Working late on Monday and Tuesday this week. That will put me around 29 hours at work by the end of the night Tuesday and I'm not bummed out by that at all. Wanna know why? I decided to self-medicate my thyroid again ever since I found out that my blood levels were screwed up. That means I have double dosed every other day since I got the blood tests back and I will continue to do so until I feel better again.
Stupid? most would agree with that.
Dangerous? probably a little
Do I feel better the last 48 hours than I have in three months? without a doubt.
Two days in a row I've been able to get up around 5 a.m. and actually get some work done both around the house and for my job. Up until then, I've been struggling to roll my carcass out of the sack by 6:30 no matter how early I went to bed the night before.
So, I'll wait until the heart palpitations start, the shaking begins, the inability to sit still gets too obvious and then I'll cut back on my meds and let things level out again.
I mean, if I felt like crud for three months and gained 25 lbs in that time isn't it fair that I get to feel good for at least a couple weeks before I have to return to baseline?
Makes sense to me.
I'm finally back to the point where my eyes aren't so dried up that I can actually put my contact lenses in again. Caffeine works on me again. I'm not having trouble keeping my eyes open on the drive home from work. Some nagging injuries have suddenly decided to start healing after being...well nagging for a long time. Hell, I'm feeling so good, I might even have enough energy to get on top during sex again soon. That will be a good day let me tell ya!
I'm enjoying this for a few days. So shoot me.
http://www.drugs.com/pro/levothyroxine.html
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My Inner Crowd is Going Wild
Any of you who know me personally know that around last Christmas I engaged in many events of self-torture and happenstances of self-deprivation in a valiant...okay...more like "desperate" effort to lose the extra pounds that I had gained through years of alcohol abuse and overindulgence in all that is bacon. I was fairly successful and lost 50 lbs. Just to help with the imagery, before the diet I looked like Peter Griffin. After the diet I looked more like a young Carol O'Conner. How's that for cross generational mixed mental imagery?
I managed to stay right at my goal weight for about four months. I packed a few pounds on at the end of August due to ten or eleven days of camping food and the excessive hammock time involved in my camping outings. I wasn't too worried at the time, but the intervening three months since then saw me pack on twenty more pounds. So now I have gained back over half of what I lost and I appear to be picking up speed on my way to the Aretha Franklin neighborhood of fatulence.
It finally dawned on me two weeks ago or more that my thyroid may have told me to fuck off again and I need my thyroid medication adjusted so my body can again be convinced to burn calories. Combine that with my apparent desire to poach my liver in vodka once or twice a week and the results aren't pretty. Anyone who has ever admitted to themselves that their alcohol intake could stand to be trimmed down a little, knows that alcohol is the Navy Seal of addictive substances. You can consciously monitor it for long periods of time, but as soon as you let your guard down, BAM...you're lying on the floor trying to remember where you are and how it all happened.
And when the medication bonks...it's a sneaky bastard, too. Usually by the time I catch it, the medication level has been twisted for a month or more. It's not like I can wake up on Tuesday...look back at Monday and recognize my medication isn't right. I usually have to say... wake up at the end of November and look back at the previous two months and realize that my naps grew progressively longer, I grew increasingly less efficient at work in tiny increments, and if it gets really bad, I have trouble completing a thought. At it's worst, a few years back, I couldn't complete a sentence because the brain fog was too um...foggy. Yeah...that's why I write. Cuz I'm good with words like that.
I was reared to believe that I am in charge of me. I am in control of my fate and I am to blame for everything that goes wrong and if I want things to change I have to change them. So when the weight starts coming on, I tend to think it is my failure and mine alone. Then when I take measures to get rid of the weight and it doesn't go away, then the depression sets in which makes my judgment even worse.
Now here's the icing on the cake. When my medication levels go south on me, I sleep. A lot. When I'm not sleeping, I should be sleeping. I get nothing done and keeping my eyes open is a near impossible task at times. Wanna guess the one substance I can take that wakes me up? Not coffee. Not soda. Liquor. I don't care about the science behind it. Liquor wakes me up when my underactive thyroid makes me want to sleep 23 hours a day. Seeing as how I been known to have a hmm...lessee...an aficionado's interest in that liquor stuff...yeah...not good. It's sorta like giving an angry, short tempered, gorilla a large club and telling him old people are filled with bananas and then dropping him off at the old folks' home. Next thing you know everyone is dead and there's a pissed off hungry ape staring at you cuz he still wants his bananas. Okay, that metaphor broke down a little by the end there, but you get my point...it can get messy.
Let's recap...thyroid condition...sneaky. Alcohol...sneaky. One tends to give at least the illusion of making the other better. Both tend to make depression worse. Are you starting to figure out the level of awesomeness my battle with this stuff has been for the last decade?
It has taken me years to realize how this condition has affected my body, my mind, and my confidence.
What brings all this up? The doc called me this a.m. and affirmed to me that my medication needs to be upped. Why does that make me happy? Because now I know the last few months haven't been all my fault. I know it wasn't all me and my laziness that made me gain so much weight back. It wasn't 100% me that didn't read to my daughter because I needed a 45 minute nap instead. It wasn't entirely my fault that I've been intending to build my mutt a dog house for two months and still haven't done it. And that's all I need. I need that crack of daylight to be reminded once in a while that I'm not a complete pile of shit so I can get my chin up in the air again and forge ahead.
I start the new dosage of meds when I get home today. Bummer part is, I usually have to take it for a month before I can fully realize the change, but when it does kick in, the weight tends to fall off again. I tend to feel like exercising more. My urge to drink every Friday and Saturday night decreases drastically, too. I get ten days off for Christmas break and if my meds are helping by then, I can hit the gym 6 or 7 of those days and do a good bit of setting myself to rights again before the New Year.
Cheers!
I managed to stay right at my goal weight for about four months. I packed a few pounds on at the end of August due to ten or eleven days of camping food and the excessive hammock time involved in my camping outings. I wasn't too worried at the time, but the intervening three months since then saw me pack on twenty more pounds. So now I have gained back over half of what I lost and I appear to be picking up speed on my way to the Aretha Franklin neighborhood of fatulence.
It finally dawned on me two weeks ago or more that my thyroid may have told me to fuck off again and I need my thyroid medication adjusted so my body can again be convinced to burn calories. Combine that with my apparent desire to poach my liver in vodka once or twice a week and the results aren't pretty. Anyone who has ever admitted to themselves that their alcohol intake could stand to be trimmed down a little, knows that alcohol is the Navy Seal of addictive substances. You can consciously monitor it for long periods of time, but as soon as you let your guard down, BAM...you're lying on the floor trying to remember where you are and how it all happened.
And when the medication bonks...it's a sneaky bastard, too. Usually by the time I catch it, the medication level has been twisted for a month or more. It's not like I can wake up on Tuesday...look back at Monday and recognize my medication isn't right. I usually have to say... wake up at the end of November and look back at the previous two months and realize that my naps grew progressively longer, I grew increasingly less efficient at work in tiny increments, and if it gets really bad, I have trouble completing a thought. At it's worst, a few years back, I couldn't complete a sentence because the brain fog was too um...foggy. Yeah...that's why I write. Cuz I'm good with words like that.
I was reared to believe that I am in charge of me. I am in control of my fate and I am to blame for everything that goes wrong and if I want things to change I have to change them. So when the weight starts coming on, I tend to think it is my failure and mine alone. Then when I take measures to get rid of the weight and it doesn't go away, then the depression sets in which makes my judgment even worse.
Now here's the icing on the cake. When my medication levels go south on me, I sleep. A lot. When I'm not sleeping, I should be sleeping. I get nothing done and keeping my eyes open is a near impossible task at times. Wanna guess the one substance I can take that wakes me up? Not coffee. Not soda. Liquor. I don't care about the science behind it. Liquor wakes me up when my underactive thyroid makes me want to sleep 23 hours a day. Seeing as how I been known to have a hmm...lessee...an aficionado's interest in that liquor stuff...yeah...not good. It's sorta like giving an angry, short tempered, gorilla a large club and telling him old people are filled with bananas and then dropping him off at the old folks' home. Next thing you know everyone is dead and there's a pissed off hungry ape staring at you cuz he still wants his bananas. Okay, that metaphor broke down a little by the end there, but you get my point...it can get messy.
Let's recap...thyroid condition...sneaky. Alcohol...sneaky. One tends to give at least the illusion of making the other better. Both tend to make depression worse. Are you starting to figure out the level of awesomeness my battle with this stuff has been for the last decade?
It has taken me years to realize how this condition has affected my body, my mind, and my confidence.
What brings all this up? The doc called me this a.m. and affirmed to me that my medication needs to be upped. Why does that make me happy? Because now I know the last few months haven't been all my fault. I know it wasn't all me and my laziness that made me gain so much weight back. It wasn't 100% me that didn't read to my daughter because I needed a 45 minute nap instead. It wasn't entirely my fault that I've been intending to build my mutt a dog house for two months and still haven't done it. And that's all I need. I need that crack of daylight to be reminded once in a while that I'm not a complete pile of shit so I can get my chin up in the air again and forge ahead.
