Then nothing.
Not even re-runs of Seinfeld.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Monday, July 14, 2008
My Philosophy of Life...
A tiny fish swam into the Orthodox Church searching for the meaning of life. The priest was unavailable, due to the small gang of wombats that were extolling the virtues of Joseph Smith and cold, vegetarian pizza. The fish, wishing it had shoulders to shrug at the universe, simply settled for a non-committal wave of its fins. As the fish swam out of the church a runaway rickshaw being pulled by George Bush and Hillary Clinton rode over it, squashing its tiny brain to oatmeal. Right as its eyes darkened forever beneath the unforgiving rubber of the wheel it had time to think ‘Oh yeah. The answer is pretty much what I figured.’
Then nothing.
Not even re-runs of Seinfeld.
Then nothing.
Not even re-runs of Seinfeld.
Friday, July 4, 2008
For those who bring hope to sick children
I spent the entire afternoon at the Alfred I Dupont Hospital for Children today.
For the past two weeks my 12 year old brother Jeff has been complaining of back pain. This of course is not an ailment typical of someone his age. He has been examined by several doctors. Tests have been administered. X-Rays have been taken. As of this moment, no one is sure exactly what is making his back hurt.
Earlier today he was scheduled for a bone scan. He had some radioactive dye put into his body around seven this morning. They had to give the dye time to circulate so Jeff, my dad, and my step mom went shopping. After some time spent browsing, my dad decided they should grab a bite to eat before heading back to the office to have the bone scan done. Jeff ordered a burger, fries, and a sprite. He sat back in his seat as the car began to pull out, taking a few swigs of his soft drink. According to my dad, thirty seconds later Jeff was puking his guts out...literally as the vomit was mostly blood.
Yes, it was a terrifying as it sounds.
My dad and step mom immediately drove him to the ER at AI. No more vomiting ensued and they were able to complete the bone scan. The bone scan found...nothing. So he will be spending the night there and having an MRI completed tomorrow. The doctors feel the vomiting was most likely caused by the Motrin he had been taking for several days to ease the pain. I finished teaching at one thirty and immediately shot over to see how he was doing.
This is the reason I found myself sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair around three-ish, with a tremendous need to pee. I excused myself from the room and walked down the corridor in search of a men's room. It was a hospital corridor much like the thousands one can see on any TV hospital drama or in a thousand movies. The only real difference was the hand drawn pictures of famous cartoon characters on the window's of each room. I walked past Dora, Sponge Bob, and a dog that I believe was supposed to be Scooby Doo, but the likeness was a tad shaky.
I finally found a bathroom and took care of business, following the command of the sign on the bathroom mirror to wash my hands to help keep the hospital a "healthy" place. I found the wording to be a bit amusing, considering the ER was packed with sick children, but I appreciated the sentiment.
As I walked back to the room a mother and daughter were approaching slowly in my direction. The girl appeared to be about five or six years old. She had the most beautiful head of hair, a strawberry blond waterfall that cascaded straight down to her delicate shoulders. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, two chips of solid arctic ice. She had the face of an angel. Her body was a different story altogether. Her hair lay across a right shoulder that was at normal height and a left shoulder bunched up by several inches. Her arms and legs were twisted like the branches of an ancient oak tree. This made it tremendously difficult for her to walk. It was more of a shuffle than a walk really. Clutched in a hand that was more claw than anything else was a Strawberry Shortcake doll. As I closed the distance between us the mother and I made eye contact. She nodded at me and I returned a half smile.
Just as I passed them the little girl dropped her doll. It hit the cold tile floor with an audible thump. The girl's fingers reached out for it, but her mother did not allow her to bend over, as that understandably was impossible for the young girl. I squatted down and picked up the doll thinking nothing of the physical effort I exerted to do so. The little girls eyes met mine and I was riveted by the intelligence, the awareness in their gaze. It was an adult gaze. Her mother stood just behind her, steadying her daughter's uneven posture.
"Looks like you dropped someone," I told her.
