Here I am sitting and waiting. What am I waiting for? The new year? Santa already came it can't be him. Let me tell you what is out there.
Friends and family. I have friends that have fallen from the heavens. All of them I have had for a really long time and it amazes me when they show up and give me a hug. Virtual or real.
I have this belt. It is a leather one. I bought it at a store down in Clearwater, FL the summer of 1995. Sean, Jason, Jessica, Dawn, myself and another girl went down there. We were walking through a store and I saw it and I thought, "Man I have always wanted a belt like that." So I bought it. When I take the belt off I tuck the part of the buckle that goes through the little holes behind the second loop where the tongue of the belt goes. This is done to prevent it from clanging when I roll it up. This was a practice that I started so I wouldn't wake up my room mates when I got home late or was leaving early. I have yet to find another belt with the loops in the right place and the leather loose enough to accomplish this. Anyways. This belt I have always used the third hole, except when I put on some weight, I used the second hole for about three months and that freaked me out. Well now, low and behold, to hold up my pants I have to use the fourth hole. Yes. That means I am skinnier now than I was in college. I haven't weighed myself in a few weeks, I am kinda afraid to. Because if I am that skinny I probably weigh about one sixty or less. just had to put that out there.
Now what am I waiting on? My perceptions and reactions to change. That is something that I am going to have to do myself. So I guess I am waiting on myself. Let's get busy.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
The same genes...
They have the same genes but my daughters could not be more different and it is amazing.
Madeleine will clean her room in a matter of minutes without you having to ask and you have to stand over Audrey to pick up one pair of shoes and put them in her shoe box or she will start to play with something else.
Audrey loves a cold to lukewarm bath and Madeleine would probably take a bath in boiling water if you let her.
Audrey is uncomfortable around loud noises and says that everything is too loud, but won't listen to you and says that she can't hear you and that is why she didn't do what you asked.
Madeleine is not phased by loud noises, but amazingly doesn't listen to you either if she doesn't want to.
I guess that is the trait of a child because I remember not listening to my parents either.
Audrey and Madeleine can color all day ... oh wait that is something they have in common. They both can sit for hours and color and draw and write without incident. Did I say without incident, HA!, they are sisters so there is always an incident.
What I am saying is....I have the two most wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, loving, perfect little girls in all of the world and I can't imagine my life without them in it. I love them! And I just wanted everyone out there to know it, because I can't tell them enough, so I might as well tell you as well.
Madeleine will clean her room in a matter of minutes without you having to ask and you have to stand over Audrey to pick up one pair of shoes and put them in her shoe box or she will start to play with something else.
Audrey loves a cold to lukewarm bath and Madeleine would probably take a bath in boiling water if you let her.
Audrey is uncomfortable around loud noises and says that everything is too loud, but won't listen to you and says that she can't hear you and that is why she didn't do what you asked.
Madeleine is not phased by loud noises, but amazingly doesn't listen to you either if she doesn't want to.
I guess that is the trait of a child because I remember not listening to my parents either.
Audrey and Madeleine can color all day ... oh wait that is something they have in common. They both can sit for hours and color and draw and write without incident. Did I say without incident, HA!, they are sisters so there is always an incident.
What I am saying is....I have the two most wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, loving, perfect little girls in all of the world and I can't imagine my life without them in it. I love them! And I just wanted everyone out there to know it, because I can't tell them enough, so I might as well tell you as well.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The Last Day of School
This is a continuation of Phys. Ed. ...
Keith sat with his feet in the chair facing the desk behind him. It was the last day of school and Ms. DeYoung said that they were going to watch a movie and then go out and have the rest of the day be a play day. The movie was on safety during the summer. It instructed you on what you should do if you are confronted by a stranger, "Stranger Danger." It defined how serious an injury had to be before you could call 911. This was the standard video that was replayed at the end of every school year.
Keith turned around as Ms. DeYoung asked JT to close the blinds. The room turned from bright yellow to a dull, dusty grey that was sliced with crisp lines of sunshine. Everyone took their seats and focused on the projector screen at the front of the room. You could hear the tick tick of the shutter as the film gathered on the rear reel of the projector. A series of loud pops and white frames gave way to a black screen with white block letters reading "Dangers Lurking Just Around the Corner!"
Andre, who now sat in front of Keith, kept turning around and laughing. They had become friends on the first day of school after a kickball game where they were the last two to be picked, but they were the only ones to score any points during the game. From that point on they both were picked first and although rarely on each others team it was a friendly competition that carried into the classroom.
Theresa sat behind Keith and the three of them were inseparable. They ate lunch together, and they realized that they all lived in the same neighborhood so they walked home together as well. There was a weird shift in the class that year, maybe it was the awkwardness of the beginnings of puberty, but the kids who were once popular started to fade into the background, making way for another group. Theresa wasn't the shy one anymore, was it the contacts, or did she gain confidence from something less significant?
Throughout the year Andre and Keith talk about that first day playing kickball. Neither remembers who won anymore, that fact changes depending on who tells the story. And neither remembers who was picked last, that doesn't matter now, because now they were both picked first. Everyone knew their capabilities; everyone wanted them on their team. They had proven themselves. They both think about how bad they wanted to be picked that first day, thinking how who picked them would possibly make them liked more by the class, and if they both hadn't both done so well it probably would have. But in the end it was their abilities that spoke to everyone.
The projector gave off more loud pops and then turned white again, but this time with black scars carving into the screen. It stopped by itself when the film ran out and Ms. DeYoung asked JT to open the blinds again. Eyes were adjusting and heads were rising from desks as the light filled the room again. "Alright class, does anyone have any questions about what you just saw," Ms. DeYoung asked?
"Okay then, lets go outside, your choice today, basketball or kickball."
The class erupted with "KICKBALL!"
"Fine, Jack and Theresa are the captains so when we get out there line up boys and girls and they will start to pick teams."
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Phys. Ed.
Keith slouched into his desk at school. He tucked his book bag into the cubby under his seat and put his pencil into the groove at the top of his desk. He glanced around the room. Would anyone recognize him? He had gone away for the summer and hadn't seen any of his classmates. While away he had a growth spurt and when he looked into the mirror, he didn't recognize himself. Weaving between the desks he saw Ann in the front row and Johnny was already cutting up in class and the bell hadn't even rung.
Everyone scurried to their seats as the teacher walked to the front of the class. "Hello, I'm Ms. DeYoung," she was short and had a mole on her face with a hair growing out of the middle. The speaker up on the wall started to hum and the principals’ voice boomed down from the wooden box. "Good morning students. Let us begin our day with the pledge of allegiance to the flag of this glorious country of ours." The class stood and put their hands on their hearts and started to recite a mantra that had been drilled into them since they were practically infants. "Have a good first day students," said the principal as the speaker popped with his clicking off of the microphone.
They all started to wiggle back into their seats when Ms. DeYoung said, "Don't get comfortable we are heading outside for P.E." Turning she started to walk towards the door. All you could hear was wood seats creaking and mumbles of, "Alright, cool, this is great."
Keith looked around at his classmates; Ann was talking to JT and looking over at Jamie who was talking to Kim. He searched for his friend Adam, but he knew that his dad was getting stationed in Virginia so he wouldn't be back this year. There was a new kid in class and he thought he heard him say his name was Andre and he had already made friends with Johnny. They were laughing walking down the hall while they imitated Ms. DeYoungs waddle.
The sun shone bright as the steel doors opened to the still cool morning air of August. The class made a rudimentary line walking down the sidewalk. This was fifth grade and all of the students felt like they were masters of the school. These halls and breezeways were theirs; they had become part of them. The walls and posts had been touched by most of their hands since they were five and in kindergarten, when they were learning to walk in a straight line and follow rules. They had the cracks on the sidewalk memorized, and you could see that none of them had to look down to make sure that they didn't step on a crack and "break their mothers back".
To get to the fields where they were going to do calisthenics or play basketball or kickball they had to cross the street. It was residential so it wasn't busy, but they all had to look both ways and stay in a single file line while crossing. It was announced that to get the year off to a good start a game of kickball was going to be played. On the baseball diamond there was a large netted bag with three large red balls and two smaller ones awaiting the chosen pitcher and captain of the teams to pick from. But first there came the dreaded picking of the teams. Everyone walked out onto the clay field, shuffling their shoes and leaving dark red clay lines trailing behind them.
"Alright boys and girls, line up. Boys on this side and girls on this side." Ms. DeYoung pointed to the right and left sides of home plate. She looked down at her attendance sheet and scanned the names.
"Jackson?" she said scanning the line of boys. A tall black haired boy walked towards the pitchers mound. Jackson Arthur, ‘Jack’ once the nicknames were established, the most popular boy in the class was always picked first because his name was always at the top of the attendance sheet.
"Theresa?" Ms. Young said. Theresa Boyd stepped forward humbly wearing her homemade clothes with her hair in braided pigtails. She was the shy girl in class that didn't like to draw attention to herself, but once again was usually picked first on this day of school because of her surname.
You could see the two lines getting antsy, feet were shuffling, heads were looking down at shoes, while some were waving, drawing attention to themselves so they would get picked first. Keith just stood there, he ended up in line next to Andre and he could tell that he was nervous, as the new kid you never know when you are going to get picked. Keith was hoping that his growth over the summer would make him more appealing to the captains of the teams, but he steeled himself for being picked somewhere towards the end.
Walking over from the class and crossing the basketball courts to get to the baseball diamond a few of his classmates had said hello to him and asked him how his summer was. They had recognized him, but did they see the change in him as much as he did? They had all changed over the summer so maybe his change was overshadowed by theirs.
The line of boys was systematically whittled down until Keith realized that it was just he and Andre left to be picked. Thoughts swarmed through Keith’s head. "Pick me I've changed, I am bigger." "Pick me, I can run faster this year." "Pick me, I can kick farther, can't you see how much I have changed?" "Don't pick him, you don't know him. Sure he is new but you don't know anything about him." "You know I can kick far, and now look at me I can kick so much farther." "Pick me!" Keith screamed in his head.
Jack raised his hand and pointed toward the two boys.
Everyone scurried to their seats as the teacher walked to the front of the class. "Hello, I'm Ms. DeYoung," she was short and had a mole on her face with a hair growing out of the middle. The speaker up on the wall started to hum and the principals’ voice boomed down from the wooden box. "Good morning students. Let us begin our day with the pledge of allegiance to the flag of this glorious country of ours." The class stood and put their hands on their hearts and started to recite a mantra that had been drilled into them since they were practically infants. "Have a good first day students," said the principal as the speaker popped with his clicking off of the microphone.
They all started to wiggle back into their seats when Ms. DeYoung said, "Don't get comfortable we are heading outside for P.E." Turning she started to walk towards the door. All you could hear was wood seats creaking and mumbles of, "Alright, cool, this is great."
Keith looked around at his classmates; Ann was talking to JT and looking over at Jamie who was talking to Kim. He searched for his friend Adam, but he knew that his dad was getting stationed in Virginia so he wouldn't be back this year. There was a new kid in class and he thought he heard him say his name was Andre and he had already made friends with Johnny. They were laughing walking down the hall while they imitated Ms. DeYoungs waddle.
The sun shone bright as the steel doors opened to the still cool morning air of August. The class made a rudimentary line walking down the sidewalk. This was fifth grade and all of the students felt like they were masters of the school. These halls and breezeways were theirs; they had become part of them. The walls and posts had been touched by most of their hands since they were five and in kindergarten, when they were learning to walk in a straight line and follow rules. They had the cracks on the sidewalk memorized, and you could see that none of them had to look down to make sure that they didn't step on a crack and "break their mothers back".
To get to the fields where they were going to do calisthenics or play basketball or kickball they had to cross the street. It was residential so it wasn't busy, but they all had to look both ways and stay in a single file line while crossing. It was announced that to get the year off to a good start a game of kickball was going to be played. On the baseball diamond there was a large netted bag with three large red balls and two smaller ones awaiting the chosen pitcher and captain of the teams to pick from. But first there came the dreaded picking of the teams. Everyone walked out onto the clay field, shuffling their shoes and leaving dark red clay lines trailing behind them.
"Alright boys and girls, line up. Boys on this side and girls on this side." Ms. DeYoung pointed to the right and left sides of home plate. She looked down at her attendance sheet and scanned the names.
"Jackson?" she said scanning the line of boys. A tall black haired boy walked towards the pitchers mound. Jackson Arthur, ‘Jack’ once the nicknames were established, the most popular boy in the class was always picked first because his name was always at the top of the attendance sheet.
"Theresa?" Ms. Young said. Theresa Boyd stepped forward humbly wearing her homemade clothes with her hair in braided pigtails. She was the shy girl in class that didn't like to draw attention to herself, but once again was usually picked first on this day of school because of her surname.
You could see the two lines getting antsy, feet were shuffling, heads were looking down at shoes, while some were waving, drawing attention to themselves so they would get picked first. Keith just stood there, he ended up in line next to Andre and he could tell that he was nervous, as the new kid you never know when you are going to get picked. Keith was hoping that his growth over the summer would make him more appealing to the captains of the teams, but he steeled himself for being picked somewhere towards the end.
Walking over from the class and crossing the basketball courts to get to the baseball diamond a few of his classmates had said hello to him and asked him how his summer was. They had recognized him, but did they see the change in him as much as he did? They had all changed over the summer so maybe his change was overshadowed by theirs.
The line of boys was systematically whittled down until Keith realized that it was just he and Andre left to be picked. Thoughts swarmed through Keith’s head. "Pick me I've changed, I am bigger." "Pick me, I can run faster this year." "Pick me, I can kick farther, can't you see how much I have changed?" "Don't pick him, you don't know him. Sure he is new but you don't know anything about him." "You know I can kick far, and now look at me I can kick so much farther." "Pick me!" Keith screamed in his head.
Jack raised his hand and pointed toward the two boys.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
bike riding
Well - I went for a ride today. This morning. And I must say that I forgot how long it has been since I have been on that bike. and I forgot to turn on my computer so I don't even know how far I rode. I will have to clock it later. This is what I like about riding...I get to think. I get to leave my body and let it do by itself and think about everything. It is weird riding and paying attention, because if you don't you get killed. But to be able to let that part of your mind do its job.
Watch your line, pedal the pedals, shift gears when needed. Watch the cars that don't see you. They never see you (especially how fast I ride!!! ha!) I shouldn't say they never see you, the ones that do don't matter. The old lady that is going five miles below the speed limit that you can hear coming because she has a Cadillac from 1983, and right when she is on your rear wheel she honks the horn to let you know she is there and passing you. Which scares the shit out of you because you knew she was there and even expected her to honk, but it still gets you anyways.
And all the while, the other part of your brain is going over your life. I'm not talking about the grocery list...that part is used in the above situation. I mean the deep parts, the things that really matter but you are usually to preoccupied to let them surface. That is why I like riding, I used to do it while I ran but alas - running with me like I used to is no more, maybe one day again. I can run short distances but I like the long ones. But, I digress. Thoughts, deep thoughts by Warren Ivy. That's where I was.
It just allows me to put a lot of things into perspective. Escape into your preconscious, to throw a little Freud at you.
It was a good ride - and that means that I didn't throw up at the end.
Watch your line, pedal the pedals, shift gears when needed. Watch the cars that don't see you. They never see you (especially how fast I ride!!! ha!) I shouldn't say they never see you, the ones that do don't matter. The old lady that is going five miles below the speed limit that you can hear coming because she has a Cadillac from 1983, and right when she is on your rear wheel she honks the horn to let you know she is there and passing you. Which scares the shit out of you because you knew she was there and even expected her to honk, but it still gets you anyways.
And all the while, the other part of your brain is going over your life. I'm not talking about the grocery list...that part is used in the above situation. I mean the deep parts, the things that really matter but you are usually to preoccupied to let them surface. That is why I like riding, I used to do it while I ran but alas - running with me like I used to is no more, maybe one day again. I can run short distances but I like the long ones. But, I digress. Thoughts, deep thoughts by Warren Ivy. That's where I was.
It just allows me to put a lot of things into perspective. Escape into your preconscious, to throw a little Freud at you.
It was a good ride - and that means that I didn't throw up at the end.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
A writer...as was my dad...
Original post date: Saturday, November 29, 2008
A writer...as was my dad...
I was just given a book of poetry that my dad wrote...
I had no idea that my dad ever wrote any kind of anything. Another trait that I didn't know that I shared with him, creepy and interesting.
Here is one of his poems:
Far Away Dream
Tis a heart full of sorrow I hold tonight,
In my dreams I long and hold you tight;
But now I'm lonely and far away,
And all these things I can only say.
My heart I give to only you,
To have, to hold and to cherish true;
In return for this I only ask,
You love me like you have in the past.
But this for sure is just a dream
Of life and hope and forgetful schemes;
To take your heart and make it mine,
To love and cherish for all time.
L.W. Ivy - March 3, 1967
My dad was 19, about to turn 20 - his birthday was the March 25, 1947, when he wrote this. There are many more. Some I am truly amazed by.
I hope you enjoyed it, even just a fraction of the enjoyment I got from it.
goodnight.
A writer...as was my dad...
I was just given a book of poetry that my dad wrote...
I had no idea that my dad ever wrote any kind of anything. Another trait that I didn't know that I shared with him, creepy and interesting.
Here is one of his poems:
Far Away Dream
Tis a heart full of sorrow I hold tonight,
In my dreams I long and hold you tight;
But now I'm lonely and far away,
And all these things I can only say.
My heart I give to only you,
To have, to hold and to cherish true;
In return for this I only ask,
You love me like you have in the past.
But this for sure is just a dream
Of life and hope and forgetful schemes;
To take your heart and make it mine,
To love and cherish for all time.
L.W. Ivy - March 3, 1967
My dad was 19, about to turn 20 - his birthday was the March 25, 1947, when he wrote this. There are many more. Some I am truly amazed by.
I hope you enjoyed it, even just a fraction of the enjoyment I got from it.
goodnight.
Adam Smith - part 4
Original post date: Friday, November 14, 2008
Adam Smith - part 4
Her hand grazes the back of his neck to let him know that she is there, he jumps anyways. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his back. His hands remain locked to the countertop and his breath quickens. She slides her hands up his chest and hooks her fingers into the clavicles. He can feel her breath tickling his neck, causing shivers to race down his spine. Frozen, he doesn't know what to do so he stands completely still. She traces his torso with her fingers.
Her hands follow his lines from his shoulders down his arms, ignoring the cuffed long sleeves her hands flow down his forearms and fingers intertwine with his. Retracing her movements her hands end where they started, around his waist. Her hands get fistfuls of his shirt and she starts to pull up.
He lets her.
She runs her hand up his bare chest and his shirt is released more from his jeans with each inch. Around the sides of his chest her hands travel and grab onto his lats and she takes him and turns him around. She looks into his face and his eyes are still squeezed shut. Gently she places her hands framing his face; his features soften at her touch. She stands on her toes and kisses him gently on the lips.
"Where's your bedroom," she whispers.
She takes his hand and leads him up the stairs, her jeans sweeping the treads with each step, his hand still in hers. He never speaks and by the layout of the house she determines which room is his, picking the one that she would have chosen. She pushes open the door and leads him to the bed. Her hands take each button and slide it through its hole. Each movement with grace and a building anticipation, she pushes his shirt over his shoulders. He is not as skinny as she thought, and she can see his nipples get hard from the chill in the air. Undoing his belt she slides it through the loops, slithering it lands on the floor with a clank. The fly on his jeans unbutton with a single pull, and she pushes them over his hips and they gather at his feet.
