There is only one Santa, one sleigh, one sack of toys, and eight reindeer.
Santa and his elves spend the year carving largest, the most clear, most pure ice into a prism with so many facets that's impossible for the eye to find the edge.
Christmas Eve is the darkest day the North Pole experiences.
That night the reindeer pull the Santa and his sleigh into the air. They circle the pole gaining speed and altitude. When they graze the top of the atmosphere they turn and head straight down.
As they gain speed their physical form begins to shed until they become beings of pure light energy.
They hit the prism in this form and refract, a new sleigh, Santa, and set of reindeer fly from each facet.
These Santas each rocket off to their designated sectors to deliver gifts to the children of the world.
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Sunday, December 06, 2015
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Happy Christmas
The idea of me decorating a Christmas tree makes my stomach flip and flop.
And watching people actually decorate one makes me feel really uncomfortable.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
How I Remember the Trip to Oregon
I packed everything up Sunday afternoon and moved it down to my car. The plan was to get back from work on Monday, pee, change my shirt, and leave around 5:30 to head to the hotel near Cowcity. My mom called to confirm what time they were leaving Cowtown. Dad said that they were leaving at 4PM, which was great because it takes them between 60 and 90 minutes more to reach Cowcity than it takes me.
When I got to my apartment on Monday I saw my answering machine flashing and hoped it was just a wrong number. It was my mom. She called just before five to let me know that they hadn't left yet; that someone was still packing. I stomped around my apartment for a while before heading off to the toilette and then to get a clean shirt. After changing I picked up my phone and called the parent's cell phone to find out where they were. They were maybe 25 minutes away from their house. I hung up, stomped around some more, then settled in front of the TV to watch, and sing a long with, Sweeney Todd. I didn't really pay attention, though. I was antsy. After thirty, or so, minutes I got up, put on my sweatshirt and headed out.
The drive was easy, traffic wasn't bad. When I got the motel my parents' car wasn't there, so I looked for a pay phone to call 'em. Got a hold of them and was told they'd be there in 15 minutes. I went to the Wendy's across the street to get some junk grub and wait. Thirty-ish minutes later, they were pulled into the parking lot and waved to me.
The motel was okay, but no one seemed to sleep very well. I blame it on the pillows. I don't like pillows that are so fluffy they make me sit up in bed or are so soft that when you put your head in the center it sinks and the two parts of the pillow to the left and right fluff up above you ears and get really hot. So, although the alarm and wake-up call were set to happen at 4, we were all up at 3:30 and ready to go by 4.
The airport was easy, but what else should one expect at 4:30 in the morning? We sat and waited until we could board. Then we boarded, which was a bit odd because we actually walked out onto the tarmac and walked up a ramp to the plane's door. I had an easterly window, so I watched the sun rise, sort of, as we flew. The sun was bright red as we came down into Portland. It was quite chilly, to me, when we got off the plane, only 39 degrees. Also, the flight time, a little over an hour, was shorter than my drive to Cowcity the night before.
We got our rental car and headed out of town going west to take the North Coast Highway (Which is Highway 101. In California, we call Highway 1 the Pacific Coast Highway.) We drove though hills and saw some great trees. I thought, based on the trees and other foliage that we were about 5000 feet above sea level, but the signs we saw showed we weren't ever much above 2000 feet. The river that flowed along the road was colored aqua, instead of the slime green of California’s rivers, and I counted at least five waterfalls pouring into it.
Breakfast was had a ways outside Tillamook, where the cheese is from, at a place called Alice's Country Restaurant, or something like that, so I hummed my way through the food. We smelled many cows, but didn't stop by the dairy for free samples. We did, however, stop at an old blimp hanger from WWII and looked at a bunch of planes. (They even had a MiG-17 and an F-14! And most of the planes are in working condition.) The hanger was built of wood and was about 200 feet tall, 300 feet wide, and 1000 feet long. It was amazing, but so very cold. The front door was open and the wind was a howlin'.
Tillamook was where we turned south and drove along the coast, sort of. It seemed like there were long periods of time when we were far from the coast. My parents and I chatted. We mocked the town that's called Hebo (I decided that it was founded by homosexual Jews). We pulled over in some other town to stretch and look out at the ocean and watch the birds fight and poop.
Eventually, we made it to my brother's house. We met the dog and the kitten. We toured the house. We drove to brother's girlfriend's school and toured her classroom. (She teaches kindergarten.) We saw the 'Bucks my brother works at and had the good pizza place pointed out to us. They all ate lentil soup for dinner, I had a sandwich with leftover chicken and cheese and pickles. We talked and eventually went to bed. My parents were in the guest room and I took the couch with three blankets, none of which were long enough for my body. The night was chilly and a bit restless.
Wednesday morning brother's girlfriend went to school early, since she hadn't prepared anything. I had a very fuzzy shirt due to all the animal hair left on the couch. After cleaning up, my family went shopping. Let me tell you, it's an odd thing to watch your parents spend several hundred dollars on your brother. Yes, I had fun walking around with them and mocking people and things in the store. My brothers and I have always been able to fall into an easy groove where everything is mock-able and our parents are good at it, too. Yes, I was happy that my brother was getting things that would help with his new life with his new, and possibly long term, partner. And, yes, knowing that my parents could afford doing this thrilled me because they can and it made them happy. But, still, a not small portion of me was wicked jealous and kept on screaming, "WHY NOT ME?! I WANT STUFF, TOO!" (They did give me money to cover parking and gas and they paid for the motel and my plane ticket.) We made three shopping trips that day and filled up the rental car completely the first two times. The second trip was for groceries. The third was to get the stuff we didn't realize we needed after putting everything away. As the sun set, we walked down to the beach (There are beaches in that part of Oregon.) where the tide was low. I'd have liked to be there during the day, but it was still quite lovely. Dinner was at an all night diner, where they have mighty fine burgers. That night I put a sheet on the couch to lessen the hair problem and used two blankets that were longer than I am tall. I was warm.
