker's comp says the day. And the other job I got in February dried up because of housing market changes. Anyways, I hope you all are doing well. Not that any of you bastards ever pick up a god damn phone to call us.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,
Sean, Karen, Sean Jr. & Jackie
Dear Family and Friends (because I am too damn cheap to write to you individually),
This year has been one for the history books. My fucking bitch of a wife pushed me one time too many, so gave her five across the eyes. The doctors say she will heal up nicely, but probably won't see so good out of the left eye. Thinking she had learned a lesson, I went to pick her up but the nurses said there was some kind of restraining order against me. Fucking whore and her lawyer brother. Then to top all that off, she filed for divorce. I will kill her before she gets Jackie and Sean Jr.
Speaking of the boys, Jackie is tearing it up in pee wee football. The other coaches complain that he is too rough, but he's just doing what his daddy taught him. He's the star of that team and the referees know it too. That's why they slap all those penalties on him. Sean Jr. started high school this year. We all know he is a quiet boy, which I can't figure out because I encourage him to talk. Oh well, he has a new friend named Pete and they study all the time in Sean Jr.'s room. I got a rocket scientist growing up in the house for sure.
I am hoping that in 2006, I will find a new job. My boss and I didn't see things the same way at the mill and well, long story short, the insurance will cover his prosthetic hand. Worker's comp says the day. And the other job I got in February dried up because of housing market changes. Anyways, I hope you all are doing well. Not that any of you bastards ever pick up a god damn phone to call us.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,
Sean, Karen, Sean Jr. & Jackie
Monday, January 02, 2006
holidays are over
Okay, so now that all the holidays are over, I can get back to blogging, especially since I have been lax at posting anything. Rest assured, I have lots to write about and I will. Also, I am taking suggestions and guest bloggers. Care to help out? Leave a comment!
Happy New Year - 2006!!
Happy New Year - 2006!!
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Guest Blog - Snowmantics -or- How to Entice a Woman to Love You Throught the Art of Snow
From time to time, I like to let my friends guest author my blog. This blog was written by Benjamin Miller of Glen Ellyn, Illinois. (I take no responsibility for spelling, grammar, or content.)
Now, snow color is just one factor in the ways of Snowmantics, the use of “slush” for lack of a better name and a mental picture, can be just as versatile. But that’s not the subject of this paragraph, o no, who ever thought that was my next subject, well….YOU’VE BEEN PUNK’D! Yes that’s right, punk’d. Now I know what your thinking “ok lets just get to the next subject” so for all the people out there who wont let me go on and rant about stuff, hears the real subject of this paragraph. To cause, I mean spare confusion I will indent twice to signal the real first sentence of this paragraph.
Snowmantics, or “snow-romantics” as some earlier history books call it, has been around since the rise of the Pax Romana. Julius Caesar, or “the father of Snowmantisism” as he is more commonly called, created the first snow-sculptured heart, a feat only Leonardo Da’Vinci could replicate after extensive years of trial and error. In the original manuscript written by William Shakespeare, Mark Anthony says “Romans, fellow countrymen, lend me your ears, I am not hear to praise the father of Snowmantics, I am here to bury him”. Unfortunately later revisions cut out this crucial fact in history. But it was not Julius Caesar that started this pandemic of snowmanticitous infecting this world, oh no. It was another man, a man so bold that he took Snowmantics to the next level. This man had a vision, a dream, this man is an artist, an author, this man is Ben Miller.
Now, Why, you say? Well, as the only certified snowmantic instructor I feel privileged to teach all you perspiring…I mean aspiring Snowmantic blue belts the ways of the sensei. But before you seduce that special woman with a heart felt saying in the snow, we must first go over some rules and guide lines.
Types of snow
- White Snow (normal)
- Yellow Snow (not normal for obvious reasons)
- Red Snow (Usually the result of a not so lucky animal)
- Black Snow (Usually dirt or dare I say…)
- Rainbow Snow (Rare in most parts of the world, this type of snow only appears in the late days of July)
The use of different types of snow in different areas of your message or work of art gives the masterpiece a sense of brilliance and will add to the overall effect on the viewer. For example, if you wanted to create a sun, you wouldn’t use white snow, the use of yellow snow would bring life to the otherwise dull look of a white picture. Also, a Santa can easily be made with a skillful mixture of red and white snow. If you are looking to create a magnificent sunset all you need is the red, yellow and black snow. To create the full affect of a sunset, first mix the yellow and red snow to make orange snow, do the same for the red and the black…yes they will make purple. If any of these colors are not on hand, try Ebay for rainbow snow, which solves all problems (just like duct tape). But the use of colors also has a darker side, and no, I am not talking about midnight snowmantic pranks. The over use of colors can actually detract the “Wow factor” of your desired message to your significant other. Most amateurs go for the A+ but instead over use that yellow snow.