He stands there fully aroused with a pair of briefs on, white against his whiter skin. She takes his hands in hers and places them on her breasts as she slides her hoodie off of her shoulders. He doesn't move. She looks him in the eyes with a smile as she unbuttons her jeans and lets them fall to the floor. Stepping away she turns down the covers and crosses her arms in front of her, grabbing her tank top she raises her arms above her head exposing her breasts. She slides into the bed and gestures for Adam to lie next to her.
_____________
He slides under the sheet, it is dark so he navigates by touch. Straddling the body he reaches on his side and feels the steel that hangs there. The table is hard and cold beneath his knees. Which should he take today, another left? He reaches across his body and grabs her hand as if meeting her for the first time and with his right grips the saw. Tracing the wrist with his fingers he feels for where the carpals meet the radius and ulna. Turning her hand he runs the blade over her wrist and feels the blood ooze between his fingers. She is still warm, but has chilled to room temperature. He has twenty minutes before the body is to be removed and sent to the coroner where all unclaimed bodies reside waiting for information, any information to help identify the body.
The gel like blood pools at his knees and he can feel it soaking through to his skin. He cuts. He is through the flesh and feels for the separation of bones with the blade of the saw. It is always easier to cut through cartilage. Fourty-seven pulls of the blade, the last one only took thirty-three, he wonders why this one took more, she was younger, maybe less deterioration due to age.
He reaches into his back pocket and feels for the Ziploc that he tucked back there. Unzipping the bag he places her hand in and slides out from under the blanket. Walking out the door he heads straight for the lockers to change out of his blood stained clothes. He passes his supervisors window and gives a nod, slipping by without incident.
_____________
A beam of light shines across his eyes, the change causes him to shift and wake up. Squinting he looks at the clock and rolls over to his nightstand. He slides open the drawer and places his hand on the worn wooden grip.
He hears her breathing.
Sliding the drawer closed he rolls back over and watches her sleep in the morning light. Her arm lies above the covers and he starts tracing her fingers, following the tendons on the inside of her wrist. He follows the outline of a coffee stain on her arm and watches as her eyes open and smile at him. He leans over and gently kisses her lips, again.
Adam Smith - part 4
Her hand grazes the back of his neck to let him know that she is there, he jumps anyways. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his back. His hands remain locked to the countertop and his breath quickens. She slides her hands up his chest and hooks her fingers into the clavicles. He can feel her breath tickling his neck, causing shivers to race down his spine. Frozen, he doesn't know what to do so he stands completely still. She traces his torso with her fingers.
Her hands follow his lines from his shoulders down his arms, ignoring the cuffed long sleeves her hands flow down his forearms and fingers intertwine with his. Retracing her movements her hands end where they started, around his waist. Her hands get fistfuls of his shirt and she starts to pull up.
He lets her.
She runs her hand up his bare chest and his shirt is released more from his jeans with each inch. Around the sides of his chest her hands travel and grab onto his lats and she takes him and turns him around. She looks into his face and his eyes are still squeezed shut. Gently she places her hands framing his face; his features soften at her touch. She stands on her toes and kisses him gently on the lips.
"Where's your bedroom," she whispers.
She takes his hand and leads him up the stairs, her jeans sweeping the treads with each step, his hand still in hers. He never speaks and by the layout of the house she determines which room is his, picking the one that she would have chosen. She pushes open the door and leads him to the bed. Her hands take each button and slide it through its hole. Each movement with grace and a building anticipation, she pushes his shirt over his shoulders. He is not as skinny as she thought, and she can see his nipples get hard from the chill in the air. Undoing his belt she slides it through the loops, slithering it lands on the floor with a clank. The fly on his jeans unbutton with a single pull, and she pushes them over his hips and they gather at his feet.
He stands there fully aroused with a pair of briefs on, white against his whiter skin. She takes his hands in hers and places them on her breasts as she slides her hoodie off of her shoulders. He doesn't move. She looks him in the eyes with a smile as she unbuttons her jeans and lets them fall to the floor. Stepping away she turns down the covers and crosses her arms in front of her, grabbing her tank top she raises her arms above her head exposing her breasts. She slides into the bed and gestures for Adam to lie next to her.
_____________
He slides under the sheet, it is dark so he navigates by touch. Straddling the body he reaches on his side and feels the steel that hangs there. The table is hard and cold beneath his knees. Which should he take today, another left? He reaches across his body and grabs her hand as if meeting her for the first time and with his right grips the saw. Tracing the wrist with his fingers he feels for where the carpals meet the radius and ulna. Turning her hand he runs the blade over her wrist and feels the blood ooze between his fingers. She is still warm, but has chilled to room temperature. He has twenty minutes before the body is to be removed and sent to the coroner where all unclaimed bodies reside waiting for information, any information to help identify the body.
The gel like blood pools at his knees and he can feel it soaking through to his skin. He cuts. He is through the flesh and feels for the separation of bones with the blade of the saw. It is always easier to cut through cartilage. Fourty-seven pulls of the blade, the last one only took thirty-three, he wonders why this one took more, she was younger, maybe less deterioration due to age.
He reaches into his back pocket and feels for the Ziploc that he tucked back there. Unzipping the bag he places her hand in and slides out from under the blanket. Walking out the door he heads straight for the lockers to change out of his blood stained clothes. He passes his supervisors window and gives a nod, slipping by without incident.
_____________
A beam of light shines across his eyes, the change causes him to shift and wake up. Squinting he looks at the clock and rolls over to his nightstand. He slides open the drawer and places his hand on the worn wooden grip.
He hears her breathing.
Sliding the drawer closed he rolls back over and watches her sleep in the morning light. Her arm lies above the covers and he starts tracing her fingers, following the tendons on the inside of her wrist. He follows the outline of a coffee stain on her arm and watches as her eyes open and smile at him. He leans over and gently kisses her lips, again.
Proverbs 16:18-19
Original post date: Friday, October 31, 2008
Proverbs 16:18-19
Proverbs 16:18-19 Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
It was an inch hole that was calling to be threaded. Silver marine steel, bent while it was the color of the sun, and threaded to a point. He took his drill and climbed up the ladder. The ceiling was fifteen feet, plenty high enough. The thick soles of his shoes scuffed the aluminum rungs of the ladder as his left hand ran up the orange fiberglass frame. He was ten feet up in the air and standing on a yellow piece of plastic that was eighteen inches long and eight inches wide. The text under his feet was inked red and said "DO NOT STAND." All he could see was DO … AND. "Do and, what?" he thought.
He reached above his head and placed the drill bit on the pencil mark. "'X' marks the spot, I wonder what kind of treasure I am going to find," he said out loud. He started to drill and felt the bit bite into the wood truss in the attic. Squinting from the drywall dust that always seems to fall right into his eyes he thought, "I should have put on those dorky safety glasses, but it doesn't really matter anyway." He climbed back down the ladder, put the bit back in the black box with bright yellow letters on it, and placed the drill in a larger version of that black box from the same company.
He slid the eyebolt into his back pocket and from his tool bag grabbed a long flat bladed screw driver with a blue and red handle and put that in his other pocket. He climbed back up the ladder with both hands running up the fiberglass rails. Balancing on the yellow plastic plank he pulled out the eyebolt and screwdriver and started to screw in the eyebolt into the pilot hole. Once he couldn't tighten it any more with his hand he slid the business end of the screwdriver into the hole and used it as a lever to rotate the curve of steel to its hilt.
He wanted to slide down the rails of the ladder like he saw so many times in the movies but didn't. "You'd just fall and kill yourself you dumbass," he said aloud to nobody but himself. Instead he just stepped down the rungs and put his screwdriver back into the loop inside his tool bag. When he was at the hardware store looking he purposefully picked up the thick, brown, prickly rope. This was not supposed to be a comfortable endeavor.
He took a bite of the rope and folded it onto itself and with seven loops he tucked the end into the top bite and pulled to make it snug. He always read that this was the best knot, basically a beefy slipknot. He had ten feet of rope trailing out of his seven loops and traced the rope to the other end. Holding onto the tail end of the rope he used his wingspan to find approximately six feet and tied a figure eight.
Another trek up the ladder he took, this time there was a brown snake following him up, whipping and twirling as he pulled it further from the ground. He almost licked the end of the rope as if he were threading a needle and let out a giggle while he placed the end through the eyebolt. He traced the eight with the end of the rope and tied it off. Grabbing the knot he pulled himself off of the ladder and looked down and spread his legs and read, "DO NOT STAND." He giggled again.
He almost fell as he quickly climbed down the ladder and had to jump off of the third rung. He bent over and grabbed his tool bag and drill and carried them to his closet. When he came back he stood and looked up at the ladder, and the brown bristly snake dangling from a needle. He pushed up the cross bars on the ladder and folded it up. Leaning it over he carried it out through the doors and laid it down in the garage. He saw an old canvas bag that he got from a bank. The bank logo was a green square with round corners and the text was a large serif font. He picked it up and carried it with him inside.
He climbed the stairs in the foyer and stood on the landing at the top for an hour looking out at two knots, one that is used to save lives and one that is used to end them and found the irony of it frightening. He felt the sweat slide down the side of his torso and that broke his paralysis. He stepped up to the rail and threw his leg over and pulled himself onto the other side.
His left hand gripped the rail through the bank bag and his right reached out and took a hold of the rope. He needed another hand. Letting go of the rope he placed the bag over his head and could see pinpricks of light shining through like the lights from a city viewed from a window seat on a plane at night. He took a deep breath and the bag pressed against his lips and was drawn up to his nose. Once again he held onto the rail with his left hand and reached for the rope with his right, mimicking a blind man reaching for an object he knows is there but was moved just slightly.
Balancing on the heels of his feet he places the rope around his neck and sets the knot on the left side, doing this only because he has read somewhere that it helps the process. Giving the rope a pull he can feel the knot press against his left ear and even through the canvas he can feel the spines of the rope digging into his skin.
He feels his hands shaking as he lets go of the rail and steps out, leading with his right foot. He falls four feet, and his head stops just below the chandelier made of wrought iron. He hears the pop of his C2 and C3 vertebrae but doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel the blood that trickles from his left ear where the knot came to rest. And he can't see how the bank logo turned brown from the spray of blood that left his nose as his body came to a halt with his toes thirteen inches from the Mexican tile floor.
disclaimer: Do not freak out this is not me...I had this crazy image in my head and I had to write it down.
Garrett I hope you don't mind I used your parents old house in Queens Harbor, don't know why I envisioned this there but I did.
Proverbs 16:18-19
Proverbs 16:18-19 Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
It was an inch hole that was calling to be threaded. Silver marine steel, bent while it was the color of the sun, and threaded to a point. He took his drill and climbed up the ladder. The ceiling was fifteen feet, plenty high enough. The thick soles of his shoes scuffed the aluminum rungs of the ladder as his left hand ran up the orange fiberglass frame. He was ten feet up in the air and standing on a yellow piece of plastic that was eighteen inches long and eight inches wide. The text under his feet was inked red and said "DO NOT STAND." All he could see was DO … AND. "Do and, what?" he thought.
He reached above his head and placed the drill bit on the pencil mark. "'X' marks the spot, I wonder what kind of treasure I am going to find," he said out loud. He started to drill and felt the bit bite into the wood truss in the attic. Squinting from the drywall dust that always seems to fall right into his eyes he thought, "I should have put on those dorky safety glasses, but it doesn't really matter anyway." He climbed back down the ladder, put the bit back in the black box with bright yellow letters on it, and placed the drill in a larger version of that black box from the same company.
He slid the eyebolt into his back pocket and from his tool bag grabbed a long flat bladed screw driver with a blue and red handle and put that in his other pocket. He climbed back up the ladder with both hands running up the fiberglass rails. Balancing on the yellow plastic plank he pulled out the eyebolt and screwdriver and started to screw in the eyebolt into the pilot hole. Once he couldn't tighten it any more with his hand he slid the business end of the screwdriver into the hole and used it as a lever to rotate the curve of steel to its hilt.
He wanted to slide down the rails of the ladder like he saw so many times in the movies but didn't. "You'd just fall and kill yourself you dumbass," he said aloud to nobody but himself. Instead he just stepped down the rungs and put his screwdriver back into the loop inside his tool bag. When he was at the hardware store looking he purposefully picked up the thick, brown, prickly rope. This was not supposed to be a comfortable endeavor.
He took a bite of the rope and folded it onto itself and with seven loops he tucked the end into the top bite and pulled to make it snug. He always read that this was the best knot, basically a beefy slipknot. He had ten feet of rope trailing out of his seven loops and traced the rope to the other end. Holding onto the tail end of the rope he used his wingspan to find approximately six feet and tied a figure eight.
Another trek up the ladder he took, this time there was a brown snake following him up, whipping and twirling as he pulled it further from the ground. He almost licked the end of the rope as if he were threading a needle and let out a giggle while he placed the end through the eyebolt. He traced the eight with the end of the rope and tied it off. Grabbing the knot he pulled himself off of the ladder and looked down and spread his legs and read, "DO NOT STAND." He giggled again.
He almost fell as he quickly climbed down the ladder and had to jump off of the third rung. He bent over and grabbed his tool bag and drill and carried them to his closet. When he came back he stood and looked up at the ladder, and the brown bristly snake dangling from a needle. He pushed up the cross bars on the ladder and folded it up. Leaning it over he carried it out through the doors and laid it down in the garage. He saw an old canvas bag that he got from a bank. The bank logo was a green square with round corners and the text was a large serif font. He picked it up and carried it with him inside.
He climbed the stairs in the foyer and stood on the landing at the top for an hour looking out at two knots, one that is used to save lives and one that is used to end them and found the irony of it frightening. He felt the sweat slide down the side of his torso and that broke his paralysis. He stepped up to the rail and threw his leg over and pulled himself onto the other side.
His left hand gripped the rail through the bank bag and his right reached out and took a hold of the rope. He needed another hand. Letting go of the rope he placed the bag over his head and could see pinpricks of light shining through like the lights from a city viewed from a window seat on a plane at night. He took a deep breath and the bag pressed against his lips and was drawn up to his nose. Once again he held onto the rail with his left hand and reached for the rope with his right, mimicking a blind man reaching for an object he knows is there but was moved just slightly.
Balancing on the heels of his feet he places the rope around his neck and sets the knot on the left side, doing this only because he has read somewhere that it helps the process. Giving the rope a pull he can feel the knot press against his left ear and even through the canvas he can feel the spines of the rope digging into his skin.
He feels his hands shaking as he lets go of the rail and steps out, leading with his right foot. He falls four feet, and his head stops just below the chandelier made of wrought iron. He hears the pop of his C2 and C3 vertebrae but doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel the blood that trickles from his left ear where the knot came to rest. And he can't see how the bank logo turned brown from the spray of blood that left his nose as his body came to a halt with his toes thirteen inches from the Mexican tile floor.
disclaimer: Do not freak out this is not me...I had this crazy image in my head and I had to write it down.
Garrett I hope you don't mind I used your parents old house in Queens Harbor, don't know why I envisioned this there but I did.
Adam Smith - part 3
Original post date: Monday, October 27, 2008
Adam Smith - part 3
The smell of her filled his senses as she squeezed in between him and the door. Without asking she made her way to his sofa, curled up in the corner and was absorbed by its comfort. Adam set his bag down at the foot of the stairs and pushed the button to turn on the lamp. Light flooded the room but cast a shadow where Laney was sitting. Her bare feet were dusted with dirt from wearing her flip-flops all day, which were askew on the floor under the coffee table. The polish on her toes was chipped and the remaining color was enhanced by one stray beam of light. Knees pulled to her chest, she sat with her chin on her folded arms.
"Would you like something to drink? I'm getting a water."
"That would be nice…thank you."
Adam walks slowly passed the couch and sees the shift of color where the suede kept her handprint as a momentary token. As if it wanted to remember her touch as much as he longed to feel it on him. Walking through the living room, through a pair of ancient pocket doors that he just got to work again, into to the dining room, he swung open the door to the kitchen. Not bothering to turn on the light he opened the refrigerator. The triangle of light grew and spread its fingers grabbing at the pots hung above the stove. His shadow dancing amongst the white light, a brief glimpse of the potential horrors that lurk in the depths of his soul. He grabs too bottles of Zephyrhills and as he closes the door you can hear the squeak of the hinges briefly before the compressor kicks on.
Cracking the seal of the cap to the water, he hands her the bottle, already forming a layer of condensation on it. She leans forward to take it from his hand and as she does her sweatshirt falls open. White tank top with no appearance of a bra, he glances up at her to make sure that he wasn't caught glancing at her breasts. He takes a step back and sits on the edge of the couch, as far away from her as possible, without seeming uncomfortable. The coaster he grabs is a square ceramic with the image of an American flag; he sets his bottle down in the center and spins it around until the label is facing him. The cap is placed on the right side of the coaster, and he adjusts it with his finger as he forces himself to pull away from his neurosis.
"Um, you said that you wanted to talk? What can I help you with?"
"Can we just sit her for a few minutes? Is that okay?"
"Sure."
He watches as she curls her toes and removes the remaining polish off of her right big one, each piece discarded on the floor. They sit and he never reaches for his drink. Sipping hers she rests it on the tops of her feet and twists the bottom around in the little puddle of water that has formed.
She stands so abruptly that he jumps in his seat a little.
"I need to pee, where is your bathroom?"
"The door under the stairs, right over there."
The skin between her shirt and jeans shows itself as she walks passed and he can see just the smallest hint of pink and grey just below her waistline.
"Don't listen while I pee."
"Okay," he says. How can he not listen, the bathroom is ten feet away and the house is dead silent except for the shuffle of the bottom of her jeans being drug across the floor. He gets up and puts a coaster under her empty bottle of water and wipes up the ring that was left. He sits back down and tries to disappear into the couch. The toilet flushes and he thinks, "Hmmm, I didn't hear her pee."
As she wiggles the door handle to try to get out, he remembered that he forgot to tell her how to push down on the door to open it. Just as he is about to say something the door swings open with too much force and bangs into the stop on the wall.
"Sorry."
"No worries, I still do that."
He is sitting with his back upright and his legs at a ninety-degree angle, he couldn't look more uncomfortable. Trying to find something to do with his hands he puts one on the armrest and drapes one over the back of the couch. Laney walks up and gives him a glance with a little smile and sits down beside him. In a fluid motion her feet are on the couch and her head is in his lap. Frozen, he looks down and has no idea what to do. Without looking she reaches up behind her and pulls his arm down and intertwines her fingers with his.
It has been long enough for his arm to fall asleep, but he didn't want to move, he didn't want to not have her touching him. So he sits and watches her from above. With his free right hand he brushes the hair off of her face and traces the lines down her cheeks made from the mascara.
"You think I am pretty, don't you?"
With a slight stutter, "Uh, yes I do." His heart quickens, and he can feel his blood pumping. That fear that every boy gets as he is asked to go to the board in front of the class, races through his consciousness. Please don't get an erection, but it is uncontrollable. Every boy knows you can wish it, scream it in your head, but there is nothing you can do about it, it is inevitable. He feels it pulsing and there is not a chance that she doesn't feel it too.
"Would you like some more water?" he says as he lifts up her head and scoots out from under her. "I'll be right back."
He traverses the floor to the kitchen with a nervous quickness, stumbling on the leg of a chair in the dining room falling through the swinging door. Heart racing he stands with his hands against the counter, a bead of sweat runs from his temple to his jaw and drops on the back of his hand.