Thanksgiving we all got up a little later than we probably should have. Baking needed to be done before the turkey went in and it wasn't done until later than hoped. We thought we'd eat around 2, so brother's girlfriend told her family, who had driven in from Washington and another part of Oregon, were told to be there then. At first we were worried about dinner not being ready then, but all figured the snackie foods would take care of that. They didn't show up then, though. They showed up just before the turkey was pulled out of the oven. We mingled and ate and mingled and mingled until the parent's of the baby got fussy and left with the brother's girlfriend's parents in tow. We cleaned up and chatted and went to bed.
Friday brother's girlfriend went out with her mom and sister to get their feet done. My family tried to walk to the fossil place on the beach, but the tide was in. So, we turned around and started walking to the lighthouse out on the point. About halfway to the point where we turned around, I got really dizzy and never quite recovered. I kept walking, though. We didn't make it to the lighthouse, as suggested a couple of sentences ago, but we did make it to a lookout point where we could see sea lions lounging on a rock. We headed back without reaching the lighthouse because we had an appointment to meet with a family friend that afternoon. She used to live down the street from my grandparents and was friends with my grandma. We used to swim in her pool during the summer. We toured her house and then she took us down to the waterfront and pier. On the way, she pointed out where my grandma blew chunks when she visited. We listened to the sea lions bark and smelled the stink of boat engines and rotting crab parts. We looked at all the interesting boats (one was named Ceres, which seemed like an odd name for a boat, to me) and I teased a few gulls. Brother's girlfriend's mother joined us for dinner, homemade enchiladas rolled by my brother. We played cards while a fussy baby was passed around.
When I woke up on Saturday, my insides were screaming, "TIME TO GO! YOU'VE USED UP YOUR WELCOME! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE BEFORE THEY HATE YOU!" Of course I couldn’t leave since it was my parents' rental car and the flight out wasn't until Sunday evening. So, when the rest of the people in the house went out to the fossil place and the lighthouse, with the dog, I stayed behind and read and played with the kitten (not a euphemism). They got back and started turkey soup. Brother's girlfriend's parents came over and we all headed out to a beach farther south so people could dig for agate. I mostly stood around and watched the waves crash against the rocks around us. Brother had read the charts wrong and the tide was coming in while we were there. We all ate soup together for dinner and when we finished the rest played cards while I read some more.
Sunday we woke and showered and cleaned up and hugged our way out the door before heading west to take the inland route back to Portland. Take it from me: the interior of Oregon is a lot less interesting to look at than the hill and coastal route we drove on Tuesday. We got to the airport early and waited and waited and our plane landed when we were originally supposed to board, so we left late. The airport was covered in fog, but we quickly broke through it when the plane took off and all of Portland sparkled below us as we flew south. I spent the rest of the flight reading and trying to ignore the inane chatter of the high school freshmen behind me.
The plane landed and we got our luggage and caught the transit to the parking. We hugged our good-byes and headed out. Parking was $76. At that moment, I really wished we had parked out in the economy section. Fast food was purchased for dinner and eaten as I drove. Unsafe, I know. I made it to my apartment some time after 10, I'm not sure exactly when. I pulled my stuff out of the car, brushed my teeth, emptied my bladder, and went to bed.
Oh, also on this trip, I caught a cold. My throat tickled on Saturday and soared up on Sunday. Monday my nose started leaking and my throat was raw. On Tuesday, my throat felt better, but my nose was leaking more juice. Yesterday, my snot thickened and I started to have a slight cough. Today, my cough has gotten heavier and the flem has migrated down to my throat. I expect that tomorrow I'll be hacking like mad and my lungs will have that heavy mucus feeling.
I'm sure I left stuff out and family may be by to add to what I have here. Still, this is what I remember of the trip.
When I got to my apartment on Monday I saw my answering machine flashing and hoped it was just a wrong number. It was my mom. She called just before five to let me know that they hadn't left yet; that someone was still packing. I stomped around my apartment for a while before heading off to the toilette and then to get a clean shirt. After changing I picked up my phone and called the parent's cell phone to find out where they were. They were maybe 25 minutes away from their house. I hung up, stomped around some more, then settled in front of the TV to watch, and sing a long with, Sweeney Todd. I didn't really pay attention, though. I was antsy. After thirty, or so, minutes I got up, put on my sweatshirt and headed out.
The drive was easy, traffic wasn't bad. When I got the motel my parents' car wasn't there, so I looked for a pay phone to call 'em. Got a hold of them and was told they'd be there in 15 minutes. I went to the Wendy's across the street to get some junk grub and wait. Thirty-ish minutes later, they were pulled into the parking lot and waved to me.
The motel was okay, but no one seemed to sleep very well. I blame it on the pillows. I don't like pillows that are so fluffy they make me sit up in bed or are so soft that when you put your head in the center it sinks and the two parts of the pillow to the left and right fluff up above you ears and get really hot. So, although the alarm and wake-up call were set to happen at 4, we were all up at 3:30 and ready to go by 4.
The airport was easy, but what else should one expect at 4:30 in the morning? We sat and waited until we could board. Then we boarded, which was a bit odd because we actually walked out onto the tarmac and walked up a ramp to the plane's door. I had an easterly window, so I watched the sun rise, sort of, as we flew. The sun was bright red as we came down into Portland. It was quite chilly, to me, when we got off the plane, only 39 degrees. Also, the flight time, a little over an hour, was shorter than my drive to Cowcity the night before.
We got our rental car and headed out of town going west to take the North Coast Highway (Which is Highway 101. In California, we call Highway 1 the Pacific Coast Highway.) We drove though hills and saw some great trees. I thought, based on the trees and other foliage that we were about 5000 feet above sea level, but the signs we saw showed we weren't ever much above 2000 feet. The river that flowed along the road was colored aqua, instead of the slime green of California’s rivers, and I counted at least five waterfalls pouring into it.
