Saturday, October 18, 2003
Isnt that nice? Sunrise at camp last summer. I'm a sunrise junkie up there. Kinda weird since I rarely get up before 10am at home. It's such an amazing eastern view. The only regrettable thing about the picture is that you cant hear the sound. There is a point up there where even the birds stop to watch the sunrise.
When the sky starts to get light, the birds start their morning cacophony. Sometimes so loud it wakes you up. Then on mornings like this they just stop. For about 15 minutes the silence is deafening. After the sunrise they start again. Like an audience that has assembled for a show chatters before the curtain comes up, they go silent for the 15 minute performance. Complete absence of sound except for the odd red squirrel (they have no class) then they applaud and resume their conversations.
One morning when my daughter was about 8, I woke her, wrapped her in a blanket and sat on the end of the dock in silence with her in my lap and watched the sunrise. She's 16 now and still mentions that morning sometimes. Maybe she'll be a sunrise junkie, too. And she still sits on my lap sometimes and sucks her fingers when she's tired. She'll be mad I wrote that.
Sometimes this blogging thing reminds me how lucky I am in the face of so much daily bullshit.
Friday, October 17, 2003
Red Sox 5, Yankees 6
Linda: EEEEEEAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH NNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Chlora: Hey, You know the drill.
Linda: EEEEEEAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH NNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Chlora: Hey, You know the drill.
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Valerie
You know how hearing an old song will sometimes jar a specific memory? Today I heard an old song from the 70's.. David Essex "Rock On".
That old song always reminds me of cutting class in the 8th grade on the first warm day of spring with Valerie Urquhart. We snuck through the woods and came to a swamp where we hopped from rock to rock singing that song because of the line, "Where do we go from here?".
There's nothing particularly special about the song except it always makes me think of that day, and Valerie. It was a fun day and we had a good time.
I didnt have much contact with Valerie after high school, even though she was a good friend. We got together for drinks once or twice and went to each others weddings in the 80's. We always vowed to keep in touch but never really did. Living your life does that.
Last I heard, years ago through another old friend, was that Valerie had gotten divorced and moved to Texas to pursue her dream of being a painter.
A couple years ago I heard "Rock On" on the radio and got to thinking about Valerie. I missed her goofy infectious laugh and smile that lit up a room. Always happy, that kid.
I still have the dungaree jacket with patches and embroidery on it I traded with her because we each liked the others jacket better. I would have called her but she was in Texas somewhere and I didnt have her number.
Then I remembered I had her mothers phone number in a 25 year old address book.
I figured, what the hell, I'd give it a try. Even if her mother didnt remember me, I'd give her my number and have her tell Val, next time she talked to her, that I had asked about her and have her give me a call.
Valeries Mom DID remember me and we had a pleasant chat for a few minutes. She's very sweet lady. Then I explained about the song and that I'd like to get in touch with Valerie if she didnt mind giving me her number.
There was silence on the line. She then explained to me very gently that Valerie had gotten very sick after she moved to Texas. She had lung cancer. She moved back home after her diagnosis and her mother took care of her for about a year.
Then she died. Ten years ago. She was 33.
I talked to Mrs Urquhart for about another hour. Most of the conversation the poor woman spent consoling ME. We talked about Valerie. How sweet and funny she was. What a great smile and laugh she had. What a wonderful friend and daughter she was. She asked me to stop by her house and say hello next time I was in town. She told me to call her any time.
She told me where Valeries grave was. I wrote it in my address book under the last phone number I had for Valerie. The following April 4th I drove to Walpole and put flowers on her grave and said Happy Birthday and talked about the good old days.
I told her how sorry I was for not being there for her when she may have needed a friend.
Then I said Good Bye. And cried all the way home. I'm crying now.
Today I heard "Rock On" on the radio. Call your old friends. Right now.
I'll keep her jacket til the day I die.
I miss you Val. Rock on babe.
You know how hearing an old song will sometimes jar a specific memory? Today I heard an old song from the 70's.. David Essex "Rock On".
That old song always reminds me of cutting class in the 8th grade on the first warm day of spring with Valerie Urquhart. We snuck through the woods and came to a swamp where we hopped from rock to rock singing that song because of the line, "Where do we go from here?".
There's nothing particularly special about the song except it always makes me think of that day, and Valerie. It was a fun day and we had a good time.
I didnt have much contact with Valerie after high school, even though she was a good friend. We got together for drinks once or twice and went to each others weddings in the 80's. We always vowed to keep in touch but never really did. Living your life does that.
Last I heard, years ago through another old friend, was that Valerie had gotten divorced and moved to Texas to pursue her dream of being a painter.
A couple years ago I heard "Rock On" on the radio and got to thinking about Valerie. I missed her goofy infectious laugh and smile that lit up a room. Always happy, that kid.
I still have the dungaree jacket with patches and embroidery on it I traded with her because we each liked the others jacket better. I would have called her but she was in Texas somewhere and I didnt have her number.
