How do we deal with this? Someone who was instrumental in making us who we are? An important piece of our youth.
The pieces of who we are come from our basic self and the influence of those who were there when we were children. Some things, some parts of us, can not be separated from the past.
How do I accept the death of the tall, handle-bar mustachioed man who was always a presence? They are who we are, in some way. They were there, at birth, at the inception of consciousness, not the realization of being, but the realization of a separate person. I am not them. They are not me. They are still part of me.
All those who were around us, neighbors, friends, teachers, relatives... All were part of making us who we are. Our very environment, where we lived, how we lived, also made us who we are.
There is so much more to us, so much more... we are so much more than just our own biological selves. We are all those who were there, for good or bad. All the presences in our lives have made us who we are.
The bagger at the market. The guy on the corner. Even more so, our family.
How much does family influence us? More than we accept, or want. Genes, yes. Other things more powerful than genes? Yes, indeed.
How do we learn to deal with grief? Pain? Rage? Anger? From those around us. Those who were there when we were small are still with us in our responses. Our reactions.
This one, this one who is now gone? Made me laugh. He made a difference in me... a part of me.
Forever.
Rest well, Jerry. I love you still.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Adventures in Food
I am a "hobby"cook. I enjoy it very much and things usually come out just like they should. Trying new recipes and different cuisines is an adventure and I never find it boring. Wish I could say the same for Himself.
I am a member of a site that has cooking contests and events several times a year. I entered one some years back, filled with anticipation and excitement at the prospect of learning new techniques and trying new cuisines. I didn't realize that the Alpha Male is averse to trying new cuisines and cares not a whit about new techniques. My chagrin at discovering he doesn't like nuts of any kind in anything was nearly boundless. My disappointment when he turned away from a lovely chicken veronique because it was dressed with grapes... ah! After countless attempts to cajole the unwilling would-be-taster it dawned on me that it wasn't any of the dishes I presented.
He just doesn't like anything at all different. I came to the conclusion that if his mother didn't cook it, he didn't want it. The greasier, saltier, more overdone, sugary or just plain bland a dish is, the better he likes it.
I truly believe he could subsist on nothing but deep-fried tenderloins, chili and sandwich meat.
Actually, he will eat damned near anything if it's been battered and deep-fried. In lard.
I don't have a problem with lard, and do like a nice tenderloin every now and again. I just can't bring myself to eat that all the time. I am tired of chili. Sandwich meat grosses me out. Gravy with an inch of fat on the top is disgusting. Sweet desserts aren't necessary. Dried out pork chops from cooking too long chew about like shoe leather.
He won't eat anything at all Greek. He likes that seasoning mix from the market but authentic Greek? No.
No Italian other than pasta with standard tomato/meat sauce.
Catalonian? North African? East Indian? French? Asian? Lord love a duck, you'd think I was trying to kill him with that "stuff."
Made a beautiful cassoulet for Christmas 2006. Everyone loved it. With one exception. Guess who? It's nothing more than a casserole with a lovely crumb crust.... that's it! Good thing there was a small ham, too.
An attempt at a daubé went well until one of the kids told him it was called "daubé." Here he was chowing down on what he thought was good old like-ma-made beef stew and it turns out to be some hideous concoction called a "daubé!" You'd think I had just become the worst sort of traitor... a food traitor.
There are a lot of recipes that everyone else in the family, and guests, just adore. Smoky Iberian Chicken is a good example. I made that one up out of whole cloth after having it at a snazzy restaurant in St. Paul. It came with roasted asparagus (yummy) and a great white wine-based sauce. He wouldn't taste it at the restaurant and sure as hell isn't going to eat my version at home.
Another one is Roasted Vegetable soup with blackeyed peas. Turns out, he won't eat blackeyed peas even though he's been eating chickpeas in things for years. (Funny thing, that. I had the idea they were the same thing?) Even if I present him with the soup, sans those awful round thingies, he won't touch it now. I may have hidden a chickpea or two in there somewhere. Kind of like a culinary princess and the pea.