Breakfast was had a ways outside Tillamook, where the cheese is from, at a place called Alice's Country Restaurant, or something like that, so I hummed my way through the food. We smelled many cows, but didn't stop by the dairy for free samples. We did, however, stop at an old blimp hanger from WWII and looked at a bunch of planes. (They even had a MiG-17 and an F-14! And most of the planes are in working condition.) The hanger was built of wood and was about 200 feet tall, 300 feet wide, and 1000 feet long. It was amazing, but so very cold. The front door was open and the wind was a howlin'.
Tillamook was where we turned south and drove along the coast, sort of. It seemed like there were long periods of time when we were far from the coast. My parents and I chatted. We mocked the town that's called Hebo (I decided that it was founded by homosexual Jews). We pulled over in some other town to stretch and look out at the ocean and watch the birds fight and poop.
Eventually, we made it to my brother's house. We met the dog and the kitten. We toured the house. We drove to brother's girlfriend's school and toured her classroom. (She teaches kindergarten.) We saw the 'Bucks my brother works at and had the good pizza place pointed out to us. They all ate lentil soup for dinner, I had a sandwich with leftover chicken and cheese and pickles. We talked and eventually went to bed. My parents were in the guest room and I took the couch with three blankets, none of which were long enough for my body. The night was chilly and a bit restless.
Wednesday morning brother's girlfriend went to school early, since she hadn't prepared anything. I had a very fuzzy shirt due to all the animal hair left on the couch. After cleaning up, my family went shopping. Let me tell you, it's an odd thing to watch your parents spend several hundred dollars on your brother. Yes, I had fun walking around with them and mocking people and things in the store. My brothers and I have always been able to fall into an easy groove where everything is mock-able and our parents are good at it, too. Yes, I was happy that my brother was getting things that would help with his new life with his new, and possibly long term, partner. And, yes, knowing that my parents could afford doing this thrilled me because they can and it made them happy. But, still, a not small portion of me was wicked jealous and kept on screaming, "WHY NOT ME?! I WANT STUFF, TOO!" (They did give me money to cover parking and gas and they paid for the motel and my plane ticket.) We made three shopping trips that day and filled up the rental car completely the first two times. The second trip was for groceries. The third was to get the stuff we didn't realize we needed after putting everything away. As the sun set, we walked down to the beach (There are beaches in that part of Oregon.) where the tide was low. I'd have liked to be there during the day, but it was still quite lovely. Dinner was at an all night diner, where they have mighty fine burgers. That night I put a sheet on the couch to lessen the hair problem and used two blankets that were longer than I am tall. I was warm.
Thanksgiving we all got up a little later than we probably should have. Baking needed to be done before the turkey went in and it wasn't done until later than hoped. We thought we'd eat around 2, so brother's girlfriend told her family, who had driven in from Washington and another part of Oregon, were told to be there then. At first we were worried about dinner not being ready then, but all figured the snackie foods would take care of that. They didn't show up then, though. They showed up just before the turkey was pulled out of the oven. We mingled and ate and mingled and mingled until the parent's of the baby got fussy and left with the brother's girlfriend's parents in tow. We cleaned up and chatted and went to bed.
Friday brother's girlfriend went out with her mom and sister to get their feet done. My family tried to walk to the fossil place on the beach, but the tide was in. So, we turned around and started walking to the lighthouse out on the point. About halfway to the point where we turned around, I got really dizzy and never quite recovered. I kept walking, though. We didn't make it to the lighthouse, as suggested a couple of sentences ago, but we did make it to a lookout point where we could see sea lions lounging on a rock. We headed back without reaching the lighthouse because we had an appointment to meet with a family friend that afternoon. She used to live down the street from my grandparents and was friends with my grandma. We used to swim in her pool during the summer. We toured her house and then she took us down to the waterfront and pier. On the way, she pointed out where my grandma blew chunks when she visited. We listened to the sea lions bark and smelled the stink of boat engines and rotting crab parts. We looked at all the interesting boats (one was named Ceres, which seemed like an odd name for a boat, to me) and I teased a few gulls. Brother's girlfriend's mother joined us for dinner, homemade enchiladas rolled by my brother. We played cards while a fussy baby was passed around.
When I woke up on Saturday, my insides were screaming, "TIME TO GO! YOU'VE USED UP YOUR WELCOME! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE BEFORE THEY HATE YOU!" Of course I couldn’t leave since it was my parents' rental car and the flight out wasn't until Sunday evening. So, when the rest of the people in the house went out to the fossil place and the lighthouse, with the dog, I stayed behind and read and played with the kitten (not a euphemism). They got back and started turkey soup. Brother's girlfriend's parents came over and we all headed out to a beach farther south so people could dig for agate. I mostly stood around and watched the waves crash against the rocks around us. Brother had read the charts wrong and the tide was coming in while we were there. We all ate soup together for dinner and when we finished the rest played cards while I read some more.
Sunday we woke and showered and cleaned up and hugged our way out the door before heading west to take the inland route back to Portland. Take it from me: the interior of Oregon is a lot less interesting to look at than the hill and coastal route we drove on Tuesday. We got to the airport early and waited and waited and our plane landed when we were originally supposed to board, so we left late. The airport was covered in fog, but we quickly broke through it when the plane took off and all of Portland sparkled below us as we flew south. I spent the rest of the flight reading and trying to ignore the inane chatter of the high school freshmen behind me.
The plane landed and we got our luggage and caught the transit to the parking. We hugged our good-byes and headed out. Parking was $76. At that moment, I really wished we had parked out in the economy section. Fast food was purchased for dinner and eaten as I drove. Unsafe, I know. I made it to my apartment some time after 10, I'm not sure exactly when. I pulled my stuff out of the car, brushed my teeth, emptied my bladder, and went to bed.