Now, snow color is just one factor in the ways of Snowmantics, the use of “slush” for lack of a better name and a mental picture, can be just as versatile. But that’s not the subject of this paragraph, o no, who ever thought that was my next subject, well….YOU’VE BEEN PUNK’D! Yes that’s right, punk’d. Now I know what your thinking “ok lets just get to the next subject” so for all the people out there who wont let me go on and rant about stuff, hears the real subject of this paragraph. To cause, I mean spare confusion I will indent twice to signal the real first sentence of this paragraph.
(once) (twice)
Now that you have your color of snow picked out and gathered from various places around town its time to choose a “font” to write your message in. From writing a love poem to go along with snowman sculpture to signing your name under a snow version of “Water Lily Pond” by Claude Monet, The choice of Font is crucial to the “enticing” part of Snowmantics. Your font choice for a lover might go as follows.
Now that you have your color of snow picked out and gathered from various places around town its time to choose a “font” to write your message in. From writing a love poem to go along with snowman sculpture to signing your name under a snow version of “Water Lily Pond” by Claude Monet, The choice of Font is crucial to the “enticing” part of Snowmantics. Your font choice for a lover might go as follows.
What Is Love?
Love is a shy smile,
a sweet hello,
a soft caress...
Love is two hands entwined,
a lingering kiss,
a swelling of the heart...
Love is undeniable,
unforgettable,
unimaginable,
and what every heart yearns for...
If you are looking for something more than just a really cool poem, or a million dollar replica of a work of art try building a sculpture. Maybe a snowman and a snowwoman holding hands….awww how cute.
If holding hands and making up words like snowwoman is not for you try doing what good O’l Charlie Brown did, or rather Julius Caesar did, make a heart (with red snow of course!). If none of these things seem to fit your personality your probably not a very snowmantic person. But don’t worry because I have a fail proof, school appropriate sculpture for you. I know what your thinking, “Wow thanks Ben, your amazing” and so I say, “ Your very welcome, (Name)”. I will now unveil my sculpture idea for the world……A pair of shoes! But don’t forget the crucial caption “I will buy these for you if you go to homecoming with me”. I cant stress enough about not forgetting the caption. Without it, its just shoes….and a lot of angry woman.
Snowmantics is not about angering woman, its about sending their hearts a flutter with a subtle message of love and a sculpted rose to show her how much she means to you, how much you care. Snowmantics is not just a way for a man to express his love for a woman, it is an art, an art I hope you all who are reading this will perfect. Snowmantics is poetry, it is a never ending fairytale of Snow White (hehe, SNOW white, get it?) and a lesser known fairy tale “ Of the palace of the snow queen and what happened there at last” by Hans Christian Andersen (again snow…not funny, tough crowd…..it was the only other fairy tale I could find, give me a break). Just remember, Snowmantics is a way of life, live it and follow its path and your life will be fulfilled, and if you abuse it, it will be gone by summer (how do you like that for justice!) As one former Snowmantics sensei said “One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I don't know”. Though this quote seems obsolete to you it makes perfect sense to me. This quote is actually a cryptic message, if you take out all the letter except the one’s used to spell Snowmantics, you can actually spell Snowmantics, isn’t that cool! So now I leave with one final thought, to be dashingly romantic, you mustn’t forget the three rules of Snowmantics, Snow color, Font, and sculptures. If you remember these rules you will be on you way to being a dashingly romantic person, or as I like to put it, Snowmantic.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
My Future Wife
Okay, so in my many days of lousy dates and bad relationships, I have clung to a dream. That dream is that I would marry Chicago rocker Liz Phair (a dream that I may never be able to realize). As a side story that dream, I have always had a secret love of singer Lisa Loeb (the one who sang "Stay" from Reality Bites). She's quirky, hip, a beautiful singer, and she is just all-around hot!
