Easter Sunday, 4:00 p.m., 44 degrees . . . it's snowing. What in the ?
Did Katie Couric say a racist thing on "Larry King Live"? The other night Larry said that John McCain said that he would not run a negative campaign. Larry then asked Katie if she thought that was true. She said yes, she thought John McCain would not be negative but that often times it's other people on the campaign staff create negativity. She said it happens when "they [meaning campaign staffers] go off the reservation." Now, I think that might be a little slanderous towards Native Americans. Like, "The Indians have left the nice little reservations provided by the White Man and there's no controlling them." I may be way off base . . . if so, tell me.
Finally, I keep seeing ads about televisions not equipped to handle digital signals will be obsolete by early 2009. I guess there's some kind of conversion box you can buy and apparently you can get discount coupons for those boxes from PBS. Again, I realize it would behoove me to have all the pertinent facts about this situation before me before I get all wound up, but I'm sure that would take all the fun out of it. So . . . if the people in charge of television and cable can figure out a way to make it mandatory for all households to have digital-ready televisions, why can't some smart people make it mandatory for all households to have at least one hybrid car? Oh, wait. I'm guessing that might have something to do with the billions of dollars oil/gas companies make. Ok, how about mandating a flat prescription drug fee for ALL drugs? Or maybe reworking "No Child Left Behind" so that teachers (especially special ed teachers), who are already overworked and underpaid, don't have to fill out reams of reports just to get a pittance of federal funding? Ok, s-s-s-immmer down . . . I'm just sayin' . . .
Monday, March 24, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Redneck Love
Last night, when I should have been sleeping because I had to get up at 6:30 a.m., I was channel surfing and happened upon "My Big Fat Redneck Wedding." It was like I was a deer in headlights. I couldn't tear myself away, even though I knew by watching I was entering into that black hole called "You Don't Have Enough Healthy Brain Cells To Be Watching This."
It wasn't the decision to have the bridesmaids carry flowers in beer cans that sent me over the edge. It was the groom who solved the flower dilemma by demonstrating above mentioned flowers in beer can with his handy pocketknife and 16 oz. beer can he'd just guzzled while talking with the florist. It wasn't the fact that he then artfully peed his bride-to-be's name in front of the florist's store that sent me over the edge. "What?" he innocently asked? "I told you I had to pee." It wasn't the John Deere t-shirts that the groomsmen wore, nor was it the orange t-shirts the bridesmaids wore.
This is what sent me over the edge.
On the day of the wedding, the bride woke up only to discover that she couldn't find her teeth. She tore apart her hotel room looking for her choppers. She was still in a panic when she confessed to her soon-to-be mother-in-law that she couldn't find her teeth. The mother-in-law, without missing a beat, said (here it comes):
"Ya want mine?"
Here's a clip from the same show . . . note - go to the bathroom before you watch this if laughing causes you to lose a little . . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_9tniq6trNc&feature=related
It wasn't the decision to have the bridesmaids carry flowers in beer cans that sent me over the edge. It was the groom who solved the flower dilemma by demonstrating above mentioned flowers in beer can with his handy pocketknife and 16 oz. beer can he'd just guzzled while talking with the florist. It wasn't the fact that he then artfully peed his bride-to-be's name in front of the florist's store that sent me over the edge. "What?" he innocently asked? "I told you I had to pee." It wasn't the John Deere t-shirts that the groomsmen wore, nor was it the orange t-shirts the bridesmaids wore.
This is what sent me over the edge.
On the day of the wedding, the bride woke up only to discover that she couldn't find her teeth. She tore apart her hotel room looking for her choppers. She was still in a panic when she confessed to her soon-to-be mother-in-law that she couldn't find her teeth. The mother-in-law, without missing a beat, said (here it comes):
"Ya want mine?"