I start the new dosage of meds when I get home today. Bummer part is, I usually have to take it for a month before I can fully realize the change, but when it does kick in, the weight tends to fall off again. I tend to feel like exercising more. My urge to drink every Friday and Saturday night decreases drastically, too. I get ten days off for Christmas break and if my meds are helping by then, I can hit the gym 6 or 7 of those days and do a good bit of setting myself to rights again before the New Year.
Cheers!
Monday, November 22, 2010
Beware this Blog post.
What I am about to show you is dangerous. It's frightening and sortta depressing all at the same time. It's a sight so not-rare-enough that at times it's all I can do to keep myself from climbing the nearest clock tower and spreading some high caliber love amongst the dumbasses that walk amongst us masquerading as useful members of society.
Steel yourselves to witness proof that our gene puddle is getting more and more muddled with dreck.
I took these pics outside Elmer's grocery store in Escanaba this summer. Exhibit #1 shows the classic maneuver used by someone who purposefully takes up two spots to make sure no one will park next to him and accidentally ding the door. Two problems. 1) If you do this and don't take two spots that are on the outlying periphery of the lot, then you are a dickhead. 2) You took up two spots one in front of the other which doesn't make sense. I do the "pull through" all the time so I don't have to back out of spots, but that still only involves taking one spot. This genius takes up two spots one in front of the other. Not enough energy to pull all the way through to the facing spot? Too stupid to realize he overshot the first spot? Maybe he just kept driving until his phone call ended and that just happens to be where the operator at 1-800-Bukkake-Me finally hung up on him.
In Exhibit #2 posted below, we see that the almost-pull-through guy, broke not one, but two of three imaginary planes of the typical angle parking space. How sucky a driver do you have to be in order to do that? We now have to assume he was not simply in a hurry, not simply just distracted, but simply the victim of some of the worst fetal alcohol poisoning that didn't result in complete fetusplosion whilst he was in the womb. I'm not sure how he made it out of his mother's vagina alive, much less how he ever managed to get a license to drive. Nevertheless, I want to assure him that no matter how well he takes care of his little Nissan Roadster, it's moves like this that will always make him a cancre on the ass of humanity.
Here is where it gets scary. Notice the Dodge to the left of FAS boy? He has done the same damn thing. He has forcibly penetrated two thirds of the imaginary walls of angle parking that were created by sweet baby Jesus himself to keep our grocery store parking lots from becoming pure Mad Max style chaos. The amount of such stupidity all gathered into one place is staggering. Those of you afraid of the possible effect of the atom smashing Hadron Collider need to relax. It's the gathering of anti-intelligence such as documented in these pictures, that has a much greater chance of effectively ending life as we know it. At some point the dumbass factor will hit critical mass and rip some sort of hole in the time space continuum by creating a super nova of stupid.
Now if you haven't already noticed the silver Toyota in the background of Exhibit #2, I will point out that he also has broken one of the parking planes and he has left a good two+ feet of the ass end of his truck in the road. For those of you counting, that's parking lines 4, Imbecilic Anarchy 5. I wanted to forgive Toyota-boy for leaving the tail end of his truck hanging out at first because it was pretty obvious that he got there last and was partially inhibited by the Dodge half-hearted-pull-through guy. Then I saw that he was also completely cockeyed in his spot and all my good will vanished like heroin off Lindsay Lohan's coffee table.
Singularly, none of these sad excuses for parking are unusual as I am sure both of my faithful readers know. But to do this in triplicate? All of them in spots that are diagonally connected? This is surely a sign of the apocalypse. I couldn't be more sure than if the convertible had a 666 license plate, the Dodge sported a 2012 decal in the back window, and I had personally witnessed Dick Cheney driving the Toyota into that spot. This is it my friends. It's over. I'm surprised I wasn't sucked into some sort of hellish nether dimension ala Poltergeist just from getting close enough take these cell phone pics.
My good fortune in surviving this encounter, allows me to warn all of you. The end is nigh. Make peace with your maker. Hug your wife one last time. Call everyone you love...demand they give you the money they owe you and then use the money so you can go snort blow off the ass of that transgender hooker you've had your eye on because this little Uno game of life is just about done.
Steel yourselves to witness proof that our gene puddle is getting more and more muddled with dreck.
I took these pics outside Elmer's grocery store in Escanaba this summer. Exhibit #1 shows the classic maneuver used by someone who purposefully takes up two spots to make sure no one will park next to him and accidentally ding the door. Two problems. 1) If you do this and don't take two spots that are on the outlying periphery of the lot, then you are a dickhead. 2) You took up two spots one in front of the other which doesn't make sense. I do the "pull through" all the time so I don't have to back out of spots, but that still only involves taking one spot. This genius takes up two spots one in front of the other. Not enough energy to pull all the way through to the facing spot? Too stupid to realize he overshot the first spot? Maybe he just kept driving until his phone call ended and that just happens to be where the operator at 1-800-Bukkake-Me finally hung up on him.
 |
| Exhibit #1: I can't wait to see what happens to me when I hit my mid-life crisis. Will I be the convertible guy or will I be the guy who has candy dishes filled with Viagra in every room of the house? |
 |
| Exhibit #2: Either neither one of these people can park or I have found evidence to support my theory. My theory is that stupidity has it's own gravitational pull which gradually drew these vehicles closer. This would also explain the large crowds at monster truck rallies. |
Here is where it gets scary. Notice the Dodge to the left of FAS boy? He has done the same damn thing. He has forcibly penetrated two thirds of the imaginary walls of angle parking that were created by sweet baby Jesus himself to keep our grocery store parking lots from becoming pure Mad Max style chaos. The amount of such stupidity all gathered into one place is staggering. Those of you afraid of the possible effect of the atom smashing Hadron Collider need to relax. It's the gathering of anti-intelligence such as documented in these pictures, that has a much greater chance of effectively ending life as we know it. At some point the dumbass factor will hit critical mass and rip some sort of hole in the time space continuum by creating a super nova of stupid.
Now if you haven't already noticed the silver Toyota in the background of Exhibit #2, I will point out that he also has broken one of the parking planes and he has left a good two+ feet of the ass end of his truck in the road. For those of you counting, that's parking lines 4, Imbecilic Anarchy 5. I wanted to forgive Toyota-boy for leaving the tail end of his truck hanging out at first because it was pretty obvious that he got there last and was partially inhibited by the Dodge half-hearted-pull-through guy. Then I saw that he was also completely cockeyed in his spot and all my good will vanished like heroin off Lindsay Lohan's coffee table.
 | |
| Exhibit #3: Mr. Silver Toyota...ninety-seven other open spots, and you choose to park right between Chippy the magical retard and Funderburke "Ponies make me happy!" Pyle. I hope they both smashed your quarter panels. |
Singularly, none of these sad excuses for parking are unusual as I am sure both of my faithful readers know. But to do this in triplicate? All of them in spots that are diagonally connected? This is surely a sign of the apocalypse. I couldn't be more sure than if the convertible had a 666 license plate, the Dodge sported a 2012 decal in the back window, and I had personally witnessed Dick Cheney driving the Toyota into that spot. This is it my friends. It's over. I'm surprised I wasn't sucked into some sort of hellish nether dimension ala Poltergeist just from getting close enough take these cell phone pics.
My good fortune in surviving this encounter, allows me to warn all of you. The end is nigh. Make peace with your maker. Hug your wife one last time. Call everyone you love...demand they give you the money they owe you and then use the money so you can go snort blow off the ass of that transgender hooker you've had your eye on because this little Uno game of life is just about done.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Christmas Stories that Never Really Caught On.
Christmas time is a wonderful time of year for a lot of reasons. Candy, Christmas songs, presents, brotherhood and the wonderful juxtaposition of girls in Santa themed bikinis not the least of those reasons.
Plus, there is the wonderful Christmas literature. The stories told and re-told over the generations that just seem to get better and better with the passage of time. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Twas the Night Before Christmas, A Christmas Carol....legends, classics all. Not everything written about Christmas has made it to legendary status however and some of the classics have received updates and sequels that just never quite matched up with the pantheon of Christmas tales we all know and love.
Here is a short list of a few Christmas stories that never caught on:
Santa Grows a Lesion -
Is it a small wonder if he finally caught something after kissing all those married women under the mistletoe all these years? Does penicillin work on merry old elves? I'm kinda surprised Mrs. Claus hasn't Bobbited him years ago.
A Charlie Brown Abortion -
You knew that love/hate thing Charlie and Lucy always displayed was all just foreplay. Foreplay does usually eventually lead to something. Turns out that Charlie couldn't repay Lucy for all those 5¢ psychiatry sessions. Lucy arranged for another way for Charlie to pay her back after Charlie got in over his head (it's me...of course the pun was intended. Don't ask silly questions.)