Like the answer to a prayer, E! Entertainment Television gives me hope. (The following information is from the Hollywood Reporter, November 15, 2005): Yesterday, E! greenlighted an unscripted series that will follow newly single singer-songwriter Lisa Loeb as she re-enters the dating world. The eight-episode series, titled "#1 Single," will feature Loeb as she moves back to New York and starts dating again for the first time since college. The half-hour series is set to premiere in January. Meanwhile, the Grammy-nominated Loeb said she believes the show will be a way to "connect with more people on a larger scale." "I decided to do this TV series because what I do as a musician and songwriter is connect to an audience, so why not take that to another level," Loeb said. (end credit to Hollywood Reporter)
Okay, so why wasn't I informed of this series so I could be one of the dates. Lisa and I could sing together (I am a karaoke whore). Plus we are both quirky oddballs who are cute enough to get by on that. I will watch the show and critique the losers (who are not me) who try to win her heart.
So, no Liz Phair, and I missed the boat on Lisa Loeb. On to celebrity crush number 3 - Eve Plumb (ya, Jan from the Brady Bunch). Yes, she's hot too, so lump it if ya don't like it.
Like the answer to a prayer, E! Entertainment Television gives me hope. (The following information is from the Hollywood Reporter, November 15, 2005): Yesterday, E! greenlighted an unscripted series that will follow newly single singer-songwriter Lisa Loeb as she re-enters the dating world. The eight-episode series, titled "#1 Single," will feature Loeb as she moves back to New York and starts dating again for the first time since college. The half-hour series is set to premiere in January. Meanwhile, the Grammy-nominated Loeb said she believes the show will be a way to "connect with more people on a larger scale." "I decided to do this TV series because what I do as a musician and songwriter is connect to an audience, so why not take that to another level," Loeb said. (end credit to Hollywood Reporter)
Okay, so why wasn't I informed of this series so I could be one of the dates. Lisa and I could sing together (I am a karaoke whore). Plus we are both quirky oddballs who are cute enough to get by on that. I will watch the show and critique the losers (who are not me) who try to win her heart.
So, no Liz Phair, and I missed the boat on Lisa Loeb. On to celebrity crush number 3 - Eve Plumb (ya, Jan from the Brady Bunch). Yes, she's hot too, so lump it if ya don't like it.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Oh God!
Well world, we are in trouble. God is the new Prada for late 2000s. He is everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time. He has been reduced to a catchphrase or bandied about like a volleyball. What has me all tiraded up? Please allow me to begin.
1) Intelligent Design: I for one am a big fan of teaching people as much information as their little brains can store. I believe in evolution and yes, I can reconcile those beliefs with the creation story in the Bible. This is what some would call "intelligent design." However, my thought process is quite a bit deeper than that, pondering such non-evolutionary topics as the soul, how the mind keeps certain secrets, why yellow and blue make green. What the media has come to define "intelligent design" as is really just a thinly veiled attempt to bring creationism into schools. And why shouldn't creationism be taught in schools? I am all for separation of church and state, but if we want to make a bright line rule, then Greek and Roman mythology have to go. I mean, the Greeks and the Romans believed that the earth (Gaia) sprung forth from Chaos and gave birth to the sea (Pontus) and the sky (Uranus). If we can teach our children these stories, why can't we teach them about creationism? Don't we want our children to be critical thinkers and wonder and dream? I do.
2) Michael Newdow - He is an atheist. In 2003, he sued a California school because his daughter was forced to say the Pledge of Allegiance with the phrase "Under God." (Despite the fact that the daughter said she herself had no problem with the pledge.) Yes, the phrase "Under God" was added to the pledge and the phrase "In God We Trust" was added to our money in direct response to the Communist scare of the 1950s. However, it's there. The Court punted Newdow's claim because he was not the custodial parent of the daughter. Now, moments ago, Newdow stated that he was going to sue the U.S. Treasury to have "In God We Trust" removed from our money because it is forcing a religious viewpoint on the population. Here is where I am torn. I love when people challenge our government - it keeps them on their toes. However, I dislike Michael Newdow. He is a media attention whore, in my opinion. He is a failed lawyer, in my opinion. I bet you that Mr. Newdow spends that money whether it has that phrase on it or not. A real atheist trying to stick it to our government wouldn't even use our money. So what do we gain from this lawsuit? More taxpayer money spent on something frivolous because the Court is just going to toss the suit. And Michael Newdow gets more publicity. Hey Mikey, are ya gonna sue Major League Baseball for having singers perform "God Bless America" during the 7th Inning Stretch?
3) Bush and the Christian Right - Somehow, George Bush has a direct hotline to God. I can't believe it, but even God must get bored and want a good laugh from time to time. Everything Bush does or says has some twinge of christian conservatism to it. I mean Bush even heard God tell him to invade Iraq because they had WMDs. I have met some people who have had conversations with God. They smell funny (like cheap wine) and are often seen arguing with invisible people miles away. God must be pleased with the new Supreme Court nominee. I would ask Him, but He is apparently playing racquetball with Bush at 4 o'clock today.