He is so focused on the beating in his ears and the pounding in his chest he doesn't hear Laney shuffling across the floor dragging the hems of her jeans that have frayed down to ragged half moons. He does not hear the kitchen door swing open and with his eyes closed tight he does not see the faint light fill the room.
She stands and watches him lit like a modern Rembrandt, then steps too him.
Adam Smith - part 3
The smell of her filled his senses as she squeezed in between him and the door. Without asking she made her way to his sofa, curled up in the corner and was absorbed by its comfort. Adam set his bag down at the foot of the stairs and pushed the button to turn on the lamp. Light flooded the room but cast a shadow where Laney was sitting. Her bare feet were dusted with dirt from wearing her flip-flops all day, which were askew on the floor under the coffee table. The polish on her toes was chipped and the remaining color was enhanced by one stray beam of light. Knees pulled to her chest, she sat with her chin on her folded arms.
"Would you like something to drink? I'm getting a water."
"That would be nice…thank you."
Adam walks slowly passed the couch and sees the shift of color where the suede kept her handprint as a momentary token. As if it wanted to remember her touch as much as he longed to feel it on him. Walking through the living room, through a pair of ancient pocket doors that he just got to work again, into to the dining room, he swung open the door to the kitchen. Not bothering to turn on the light he opened the refrigerator. The triangle of light grew and spread its fingers grabbing at the pots hung above the stove. His shadow dancing amongst the white light, a brief glimpse of the potential horrors that lurk in the depths of his soul. He grabs too bottles of Zephyrhills and as he closes the door you can hear the squeak of the hinges briefly before the compressor kicks on.
Cracking the seal of the cap to the water, he hands her the bottle, already forming a layer of condensation on it. She leans forward to take it from his hand and as she does her sweatshirt falls open. White tank top with no appearance of a bra, he glances up at her to make sure that he wasn't caught glancing at her breasts. He takes a step back and sits on the edge of the couch, as far away from her as possible, without seeming uncomfortable. The coaster he grabs is a square ceramic with the image of an American flag; he sets his bottle down in the center and spins it around until the label is facing him. The cap is placed on the right side of the coaster, and he adjusts it with his finger as he forces himself to pull away from his neurosis.
"Um, you said that you wanted to talk? What can I help you with?"
"Can we just sit her for a few minutes? Is that okay?"
"Sure."
He watches as she curls her toes and removes the remaining polish off of her right big one, each piece discarded on the floor. They sit and he never reaches for his drink. Sipping hers she rests it on the tops of her feet and twists the bottom around in the little puddle of water that has formed.
She stands so abruptly that he jumps in his seat a little.
"I need to pee, where is your bathroom?"
"The door under the stairs, right over there."
The skin between her shirt and jeans shows itself as she walks passed and he can see just the smallest hint of pink and grey just below her waistline.
"Don't listen while I pee."
"Okay," he says. How can he not listen, the bathroom is ten feet away and the house is dead silent except for the shuffle of the bottom of her jeans being drug across the floor. He gets up and puts a coaster under her empty bottle of water and wipes up the ring that was left. He sits back down and tries to disappear into the couch. The toilet flushes and he thinks, "Hmmm, I didn't hear her pee."
As she wiggles the door handle to try to get out, he remembered that he forgot to tell her how to push down on the door to open it. Just as he is about to say something the door swings open with too much force and bangs into the stop on the wall.
"Sorry."
"No worries, I still do that."
He is sitting with his back upright and his legs at a ninety-degree angle, he couldn't look more uncomfortable. Trying to find something to do with his hands he puts one on the armrest and drapes one over the back of the couch. Laney walks up and gives him a glance with a little smile and sits down beside him. In a fluid motion her feet are on the couch and her head is in his lap. Frozen, he looks down and has no idea what to do. Without looking she reaches up behind her and pulls his arm down and intertwines her fingers with his.
It has been long enough for his arm to fall asleep, but he didn't want to move, he didn't want to not have her touching him. So he sits and watches her from above. With his free right hand he brushes the hair off of her face and traces the lines down her cheeks made from the mascara.
"You think I am pretty, don't you?"
With a slight stutter, "Uh, yes I do." His heart quickens, and he can feel his blood pumping. That fear that every boy gets as he is asked to go to the board in front of the class, races through his consciousness. Please don't get an erection, but it is uncontrollable. Every boy knows you can wish it, scream it in your head, but there is nothing you can do about it, it is inevitable. He feels it pulsing and there is not a chance that she doesn't feel it too.
"Would you like some more water?" he says as he lifts up her head and scoots out from under her. "I'll be right back."
He traverses the floor to the kitchen with a nervous quickness, stumbling on the leg of a chair in the dining room falling through the swinging door. Heart racing he stands with his hands against the counter, a bead of sweat runs from his temple to his jaw and drops on the back of his hand.
He is so focused on the beating in his ears and the pounding in his chest he doesn't hear Laney shuffling across the floor dragging the hems of her jeans that have frayed down to ragged half moons. He does not hear the kitchen door swing open and with his eyes closed tight he does not see the faint light fill the room.
She stands and watches him lit like a modern Rembrandt, then steps too him.
Chuck Lorre Productions
Original post date: Monday, October 06, 2008
Chuck Lorre Productions
Chuck Lorre Productions
Have you ever watched a Chuck Lorre Production? He writes the Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men, and used to write Dharma & Greg. At the end of each of his shows he has a vanity card, this is the card that says who wrote the show. Some production companies you might be familiar with just by their vanity cards:
That's one bad hat Larry.
Sit Ubu Sit. Good Dog.
Harpo, Prodcutions
Mutant Enemy (this one is of the poster monster going Grr, Arrg)
Anyways if you watch television and pay attention at the end of your favorite show you will see someones vanity card, maybe just one, maybe three, but usually attached to the lower production company there is the bigger companies attached to it (i.e. Paramount, Fox, TriStar - although I don't think TriStar is around any more)
Anyways at the end of a Chuck Lorre production he has a vanity card, he was the first to utilize this as another way to communicate to his audience. Before DVR's you used to have to record the show on your VCR and then pause it at the end to actually read it (now that was a dedicated fan, I never did that, because I didn't watch any of his shows until the Big Bang Theory).
So one day I saw one and thought what did that say and went on a quest to see if I could find them online, and of course he has them posted on his website http://www.chucklorre.com in case you want to see them all.
I read tonight's and thought - Wow, this guy...we could be friends because of the crazy stuff that he thinks. Anyways here is the vanity card from tonight's Big Bang Theory:
CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, 219
On a recent trip to Las Vegas I watched a grim, beer-bellied man row a gondola filled with tourists through the "canals of Venice." This was his job. At some point he had to have filled out an application and undergone an interview process to determine if he had the necessary skills to be a pretend gondolier eight hours a day, five days a week. As he glided past me I found myself imagining him walking into his house at the end of a long day, tossing his keys into the cheap ceramic bowl by the front door and sadly calling out to his wife, "I'm home." To which she would cheerfully respond, "How was work today, sweetie?" But instead of saying "fine," which was how he answered that question every other day, he paused and considered the days' events, and all the events that had led him to this point in his life. Then he crossed to the hall closet, took down a shoe box from the hat shelf, removed a small caliber pistol that he'd bought for home protection, and immediately blew his brains out all over the badly framed photograph of him rowing Barry Manilow. Waking from my brief reverie, I found myself suddenly filled with compassion and respect for this stranger of the inland sea. Compassion for his quiet desperation. And respect that he chose not to take his cheerful wife with him.
I don't know about you, but Vegas always does this to me.
1st Aired: 6 October 2008
If this intrigued you, please go read his other ones, there are a lot and some are just weird but fun to peruse.
Chuck Lorre Productions
Chuck Lorre Productions
Have you ever watched a Chuck Lorre Production? He writes the Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men, and used to write Dharma & Greg. At the end of each of his shows he has a vanity card, this is the card that says who wrote the show. Some production companies you might be familiar with just by their vanity cards:
That's one bad hat Larry.
Sit Ubu Sit. Good Dog.
Harpo, Prodcutions
Mutant Enemy (this one is of the poster monster going Grr, Arrg)
Anyways if you watch television and pay attention at the end of your favorite show you will see someones vanity card, maybe just one, maybe three, but usually attached to the lower production company there is the bigger companies attached to it (i.e. Paramount, Fox, TriStar - although I don't think TriStar is around any more)
Anyways at the end of a Chuck Lorre production he has a vanity card, he was the first to utilize this as another way to communicate to his audience. Before DVR's you used to have to record the show on your VCR and then pause it at the end to actually read it (now that was a dedicated fan, I never did that, because I didn't watch any of his shows until the Big Bang Theory).
So one day I saw one and thought what did that say and went on a quest to see if I could find them online, and of course he has them posted on his website http://www.chucklorre.com in case you want to see them all.
I read tonight's and thought - Wow, this guy...we could be friends because of the crazy stuff that he thinks. Anyways here is the vanity card from tonight's Big Bang Theory:
CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, 219
On a recent trip to Las Vegas I watched a grim, beer-bellied man row a gondola filled with tourists through the "canals of Venice." This was his job. At some point he had to have filled out an application and undergone an interview process to determine if he had the necessary skills to be a pretend gondolier eight hours a day, five days a week. As he glided past me I found myself imagining him walking into his house at the end of a long day, tossing his keys into the cheap ceramic bowl by the front door and sadly calling out to his wife, "I'm home." To which she would cheerfully respond, "How was work today, sweetie?" But instead of saying "fine," which was how he answered that question every other day, he paused and considered the days' events, and all the events that had led him to this point in his life. Then he crossed to the hall closet, took down a shoe box from the hat shelf, removed a small caliber pistol that he'd bought for home protection, and immediately blew his brains out all over the badly framed photograph of him rowing Barry Manilow. Waking from my brief reverie, I found myself suddenly filled with compassion and respect for this stranger of the inland sea. Compassion for his quiet desperation. And respect that he chose not to take his cheerful wife with him.
I don't know about you, but Vegas always does this to me.
1st Aired: 6 October 2008
If this intrigued you, please go read his other ones, there are a lot and some are just weird but fun to peruse.
driving with the windows down
Original post date: Wednesday, September 24, 2008
driving with the windows down
Hello - the other day I was driving back from the big HD (Home Depot for those of you not in the know). It was a great day as the weather is turning to more and more nowadays so I had my windows down. All my books were in the front seat of my car but my backpack (or as the people who try to pick it up call it - my bag o' weights) was sitting on the escaping pieces of paper. I was kickin it old school hippie, you know 1993 Blind Melon. Tones of Home, Paper Scratcher, Change and of course No Rain. I really haven't met a person who doesn't like that song, No Rain, although not indicative of Blind Melon's musical genre it is still a great song. Did I say great, I meant fantastic! Two ways I listen to this song...well two of my favorite ways...one is really loud in my house, room, empty warehouse, whatever and closed eyes singing loudly dancing around with no inhibition (yes, hippie dancing). The next is in my car, windows down, playing loudly, wind blowing, arm out the window as if I am flying and singing so that the houses on the other streets can hear me. Now, as I was saying, I was driving back from Homer D.'s store and pulled up to a stop light, just an ordinary stop light, and glanced to my left at the car in the lane beside me. Dad and older kid (maybe 6) in the front seat, Mom and younger kid (maybe 3) in the back. Nothing truly interesting just a typical family driving home I assume. Then the track changes on the cd and No Rain starts to play. Remember all windows are down and the volume is cranked. I start singing, loud, and in perfect pitch might I add, :). Anyways something catches my eye in my periphery, I glance back at the family next to me and the dad has rolled down the windows and is singing along with me. The mom is cracking up and the older kid is looking at his dad like he is crazy. We sing and laugh and say how great of a song it is and then the light turns green. I drive away with a smile on my face and laugh at how incredible music is and how it brings so many people together. I can only assume that the family had a laugh of their own and hopefully rejoiced at musics ability to connect as I did.
Now this is not the first time this has happened to me, and I am sure it will not be the last, the other two recent events happened at my local Starbucks in the parking lot, but I will tell you about those at a later date because well, no need to rant all night about how cool music is.
driving with the windows down
Hello - the other day I was driving back from the big HD (Home Depot for those of you not in the know). It was a great day as the weather is turning to more and more nowadays so I had my windows down. All my books were in the front seat of my car but my backpack (or as the people who try to pick it up call it - my bag o' weights) was sitting on the escaping pieces of paper. I was kickin it old school hippie, you know 1993 Blind Melon. Tones of Home, Paper Scratcher, Change and of course No Rain. I really haven't met a person who doesn't like that song, No Rain, although not indicative of Blind Melon's musical genre it is still a great song. Did I say great, I meant fantastic! Two ways I listen to this song...well two of my favorite ways...one is really loud in my house, room, empty warehouse, whatever and closed eyes singing loudly dancing around with no inhibition (yes, hippie dancing). The next is in my car, windows down, playing loudly, wind blowing, arm out the window as if I am flying and singing so that the houses on the other streets can hear me. Now, as I was saying, I was driving back from Homer D.'s store and pulled up to a stop light, just an ordinary stop light, and glanced to my left at the car in the lane beside me. Dad and older kid (maybe 6) in the front seat, Mom and younger kid (maybe 3) in the back. Nothing truly interesting just a typical family driving home I assume. Then the track changes on the cd and No Rain starts to play. Remember all windows are down and the volume is cranked. I start singing, loud, and in perfect pitch might I add, :). Anyways something catches my eye in my periphery, I glance back at the family next to me and the dad has rolled down the windows and is singing along with me. The mom is cracking up and the older kid is looking at his dad like he is crazy. We sing and laugh and say how great of a song it is and then the light turns green. I drive away with a smile on my face and laugh at how incredible music is and how it brings so many people together. I can only assume that the family had a laugh of their own and hopefully rejoiced at musics ability to connect as I did.
Now this is not the first time this has happened to me, and I am sure it will not be the last, the other two recent events happened at my local Starbucks in the parking lot, but I will tell you about those at a later date because well, no need to rant all night about how cool music is.
back to school
Original post date: Tuesday, August 26, 2008
back to school
I spent all day in lectures today - from 9:15am to 7:15pm. Wondering around today I had some weird thoughts and this is one of them....
....it is a weird combination that most students try for...this is all students and really it falls on to most all people in a crowd.
I was walking around and I saw this normal guy with a safari hat on. I then saw a girl with just the tips of her bangs dyed pink. A guy that had on clothes that were a bit dated, not too old, khaki's, reebocks, and a plaid shirt, but he looked out of place amongst the other "hipper" students. And then I saw a reflection of myself in a window.
We all have the desire to be individuals, to be different, to be noticed, to be our true selves or at least who we think we are.
And then we all have the desire to not be noticed, to not be different, to fit in with the crowd because we think that will make us liked.
It was interesting to step back and see this phenomena and to be very much a part of it since I was older than most of the people around me and I am trying to not stand out too much and not be the old guy in class, but not try to hard to be young either.
And then I walked into my psychology class and started to study behavior....
back to school
I spent all day in lectures today - from 9:15am to 7:15pm. Wondering around today I had some weird thoughts and this is one of them....
....it is a weird combination that most students try for...this is all students and really it falls on to most all people in a crowd.
I was walking around and I saw this normal guy with a safari hat on. I then saw a girl with just the tips of her bangs dyed pink. A guy that had on clothes that were a bit dated, not too old, khaki's, reebocks, and a plaid shirt, but he looked out of place amongst the other "hipper" students. And then I saw a reflection of myself in a window.
We all have the desire to be individuals, to be different, to be noticed, to be our true selves or at least who we think we are.
And then we all have the desire to not be noticed, to not be different, to fit in with the crowd because we think that will make us liked.
It was interesting to step back and see this phenomena and to be very much a part of it since I was older than most of the people around me and I am trying to not stand out too much and not be the old guy in class, but not try to hard to be young either.
And then I walked into my psychology class and started to study behavior....
Adam Smith - part 2
Original post date: Monday, June 16, 2008
Adam Smith - part II
Rolling out of bed he switched off his alarm. Reaching in his nightstand he pulled out the only thing his father left him after he died. Well, the only thing he took from his house when his dad died. It was heavy in his hand and the wood grip was worn and well used.
The brightness of the sun tinted his retina red even though his eyes were squeezed shut. He tasted metal, all metal has a distinct taste, but steel, steel tastes like blood. He searches out the hammer with his forefinger and when he pulls it back, adjusting his grip, he scratches the roof of his mouth with the sight. Pausing to run his tongue over this new wound, he grins as the taste of blood intensifies. The metal taps his teeth as his thumb squeezes the trigger.
Click.
There is no report; barely a sound drowned out by the sounds of a Thursday morning. The Polk's lawn service across the street, a weed-eaters high whine, not as scary sounding as a chainsaw echoes between the houses. His vision darkens, tunnels to total blackness.
He is not sure what woke him up, the slamming of his neighbors screen door or the smell of vomit. He couldn't have been passed out that long, but long enough for the heat of the morning to congeal the bile to his cheek. He raised his head and wiped his face. As he rose to his knees he saw his neighbor, Lacey? No, Laney, was her name. She smiled a big smile and waved. He was in awe and tried to keep his eyes focused on her face. She was in a bikini, blue and black, and she was far more attractive than her normal attire let on.
The first time he met her she was wearing jeans, a long sleeve hooded t-shirt with a turquoise tank top underneath and flip-flops. It was spring, eighty degrees outside, and she said she was cold. It didn't make sense to him because she said she was from some small town outside of Milwaukee. Wasn't it cold there? That was the extent of their only conversation, he was too nervous to ever talk to her again.
He stood up and grabbed the hose and started to spray off his deck, he hated it when he threw up. He aimed the spray at the big chunks and watched them fly off into the grass. He had had leftover chicken curry last night and now it was fertilizing his grass. What a waste of good food. He wrapped up the hose and made sure that the nozzle wasn't in the dirt as he made the last loop.
His dad's gun had slid under the one chair he had on his deck. The green and white webbing cast a shadow almost camouflaging it. He grabbed it, hiding it against his leg as he opened the French doors leading into his kitchen. Through the purple tiled kitchen, the office with its eternal hum of a computer, and up the stairs he walked, counting the stairs as he climbed. There were thirteen.
He slid the drawer to his nightstand open and placed the unloaded gun in the drawer. "Until tomorrow," he said. His t-shirt wet with sweat stuck to his back as he tried to pull it over his head by the collar. He grabbed it by the bottom and turned it inside out as he took it off. He had to pause and turn it right side out and fold it even though it was dirty. He placed his folded dirty clothes into the hamper and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He turned on the light and then flipped it off again, the sun was bright enough to light the room and the bathroom fluorescent gave his skin a greenish tint that he liked to avoid whenever possible.
He turned on the water and waited, letting it get hot. Standing in front of the mirror he could see the bones showing themselves under his skin. His reflection was always a disappointment; there was always an improvement that he could see that needed to be made. He turned and climbed into the shower. The water ran over his head and down his back, he stood there with his arms crossed just letting the heat start the cleansing process. Along the wall was an army of shampoos, each with its labels facing out. He took down the Selson Blue and flipped the cap, squeezing the bottle he let it fill his hand, he always used too much shampoo since he cut his hair. Making sure the cap was closed all the way he placed the bottle back in its place on the towel bar. Turning it slightly so that the front of the label could be read. Next week he would turn them all around to read the back labels.