He is easy to feed when we go out to eat. Just give him a big rare steak. That's all he eats. Unless we go somewhere like a seafood joint. Then he will eat king crab legs or shrimp. God forbid he should touch tilapia, mahimahi or salmon. Might die, right there on the spot, hapless victim of weirdly named food. Except for the salmon. He just hates salmon as a matter of conscience.
Tuna is fine as long as it is in oil in a can. Tuna steaks are anathema. I have a picture in my mind of him standing at the table, arms outstretched toward the fish, index fingers crossed, crying "Back! Back, vile piscine! Return hence to the briny waters of the deep," like some wild-eyed actor from an old B-movie horror flick. I don't think that tuna steak is going anywhere but in my tummy.
It has occurred to me that, as far as eating habits go, he is very much like my Dad. Mom wasn't much of a cook but I think she didn't have much chance of learning to be one. Dad wanted what Grandmother made.* So my mother, old-fashioned wife that she was, set all her recipe boxes and clippings aside and cooked dry pork chops, roast beef and, every Sunday, fried chicken. Every Sunday. No kidding. She was probably the best fried chicken cooker in the world.
Jello was also a perpetual resident of the refrigerator. Lime jello with grapefruit, lime jello with grated carrots and sliced green eyeballs, oops, no... olives. Lime jello with cottage cheese. Every now and again the jello would turn color, unaccountably, and become orange. It then contained mandarin orange slices. Or grated carrots. Or chopped celery. It all tasted just the same to me, yucky, but Dad liked it so that's what we ate.
We also were graced with things like beef tongue, beef heart, scrapple, head cheese, tripe, fried calf brains, all that awful offal. I ate all of it because if I didn't it was growling stomach time and nothing until breakfast.** Dad loved the whole lot. Every bit. I don't know what Mom thought.
We had avocados every once in a while. I think it was a heartfelt effort by my mother to do something different, if only just a little different. Spaghetti was nothing that would be recognized by any Italian as pasta. Put the ground beef and all the other sauce elements in a big pan, add extra water, break up the pasta, stir it in and cover. Simmer for a coon's age and serve. The garlic bread was always tasty, though.
A school chum gifted me with a container of rice and sweet/sour pork at one point. I just adored it, had never tasted anything like it and wanted more. Mom put the kibosh on that. Maybe Dad would have liked it.
One very odd thing about my Dad's food likes... he adored any kind of East Indian curry. Any at all. He didn't care one whit what it was, if it was a curry, he'd probably eat it. I know he didn't learn to like that in law school at university. Must have picked it up in India. Mom didn't have access to the ingredients to make a good curry, though, so Dad went without for many years.
I am proud to state that all my kids eat pretty much anything. SS is getting better at it, too. I don't know that I did anything in particular that enabled their lack of pickiness, though. Would be nice to claim credit for that but I can't. I count myself fortunate to be one of the parents who don't fix 4 different meals for the kids because they won't eat so many different things. DIL is getting better, too. EMS is introducing her to seafood and the many uses of onions. Good girl!
SS's reaction to the vegetarian lasagna was somewhat disconcerting, though. He spread it all out on his plate, looking for hidden meat. Listen, kid, if I tell you there is no meat in that, there is no meat in it. OK? Kind of like his Dad and hidden chickpeas.
*As an aside, my paternal grandmama could probably have been an Honorable Mention for Worst Cook in Human History. Her forte was streaky bacon, fried up until it was past crisp. My mother stayed with her while Dad was off gallivanting around Calcutta, Egypt and Australia during WWII and Mom ate so much of that damned bacon that she never willingly ate it the rest of her life.
** I didn't know what it was, either. Ignorance of youth.
I am a member of a site that has cooking contests and events several times a year. I entered one some years back, filled with anticipation and excitement at the prospect of learning new techniques and trying new cuisines. I didn't realize that the Alpha Male is averse to trying new cuisines and cares not a whit about new techniques. My chagrin at discovering he doesn't like nuts of any kind in anything was nearly boundless. My disappointment when he turned away from a lovely chicken veronique because it was dressed with grapes... ah! After countless attempts to cajole the unwilling would-be-taster it dawned on me that it wasn't any of the dishes I presented.
