As listed in TIME Magazine, for your Monday AM procrastination.
TIME.com
Some of you baby boomers are gonna have to help us out on a couple of them, e.g., The Ernie Kovacs Show. I'm not sure I agree with all of them but I do agree with their designation, "MTV 1981-1992." I'm pretty sure that's when they stopped running actual music videos in favor of stupid reality shows having nothing to do with music. And speaking of year designations (ie, Dick York vs. Dick Sargent), I take issue with the omission of Bewitched. Like, what gets Leave it to Beaver on the list but keeps I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched off it? The presence or absence of Jerry Mathers? Whatever the reason, I strongly protest. And HELLLOOOOO? No "Rhoda?" Please! A Valerie Harper-Cloris Leachman double scoop of sassy dame-itude? THAT needed to be on the list, and how.
I leave you to offer your opinions...
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Has He or Hasn't He?
Moving directly past the whole "is this video legit and is he still alive?" issue (yes it is, yes he is because we've been busy in Iraq rather than pursuing him), I'd just like to ask you one question:
Has OBL had work done?
I know they're saying he has a fake beard because he may be hiding in Malaysia or somewhere near (what?! NOT Basra or Tikrit?). But beyond the beard, as the guy on Awful Plastic Surgery says to avoid legal troubles, "he looks....different, doesn't he?" Younger but sicker? A bad brow lift? I'm not sure. The past 6 years may have been good to him propaganda-wise, but they have clearly been unkind to his overall Scary Tribal Warlord image. Especially since this administration obviously doesn't find him scary enough to bother tracking down.
Has OBL had work done?
I know they're saying he has a fake beard because he may be hiding in Malaysia or somewhere near (what?! NOT Basra or Tikrit?). But beyond the beard, as the guy on Awful Plastic Surgery says to avoid legal troubles, "he looks....different, doesn't he?" Younger but sicker? A bad brow lift? I'm not sure. The past 6 years may have been good to him propaganda-wise, but they have clearly been unkind to his overall Scary Tribal Warlord image. Especially since this administration obviously doesn't find him scary enough to bother tracking down.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
The First Hundred Days
Albeit a wee bit anticlimactic since I've already enjoyed my pizza binge and Thai food bender, today is Day 100 in the ongoing (seemingly neverending?) saga of E and her bone marrow. It was so anticlimactic that I was reminded of it only by looking at the calendar and seeing that I had, months ago, written in huge letters "MAMA'S HUNDREDTH DAY!!!" as if I was already tasting the spring rolls...
Nevertheless I figured I would acknowledge the day since I've made such a big deal out of it since April. At the very least, even knowing that there is no real medical significance to it beyond the fact that imminent danger from cooked food has passed, it's still kind of nice to still be here to find the day anticlimactic. In the daily grind of getting better it is surprisingly easy to forget sometimes that it was only January when I was in the hospital with a 104 fever, being told by the doctors that now might be the time to ensure my affairs were in order. To be fair, I think my brain intentionally makes me forget that day, so traumatic it was to be delivered that information at 34 years old with a small child at home. But I think that today, on Day 100, it is helpful to recall that night because it was the beginning of my transplant process. It was the night I could no longer kid myself that life was going to return to normal, that my disease was not progressing, that I was going to escape having to face it head-on. It was the night, quite frankly, that we prayed I'd live to be able to get a transplant. So now, transplant underway, as I worry about getting GVHD or about getting a massive infection, it's good to remember that I'm still extraordinarily lucky to be alive to be worrying about it. And that's never a bad feeling to have.
So what grand words do I have on this, the day I've been alive 100 days? First, on a personal level, that there will never be words adequate enough to thank my donor who, more than anyone, has made these 100 days possible. Without her, it's all just doctors and hospitals and patients waiting around with no stem cells. From one small act on behalf of a stranger, my donor has given a whole family a very large chance at a normal life.
Second, on a more universal level, wonderful things can be born out of seeming catastrophes. The Chinese word 'crisis' is comprised of the characters "danger" and "opportunity..." Just kidding! That's a terrible, pseudo-intellectual cliche. It's factually correct, of course. But the lesson I have learned over the past 9 months is that the word for "crisis" is really comprised of "danger," "crapping your pants," and "cursing the God that made you."
Followed much later by total silence because you can't find the words to say thank you for all of your blessings.