The lather in his hair rinsed out and flowed down the middle of his back. He grabbed the bar of Ivory soap ran it over his stomach a couple of times to wash off the left over pubes on the bar. Stroking himself twice he thought about masturbating, but he was already running late and couldn't miss his bus, so he promised himself he would jack off when he got to work. He rinsed off, grabbed his towel and was dry before his feet touched the bath mat. Boxers, jeans, deodorant, shirt, and shoes, he grabbed his backpack and was out the door. He couldn't remember if he brushed his teeth or not, so he would brush them at work with the toothbrush in his locker.
Three blocks he walked at a speedy librarian pace to get to his bus stop. He beat it there by two minutes. Mr. Johnson was waiting for the 2:33 as always fifteen minutes ahead of time. He has known Mr. Johnson for six years now and only knows him by his last name and doesn't even know where he works. He always has his nose in his newspaper when Adam gets to the bus stop and only peers over it briefly with a scowl as Adam sits down next to him. The 2:18 shows up and Adam stands to board. The bus driver nods as he gets on and closes the door. The bus is empty, except for one person. Adam grabs the bar by the front seat and remains standing, staring at the man in the front seat. The bus driver eyes him through the rearview mirror, waiting to see what is going to happen.
The passenger, quite a large man, is spilling over the edge of the seat, looks up at Adam. "May I help you?" the man says.
"You're in my seat."
"There are plenty of seats on this bus."
"But you're in mine."
"Sit somewhere else."
"I always sit in that seat, I have sat in that seat for the past four years."
"Sorry, son, but you're going to have to break that tradition today."
"I'll stand thank you, and marvel at the engineering behind the weight capacity of that seat."
The man stood up and squeezed passed Adam. In disgust Adam watched the man rub up against every seat he passed by, too wide to even turn sideways down the aisle. The ride took its usual twenty-three minutes, seventeen stops and no passengers boarded, but the large man got off at the eleventh stop. He grumbled something under his breath that Adam couldn't quite make out but thought he said, "disrespectful youth of today." Adam thought, "Whatever, loose some weight and maybe you won't go to hell for being so fat."
The bus pulled up to his stop on Eighth Street and Adam stepped off, waited for the bus to pull away and crossed the street. Shands Hospital was standing proud in front of him, amongst the decrepit neighborhood that surrounded it. With his Jansport on his back he waved his arms and pretended he opened the doors with his mind. He waved to Josephine behind the information desk in the lobby and made his way down the hall to the service elevators. Another day cleaning up after the most incredible accidents, the trauma center always had at least one life flight a day, and it was Adams job to take out the trash.
He found his bathroom and lived up to the promise he made to himself. He walked out of the locker room in his uniform, khaki pants and a stiff white collared shirt. The day started with no exceptional accidents and ended with just one old lady who had fallen off of a ladder and shattered her pelvis. He overheard that she would have to spend her remaining days in a wheel chair. His shift ended with no trophies tonight either, but no matter he didn't get his last one from work.
After he changed, he walked outside and the crispness of the summer evening gave him goose bumps. He turned right out of the main drive and started his walk home. The stars were bright tonight and the moon was high. He gazed up looking for the lady in the moon; she seemed to always be singing, belting a song really, he could never pick the song that he thought best fit her to sing. So, he just left her to sing in silence. He wouldn't hitch tonight; it was too nice of a night. He loved the smell of a summer night, with each breath you brought in a cleanliness that seemed to only make itself present at this point in every evening. He wanted to capture every one he could tonight.
He got to the overpass in and hour and a half, he jumped over the guardrail and squeezed through the fence. Made his way through the Polk's yard and crossed his street. As he placed his foot on the first step up to his porch, he froze. On his porch sat Laney, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her back to his door. It looked like she had been crying black tears.
"I watch you come home every night to an empty house. I need someone to talk to tonight and I knew you would be home, you always come home."
Adam stood there for what felt like an eternity, when he finally broke his paralysis and climbed the steps, Laney stood up. She stepped to the side as he reached into his pockets to fish out his keys. Still without a word he unlocked his top lock and then his bottom lock, each with the respective keys coming from their respective pockets. He looked into her swollen eyes and held open the door so she could walk in, not sure what to expect.
Adam Smith - part II
Rolling out of bed he switched off his alarm. Reaching in his nightstand he pulled out the only thing his father left him after he died. Well, the only thing he took from his house when his dad died. It was heavy in his hand and the wood grip was worn and well used.
The brightness of the sun tinted his retina red even though his eyes were squeezed shut. He tasted metal, all metal has a distinct taste, but steel, steel tastes like blood. He searches out the hammer with his forefinger and when he pulls it back, adjusting his grip, he scratches the roof of his mouth with the sight. Pausing to run his tongue over this new wound, he grins as the taste of blood intensifies. The metal taps his teeth as his thumb squeezes the trigger.
Click.
There is no report; barely a sound drowned out by the sounds of a Thursday morning. The Polk's lawn service across the street, a weed-eaters high whine, not as scary sounding as a chainsaw echoes between the houses. His vision darkens, tunnels to total blackness.
He is not sure what woke him up, the slamming of his neighbors screen door or the smell of vomit. He couldn't have been passed out that long, but long enough for the heat of the morning to congeal the bile to his cheek. He raised his head and wiped his face. As he rose to his knees he saw his neighbor, Lacey? No, Laney, was her name. She smiled a big smile and waved. He was in awe and tried to keep his eyes focused on her face. She was in a bikini, blue and black, and she was far more attractive than her normal attire let on.
The first time he met her she was wearing jeans, a long sleeve hooded t-shirt with a turquoise tank top underneath and flip-flops. It was spring, eighty degrees outside, and she said she was cold. It didn't make sense to him because she said she was from some small town outside of Milwaukee. Wasn't it cold there? That was the extent of their only conversation, he was too nervous to ever talk to her again.
He stood up and grabbed the hose and started to spray off his deck, he hated it when he threw up. He aimed the spray at the big chunks and watched them fly off into the grass. He had had leftover chicken curry last night and now it was fertilizing his grass. What a waste of good food. He wrapped up the hose and made sure that the nozzle wasn't in the dirt as he made the last loop.
His dad's gun had slid under the one chair he had on his deck. The green and white webbing cast a shadow almost camouflaging it. He grabbed it, hiding it against his leg as he opened the French doors leading into his kitchen. Through the purple tiled kitchen, the office with its eternal hum of a computer, and up the stairs he walked, counting the stairs as he climbed. There were thirteen.
He slid the drawer to his nightstand open and placed the unloaded gun in the drawer. "Until tomorrow," he said. His t-shirt wet with sweat stuck to his back as he tried to pull it over his head by the collar. He grabbed it by the bottom and turned it inside out as he took it off. He had to pause and turn it right side out and fold it even though it was dirty. He placed his folded dirty clothes into the hamper and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He turned on the light and then flipped it off again, the sun was bright enough to light the room and the bathroom fluorescent gave his skin a greenish tint that he liked to avoid whenever possible.
He turned on the water and waited, letting it get hot. Standing in front of the mirror he could see the bones showing themselves under his skin. His reflection was always a disappointment; there was always an improvement that he could see that needed to be made. He turned and climbed into the shower. The water ran over his head and down his back, he stood there with his arms crossed just letting the heat start the cleansing process. Along the wall was an army of shampoos, each with its labels facing out. He took down the Selson Blue and flipped the cap, squeezing the bottle he let it fill his hand, he always used too much shampoo since he cut his hair. Making sure the cap was closed all the way he placed the bottle back in its place on the towel bar. Turning it slightly so that the front of the label could be read. Next week he would turn them all around to read the back labels.
The lather in his hair rinsed out and flowed down the middle of his back. He grabbed the bar of Ivory soap ran it over his stomach a couple of times to wash off the left over pubes on the bar. Stroking himself twice he thought about masturbating, but he was already running late and couldn't miss his bus, so he promised himself he would jack off when he got to work. He rinsed off, grabbed his towel and was dry before his feet touched the bath mat. Boxers, jeans, deodorant, shirt, and shoes, he grabbed his backpack and was out the door. He couldn't remember if he brushed his teeth or not, so he would brush them at work with the toothbrush in his locker.
Three blocks he walked at a speedy librarian pace to get to his bus stop. He beat it there by two minutes. Mr. Johnson was waiting for the 2:33 as always fifteen minutes ahead of time. He has known Mr. Johnson for six years now and only knows him by his last name and doesn't even know where he works. He always has his nose in his newspaper when Adam gets to the bus stop and only peers over it briefly with a scowl as Adam sits down next to him. The 2:18 shows up and Adam stands to board. The bus driver nods as he gets on and closes the door. The bus is empty, except for one person. Adam grabs the bar by the front seat and remains standing, staring at the man in the front seat. The bus driver eyes him through the rearview mirror, waiting to see what is going to happen.
The passenger, quite a large man, is spilling over the edge of the seat, looks up at Adam. "May I help you?" the man says.
"You're in my seat."
"There are plenty of seats on this bus."
"But you're in mine."
"Sit somewhere else."
"I always sit in that seat, I have sat in that seat for the past four years."
"Sorry, son, but you're going to have to break that tradition today."
"I'll stand thank you, and marvel at the engineering behind the weight capacity of that seat."
The man stood up and squeezed passed Adam. In disgust Adam watched the man rub up against every seat he passed by, too wide to even turn sideways down the aisle. The ride took its usual twenty-three minutes, seventeen stops and no passengers boarded, but the large man got off at the eleventh stop. He grumbled something under his breath that Adam couldn't quite make out but thought he said, "disrespectful youth of today." Adam thought, "Whatever, loose some weight and maybe you won't go to hell for being so fat."
The bus pulled up to his stop on Eighth Street and Adam stepped off, waited for the bus to pull away and crossed the street. Shands Hospital was standing proud in front of him, amongst the decrepit neighborhood that surrounded it. With his Jansport on his back he waved his arms and pretended he opened the doors with his mind. He waved to Josephine behind the information desk in the lobby and made his way down the hall to the service elevators. Another day cleaning up after the most incredible accidents, the trauma center always had at least one life flight a day, and it was Adams job to take out the trash.
He found his bathroom and lived up to the promise he made to himself. He walked out of the locker room in his uniform, khaki pants and a stiff white collared shirt. The day started with no exceptional accidents and ended with just one old lady who had fallen off of a ladder and shattered her pelvis. He overheard that she would have to spend her remaining days in a wheel chair. His shift ended with no trophies tonight either, but no matter he didn't get his last one from work.
After he changed, he walked outside and the crispness of the summer evening gave him goose bumps. He turned right out of the main drive and started his walk home. The stars were bright tonight and the moon was high. He gazed up looking for the lady in the moon; she seemed to always be singing, belting a song really, he could never pick the song that he thought best fit her to sing. So, he just left her to sing in silence. He wouldn't hitch tonight; it was too nice of a night. He loved the smell of a summer night, with each breath you brought in a cleanliness that seemed to only make itself present at this point in every evening. He wanted to capture every one he could tonight.
He got to the overpass in and hour and a half, he jumped over the guardrail and squeezed through the fence. Made his way through the Polk's yard and crossed his street. As he placed his foot on the first step up to his porch, he froze. On his porch sat Laney, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her back to his door. It looked like she had been crying black tears.
"I watch you come home every night to an empty house. I need someone to talk to tonight and I knew you would be home, you always come home."
Adam stood there for what felt like an eternity, when he finally broke his paralysis and climbed the steps, Laney stood up. She stepped to the side as he reached into his pockets to fish out his keys. Still without a word he unlocked his top lock and then his bottom lock, each with the respective keys coming from their respective pockets. He looked into her swollen eyes and held open the door so she could walk in, not sure what to expect.
Fathers day
Original post date: Monday, June 16, 2008
Fathers day
Well - I went to my step grandfathers on Saturday and spent the day with Audrey and Madeleine with my step-mom Helen. We had a lot of fun and just talked about all kinds of stuff. We also went to see my dad - who is buried in Pembroke, GA, where my grandfather lives. This of course brought lots of thoughts and memories and questions from Audrey. Why is Papason buried in the dirt (what they called my dad - Papa and son - like son. My dads name was Linwood but he was known as Sonny - so Papa-Sonny - Papason)? Where is Papason? Can things get him since he is buried? Very good questions.
When was the last time we were here at PK's house (my grandfathers name - Peter Kyle Parrish)?
When we buried Papason.
When was the last time we were here when Papason was alive?
Um...well that would be a year ago today.
So that was a crazy realization - the last time I saw my dad alive was on Fathers day of 2007.
Which has led to many thoughts of my dad...crazy but I think of him all the time - the weirdest things make me think of him. I was in the attic the other day and the smell of an attic makes me think of my dad...I never thought about it but it always brings him to the forefront of my mind. crazy.
I have a stack of coins from when we visited Jason and Stephanie in London. One pound, two pound, 50 pence...you know coins. My dad traveled a lot with the navy, always going to other MOMAG (Mobile Mine Assembly Group - yes my dad knew how to build bombs and blow things up) bases to check on them...I am not sure what he was checking...procedures stuff I guess, anyways he always came home with money for me and my sister. I always thought how cool he was giving us money from other countries. He almost always gave us coins, hardly ever notes. I didn't care, it was cool money and my dad was giving it to me....
...When you leave a country and go to exchange their currency back to your native currency - they don't take coins, I learned this with my travels to London...
Now I am not trying to cheapen what my dad did, because he brought me other stuff too, so I know he was thinking of me, I know he was always thinking of me. But there was always this thought in my head, "WOW...he just gave me money!" Well he couldn't trade it back into dollars that is why.
Anyways like I said I have a stack of coins on my dresser.
One day I will give them to my daughters, and they will think it is cool!
I hope everyone told their dads that they loved them on Fathers Day...I did.
Fathers day
Well - I went to my step grandfathers on Saturday and spent the day with Audrey and Madeleine with my step-mom Helen. We had a lot of fun and just talked about all kinds of stuff. We also went to see my dad - who is buried in Pembroke, GA, where my grandfather lives. This of course brought lots of thoughts and memories and questions from Audrey. Why is Papason buried in the dirt (what they called my dad - Papa and son - like son. My dads name was Linwood but he was known as Sonny - so Papa-Sonny - Papason)? Where is Papason? Can things get him since he is buried? Very good questions.
When was the last time we were here at PK's house (my grandfathers name - Peter Kyle Parrish)?
When we buried Papason.
When was the last time we were here when Papason was alive?
Um...well that would be a year ago today.
So that was a crazy realization - the last time I saw my dad alive was on Fathers day of 2007.
Which has led to many thoughts of my dad...crazy but I think of him all the time - the weirdest things make me think of him. I was in the attic the other day and the smell of an attic makes me think of my dad...I never thought about it but it always brings him to the forefront of my mind. crazy.
I have a stack of coins from when we visited Jason and Stephanie in London. One pound, two pound, 50 pence...you know coins. My dad traveled a lot with the navy, always going to other MOMAG (Mobile Mine Assembly Group - yes my dad knew how to build bombs and blow things up) bases to check on them...I am not sure what he was checking...procedures stuff I guess, anyways he always came home with money for me and my sister. I always thought how cool he was giving us money from other countries. He almost always gave us coins, hardly ever notes. I didn't care, it was cool money and my dad was giving it to me....
...When you leave a country and go to exchange their currency back to your native currency - they don't take coins, I learned this with my travels to London...
Now I am not trying to cheapen what my dad did, because he brought me other stuff too, so I know he was thinking of me, I know he was always thinking of me. But there was always this thought in my head, "WOW...he just gave me money!" Well he couldn't trade it back into dollars that is why.
Anyways like I said I have a stack of coins on my dresser.
One day I will give them to my daughters, and they will think it is cool!
I hope everyone told their dads that they loved them on Fathers Day...I did.
bookmarks
Original post date: Thursday, May 08, 2008
bookmarks
Have I told you that when I read a book whatever ends up being my bookmark stays with the book. Most of the time it is a receipt, an airline ticket or something like that, but every once in a while something interesting sticks with the book.
I am reading a book right now, "the Last of the Mohicans" by James Fenimore Cooper. So far it is good, it was a little slow start because it was written so long ago the style is very different than what I am used to so my mind had to figure the author out. But now it is good sailing.
I was reading, where I usually do a lot of my reading :), and moved my bookmark that I had with the book (a form from UNF). The page I slid it into was already occupied by a bookmark, one that belonged to the book that I didn't know about.
It was a sticker that has been folded in half, originally about two and a quarter inches square. The sticker has a hound dog on it with its ears pulled up with a caption that says, "I had my hearing tested!"
Now, for me it is a little adventure to come up with stories as to why this sticker was with this book.
This is why a bookmark must stay with its book...it is fun and they belong together.
Those are my thoughts.
bookmarks
Have I told you that when I read a book whatever ends up being my bookmark stays with the book. Most of the time it is a receipt, an airline ticket or something like that, but every once in a while something interesting sticks with the book.
I am reading a book right now, "the Last of the Mohicans" by James Fenimore Cooper. So far it is good, it was a little slow start because it was written so long ago the style is very different than what I am used to so my mind had to figure the author out. But now it is good sailing.
I was reading, where I usually do a lot of my reading :), and moved my bookmark that I had with the book (a form from UNF). The page I slid it into was already occupied by a bookmark, one that belonged to the book that I didn't know about.
It was a sticker that has been folded in half, originally about two and a quarter inches square. The sticker has a hound dog on it with its ears pulled up with a caption that says, "I had my hearing tested!"
Now, for me it is a little adventure to come up with stories as to why this sticker was with this book.
This is why a bookmark must stay with its book...it is fun and they belong together.
Those are my thoughts.
another book
Original post date: Monday, May 05, 2008
another book
I just finished a book, yes it was Stephen King "Duma Key", and here are my favorite quotes from that book.
"To paraphrase Nietzche: if you keep your focus, eventually your focus will keep you. Sometimes without parole."
"Two fat pelicans drew a line across the morning."
"Cry fuck it and crawl in the bucket."
"Do the day and let the day do you."
"When it comes to the past, we all stack the deck, and I believe that's true. Tell too much and you find yourself...mmm...I don't know...telling the past you wished for?"
"God punishes us for what we can't imagine."
"'Anything I can ever do for you,' |Wireman| said. 'Ever. In my life. You call, I come. You ask, I do. It's a blank check. Are we clear on that?'
'Yes,' I said. I was clear on something else, as well: when someone offers you a blank check, you must never, ever cash it. That wasn't a thing I thought out. Sometimes understanding bypasses the brain and proceeds directly from the heart."
"Speak, memory, that I may not forget the taste of roses nor the sound of ashes in the wind; that I may once more taste the green cup of the sea."
"Pain is the biggest power of love."
"We fool ourselves so much we could do it for a living."
"There was a pain, but less that I had prepared for...and in the end, that's usually the way, don't you think?"
"In the end we wear out our worries."
That is it - I liked them - you don't have too.
another book
I just finished a book, yes it was Stephen King "Duma Key", and here are my favorite quotes from that book.
"To paraphrase Nietzche: if you keep your focus, eventually your focus will keep you. Sometimes without parole."
"Two fat pelicans drew a line across the morning."
"Cry fuck it and crawl in the bucket."
"Do the day and let the day do you."
"When it comes to the past, we all stack the deck, and I believe that's true. Tell too much and you find yourself...mmm...I don't know...telling the past you wished for?"
"God punishes us for what we can't imagine."
"'Anything I can ever do for you,' |Wireman| said. 'Ever. In my life. You call, I come. You ask, I do. It's a blank check. Are we clear on that?'