Antonio Banderas stars in a powerful, heartfelt voiceover portrayal of Charlie Brown's father. In a touching scene between he and Charlie, Banderas quite poignantly says, "Waahwahwah, wah wah wah...wah wah." Tears flowed in the test audiences, but this Peanuts installment never caught on.
Rudolph Takes a Beatdown -
The don't ask, don't tell policy of all the other reindeer only worked for so long before it all devolved into a tragic and horrific tale of prejudice and cruelty that results in Rudolph being forced out of the reindeer corps when his true relationship with Hermey, the elf, is discovered. Parental Guidance is suggested due to scenes of explicit beastiality and violence. It's too bad because I believe there is a real lesson for the kids about the evil of intolerance in this one.
 | |
| I look forward to this every year. |
(http://www.isoldelingerie.com/candystripebikiniset-p-151.html)
Plus, there is the wonderful Christmas literature. The stories told and re-told over the generations that just seem to get better and better with the passage of time. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Twas the Night Before Christmas, A Christmas Carol....legends, classics all. Not everything written about Christmas has made it to legendary status however and some of the classics have received updates and sequels that just never quite matched up with the pantheon of Christmas tales we all know and love.
Here is a short list of a few Christmas stories that never caught on:
Santa Grows a Lesion -
Is it a small wonder if he finally caught something after kissing all those married women under the mistletoe all these years? Does penicillin work on merry old elves? I'm kinda surprised Mrs. Claus hasn't Bobbited him years ago.
 |
| Santa's Mommy kissing abilities are so legendary they wrote a song about it for crying out loud! (http://www.ferristech.net/users/matt/archives/2003_11.html) |
You knew that love/hate thing Charlie and Lucy always displayed was all just foreplay. Foreplay does usually eventually lead to something. Turns out that Charlie couldn't repay Lucy for all those 5¢ psychiatry sessions. Lucy arranged for another way for Charlie to pay her back after Charlie got in over his head (it's me...of course the pun was intended. Don't ask silly questions.)
Antonio Banderas stars in a powerful, heartfelt voiceover portrayal of Charlie Brown's father. In a touching scene between he and Charlie, Banderas quite poignantly says, "Waahwahwah, wah wah wah...wah wah." Tears flowed in the test audiences, but this Peanuts installment never caught on.
 |
| Look at that lustful leer! (http://collectpeanuts.com/wp/figurines/danbury-mint/) |
Rudolph Takes a Beatdown -
The don't ask, don't tell policy of all the other reindeer only worked for so long before it all devolved into a tragic and horrific tale of prejudice and cruelty that results in Rudolph being forced out of the reindeer corps when his true relationship with Hermey, the elf, is discovered. Parental Guidance is suggested due to scenes of explicit beastiality and violence. It's too bad because I believe there is a real lesson for the kids about the evil of intolerance in this one.
Okay, but next time I get to be on top!
(http://msmindy.com/rudolph/char_hermey.shtml)
Frosty Runs a Racket -
Frosty goes all Tony Soprano when he discovers there is more than one kind of snow he is an expert in. However his penchant for snorting coke as well as dealing it eventually gets him into trouble. His paranoia that everyone is out to get his hat rivals that of the Lucky Charms leprechaun freaking out about his fucking marshmallows. Of course it was his best friend the rabbit that got Frosty hooked. We should have guessed from the get-go that bunny was wired on something.
 | ||
| A tweaked Frosty shortly before the hallucinations take over. |
(http://www.conservativeblogwatch.com/2009/12/02/cbs-sexes-up-frosty-the-snowman/)
Friday, November 12, 2010
I think randomly.
I haven't written anything I feel comfortable posting publicly lately. That's right. I even do writing I choose to keep to myself. Unlike Alanis Morissette, there are thoughts and events that occur in my life that I do not have to turn into song.
Speaking of which, how would you like to be one of Alanis Morissette's ex-boyfriends? Would you be relieved that she hasn't publicly ridiculed you in song yet or would you be insulted that she hasn't gotten to you yet?
*****
My Pimp Car, ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-pimp-car-is-strong.html ) broke down after only a week. The water pump went kerblooie. I knew I should have gotten that 200 miles or 8 days warranty. I will give the name of the dealership because they did right by us. Halbinsel in Escanaba sold us the car. A water pump is one of those things that can appear to be working fine one minute and go all Hiroshima on your engine's ass the next minute so there is no way they could have known that was going to happen. They covered us for 100% of the repairs. It has been so long since any retail establishment gave me a fair shake I was totally expecting to get hosed on this deal, too.
So anyways, I want to thank Halbinsel in Escanaba for apparently running an honest shop. Times are tough for the Harrises right now and the amount of stress they saved us by doing the right thing was greatly appreciated. I don't want to ruin the surprise, but there may be a gift of the single malt variety headed your way at some point.
That being said, I wont' fall all over myself because it also was the correct long range business decision to make as well. I will be buying many more vehicles in the years to come and now, by default, they get first shot at making me a deal. So, I guess extra credit goes to Halbinsel for not being as shortsighted as the boys down at Riverside in Escanaba. BTW, Riverside...if you are listening...I have purchased five more vehicles since you fucked me on my warranty on my truck and you didn't have a hope in hell of selling me a single one. Keep up the good customer relations boys.
*****
I started my Christmas shopping at the end of October. Thank you, ebay. You have saved countless lives by keeping me from having to deal with the smelly unwashed hordes in the shopping malls. Every year it seemed I was always just one more dumbass cashier, one more whiny kid, one more rude adult, one more price check away from hiding in the food court ball pit with a sniper rifle. Merry Christmas to me.
*****
Thanks to my cohorts at work who talked me down from the ledge a couple times this week. You are good, patient folks.
*****
Of course, thanks to all the veterans this week and every week.
*****
Thanks to you, Diet Mountain Dew. Without you, none of this would be possible.
Speaking of which, how would you like to be one of Alanis Morissette's ex-boyfriends? Would you be relieved that she hasn't publicly ridiculed you in song yet or would you be insulted that she hasn't gotten to you yet?
*****
My Pimp Car, ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-pimp-car-is-strong.html ) broke down after only a week. The water pump went kerblooie. I knew I should have gotten that 200 miles or 8 days warranty. I will give the name of the dealership because they did right by us. Halbinsel in Escanaba sold us the car. A water pump is one of those things that can appear to be working fine one minute and go all Hiroshima on your engine's ass the next minute so there is no way they could have known that was going to happen. They covered us for 100% of the repairs. It has been so long since any retail establishment gave me a fair shake I was totally expecting to get hosed on this deal, too.
So anyways, I want to thank Halbinsel in Escanaba for apparently running an honest shop. Times are tough for the Harrises right now and the amount of stress they saved us by doing the right thing was greatly appreciated. I don't want to ruin the surprise, but there may be a gift of the single malt variety headed your way at some point.
That being said, I wont' fall all over myself because it also was the correct long range business decision to make as well. I will be buying many more vehicles in the years to come and now, by default, they get first shot at making me a deal. So, I guess extra credit goes to Halbinsel for not being as shortsighted as the boys down at Riverside in Escanaba. BTW, Riverside...if you are listening...I have purchased five more vehicles since you fucked me on my warranty on my truck and you didn't have a hope in hell of selling me a single one. Keep up the good customer relations boys.
*****
I started my Christmas shopping at the end of October. Thank you, ebay. You have saved countless lives by keeping me from having to deal with the smelly unwashed hordes in the shopping malls. Every year it seemed I was always just one more dumbass cashier, one more whiny kid, one more rude adult, one more price check away from hiding in the food court ball pit with a sniper rifle. Merry Christmas to me.
*****
Thanks to my cohorts at work who talked me down from the ledge a couple times this week. You are good, patient folks.
*****
Of course, thanks to all the veterans this week and every week.
*****
Thanks to you, Diet Mountain Dew. Without you, none of this would be possible.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
My pimp car is strong.
After three weeks of playing phone tag with banks, lien holders, insurance companies, and lawyers (Oh my?)...we finally seem to own a car. It is an ultra-sexy, ultra-hot car with a cool factor rating that makes Einstein's IQ look like a shoe size.
Here you go.
It's a 2003 Buick LeSabre Limited. It has bells and whistles that I thought only existed on devices in Willy Wonka movies. For example the mirrors automatically adjust when you put it in reverse so you can "better see obstacles in the rear," according to the manual. Plus it has seat heaters, an LCD compass, auto darkening rear view mirror...jacuzzi, porta-potty, and it comes with a full time soda jerk replete with one of those funny paper hats.
Check out these photos of the dash if the dazzling sexiness of the exterior already hasn't blinded you to all other awesomeness.
I'm trying to trick you. Only one of the two pics above is actually from my car. Can you guess which? That's right. It's the much cooler bottom one. The top one would have looked almost as good as the Buick dash if it had come with some awesome plasticky looking faux wood grain like the dash on the LeSabrator.
But wait...what's that? You want to know is that really a cassette tape deck in the middle of that dash?
Fucking ay right it is.