Then I remembered I had her mothers phone number in a 25 year old address book.
I figured, what the hell, I'd give it a try. Even if her mother didnt remember me, I'd give her my number and have her tell Val, next time she talked to her, that I had asked about her and have her give me a call.
Valeries Mom DID remember me and we had a pleasant chat for a few minutes. She's very sweet lady. Then I explained about the song and that I'd like to get in touch with Valerie if she didnt mind giving me her number.
There was silence on the line. She then explained to me very gently that Valerie had gotten very sick after she moved to Texas. She had lung cancer. She moved back home after her diagnosis and her mother took care of her for about a year.
Then she died. Ten years ago. She was 33.
I talked to Mrs Urquhart for about another hour. Most of the conversation the poor woman spent consoling ME. We talked about Valerie. How sweet and funny she was. What a great smile and laugh she had. What a wonderful friend and daughter she was. She asked me to stop by her house and say hello next time I was in town. She told me to call her any time.
She told me where Valeries grave was. I wrote it in my address book under the last phone number I had for Valerie. The following April 4th I drove to Walpole and put flowers on her grave and said Happy Birthday and talked about the good old days.
I told her how sorry I was for not being there for her when she may have needed a friend.
Then I said Good Bye. And cried all the way home. I'm crying now.
Today I heard "Rock On" on the radio. Call your old friends. Right now.
I'll keep her jacket til the day I die.
I miss you Val. Rock on babe.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Results of the Game
Submitted by that clever Bmo. His results to the 10/11 game.
Chlora Form
by R. glaberrimus.
Chlora Form can write fabulous romance - but she can also write some stinkers, and this Genetic Diversity of a Rare Buttercup is one of them.
The rare species,R. triternatus, has a higher number of variable loci (62% polymorphism versus 22% for R. glaberrimus), a higher proportion of genetically distinct individuals (100% R. triternatus vs. 88% for R. glaberrimus), and a greater average genetic distance throughout a few isolated populations in Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Nevada.
Chlora is supposedly an excellent reporter with a very good professional reputation, but I never sensed how good she was. Chlora came across as a woman whose love of her career was not very deep-seated - she only became a reporter to show Eugene Onegin that she could do something and to mold young women according to the pervading values of the time
Chlora earned her M.A. in filmmaking from the University of Southern California, taking classes at night and working at Paramount Pictures during the day as a randomly amplified polymorphic DNA. Chlora enjoys writing for and collaborating with sagebrush.
Chlora wanted to stay home, have children and delineate the "proper" role of a girl in the home and in the world, and to prepare her for her future role as the "light of the home."
.
.I swear, I don't know how Chlora survived given her aversion to food. she co-stars as "DENISE", the meddling sister in Ranunculus glaberrimus a screen adaptation of the Russian, 19th century novel, Columbia Hills , which won the Gold Award for "Best Screenplay Adaptation" at the 1995 WorldFest Houston.
Submitted by that clever Bmo. His results to the 10/11 game.
Chlora Form
by R. glaberrimus.
Chlora Form can write fabulous romance - but she can also write some stinkers, and this Genetic Diversity of a Rare Buttercup is one of them.
The rare species,R. triternatus, has a higher number of variable loci (62% polymorphism versus 22% for R. glaberrimus), a higher proportion of genetically distinct individuals (100% R. triternatus vs. 88% for R. glaberrimus), and a greater average genetic distance throughout a few isolated populations in Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Nevada.
Chlora is supposedly an excellent reporter with a very good professional reputation, but I never sensed how good she was. Chlora came across as a woman whose love of her career was not very deep-seated - she only became a reporter to show Eugene Onegin that she could do something and to mold young women according to the pervading values of the time
Chlora earned her M.A. in filmmaking from the University of Southern California, taking classes at night and working at Paramount Pictures during the day as a randomly amplified polymorphic DNA. Chlora enjoys writing for and collaborating with sagebrush.
Chlora wanted to stay home, have children and delineate the "proper" role of a girl in the home and in the world, and to prepare her for her future role as the "light of the home."
.
.I swear, I don't know how Chlora survived given her aversion to food. she co-stars as "DENISE", the meddling sister in Ranunculus glaberrimus a screen adaptation of the Russian, 19th century novel, Columbia Hills , which won the Gold Award for "Best Screenplay Adaptation" at the 1995 WorldFest Houston.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Confessions of a Chronic Wise-Ass (A Cautionary Tale)
Being a successful wise-ass is tricky. I know from experience. It's a fine line. You need to have just the right balance of "wise" and "ass". Too much "wise" and the recipient of your wise-assery wont get it. Too much "ass" and well, you just look like an ass.
First, you need to be able and willing to recognise and deal with failed wise-assery.
Both are fairly simple; you will recognise it by the silence and/or furrowed brow of the recipient. He or she is thinking to themselves, "I dont get it. Have I just been insulted? Am I stupid?" (Well, that may indeed be the case. If that was your intended reaction, good job, move on.) But if it was someone you like, and they dont laugh, you need to smile and quickly change the subject. In severe cases, a chagrined apology and/or hug may be in order.