'Yes,' I said. I was clear on something else, as well: when someone offers you a blank check, you must never, ever cash it. That wasn't a thing I thought out. Sometimes understanding bypasses the brain and proceeds directly from the heart."
"Speak, memory, that I may not forget the taste of roses nor the sound of ashes in the wind; that I may once more taste the green cup of the sea."
"Pain is the biggest power of love."
"We fool ourselves so much we could do it for a living."
"There was a pain, but less that I had prepared for...and in the end, that's usually the way, don't you think?"
"In the end we wear out our worries."
That is it - I liked them - you don't have too.
Lets see how this works... (Adam Smith - Part 1)
Original post date: Thursday, May 01, 2008
Lets see how this works...
The moon was peeking through the trees leaving shadows of reaching fingers, outstretched trying to find the fear in all of us. Adam was walking down the side of the road and trying to tell when a car was coming by the light from the headlights bouncing off of the reflectors on his shoes before it was close enough to cast a definitive shadow. The damp evening carried the sound of the engines to him before his light show started. His JanSport backpack was thrown over his shoulder, the fray from the tattered strap tickling his neck, his hand constantly swatting at the imaginary bug. Head hung low and left thumb out he had been passed by six times in the past five minutes, two Ford trucks, one Chevy, and three sedans, none of which he could make out the model, but all Dodges, he had been counting. He heard the Jake Brake before the running lights crested the hill and new he would finally get a ride.
"Truckers always give rides" he said, laughing because he was talking out loud to himself. What was that saying - talking to yourself is the first sign of senility? He turned around to walk backwards, tilted up his hat so his face could be seen, and raised up his right arm thumb held high.
"They never stop close do they?" he said, laughing again. He had to jog to get to the rumbling engine. The yellows and purples and blues from the running lights illuminated the step as he grabbed the chrome handle and opened the door.
"Where you headed this late hour, young man?"
"Home I guess." He hated being called young, it would help later in life but when you are twenty five and look sixteen it gets old.
"And where would home be?"
"Just on the Westside of town, if you're getting on I-10 you pass right by my street."
"Looks like I am dropping you off at your street. My name is Walter Higginbotham, but you can call me Walt."
"I'm Adam Smith, it's nice to meet you Walt."
"Climb on in, make yourself comfy, I'll get you home in a jiffy."
The cab reeked of fast food, and Adam could see the remnants of probably the past weeks worth of meals. Breakfast McDonald's wrappers, lunch from Chick-fil-a, and dinners from Arby's all crumbled up at his feet. He had seen worse but, he still kept his bag on his lap instead of setting it on the floor.
"Nice hat. I love Calvin and Hobbes; it's a damn shame that man stopped writing that comic. Calvin reminded me of my son when he was a kid. Man they grow up so fast, I know it's a cliché but it's true what can I say."
He almost forgot about it, did he take the hat? Why did he feel the need to take the hat? He took it off and looked at it, red brim, and black cap with a little blonde headed boy in black shorts and a red and black striped shirt. His expression was one of childish mischief.
"Yeah this is one of my favorites; my best friend gave it to me a long time ago."
He put it back on for the second time as if it had been the thousandth. He grabbed the seat belt and strapped himself into a vehicle with a man that only knew his name and his face. Staring out the window he saw what he has seen every night for the past four years, he was either walking or had hitched a ride, but the scenery has never changed. On his left, the Peninsular bug man flashing and turning and spraying the scared bug. On his right was the W.W. Gay mechanical contractors, "Who doesn't giggle at that sign," he thought, "Who's last name is Gay? Why wouldn't you change it?" Neighborhood lights, random streets, every night he sees the same thing and the conversations are always the same. Weather, it's always weather, he never seems to be in the cars long enough to break through to more interesting conversation. So he sits there and listens and nods and says how it is hot or cold or too wet or too dry. Every night it is the same.
Except this night, this guy, Walt, asked him about his hat. Why did he have this hat on? He couldn't remember.
"This is me." Adam said.
Walt pulled a knob, his flashers went on and he started to slow down. Adam could feel and hear the tires go over the ridges on the side of the road, put there to wake up the drivers that were starting to drift. As he hopped out he told himself he was going to look up how they cut those things into the asphalt.
"G'night Walt, it was nice meeting you, thanks for the ride."
"Not a problem son, get home safe, and be careful."
Adam turned and hopped the metal railing stepping into the tall grass. His pants damp from the knees down. He patted his backpack and tossed it back over his shoulder. He stepped on the stones in the ditch so his shoes didn't get wet, walked up to a fence and squeezed through where he cut out one link. Mr. Polk had is television on too loud again, he could hear it as he passed by the window. Was that Jimmy or Conan, all he could hear was studio laughter? He spun the clothes line as he walked past it, Mrs. Polk had left her unmentionables out to dry over night again. He crossed the street and walked up his front steps. His door had two locks with two different keys. Adam reached in his right pocket and pulled out the key for the top lock. Slid it in and saw in his mind the mechanism working, matching up with the bumps on his key allowing the lock to turn. He put that key back in his right pocket and pulled out the key for the lower lock from his left. He always kept the keys in their respective pockets, it was easier to remember which went to which lock.
He turned the handle, thought about how he needed to lubricate the door, like he has for the past four years, turned around and locked it and walked upstairs. He had to duck once he got to the top step; he only hit his head once on the ceiling but, once was enough. He wasn't tall but apparently whoever designed the house was really short. He turned and walked up the second flight of stairs that led to the converted attic. Stepping up the stairs the purple carpet turned into hardwood floors as he reached the top.
Unzipping his bag he pulled out the Ziploc, a two gallon bag with a red and white zipper on it. He took of the hat and flung it into the corner. "Why did I take the hat?" He had never taken any other trophy, but tonight he had taken that stupid hat. There was a low hum as the freezer compressor kicked on, he turned and walked toward it. He looked at the Ziploc; the blood had already started to congeal. He opened the freezer and added to his collection, five rights, this would be the third left hand and the first with a wedding band, he has been counting.
Lets see how this works...
The moon was peeking through the trees leaving shadows of reaching fingers, outstretched trying to find the fear in all of us. Adam was walking down the side of the road and trying to tell when a car was coming by the light from the headlights bouncing off of the reflectors on his shoes before it was close enough to cast a definitive shadow. The damp evening carried the sound of the engines to him before his light show started. His JanSport backpack was thrown over his shoulder, the fray from the tattered strap tickling his neck, his hand constantly swatting at the imaginary bug. Head hung low and left thumb out he had been passed by six times in the past five minutes, two Ford trucks, one Chevy, and three sedans, none of which he could make out the model, but all Dodges, he had been counting. He heard the Jake Brake before the running lights crested the hill and new he would finally get a ride.
"Truckers always give rides" he said, laughing because he was talking out loud to himself. What was that saying - talking to yourself is the first sign of senility? He turned around to walk backwards, tilted up his hat so his face could be seen, and raised up his right arm thumb held high.
"They never stop close do they?" he said, laughing again. He had to jog to get to the rumbling engine. The yellows and purples and blues from the running lights illuminated the step as he grabbed the chrome handle and opened the door.
"Where you headed this late hour, young man?"
"Home I guess." He hated being called young, it would help later in life but when you are twenty five and look sixteen it gets old.
"And where would home be?"
"Just on the Westside of town, if you're getting on I-10 you pass right by my street."
"Looks like I am dropping you off at your street. My name is Walter Higginbotham, but you can call me Walt."
"I'm Adam Smith, it's nice to meet you Walt."
"Climb on in, make yourself comfy, I'll get you home in a jiffy."
The cab reeked of fast food, and Adam could see the remnants of probably the past weeks worth of meals. Breakfast McDonald's wrappers, lunch from Chick-fil-a, and dinners from Arby's all crumbled up at his feet. He had seen worse but, he still kept his bag on his lap instead of setting it on the floor.
"Nice hat. I love Calvin and Hobbes; it's a damn shame that man stopped writing that comic. Calvin reminded me of my son when he was a kid. Man they grow up so fast, I know it's a cliché but it's true what can I say."
He almost forgot about it, did he take the hat? Why did he feel the need to take the hat? He took it off and looked at it, red brim, and black cap with a little blonde headed boy in black shorts and a red and black striped shirt. His expression was one of childish mischief.
"Yeah this is one of my favorites; my best friend gave it to me a long time ago."
He put it back on for the second time as if it had been the thousandth. He grabbed the seat belt and strapped himself into a vehicle with a man that only knew his name and his face. Staring out the window he saw what he has seen every night for the past four years, he was either walking or had hitched a ride, but the scenery has never changed. On his left, the Peninsular bug man flashing and turning and spraying the scared bug. On his right was the W.W. Gay mechanical contractors, "Who doesn't giggle at that sign," he thought, "Who's last name is Gay? Why wouldn't you change it?" Neighborhood lights, random streets, every night he sees the same thing and the conversations are always the same. Weather, it's always weather, he never seems to be in the cars long enough to break through to more interesting conversation. So he sits there and listens and nods and says how it is hot or cold or too wet or too dry. Every night it is the same.
Except this night, this guy, Walt, asked him about his hat. Why did he have this hat on? He couldn't remember.
"This is me." Adam said.
Walt pulled a knob, his flashers went on and he started to slow down. Adam could feel and hear the tires go over the ridges on the side of the road, put there to wake up the drivers that were starting to drift. As he hopped out he told himself he was going to look up how they cut those things into the asphalt.
"G'night Walt, it was nice meeting you, thanks for the ride."
"Not a problem son, get home safe, and be careful."
Adam turned and hopped the metal railing stepping into the tall grass. His pants damp from the knees down. He patted his backpack and tossed it back over his shoulder. He stepped on the stones in the ditch so his shoes didn't get wet, walked up to a fence and squeezed through where he cut out one link. Mr. Polk had is television on too loud again, he could hear it as he passed by the window. Was that Jimmy or Conan, all he could hear was studio laughter? He spun the clothes line as he walked past it, Mrs. Polk had left her unmentionables out to dry over night again. He crossed the street and walked up his front steps. His door had two locks with two different keys. Adam reached in his right pocket and pulled out the key for the top lock. Slid it in and saw in his mind the mechanism working, matching up with the bumps on his key allowing the lock to turn. He put that key back in his right pocket and pulled out the key for the lower lock from his left. He always kept the keys in their respective pockets, it was easier to remember which went to which lock.
He turned the handle, thought about how he needed to lubricate the door, like he has for the past four years, turned around and locked it and walked upstairs. He had to duck once he got to the top step; he only hit his head once on the ceiling but, once was enough. He wasn't tall but apparently whoever designed the house was really short. He turned and walked up the second flight of stairs that led to the converted attic. Stepping up the stairs the purple carpet turned into hardwood floors as he reached the top.
Unzipping his bag he pulled out the Ziploc, a two gallon bag with a red and white zipper on it. He took of the hat and flung it into the corner. "Why did I take the hat?" He had never taken any other trophy, but tonight he had taken that stupid hat. There was a low hum as the freezer compressor kicked on, he turned and walked toward it. He looked at the Ziploc; the blood had already started to congeal. He opened the freezer and added to his collection, five rights, this would be the third left hand and the first with a wedding band, he has been counting.
Return to Work
Original post date: Monday, March 24, 2008
Return to Work
So I get back to work on Monday after we go to London and there is a nice sign on my door that says, "Welcome Back, We Missed You, Your Office Buddies". I thought, "isn’t that nice". I open my door and there is some paper on the floor and I think, "huh, that is weird." I turn on my light and I say to Tim whom I am on the phone with, "Um, I need to go there is toilet paper all over my office."
I look around and there are pictures of the Queen, Big Ben, The Queen with an umbrella, The Queen sitting for a portrait, A royal guard all taped around my office. There was some confetti that was supposed to fall on my head but their contraption failed. There was a sign that said, "This is what happens when you go on vacation without us! Buahahahahaha!" Lets see, they turned over my chair and shrink wrapped it. They shrink wrapped my bookcase and file cabinet. They shrink wrapped the things on my desk. They popped all the keys off of my keyboard and rearranged them, they taped down the button on my receiver on my phone. They taped over the mouthpiece on my phone. They taped over the optic sensor on my mouse, that caused it to kinda work...frustrating. They shrink wrapped the two office chairs in my office. It was quite a production.
They told me it took them about an hour and a half to get it all done. The cleaning guy helped as well as our neighbor who works at the moving company. It was truly a family affair. It was great. And then on Wednesday I told them I was leaving to go back to school to be a dentist...I felt a little bad leaving that camaraderie, but oh well. Not bad enough though.
****I had pictures posted with this but I don't know how to do that on here yet. So you are just going to have to imagine a lot of toilet paper and a really crazy office.****
Return to Work
So I get back to work on Monday after we go to London and there is a nice sign on my door that says, "Welcome Back, We Missed You, Your Office Buddies". I thought, "isn’t that nice". I open my door and there is some paper on the floor and I think, "huh, that is weird." I turn on my light and I say to Tim whom I am on the phone with, "Um, I need to go there is toilet paper all over my office."
I look around and there are pictures of the Queen, Big Ben, The Queen with an umbrella, The Queen sitting for a portrait, A royal guard all taped around my office. There was some confetti that was supposed to fall on my head but their contraption failed. There was a sign that said, "This is what happens when you go on vacation without us! Buahahahahaha!" Lets see, they turned over my chair and shrink wrapped it. They shrink wrapped my bookcase and file cabinet. They shrink wrapped the things on my desk. They popped all the keys off of my keyboard and rearranged them, they taped down the button on my receiver on my phone. They taped over the mouthpiece on my phone. They taped over the optic sensor on my mouse, that caused it to kinda work...frustrating. They shrink wrapped the two office chairs in my office. It was quite a production.
They told me it took them about an hour and a half to get it all done. The cleaning guy helped as well as our neighbor who works at the moving company. It was truly a family affair. It was great. And then on Wednesday I told them I was leaving to go back to school to be a dentist...I felt a little bad leaving that camaraderie, but oh well. Not bad enough though.
****I had pictures posted with this but I don't know how to do that on here yet. So you are just going to have to imagine a lot of toilet paper and a really crazy office.****
We stood on a murder site...
Original post date: Saturday, March 22, 2008
We stood on a murder site...
Wednesday - Day Five
Today started out a little slow, we were starting to get tired. But off we go after our hot-cross buns to see Kensington Park, this is the park that J. M. Barrie got the inspiration for Peter Pan. We walked around the park and saw the statue of Peter Pan. The park was incredible, gorgeous layout. We wound our way to a fountain dedicated to Princess Diana. This was one of the coolest fountains I have ever seen. It was more like a lazy river than a traditional spray in the air fountain. There was a beginning point of the water and it fed into a pool and from that upper pool it flowed down either direction over a granite path. This path was interspersed with carved granite sections that gave the flow of water some resistance causing miniature rapids. All of this fed into a larger pool at the bottom. The water was fed from an underground aquifer/spring so it was constantly replenished. It was very soothing and beautiful. Jason had to leave us at this point to go to work for a short bit. So Heather, Steph and I went on to Kensington Palace and looked around there. Even the shrubbery was magnificent. We didn’t go inside we just walked around the gardens and the main entrance, all of that was grand enough. We hopped on a bus and made our way to Harrod’s.
Harrod’s is a department store apparently world famous, I had never heard of it, but I am not much of a shopper. The store was truly unbelievable, separate areas for all kinds of stuff, chocolates, perfumes, food, I know it just sounds like any other mall the way I am describing it but trust me it was not just another mall, it was the department store of all department stores. But we didn’t last long, we were very hungry so we grabbed some wraps to go and made our way to Trafalgar Square.
This is the famous square with all of the pigeons, well there are very few pigeons now because if you are caught feeding them you get fined £500, and with the exchange rate the way it is right now that is a lot of money. We ate our very late lunch, by now it was almost 430p, and headed to the National Portrait Gallery.
At the NPG they had a collection of Vanity Fair photos dating back to 1913. The magazine actually had a pause in its publication for about 50 years but kept its influence even without being published. When they decided to start to publish it again they continued on the same track of fabulous photograpy, if you have ever picked up the magazine you know the photography I am speaking of. It was an amazing display of artistry and the portraits of who’s who’s in our society over the past century. This was the only museum we actually had time to go see, oh well we will just have to go back to London.
After the gallery Jason met back up with us and we headed to our Jack the Ripper tour. This was pretty cool because we actually got to stand where the murders took place, well most of them. And when we couldn’t stand there we could see the building if it hadn’t been knocked down. If I remember correctly only one out of the five had been knocked down and rebuilt. The others had changed a bit but the original under structure was still there. It was just neat seeing the buildings basically unchanged since these horrific murders took place. Our guide was a Copper and worked in Scotland Yard so he had some good insider information. It was very fun. After hours and hours of walking we finally made it back to Jason and Stephanie’s local pub and had some fish and chips. It was a grand day and to finish it off with some good food and fantastic friends was excellent.
We headed home the next day, leaving Jason and Stephanies flat at 630a to get to our train and plane on time. It was quite travel day, and we got home safe and went straight to bed.
We stood on a murder site...
Wednesday - Day Five
Today started out a little slow, we were starting to get tired. But off we go after our hot-cross buns to see Kensington Park, this is the park that J. M. Barrie got the inspiration for Peter Pan. We walked around the park and saw the statue of Peter Pan. The park was incredible, gorgeous layout. We wound our way to a fountain dedicated to Princess Diana. This was one of the coolest fountains I have ever seen. It was more like a lazy river than a traditional spray in the air fountain. There was a beginning point of the water and it fed into a pool and from that upper pool it flowed down either direction over a granite path. This path was interspersed with carved granite sections that gave the flow of water some resistance causing miniature rapids. All of this fed into a larger pool at the bottom. The water was fed from an underground aquifer/spring so it was constantly replenished. It was very soothing and beautiful. Jason had to leave us at this point to go to work for a short bit. So Heather, Steph and I went on to Kensington Palace and looked around there. Even the shrubbery was magnificent. We didn’t go inside we just walked around the gardens and the main entrance, all of that was grand enough. We hopped on a bus and made our way to Harrod’s.
Harrod’s is a department store apparently world famous, I had never heard of it, but I am not much of a shopper. The store was truly unbelievable, separate areas for all kinds of stuff, chocolates, perfumes, food, I know it just sounds like any other mall the way I am describing it but trust me it was not just another mall, it was the department store of all department stores. But we didn’t last long, we were very hungry so we grabbed some wraps to go and made our way to Trafalgar Square.
This is the famous square with all of the pigeons, well there are very few pigeons now because if you are caught feeding them you get fined £500, and with the exchange rate the way it is right now that is a lot of money. We ate our very late lunch, by now it was almost 430p, and headed to the National Portrait Gallery.
At the NPG they had a collection of Vanity Fair photos dating back to 1913. The magazine actually had a pause in its publication for about 50 years but kept its influence even without being published. When they decided to start to publish it again they continued on the same track of fabulous photograpy, if you have ever picked up the magazine you know the photography I am speaking of. It was an amazing display of artistry and the portraits of who’s who’s in our society over the past century. This was the only museum we actually had time to go see, oh well we will just have to go back to London.
After the gallery Jason met back up with us and we headed to our Jack the Ripper tour. This was pretty cool because we actually got to stand where the murders took place, well most of them. And when we couldn’t stand there we could see the building if it hadn’t been knocked down. If I remember correctly only one out of the five had been knocked down and rebuilt. The others had changed a bit but the original under structure was still there. It was just neat seeing the buildings basically unchanged since these horrific murders took place. Our guide was a Copper and worked in Scotland Yard so he had some good insider information. It was very fun. After hours and hours of walking we finally made it back to Jason and Stephanie’s local pub and had some fish and chips. It was a grand day and to finish it off with some good food and fantastic friends was excellent.