4) Weather and Other Disasters - Here are some things God has been accredited with (or blamed for): the World Trade Center disaster, Hurricane Katrina, Oklahoma City bombing, the New England blizzards. Why is He blamed for them or given credit for them? Because we are sinners and we must be punished. We fornicate, we steal, we lie, we cheat, and some of us have relations with the same gender. Get a fucking grip people. God is not punishing people for this. The terrorist attacks were caused by fucked up religious freaks who cant' see people with differences. Katrina was a weather disaster. But Sean, you say, clearly New Orleans was a sinful place and God decided to wash it away. WRONG!!! First of all, the most sinful parts of New Orleans (let us not be throwing stones) were untouched by Katrina. Second, God promised us no more floods and he sealed that promise with the rainbow. See Genesis 9:12-17. I implore the overly religious to read that book (the Bible, in case they don't know to what book I refer) - they just might see that God actually loves us and probably might get a kick out of seeing his name on our greenbacks.
Wow, that was more religious than I planned to be, but sometimes, you gotta shake people up to get some thoughts moving. Add a comment, if you want to say something on this topic.
1) Intelligent Design: I for one am a big fan of teaching people as much information as their little brains can store. I believe in evolution and yes, I can reconcile those beliefs with the creation story in the Bible. This is what some would call "intelligent design." However, my thought process is quite a bit deeper than that, pondering such non-evolutionary topics as the soul, how the mind keeps certain secrets, why yellow and blue make green. What the media has come to define "intelligent design" as is really just a thinly veiled attempt to bring creationism into schools. And why shouldn't creationism be taught in schools? I am all for separation of church and state, but if we want to make a bright line rule, then Greek and Roman mythology have to go. I mean, the Greeks and the Romans believed that the earth (Gaia) sprung forth from Chaos and gave birth to the sea (Pontus) and the sky (Uranus). If we can teach our children these stories, why can't we teach them about creationism? Don't we want our children to be critical thinkers and wonder and dream? I do.
2) Michael Newdow - He is an atheist. In 2003, he sued a California school because his daughter was forced to say the Pledge of Allegiance with the phrase "Under God." (Despite the fact that the daughter said she herself had no problem with the pledge.) Yes, the phrase "Under God" was added to the pledge and the phrase "In God We Trust" was added to our money in direct response to the Communist scare of the 1950s. However, it's there. The Court punted Newdow's claim because he was not the custodial parent of the daughter. Now, moments ago, Newdow stated that he was going to sue the U.S. Treasury to have "In God We Trust" removed from our money because it is forcing a religious viewpoint on the population. Here is where I am torn. I love when people challenge our government - it keeps them on their toes. However, I dislike Michael Newdow. He is a media attention whore, in my opinion. He is a failed lawyer, in my opinion. I bet you that Mr. Newdow spends that money whether it has that phrase on it or not. A real atheist trying to stick it to our government wouldn't even use our money. So what do we gain from this lawsuit? More taxpayer money spent on something frivolous because the Court is just going to toss the suit. And Michael Newdow gets more publicity. Hey Mikey, are ya gonna sue Major League Baseball for having singers perform "God Bless America" during the 7th Inning Stretch?
3) Bush and the Christian Right - Somehow, George Bush has a direct hotline to God. I can't believe it, but even God must get bored and want a good laugh from time to time. Everything Bush does or says has some twinge of christian conservatism to it. I mean Bush even heard God tell him to invade Iraq because they had WMDs. I have met some people who have had conversations with God. They smell funny (like cheap wine) and are often seen arguing with invisible people miles away. God must be pleased with the new Supreme Court nominee. I would ask Him, but He is apparently playing racquetball with Bush at 4 o'clock today.
4) Weather and Other Disasters - Here are some things God has been accredited with (or blamed for): the World Trade Center disaster, Hurricane Katrina, Oklahoma City bombing, the New England blizzards. Why is He blamed for them or given credit for them? Because we are sinners and we must be punished. We fornicate, we steal, we lie, we cheat, and some of us have relations with the same gender. Get a fucking grip people. God is not punishing people for this. The terrorist attacks were caused by fucked up religious freaks who cant' see people with differences. Katrina was a weather disaster. But Sean, you say, clearly New Orleans was a sinful place and God decided to wash it away. WRONG!!! First of all, the most sinful parts of New Orleans (let us not be throwing stones) were untouched by Katrina. Second, God promised us no more floods and he sealed that promise with the rainbow. See Genesis 9:12-17. I implore the overly religious to read that book (the Bible, in case they don't know to what book I refer) - they just might see that God actually loves us and probably might get a kick out of seeing his name on our greenbacks.