She nodded shyly and help out her left hand for the doll. Smiling, I held it out and watched as the girl visibly struggled to open her fingers to reclaim it. My heart broke at the obvious discomfort the action caused her, but at the same time it also swelled with awe to witness the grim determination on her young face. It took her about thirty seconds or so to pick the doll out of my hand. When she reclaimed it a look of victory lit her features with a glow so deep it made me almost feel the need to look away. She looked at me and smiled. Her gnarled fingers clutched the doll closely to her chest.
"Rebecca honey, what do you say to the nice man?" her mother asked her.
Never breaking eye contact with me she said "Thank you for picking up my Shorty Cake."
"The pleasure was all mine," I replied with a croak. A lump had suddenly developed square in the middle of my throat.
Her mother thanked me as well as I rose to my feet. I assured her it was no problem then continued my walk back to my brother's room. When I reached the curtain I glanced back to see how they had progressed. They had stopped not far from where Rebecca had dropped the doll. Another adult was crouched down to her eye level, this one a pretty young woman in a white coat, her auburn hair held back with a scrunchie. She was listening to something Rebecca was saying to her. She smiled then suddenly all three of them, the young girl and the two women looked at me. The girl smiled at me again and raised her right hand in a wave. The young doctor pointed at me and said something and Rebecca giggled. Choking back a tear I returned the smile and the wave and then went back into my brother's room.
I sat back in my uncomfortable chair and thought about that doctor. I looked through the window (Bugs Bunny danced across the glass surface of ours) and saw other doctors. I saw nurses and aides. I saw cleaning staff as well. All spending their day in the company of children like Rebecca. I wondered how they did it. I still wonder how they do it. To see suffering children on a daily basis. To look into young and innocent eyes that have experienced more pain and suffering in their brief time on earth that I have ever experienced in my much longer time. To dedicate their lives, from doctor to custodian, to helping these children improve their quality of life.
I thank God that there are people like that. I thank each and every one of them for the amazing work they do day in and day out. These are people who TRULY make a difference in the world. It is not a trite saying our a cute bumper sticker for them.
We are blessed to have them, and we should tell them that when we have the chance.
For the past two weeks my 12 year old brother Jeff has been complaining of back pain. This of course is not an ailment typical of someone his age. He has been examined by several doctors. Tests have been administered. X-Rays have been taken. As of this moment, no one is sure exactly what is making his back hurt.
Earlier today he was scheduled for a bone scan. He had some radioactive dye put into his body around seven this morning. They had to give the dye time to circulate so Jeff, my dad, and my step mom went shopping. After some time spent browsing, my dad decided they should grab a bite to eat before heading back to the office to have the bone scan done. Jeff ordered a burger, fries, and a sprite. He sat back in his seat as the car began to pull out, taking a few swigs of his soft drink. According to my dad, thirty seconds later Jeff was puking his guts out...literally as the vomit was mostly blood.
Yes, it was a terrifying as it sounds.
My dad and step mom immediately drove him to the ER at AI. No more vomiting ensued and they were able to complete the bone scan. The bone scan found...nothing. So he will be spending the night there and having an MRI completed tomorrow. The doctors feel the vomiting was most likely caused by the Motrin he had been taking for several days to ease the pain. I finished teaching at one thirty and immediately shot over to see how he was doing.
This is the reason I found myself sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair around three-ish, with a tremendous need to pee. I excused myself from the room and walked down the corridor in search of a men's room. It was a hospital corridor much like the thousands one can see on any TV hospital drama or in a thousand movies. The only real difference was the hand drawn pictures of famous cartoon characters on the window's of each room. I walked past Dora, Sponge Bob, and a dog that I believe was supposed to be Scooby Doo, but the likeness was a tad shaky.
I finally found a bathroom and took care of business, following the command of the sign on the bathroom mirror to wash my hands to help keep the hospital a "healthy" place. I found the wording to be a bit amusing, considering the ER was packed with sick children, but I appreciated the sentiment.