I come from the Janeane Garofalo/Roseanne Barr school of wise-assery. As a matter of fact, I even LOOK like the love-child of Janeane and Roseanne. (Seriously, ask someone who knows me or check out the broad under the Psycho Path sign at Sleepy Kitty's photos.)
They are professional wise-asses and they dont always get it right either. Sometimes Janeane comes off as too smart. At the other end of the scale Roseanne has no problem looking like an ass.
I am descended from a long line of wise-asses. It is a congenital personality trait/disorder. (I may get into the pathology more later.) Family gatherings are frequently a slam fest. Especially if there's drinking involved. Fortunately, we all know and love each other and it's a lot of fun. (As far as I know...hmm.)
Some examples of failed wise-asses in my family tree:
My ancestor Standish Form could be heard exclaiming from his ship leaving England in the 1600s, "Hey I was only kidding!" While the bishop waved from shore and mumbled under his breath, "Say hi to the Indians for me, asshole".
A few years later in Salem, Goodwife Form said, "What? You people can't take a joke!?" Just before they lit her up.
During the Civil War Scarlett O'Form stood before the ashes of her plantation and said, "I thought you didn't give a damn?"
Years later, Julius Formenberg said to his wife Ethel, "Do you smell hair burning?"
In the 60s, the late John Form Kennedy regretted (for a split second) that crack about "Ich bin ein Wiss-Asser".
(As you can see there's also a fine line between between being a smart-ass and just plain bad taste.)
I frequently make the mistake of thinking my bosses have a sense of humor. Here are 2 examples of not knowing when I should keep my thoughts to myself;
My manager once asked us to read the 5 inch thick policy manual she had worked so hard to write. To which I responded, "Nah, I'll rent the video when it comes out."
My supervisor asked me how my attempt to quit smoking was going. I told him, "Great! Now if I could only kick my crack habit... How's that working out for YOU, Jim?"
I was stupid enough to make these comments to the bosses in front of co-workers. My co-workers loved it. But it hasn't done much for my job security.
The fate of a failed wise-ass at work.
Being a successful wise-ass is tricky. I know from experience. It's a fine line. You need to have just the right balance of "wise" and "ass". Too much "wise" and the recipient of your wise-assery wont get it. Too much "ass" and well, you just look like an ass.
First, you need to be able and willing to recognise and deal with failed wise-assery.
Both are fairly simple; you will recognise it by the silence and/or furrowed brow of the recipient. He or she is thinking to themselves, "I dont get it. Have I just been insulted? Am I stupid?" (Well, that may indeed be the case. If that was your intended reaction, good job, move on.) But if it was someone you like, and they dont laugh, you need to smile and quickly change the subject. In severe cases, a chagrined apology and/or hug may be in order.
I come from the Janeane Garofalo/Roseanne Barr school of wise-assery. As a matter of fact, I even LOOK like the love-child of Janeane and Roseanne. (Seriously, ask someone who knows me or check out the broad under the Psycho Path sign at Sleepy Kitty's photos.)
They are professional wise-asses and they dont always get it right either. Sometimes Janeane comes off as too smart. At the other end of the scale Roseanne has no problem looking like an ass.
I am descended from a long line of wise-asses. It is a congenital personality trait/disorder. (I may get into the pathology more later.) Family gatherings are frequently a slam fest. Especially if there's drinking involved. Fortunately, we all know and love each other and it's a lot of fun. (As far as I know...hmm.)
Some examples of failed wise-asses in my family tree:
My ancestor Standish Form could be heard exclaiming from his ship leaving England in the 1600s, "Hey I was only kidding!" While the bishop waved from shore and mumbled under his breath, "Say hi to the Indians for me, asshole".
A few years later in Salem, Goodwife Form said, "What? You people can't take a joke!?" Just before they lit her up.
During the Civil War Scarlett O'Form stood before the ashes of her plantation and said, "I thought you didn't give a damn?"
Years later, Julius Formenberg said to his wife Ethel, "Do you smell hair burning?"
In the 60s, the late John Form Kennedy regretted (for a split second) that crack about "Ich bin ein Wiss-Asser".
(As you can see there's also a fine line between between being a smart-ass and just plain bad taste.)
I frequently make the mistake of thinking my bosses have a sense of humor. Here are 2 examples of not knowing when I should keep my thoughts to myself;
My manager once asked us to read the 5 inch thick policy manual she had worked so hard to write. To which I responded, "Nah, I'll rent the video when it comes out."
My supervisor asked me how my attempt to quit smoking was going. I told him, "Great! Now if I could only kick my crack habit... How's that working out for YOU, Jim?"
I was stupid enough to make these comments to the bosses in front of co-workers. My co-workers loved it. But it hasn't done much for my job security.
The fate of a failed wise-ass at work.