He just doesn't like anything at all different. I came to the conclusion that if his mother didn't cook it, he didn't want it. The greasier, saltier, more overdone, sugary or just plain bland a dish is, the better he likes it.
I truly believe he could subsist on nothing but deep-fried tenderloins, chili and sandwich meat.
Actually, he will eat damned near anything if it's been battered and deep-fried. In lard.
I don't have a problem with lard, and do like a nice tenderloin every now and again. I just can't bring myself to eat that all the time. I am tired of chili. Sandwich meat grosses me out. Gravy with an inch of fat on the top is disgusting. Sweet desserts aren't necessary. Dried out pork chops from cooking too long chew about like shoe leather.
He won't eat anything at all Greek. He likes that seasoning mix from the market but authentic Greek? No.
No Italian other than pasta with standard tomato/meat sauce.
Catalonian? North African? East Indian? French? Asian? Lord love a duck, you'd think I was trying to kill him with that "stuff."
Made a beautiful cassoulet for Christmas 2006. Everyone loved it. With one exception. Guess who? It's nothing more than a casserole with a lovely crumb crust.... that's it! Good thing there was a small ham, too.
An attempt at a daubé went well until one of the kids told him it was called "daubé." Here he was chowing down on what he thought was good old like-ma-made beef stew and it turns out to be some hideous concoction called a "daubé!" You'd think I had just become the worst sort of traitor... a food traitor.
There are a lot of recipes that everyone else in the family, and guests, just adore. Smoky Iberian Chicken is a good example. I made that one up out of whole cloth after having it at a snazzy restaurant in St. Paul. It came with roasted asparagus (yummy) and a great white wine-based sauce. He wouldn't taste it at the restaurant and sure as hell isn't going to eat my version at home.
Another one is Roasted Vegetable soup with blackeyed peas. Turns out, he won't eat blackeyed peas even though he's been eating chickpeas in things for years. (Funny thing, that. I had the idea they were the same thing?) Even if I present him with the soup, sans those awful round thingies, he won't touch it now. I may have hidden a chickpea or two in there somewhere. Kind of like a culinary princess and the pea.
He is easy to feed when we go out to eat. Just give him a big rare steak. That's all he eats. Unless we go somewhere like a seafood joint. Then he will eat king crab legs or shrimp. God forbid he should touch tilapia, mahimahi or salmon. Might die, right there on the spot, hapless victim of weirdly named food. Except for the salmon. He just hates salmon as a matter of conscience.
Tuna is fine as long as it is in oil in a can. Tuna steaks are anathema. I have a picture in my mind of him standing at the table, arms outstretched toward the fish, index fingers crossed, crying "Back! Back, vile piscine! Return hence to the briny waters of the deep," like some wild-eyed actor from an old B-movie horror flick. I don't think that tuna steak is going anywhere but in my tummy.
It has occurred to me that, as far as eating habits go, he is very much like my Dad. Mom wasn't much of a cook but I think she didn't have much chance of learning to be one. Dad wanted what Grandmother made.* So my mother, old-fashioned wife that she was, set all her recipe boxes and clippings aside and cooked dry pork chops, roast beef and, every Sunday, fried chicken. Every Sunday. No kidding. She was probably the best fried chicken cooker in the world.
Jello was also a perpetual resident of the refrigerator. Lime jello with grapefruit, lime jello with grated carrots and sliced green eyeballs, oops, no... olives. Lime jello with cottage cheese. Every now and again the jello would turn color, unaccountably, and become orange. It then contained mandarin orange slices. Or grated carrots. Or chopped celery. It all tasted just the same to me, yucky, but Dad liked it so that's what we ate.
We also were graced with things like beef tongue, beef heart, scrapple, head cheese, tripe, fried calf brains, all that awful offal. I ate all of it because if I didn't it was growling stomach time and nothing until breakfast.** Dad loved the whole lot. Every bit. I don't know what Mom thought.