We headed home the next day, leaving Jason and Stephanies flat at 630a to get to our train and plane on time. It was quite travel day, and we got home safe and went straight to bed.
Does it rise out of the ground?
Original post date: Friday, March 21, 2008
Does it rise out of the ground?
Tuesday - Day four
Today we started the day with Steph making us breakfast, delicious eggs and potatoes, it was very yummy. We got dressed and took the walk that Jason usually takes when he goes to work. This was through a very pretty park and then to the tube. The day started out without much promise for good weather. We were already getting sprinkled on and we had just left their flat. Oh well we had umbrellas. We exited the tube into the heart of London.
Jason and I went to the discount ticket counter, this was cool because they sell unsold tickets the day of the show at half price, so we got great seats to "Spam-a-lot" for cheap. We then walked into the National Portrait Gallery to make reservations for high tea, come to find out you don’t need reservations.
We took the foot bridge across the Thames to a store that Stephanie wanted to go to, and while on the bridge it started raining on us, the wind picked up and our hearts started to sink because if this was the sign of the day we were doomed. Our day was a walking day and in the rain that would be bad. As we were crossing the Thames you could hear a fun sound, it was a trumpet, accordion and a jimbay. It was quite fun. The musicians here have to audition to be able to play in the streets or the tube, so they are all pretty good which is quite refreshing. They are called "Bruckets" or crap it is some "B" word, I asked Jason like ten times and I still can’t remember. We left the store and went to grab a bite to eat at Wagamama, it is a noodle shop. It was quite good - Jason said it was his Moe’s over here in London, this is quite a comparison. After our lunch we walked in the rain and saw quite a few street performers, and the only convincing one was a guy playing a statue, he was doing such a great job the pigeons wouldn’t stop landing on him. It was pretty comical because when he would move he would shoo them away but then they would fly right back onto his shoulders. We passed some really bad performers that it was really amazing they were actually allowed to perform on the street, a gecko on a bouncing bike, a gold "cowboy" yielding a lasso who couldn’t even loop it over his head, they were all really pitiful. So we approached the Eye of London.
Should we all do it or just Heather and I, with little convincing we all went on the Eye, a very large Ferris wheel which lets you see London from a birds eye view. It was beautiful, we could see Parliament, Big Ben, and the Palace and the numerous parks. All highlighted with the suns peaking rays as the clouds started to clear. From the Eye we went and walked past Parliament and Big Ben to get closer looks. We went to Westminster Abby, we didn’t go in because it was expensive to see a bunch of dead people, well their graves anyways. From there we headed to the palace, but due to sore feet we didn’t make it and headed back to the portrait gallery for high tea.
High tea is served between three and five and it is what is sounds like, an afternoon tea with cookies and cakes. This is a really common thing and it is quite fun, we sat on the top floor of the gallery in a restaurant and looked out the windows drinking tea and watching multiple union jacks flutter in the strong wind. The cakes and cookies were delicious, our favorite, warm banana bread with crème fraishe and honey. After high tea we walked around the shops that were in the movie "My Fair Lady". That was neat to see all of the shops, then we just shopped going into fun stores that they don’t have over in the states. Heather and Stephanie continued to shop as Jason and I went on to grab a bite and see "Spam-a-lot".
The show was great and quite funny, if you like Monty Python you would love it, if you haven’t ever seen Monty Python watch some "Flying Circus" before you go and see it to make sure you would like the humor. I thought it was great. But the real show started after exiting the show. Jason and I were ushered out of a side exit so we walked around to the front of the building and I walked passed this weird structure in the middle of the exiting crowd directly in front of the theatre. I looked at Jason and asked what it was, he didn’t know, so I circled it and was still confused and ran to catch up with him across the street at the bus station. Still intrigued I watched from across the street. This structure was about nine or ten feet in height, brushed steel with three sides and it looked like it was able to rise from below ground. It was round in shape with concave sides that had what looked like little sinks at just below waist height. Honestly it looked like a three sided urinal in the middle of the sidewalk, but really why would that be? I watched from a distance as two men walked up to the concave sides and appeared to urinate while large crowds walked around them. There were a few bike taxis there and one of them used this contraption and road away. I ran across the street and asked a fellow driver of his, "What is that?" He looked passed the structure and I pointed, "No, that thing, is that a urinal?" He looked at me with a dumbfounded look and said yes. Like it was a normal thing to have a urinal right out in public in front of a theatre. I am still amazed at it. If you want to see it Jason has some pictures on his blog titled Warren and Heathers Visit...check it out.
Jason and I hopped on the bus still flabbergasted and met the girls on the south bank of the river Thames and had a drink and laughed and talked and then left to head home. Riding the tube I am starting to get the hang of their mass transit system, having never lived in a city with anything even close to mass transit, I find it quite fascinating. So, walk, ride, walk, we were home at their flat and got ready for bed to start another day of fun.
Does it rise out of the ground?
Tuesday - Day four
Today we started the day with Steph making us breakfast, delicious eggs and potatoes, it was very yummy. We got dressed and took the walk that Jason usually takes when he goes to work. This was through a very pretty park and then to the tube. The day started out without much promise for good weather. We were already getting sprinkled on and we had just left their flat. Oh well we had umbrellas. We exited the tube into the heart of London.
Jason and I went to the discount ticket counter, this was cool because they sell unsold tickets the day of the show at half price, so we got great seats to "Spam-a-lot" for cheap. We then walked into the National Portrait Gallery to make reservations for high tea, come to find out you don’t need reservations.
We took the foot bridge across the Thames to a store that Stephanie wanted to go to, and while on the bridge it started raining on us, the wind picked up and our hearts started to sink because if this was the sign of the day we were doomed. Our day was a walking day and in the rain that would be bad. As we were crossing the Thames you could hear a fun sound, it was a trumpet, accordion and a jimbay. It was quite fun. The musicians here have to audition to be able to play in the streets or the tube, so they are all pretty good which is quite refreshing. They are called "Bruckets" or crap it is some "B" word, I asked Jason like ten times and I still can’t remember. We left the store and went to grab a bite to eat at Wagamama, it is a noodle shop. It was quite good - Jason said it was his Moe’s over here in London, this is quite a comparison. After our lunch we walked in the rain and saw quite a few street performers, and the only convincing one was a guy playing a statue, he was doing such a great job the pigeons wouldn’t stop landing on him. It was pretty comical because when he would move he would shoo them away but then they would fly right back onto his shoulders. We passed some really bad performers that it was really amazing they were actually allowed to perform on the street, a gecko on a bouncing bike, a gold "cowboy" yielding a lasso who couldn’t even loop it over his head, they were all really pitiful. So we approached the Eye of London.
Should we all do it or just Heather and I, with little convincing we all went on the Eye, a very large Ferris wheel which lets you see London from a birds eye view. It was beautiful, we could see Parliament, Big Ben, and the Palace and the numerous parks. All highlighted with the suns peaking rays as the clouds started to clear. From the Eye we went and walked past Parliament and Big Ben to get closer looks. We went to Westminster Abby, we didn’t go in because it was expensive to see a bunch of dead people, well their graves anyways. From there we headed to the palace, but due to sore feet we didn’t make it and headed back to the portrait gallery for high tea.
High tea is served between three and five and it is what is sounds like, an afternoon tea with cookies and cakes. This is a really common thing and it is quite fun, we sat on the top floor of the gallery in a restaurant and looked out the windows drinking tea and watching multiple union jacks flutter in the strong wind. The cakes and cookies were delicious, our favorite, warm banana bread with crème fraishe and honey. After high tea we walked around the shops that were in the movie "My Fair Lady". That was neat to see all of the shops, then we just shopped going into fun stores that they don’t have over in the states. Heather and Stephanie continued to shop as Jason and I went on to grab a bite and see "Spam-a-lot".
The show was great and quite funny, if you like Monty Python you would love it, if you haven’t ever seen Monty Python watch some "Flying Circus" before you go and see it to make sure you would like the humor. I thought it was great. But the real show started after exiting the show. Jason and I were ushered out of a side exit so we walked around to the front of the building and I walked passed this weird structure in the middle of the exiting crowd directly in front of the theatre. I looked at Jason and asked what it was, he didn’t know, so I circled it and was still confused and ran to catch up with him across the street at the bus station. Still intrigued I watched from across the street. This structure was about nine or ten feet in height, brushed steel with three sides and it looked like it was able to rise from below ground. It was round in shape with concave sides that had what looked like little sinks at just below waist height. Honestly it looked like a three sided urinal in the middle of the sidewalk, but really why would that be? I watched from a distance as two men walked up to the concave sides and appeared to urinate while large crowds walked around them. There were a few bike taxis there and one of them used this contraption and road away. I ran across the street and asked a fellow driver of his, "What is that?" He looked passed the structure and I pointed, "No, that thing, is that a urinal?" He looked at me with a dumbfounded look and said yes. Like it was a normal thing to have a urinal right out in public in front of a theatre. I am still amazed at it. If you want to see it Jason has some pictures on his blog titled Warren and Heathers Visit...check it out.
Jason and I hopped on the bus still flabbergasted and met the girls on the south bank of the river Thames and had a drink and laughed and talked and then left to head home. Riding the tube I am starting to get the hang of their mass transit system, having never lived in a city with anything even close to mass transit, I find it quite fascinating. So, walk, ride, walk, we were home at their flat and got ready for bed to start another day of fun.
To some it is music...
Original post date: Friday, March 21, 2008
To some it is music...
Monday - Day three
Heather and I decided that we were not going to ride into the city with Steph as she went to work. We knew we needed to sleep, so….we didn’t get out of bed until 130p. Yeah we needed to sleep. So it was a really lazy day. Jason was at work and so was Steph so we just hung out at the house until it was time to leave to go to dinner. We got ready and headed out of the house at 500p. We were supposed to meet up with Steph at work to see her office but we were running late so we all converged at the tube and went to a pub.
The pub was one that was recommended by Jamie Cullum on his website, they have live jazz there so we went and had dinner and listened to jazz. The dinner was awesome, lamb with mint yoghurt and couscous, and fish cakes with poached eggs and hollandaise sauce. The desserts were good as well, butterscotch sticky pudding with caramel sauce, brownie with hazelnut ice cream, and figs with crème fraishe. All very yummy. After dinner we headed up the hidden staircase and sat down to enjoy some jazz. It was quite a production, there was a violin, cello, bass, bass saxophone, clarinet, flute, trumpet, keyboard and drums. They all had music stands so it felt like you were at a production of some sort. They played a few songs and then brought up a Norwegian vocalist who sang a few songs in her native tongue and a few in English. Let’s just say that I could appreciate that kind of jazz but it just wasn’t the kind you could tap your foot to. We enjoyed it but left after the first set, it was late and we were tired. Walk, tube, walk and we were home. We sat up and chit-chatted and watched music videos and went to bed. A laid back but very fun day.
To some it is music...
Monday - Day three
Heather and I decided that we were not going to ride into the city with Steph as she went to work. We knew we needed to sleep, so….we didn’t get out of bed until 130p. Yeah we needed to sleep. So it was a really lazy day. Jason was at work and so was Steph so we just hung out at the house until it was time to leave to go to dinner. We got ready and headed out of the house at 500p. We were supposed to meet up with Steph at work to see her office but we were running late so we all converged at the tube and went to a pub.
The pub was one that was recommended by Jamie Cullum on his website, they have live jazz there so we went and had dinner and listened to jazz. The dinner was awesome, lamb with mint yoghurt and couscous, and fish cakes with poached eggs and hollandaise sauce. The desserts were good as well, butterscotch sticky pudding with caramel sauce, brownie with hazelnut ice cream, and figs with crème fraishe. All very yummy. After dinner we headed up the hidden staircase and sat down to enjoy some jazz. It was quite a production, there was a violin, cello, bass, bass saxophone, clarinet, flute, trumpet, keyboard and drums. They all had music stands so it felt like you were at a production of some sort. They played a few songs and then brought up a Norwegian vocalist who sang a few songs in her native tongue and a few in English. Let’s just say that I could appreciate that kind of jazz but it just wasn’t the kind you could tap your foot to. We enjoyed it but left after the first set, it was late and we were tired. Walk, tube, walk and we were home. We sat up and chit-chatted and watched music videos and went to bed. A laid back but very fun day.
Intermission
Original post date: Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Intermission
I am sure that you are waiting with bated breath (I have always wondered what that is and if I ever spell it right?) for the next day of our London trip. I will deliver soon but I need to tell you about my night last night.
The girls came home from Jacksonville and got here about ten, I swooped in and got Madeleine and right to bed she went. After changing her diaper I stood her up and pulled up her jami pants and she walked over to the bed, climbed in and turned on her side as I pulled up the covers. Her standard I am going to sleep pose. I love it. Audrey was put in bed by Heather and both, Madeleine and Audrey, stayed in bed, mind you it was ten at night. Off to bed I went soon.
430a - there is a cry for daddy. It doesn’t really matter if it is a good cry or a bad cry it is still an incredible feeling to be called for, it is very hard to explain the emotion that comes across when one of your kids wants you so desperately. I jump out of bed and I see Madeleine walking passed the bedroom and towards the front door. When she is really upset she puts her hand in her mouth, so she was waddling through the kitchen crying quite heavily. I gathered her up in my arms and held her tight and carried her back to her room. We stood for a few seconds but I was tired so I sat leaning against the side of the bed. She has a little twin bed that used to belong to Heathers great-aunt and uncle, that should tell you a little about the style of the bed - dark wood, turned bed posts, you know the style.
As I sat down she quickly turned around with her back to my stomach and her legs in between mine. The nightlight in her room put a heavenly glow on her face, she was my beautiful daughter in my arms. I rubbed her belly and stroked her face, all the while her eyes were staring in the direction of the nightlight. We sat together for about fifteen minutes and I whispered to her, "Are you ready to get back in bed?" She nodded her head, stood up and walked over and climbed back in bed. Once again turning on her side as I pulled up the covers, tucking her arms in front of her and closing her eyes. I kissed her on the cheek and told her I would see her in the morning. I walked back through the dark house and crawled back into bed and thought of how much I loved her.
It is moments like those that cause you as a parent to never want to let go of your children. I never understood my mom until I had my own kids.
I hope you enjoyed the intermission to our trip to London, the show will commence again shortly.
Intermission
I am sure that you are waiting with bated breath (I have always wondered what that is and if I ever spell it right?) for the next day of our London trip. I will deliver soon but I need to tell you about my night last night.
The girls came home from Jacksonville and got here about ten, I swooped in and got Madeleine and right to bed she went. After changing her diaper I stood her up and pulled up her jami pants and she walked over to the bed, climbed in and turned on her side as I pulled up the covers. Her standard I am going to sleep pose. I love it. Audrey was put in bed by Heather and both, Madeleine and Audrey, stayed in bed, mind you it was ten at night. Off to bed I went soon.
430a - there is a cry for daddy. It doesn’t really matter if it is a good cry or a bad cry it is still an incredible feeling to be called for, it is very hard to explain the emotion that comes across when one of your kids wants you so desperately. I jump out of bed and I see Madeleine walking passed the bedroom and towards the front door. When she is really upset she puts her hand in her mouth, so she was waddling through the kitchen crying quite heavily. I gathered her up in my arms and held her tight and carried her back to her room. We stood for a few seconds but I was tired so I sat leaning against the side of the bed. She has a little twin bed that used to belong to Heathers great-aunt and uncle, that should tell you a little about the style of the bed - dark wood, turned bed posts, you know the style.
As I sat down she quickly turned around with her back to my stomach and her legs in between mine. The nightlight in her room put a heavenly glow on her face, she was my beautiful daughter in my arms. I rubbed her belly and stroked her face, all the while her eyes were staring in the direction of the nightlight. We sat together for about fifteen minutes and I whispered to her, "Are you ready to get back in bed?" She nodded her head, stood up and walked over and climbed back in bed. Once again turning on her side as I pulled up the covers, tucking her arms in front of her and closing her eyes. I kissed her on the cheek and told her I would see her in the morning. I walked back through the dark house and crawled back into bed and thought of how much I loved her.
It is moments like those that cause you as a parent to never want to let go of your children. I never understood my mom until I had my own kids.
I hope you enjoyed the intermission to our trip to London, the show will commence again shortly.
The Crypt
Original post date: Sunday, March 16, 2008
The Crypt
Sunday - Day two
Our day was supposed to start early and well, we got up with good intentions, but didn’t leave the house until we were supposed to be there to pick up our rental car. Walk, tube, walk. We found Hertz and got the Ford focus. Let the fun begin. First, I wanted to drive, very glad that we didn’t want to spend the money to add me as a driver, it would have taken a while to get used to it. A few things about driving in the U.K. the lane markings are suggestive, all of the signs are confusing and they try to trick you, and the stop lights are way cool. The stop lights give you warning as to when they are going to turn green, very cool. So this is the cycle - Green means go, yellow means slow down it is about to be red, red means stop. Then red means stop, red and yellow means get ready, and green means go. If you are at a pedestrian crossing and the light is red and then starts blinking yellow you can go if there is no pedestrian but you must wait if there is one, you don’t want to hit any Londoners. Now, try navigating around London with a map that is not detailed at all, no side streets just main roads. Very difficult. Now imagine the main road you do have on the map really are about ten different roads that are supposed to be one road, with all kinds of turns and twists. Now imagine trying to navigate these roads without road signs and on roads with names like A202, M20, A2, A20, M25, B2163 (honestly, those were names, it was not easy). Yes, the road signs of these roads are few and far between. Needless to say it took us many loops around traffic circles, "Look kids Big Ben, Parliament. Look kids Big Ben, Parliament." Yeah it was that bad. But we had fun and found a pretty park with a public restroom to use the potty in, after we stopped at a gas station to get a proper map! We were headed to Leeds castle, did we get there? Read on to find out.
We got to Leeds castle and were hungry so we went up the street and ate at a pub. We had the standard Sunday fair, a Sunday roast, roast beef and mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots…hmmmm. And a few pints. We ate well and decided to get up and go to the castle. All in jest we said if it is closed we are going to be so mad. Well we drove to the entrance, it was 305p, they just put up the sign closed at 3p. We laughed and were upset at the same time. But from there we said lets just drive up to Canterbury and see that church and castle. More navigation through cities and towns, but we had a proper map and were well on our way. We made it to Canterbury with no problems and found the castle, which was a ruin of a castle instead of a castle. It was still really cool and imagining what went on in the castle was fun. From there we drove to the cathedral in Canterbury. This was a truly amazing experience. Words truly cannot describe what it felt like to walk around this church that has been in existence since medieval times. We walked through the crypt below the church and the history that was pouring out of the block walls was so emotionally charged it was crazy. You could just imagine the bishops and priests and such walking through the halls. It was as if you were walking through a fog of history, I can’t really find the words to describe it, it was just incredible and indescribable. We closed the church down and as we were leaving we could hear the choir rehearsing for the upcoming service, that was beautiful.