Why do I have a cassette tape deck, you ask?
Cause I couldn't find a LeSabre that would play eight track tapes, bitches.
We started out looking for something that was fuel efficient and cute like the little Focus was. We looked for a Pontiac Vibe, a Toyota Matrix, a Dodge Caliber, a Malibu Maxx, and a P.T. Cruiser. What do all those have in common aside from the fact that they all sound like names you would find in the credits of a gay porn film? They all have shitty reliability ratings, four cylinder engines, don't get that great a gas mileage despite having an engine with barely enough power to juice a squirrel, and it is near impossible to find one with a manual transmission.
I've had quite enough of the shitty reliability thing thanks to the old Ford Focus which is why we drowned it in the first place. I can handle the four cylinder engine thing...IF it is a stick shift. Those teeny cars we initially looked at are also so light that winter driving requires great care and when you make it worse by taking away the engine braking capacity of a stick shift and put an automatic tranny in it...then I think they are downright dangerous.
So we had to change tactics during the great car hunt. We decided to spend about 33% less money and buy a car we knew would be a little better in the winter. So, in walks the big bad Buick beauty. Every inch of it screams, "Drive me! (carefully). Every line of it screams, "Exxxcitement!" (If you would consider a refrigerator box exciting.) It handles like a dream! (If you have ever dreamed of driving a refrigerator box.) Everything from the seating position to to the sorta-leather seats screams SEX ON ME! (Copyright pending on the term "sorta-leather.")
It will fit an entire fraternity party in the trunk, and the soda fountain in the back will seat the population of your average Honduran family. The car is big, American, strong, and everything I always wanted in a vehicle minus the disco ball. I'm thinking of putting a pair of truck nutz on it, too because...I mean, why wouldn't I?
Actually, the Buick was in our price range, has some of the most outstanding safety and reliability ratings of anything I researched, is the color of oatmeal and just about as spicy, too. It does get as good or better mileage than some of those little four cylinder toy cars I mentioned before. Side curtain air bags are a plus, but still not really the first thing the opposite sex notices about one's ride typically. Plus it's so big and overblown it should be heavy enough for winter driving.
The sorta-leather seats are also easy for the soda jerk to clean up when he spills.
Here you go.
 |
| Is it a car or an aphrodisiac? |
 |
| Actual view of LeSabre's back seat. |
But wait...what's that? You want to know is that really a cassette tape deck in the middle of that dash?
Fucking ay right it is.
Why do I have a cassette tape deck, you ask?
Cause I couldn't find a LeSabre that would play eight track tapes, bitches.
We started out looking for something that was fuel efficient and cute like the little Focus was. We looked for a Pontiac Vibe, a Toyota Matrix, a Dodge Caliber, a Malibu Maxx, and a P.T. Cruiser. What do all those have in common aside from the fact that they all sound like names you would find in the credits of a gay porn film? They all have shitty reliability ratings, four cylinder engines, don't get that great a gas mileage despite having an engine with barely enough power to juice a squirrel, and it is near impossible to find one with a manual transmission.
I've had quite enough of the shitty reliability thing thanks to the old Ford Focus which is why we drowned it in the first place. I can handle the four cylinder engine thing...IF it is a stick shift. Those teeny cars we initially looked at are also so light that winter driving requires great care and when you make it worse by taking away the engine braking capacity of a stick shift and put an automatic tranny in it...then I think they are downright dangerous.
So we had to change tactics during the great car hunt. We decided to spend about 33% less money and buy a car we knew would be a little better in the winter. So, in walks the big bad Buick beauty. Every inch of it screams, "Drive me! (carefully). Every line of it screams, "Exxxcitement!" (If you would consider a refrigerator box exciting.) It handles like a dream! (If you have ever dreamed of driving a refrigerator box.) Everything from the seating position to to the sorta-leather seats screams SEX ON ME! (Copyright pending on the term "sorta-leather.")
 |
| These seats ...are an orgy launching pad just waiting for clearance from Phallus Central. |
 |
| Truck nutz...Bush/Cheney bumper sticker. Somehow that doesn't seem like a coincidence to me. |
Actually, the Buick was in our price range, has some of the most outstanding safety and reliability ratings of anything I researched, is the color of oatmeal and just about as spicy, too. It does get as good or better mileage than some of those little four cylinder toy cars I mentioned before. Side curtain air bags are a plus, but still not really the first thing the opposite sex notices about one's ride typically. Plus it's so big and overblown it should be heavy enough for winter driving.
The sorta-leather seats are also easy for the soda jerk to clean up when he spills.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Mickey Redmond Drinking Game
I believe this came from the “Abel to Yzerman” blog from KuklasKorner.com a year or two ago. Everyone sorta chipped in with ideas on the Mickey Redmond Drinking game. I am reposting a version of it here.
Next Red Wing game, take a drink every time you hear Mickey Redmond use one of these phrases. I know one of them isn’t a Redmond-ism, but I think you’ll figure it out.
“Happy” Hudler |
Wait ‘til you see this replay! |
Holy Jumpin’ |
Hey Gang! |
Holy Mackerel! |
That was a bang-bang play |
Hold it right there, gang! |
That’s the way it’s done boys and girls! |
You be the judge. |
Katie, bar the door |
Datsyukian |
There it is! |
Lookout! |
Oooohh, geez!” |
Oh-my-goodness |
Taking liberties |
Well that’s the new NHL for ya. |
He barely touched'em! |
In the old days... |
He never had a chance on that play. |
Bingo Bango |
Every time you hear Mick chuckle |
Larry Murphy starts a sentence and fails to finish it coherently |
Oh Boy |
Mick says anything about composite sticks |
You could’ve thrown a blanket over ‘em! |
Chintzy |
Monday, October 18, 2010
UPWP
A few summers ago I was lucky enough to be accepted into the U.P. writing project. I learned a lot and loved the experience. The main thing I learned was that writing begets more writing. Just like anything else, if one doesn't write, it gets harder to write. If you don't use it, you lose it. I'm full of trite adages. I could keep going, but for your sake I won't.
At any rate, I got to spend several weeks concentrating on writing and I wrote amongst a group of peers. A group of peers who also fancied themselves amateur writers. What was good about that is that I think I held my own with them. At least if I didn't, they didn't tell me. Either way, same effect. I gained a little confidence.
Then came the culminating night. The final UPWP retreat. We all had to write one more piece for the retreat, share it in a small group to know what did or didn't work about it and do with it what we amateur writers do. Sometimes at that point we let the idea go away or sometimes we realize the idea needs to steep in the back of our brains until it is ready for consumption.
I had often gotten some raised eyebrows for the types of things I wrote. Apparently stories about cute cuddly woodland creatures getting their comeuppance ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com /search?q=children%27s+story ) were mildly amusing to some, but no one really wanted to admit it. I remember always being startled at how shocked some were by what I penned. I mean had these people never read Poe? Never picked up a Stephen King novel? Alfred Hitchcock? What I had been doing...to call it a pale comparison would be an injustice to any of them. My stuff wasn't good enough nor lethal enough to deserve being called a pale comparison.
So I eventually tried to keep my writing as ....what's the opposite of off-color?....I kept my writing as on-color as possible which mystified me a little bit. I mean the one thing I have always wanted to accomplish is to write what I want to write. The UPWP was my first chance to write for adults and not have to fear admonition from a college professor.
So for the final writing, I decided, to let it go a little. I wrote a true recounting of a night at a strip club in the middle of nowhere. The strippers' bus had apparently broken down and the club was stripper free that night. Or I should say the club was professional stripper free. Hilarity ensued, culminating in varied attempts to earn free drinks by dancing ourselves, a frostbitten ball sack (not mine for which I thank the sweet baby Jesus), and an afterbar party where a random four year old walked into a room with porn playing on the television and apparently the only people horrified by that were me and my buddy.
So there were definitely events there that were story worthy, but I knew I had totally missed the mark in writing it. Far and away it was the worst piece I had written for UPWP. I knew my story was very one dimensional and I was trying to figure out why my voice hadn't come through and why the story didn't work. At all. I mean, not a whit. When I read the story out loud at UPWP, I didn't get any help.
No one told me that perhaps there were two short stories there. No one said I should perhaps write from a different point of view. No one said that the horror of the afterbar porn scenario was just too dark to go hand in hand with all the preceding Animal House type events up to that point of the story...nothing. They were just appalled that I had put these things on paper.
By the end of the evening I was hearing whispers of people being worried that I may have lost my sanity. I hadn't even known my sanity's leash had been so frayed that people were worried about it becoming lost. Between you and me, I have never lost my sanity. I've just misplaced it from time to time. I almost always find it again right away. Usually under the couch cushion.
What were they all so bothered by? Not every genre is everyone's cup of tea. Were they worried my lost sanity was going to run amok through the retreat? Were they worried it was going to trample over all the other stories brought to the retreat? All those pretty little stories about crunchy autumn leaves and poems about their grandmother's penchant for crosstitch, and touching stories of their daughter's first lost tooth and all of them, all of them, all of them at the mercy of an adult writing for other adults. Infecting everyone with the idea that not all stories are happy. Spreading adult thoughts like rabies throughout every page of every participant?