We had avocados every once in a while. I think it was a heartfelt effort by my mother to do something different, if only just a little different. Spaghetti was nothing that would be recognized by any Italian as pasta. Put the ground beef and all the other sauce elements in a big pan, add extra water, break up the pasta, stir it in and cover. Simmer for a coon's age and serve. The garlic bread was always tasty, though.
A school chum gifted me with a container of rice and sweet/sour pork at one point. I just adored it, had never tasted anything like it and wanted more. Mom put the kibosh on that. Maybe Dad would have liked it.
One very odd thing about my Dad's food likes... he adored any kind of East Indian curry. Any at all. He didn't care one whit what it was, if it was a curry, he'd probably eat it. I know he didn't learn to like that in law school at university. Must have picked it up in India. Mom didn't have access to the ingredients to make a good curry, though, so Dad went without for many years.
I am proud to state that all my kids eat pretty much anything. SS is getting better at it, too. I don't know that I did anything in particular that enabled their lack of pickiness, though. Would be nice to claim credit for that but I can't. I count myself fortunate to be one of the parents who don't fix 4 different meals for the kids because they won't eat so many different things. DIL is getting better, too. EMS is introducing her to seafood and the many uses of onions. Good girl!
SS's reaction to the vegetarian lasagna was somewhat disconcerting, though. He spread it all out on his plate, looking for hidden meat. Listen, kid, if I tell you there is no meat in that, there is no meat in it. OK? Kind of like his Dad and hidden chickpeas.
*As an aside, my paternal grandmama could probably have been an Honorable Mention for Worst Cook in Human History. Her forte was streaky bacon, fried up until it was past crisp. My mother stayed with her while Dad was off gallivanting around Calcutta, Egypt and Australia during WWII and Mom ate so much of that damned bacon that she never willingly ate it the rest of her life.
** I didn't know what it was, either. Ignorance of youth.
Yuck.
Maybe I should call this Hypochondriac's Delight?
The low suseration of the steamer, the smell of Vick's, the tissue boxes, wastebaskets full, cough syrup, fever.....
I am not a hypochondriac, though. Not in any way, shape or form. I hate being ill and this sinusitis business is wearing me right down to a nubbin. After messing about for a week with various home remedies I finally did go to the Doc yesterday. He only chided me mildly for waiting too long. That is part of his standard approach as I have never, in the 20+ years we have doctored with him, gone to see him until the very last moment. The kids nag at me about it.
Himself, on the other hand, starts thinking I'm a bum after I've been ill for more than 2 hours. That's another one of those "say what?" things with males. When he is sick, he is REALLY sick. When I am, I'm sloughing off. *sigh*
I should give up trying to figure him out....
The low suseration of the steamer, the smell of Vick's, the tissue boxes, wastebaskets full, cough syrup, fever.....
I am not a hypochondriac, though. Not in any way, shape or form. I hate being ill and this sinusitis business is wearing me right down to a nubbin. After messing about for a week with various home remedies I finally did go to the Doc yesterday. He only chided me mildly for waiting too long. That is part of his standard approach as I have never, in the 20+ years we have doctored with him, gone to see him until the very last moment. The kids nag at me about it.
Himself, on the other hand, starts thinking I'm a bum after I've been ill for more than 2 hours. That's another one of those "say what?" things with males. When he is sick, he is REALLY sick. When I am, I'm sloughing off. *sigh*
I should give up trying to figure him out....
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Truthiness and other stupid words
That's what I said, made-up, imaginary, stupid words.
What is truthiness, anyway? The state of being truthy? Who thought that up?* Are you stupid or just want to seem that way to 99% of the English-speaking world? It sounds, to me, like some damn-fool teenager decided that was a great addition to the Urban Idiots' Lexicon, right next to "pimp my [insert your favorite phrase/author/vehicle/webpage/food/squirrel]." It's for (in the words of a, well, yeah, guy) "people who express them selfs." Somehow, they does. Sho'nuff. (that guy is a denizen of a social networking site. I make every effort to stay away from people that put that sort of stuff out for anyone to see. It's the 8th grade English teacher coming out in me.)
