I see you, Poison Ivy.
Yeah, I see you, hangin' out over there in the English Ivy like you're just as passive and non-descript and characterless as it is. A wall flower, as it were. I applaud your deceipt . . . I relate to it.
You got me three times this summer, and times two and three I was super careful and you got me anyway! So we agreed: if I come anywhere near your "personal bubble" of 10 feet, you'll get me again, so I've maintained my distance.
But the jig is up and your days are numbered now!
You may be sly. You may be slick. But in the end I WILL WIN.
Flamethrowers are legal.
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
9.02.2010
Vacation Weather Forecast (suck!)
Apparently I pissed off Karma this morning when I said out loud that people who take late summer vacations on east coast sand barriers deserve to have their vacations ruined by hurricanes.
I guess the lesson is people who take vacations on the northwest coast at any time of year deserve to have their vacations rained on.
I guess the lesson is people who take vacations on the northwest coast at any time of year deserve to have their vacations rained on.
Eff you, weather. Eff you.
7.12.2010
Misadventures Pharmaceuticals open for business!
Not to keep harping on [boring, repetitive, useless] medical crap, but I just now was taking my "mid-day" drugs and realized the following:
For someone who doesn't like to take more than a couple of Advil for anything less than, say, bleeding out of my eyes, I am carrying a freakin' hideous amount of drugs.
Check it:
Betamethisone ointment (for a wicked case of poison ivy--finished up the steroids last week, btw--I got a scar, too!)
Semprex-D (for chronic allergies)
Lamictal (anti-seizure test drug)
Levaquin (to combat a suspected lamictal side effect)
Ibuprofen (also for suspected lamictal side effect)
Oh, and btw, that levaquin stuff has a possible side effect of torn ligaments . . . even months after you finish taking it! Let me tell you (again) how happy I am to be the neurologist's guinea pig:
[edited for language]
For someone who doesn't like to take more than a couple of Advil for anything less than, say, bleeding out of my eyes, I am carrying a freakin' hideous amount of drugs.
Check it:
Betamethisone ointment (for a wicked case of poison ivy--finished up the steroids last week, btw--I got a scar, too!)
Semprex-D (for chronic allergies)
Lamictal (anti-seizure test drug)
Levaquin (to combat a suspected lamictal side effect)
Ibuprofen (also for suspected lamictal side effect)
Oh, and btw, that levaquin stuff has a possible side effect of torn ligaments . . . even months after you finish taking it! Let me tell you (again) how happy I am to be the neurologist's guinea pig:
[edited for language]
6.22.2010
Next Up: Test Drug #4 (lamictal)
Yes, truly. Three months, fourth test drug. Apparently it just isn't okay for me to say "I know what my triggers are, I average a seizure about once every 18 months without medication, I'd like to stop playing test subject to your whims and go about my life and business, thanks, because frankly, I've had MORE SEIZURES ON ANTI SEIZURE DRUGS THAN OFF THEM."
But, no. We must press forward, apparently.
At this point it's turned into a game to see which one of us caves first. Will the doctors throw their hands up in the air in a gesture of futile disgust and say "We give up!", or will Beth (me, the patient) succumb to their devious plotting and live out the rest of her days as a chemically-induced zombie (because this is "better" than living with "uncontrolled" seizures???). Stay tuned . . .
So far I'm 3:0--not that I think about this as a game, it's just gotten to a point of ridiculousness where I either need to laugh about it or give up and cry. I hate this. I hate that I have to go through this. I know my triggers, the medicine makes me worse. I hate playing guinea pig, where whatever these things are, I'm having strong reactions at the lowest dose possible almost immediately.
And still, they keep having me take different meds, to see if they'll "help control my seizures." I feel like a fish trapped in a barrel, and they're shooting at me blindfolded with whatever ammo they can get their hands on.
This week they have me starting Lamictal. I looked it up on an NIH online resource (as I do with all of them before I start taking anything), and this is the FIRST SENTANCE:
Lamotrigine [the generic name] may cause serious rashes that may need to be treated in a hospital or cause permanent disability or death.
Should be an interesting week. . .
But, no. We must press forward, apparently.
At this point it's turned into a game to see which one of us caves first. Will the doctors throw their hands up in the air in a gesture of futile disgust and say "We give up!", or will Beth (me, the patient) succumb to their devious plotting and live out the rest of her days as a chemically-induced zombie (because this is "better" than living with "uncontrolled" seizures???). Stay tuned . . .
So far I'm 3:0--not that I think about this as a game, it's just gotten to a point of ridiculousness where I either need to laugh about it or give up and cry. I hate this. I hate that I have to go through this. I know my triggers, the medicine makes me worse. I hate playing guinea pig, where whatever these things are, I'm having strong reactions at the lowest dose possible almost immediately.
And still, they keep having me take different meds, to see if they'll "help control my seizures." I feel like a fish trapped in a barrel, and they're shooting at me blindfolded with whatever ammo they can get their hands on.