I was so horrified about adults being so politically-correctly-crippled that either they were either horrified that I had engaged in such hedonistic behavior or they felt that in order to fit in, they had to pretend to be horrified by it. I found the whole gig so unsettling in that I realized I had totally underestimated how people willingly limit their points of view. I had vastly missed the mark in guessing just how much of a wall people had built between their honest selves and society in an effort to convince the world they don't have dark, dirty, inane, shameful, naughty, violent thoughts. They had covered everything that was interesting about themselves in a hypoallergenic plastic sheen like the covers your weird aunt puts on all her furniture. I knew then it was the time for the UPWP and myself to part ways.
I thank them for their help, but I knew I could no longer be part of it. Perhaps someday again, I can find a writing group to be a part of. A place where if I want to write a story that is a cross between David Sedaris and David Lynch I can do so without being suspected of being Charles Manson with a word processor.
Sometimes, just for fun, I imagine what would have happened if I had introduced myself to the UPWP as a writer of equine erotica. In my mind's eye I see them calling the men in the white coats and having me hauled away so that they could finish their pinots respectfully. They could finish their conversations about the weather; maybe swap a recipe or two and at the end they could all get in their Subarus and drive back home and forget I had ever existed.
At any rate, I got to spend several weeks concentrating on writing and I wrote amongst a group of peers. A group of peers who also fancied themselves amateur writers. What was good about that is that I think I held my own with them. At least if I didn't, they didn't tell me. Either way, same effect. I gained a little confidence.
Then came the culminating night. The final UPWP retreat. We all had to write one more piece for the retreat, share it in a small group to know what did or didn't work about it and do with it what we amateur writers do. Sometimes at that point we let the idea go away or sometimes we realize the idea needs to steep in the back of our brains until it is ready for consumption.
I had often gotten some raised eyebrows for the types of things I wrote. Apparently stories about cute cuddly woodland creatures getting their comeuppance ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com /search?q=children%27s+story ) were mildly amusing to some, but no one really wanted to admit it. I remember always being startled at how shocked some were by what I penned. I mean had these people never read Poe? Never picked up a Stephen King novel? Alfred Hitchcock? What I had been doing...to call it a pale comparison would be an injustice to any of them. My stuff wasn't good enough nor lethal enough to deserve being called a pale comparison.
So I eventually tried to keep my writing as ....what's the opposite of off-color?....I kept my writing as on-color as possible which mystified me a little bit. I mean the one thing I have always wanted to accomplish is to write what I want to write. The UPWP was my first chance to write for adults and not have to fear admonition from a college professor.
So for the final writing, I decided, to let it go a little. I wrote a true recounting of a night at a strip club in the middle of nowhere. The strippers' bus had apparently broken down and the club was stripper free that night. Or I should say the club was professional stripper free. Hilarity ensued, culminating in varied attempts to earn free drinks by dancing ourselves, a frostbitten ball sack (not mine for which I thank the sweet baby Jesus), and an afterbar party where a random four year old walked into a room with porn playing on the television and apparently the only people horrified by that were me and my buddy.
So there were definitely events there that were story worthy, but I knew I had totally missed the mark in writing it. Far and away it was the worst piece I had written for UPWP. I knew my story was very one dimensional and I was trying to figure out why my voice hadn't come through and why the story didn't work. At all. I mean, not a whit. When I read the story out loud at UPWP, I didn't get any help.
No one told me that perhaps there were two short stories there. No one said I should perhaps write from a different point of view. No one said that the horror of the afterbar porn scenario was just too dark to go hand in hand with all the preceding Animal House type events up to that point of the story...nothing. They were just appalled that I had put these things on paper.
By the end of the evening I was hearing whispers of people being worried that I may have lost my sanity. I hadn't even known my sanity's leash had been so frayed that people were worried about it becoming lost. Between you and me, I have never lost my sanity. I've just misplaced it from time to time. I almost always find it again right away. Usually under the couch cushion.
What were they all so bothered by? Not every genre is everyone's cup of tea. Were they worried my lost sanity was going to run amok through the retreat? Were they worried it was going to trample over all the other stories brought to the retreat? All those pretty little stories about crunchy autumn leaves and poems about their grandmother's penchant for crosstitch, and touching stories of their daughter's first lost tooth and all of them, all of them, all of them at the mercy of an adult writing for other adults. Infecting everyone with the idea that not all stories are happy. Spreading adult thoughts like rabies throughout every page of every participant?
I was so horrified about adults being so politically-correctly-crippled that either they were either horrified that I had engaged in such hedonistic behavior or they felt that in order to fit in, they had to pretend to be horrified by it. I found the whole gig so unsettling in that I realized I had totally underestimated how people willingly limit their points of view. I had vastly missed the mark in guessing just how much of a wall people had built between their honest selves and society in an effort to convince the world they don't have dark, dirty, inane, shameful, naughty, violent thoughts. They had covered everything that was interesting about themselves in a hypoallergenic plastic sheen like the covers your weird aunt puts on all her furniture. I knew then it was the time for the UPWP and myself to part ways.
I thank them for their help, but I knew I could no longer be part of it. Perhaps someday again, I can find a writing group to be a part of. A place where if I want to write a story that is a cross between David Sedaris and David Lynch I can do so without being suspected of being Charles Manson with a word processor.
Sometimes, just for fun, I imagine what would have happened if I had introduced myself to the UPWP as a writer of equine erotica. In my mind's eye I see them calling the men in the white coats and having me hauled away so that they could finish their pinots respectfully. They could finish their conversations about the weather; maybe swap a recipe or two and at the end they could all get in their Subarus and drive back home and forget I had ever existed.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Scatterings
I'm not sure where I'm going with this one. Buckle in. This could be a bumpy ride on the tilt-a-wedge today.
Cross your fingers for me. I found a rotten log in my cabin the other day. None of the other logs around it are compromised so to me it is something that happened that wasn't the fault of poor maintenance. From what little (oh so little) I do understand, it's not too often that an insurance company will cover a rotten log, but since I am only about $4,990 away from being able to afford a $5,000 repair, any well wishes would help.
Returning the loaner car today and picking up my loaner pick-up from a friend. Man, am I gonna drive the shit out of that truck. I won't take a curve, corner, or jump any slower than 35 mph before I return that sonuvabitch. Actually, I will treat the truck rather well. I respect other people's stuff. I just wanted to show people that my sarcasm is equal opportunity and I do it to friends and strangers alike. If I never make fun of you at all, then I probably don't respect you, or I believe the force in you is not strong enough to handle my dark side jibes.
Tonight is the first camp night in several years. I am looking forward to it. Tomorrow I will feel like I swallowed a carcass and probably feel and smell like one, too. It's not often I get together with that crew though and it's one of those nights I don't have to worry about driving home nor worry about how late to stay because my designated driver might want to go home. It's win-win for everyone except for whoever owns the camp because there is a 50/50 shot of at least some of my bodily fluids getting into some part of the camp they aren't supposed to. Nature of the beast. I apologize in advance.
That's all the brain squeezings I've got for you today. Have a good weekend, kids.
Cross your fingers for me. I found a rotten log in my cabin the other day. None of the other logs around it are compromised so to me it is something that happened that wasn't the fault of poor maintenance. From what little (oh so little) I do understand, it's not too often that an insurance company will cover a rotten log, but since I am only about $4,990 away from being able to afford a $5,000 repair, any well wishes would help.
Returning the loaner car today and picking up my loaner pick-up from a friend. Man, am I gonna drive the shit out of that truck. I won't take a curve, corner, or jump any slower than 35 mph before I return that sonuvabitch. Actually, I will treat the truck rather well. I respect other people's stuff. I just wanted to show people that my sarcasm is equal opportunity and I do it to friends and strangers alike. If I never make fun of you at all, then I probably don't respect you, or I believe the force in you is not strong enough to handle my dark side jibes.
Tonight is the first camp night in several years. I am looking forward to it. Tomorrow I will feel like I swallowed a carcass and probably feel and smell like one, too. It's not often I get together with that crew though and it's one of those nights I don't have to worry about driving home nor worry about how late to stay because my designated driver might want to go home. It's win-win for everyone except for whoever owns the camp because there is a 50/50 shot of at least some of my bodily fluids getting into some part of the camp they aren't supposed to. Nature of the beast. I apologize in advance.
That's all the brain squeezings I've got for you today. Have a good weekend, kids.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
So, how has your week been?
Let me just start with this picture:
That was this past Thursday. We live on top of a hill and the river lives on the bottom of the hill. Apparently the parking brake decided to quit or go into retirement without telling us and this is what happened. Thankfully this pic was taken after my wife got into the car and tried to back it up onto land. Otherwise it would be a little further out into the wet still. It is now the following Wednesday and the insurance company just called to let us know that the car will be considered totaled. Apparently water and all the electronicky gadgets get along like Crisco and rock climbers so it is the insurance company's practice to put floater cars out to pasture.