Nevertheless I figured I would acknowledge the day since I've made such a big deal out of it since April. At the very least, even knowing that there is no real medical significance to it beyond the fact that imminent danger from cooked food has passed, it's still kind of nice to still be here to find the day anticlimactic. In the daily grind of getting better it is surprisingly easy to forget sometimes that it was only January when I was in the hospital with a 104 fever, being told by the doctors that now might be the time to ensure my affairs were in order. To be fair, I think my brain intentionally makes me forget that day, so traumatic it was to be delivered that information at 34 years old with a small child at home. But I think that today, on Day 100, it is helpful to recall that night because it was the beginning of my transplant process. It was the night I could no longer kid myself that life was going to return to normal, that my disease was not progressing, that I was going to escape having to face it head-on. It was the night, quite frankly, that we prayed I'd live to be able to get a transplant. So now, transplant underway, as I worry about getting GVHD or about getting a massive infection, it's good to remember that I'm still extraordinarily lucky to be alive to be worrying about it. And that's never a bad feeling to have.
So what grand words do I have on this, the day I've been alive 100 days? First, on a personal level, that there will never be words adequate enough to thank my donor who, more than anyone, has made these 100 days possible. Without her, it's all just doctors and hospitals and patients waiting around with no stem cells. From one small act on behalf of a stranger, my donor has given a whole family a very large chance at a normal life.
Second, on a more universal level, wonderful things can be born out of seeming catastrophes. The Chinese word 'crisis' is comprised of the characters "danger" and "opportunity..." Just kidding! That's a terrible, pseudo-intellectual cliche. It's factually correct, of course. But the lesson I have learned over the past 9 months is that the word for "crisis" is really comprised of "danger," "crapping your pants," and "cursing the God that made you."
Followed much later by total silence because you can't find the words to say thank you for all of your blessings.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Mama Don't Want to Know
Yesterday two men were arraigned in a Hingham, MA court for the beating deaths of two homeless men, William P. Chrapan and David P. Lyons. One of the suspects had "I hate you" and "SS" tattooed on his forearm; they were known to have partied under a Nazi flag in one suspect's mother's basement. The two were caught in part because they severed a hand of one of the victims to show it off at a party.
Hellooooo?!!! Where is the mystery in all of this senseless murder? I need only say "SS tattoo" and "mother's basement" to send a chill down the spine of any right-thinking person. Did no one see something like this coming? Surely their mothers or fathers noticed?
Unfortunately, as with most of these cases, to notice something potentially violent in the offing you have to be a) paying attention and b) the kind of parent who might give a sh*t. Clearly, these men had nothing but people making excuses for them. One mother said, "I've never asked my son what happened; he's just told me, 'Mom it wasn't me...' I said, 'I know you could never have done this. I know your heart, and you couldn't have done it." And then comes the part of her "defense" that implicates more than her son in the tragedy (and that made me laugh out loud):
"She said she was not sure why her son has long displayed the Nazi flag in the basement of her house."
Friends, I think it is safe to say that if your son has Nazi tattoos and a Nazi flag IN YOUR HOUSE, has a friend with the word "killa" tattoed on his neck, and that he met that friend while awaiting trial on charges that he stabbed a man repeatedly just a couple of years ago, and you think he doesn't have a heinous crime "in his heart," perhaps your credibility as a character witness might be a wee bit diminished. And perhaps your (im)moral complicity in a heinous crime is increased.
All I'm saying is that if you let your kid hang a Nazi flag in your basement and you never ask him why, never demand that it be burned, never follow up to see who he's hanging out with, you really have no grounds on which to say you know your kid's "heart." You simply should know that yours is the heart that is lacking.
Hellooooo?!!! Where is the mystery in all of this senseless murder? I need only say "SS tattoo" and "mother's basement" to send a chill down the spine of any right-thinking person. Did no one see something like this coming? Surely their mothers or fathers noticed?
Unfortunately, as with most of these cases, to notice something potentially violent in the offing you have to be a) paying attention and b) the kind of parent who might give a sh*t. Clearly, these men had nothing but people making excuses for them. One mother said, "I've never asked my son what happened; he's just told me, 'Mom it wasn't me...' I said, 'I know you could never have done this. I know your heart, and you couldn't have done it." And then comes the part of her "defense" that implicates more than her son in the tragedy (and that made me laugh out loud):
"She said she was not sure why her son has long displayed the Nazi flag in the basement of her house."
Friends, I think it is safe to say that if your son has Nazi tattoos and a Nazi flag IN YOUR HOUSE, has a friend with the word "killa" tattoed on his neck, and that he met that friend while awaiting trial on charges that he stabbed a man repeatedly just a couple of years ago, and you think he doesn't have a heinous crime "in his heart," perhaps your credibility as a character witness might be a wee bit diminished. And perhaps your (im)moral complicity in a heinous crime is increased.
All I'm saying is that if you let your kid hang a Nazi flag in your basement and you never ask him why, never demand that it be burned, never follow up to see who he's hanging out with, you really have no grounds on which to say you know your kid's "heart." You simply should know that yours is the heart that is lacking.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Clay Ball!
I am about to admit to something so outrageous, so unforgivable, so deplorable that I almost can't wait to blurt it just to get it finally out in the open.