This week they have me starting Lamictal. I looked it up on an NIH online resource (as I do with all of them before I start taking anything), and this is the FIRST SENTANCE:
Lamotrigine [the generic name] may cause serious rashes that may need to be treated in a hospital or cause permanent disability or death.
Should be an interesting week. . .
6.14.2010
Oh Lawdy, I do loves a good awguement! I do!
Doctors really must think their patients are idiots. But then they don't really take the time to get to know us, do they??
Wait. Amend that.
Nurse Practitioners must think their doctor's patients are idiots. But then they don't really take the time to get to know us, do they??
This one forgot to ask what my major was (Biology), as well as what any of my interests were in college (kinesiology, sports medicine, health/nutrition . . . I'll stop there).
Let me just say that anyone of proportionate educational background who takes an interest in their own health care is going to ask questions and pay attention to changes in their body when their doctors (and nurses) are using 'you' as a guinea pig.
Case in point: the last three months I've been playing Test Subject for any number of a series of seizure meds for New Doctor and Nurse--the doctor is pretty much out of the picture at this point--all my comms are through the nurse practitioner. When the meds don't work, we try a new one. It's really cheesing me off, but they're basically black-mailing me into it on pain of suspending my driver's license because they can. I just started trying Drug #3.
I felt it was necessary to tell Nurse that I had symptoms A, B, and C within 24 hours of taking it.
She felt it was necessary to tell me flat out "It's not the drug." I really hate when I am dismissed out of hand like this. It sets me off. It is now officially On Like Donkey Kong.
In response to her response, I kindly pointed out to Nurse that the National Institutes of Health listed symtom A as a serious side effect of this particular drug, one side effect which is also clearly associated with side effect D published on the pamphlet provided by the pharmacy when I got the prescription filled, so obviously what I'm experiencing CAN be from the drug. To which Nurse had no response . . .
. . . but that may be because our entire conversation has occured by voice mail over the course of 5 days and she hasn't gotten back to me since I basically told her she was useless. (I didn't really say that, but I bet she has enough edumacation to read between the lines.)
Not my fault I know more than you do, Nurse. Just sayin'
Wait. Amend that.
Nurse Practitioners must think their doctor's patients are idiots. But then they don't really take the time to get to know us, do they??
This one forgot to ask what my major was (Biology), as well as what any of my interests were in college (kinesiology, sports medicine, health/nutrition . . . I'll stop there).
Let me just say that anyone of proportionate educational background who takes an interest in their own health care is going to ask questions and pay attention to changes in their body when their doctors (and nurses) are using 'you' as a guinea pig.
Case in point: the last three months I've been playing Test Subject for any number of a series of seizure meds for New Doctor and Nurse--the doctor is pretty much out of the picture at this point--all my comms are through the nurse practitioner. When the meds don't work, we try a new one. It's really cheesing me off, but they're basically black-mailing me into it on pain of suspending my driver's license because they can. I just started trying Drug #3.
I felt it was necessary to tell Nurse that I had symptoms A, B, and C within 24 hours of taking it.
She felt it was necessary to tell me flat out "It's not the drug." I really hate when I am dismissed out of hand like this. It sets me off. It is now officially On Like Donkey Kong.
In response to her response, I kindly pointed out to Nurse that the National Institutes of Health listed symtom A as a serious side effect of this particular drug, one side effect which is also clearly associated with side effect D published on the pamphlet provided by the pharmacy when I got the prescription filled, so obviously what I'm experiencing CAN be from the drug. To which Nurse had no response . . .
. . . but that may be because our entire conversation has occured by voice mail over the course of 5 days and she hasn't gotten back to me since I basically told her she was useless. (I didn't really say that, but I bet she has enough edumacation to read between the lines.)
Not my fault I know more than you do, Nurse. Just sayin'
12.29.2009
Design Center, MA??
Dec 26, 2009
There is a sign behind me that says:
WTF is a Design Center, and is this akin to the Fashion District in NYC??
There is a sign behind me that says:
RED LINE, SILVER LINE, TO AIRPORT
Airport/Design Center →
WTF is a Design Center, and is this akin to the Fashion District in NYC??
Lemon Harangue?
Dec 25, 2009
HARANGUE
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French arenge, from Old Italian aringa, from aringare to speak in public, from aringo public assembly, of Germanic origin; akin to Old High German hring ring
Date: circa 1533
1 : a speech addressed to a public assembly
2 : a ranting speech or writing
3 : lecture
** **
Sometimes after family dinners we serve dessert topped with harangue.
HARANGUE
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French arenge, from Old Italian aringa, from aringare to speak in public, from aringo public assembly, of Germanic origin; akin to Old High German hring ring
Date: circa 1533
1 : a speech addressed to a public assembly
2 : a ranting speech or writing
3 : lecture
** **
Sometimes after family dinners we serve dessert topped with harangue.
11.20.2009
The Biz'niz End of a Shovel
I love my brother.
I have to, because he's my brother.
But most of the time I just want to take something large and pointy and shove it into his head.
** **
I don't know if it's a "guy" thing, or a "Bobby" thing, or if it's just a "me" thing, but my brother seems to really go out of his way (I hope unconsciously) to make the point that his friends will always be more important to him than his family.