We walked the streets of Canterbury and enjoyed looking in the windows of shops, we were there on Sunday so all the stores were closed. We did find a local coffee shop and had a warm drink, and a very tasty hot chocolate and some yummy coffee and tea with a scone and clotted crème. We left the town of Canterbury and started driving home in the sordid weather of the day, typical United Kingdom rainy days and nights. Lets just say the drive home once we got back into London was just as exciting as when we left. Jason was driving and I was the navigator, and the road signs kept trying to route us in the wrong direction. I was literally following our route on the map with my finger and reading off the streets as we passed them. We made it into Victoria safely with only a few full loops on the traffic circles. Then it was -walk, tube, walk and we were home.
The Crypt
Sunday - Day two
Our day was supposed to start early and well, we got up with good intentions, but didn’t leave the house until we were supposed to be there to pick up our rental car. Walk, tube, walk. We found Hertz and got the Ford focus. Let the fun begin. First, I wanted to drive, very glad that we didn’t want to spend the money to add me as a driver, it would have taken a while to get used to it. A few things about driving in the U.K. the lane markings are suggestive, all of the signs are confusing and they try to trick you, and the stop lights are way cool. The stop lights give you warning as to when they are going to turn green, very cool. So this is the cycle - Green means go, yellow means slow down it is about to be red, red means stop. Then red means stop, red and yellow means get ready, and green means go. If you are at a pedestrian crossing and the light is red and then starts blinking yellow you can go if there is no pedestrian but you must wait if there is one, you don’t want to hit any Londoners. Now, try navigating around London with a map that is not detailed at all, no side streets just main roads. Very difficult. Now imagine the main road you do have on the map really are about ten different roads that are supposed to be one road, with all kinds of turns and twists. Now imagine trying to navigate these roads without road signs and on roads with names like A202, M20, A2, A20, M25, B2163 (honestly, those were names, it was not easy). Yes, the road signs of these roads are few and far between. Needless to say it took us many loops around traffic circles, "Look kids Big Ben, Parliament. Look kids Big Ben, Parliament." Yeah it was that bad. But we had fun and found a pretty park with a public restroom to use the potty in, after we stopped at a gas station to get a proper map! We were headed to Leeds castle, did we get there? Read on to find out.
We got to Leeds castle and were hungry so we went up the street and ate at a pub. We had the standard Sunday fair, a Sunday roast, roast beef and mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots…hmmmm. And a few pints. We ate well and decided to get up and go to the castle. All in jest we said if it is closed we are going to be so mad. Well we drove to the entrance, it was 305p, they just put up the sign closed at 3p. We laughed and were upset at the same time. But from there we said lets just drive up to Canterbury and see that church and castle. More navigation through cities and towns, but we had a proper map and were well on our way. We made it to Canterbury with no problems and found the castle, which was a ruin of a castle instead of a castle. It was still really cool and imagining what went on in the castle was fun. From there we drove to the cathedral in Canterbury. This was a truly amazing experience. Words truly cannot describe what it felt like to walk around this church that has been in existence since medieval times. We walked through the crypt below the church and the history that was pouring out of the block walls was so emotionally charged it was crazy. You could just imagine the bishops and priests and such walking through the halls. It was as if you were walking through a fog of history, I can’t really find the words to describe it, it was just incredible and indescribable. We closed the church down and as we were leaving we could hear the choir rehearsing for the upcoming service, that was beautiful.
We walked the streets of Canterbury and enjoyed looking in the windows of shops, we were there on Sunday so all the stores were closed. We did find a local coffee shop and had a warm drink, and a very tasty hot chocolate and some yummy coffee and tea with a scone and clotted crème. We left the town of Canterbury and started driving home in the sordid weather of the day, typical United Kingdom rainy days and nights. Lets just say the drive home once we got back into London was just as exciting as when we left. Jason was driving and I was the navigator, and the road signs kept trying to route us in the wrong direction. I was literally following our route on the map with my finger and reading off the streets as we passed them. We made it into Victoria safely with only a few full loops on the traffic circles. Then it was -walk, tube, walk and we were home.
She melts when you pour water on her?
Original post date: Friday, March 14, 2008
She melts when you pour water on her?
Alright - off we go, and once we started we didn’t stop so hold on...
Saturday March 8th - Day One (kinda)
Although it wasn’t a new day, it was still Saturday the day we arrived, it sure felt like a new one after our nap. It was much needed. We woke up and started our London experience.
We went to the famous Portobello Road market, you know the one in Bedknobs and Broomsticks (I had to be told because I actually have never seen that movie). It was really cool, we got there as all the vendors were starting to pack up but we still got to the experience. We saw some cool amber jewelry, they have green and white amber, I was not aware of that, Heather got a new green amber ring. Then our next vendor that took up the majority of our time was one that had a bunch of old typesetting blocks. Most of them were carved out of wood and used to be used in old presses to print newspapers, books, and such. It was very cool to see all of the different shapes and sizes and font styles. So we found a cool little display box and picked out our name "IVY" and the number "4" to signify how many people are in our family. Finding a good set was fun, having to dig around and holding all of the pieces you could only imagine your hands covered in ink as you were typesetting a headline in an old United Kingdom paper, "EXTRA! EXTRA!". It was very fun. From there we walked passed a crepe stand and I had to have a street vendor make me a crepe. Pouring the batter on the hot pan and using this cool wooden stick to smooth it out into a big circle, it cooked in less than a minute and she added some yummy strawberries and sugar, folded it up and gave it to me covered in powdered sugar. With the first bite my coat was covered in powdered sugar, it was great. We decided since our show started at 730p we needed to start heading over to the theatre area.
We found a bus that would take us right there, it is always fun trying to find the right bus, train or whatever by looking at a multicolored map of lines. After some deliberation, we trusted Jason on this one, we found our bus stop and waited for our double-decker bus. Of course when it arrived we immediately climbed the stairs and sat down. Sitting up that high and with the streets as narrow as they are here you feel like you are going to run everything and everyone over. It was very fun riding and looking into open windows and seeing that Londoners act just like we do in their homes. Yes it was very voyeuristic but who doesn’t do that, I am just willing to admit it.
We arrived early to our destination and were a little parched so we went to a pub called "the Shakespeare" or "the Shakeperean" I can’t remember. We sat at table 77, and at a pub you place your order at the bar and they give you something so they can pick you out of the crowd, so far it has been a wooden spoon with a number on it, and you go sit down with your drinks. We had some great conversation, a good pint (well Jason had a pint we all had half pints) and some tasty appetizers. At 715 we gathered our coats and hats and crossed the street to the theatre.
We found our seats in the front row, yes I said front row. As we waited for it to start we looked into the orchestra pit and saw the musicians playing Scrabble before the show, just shows you it is also just a job to them as well, but a very fun job. It was an amazing show! Highly recommended. During intermission Jason and I had a great conversation about the exchange rate of pounds and dollars, all stemming from a girl selling ice cream for £3, and I thought why pay $6 for an ice cream. I guess Jason is right, you can’t think about it like that or you wouldn’t spend any money over there since the exchange rate is just not good right now. After the show we went to a restaurant called "Ask", their premise was, yes we have a menu but if you want to change how anything is prepared we will do it, just ask. It was great Italian food and good wine and once again great conversation, as always with Jason and Steph. Home bound we walked, road the tube, walked and crawled into bed looking forward to another fun filled day and a car trip to a castle.
more to come...
She melts when you pour water on her?
Alright - off we go, and once we started we didn’t stop so hold on...
Saturday March 8th - Day One (kinda)
Although it wasn’t a new day, it was still Saturday the day we arrived, it sure felt like a new one after our nap. It was much needed. We woke up and started our London experience.
We went to the famous Portobello Road market, you know the one in Bedknobs and Broomsticks (I had to be told because I actually have never seen that movie). It was really cool, we got there as all the vendors were starting to pack up but we still got to the experience. We saw some cool amber jewelry, they have green and white amber, I was not aware of that, Heather got a new green amber ring. Then our next vendor that took up the majority of our time was one that had a bunch of old typesetting blocks. Most of them were carved out of wood and used to be used in old presses to print newspapers, books, and such. It was very cool to see all of the different shapes and sizes and font styles. So we found a cool little display box and picked out our name "IVY" and the number "4" to signify how many people are in our family. Finding a good set was fun, having to dig around and holding all of the pieces you could only imagine your hands covered in ink as you were typesetting a headline in an old United Kingdom paper, "EXTRA! EXTRA!". It was very fun. From there we walked passed a crepe stand and I had to have a street vendor make me a crepe. Pouring the batter on the hot pan and using this cool wooden stick to smooth it out into a big circle, it cooked in less than a minute and she added some yummy strawberries and sugar, folded it up and gave it to me covered in powdered sugar. With the first bite my coat was covered in powdered sugar, it was great. We decided since our show started at 730p we needed to start heading over to the theatre area.
We found a bus that would take us right there, it is always fun trying to find the right bus, train or whatever by looking at a multicolored map of lines. After some deliberation, we trusted Jason on this one, we found our bus stop and waited for our double-decker bus. Of course when it arrived we immediately climbed the stairs and sat down. Sitting up that high and with the streets as narrow as they are here you feel like you are going to run everything and everyone over. It was very fun riding and looking into open windows and seeing that Londoners act just like we do in their homes. Yes it was very voyeuristic but who doesn’t do that, I am just willing to admit it.
We arrived early to our destination and were a little parched so we went to a pub called "the Shakespeare" or "the Shakeperean" I can’t remember. We sat at table 77, and at a pub you place your order at the bar and they give you something so they can pick you out of the crowd, so far it has been a wooden spoon with a number on it, and you go sit down with your drinks. We had some great conversation, a good pint (well Jason had a pint we all had half pints) and some tasty appetizers. At 715 we gathered our coats and hats and crossed the street to the theatre.
We found our seats in the front row, yes I said front row. As we waited for it to start we looked into the orchestra pit and saw the musicians playing Scrabble before the show, just shows you it is also just a job to them as well, but a very fun job. It was an amazing show! Highly recommended. During intermission Jason and I had a great conversation about the exchange rate of pounds and dollars, all stemming from a girl selling ice cream for £3, and I thought why pay $6 for an ice cream. I guess Jason is right, you can’t think about it like that or you wouldn’t spend any money over there since the exchange rate is just not good right now. After the show we went to a restaurant called "Ask", their premise was, yes we have a menu but if you want to change how anything is prepared we will do it, just ask. It was great Italian food and good wine and once again great conversation, as always with Jason and Steph. Home bound we walked, road the tube, walked and crawled into bed looking forward to another fun filled day and a car trip to a castle.
more to come...
Mind the Gap
Original post date: Friday, March 14, 2008
Mind the Gap
Below you will find the beginning of my "journal" of Heather and my trip to London. I was mocked a bit for writing as much as I did. I really did it for myself because I want to remember this trip, we did a lot and I wouldn’t remember everything I did if I didn’t write it down. When I went to Guatemala back in 1992 with Garrett I didn’t keep a journal and I regret it to this day, so I will never go out of the country again without doing this. So if you don’t want to read it that is fine, if you think I wrote too much, bugger off and go read someone elses blog.
That said I will be posting our days of travel over the next few days so not to overwhelm anyone who wants to read it.
Friday March 7th - travel day.
Our day started with an unenthusiastic goodbye from our two girls sitting on the couch with Sampap. They hardly even looked up as we walked out the front door…"Bye mommy and daddy…" Now leave so we can watch a movie with Sampap.
A quick drive to the Orlando airport and leaving our house early and arriving to the airport early gave us plenty of time to sit around so we had a leisurely lunch at Outback. Margarita’s and salad and a wrap. With the leftovers we were ingenious and asked the server to bring us a tortilla so we could wrap the remainder of the steak salad and the one coconut shrimp, which gave us a tasty treat at 7 while we waited, taxiing around the runway in New York, but wait I am getting ahead of myself.
Our flight was at 245p we actually took off at 330p…already running late. An uneventful flight, a bit turbulent, but nothing unusual and all you can ask for when you are flying. We got to watch the movie "Enchanted", it was quite funny, I wouldn’t have watched it otherwise, and it was funny. We arrived in New York, an airport that I have not flown into even though I have been to NY four times in the last six months…yeah crazy, and finally found our gate after many false hopes as we turned many corners. We sat and listened to quite a few foreign accents and my interest and excitement was growing with each second.
We boarded the plane and it was quite fun, we got free eye masks, a toothbrush, and earphones, very nice. We had to fill out a card that we were to give to the customs officer telling them where we were born and where we were staying, we got reprimanded later for not knowing Jason and Stephanies address. On this flight Heather had the window and I had the aisle, two seats and a very funny Scotsman sitting across the aisle from us, more accents, yay. Honestly I could just sit and listen on a bench the whole time I am over here in London. On with the flight…I mean let us sit on the runway for an hour…and now after thirty three planes go ahead of us…now we take off. Woohoo!
Expecting to have some good sleep while on the plane, I didn’t, I watched the free movies instead. Heather slept more than I, but she didn’t sleep that well either. We watched "Martian Child" with John Cusack, very good - highly recommended, and "Bee Movie" with Jerry Seinfeld, I thought it was funny. After a good dinner, I have never had issues with airplane food, bbq chicken, mashed potatoes, corn and a brownie. I finally had enough and knew I needed to get some sleep so I had to revert to something that I know would put me to sleep. I slipped back into my freshman year in college, crashing on Seans’ (that is plural - Sean Germain and Sean Gorman’s) dorm room floor after crew practice with Smashing Pumpkins Siamese Dream blaring in our ears, I put Siamese Dream on my iPod and immediately passed out. Unfortunately for me thirty minutes later I was woken up by the flight attendant giving me breakfast, ugh. We landed shortly after the croissant and jam.
Customs was easy, only the quick, "Next time you come you need to have the address where you are staying." We waited for quite some time for our luggage, but I never mind waiting if we actually get it and although it was wet from going from the plane to the baggage claim in the rain, we got it. We found the train station from there and spent our first pound over in London, the train tickets were £19. (that was fun actually getting to use the "£" key - have I mentioned a United Kingdom keyboard is different than a U.S. keyboard?) We found our station and boarded our train, and learned a lesson, when you are extremely tired, hungry and just flat out exhausted, don’t over stimulate your body and mind by riding in a train sitting backwards. You get very nauseous. Luckily by the time it really started to hit us we were at the Victoria train station. We gathered our luggage and went to find Jason.
Jason was sitting in a little coffee house reading a book in the corner as we approached him, he didn’t see us, he was very engrossed in his book. Where was Stephanie? She was at the ticket window buying tickets to "Wicked". We gathered her up at the line for the tickets and she came running to give us a hug, and apparently forget she had a coffee in her hand and with her excitement splashed coffee all over her yellow jacket and Heathers purse…no problem it all came out in the wash, but very funny and we got some crazy looks from the fellow Wicked enthusiasts.
We then went to the tube (that is the subway in London) and boarded our train to get to Ealing, the borough Jason and Stephanie live. After two or three train changes due to weekend work on the tube we arrived to our final destination and walked the ten minutes to their flat. We said "how cute" and found our bed and crashed for a couple of hours.
more to come...
Mind the Gap
Below you will find the beginning of my "journal" of Heather and my trip to London. I was mocked a bit for writing as much as I did. I really did it for myself because I want to remember this trip, we did a lot and I wouldn’t remember everything I did if I didn’t write it down. When I went to Guatemala back in 1992 with Garrett I didn’t keep a journal and I regret it to this day, so I will never go out of the country again without doing this. So if you don’t want to read it that is fine, if you think I wrote too much, bugger off and go read someone elses blog.
That said I will be posting our days of travel over the next few days so not to overwhelm anyone who wants to read it.
Friday March 7th - travel day.
Our day started with an unenthusiastic goodbye from our two girls sitting on the couch with Sampap. They hardly even looked up as we walked out the front door…"Bye mommy and daddy…" Now leave so we can watch a movie with Sampap.
A quick drive to the Orlando airport and leaving our house early and arriving to the airport early gave us plenty of time to sit around so we had a leisurely lunch at Outback. Margarita’s and salad and a wrap. With the leftovers we were ingenious and asked the server to bring us a tortilla so we could wrap the remainder of the steak salad and the one coconut shrimp, which gave us a tasty treat at 7 while we waited, taxiing around the runway in New York, but wait I am getting ahead of myself.
Our flight was at 245p we actually took off at 330p…already running late. An uneventful flight, a bit turbulent, but nothing unusual and all you can ask for when you are flying. We got to watch the movie "Enchanted", it was quite funny, I wouldn’t have watched it otherwise, and it was funny. We arrived in New York, an airport that I have not flown into even though I have been to NY four times in the last six months…yeah crazy, and finally found our gate after many false hopes as we turned many corners. We sat and listened to quite a few foreign accents and my interest and excitement was growing with each second.
We boarded the plane and it was quite fun, we got free eye masks, a toothbrush, and earphones, very nice. We had to fill out a card that we were to give to the customs officer telling them where we were born and where we were staying, we got reprimanded later for not knowing Jason and Stephanies address. On this flight Heather had the window and I had the aisle, two seats and a very funny Scotsman sitting across the aisle from us, more accents, yay. Honestly I could just sit and listen on a bench the whole time I am over here in London. On with the flight…I mean let us sit on the runway for an hour…and now after thirty three planes go ahead of us…now we take off. Woohoo!
Expecting to have some good sleep while on the plane, I didn’t, I watched the free movies instead. Heather slept more than I, but she didn’t sleep that well either. We watched "Martian Child" with John Cusack, very good - highly recommended, and "Bee Movie" with Jerry Seinfeld, I thought it was funny. After a good dinner, I have never had issues with airplane food, bbq chicken, mashed potatoes, corn and a brownie. I finally had enough and knew I needed to get some sleep so I had to revert to something that I know would put me to sleep. I slipped back into my freshman year in college, crashing on Seans’ (that is plural - Sean Germain and Sean Gorman’s) dorm room floor after crew practice with Smashing Pumpkins Siamese Dream blaring in our ears, I put Siamese Dream on my iPod and immediately passed out. Unfortunately for me thirty minutes later I was woken up by the flight attendant giving me breakfast, ugh. We landed shortly after the croissant and jam.
Customs was easy, only the quick, "Next time you come you need to have the address where you are staying." We waited for quite some time for our luggage, but I never mind waiting if we actually get it and although it was wet from going from the plane to the baggage claim in the rain, we got it. We found the train station from there and spent our first pound over in London, the train tickets were £19. (that was fun actually getting to use the "£" key - have I mentioned a United Kingdom keyboard is different than a U.S. keyboard?) We found our station and boarded our train, and learned a lesson, when you are extremely tired, hungry and just flat out exhausted, don’t over stimulate your body and mind by riding in a train sitting backwards. You get very nauseous. Luckily by the time it really started to hit us we were at the Victoria train station. We gathered our luggage and went to find Jason.
Jason was sitting in a little coffee house reading a book in the corner as we approached him, he didn’t see us, he was very engrossed in his book. Where was Stephanie? She was at the ticket window buying tickets to "Wicked". We gathered her up at the line for the tickets and she came running to give us a hug, and apparently forget she had a coffee in her hand and with her excitement splashed coffee all over her yellow jacket and Heathers purse…no problem it all came out in the wash, but very funny and we got some crazy looks from the fellow Wicked enthusiasts.
We then went to the tube (that is the subway in London) and boarded our train to get to Ealing, the borough Jason and Stephanie live. After two or three train changes due to weekend work on the tube we arrived to our final destination and walked the ten minutes to their flat. We said "how cute" and found our bed and crashed for a couple of hours.
more to come...
Puss
Original post date: Thursday, March 06, 2008
Puss
Okay, what do you do when you are getting ready to go on a long trip?
Heather and I are leaving for London tomorrow and so we are getting ready.