As I walked back to the room a mother and daughter were approaching slowly in my direction. The girl appeared to be about five or six years old. She had the most beautiful head of hair, a strawberry blond waterfall that cascaded straight down to her delicate shoulders. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, two chips of solid arctic ice. She had the face of an angel. Her body was a different story altogether. Her hair lay across a right shoulder that was at normal height and a left shoulder bunched up by several inches. Her arms and legs were twisted like the branches of an ancient oak tree. This made it tremendously difficult for her to walk. It was more of a shuffle than a walk really. Clutched in a hand that was more claw than anything else was a Strawberry Shortcake doll. As I closed the distance between us the mother and I made eye contact. She nodded at me and I returned a half smile.
Just as I passed them the little girl dropped her doll. It hit the cold tile floor with an audible thump. The girl's fingers reached out for it, but her mother did not allow her to bend over, as that understandably was impossible for the young girl. I squatted down and picked up the doll thinking nothing of the physical effort I exerted to do so. The little girls eyes met mine and I was riveted by the intelligence, the awareness in their gaze. It was an adult gaze. Her mother stood just behind her, steadying her daughter's uneven posture.
"Looks like you dropped someone," I told her.
She nodded shyly and help out her left hand for the doll. Smiling, I held it out and watched as the girl visibly struggled to open her fingers to reclaim it. My heart broke at the obvious discomfort the action caused her, but at the same time it also swelled with awe to witness the grim determination on her young face. It took her about thirty seconds or so to pick the doll out of my hand. When she reclaimed it a look of victory lit her features with a glow so deep it made me almost feel the need to look away. She looked at me and smiled. Her gnarled fingers clutched the doll closely to her chest.
"Rebecca honey, what do you say to the nice man?" her mother asked her.
Never breaking eye contact with me she said "Thank you for picking up my Shorty Cake."
"The pleasure was all mine," I replied with a croak. A lump had suddenly developed square in the middle of my throat.
Her mother thanked me as well as I rose to my feet. I assured her it was no problem then continued my walk back to my brother's room. When I reached the curtain I glanced back to see how they had progressed. They had stopped not far from where Rebecca had dropped the doll. Another adult was crouched down to her eye level, this one a pretty young woman in a white coat, her auburn hair held back with a scrunchie. She was listening to something Rebecca was saying to her. She smiled then suddenly all three of them, the young girl and the two women looked at me. The girl smiled at me again and raised her right hand in a wave. The young doctor pointed at me and said something and Rebecca giggled. Choking back a tear I returned the smile and the wave and then went back into my brother's room.
I sat back in my uncomfortable chair and thought about that doctor. I looked through the window (Bugs Bunny danced across the glass surface of ours) and saw other doctors. I saw nurses and aides. I saw cleaning staff as well. All spending their day in the company of children like Rebecca. I wondered how they did it. I still wonder how they do it. To see suffering children on a daily basis. To look into young and innocent eyes that have experienced more pain and suffering in their brief time on earth that I have ever experienced in my much longer time. To dedicate their lives, from doctor to custodian, to helping these children improve their quality of life.
I thank God that there are people like that. I thank each and every one of them for the amazing work they do day in and day out. These are people who TRULY make a difference in the world. It is not a trite saying our a cute bumper sticker for them.
We are blessed to have them, and we should tell them that when we have the chance.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Backyard life and death
I got home from teaching today and my wife informed me that the yard really needed to be taken care of. Not only has the dog been missing since last week, but the neighbor's two children chased a ball into our yard and have not been seen since. The exaggeration here is mild at best. So, putting on my best 'I am mildly pissed off but I love you and will do anything to please you' face I trudged out to the garage to see if I could coax the Craftsman Turd we have into some sputtering form of life so I could tame the beast that had once been a nice back yard.
The mower needs a new fuel line, but in addition to being a lazy ass, I am also a pretty cheap bastard (unless a new hardcover book or DVD limited edition laser coded collectors set comes out) so I wanted to see if I could patch the leak so I could get as much mileage out of the machine as I could. I got some epoxy, a Q-Tip, and a pair of rubber gloves and went to work. Twenty minutes later I pulled on the cord to start her up and she sputtered to life, once more saved from the brink of annihilation.
I shut the mower down and went back in to inform my wife that from now on I was to be addressed as Macgyver and given the proper respect for being the master of fixing all things mechanical. From the depths of the book she had her nose buried in, I heard something that sounded vaguely like "That's great. Now when are you going to "MACGYVER" the porch steps, the upstairs toilet, the...". I did not catch the rest as I was caught up in the heady exultation of my rugged manliness. The rest probably wasn't very important.