I would have liked to take pictures of the tow truck taking it out of the river, but I had to chip in and get into the driver's side and steer it as they hauled it out. This just in: river water is cold in October. I could hardly tell which way the tow guys were telling me to turn the wheel because they were laughing so hard.
So now I am caught in limbo. Begging rides home from work from my coworkers who only just two weeks ago stopped bringing me home after my truck was being repaired. I have to wait to coordinate several factors before I lay money down on a new vehicle because I recently went through a pretty rough patch of life that left me in bankruptcy. Whee. No pity. My choices. I did it. No shame. It's just going to add about twenty-leven more steps to the car buying process which was already a process that I thought was akin to having an impacted molar removed through my ear canal.
On Friday, I found a dry rotted log in my log cabin. I was hoping to use my coaching check this coming Spring to rebuild my porch, but instead I will use it to try to keep my house from falling over. What's another year with a cinder block porch anyways? Nobody likes them fancy folk with them there wood porches.
Onto Monday and my daughter insisted on becoming sick...again. Rotten kid. Sure she knows her times tables and thinks I'm the greatest dad who ever owned a Ford Focus-raft, but I had to stay home from work last Mon and Tues to tend to her after taking the previous Thursday off to tend to wet wheels. Kid's cough sounds like someone giving Godzilla the Heimlich. It's downright painful to listen to. Kim took over kid duty for me on Wednesday and we are going to split Thursday so we can both still get some work done while also tending to our spawn. Basically between the kid's two illnesses, and the car thing, I will have burned up almost half my sick days before winter has even set in. Not really what one would call a best-case-scenario.
Now is when it is therapeutic for me to think of a list of my blessings:
The Focus Kneivel did miss wiping out my dog who was chained in the area right through which the car caught about four feet of air before splashing down.
Kid made it to the doctor's today so hopefully she will be back at school by Friday. At least she better or I'm gonna have to punch her in the belly. I mean, hey...if the kid won't get better, it's time to give her some extra motivation. I mean look at her:
That's not even her posing. That's just what she looks like if I don't feed her on time.
Hmmm...where was I? Oh yeah...positives...
Just got word that the payout for the totaled S.S. Focus was higher than I anticipated so that is good.
Um...only two students got caught cheating during the days I was away from school. *sigh*
I did get a partial workout in today which I haven't done in ten days.
Somehow this isn't cheering me up. Perhaps a good night's sleep will do the trick?
Check in with you later folks.
Friday, October 8, 2010
The best defense against an anonymous detractor? ....blogging
This post is a direct follow up to my last post. This here free bloggity thingy also lets my facebook friends know when I create a new blog post. I am fortunate enough that some of my past students wrote some unbelievable things about me. Most days I try to do my best and most days I'm pretty happy if I can go to bed and say to myself, "Ha, I fooled them again and no one found out I don't really know what the hell I am doing." Apparently, by hook or by crook I'm not a total failure. I re-post these comments from facebook not to brag, but in direct defense of my teaching practices which were called into question and prompted my preceding post. All of these have come from past students. All of them were unsolicited and I did get permission from each before posting.
Aside from trying to prove a point to some naysayers within the community, I really honestly give each of these folks a heartfelt thank you. I never really had a teacher in high school I ever thought enough of to say things like this about. I should be humbled every day already by the idea that parents are trusting me with their children and... these comments...well they serve as a reminder that I should never take my job for granted.
Jon Damaschke But in all seriousness, your classes were great. One of my favorite things about them were the journals you assigned us to write in. (I don't remember if it was one class or more than one.) There is nothing better for an antisocial kid, especially in the weird-est time in his life. The opportunity of opening up without the fear of judgement and/or embarrassment made my life a little easier.
Aside from trying to prove a point to some naysayers within the community, I really honestly give each of these folks a heartfelt thank you. I never really had a teacher in high school I ever thought enough of to say things like this about. I should be humbled every day already by the idea that parents are trusting me with their children and... these comments...well they serve as a reminder that I should never take my job for granted.
Amber Lynn Spehar
and when/if that person does try to contact you, please give them my name. So I can explain to them why your former students would and do want to remain friends with you after gratuation. So that one of your former students can talk about the first time they sat in your class room and actually had her mind opened up to a thought process she could have never conceived of before having an open and honest discussion with you. You say that you hope you can reach your students and touch their lives, well YES SIR, YES SIR YOU HAVE. I'm sure that there are many other students that would agree with me, I'm sure they have had a different experience with you that had a very similar outcome. You Sir, are a rare and dying breed of Teachers. *starting applause*
*******************************************
Adam Damaschke
A large part of the reason I continued with the early versions of my novel was because you made us write entries in our journals every week in preparation for our Senior paper. It made me write, it gave me a deadline, and your comments, and teachings, helped me develop my story and intimacy with my characters. I don't think even I know exactly how big a part you were in me finishing my first novel and will be as I continue to work on my trilogy and whatever else in the future.
And to whoever complained, get a life. Please. Your children are in capable hands.
And to whoever complained, get a life. Please. Your children are in capable hands.
*******************************************
Kaitlyn Kirby
Loved the blog, dale. First of all, being able to free-write at any given moment has been a key part of my success at the university level. If I ever had to force my self to sit down and write while hastily pulling things out of my head, I wouldn't have received the scholarships, achievements, or grades that I have thus far. Writing is a critical skill that I don't feel many other teachers have emphasized. So, bravo for seeing the bigger picture and motivating students to attain that finesse. That shows you aren't just pushing students through the system. Second of all, touching on the level of respect, your students,former and current, do hold you in the highest regards. Not many other teachers are willing to give that level of respect to students and allow them the privilege of being treated like adults. I think that plays a large role in the transition of child to adult. I know I personally responded better to that method than other teachers who expected me to never make mistakes. I think the fact that students still like to keep in contact with you speaks VOLUMES of your character. The student-teacher relationships that continue past graduation is what makes Carney so different from other public schools.
*******************************************
Jon Damaschke But in all seriousness, your classes were great. One of my favorite things about them were the journals you assigned us to write in. (I don't remember if it was one class or more than one.) There is nothing better for an antisocial kid, especially in the weird-est time in his life. The opportunity of opening up without the fear of judgement and/or embarrassment made my life a little easier.
Now the only thing left for me to do is say the secret word and watch as my secretly brainwashed Carney grads all rise up in legion to burn and pillage in my name and fetch for me all the neighborhood cats. *sinisterly rubbing hands together*
Muuuuhahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa*cough**hack**ahem*haaaahaaahaahaahahahahahaa!
Ok...where do I start?
Here’s the deal. One of the first things you learn as a teacher of readin’ and writin’ is to be a good model. Hence when it’s readin’ time...if the story isn’t going to be read aloud in class, a good thing for a teacher to do is read. When it’s writin’ time, a good thing for a teacher to do is write.
Everyone with me on that one?
Good.
Let’s move on.
Every fifth hour M, T, R, F...the first fifteen minutes of seminar are meant for sustained, silent, writing. That means the kids don’t talk. They write. For fifteen minutes. They write about something, they write about nothing...but they write. What they write is their business. This is their one opportunity to write without the almighty red pen swooping down on their stuff and criticizing what they write. They can write in slang, morse code, Swahili or Pig Latin and their content is just that...THEIR content.
The whole idea is that, eventually, maybe some of them will get the idea, “Y’know...that writing stuff isn’t so bad.” Plus, the more you write...the better you tend to get at it. Once a week my students and I get together and share some of the stuff we wrote by reading it aloud. Of course the kids are told, that if they happened to write some thoughts down that are not school appropriate, then be sure to keep that log entry to themselves and do not pick that one to read aloud.
So, I do what a good teacher is supposed to do and model what I want the kids to do at the same time I ask the kids to do it. Even though I often want to check papers, clean my desk, get something ready for later...I put all that aside for 15 minutes and I write....just like I ask my kids to do.
Long ago I quit trying to write with a pencil. My pencil just doesn’t move fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. I compose on a keyboard these days. This year instead of composing on a word document, I have been composing on this here lovely free blog site. The idea being when I don’t write, I tend to stagnate creatively and what better motivation/learning experience to keep writing then to put my writing out there for the public to approve or disprove of. When I am done writing, I click post. Then a little pop-up window asks me if I want to let my facebook friends know I just created a blog post and I click “approve” then I go back to my work life as normal.
Well since my writings tend to be time stamped when they go online, apparently some community members felt the need to complain that some of the things I wrote appeared during school time and that some of it is school inappropriate. I did not post the items to a school related site. I did not tell the kids where they could find my school inappropriate stuff. In admittance of guilt, I have to say I did indeed have those thoughts I wrote about and I had them on school time. Damn me all to hell.
Here’s some facts for whoever is concerned:
1) I do not read the school inappropriate posts aloud in school with my students. Just like many of their thoughts get to stay private in their writing logs, I get to choose which audience gets to see my more PG 13 posts. A school setting is not the appropriate time and place to share those with students.