Then there is inflammable. The OED states that the prefix in gives the negative sense to adjectives, especially those of Latin origin. So who the devil decided "inflammable" and "flammable" mean the same thing? The Latins! It isn't flammable with a prefix "in," it's root is the Latin word inflamm[are.] Weird stuff. Togas and grammar-trickery. No wonder they ruled the world. At least until someone took issue with being called "associates" because they actually learned Latin and found out that it meant "serfs." Kind of like people who work at certain Big Box stores...
There are people who turn nouns into verbs for some reason. I know the language is growing and changing but, really, don't fix things if they ain't broke! Most of the people who "verb" nouns remind me of Bill Lumburgh, the supervisor from the movie Office Space. "Tasking" someone to do something, for instance. "Helming" a movie. WTF??? A director is standing at the wheel of a ship? What? "Orientating," sort of... that's sort of, well, I don't know what that is. Some of these things are just simply from ignorance. An example would be Helen Hunt's embarrassing "I'm now so averted to pigs." Well, honestly, Ms. Hunt, you are a great actress and cute as a bug, but the word you were looking for was NOT averted. Unless, of course, you have found yourself in the unfortunate position of losing control of your eyes when in the presence of porkers. Did you mean "adverse to pigs?" That isn't quite right but better than what did proceed from your lips. Or, maybe you have an aversion to pigs...
For anyone interested, here is a link with a whole list of verbs that were/are actually nouns:
Verbing of the language
If it weren't so sad, it would be funny.
Slang terms... "cool beans." God save me from "cool beans!" I don't know where that came from but it is so far beyond stupid it defies description. I heard an actual, really-truly adult use that a while back. Duh? "pimp" hardly bears thinking about. Really.
Those poor folks who say "should of gone" rather than "should have gone." *sigh*
Will be back with more. Yes, indeed. Stay tuned for further developments.
* A friend has informed me that "truthiness" was coined by Steven Colbert as a swipe at politicians. In that context, it would be funny. Using it in conversation or as a regular part of vocabulary is just annoying.
What is truthiness, anyway? The state of being truthy? Who thought that up?* Are you stupid or just want to seem that way to 99% of the English-speaking world? It sounds, to me, like some damn-fool teenager decided that was a great addition to the Urban Idiots' Lexicon, right next to "pimp my [insert your favorite phrase/author/vehicle/webpage/food/squirrel]." It's for (in the words of a, well, yeah, guy) "people who express them selfs." Somehow, they does. Sho'nuff. (that guy is a denizen of a social networking site. I make every effort to stay away from people that put that sort of stuff out for anyone to see. It's the 8th grade English teacher coming out in me.)
Then there is inflammable. The OED states that the prefix in gives the negative sense to adjectives, especially those of Latin origin. So who the devil decided "inflammable" and "flammable" mean the same thing? The Latins! It isn't flammable with a prefix "in," it's root is the Latin word inflamm[are.] Weird stuff. Togas and grammar-trickery. No wonder they ruled the world. At least until someone took issue with being called "associates" because they actually learned Latin and found out that it meant "serfs." Kind of like people who work at certain Big Box stores...
There are people who turn nouns into verbs for some reason. I know the language is growing and changing but, really, don't fix things if they ain't broke! Most of the people who "verb" nouns remind me of Bill Lumburgh, the supervisor from the movie Office Space. "Tasking" someone to do something, for instance. "Helming" a movie. WTF??? A director is standing at the wheel of a ship? What? "Orientating," sort of... that's sort of, well, I don't know what that is. Some of these things are just simply from ignorance. An example would be Helen Hunt's embarrassing "I'm now so averted to pigs." Well, honestly, Ms. Hunt, you are a great actress and cute as a bug, but the word you were looking for was NOT averted. Unless, of course, you have found yourself in the unfortunate position of losing control of your eyes when in the presence of porkers. Did you mean "adverse to pigs?" That isn't quite right but better than what did proceed from your lips. Or, maybe you have an aversion to pigs...