So I headed back outside to actually use my miraculously healed mower to begin cutting the grass when a shuffle of movement stopped me short. It was down on the ground and I just barely caught it out of the corner of my right eye. Looking for ANY excuse to delay the actual physical labor (SO much for Macgyver) I bent down to see what had caught my attention.
A beetle and a spider were caught in a life or death battle royal before my eyes. I am no arachnologist (a person who studies spiders...I know this because I looked it up on Wikkipedia, and we all know how accurate and reliable that fount of information is) so I do not know what type of spider I was looking at. It was fairly small and white, with brown markings on its back. It was latched onto a copper colored beetle that was three times it's size. It was latched onto the beetle's shoulder (yes, I know, beetles don't HAVE shoulders, but I am too lazy to hop back on Wikkipedia and find out what you call the place where a beetle's head meets it's neck) in a kung fu death grip. The beetle was flailing like hell to beat that little spider off, but the spider was having none of it. Like a drunk cowboy on a mechanical bull its tiny body was being thrashed around, but it was not losing it's grip.
I watched this go on for a few minutes, a commentator with a really bad British accent calling the fight in my head.
What does that say about me? Not only can I not perform a decent British accent out loud, I can't even imagine a good one.
As I watched I felt bad for the beetle. I have seen the Lion King so I know about the whole circle of life thing, blah, blah, blah...but I still felt bad for the little guy. He had probably been heading home after a long day of...well...doing whatever it is that beetles do for a living. The wife had probably nagged him to remember to stop and pick up a little bit of dung for her and the kids, and all he had in his mind was getting it done quickly so he could get home and fall asleep watching Lost. (What? Everyone is watching Lost these days...why not the beetle?) Then suddenly, from out of no where, this damn little spider with a Napolean complex bites into the poor guy, releasing an arachnologist knows what kind of poison into his system, and then tries to take him down. I felt for the little guy. So I reached down and grabbed a nearby twig. I took the twig and poked at the spider, trying to get it to let go of the beetle. And do you know what? That little bugger did not move an inch. In fact its two thin front legs came up in what looked like a defensive boxer's position. That littlesucker was taking me on. Legs raised like a boxer's arms, daring me to mess with it. As if saying 'Yeah, I got this beetle to take care of right now, but when I get done with him, I'll take a piece of your shoulder too'. Not being one to take attitude from anyone, especially a creature smaller than a decent sized zit, I poked again, just a little harder this time.
Spider STILL did not let go.The beetle by this time was starting to resist less and less. I figured this was because it saw I was trying to help it and wanted to assist me as much as it could. The spider, with the beetle still fixed firmly in its clutches, squared around on my twig, like it was about to make some kind of move. I had enough. I took the twig a jabbed that little SOB right on it's head. Not hard enough to kill...just to get it to let up. That did the trick. The spider let go of the beetle...THEN CAME AFTER MY TWIG! Like a batter who had just been beaned by a high fastball, that spider rushed my twig. I fell back startled, a little cry of surprise escaping my lips. Then, feeling my manhood at stake, I lunged back at the little demon, finally succeeding in sending it scurrying back to where it came from.
Wiping the sweat from my brow (Yes...honest to god sweat) I turned my attention to my little beetle friend for whom I had entered this altercation in the first place. He was moving slowly away. I smiled and wished him well. Then I got my mower and cut the grass.
The grass cutting went well. I found my dog, rescued the neighbor's kids, and even found a lost UPS guy that I was able to send on his way. On my way to put the lawn mower back I crossed the scene of the epic battle I had taken part in forty minutes before. The beetle was still there.
Dead.
Dead or sleeping, and I doubt it was sleeping.
All that hard work for nothing. In fact all I did do was piss off one tough little spider who is probably maneuvering behind my head right this very second, looking for the perfect angle to sink its fangs into my flesh.
Now there is a comforting thought to carry me off to sleep...