Oh, also on this trip, I caught a cold. My throat tickled on Saturday and soared up on Sunday. Monday my nose started leaking and my throat was raw. On Tuesday, my throat felt better, but my nose was leaking more juice. Yesterday, my snot thickened and I started to have a slight cough. Today, my cough has gotten heavier and the flem has migrated down to my throat. I expect that tomorrow I'll be hacking like mad and my lungs will have that heavy mucus feeling.
I'm sure I left stuff out and family may be by to add to what I have here. Still, this is what I remember of the trip.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Vacation Days
I mailed off applications and other stuff to Cowtown three weeks, or so, ago. The deadline for filing an application for the two positions was two weeks ago. I'd really like to hear something back.
A huge part of me is afraid that I won't get interviews there because I also asked them if they could schedule my interviews for a Friday or a Monday morning because of the long drive I have to make to get there. I left out the other reasons, like enjoying having an excuse for a long weekend. Yeah, it makes me feel better when I take a day off from work because I have an interview, how about you? Can you just take any old day off without an excuse and feel okay about it?
Along those lines, I've been thinking a lot about setting up some sort of tour vacation. Sure, I can't afford it right now and probably not next year either, but if I stay on schedule I'll have my final student loan paid off at the end of 2009. 2010 I could go. Get some package and go to Salzburg and Munich and Bern, or a cruise from St. Petersburg to Moscow, or Rome and Florence and Venice, or go to Viet Nam or Thailand or Pakistan or Egypt or New Zealand. I don't know, yet. 2010 is a long way away. Hell, I don't even have a Passport; kind of need one of those if I ever want to get out of the country.
I guess the only, realistic, thing I have to worry about between now and then is how much this sort of thing will cost me in two years. What with gas prices going up and the value of the US dollar going down by a flight across an ocean may more than double. I bet my salary won't.
I could probably start more local. You know, like Alaska or New York or Hawaii. Probably be cheaper, too. Well, maybe not Alaska. Alaska would sort of have to be done on a cruise to be able to see a large amount of the immense state. And I'd rather not do the other two with a tour group, but also not by myself.
Well, two years is a long time. Who knows what'll happen between now and then?
Right?
A huge part of me is afraid that I won't get interviews there because I also asked them if they could schedule my interviews for a Friday or a Monday morning because of the long drive I have to make to get there. I left out the other reasons, like enjoying having an excuse for a long weekend. Yeah, it makes me feel better when I take a day off from work because I have an interview, how about you? Can you just take any old day off without an excuse and feel okay about it?
Along those lines, I've been thinking a lot about setting up some sort of tour vacation. Sure, I can't afford it right now and probably not next year either, but if I stay on schedule I'll have my final student loan paid off at the end of 2009. 2010 I could go. Get some package and go to Salzburg and Munich and Bern, or a cruise from St. Petersburg to Moscow, or Rome and Florence and Venice, or go to Viet Nam or Thailand or Pakistan or Egypt or New Zealand. I don't know, yet. 2010 is a long way away. Hell, I don't even have a Passport; kind of need one of those if I ever want to get out of the country.
I guess the only, realistic, thing I have to worry about between now and then is how much this sort of thing will cost me in two years. What with gas prices going up and the value of the US dollar going down by a flight across an ocean may more than double. I bet my salary won't.
I could probably start more local. You know, like Alaska or New York or Hawaii. Probably be cheaper, too. Well, maybe not Alaska. Alaska would sort of have to be done on a cruise to be able to see a large amount of the immense state. And I'd rather not do the other two with a tour group, but also not by myself.
Well, two years is a long time. Who knows what'll happen between now and then?
Right?
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Death and Slavery
Yesterday was Columbus Day. The day a few of us celebrate the first southern Europeans crossing the Atlantic to enslave and kill the people who had been living there already to take trinkets back to a monarch who was hoping for silk and opium, but was okay with what she got.
Of course, most of the people around here choose to forget the death and slavery and focus on the guy who "discovered" an island that was already populated and then go on to "discover" a continent that already had people living there as well as failed European colonies.
Personally, I'm just in it for the day off.
Not that I did anything to celebrate. I boiled the hell out of a chicken carcass so I can make soup tonight, or tomorrow night, whenever I get to it.
Today, I started boxing files, again. I don't mind boxing, really. It gets me away from my desk for most of the day and away from lawyer, too. I get to listen to myPod and sing along to the songs I like, under my breath. (Listened to Queen's "Somebody to Love" three times in a row. It's odd picturing Anne Hathaway sing while hearing Freddie Mercury's voice, though.)
Tomorrow, more boxing. Same for the day after that.
Of course, most of the people around here choose to forget the death and slavery and focus on the guy who "discovered" an island that was already populated and then go on to "discover" a continent that already had people living there as well as failed European colonies.
Personally, I'm just in it for the day off.
Not that I did anything to celebrate. I boiled the hell out of a chicken carcass so I can make soup tonight, or tomorrow night, whenever I get to it.
Today, I started boxing files, again. I don't mind boxing, really. It gets me away from my desk for most of the day and away from lawyer, too. I get to listen to myPod and sing along to the songs I like, under my breath. (Listened to Queen's "Somebody to Love" three times in a row. It's odd picturing Anne Hathaway sing while hearing Freddie Mercury's voice, though.)
Tomorrow, more boxing. Same for the day after that.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Mish and Mash, Both General
I'm sitting here, sucking of a fakegrape Life Saver trying hard not to concentrate on my queasy stomach. Have you ever dreamed about having an upset stomach an then had a queasy one when you woke up in the morning? I have. Just this morning, in fact. I think that it was the salad dressing I had last night. Does Zesty Italian dressing go bad? I don't think it's been open that long.
Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr Day, so I had the day off. Holidays like this leave me with mixed emotions. Yes, having a day off from work is nice, but is it the sort of think that Martin Luther King, Jr would have wanted? Would he have wanted us to celebrate his date of birth, after he died, of course, by sitting in our home listening to speeches he gave forty years ago or, even worse, going out just to buy things? It seems to me that the best way to celebrate him would be to actually do something about the rights of humans. Something that promotes an equality among people. Something more than what we normally do.
I don't know, though. I just sit around and thing about these things, I don't actually get up and do anything about it, but what are the chances that the minorities would accept a WASPy guy like me to try and lead the way to something, hopefully, better? Pretty slim, I'd say.
Did anyone else see that episode of Boondocks with Martin Luther King, Jr? In it, he wasn't killed he was just put into a coma for thirty years. He experienced September 11, 2001 and after that day he appeared on a show, much like Bill Maher's Politically Incorrect, and said that he didn't support the US invading Afghanistan or anywhere else. The audience turned on him because he continued to hold on to his pacifist beliefs. It was an unfortunate, but very true moment.
My parents came to visit over the weekend. It was nice. They brought me a car so I can get rid of my car and we had yummy French toast made by yours truly and we went to a movie and I showed them where I was hit by the cop car and took them by the parking garage where a guy was killed a few months ago (but I found that out just before Christmas, I thought he had just be seriously beaten) and other things.
We went to the Charles Schulz Museum. It's really close to where I live, but in the past year I hadn't visited before Sunday. I kept hoping that my brother would come and visit so I could go with him because, even though I know my parents appreciated and enjoyed the museum, my brother would have really been able to grok it.
Still, it was a good visit, with them and to the museum.
Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr Day, so I had the day off. Holidays like this leave me with mixed emotions. Yes, having a day off from work is nice, but is it the sort of think that Martin Luther King, Jr would have wanted? Would he have wanted us to celebrate his date of birth, after he died, of course, by sitting in our home listening to speeches he gave forty years ago or, even worse, going out just to buy things? It seems to me that the best way to celebrate him would be to actually do something about the rights of humans. Something that promotes an equality among people. Something more than what we normally do.
I don't know, though. I just sit around and thing about these things, I don't actually get up and do anything about it, but what are the chances that the minorities would accept a WASPy guy like me to try and lead the way to something, hopefully, better? Pretty slim, I'd say.
Did anyone else see that episode of Boondocks with Martin Luther King, Jr? In it, he wasn't killed he was just put into a coma for thirty years. He experienced September 11, 2001 and after that day he appeared on a show, much like Bill Maher's Politically Incorrect, and said that he didn't support the US invading Afghanistan or anywhere else. The audience turned on him because he continued to hold on to his pacifist beliefs. It was an unfortunate, but very true moment.
My parents came to visit over the weekend. It was nice. They brought me a car so I can get rid of my car and we had yummy French toast made by yours truly and we went to a movie and I showed them where I was hit by the cop car and took them by the parking garage where a guy was killed a few months ago (but I found that out just before Christmas, I thought he had just be seriously beaten) and other things.
We went to the Charles Schulz Museum. It's really close to where I live, but in the past year I hadn't visited before Sunday. I kept hoping that my brother would come and visit so I could go with him because, even though I know my parents appreciated and enjoyed the museum, my brother would have really been able to grok it.
Still, it was a good visit, with them and to the museum.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Why I Am Now Much More Afraid of My Car
Monday, New Year's Day, for those who care, I woke up, eightish again, with three things on my mind: 1) haircut 2) brownies and 3) pee. They weren't necessarily in that order. I think I thought of the brownies first, actually.
I rid myself of the thought of pee in the usual way, with a sigh of relief.
After washing my hands, I went to the tray of brownies to rid myself of that thought as well, but it branched off into another though: What if I scooped some ice cream on top of the brownies and ate the two things together? Somewhere deep in the dark pit that is occasionally my mind something screamed that it wasn't a good idea to eat the combined power of pure vanilla ice cream and moist brownies for breakfast. All of my taste buds and my stomach cheering for the sweets drown out that small voice, but I think there may have been the echo of a gunshot in there somewhere.
Brownies were quickly placed into a bowl and ice cream was carefully placed on top. (It was Breyers ice cream, for those who may be jealous. It was on sale last week.) I sat in front of the TV, turned on another episode of TNG and began to eat. At first I started out trying to eat the brownies and the ice cream in a way that brought them together, but still kept them separate, I didn't want my brownies to get soggy. Eventually, I got tired of that game (and my hand holding the bowl got cold) and I chopped and I mixed the two things together. It was wonderful. The only thing that could have made it better would have been some chocolate syrup, but I didn't have any of that.
Eventually, the bowl was empty and the episode had run its course and the only thought left in my brain was haircut.
As I showered, I considered the possible places I could have my tresses chopped. SuperCuts is obvious and easy and close by, but I don't like the place. They always try to sell me "product" (whatever that means) for my hair. I just want my damn hair cut. And no, I do not want to spend twenty dollars on a five ounce container of hair gel. Did I come in with gel in my hair? Do I look like to sort of guy who gives a damn about how his hair is "styled"? You don't need to try to make me feel bad because I don't have "in" hair. Does it make you feel better to make me feel worse so I'll buy some gel from this store? You don't even get a commission, do you? What do you want from me? You already have my DNA being swept up and processed so you can crack my personal genome so you can better market things to me. Why can't you leave me alone? I gave you my fifteen dollars and a tip for an only so-so haircut because you only know how to do the cuts from the posters and ripped magazine pages that are on the walls, but not a simple cut-it-pretty-short-but-leave-enough-on-top-for-me-to-play-with cut. Just stop it. Please, just take my money and leave me alone.