Wow, that was more religious than I planned to be, but sometimes, you gotta shake people up to get some thoughts moving. Add a comment, if you want to say something on this topic.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Did You Know . . . Part 3
I still get requests for more stupid facts, but I think maybe some people just like the smart ass comments I make. So here goes:
- One-fourth of the world's population lives on less than $200 a year. Yes, and they are all customer service reps for American companies.
- Ninety million people survive on less than $75 a year. We are obviously overpaying a certain percentage of the population.
- Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia is the fear of long words. Fuck you is the shortest response to someone who uses words like this.
- More people are killed by donkeys annually than are killed in plane crashes. Honestly, who is tracking this? I doubt the Transportation Safety Administration is, so it must be the American Donkey Association of America.
- The continents names all end with the same letter with which they start. Okay, this fact is just wrong. North America? South America? You can't cheat and remove the North or South! There are 7 continents. But this works for the other 5.
- Crocodiles and alligators are surprisingly fast on land. Although they are rapid, they are not agile; so if you ever find yourself chased by one, run in a zigzag line. You'll lose him or her every time. Or just outrun your friend.
- If one places a tiny amount of liquor on a scorpion, it will instantly go mad and sting itself to death. You want to try this as much as I do.
- A raisin dropped in a glass of fresh champagne will bounce up and down continually from the bottom of the glass to the top. See what you can learn when you are completely drunk!
- All of the clocks in Pulp Fiction are stuck on 4:20. Potheads.
- The symbol on the "pound" key (#) is called an octothorpe. It's called "number sign", you pretentious ass.
- On the cartoon show 'The Jetsons', Jane is 33 years old and her daughter Judy is 15. Jane was obviously a slut.
- The housefly hums in the middle octave, key of F. Just like most car horns. This music guy must just test everything and say, "yep, that's the key of F"
- Mr. Snuffleupagas' first name was Alyoisus. If you know this much about Sesame Street, you are either gay or a pedophile or have no friends, maybe all 3.
Church Signs
You ever drive down the road and see funny church signs (or see ones that you could make funny by changing a few letters)? Well, there is a website that now allows you to make your own signs (www.churchsigngenerator.com)
Here is mine:
Friday, November 04, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Did You Know . . . part 2
Yet another session of Did You Know, with more comments by me . . . .
- To "testify" was based on men in the Roman court swearing to a statement made by swearing on their testicles. The Romans were harsh, but they had a thing for the balls - makes you wonder what the word would be if women had to swear on their tits.
- During conscription for WWII, there were nine documented cases of men with three testicles. I would want this documented to. "Yep, I stormed the hill at Iwo Jima, and I got three nuts, bitches."
- Benito Mussolini would ward off the evil eye by touching his testicles. Ya right, he was whacking off and we all know it.
- Both Hitler and Napoleon were missing one testicle. They must have lied in a Roman court.
- Impotence is legal grounds for divorce in 24 American states. Is being a total bitch grounds for divorce in those same states.
- The Declaration of Independence was written on hemp paper. Founding Fathers rocking the ganj.
- 101 Dalmatians and Peter Pan (Wendy ) are the only two Disney cartoon features with both parents that are present and don't die throughout the movie. They are not, however, the only Disney cartoons where there are no Jews.
- The Soviet Sukhoi-34 is the first strike fighter with a toilet in it. When you have to shit, you have to shit.
- Napoleon constructed his battle plans in a sandbox. Which may be the location of his missing testicle.
- 'Strengths' is the longest word in the English language with just one vowel. Fucking scrabble players.
- 'Stewardesses' is the longest word that is typed with only the left hand. Good news for those of you searching for internet porn.
- The tango originated as a dance between two men (for partnering practice). Is that a euphemism for fucking?? Argh.
- The Los Angeles Rams were the first U.S. football team to introduce emblems on their helmets. And what is the name of Los Angeles' football team?
- The average person falls asleep in seven minutes. Unless he is married.
- "Studies show that if a cat falls off the seventh floor of a building it has about thirty percent less chance of surviving than a cat that falls off the twentieth floor. It supposedly takes about eight floors for the cat to realise what is occuring, relax and correct itself. At about that height it hits maximum speed and when it hits the ground it's rib cage absorbs most of the impact. So throw your cat off a building today!" Sounds good. I hate cats and there are plenty of 7-story buildings in the suburbs.
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