The mower needs a new fuel line, but in addition to being a lazy ass, I am also a pretty cheap bastard (unless a new hardcover book or DVD limited edition laser coded collectors set comes out) so I wanted to see if I could patch the leak so I could get as much mileage out of the machine as I could. I got some epoxy, a Q-Tip, and a pair of rubber gloves and went to work. Twenty minutes later I pulled on the cord to start her up and she sputtered to life, once more saved from the brink of annihilation.
I shut the mower down and went back in to inform my wife that from now on I was to be addressed as Macgyver and given the proper respect for being the master of fixing all things mechanical. From the depths of the book she had her nose buried in, I heard something that sounded vaguely like "That's great. Now when are you going to "MACGYVER" the porch steps, the upstairs toilet, the...". I did not catch the rest as I was caught up in the heady exultation of my rugged manliness. The rest probably wasn't very important.
So I headed back outside to actually use my miraculously healed mower to begin cutting the grass when a shuffle of movement stopped me short. It was down on the ground and I just barely caught it out of the corner of my right eye. Looking for ANY excuse to delay the actual physical labor (SO much for Macgyver) I bent down to see what had caught my attention.
A beetle and a spider were caught in a life or death battle royal before my eyes. I am no arachnologist (a person who studies spiders...I know this because I looked it up on Wikkipedia, and we all know how accurate and reliable that fount of information is) so I do not know what type of spider I was looking at. It was fairly small and white, with brown markings on its back. It was latched onto a copper colored beetle that was three times it's size. It was latched onto the beetle's shoulder (yes, I know, beetles don't HAVE shoulders, but I am too lazy to hop back on Wikkipedia and find out what you call the place where a beetle's head meets it's neck) in a kung fu death grip. The beetle was flailing like hell to beat that little spider off, but the spider was having none of it. Like a drunk cowboy on a mechanical bull its tiny body was being thrashed around, but it was not losing it's grip.
I watched this go on for a few minutes, a commentator with a really bad British accent calling the fight in my head.
What does that say about me? Not only can I not perform a decent British accent out loud, I can't even imagine a good one.
As I watched I felt bad for the beetle. I have seen the Lion King so I know about the whole circle of life thing, blah, blah, blah...but I still felt bad for the little guy. He had probably been heading home after a long day of...well...doing whatever it is that beetles do for a living. The wife had probably nagged him to remember to stop and pick up a little bit of dung for her and the kids, and all he had in his mind was getting it done quickly so he could get home and fall asleep watching Lost. (What? Everyone is watching Lost these days...why not the beetle?) Then suddenly, from out of no where, this damn little spider with a Napolean complex bites into the poor guy, releasing an arachnologist knows what kind of poison into his system, and then tries to take him down. I felt for the little guy. So I reached down and grabbed a nearby twig. I took the twig and poked at the spider, trying to get it to let go of the beetle. And do you know what? That little bugger did not move an inch. In fact its two thin front legs came up in what looked like a defensive boxer's position. That littlesucker was taking me on. Legs raised like a boxer's arms, daring me to mess with it. As if saying 'Yeah, I got this beetle to take care of right now, but when I get done with him, I'll take a piece of your shoulder too'. Not being one to take attitude from anyone, especially a creature smaller than a decent sized zit, I poked again, just a little harder this time.
Spider STILL did not let go.The beetle by this time was starting to resist less and less. I figured this was because it saw I was trying to help it and wanted to assist me as much as it could. The spider, with the beetle still fixed firmly in its clutches, squared around on my twig, like it was about to make some kind of move. I had enough. I took the twig a jabbed that little SOB right on it's head. Not hard enough to kill...just to get it to let up. That did the trick. The spider let go of the beetle...THEN CAME AFTER MY TWIG! Like a batter who had just been beaned by a high fastball, that spider rushed my twig. I fell back startled, a little cry of surprise escaping my lips. Then, feeling my manhood at stake, I lunged back at the little demon, finally succeeding in sending it scurrying back to where it came from.
Wiping the sweat from my brow (Yes...honest to god sweat) I turned my attention to my little beetle friend for whom I had entered this altercation in the first place. He was moving slowly away. I smiled and wished him well. Then I got my mower and cut the grass.