I thought a real barber would be a good idea, this time. There isn’t any downtown that I know of. Lots of places with "stylists," but no plain, simple barbers. Where to go, though? There are a couple over that way, but that's a lot of driving, and one by a laundromat, which is much closer. I choose the closer one, got dressed, and headed out the door.
I turned left instead of the usual right and decided instead of turning around I'd use the highways. It's about the same distance and I got to drive faster. After a few minutes of driving I pulled into the parking lot near the barbershop and pulled up in front of it. There was a clock that said they'd be back at 9:30. The clock in my car said 9:35. Then I saw a sign on the window. I parked my car and went to investigate. The barber wouldn't be back until Wednesday, as in today. I turned around to my car and saw smoke rising from under the hood.
I've known about the oil leak in my car since I bought it from my uncle and aunt. It's always been there just slowly dripping. It's the reason I check the oil in my car every time I drive more that 100 miles in a day, even if I just changed the oil the day before. I don't remember, though, the engine ever smoking. Even when I burned one up entirely (not because of the lack of oil, but because a water hose melted). I don't ever remember smelling burning oil before the last time my car died. After I got it back from the place and drove it from Cowtown to here, I noticed a burning oil smell when I'd come to a stop and I'd especially notice it when I'd stop and the heater was on. The more I drove it, the worse the smell got.
The Sunday before Christmas, after I met with a friend for coffee (she says Hi to those who she knows and she'd probably say Hi to those she doesn't since she's that kind of a person), I drove the windy road back to my parents. When I got there, I noticed smoke coming out from under the hood of my car and that the stink of burning oil was stronger. I popped the hood and looked. I grabbed my dad so he could look. We took of the spare tire (you'll remember where the damned spare tire is located from this post) and looked some more. All I saw was a dirty, dirty engine. We poked around a little. He got greasier than I did, but I figure why grab things in there if I don't know what they're for. We filled fluids. (It looked like the oil was empty so three (I think) quarts went in, but when we backed the car up to a more level position (the car was leaning forward, toward the dip-stick (not me this time)) it was over flowing, go figure.) We tightened hoses. My dad couldn't think of anything else to do.
After letting the car sit for a while, I took my mom up the hill so she could get bacon for broccoli salad for Christmas. (Mom, I forgot to tell you at Christmas and since I'm thinking of it now I'll put it here: some feta in the broccoli salad would be really good.) I could smell the burning oil. My mom could smell the burning oil. When we got back to their house, the engine was smoking, again. Dad's only suggestion was to clean the engine at the self-serve car wash place on Tuesday so we could get a better look at what's going on in there on a clean engine. So we did.
All it looked like, to me, was a wet, clean engine.
I drove my car back from Cowtown that Tuesday night. The whole time I was wondering how quickly I could get out of my car and grab the fire extinguisher if I needed to. I made it back safely and the car only smelled a little like burning oil. It probably didn't help that I had the window cracked almost the entire time, though.
That Wednesday, before I went to work, I popped the hood to take a look. All I saw was a dirty, dirty engine.
On Monday, I popped the hood and the car was smoking like it had that first time I noticed it happening before Christmas. The engine looked just as black. I have no idea where the leak is coming from. The whole time I drove my stinky car back to my apartment, by SuperCuts, which was closed for the day, I thought it was going to go up in flames for sure.
Will I be driving to the laundromat this weekend so I have clean underwear next week? Yeah, but I won't like it.
I rid myself of the thought of pee in the usual way, with a sigh of relief.
After washing my hands, I went to the tray of brownies to rid myself of that thought as well, but it branched off into another though: What if I scooped some ice cream on top of the brownies and ate the two things together? Somewhere deep in the dark pit that is occasionally my mind something screamed that it wasn't a good idea to eat the combined power of pure vanilla ice cream and moist brownies for breakfast. All of my taste buds and my stomach cheering for the sweets drown out that small voice, but I think there may have been the echo of a gunshot in there somewhere.
Brownies were quickly placed into a bowl and ice cream was carefully placed on top. (It was Breyers ice cream, for those who may be jealous. It was on sale last week.) I sat in front of the TV, turned on another episode of TNG and began to eat. At first I started out trying to eat the brownies and the ice cream in a way that brought them together, but still kept them separate, I didn't want my brownies to get soggy. Eventually, I got tired of that game (and my hand holding the bowl got cold) and I chopped and I mixed the two things together. It was wonderful. The only thing that could have made it better would have been some chocolate syrup, but I didn't have any of that.
Eventually, the bowl was empty and the episode had run its course and the only thought left in my brain was haircut.
As I showered, I considered the possible places I could have my tresses chopped. SuperCuts is obvious and easy and close by, but I don't like the place. They always try to sell me "product" (whatever that means) for my hair. I just want my damn hair cut. And no, I do not want to spend twenty dollars on a five ounce container of hair gel. Did I come in with gel in my hair? Do I look like to sort of guy who gives a damn about how his hair is "styled"? You don't need to try to make me feel bad because I don't have "in" hair. Does it make you feel better to make me feel worse so I'll buy some gel from this store? You don't even get a commission, do you? What do you want from me? You already have my DNA being swept up and processed so you can crack my personal genome so you can better market things to me. Why can't you leave me alone? I gave you my fifteen dollars and a tip for an only so-so haircut because you only know how to do the cuts from the posters and ripped magazine pages that are on the walls, but not a simple cut-it-pretty-short-but-leave-enough-on-top-for-me-to-play-with cut. Just stop it. Please, just take my money and leave me alone.
I thought a real barber would be a good idea, this time. There isn’t any downtown that I know of. Lots of places with "stylists," but no plain, simple barbers. Where to go, though? There are a couple over that way, but that's a lot of driving, and one by a laundromat, which is much closer. I choose the closer one, got dressed, and headed out the door.