Here's a clip from the same show . . . note - go to the bathroom before you watch this if laughing causes you to lose a little . . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_9tniq6trNc&feature=related
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The Confessional
It took me about ten years to finally watch an episode of "Survivor." I guess I thought it was a waste of time, which some people in my family would still agree with wholeheartedly. I think the first one I watched was the one with Ozzy, this cute curly-haired boy who is half porpoise (no lie . . . he can stay underwater for about three minutes). This season's theme is "Fans vs. Favorites" and Ozzy is back. And is possibly more engaging than ever. The other night as I sat watching it, I just had to laugh at myself because I seriously need to get a grip and/or life. Ozzy's tribe was headed to Tribal Council, where one member would be sent packing. One of the fans (and one of my least favorite players) all of the sudden got the idea to vote off Ozzy. Well! The nerve! I found myself having this conversation in my head that went something like this: "If they vote off Ozzy, I'm NEVER watching this show again. Ever. Period. It would ruin my life." Am I pathetic or what? In the end, I didn't have to make good on my promise. Whew!
Today, I was taking a blissful afternoon nap on the couch, having just watched one of the best movies ever made, "Roman Holiday." It stars Audrey Hepburn (I think it was her first movie) and the brilliant Gregory Peck. There's a scene when Ann (Hepburn), a princess who's run away from the confines of her title, ducks into a hair salon to get her long, long hair cut. The first time I saw the shot when the new 'do is revealed it took my breath away. Impossibly beautiful.
Anyway, I was napping contentedly when all of the sudden I heard Ron yell, "I'll be DAMNED!" My first thought was . . . and I'm totally serious about this . . . a squirrel had gotten into the house and was wreaking havoc. I don't need psychoanalyst to tell me that I may have a little guilt over trapping all those squirrels (it's over thirty now and - just to be clear - they aren't injured in the traps at all; they're just trapped in a wire cage).
So what was Ron all in a dither about? Tiger Woods won the Arnold Palmer Classic, making it his fifth win in a row (fourth in a row this year) after sinking a 24-foot put. I let Ron know that, although a spectacular achievement, Woods' win was not worth giving me a near death experience. I could tell by the look on his face that he begged to differ with me. Whatever. Next time I want a Sunday afternoon nap I'm checking to see if Tiger's playing. If he is, I'll retire to the bedchamber, which is well out of earshot of Ron's explosive utterings.
Today, I was taking a blissful afternoon nap on the couch, having just watched one of the best movies ever made, "Roman Holiday." It stars Audrey Hepburn (I think it was her first movie) and the brilliant Gregory Peck. There's a scene when Ann (Hepburn), a princess who's run away from the confines of her title, ducks into a hair salon to get her long, long hair cut. The first time I saw the shot when the new 'do is revealed it took my breath away. Impossibly beautiful.
Anyway, I was napping contentedly when all of the sudden I heard Ron yell, "I'll be DAMNED!" My first thought was . . . and I'm totally serious about this . . . a squirrel had gotten into the house and was wreaking havoc. I don't need psychoanalyst to tell me that I may have a little guilt over trapping all those squirrels (it's over thirty now and - just to be clear - they aren't injured in the traps at all; they're just trapped in a wire cage).
So what was Ron all in a dither about? Tiger Woods won the Arnold Palmer Classic, making it his fifth win in a row (fourth in a row this year) after sinking a 24-foot put. I let Ron know that, although a spectacular achievement, Woods' win was not worth giving me a near death experience. I could tell by the look on his face that he begged to differ with me. Whatever. Next time I want a Sunday afternoon nap I'm checking to see if Tiger's playing. If he is, I'll retire to the bedchamber, which is well out of earshot of Ron's explosive utterings.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Bloodlines
Yesterday was my birth mother's birthday. Just three days after mine. I've never not known that I was adopted. However, it wasn't until just about a year ago that I found my birth mother. As I was growing up, of course, I had a curiosity about who she was, why she gave me up for adoption, and if she had another family. I also had a healthy amount of respect for her privacy and for the feelings of my mom and dad. A few years after Kate was born my parents gave me the legal documents pertaining to my adoption. And there is was: her name. My parents had also told me, over the years, just a few pertinent details, like where I was born, and that my birth mom sang in the choir (!). Even with this information, it's really not ever been in the forefront of my thoughts.