2) I am a grown ass man. I cuss. I drink. Neither do I make a habit of engaging in while I am at work. Did you think that part of becoming a teacher is that someone took a hot poker and burned out the parts of my brain that had school inappropriate thoughts? For the record, most upper high school students curse more than I do. That’s a fact.
3) I do not friend students on facebook nor on any other social networking site until after they have graduated for many reasons. Society considers them adults at that time and so I feel free to friend them from graduation on and even then, I only do it when they request it. Believe it or not, not all my ex-students want to be my friend on facebook. Go figure.
4) Once I post my thoughts on the internet, if you don’t want your kids to see the content...then it’s up to you to keep them from trying to find my content. By the way, if you think that my blog is the worst place your kid has ever found on the internet, then it is time for you to take a reality check. I am not spouting racist slurs, nor advocating suicide solutions. Last I checked, I am allowed to be funny and provocative on the internet and still be a teacher.
I am aware that some folks might be more comfortable with the idea that I come into school and present for their children the idea that I am a perfect human being. That I do no wrong inside school, nor outside school. That every time a student fucks up, I talk to them from my arrogant place on high and pretend that I have never lied, never messed up, and never made an ass of myself.
Yeah, that doesn’t work for me. I am imperfect and I don’t ever pretend to be anything other than who I am. Of course I take care to be professional at work, but I don’t ever try to put myself on a pedestal higher than the student. Make no doubt, I am in charge and I get the final say, but I think one of the reasons I have so few discipline problems with my students is because I do what I say and I don’t pretend to be who I am not. As some of the kids might say, I try to “be real.”
As a student there was nothing I hated more than a teacher who tried to be holier-than-thou M-F from 8:30-3:30...then I would see him trashed out of his mind night after night and cheating on his wife. From that point on, I didn’t believe a thing that teacher ever told me.
So basically, I tell kids outright that I behave differently in different environments as do we all, but I am still pretty much me. I don’t tell deer camp jokes at funerals and I don’t always say excuse me when I fart in my easy chair when I’m alone in my living room, but I’m still the same guy. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, because it’s pretty easy to figure out when someone is full of shit in that department, and once kids figure out you are full of shit...good luck getting them to ever listen to you again.
So I guess, what I am saying is I try to be a good example to kids in and out of school because I like kids and my desire for my pupil-kids is the same as my desire for my biological daughter. If I have an impact on your life, I want it to be a positive one and heaven help me...I want you to have a better life than I have had.
Pretty simple stuff.
I also realize that some folks believe that 8:19-3:25 should always be solely devoted to teaching duties. I agree for the most part, but let it be known that I spend no less than half of my “duty free” lunch periods every week taking care of things for my kids at school. My average time of arrival at school is 7:30 a.m. in the first semester and 7:00 in the second semester. So if folks really want to split hairs about how I spend my time, I guess we can do that.
Maybe from now on I can get to school at 8:15 every morning and leave at 3:35 which is allowable according to my contract. Then I can lock my door at noon hour and ignore everything happening in the building until my “duty hours” begin again.
But I won’t do that. Why? Because I like kids. It means I’m going to show up tomorrow (Saturday) morning to help with the cross country meet. It means I’m going to teach students to the best of my ability even if it means reading “classic” literature over again during summer months. It means if a student wants to make up his test during noon hour or after school, or just wants to chat with me that’s okay, too. It means I will spend fourteen hours here in a single day during the track fundraiser. It means I will go to continuing education classes/meetings/seminars/conferences every year. I will be here for anything Paul asks me to be here for. I will be here for Halloween carnivals, blood drives, and tailgates. I will be behind the counter at basketball games keeping clock and all of it on my own time.
So, to conclude an entry that is far too long and far too boring for most of the regular visitors to my blog, whoever complained to my boss should have come to talk to me first. My email and contact number are on the school website and I do know it's the taxpayers who butter my bread. If you would have spoken to me first, I could have straightened everything out and explained exactly what my philosophies are about and how I do things. We more than likely could have resolved everything amicably. We may have agreed to disagree or we may have become friends. We'll never know, now. Instead, whoever it was decided just to complain to my boss without knowing his or her butt from a hole in the ground on the matter.
Hey, thanks for making my day a little bit shittier. Have a good weekend.
P.S. I am currently at home after using some comp hours while an installer works on my house. I hope it's okay with you that I am posting this on my blog during school hours even though I am at home. I have an idea for you. Try to look for something good our staff does instead of trying to nitpick. It's a lot easier to catch them doing good things if you are willing to look for it. On the other hand...hey..thanks for reading and keeping up to date on my blog!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Forests and Trees
Every so often I have to remind myself of what is and isn't important in my life. I did some whining last week about running around like a madman trying to make my house look like something humans lived in before my in-laws arrived. I was partially successful except I never did get that fresh sawdust put down in my sleeping pen. A friend of mine sent me a snippet of poem which I have been unable to find in its full version. In brief, it said, your kids are only young once so quit worrying about cleaning so much and spend time with them because soon they will move out, but the dust will always be there.
It was a nice reminder that I sometimes keep losing sight of what is important in life. Sometimes I get so focused on the jobs at hand, that I get nearsighted and forget to enjoy my time with my family. I get so upset and guilty over all the little things I am not accomplishing that I forget to appreciate when I do have a moment on the couch with my wife and daughter. Or better yet, how about I quit worrying about some of those minor jobs and make more time for my family? How about I quit worrying about the dust bunnies...actually they have been there long enough that they have probably mutated into some sort of monstrous fanged dustensteins by now...doh! See there I go again...punishing myself...stop it. Bad, wedge. Bad.
So, I am going to try my best for the rest of this day to stop seeing only the obstacles and try instead to see the path around them...right after I change the sheets on Alanis' bed...no...wait...before that...wait...no, I won't change them at all and instead read a book with her...after she does her homework...which won't be until after cheer practice...then she has to take a shower tonight...and we have to pack our lunches for school tomorrow...and that puts us at about 8:45 p.m....
*sigh* This is going to be even harder than I thought.
It was a nice reminder that I sometimes keep losing sight of what is important in life. Sometimes I get so focused on the jobs at hand, that I get nearsighted and forget to enjoy my time with my family. I get so upset and guilty over all the little things I am not accomplishing that I forget to appreciate when I do have a moment on the couch with my wife and daughter. Or better yet, how about I quit worrying about some of those minor jobs and make more time for my family? How about I quit worrying about the dust bunnies...actually they have been there long enough that they have probably mutated into some sort of monstrous fanged dustensteins by now...doh! See there I go again...punishing myself...stop it. Bad, wedge. Bad.
So, I am going to try my best for the rest of this day to stop seeing only the obstacles and try instead to see the path around them...right after I change the sheets on Alanis' bed...no...wait...before that...wait...no, I won't change them at all and instead read a book with her...after she does her homework...which won't be until after cheer practice...then she has to take a shower tonight...and we have to pack our lunches for school tomorrow...and that puts us at about 8:45 p.m....
*sigh* This is going to be even harder than I thought.
Monday, October 4, 2010
DirecTV vs Dishmyass
Pulled the trigger today. It is October 4th and Fox and Dish Network haven't settled their accounts yet. Seeing as how the Red Wing games are 95% of the reason I even am willing to pay $78 a month for television programming...egads...I get sick to my stomach a little when my brain starts multiplying $78 X 12 months. I guess I don't have much choice. I don't go to bars very often nor have much of a social life and if paying a monthly fee so I can watch hockey for six months a year is a sin, then I hope they serve beer in hell because I'm coming in and I'm thirsty. Now Dish Network has lost their contract with Fox which is the mega corporation that broadcasts my hockey games and I had already told Dish I would be leaving them if I missed a single episode of Sons of Anarchy or a single hockey game. Well looks like I will miss Sons of Anarchy tomorrow night and Terriers on Wednesday night, but I am hoping that I will have DirecTV up and running in time for the Wings first game on October 8.
I was a Dish Network guy for about 12 years or so, but for the last 3 years, every time they have to re-negotiate with one of their major providers they take the negotiations public and try to get me to call Fox or Cinemax or whoever and yell at them. I kinda think my $78 a month should be enough where Dish should do the yelling for me. DirecTV will add about $3 a month to my bill *shudder* but from what I hear, DirecTV is just plain better. Time will tell. Again, if I could even get hockey reliably on radio I wouldn't have much reason to pay for television at all and when I think about how many hookers I could buy in a year if I saved $80 a month...*mmmmm*.....oh wait, sorry...drifted off there for a bit.
So, after being financially fisted for over a decade by Dish Network, I have decided to switch fists. Lets hope that DirecTV doesn't wear a lot of jewelry.