I turned left instead of the usual right and decided instead of turning around I'd use the highways. It's about the same distance and I got to drive faster. After a few minutes of driving I pulled into the parking lot near the barbershop and pulled up in front of it. There was a clock that said they'd be back at 9:30. The clock in my car said 9:35. Then I saw a sign on the window. I parked my car and went to investigate. The barber wouldn't be back until Wednesday, as in today. I turned around to my car and saw smoke rising from under the hood.
I've known about the oil leak in my car since I bought it from my uncle and aunt. It's always been there just slowly dripping. It's the reason I check the oil in my car every time I drive more that 100 miles in a day, even if I just changed the oil the day before. I don't remember, though, the engine ever smoking. Even when I burned one up entirely (not because of the lack of oil, but because a water hose melted). I don't ever remember smelling burning oil before the last time my car died. After I got it back from the place and drove it from Cowtown to here, I noticed a burning oil smell when I'd come to a stop and I'd especially notice it when I'd stop and the heater was on. The more I drove it, the worse the smell got.
The Sunday before Christmas, after I met with a friend for coffee (she says Hi to those who she knows and she'd probably say Hi to those she doesn't since she's that kind of a person), I drove the windy road back to my parents. When I got there, I noticed smoke coming out from under the hood of my car and that the stink of burning oil was stronger. I popped the hood and looked. I grabbed my dad so he could look. We took of the spare tire (you'll remember where the damned spare tire is located from this post) and looked some more. All I saw was a dirty, dirty engine. We poked around a little. He got greasier than I did, but I figure why grab things in there if I don't know what they're for. We filled fluids. (It looked like the oil was empty so three (I think) quarts went in, but when we backed the car up to a more level position (the car was leaning forward, toward the dip-stick (not me this time)) it was over flowing, go figure.) We tightened hoses. My dad couldn't think of anything else to do.
After letting the car sit for a while, I took my mom up the hill so she could get bacon for broccoli salad for Christmas. (Mom, I forgot to tell you at Christmas and since I'm thinking of it now I'll put it here: some feta in the broccoli salad would be really good.) I could smell the burning oil. My mom could smell the burning oil. When we got back to their house, the engine was smoking, again. Dad's only suggestion was to clean the engine at the self-serve car wash place on Tuesday so we could get a better look at what's going on in there on a clean engine. So we did.
All it looked like, to me, was a wet, clean engine.
I drove my car back from Cowtown that Tuesday night. The whole time I was wondering how quickly I could get out of my car and grab the fire extinguisher if I needed to. I made it back safely and the car only smelled a little like burning oil. It probably didn't help that I had the window cracked almost the entire time, though.
That Wednesday, before I went to work, I popped the hood to take a look. All I saw was a dirty, dirty engine.
On Monday, I popped the hood and the car was smoking like it had that first time I noticed it happening before Christmas. The engine looked just as black. I have no idea where the leak is coming from. The whole time I drove my stinky car back to my apartment, by SuperCuts, which was closed for the day, I thought it was going to go up in flames for sure.
Will I be driving to the laundromat this weekend so I have clean underwear next week? Yeah, but I won't like it.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
What Did You Do For New Year's?
Woke up on Sunday some time after eight. But not too much after eight. That would have been too much like sleeping in and since when is Sunday a day a person who wants to sleep in can actually sleep in. At least when that person is me.
Ate some left over pot roast for breakfast, watched part of an episode from the final season (also the last I needed to complete my collection) of TNG, showered, and considered getting a haircut. What would it take? Where should I go? Why not just let it grow really long?
Instead of walking to the SuperCuts I played Zelda. (Not the new one. The one for the last Nintendo. I'm not even considering buying the new one until a) it goes on sale for a pretty reasonable price or b) there's a new Mario Cart released.) I played for a long time. If I actually told you how long, it would turn into an embarrassingly long time. That time was interspersed with me pacing around my apartment and reading comics (Powers, for those who may be interested. I finished all the issues of the first series I have/can find in my apartment and I'm ready to start on the second series.)
Made brownies as I watched the rest of the TNG episode. Played Zelda as the brownies baked and cooled. Ate some brownies after the cooling and started a new TNG. Saw the time and decided that I should make dinner. While watching the episode I grilled some cheese sandwiches. (I like the processed, fatty, salty, pre-sliced singles for my grilled cheese sandwiches. Can they still be called "grilled" if I don't use a grill to make them? It's more of a fried sandwich with cheese, isn't it?) Along with the cheese, the sandwiches also had tomato and ham.
By the time the sandwiches were ready, and I had covered the brownies in a thin plastic film to keep them from drying out, a new episode had started and I ate and watched and then wandered to the fridge for some root beer and then plopped back in front of the TV to eat and watch and drink.
When the episode was over, I shuffled my dishes off to the sink for a rinse and then set them on the counter (where they still sit) and headed off for my toothbrush, which I promptly used along with a healthy portion of toothpaste. As I brushed, I wandered around the apartment and thought about flossing and how I should have done it, but figured that missing one night out of the week wasn't so bad and besides I had flossed that morning because no matter how I cook it post roast is a bit stringy and gets caught between my teeth and isn't being expected to floss twice a day a bit overkill since, in the future, I'll be able to have bionic teeth that can bite through steel? As I spit and rinsed, I figured my teeth were safe for the time being.
I headed to my bed, climbed in and started reading comics. Around ten-thirty, I yawned a big yawn that made my eyes water so much I couldn't read the print anymore and decided that it was time to sleep. Lights off, I pulled the covers to under my chin and fell asleep a lot quicker than I normally do.
Sometime after midnight, I'm sure, I heard firecrackers going off. I didn't look at the time though, I didn't care. I rolled over, put my pillow on top of my head, and fell back to sleep.
It was pretty close to what I think of as the perfect New Year's.
Tomorrow, probably: I am now much more afraid of my car.