The grass cutting went well. I found my dog, rescued the neighbor's kids, and even found a lost UPS guy that I was able to send on his way. On my way to put the lawn mower back I crossed the scene of the epic battle I had taken part in forty minutes before. The beetle was still there.
Dead.
Dead or sleeping, and I doubt it was sleeping.
All that hard work for nothing. In fact all I did do was piss off one tough little spider who is probably maneuvering behind my head right this very second, looking for the perfect angle to sink its fangs into my flesh.
Now there is a comforting thought to carry me off to sleep...
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
My Backyard
The grass in my backyard is getting long.
Not simply 'gee that yard needs a trim' long.
No.
We are talking 'My God Johnson...the dog wandered into the backyard and we haven't seen her FOR TEN DAYS!' kind of long.
The reason for this amazonization of my beloved backyard is two fold.
The first reason is quite simple. I am a lazy ass. This is the true and underlying reason for a lot of things actually.
The second reason is that the fuel line is leaking. Now some might be tempted to take reason number one (lazy ass) and IMPLY that I intentionally caused reason number two, in a sort of midnight Mission Impossible maneuver involving some suspension wires, a sharp pointy object, and Tom Cruise's tight pants.
While the thought of suspension of grass cutting duties via intentional sabotauge was certainly tempting (except for the pants...seriously...picture 10 pounds of lumpy playdough stuffed into a seven pound bag) I did not in any way fiddle with the integrity of the lawnmower. The line just developed what nature does to all things over the course of time. Age cracks.
What I should be doing right now, instead of sitting here on the laptop, is getting off said lazy ass, getting the keys to my car, and heading over to Sears to get a replacement piece.
Because I just looked out the back window and I swear to god, I think I saw natives moving stealthfully through my jungle on their way to storm the back door.
Not simply 'gee that yard needs a trim' long.
No.
We are talking 'My God Johnson...the dog wandered into the backyard and we haven't seen her FOR TEN DAYS!' kind of long.
The reason for this amazonization of my beloved backyard is two fold.
The first reason is quite simple. I am a lazy ass. This is the true and underlying reason for a lot of things actually.
The second reason is that the fuel line is leaking. Now some might be tempted to take reason number one (lazy ass) and IMPLY that I intentionally caused reason number two, in a sort of midnight Mission Impossible maneuver involving some suspension wires, a sharp pointy object, and Tom Cruise's tight pants.
While the thought of suspension of grass cutting duties via intentional sabotauge was certainly tempting (except for the pants...seriously...picture 10 pounds of lumpy playdough stuffed into a seven pound bag) I did not in any way fiddle with the integrity of the lawnmower. The line just developed what nature does to all things over the course of time. Age cracks.
What I should be doing right now, instead of sitting here on the laptop, is getting off said lazy ass, getting the keys to my car, and heading over to Sears to get a replacement piece.
Because I just looked out the back window and I swear to god, I think I saw natives moving stealthfully through my jungle on their way to storm the back door.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Blank Page
Why do you stare at me?
Your field of white, a flashing cursor to display...what?
Will I win today? Will my thoughts crawl upon your flawless surface?
Or will you? Will your blank canvas intimidate me so that I concede defeat.
Close the page and slink away.
To weakly say...
maybe tomorrow.
Your field of white, a flashing cursor to display...what?
Will I win today? Will my thoughts crawl upon your flawless surface?
Or will you? Will your blank canvas intimidate me so that I concede defeat.
Close the page and slink away.
To weakly say...
maybe tomorrow.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Get the FLOCK out of here...
So I am trying Flock. It looks pretty cool but let's give it time to see how it works out. This is my practice blog from Flock. No pearls of wisdom, no nuggets of knowledge. Just the wish that I hadn't eaten that spicy food last night because lord, it is tearing me up.
That and I wish I was a Toys R Us kid...
That and I wish I was a Toys R Us kid...
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons...