I was a Dish Network guy for about 12 years or so, but for the last 3 years, every time they have to re-negotiate with one of their major providers they take the negotiations public and try to get me to call Fox or Cinemax or whoever and yell at them. I kinda think my $78 a month should be enough where Dish should do the yelling for me. DirecTV will add about $3 a month to my bill *shudder* but from what I hear, DirecTV is just plain better. Time will tell. Again, if I could even get hockey reliably on radio I wouldn't have much reason to pay for television at all and when I think about how many hookers I could buy in a year if I saved $80 a month...*mmmmm*.....oh wait, sorry...drifted off there for a bit.
So, after being financially fisted for over a decade by Dish Network, I have decided to switch fists. Lets hope that DirecTV doesn't wear a lot of jewelry.
Friday, October 1, 2010
I knew I could do it.
I knew I could get one more scatological reference into my blog before the end of the week. Freshmen finally forced my hand into a seating chart. I hate seating charts. I teach high school and in my opinion a high school age kid needs to have the minimum amount of self-discipline to be able to sit and work for 30-45 minutes at a crack most....not all, but most of the time. However, once in a while a class comes through that just HAS to have a seating chart.
Yesterday, two of my beloved frosh, decided that they found humor in tossing things out my second floor classroom window. I don't know why we don't have screens. I'm sure it's some sort of code violation, but whatever. I found tossing things out the window hilarious, too. Of course I was about 9 years old at the time and not about to enter drivers' ed like these upstanding examples of citizenship. How's that for a scary thought? Some of these kids are already old enough to start on their learner's permit and will be on the road in a matter of months and yet they still think that writing "boob" upside down on their calculators is the height of comedy.
I digress. I'm a good digresser though. Is "good digresser" an oxymoron?
I had to tell my class that they would be getting a seating chart tomorrow. When they asked why, I told them, "Because throwing pencils out the window and laughing is sorta like monkeys throwing their own poop. Only the monkeys actually find it amusing. Anyone with more intelligence than a monkey just sorta finds it disgusting and annoying."
And that, dear readers, is my third scatological reference in the last seven days. Dingdingfuckingding. Winnah, winnah, chicken dinnah!
Yesterday, two of my beloved frosh, decided that they found humor in tossing things out my second floor classroom window. I don't know why we don't have screens. I'm sure it's some sort of code violation, but whatever. I found tossing things out the window hilarious, too. Of course I was about 9 years old at the time and not about to enter drivers' ed like these upstanding examples of citizenship. How's that for a scary thought? Some of these kids are already old enough to start on their learner's permit and will be on the road in a matter of months and yet they still think that writing "boob" upside down on their calculators is the height of comedy.
I digress. I'm a good digresser though. Is "good digresser" an oxymoron?
I had to tell my class that they would be getting a seating chart tomorrow. When they asked why, I told them, "Because throwing pencils out the window and laughing is sorta like monkeys throwing their own poop. Only the monkeys actually find it amusing. Anyone with more intelligence than a monkey just sorta finds it disgusting and annoying."
And that, dear readers, is my third scatological reference in the last seven days. Dingdingfuckingding. Winnah, winnah, chicken dinnah!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
One more reason why Michigan sucks testicles.
Attention please. Attention.
Michigan has not repealed the law making it legal to sell alcohol on Sunday. What they have done is allow small businesses to buy a permit to sell alcohol on Sunday mornings.
This enrages me more than the initial stupid ass law that had no business outside of Pastor Stiffley's personal preferences for being on the books in the first place. There is not a single logical reason for alcohol sales to have ever been suspended on Sunday morning except to make people's lives more difficult and to pacify the Bible contingent. Of course, there was the small chapter of non-religious women who also wanted a blue law on Sundays because they got tired of being used as punching bags by their drunken boyfriends whenever Favre threw an interception, but now Favre is in MN and most women have realized the best way to avoid pummelings is if their men drink at the bar starting a 8 a.m. instead of drinking on the couch in their own living rooms.
All pummelings aside, instead of repealing the law and some senator saying, "What in the cockleberries were we thinking? Sorry about those years of inconvenience forced on you. We have it fixed now."
Do we voters get that? Nope. Instead we get from some politician that I cannot help but picture as being Mayor Quimby saying, "We know it's a dumb law and not only are we going to keep it on the books anyways...we are going to use it to extort money from small businesses in order to fill our coffers. We keep raiding the education fund, but even that pot is getting thin these days so we have to come up another way to legally blackmail the general public. Y'know because $150 parking tickets, and cameras at intersections that will send the cops a pic of you making a rolling stop even though there isn't a car around for miles...well...those things just weren't generating enough revenue anymore. For my next act, I will piss down your back while telling you it is raining."
If the law is no longer useful....get rid of it. Don't tell me I don't have to obey the law if I buy a $160 special permit.
What's next? What other laws can I get away with breaking if I buy a permit?
Say, Mayor Quimby, how much is it for one of those permits that allows me to make a feline salsa out of my neighbor's screaming tomcat?
*****
I could really use a special permit allowing me to shoot folks who don't use their turn signals. Hell, if they sold those, I'd sell my house, live out of my truck, and stockpile those permits.
*****
Aw damn...can I buy a "Smack a ho." permit? Yeah, well see she's not my wife and Favre is in MN now so I figured I'd need a permit this time.
*****
The whole situation is nonsensical at best and basically criminal at worst. FU Michigan.
Michigan has not repealed the law making it legal to sell alcohol on Sunday. What they have done is allow small businesses to buy a permit to sell alcohol on Sunday mornings.
This enrages me more than the initial stupid ass law that had no business outside of Pastor Stiffley's personal preferences for being on the books in the first place. There is not a single logical reason for alcohol sales to have ever been suspended on Sunday morning except to make people's lives more difficult and to pacify the Bible contingent. Of course, there was the small chapter of non-religious women who also wanted a blue law on Sundays because they got tired of being used as punching bags by their drunken boyfriends whenever Favre threw an interception, but now Favre is in MN and most women have realized the best way to avoid pummelings is if their men drink at the bar starting a 8 a.m. instead of drinking on the couch in their own living rooms.
All pummelings aside, instead of repealing the law and some senator saying, "What in the cockleberries were we thinking? Sorry about those years of inconvenience forced on you. We have it fixed now."
Do we voters get that? Nope. Instead we get from some politician that I cannot help but picture as being Mayor Quimby saying, "We know it's a dumb law and not only are we going to keep it on the books anyways...we are going to use it to extort money from small businesses in order to fill our coffers. We keep raiding the education fund, but even that pot is getting thin these days so we have to come up another way to legally blackmail the general public. Y'know because $150 parking tickets, and cameras at intersections that will send the cops a pic of you making a rolling stop even though there isn't a car around for miles...well...those things just weren't generating enough revenue anymore. For my next act, I will piss down your back while telling you it is raining."
If the law is no longer useful....get rid of it. Don't tell me I don't have to obey the law if I buy a $160 special permit.
What's next? What other laws can I get away with breaking if I buy a permit?
Say, Mayor Quimby, how much is it for one of those permits that allows me to make a feline salsa out of my neighbor's screaming tomcat?
*****
I could really use a special permit allowing me to shoot folks who don't use their turn signals. Hell, if they sold those, I'd sell my house, live out of my truck, and stockpile those permits.
*****
Aw damn...can I buy a "Smack a ho." permit? Yeah, well see she's not my wife and Favre is in MN now so I figured I'd need a permit this time.
*****
The whole situation is nonsensical at best and basically criminal at worst. FU Michigan.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
My kid is an honor student. I is not.
I can't stand the "My kid is an honor student at FuckMeRunning H.S." type of bumper sticker. To me that's just bragging. You can talk to your kid and be proud of your kid, but to publicly put up signage about how awesome you think your kid is, makes me think you don't have a good grasp on what is important. I wouldn't put up a sign that said, "My kid is captain of the football team/homecoming king/taller than your kid/stronger than your kid/more handsome than your kid."
People generally consider it classless to brag about physical attributes, so why is it any less classless to brag about GPA? It's still bragging. Again, congratulate your kid for her efforts, but don't go printing up t-shirts for the entire family that say your kid had perfect attendance her junior year or stating that she was captain of the debate team because it officially makes you a dumbass. Being humble is a very underrated attribute these days. It's probably why I like those "My kid beat up your honor student" or "My kid impregnated your honor student." bumper stickers. Okay, I've never seen one of those latter decals, but if I had a bumper sticker printing press in my basement, I would seriously consider doing a run of those. Why? Because I am one sick, sarcastic, SOB.
People generally consider it classless to brag about physical attributes, so why is it any less classless to brag about GPA? It's still bragging. Again, congratulate your kid for her efforts, but don't go printing up t-shirts for the entire family that say your kid had perfect attendance her junior year or stating that she was captain of the debate team because it officially makes you a dumbass. Being humble is a very underrated attribute these days. It's probably why I like those "My kid beat up your honor student" or "My kid impregnated your honor student." bumper stickers. Okay, I've never seen one of those latter decals, but if I had a bumper sticker printing press in my basement, I would seriously consider doing a run of those. Why? Because I am one sick, sarcastic, SOB.
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