Ate some left over pot roast for breakfast, watched part of an episode from the final season (also the last I needed to complete my collection) of TNG, showered, and considered getting a haircut. What would it take? Where should I go? Why not just let it grow really long?
Instead of walking to the SuperCuts I played Zelda. (Not the new one. The one for the last Nintendo. I'm not even considering buying the new one until a) it goes on sale for a pretty reasonable price or b) there's a new Mario Cart released.) I played for a long time. If I actually told you how long, it would turn into an embarrassingly long time. That time was interspersed with me pacing around my apartment and reading comics (Powers, for those who may be interested. I finished all the issues of the first series I have/can find in my apartment and I'm ready to start on the second series.)
Made brownies as I watched the rest of the TNG episode. Played Zelda as the brownies baked and cooled. Ate some brownies after the cooling and started a new TNG. Saw the time and decided that I should make dinner. While watching the episode I grilled some cheese sandwiches. (I like the processed, fatty, salty, pre-sliced singles for my grilled cheese sandwiches. Can they still be called "grilled" if I don't use a grill to make them? It's more of a fried sandwich with cheese, isn't it?) Along with the cheese, the sandwiches also had tomato and ham.
By the time the sandwiches were ready, and I had covered the brownies in a thin plastic film to keep them from drying out, a new episode had started and I ate and watched and then wandered to the fridge for some root beer and then plopped back in front of the TV to eat and watch and drink.
When the episode was over, I shuffled my dishes off to the sink for a rinse and then set them on the counter (where they still sit) and headed off for my toothbrush, which I promptly used along with a healthy portion of toothpaste. As I brushed, I wandered around the apartment and thought about flossing and how I should have done it, but figured that missing one night out of the week wasn't so bad and besides I had flossed that morning because no matter how I cook it post roast is a bit stringy and gets caught between my teeth and isn't being expected to floss twice a day a bit overkill since, in the future, I'll be able to have bionic teeth that can bite through steel? As I spit and rinsed, I figured my teeth were safe for the time being.
I headed to my bed, climbed in and started reading comics. Around ten-thirty, I yawned a big yawn that made my eyes water so much I couldn't read the print anymore and decided that it was time to sleep. Lights off, I pulled the covers to under my chin and fell asleep a lot quicker than I normally do.
Sometime after midnight, I'm sure, I heard firecrackers going off. I didn't look at the time though, I didn't care. I rolled over, put my pillow on top of my head, and fell back to sleep.
It was pretty close to what I think of as the perfect New Year's.
Tomorrow, probably: I am now much more afraid of my car.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Shoppin'
So, I'm nearly done with my nondenominational Christmas shopping. Just have to buy a gift for one more person and I'm all finished. Hopefully tomorrow.
To get this close to being finished, I went out today. I braved The Mall parking lot (I walked through it) to get to the same stores every mall in the USA have. It was crowded in and out, very crowded.
I don't mind the crowds.
I think they're fun.
Almost everyone rushing around as if this is the most important thing they have in their lives. People trying to push through the group of three ladies barely moving, but trying to push without actually touching or just asking one to move to the side. The screaming kids with the purple faces in strollers being pushed by parents who pretend not to hear anything. The man, in his forties, who takes his place at the end of a ten person line and says, "I can't believe how crowded it is. Was it this crowded last year? I don't think it was. The crowds just get worse every year. It was never like this when I was a kid."
All this makes me laugh.
I never try to be in such a rush that I can't slow down to the speed of the three ladies in front of me. Screaming kids who look like they're heads are about to explode make me laugh. And the guy at the end of the line is wrong, it's been this bad for years.
Problems go away, they just shift to a different location for a while.
The first one was buying myself something that can easily be a gift from someone. I bought myself the second volume of Mickey Mouse in black and white. There was only one left in the store and I couldn't pass it up. I'm sorry if someone out there bought it for me, but I've opened mine. I couldn't help myself. I wasn't thinking.
Visiting a bookstore was my other mistake. I haven't been in a bookstore, off campus, of course, since some time in October. I have a problem: I like to buy books. After ten minutes in the store, I found myself carrying seven books and had to remind myself that I was looking for gifts for others, not myself. In the end, I found some gifts there for other people and bought myself only two. It was hard, but a decision I'll have to live with.
Tomorrow, out for the last gift and then off to work in the evening.
To get this close to being finished, I went out today. I braved The Mall parking lot (I walked through it) to get to the same stores every mall in the USA have. It was crowded in and out, very crowded.
I don't mind the crowds.
I think they're fun.
Almost everyone rushing around as if this is the most important thing they have in their lives. People trying to push through the group of three ladies barely moving, but trying to push without actually touching or just asking one to move to the side. The screaming kids with the purple faces in strollers being pushed by parents who pretend not to hear anything. The man, in his forties, who takes his place at the end of a ten person line and says, "I can't believe how crowded it is. Was it this crowded last year? I don't think it was. The crowds just get worse every year. It was never like this when I was a kid."
All this makes me laugh.
I never try to be in such a rush that I can't slow down to the speed of the three ladies in front of me. Screaming kids who look like they're heads are about to explode make me laugh. And the guy at the end of the line is wrong, it's been this bad for years.
Problems go away, they just shift to a different location for a while.
* * *
I made two mistakes today.The first one was buying myself something that can easily be a gift from someone. I bought myself the second volume of Mickey Mouse in black and white. There was only one left in the store and I couldn't pass it up. I'm sorry if someone out there bought it for me, but I've opened mine. I couldn't help myself. I wasn't thinking.
Visiting a bookstore was my other mistake. I haven't been in a bookstore, off campus, of course, since some time in October. I have a problem: I like to buy books. After ten minutes in the store, I found myself carrying seven books and had to remind myself that I was looking for gifts for others, not myself. In the end, I found some gifts there for other people and bought myself only two. It was hard, but a decision I'll have to live with.
Tomorrow, out for the last gift and then off to work in the evening.
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