Friends, I think No-Hitter games are boring as all hell.
The BBDD was at the game last night (which means 'Baby Daddy' to those just joining us and who don't yet know that said BBDD dislikes being discussed on blogs except in sotto voce and in silhouette, and even then would kind of prefer to not be discussed even among people who read blogs or associate with those who do. He's like Dolly Parton's husband Carl. They've been married since she was, like, 14 and to this day no one knows what the guy even looks like. Yeah, it's exactly like that. Especially if you consider that I have boobs that, much like Carl, also have not been seen since I was 14!).
Anyway, BBDD texted "No Hitter!" during the game. I texted back, "Yawn!" He somehow finds it in his heart to put up with this perceived nonsense of mine, and I thank him for that. But consider my perspective: I go to ball games to see balls hit by baseball bats. They don't have to be out of the park; I'm not one of those fans feeding the steroid frenzy in search of "wow!" moments. I just kind of want to see a man at bat hit the ball, run a base or two, moment of suspense to see if he'll be safe or out, next batter up. I like stuff to happen, and for me "stuff" means hits and runs. I would rather watch a Sunset Tan or The Hills marathon while having my nose hairs pulled than watch a no-hitter. It just doesn't do it for me.
That said, big ups to Clay Buchholz for bringing us back to 5 games up. Even if it means this pseudo-fan finds him boring. ;)
Friends, I think No-Hitter games are boring as all hell.
The BBDD was at the game last night (which means 'Baby Daddy' to those just joining us and who don't yet know that said BBDD dislikes being discussed on blogs except in sotto voce and in silhouette, and even then would kind of prefer to not be discussed even among people who read blogs or associate with those who do. He's like Dolly Parton's husband Carl. They've been married since she was, like, 14 and to this day no one knows what the guy even looks like. Yeah, it's exactly like that. Especially if you consider that I have boobs that, much like Carl, also have not been seen since I was 14!).
Anyway, BBDD texted "No Hitter!" during the game. I texted back, "Yawn!" He somehow finds it in his heart to put up with this perceived nonsense of mine, and I thank him for that. But consider my perspective: I go to ball games to see balls hit by baseball bats. They don't have to be out of the park; I'm not one of those fans feeding the steroid frenzy in search of "wow!" moments. I just kind of want to see a man at bat hit the ball, run a base or two, moment of suspense to see if he'll be safe or out, next batter up. I like stuff to happen, and for me "stuff" means hits and runs. I would rather watch a Sunset Tan or The Hills marathon while having my nose hairs pulled than watch a no-hitter. It just doesn't do it for me.
That said, big ups to Clay Buchholz for bringing us back to 5 games up. Even if it means this pseudo-fan finds him boring. ;)
He's Just Not That Into Us
I'm trying to think of a word that means, "frightening but not surprising; in fact, totally expected but scary and distressing nonetheless." Any ideas?
Perhaps reading this article detailing Bush's response to why the Iraqi Army was disbanded (a key element in developing the Iraqi insurgency)will help us all to conjure up the vocabulary: "Yeah, I don't remember."
TPM
We're not talking about the usual "I don't recalls," and "not to my knowledges" used by politicians when seeking to dodge a question without technically committing perjury. We're talking about a real, bona fide "Yeah, I don't remember" to one of the most fundamental contributing factors to the now-quagmire-like situation in Iraq.
Bush's response reminds me of the times I'd get busted for something during childhood and I'd offer a very quick, unreflective "I'm sorry." I used to hate her for it, but my Mom would often reply, "You're not sorry." It sounded harsh, but she was right: My "I'm sorry" really meant, "I'm sorry I just got caught." In this case, Bush's "I don't remember" actually means "I don't care; not enough to have an understanding of it in my brain, and not enough to even fake an answer."
No indeed, Bush is not stupid. He's just not that interested.
Perhaps reading this article detailing Bush's response to why the Iraqi Army was disbanded (a key element in developing the Iraqi insurgency)will help us all to conjure up the vocabulary: "Yeah, I don't remember."
TPM
We're not talking about the usual "I don't recalls," and "not to my knowledges" used by politicians when seeking to dodge a question without technically committing perjury. We're talking about a real, bona fide "Yeah, I don't remember" to one of the most fundamental contributing factors to the now-quagmire-like situation in Iraq.
Bush's response reminds me of the times I'd get busted for something during childhood and I'd offer a very quick, unreflective "I'm sorry." I used to hate her for it, but my Mom would often reply, "You're not sorry." It sounded harsh, but she was right: My "I'm sorry" really meant, "I'm sorry I just got caught." In this case, Bush's "I don't remember" actually means "I don't care; not enough to have an understanding of it in my brain, and not enough to even fake an answer."
No indeed, Bush is not stupid. He's just not that interested.
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