The usual packing and picking up the house so it is halfway clean when we get home.
I start packing and being the person I am, I am trying to not bring to many clothes, I have a problem with over packing...you never know what your emotional state is going to be so you have to bring a lot of options. I am standing there packing and thinking hmmm, my toes aren't hurting as much as they were earlier. You might be asking, did I just read that right? Yes, you did.
You see I have this really bad habit and to be honest it is really gross, but you are about to hear about it since you are reading my blog. I will sit, watching tv or just sitting doing I don't know nothing really, well if my shoes are off my hands find something to do. I pick at my toenails, yes I know I told you it was gross. Well sometimes I get carried away and I just can't get that one little piece off and I start digging and pulling and well sometimes I get a little to greedy. Yeah I guess that is the proper word, greedy. I just can't leave well enough alone. And my toenail ends up in my hand, my whole toenail, or just half of one side. I usually know it when it happens and I think, shit that is going to hurt later.
This time it hurt later, it hurt a lot. So much that I was actually going to go to the doctor because I didn't want to be walking around London with a hurt toe. I didn't make it to the doctor today.
Alright so anyway, what do you do when you are getting ready for a trip? I apparently, pack my clothes and put safety latches on the cabinets in our bathroom, what you don't do that? And amongst all that stuff I sit down on the edge of the bathtub.
And with pulsing red toe in hand I start working again, this time the pain is immediate and I get that taste in my mouth, you know it tastes like metal cause it hurts so bad. But I am trying this time to help instead of mutilate. I told you this was going to be gross. I have my toe and I am squeezing, I can see it wants to come out and finally there is that painful relief when the puss finds its way out from under the remaining toenail. So I keep squeezing and then I douse it with alcohol, you know, I don't want it to get infected again. Did I tell you I did this to a toe on each foot? yeah - I was working double time and wouldn't you know it both got infected and I got laughed at a lot at work today because I was walking like a gimp.
So the grand ending of my story is that I think my toes and feet are going to be fine so I can make my way around London with no pain, well I am sure there will be some pain but it just might be residual pain. Pain from my toe, red and pulsing, red and pussing.
Well I am off to bed to get on a plane and sleep some more.
Puss
Okay, what do you do when you are getting ready to go on a long trip?
Heather and I are leaving for London tomorrow and so we are getting ready.
The usual packing and picking up the house so it is halfway clean when we get home.
I start packing and being the person I am, I am trying to not bring to many clothes, I have a problem with over packing...you never know what your emotional state is going to be so you have to bring a lot of options. I am standing there packing and thinking hmmm, my toes aren't hurting as much as they were earlier. You might be asking, did I just read that right? Yes, you did.
You see I have this really bad habit and to be honest it is really gross, but you are about to hear about it since you are reading my blog. I will sit, watching tv or just sitting doing I don't know nothing really, well if my shoes are off my hands find something to do. I pick at my toenails, yes I know I told you it was gross. Well sometimes I get carried away and I just can't get that one little piece off and I start digging and pulling and well sometimes I get a little to greedy. Yeah I guess that is the proper word, greedy. I just can't leave well enough alone. And my toenail ends up in my hand, my whole toenail, or just half of one side. I usually know it when it happens and I think, shit that is going to hurt later.
This time it hurt later, it hurt a lot. So much that I was actually going to go to the doctor because I didn't want to be walking around London with a hurt toe. I didn't make it to the doctor today.
Alright so anyway, what do you do when you are getting ready for a trip? I apparently, pack my clothes and put safety latches on the cabinets in our bathroom, what you don't do that? And amongst all that stuff I sit down on the edge of the bathtub.
And with pulsing red toe in hand I start working again, this time the pain is immediate and I get that taste in my mouth, you know it tastes like metal cause it hurts so bad. But I am trying this time to help instead of mutilate. I told you this was going to be gross. I have my toe and I am squeezing, I can see it wants to come out and finally there is that painful relief when the puss finds its way out from under the remaining toenail. So I keep squeezing and then I douse it with alcohol, you know, I don't want it to get infected again. Did I tell you I did this to a toe on each foot? yeah - I was working double time and wouldn't you know it both got infected and I got laughed at a lot at work today because I was walking like a gimp.
So the grand ending of my story is that I think my toes and feet are going to be fine so I can make my way around London with no pain, well I am sure there will be some pain but it just might be residual pain. Pain from my toe, red and pulsing, red and pussing.
Well I am off to bed to get on a plane and sleep some more.
Frost
Original post date: Thursday, February 07, 2008
Frost
I read this poem today and it stuck with me since this afternoon so it must be pretty good. It is by Robert Frost. Poetry is a beautiful thing, it can be taken at face value - like one of my favorite poets William Carlos Williams poems, many of his were just notes to his wife that she uncrumpled from the trash and told him to keep. Or you can dive deep and get lost in your interpretation of it and take it to shed light on your own thoughts. I will let you absorb this one...it absorbed me.
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I know on the listening too it says Essential Beethoven - specifically I am listening to
Egmont Overture in F Minor, Op. 84
This piece makes my soul fly - the emotion it evokes undeniable. It takes me and lifts me up high as if floating amongst the clouds which then turn to this thunderous storm and in the thrashing of the winds I am thrown crashing to this depth of indescribable agony only to be lifted up again in the arms of some perfection.
Truly listen to it, I love it.
Frost
I read this poem today and it stuck with me since this afternoon so it must be pretty good. It is by Robert Frost. Poetry is a beautiful thing, it can be taken at face value - like one of my favorite poets William Carlos Williams poems, many of his were just notes to his wife that she uncrumpled from the trash and told him to keep. Or you can dive deep and get lost in your interpretation of it and take it to shed light on your own thoughts. I will let you absorb this one...it absorbed me.
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I know on the listening too it says Essential Beethoven - specifically I am listening to
Egmont Overture in F Minor, Op. 84
This piece makes my soul fly - the emotion it evokes undeniable. It takes me and lifts me up high as if floating amongst the clouds which then turn to this thunderous storm and in the thrashing of the winds I am thrown crashing to this depth of indescribable agony only to be lifted up again in the arms of some perfection.
Truly listen to it, I love it.
new book
Original post date: Tuesday, January 29, 2008
new book
Okay, I am on to a new book. I finished My Friend Leonard and it was fantastic. These books are of course interspursed between my Physics homework, and for those of you who didn't know, ummm...I am taking Physics II for reasons to be discussed soon enough. On with the other book I have been reading and put off to the side to finish M.F.L.
It is freakin cool - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED I will tell you why right now...but first the title and such...
This Is Your Brain On Music - the science of a human obsession...by Daniel J. Levitin.
Okay - This book is the one that makes you mad that music is one of the first things they take out of school. This guy Daniel, was a musician, turned producer (he worked with some great people...some you would know - Heart, Journey, Santana, Whitney Houston, and Aretha Franklin) my point - he is not a nobody. He got so interested in why people are good at performing and why people enjoy music so much he went back to school and became a neuroscientist. He took two things that he was good at, and was interested in and made a career out of them. (let me think who that reminds me of....hmmm...an artist that likes really technical things...hmmm...I will let you stew on that one for a little while).
Anyways here are a few of my favorite passages from the book so far, I am only about 1/3 through it but it is awesome so far.
"Americans spend more money on music than on sex or prescription drugs. Given this voracious consumption, I would say that most Americans qualify as expert music listeners. We have the cognitive capacity to detect wrong notes, to find music we enjoy, to remember hundreds of melodies, and tap our feet in time with music - an activity that involves a process of meter extraction so complicated that most computers cannot do it." page 7
How cool is that! okay next one.
"After sounds enter the ear, they pass by the basilar membrane, where certain hair cells fire, depending on the frequency of the sounds. The membrane acts like a motion-detector lamp you might have in your garden; activity in a certain part of the membrane causes it to send an electrical signal on up to the auditory cortex. The auditroy cortex also has a tonotopic map, with low to high tones stretched out across the coritical surface. In this sense, the brain also contains a 'map' of different pitches, and different areas of the brain respond to different pitches. Pitch is so important that the brain represents it directly; unlike almost any other musical attribute, we could place electrodes in the brain and be able to determine what pitches were being played to a person just by looking at the brain activity. And although music is based on pitch relations rather than absolute pitch values, it is, paradoxically, these absolute pitch values that the brain is paying attention to throughout its different stages of processing.
This direct mapping of pitch is so important, it bears repeating. If I put electrodes in your visual cortex (the part of the brain at the back of the head, concerned with seeing), and I then showed you a red tomato, there is no group of neurons that will cause my electrodes to turn red. But if I put electrodes in your auditory cortex and play a pure tone in your ears at 440Hz, there are neurons in your auditory cortex that will fire at precisely that frequency, causing the electrode to emit electrical activity at 440Hz - for pitch, what goes into the ear comes out of the brain!" page 29
Now tell me that is not even cooler, and it is not an overly technical read, which makes it even more fun to read because I am not stumbling over all of these big technical terms. Okay this next passage is long and please realize I am physically typing this stuff out not just copying a pasting it. So if there are any typos, it is me not the book. This one illustrates how much of your brain is involved in any music activity...it is truly fascinating.
"Listening to music starts with subcortical (below-the-cortex) structures--the cochlear nuclei, the brain stem, the cerebelum--and then moves up to the auditory cortices on both sides of the brain. Trying to follow along with music that you know--or at least music in a style you're familiar with, such as baroque or blues--recruits additional regions of the brain, including the hippocampus--our memory center--and subsections of the frontal lobe, particularly a region called inferior frontal cortex, which is in the lowest parts of the frontal lobe, i.e., closer to your chin than to the top of your head. Tapping along with music, either actually or just in your mind, involves the cerebellums's timing circuits. Performing music--regardless of what instrument you play, or whether you sing, or conduct--invlolves the frontal lobes again for the planning of your behavior, as well as the motor cortex in the posterior part of the frontal lobe just underneath the top of your head, and the sensory cortex, which provides the tactile feedback that you have pressed the right key on your instrument, or moved the baton where you thought you did. Reading music involves the visual cortex, in the back of your head in the occipital lobe. Listening to or recalling lyrics involves language centers, including Broca's and Wernicke's area, as well as other language centers in the temporal and frontal lobes.
At a deeper level, the emotions we experience in response to music involve structures deep in the primitiv, reptilian regions of the cerebellar vermis, and the amygdala--the heart of emotional processing in the cortex. The idea of regional specificity is evident in the summary but a complementary principle applies as well, that of distribution of function. The brain is a massivley parallel device, with operations distributed widely throughout. There is no single language center, nor is there a single music center. Rather, there are regions that peform component operations, and other regions that coordinate the bringing together of htis information. Finally, we have discovered only recently that the brain has a capacity for reorganization that vastly exceeds what we thought before. This ability is called neuroplasticity, and in some cases, it suggests that regional specificity may be temporary, as the processing centers for important mental functions actually move to other regions after trauma or brain damage.
It is difficult to appreciate the complexity of the brain because the numbers are so huge they go well beyond our everday experience (unless you are a cosmologist). The average human brain consists fo one hundred billion (100,000,000,000) neurons. Suppose each neuron was one dollar, and you stood on a street corner trying to give dollars away to people as they passed by, as fast as you could hand them out--let's say one dollar per second. If you did this twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year, without stopping, and if you had started on the day that Jesus was born, you would by the present day only have gone through about two thirds of your money. Even if you gave away hundred-dollar bills once a second, it would take you thirty-two years to pass them all out. This is a lot of neurons, but the real power and complexity of the brain (and of thought) come from their connections.
Each neuron is connected to other neurons--usually one thousand to ten thousand others. Just four neurons can be connected in sixty-three ways, or not at all, total of sixty-four possibilities. As the number of neurons increases, the number of possible connections grows exponentionally....For 2 neurons there are 2 possiblilities for how they can be connected...For 4 neurons ther eare 64 possibilities...For 6 neurons there are 32,708 possibilities." pages 86-88
Okay I know that was a lot, but isn't that cool. When you listen to music or play music you use so much of your brain it is crazy. And then the possibilities of processing available in your brain is so far beyond my reach of thought it is astounding .
I am glad you stuck with me on this one. I can't promise I won't do it again with this book but can you really blame me? I would type the whole book to you but then there is that whole plagerizing thing and I think you should at least check the book out from the library at least, if not buy it for yourself.
Like I said at the beginning, if your school or childs school tries to take away music put up a big fight. I think they are starting to realize the importance of the arts in schools now but I know when I was in middle school and high school it was an issue.
I hope you enjoyed my ability to type, I enjoyed the practice.
Read this book - I know at least five of my friends who would truly enjoy it and then there are the others who would think it was cool. I mean honestly how many of you listen to music? All of you...seriously this is amazing stuff.
Okay I am done trying to convince you if you don't want to read it tell me to shut up.
I hope you can tap your foot to a song better than a computer can!
new book
Okay, I am on to a new book. I finished My Friend Leonard and it was fantastic. These books are of course interspursed between my Physics homework, and for those of you who didn't know, ummm...I am taking Physics II for reasons to be discussed soon enough. On with the other book I have been reading and put off to the side to finish M.F.L.
It is freakin cool - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED I will tell you why right now...but first the title and such...
This Is Your Brain On Music - the science of a human obsession...by Daniel J. Levitin.
Okay - This book is the one that makes you mad that music is one of the first things they take out of school. This guy Daniel, was a musician, turned producer (he worked with some great people...some you would know - Heart, Journey, Santana, Whitney Houston, and Aretha Franklin) my point - he is not a nobody. He got so interested in why people are good at performing and why people enjoy music so much he went back to school and became a neuroscientist. He took two things that he was good at, and was interested in and made a career out of them. (let me think who that reminds me of....hmmm...an artist that likes really technical things...hmmm...I will let you stew on that one for a little while).
Anyways here are a few of my favorite passages from the book so far, I am only about 1/3 through it but it is awesome so far.
"Americans spend more money on music than on sex or prescription drugs. Given this voracious consumption, I would say that most Americans qualify as expert music listeners. We have the cognitive capacity to detect wrong notes, to find music we enjoy, to remember hundreds of melodies, and tap our feet in time with music - an activity that involves a process of meter extraction so complicated that most computers cannot do it." page 7
How cool is that! okay next one.
"After sounds enter the ear, they pass by the basilar membrane, where certain hair cells fire, depending on the frequency of the sounds. The membrane acts like a motion-detector lamp you might have in your garden; activity in a certain part of the membrane causes it to send an electrical signal on up to the auditory cortex. The auditroy cortex also has a tonotopic map, with low to high tones stretched out across the coritical surface. In this sense, the brain also contains a 'map' of different pitches, and different areas of the brain respond to different pitches. Pitch is so important that the brain represents it directly; unlike almost any other musical attribute, we could place electrodes in the brain and be able to determine what pitches were being played to a person just by looking at the brain activity. And although music is based on pitch relations rather than absolute pitch values, it is, paradoxically, these absolute pitch values that the brain is paying attention to throughout its different stages of processing.
This direct mapping of pitch is so important, it bears repeating. If I put electrodes in your visual cortex (the part of the brain at the back of the head, concerned with seeing), and I then showed you a red tomato, there is no group of neurons that will cause my electrodes to turn red. But if I put electrodes in your auditory cortex and play a pure tone in your ears at 440Hz, there are neurons in your auditory cortex that will fire at precisely that frequency, causing the electrode to emit electrical activity at 440Hz - for pitch, what goes into the ear comes out of the brain!" page 29
Now tell me that is not even cooler, and it is not an overly technical read, which makes it even more fun to read because I am not stumbling over all of these big technical terms. Okay this next passage is long and please realize I am physically typing this stuff out not just copying a pasting it. So if there are any typos, it is me not the book. This one illustrates how much of your brain is involved in any music activity...it is truly fascinating.
"Listening to music starts with subcortical (below-the-cortex) structures--the cochlear nuclei, the brain stem, the cerebelum--and then moves up to the auditory cortices on both sides of the brain. Trying to follow along with music that you know--or at least music in a style you're familiar with, such as baroque or blues--recruits additional regions of the brain, including the hippocampus--our memory center--and subsections of the frontal lobe, particularly a region called inferior frontal cortex, which is in the lowest parts of the frontal lobe, i.e., closer to your chin than to the top of your head. Tapping along with music, either actually or just in your mind, involves the cerebellums's timing circuits. Performing music--regardless of what instrument you play, or whether you sing, or conduct--invlolves the frontal lobes again for the planning of your behavior, as well as the motor cortex in the posterior part of the frontal lobe just underneath the top of your head, and the sensory cortex, which provides the tactile feedback that you have pressed the right key on your instrument, or moved the baton where you thought you did. Reading music involves the visual cortex, in the back of your head in the occipital lobe. Listening to or recalling lyrics involves language centers, including Broca's and Wernicke's area, as well as other language centers in the temporal and frontal lobes.
At a deeper level, the emotions we experience in response to music involve structures deep in the primitiv, reptilian regions of the cerebellar vermis, and the amygdala--the heart of emotional processing in the cortex. The idea of regional specificity is evident in the summary but a complementary principle applies as well, that of distribution of function. The brain is a massivley parallel device, with operations distributed widely throughout. There is no single language center, nor is there a single music center. Rather, there are regions that peform component operations, and other regions that coordinate the bringing together of htis information. Finally, we have discovered only recently that the brain has a capacity for reorganization that vastly exceeds what we thought before. This ability is called neuroplasticity, and in some cases, it suggests that regional specificity may be temporary, as the processing centers for important mental functions actually move to other regions after trauma or brain damage.
It is difficult to appreciate the complexity of the brain because the numbers are so huge they go well beyond our everday experience (unless you are a cosmologist). The average human brain consists fo one hundred billion (100,000,000,000) neurons. Suppose each neuron was one dollar, and you stood on a street corner trying to give dollars away to people as they passed by, as fast as you could hand them out--let's say one dollar per second. If you did this twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year, without stopping, and if you had started on the day that Jesus was born, you would by the present day only have gone through about two thirds of your money. Even if you gave away hundred-dollar bills once a second, it would take you thirty-two years to pass them all out. This is a lot of neurons, but the real power and complexity of the brain (and of thought) come from their connections.
Each neuron is connected to other neurons--usually one thousand to ten thousand others. Just four neurons can be connected in sixty-three ways, or not at all, total of sixty-four possibilities. As the number of neurons increases, the number of possible connections grows exponentionally....For 2 neurons there are 2 possiblilities for how they can be connected...For 4 neurons ther eare 64 possibilities...For 6 neurons there are 32,708 possibilities." pages 86-88
Okay I know that was a lot, but isn't that cool. When you listen to music or play music you use so much of your brain it is crazy. And then the possibilities of processing available in your brain is so far beyond my reach of thought it is astounding .
I am glad you stuck with me on this one. I can't promise I won't do it again with this book but can you really blame me? I would type the whole book to you but then there is that whole plagerizing thing and I think you should at least check the book out from the library at least, if not buy it for yourself.
Like I said at the beginning, if your school or childs school tries to take away music put up a big fight. I think they are starting to realize the importance of the arts in schools now but I know when I was in middle school and high school it was an issue.
I hope you enjoyed my ability to type, I enjoyed the practice.
Read this book - I know at least five of my friends who would truly enjoy it and then there are the others who would think it was cool. I mean honestly how many of you listen to music? All of you...seriously this is amazing stuff.
Okay I am done trying to convince you if you don't want to read it tell me to shut up.
I hope you can tap your foot to a song better than a computer can!
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