The ramp I use to get off Interstate 95 in the mornings has a guardrail protecting sleepy motorists from the dangerous possibility of veering off the ramp and tumbling down the not so steep embankment to land back on the Interstate itself, upside down on their rooftops most likely. The last fifteen feet or so of this guardrail have become over the years a gathering place for bumper stickers. I have lived in this area all my life and have yet to actually see a motorist slapping a sticker down, but nevertheless the gray surface of the guardrail is covered in a multicolored mishmash of pictures and slogans. Some of these stickers are so time worn the sage advice they once contained is almost illegible. Others are so new the sunlight reflects most effectively into my sleepy eyes off the glossy surface as I wait to finish my commute to work.
I am sure there are guardrails like this all over America, dutifully preserving the lives of commuters while at the same time being turned into miniature billboards for metal bands, politicians, restaurants, and a thousand insults hurled at random. I always wonder why the people sitting in their cars had these bumper stickers so readily available in the first place. Do these people drive around with a case full, ready to find a spare spot of space at any given moment in time? Or do they plan ahead...purchasing the stickers days in advance of their assault on the guardrail? Whatever the case, there are easily over a hundred stickers out there, weathering the elements day in and day out.
There is one in particular that always catches my attention. The sticker itself is unremarkable. White letters, all caps, on a green background. It is the saying itself that sticks with me. The sticker sits parked between a Bush insult (There is a town in Texas that is missing it's idiot) and a campaign for an obscure Delaware politician who ran for the state senate six years ago. The words are wise, advice so compelling it is surprising it does not come from the pages of the bible itself.
DO NOT MEDDLE IN THE AFFAIRS OF DRAGONS FOR YOU ARE CRUNCHY AND GOOD WITH KETCHUP.
Those my friends, are words to live by.
I am sure there are guardrails like this all over America, dutifully preserving the lives of commuters while at the same time being turned into miniature billboards for metal bands, politicians, restaurants, and a thousand insults hurled at random. I always wonder why the people sitting in their cars had these bumper stickers so readily available in the first place. Do these people drive around with a case full, ready to find a spare spot of space at any given moment in time? Or do they plan ahead...purchasing the stickers days in advance of their assault on the guardrail? Whatever the case, there are easily over a hundred stickers out there, weathering the elements day in and day out.
There is one in particular that always catches my attention. The sticker itself is unremarkable. White letters, all caps, on a green background. It is the saying itself that sticks with me. The sticker sits parked between a Bush insult (There is a town in Texas that is missing it's idiot) and a campaign for an obscure Delaware politician who ran for the state senate six years ago. The words are wise, advice so compelling it is surprising it does not come from the pages of the bible itself.
DO NOT MEDDLE IN THE AFFAIRS OF DRAGONS FOR YOU ARE CRUNCHY AND GOOD WITH KETCHUP.
Those my friends, are words to live by.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
A lifelong desire to be like the cool kids...
Since all the cool kids have blogs, I have decided I need one as well.
What this blog will turn out to be I cannot say. The clutter in my mind will guide its formation. I will promise that it will NOT become a treatise on politics OR religion. While these topics might tickle my fancy from time to time, I will not worship at the altar of preachy self indulgence here.
Some one asked me about the strange name of the blog. I am a huge admirer of all things Python (Monty) and the non-de-plume is taken from one of my favorite episodes. Long story short, SpinyNorman is a fifty foot tall hedgehog who chases the notorious gangster Dinsdale Piranha around the streets of London.
Hedgehogs the size of small buildings who harass criminal overlords rock.
'Nuff said.
As the hour is late , the only thought in my head currently is a deep desire for sleep. So I will go off and find some.
What this blog will turn out to be I cannot say. The clutter in my mind will guide its formation. I will promise that it will NOT become a treatise on politics OR religion. While these topics might tickle my fancy from time to time, I will not worship at the altar of preachy self indulgence here.
Some one asked me about the strange name of the blog. I am a huge admirer of all things Python (Monty) and the non-de-plume is taken from one of my favorite episodes. Long story short, SpinyNorman is a fifty foot tall hedgehog who chases the notorious gangster Dinsdale Piranha around the streets of London.
Hedgehogs the size of small buildings who harass criminal overlords rock.
'Nuff said.
As the hour is late , the only thought in my head currently is a deep desire for sleep. So I will go off and find some.
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