For anyone interested, here is a link with a whole list of verbs that were/are actually nouns:
Verbing of the language
If it weren't so sad, it would be funny.
Slang terms... "cool beans." God save me from "cool beans!" I don't know where that came from but it is so far beyond stupid it defies description. I heard an actual, really-truly adult use that a while back. Duh? "pimp" hardly bears thinking about. Really.
Those poor folks who say "should of gone" rather than "should have gone." *sigh*
Will be back with more. Yes, indeed. Stay tuned for further developments.
* A friend has informed me that "truthiness" was coined by Steven Colbert as a swipe at politicians. In that context, it would be funny. Using it in conversation or as a regular part of vocabulary is just annoying.
mules, ducks and elephants
Watched the State of the Onion address last evening.
There were elephants on one side of the aisle and mules on the other side and a lame duck behind the podium. Quite a zoo.
The duck would quack for a while, pause. At the pause, the elephants all promptly bounced to their feet and began beating their front feet together.
The mules, hunkered down in their seats, glowered.
This went on through the whole spiel. It would have been amusing if it weren't so damnably infuriating.
This is a great article about the address:
Consumer's Guide to the State of the Union Address
We are having a Winter Storm. Not just a little snow and a light breeze, a really, truly upper-Midwest howler blizzard. Lucky we aren't getting any more snow that we are.
For reasons known only to themselves, a number of area schools chose not to cancel classes. Now they have decided to dismiss. Well, OK, that's fine but one of them, to our southwest, won't let the buses out of town to take kids home. Visibility is just too bad. So there will be some really furious parents who will likely get on snowmobiles or in other snow-worthy vehicles and take their lives into their hands to fetch their kids. I expect some pointed questions to the superintendent of that school district as to why he didn't cancel school in the first place. He may be looking for a new position in Florida or somewhere else warm.
Just for illustration purposes, for people who are not familiar with blizzards.... this was taken around 11:45 am central time on my way eastbound back from town.
It's gotten much worse since then.
I think I will stay in the house.
Stuck in the house with bored teenagers. What fun... have been surfing around, looking at blogs. Just read one about "food safety." Uh, OK. I suppose it would be best if I don't point the blogger, an obviously well-intentioned soul, to my recipe for either prime rib nor French roasted beef. Poor thing would have an apoplexy. I'd hate to have someone's demise on my hands, especially if it weren't the result of food poisoning.
There were elephants on one side of the aisle and mules on the other side and a lame duck behind the podium. Quite a zoo.
The duck would quack for a while, pause. At the pause, the elephants all promptly bounced to their feet and began beating their front feet together.
The mules, hunkered down in their seats, glowered.
This went on through the whole spiel. It would have been amusing if it weren't so damnably infuriating.
This is a great article about the address:
Consumer's Guide to the State of the Union Address
We are having a Winter Storm. Not just a little snow and a light breeze, a really, truly upper-Midwest howler blizzard. Lucky we aren't getting any more snow that we are.
For reasons known only to themselves, a number of area schools chose not to cancel classes. Now they have decided to dismiss. Well, OK, that's fine but one of them, to our southwest, won't let the buses out of town to take kids home. Visibility is just too bad. So there will be some really furious parents who will likely get on snowmobiles or in other snow-worthy vehicles and take their lives into their hands to fetch their kids. I expect some pointed questions to the superintendent of that school district as to why he didn't cancel school in the first place. He may be looking for a new position in Florida or somewhere else warm.
Just for illustration purposes, for people who are not familiar with blizzards.... this was taken around 11:45 am central time on my way eastbound back from town.
It's gotten much worse since then.
I think I will stay in the house.