But then last April, purely on a whim, I googled her name. And I got a hit. An obituary. I read it, my heart about to pound out of my chest. As I read, every detail I knew about her was confirmed. It was her. She'd died less than a year ago, after a lengthy illness. I read all the condolences left on the online guest book. She was loved by a lot of people. And she had a family. A daughter just about a year older than me. And two sons who died in infancy. A sister. It was a lot to digest.
Because you can find just about anything on the internet, I tracked down the minister who presided at her funeral and sent him an email. Then I waited. One, two, three days passed without any response. I decided to try one more time and within thirty minutes he had responded. He'd just been at the church a short time when she died, but he directed me to the church secretary, who'd known my birth mother her whole life.
The first email I got from this kind woman just made me bawl. She gave me a brief biography of this woman who shared my bloodline. She sang (alto). I sing (alto). She crocheted. I cross stitch (or used to). Her career path was not unlike mine. She died of emphysema. I quit smoking 27 years ago (thank you John Hawes). In the time it took me to read the email I had answered 48 years of questions. It was one of the most powerful moments of my life.
A couple of days later in the mail I received two packages. One contained old church directories with pictures of my birth mother, her children and her parents. I didn't see a striking resemblance to my birth mother, but I could see myself in her mother.
The second package contained an intricate crocheted wall hanging that my birth mother had created. The church secretary had bought it at a hospital bazaar and thought it would be good for me to have. It's a sampler piece that says "Bless This House." It's hanging on the wall just outside my office. Another thing my birth mother had labored over was now mine.
Telling my parents all of this was not hard, just very emotional. I think they were pretty relieved when I said that I didn't have any desire to make further contact with the family. Like I said, I have a healthy respect for both sets of parents and I have no regrets about that decision. I don't even regret that my search didn't happen a year earlier. I am confident that God's timing is always perfect and I have a peace in my soul.
Happy Birthday, Anne.
But then last April, purely on a whim, I googled her name. And I got a hit. An obituary. I read it, my heart about to pound out of my chest. As I read, every detail I knew about her was confirmed. It was her. She'd died less than a year ago, after a lengthy illness. I read all the condolences left on the online guest book. She was loved by a lot of people. And she had a family. A daughter just about a year older than me. And two sons who died in infancy. A sister. It was a lot to digest.
Because you can find just about anything on the internet, I tracked down the minister who presided at her funeral and sent him an email. Then I waited. One, two, three days passed without any response. I decided to try one more time and within thirty minutes he had responded. He'd just been at the church a short time when she died, but he directed me to the church secretary, who'd known my birth mother her whole life.
The first email I got from this kind woman just made me bawl. She gave me a brief biography of this woman who shared my bloodline. She sang (alto). I sing (alto). She crocheted. I cross stitch (or used to). Her career path was not unlike mine. She died of emphysema. I quit smoking 27 years ago (thank you John Hawes). In the time it took me to read the email I had answered 48 years of questions. It was one of the most powerful moments of my life.
A couple of days later in the mail I received two packages. One contained old church directories with pictures of my birth mother, her children and her parents. I didn't see a striking resemblance to my birth mother, but I could see myself in her mother.
The second package contained an intricate crocheted wall hanging that my birth mother had created. The church secretary had bought it at a hospital bazaar and thought it would be good for me to have. It's a sampler piece that says "Bless This House." It's hanging on the wall just outside my office. Another thing my birth mother had labored over was now mine.
Telling my parents all of this was not hard, just very emotional. I think they were pretty relieved when I said that I didn't have any desire to make further contact with the family. Like I said, I have a healthy respect for both sets of parents and I have no regrets about that decision. I don't even regret that my search didn't happen a year earlier. I am confident that God's timing is always perfect and I have a peace in my soul.
Happy Birthday, Anne.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Side Effects Include
Awhile ago I was watching the telly and saw a commercial for Mirapex, a medicine for restless leg syndrome. For some reason all drug commercials now feel like they have to elaborate on all possible side effects. And they try the cleverest ways to do it . . . four women sitting around discussing the side effects of that pill that makes you have a period once a year (SNL did a riotous parody of that - I think it included chain saws and other weapons of mass destruction). Or med students. Why is this happening? Maybe it's because we've become so lazy that we don't take the time to read the information that comes with the medication. Or maybe the doctors are paying the drug companies to do part of their job. Who knows . . .