Stuck in the house with bored teenagers. What fun... have been surfing around, looking at blogs. Just read one about "food safety." Uh, OK. I suppose it would be best if I don't point the blogger, an obviously well-intentioned soul, to my recipe for either prime rib nor French roasted beef. Poor thing would have an apoplexy. I'd hate to have someone's demise on my hands, especially if it weren't the result of food poisoning.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Darwin Award parents
There are, honest to god, some really dumb parents out there. Not just a little slow, but really, really box-of-rocks stupid. It's been my observation that most of these folks are under 30 or have really young kids. One in particular caught my attention some time ago when writing a nasty comment about parents who sold their 19-year-old son's car after finding a booze bottle in the car.
In my considerable experience with males of the species, between the ages of 14 and 21, those parents did a good thing. (I don't feel very sorry for the kid, in truth. Parents had bought the car, were paying insurance, and he knew what the rules were. So he was embarrassed. Get over yourself, dumb-ass. Nobody but you cares if you're embarrassed. If that's the worst thing that ever happens to you, you're damned lucky.)
The pseudo-adult writing the comment is, I am guessing, not experienced with older kids. Adolescent males are some of the most short-sighted and stupid creatures on the face of the earth. They do the most incredibly dangerous things and don't seem to have the capacity to think their actions through to what would usually be a logical conclusion.
Jump that skateboard from a 19 foot wall without wearing a helmet? Gee, you don't suppose you might end up with brain damage when you land on your head?
Drag race over a blind hill only to discover there is a semitrailer rig coming right at you? hmmmmm
Snowboard down an icy slope, right over a 12 foot cliff into a river? Why, nobody would have seen that one coming, right?
It's amazing that any of them survive.
If the writer had some experience of the hair-raising things those guys do, it wouldn't have surprised him at all that many, many parents of older teens applauded the family for getting rid of the car.
Writer: I wish you well. Some years down the road when your kids are older and have turned your hair white, then you can go back and reread your opinion. Here's hoping you don't turn out to be a Darwin Award parent.
In my considerable experience with males of the species, between the ages of 14 and 21, those parents did a good thing. (I don't feel very sorry for the kid, in truth. Parents had bought the car, were paying insurance, and he knew what the rules were. So he was embarrassed. Get over yourself, dumb-ass. Nobody but you cares if you're embarrassed. If that's the worst thing that ever happens to you, you're damned lucky.)
The pseudo-adult writing the comment is, I am guessing, not experienced with older kids. Adolescent males are some of the most short-sighted and stupid creatures on the face of the earth. They do the most incredibly dangerous things and don't seem to have the capacity to think their actions through to what would usually be a logical conclusion.
Jump that skateboard from a 19 foot wall without wearing a helmet? Gee, you don't suppose you might end up with brain damage when you land on your head?
Drag race over a blind hill only to discover there is a semitrailer rig coming right at you? hmmmmm
Snowboard down an icy slope, right over a 12 foot cliff into a river? Why, nobody would have seen that one coming, right?
It's amazing that any of them survive.
If the writer had some experience of the hair-raising things those guys do, it wouldn't have surprised him at all that many, many parents of older teens applauded the family for getting rid of the car.
Writer: I wish you well. Some years down the road when your kids are older and have turned your hair white, then you can go back and reread your opinion. Here's hoping you don't turn out to be a Darwin Award parent.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
One, two, three, kick
OK, so I'm in a nasty mood this morning. Have had a sinus infection for a week and haven't been sleeping well. Have avoided going to the doc but now my left ear feels like someone is sticking a skewer through my eardrum. I don't know what the means but it probably isn't good.
Had breakfast, showered, washed clothes and laid down for a while. Himself pokes his head around the bedroom door and says, "Oh, you've gone back to bed. Humph." Give me a break, man...
I wonder how many other women have noticed that men have one set of rules for the world in general and a totally different set of rules for themselves. Maybe not every man, but I don't know any that don't follow their own cosmic guidelines. Maybe I should do an informal poll? Ask all my friends and female acquaintances if they think the my rules/your rules hold true for their males.
Started this yesterday but, with the usual Sunday lunacy, didn't get to finish.