Back to Mirapex. One of the possible side effects is the increased desire to gamble. AN INCREASED DESIRE TO GAMBLE? That's quite possibly the funniest thing I've ever heard. What kind of research did they do to determine that? Did they load up the test subjects with the drug and then take a field trip to Harrah's? Or did they just see their test subjects huddled together on a street corner shooting craps? Or were they making risky stock purchases? Did they suddenly abandon the practice of looking both ways before they crossed the street?
There's some other drug that has this side effect: May cause you to drive while sleeping, accompanied by the inability to remember the event. Just shoot me now.
Back to Mirapex. One of the possible side effects is the increased desire to gamble. AN INCREASED DESIRE TO GAMBLE? That's quite possibly the funniest thing I've ever heard. What kind of research did they do to determine that? Did they load up the test subjects with the drug and then take a field trip to Harrah's? Or did they just see their test subjects huddled together on a street corner shooting craps? Or were they making risky stock purchases? Did they suddenly abandon the practice of looking both ways before they crossed the street?
There's some other drug that has this side effect: May cause you to drive while sleeping, accompanied by the inability to remember the event. Just shoot me now.
Trapper Ron
Ron Martin loves his yard. He loves growing flowers. He loves mowing the yard, sometimes twice in one session (so he can get a lovely pattern). He loves feeding and watching the birds. The one thing he doesn't love is squirrels. I'm not sure if his disdain for the squirrels is as high as his disdain for the walnuts, but it's pretty unpleasant no matter the ranking.
A couple of weeks ago a colleague at work told him about these wicked cool squirrel traps available at Tractor Supply. So early on Saturday morning (I'm sure it was before dawn) Ron trekked out to the Tractor Supply in Olathe and purchased two traps. Then the fun began. He fashioned "bait" by cutting the necks off two aluminum beer cans that look like bottles (?) and swabbing peanut butter around the top. Then he set the traps and sprinkled a few sunflower seeds around the spring-loaded mechanism that snaps the door shut.
We've caught 21 squirrels to date. Of course, we had a lengthy discussion on what to do with them once they were apprehended. I offered to design some trendy orange coveralls with MSCF (Martin Squirrel Correctional Facility) embroidered above the front pocket and Ron offered to drown them. "Twenty seconds and it's done." Because my eyesight ain't what it used to be and because I told Ron that assassinating squirrels is how Jeffrey Dahmer (AND Dexter) started out, we agreed that we'd adopt a catch-release method. So, we've been taking trips to nearby parks and wooded areas and letting the little critters go. It's hysterical watching them FLY from the cage once the door is open. I swear they're halfway back home by the time we drive away. Then I guess the joke would be on us. Ha. Not funny.
A couple of weeks ago a colleague at work told him about these wicked cool squirrel traps available at Tractor Supply. So early on Saturday morning (I'm sure it was before dawn) Ron trekked out to the Tractor Supply in Olathe and purchased two traps. Then the fun began. He fashioned "bait" by cutting the necks off two aluminum beer cans that look like bottles (?) and swabbing peanut butter around the top. Then he set the traps and sprinkled a few sunflower seeds around the spring-loaded mechanism that snaps the door shut.
We've caught 21 squirrels to date. Of course, we had a lengthy discussion on what to do with them once they were apprehended. I offered to design some trendy orange coveralls with MSCF (Martin Squirrel Correctional Facility) embroidered above the front pocket and Ron offered to drown them. "Twenty seconds and it's done." Because my eyesight ain't what it used to be and because I told Ron that assassinating squirrels is how Jeffrey Dahmer (AND Dexter) started out, we agreed that we'd adopt a catch-release method. So, we've been taking trips to nearby parks and wooded areas and letting the little critters go. It's hysterical watching them FLY from the cage once the door is open. I swear they're halfway back home by the time we drive away. Then I guess the joke would be on us. Ha. Not funny.
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