Looks like we may have a nasty weather day tomorrow. Just in case, I will do some running so I don't have to go out of town. Himself fixed my Roo yesterday. That is a Very Good Thing. The brakes were doing weird things and he discovered that the caliper bracket on one was shot. The push pins had frozen in place and weren't releasing properly so the car was making shakyshaky movements. That wouldn't be such a big deal on dry roads but all the roads here are snow and ice covered. ABS is bad enough but when it isn't working right, it's a chancy situation.
So I am supplementing my daily ration of foodstuff with Triscuit® Rosemary and Olive Oil with a hunk of feta on each. This because, although I love feta and am always glad to eat it, I totally forgot to get the boursin at the store. I also lost my senses temporarily and picked up a bottle of Raspberry and sun-dried tomato vinaigrette, which looks really good but what am I supposed to do with it? No lettuce, doesn't stick to vegetables... maybe I could go all out and just swig it right out of the bottle.
It's evident to me that I spend way too much time at the market. Everyone there knows my first name, family history, and if pressed, could probably list what I ate for supper on any given day. I found myself in a conversation with the lady who works the drive-up about our concerns for kids riding buses for hours in the morning and afternoon. Then we diverted to college and kids going off thereto. We'd still be gabbing if someone hadn't pulled up behind me. Maybe I should consider another hobby.
After being cut off while on hold trying to get a doctor's appointment, I gave up and drove the truckmobile down. Our long-time doc is quitting at the end of March to go to Central America as a medical missionary. I suppose the fact that all the records files were off the shelves being sorted and annotated for the new doctor could explain the phone troubles. I did manage to get an appointment for tomorrow at 10 a.m. Right now that is looking very good because, once again, my face feels like it is about to fall off.
Had breakfast, showered, washed clothes and laid down for a while. Himself pokes his head around the bedroom door and says, "Oh, you've gone back to bed. Humph." Give me a break, man...
I wonder how many other women have noticed that men have one set of rules for the world in general and a totally different set of rules for themselves. Maybe not every man, but I don't know any that don't follow their own cosmic guidelines. Maybe I should do an informal poll? Ask all my friends and female acquaintances if they think the my rules/your rules hold true for their males.
Started this yesterday but, with the usual Sunday lunacy, didn't get to finish.
Looks like we may have a nasty weather day tomorrow. Just in case, I will do some running so I don't have to go out of town. Himself fixed my Roo yesterday. That is a Very Good Thing. The brakes were doing weird things and he discovered that the caliper bracket on one was shot. The push pins had frozen in place and weren't releasing properly so the car was making shakyshaky movements. That wouldn't be such a big deal on dry roads but all the roads here are snow and ice covered. ABS is bad enough but when it isn't working right, it's a chancy situation.
So I am supplementing my daily ration of foodstuff with Triscuit® Rosemary and Olive Oil with a hunk of feta on each. This because, although I love feta and am always glad to eat it, I totally forgot to get the boursin at the store. I also lost my senses temporarily and picked up a bottle of Raspberry and sun-dried tomato vinaigrette, which looks really good but what am I supposed to do with it? No lettuce, doesn't stick to vegetables... maybe I could go all out and just swig it right out of the bottle.
It's evident to me that I spend way too much time at the market. Everyone there knows my first name, family history, and if pressed, could probably list what I ate for supper on any given day. I found myself in a conversation with the lady who works the drive-up about our concerns for kids riding buses for hours in the morning and afternoon. Then we diverted to college and kids going off thereto. We'd still be gabbing if someone hadn't pulled up behind me. Maybe I should consider another hobby.
After being cut off while on hold trying to get a doctor's appointment, I gave up and drove the truckmobile down. Our long-time doc is quitting at the end of March to go to Central America as a medical missionary. I suppose the fact that all the records files were off the shelves being sorted and annotated for the new doctor could explain the phone troubles. I did manage to get an appointment for tomorrow at 10 a.m. Right now that is looking very good because, once again, my face feels like it is about to fall off.
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