I could list off a dozen occurrances to support this, chief of which is his wedding and "east coast" reception which I kind of have to give him some leeway on since his choice of religion forbade his family from attending (do NOT even get me started!!), but the most recent is happening right now. This week. Thanksgiving.
Those of us who are "local" (my mom, her husband, my sister and her family, me) all have work, school, or other obligations to attend to until Wednesday when we have our family meal, and because we're having family dinner a day early, my sister and her husband will be down at the shelter helping to feed the homeless on Thanksgiving Day. My brother and his wife, however, are flying in for the week starting tomorrow (Saturday) and are free and clear until they leave next Friday. So for the locals, it's largely hit-or-miss with any sort of group gathering, and the only real free time Pam and I will have to get together with Bobby and his wife before Wednesday is this Sunday night.
Our mom has to work, but my sister and I suggested dinner out with him and our respective spouses/children/etc--perhaps catch a 6- 7ish kids movie/dinner at the new movie theatre. The response was (to paraphrase) "maybe, but we'll be out all day with church and visiting friends and we try not to go out on Sundays."
And you know, I get it. Really, I do--this is the first time he's been back east since his wedding reception, so he wants to catch up with his friends, who perhaps are his family at heart. And although what I write here may make our family sound like a horrific group of emotional monsters, we're not all that bad together . . . we just have always all needed our own space and we each had our own ways of escaping the crap we have gone through together. But why, when we're all older and able to talk and be together like adults, with our own places to go to if things get nasty, why does he continue to treat us like we're not worth the time or money when we're just trying to spend some time with him?
Fine, I am now pissed off. The big red button of "you are not good enough" has been pushed and nuclear destruction is about to commence and the winds will carry the ashes of "piss off and die" around the globe. It's not like it's a special occasion or anything: go visit your friends who live in town instead of spending any time with your relatives, because you won't be able to see your friends at any time later in the week Mon - Thurs. You're right, brother: Sunday is your best possible chance to avoid seeing us all-together since that is the ONE EVENING the three of us could meet up prior to brawling over mashed potatoes on Wednesday, and my friend, I have a freshly sharpened fork with your name on it now.
I am officially declaring family holidays a complete waste of time; I will diminish and go into the West, where I will watch LOTR movies by myself or perhaps toilet paper the yards of truly happy people who just make that much more of a contrast to the annual misery doled out to the rest of us. Is there anybody out there who even wonders anymore why I freak out around holidays?? They're the times of year specially set aside for family members to reaffirm that, did they not share a DNA profile, they'd really have nothing to do with the rest of us.
My brother sucks. I am thankful this year for friends . . . and a sister . . .and fudge-covered mint oreos.
I have to, because he's my brother.
But most of the time I just want to take something large and pointy and shove it into his head.
** **
I don't know if it's a "guy" thing, or a "Bobby" thing, or if it's just a "me" thing, but my brother seems to really go out of his way (I hope unconsciously) to make the point that his friends will always be more important to him than his family.
I could list off a dozen occurrances to support this, chief of which is his wedding and "east coast" reception which I kind of have to give him some leeway on since his choice of religion forbade his family from attending (do NOT even get me started!!), but the most recent is happening right now. This week. Thanksgiving.
Those of us who are "local" (my mom, her husband, my sister and her family, me) all have work, school, or other obligations to attend to until Wednesday when we have our family meal, and because we're having family dinner a day early, my sister and her husband will be down at the shelter helping to feed the homeless on Thanksgiving Day. My brother and his wife, however, are flying in for the week starting tomorrow (Saturday) and are free and clear until they leave next Friday. So for the locals, it's largely hit-or-miss with any sort of group gathering, and the only real free time Pam and I will have to get together with Bobby and his wife before Wednesday is this Sunday night.
Our mom has to work, but my sister and I suggested dinner out with him and our respective spouses/children/etc--perhaps catch a 6- 7ish kids movie/dinner at the new movie theatre. The response was (to paraphrase) "maybe, but we'll be out all day with church and visiting friends and we try not to go out on Sundays."
And you know, I get it. Really, I do--this is the first time he's been back east since his wedding reception, so he wants to catch up with his friends, who perhaps are his family at heart. And although what I write here may make our family sound like a horrific group of emotional monsters, we're not all that bad together . . . we just have always all needed our own space and we each had our own ways of escaping the crap we have gone through together. But why, when we're all older and able to talk and be together like adults, with our own places to go to if things get nasty, why does he continue to treat us like we're not worth the time or money when we're just trying to spend some time with him?
Fine, I am now pissed off. The big red button of "you are not good enough" has been pushed and nuclear destruction is about to commence and the winds will carry the ashes of "piss off and die" around the globe. It's not like it's a special occasion or anything: go visit your friends who live in town instead of spending any time with your relatives, because you won't be able to see your friends at any time later in the week Mon - Thurs. You're right, brother: Sunday is your best possible chance to avoid seeing us all-together since that is the ONE EVENING the three of us could meet up prior to brawling over mashed potatoes on Wednesday, and my friend, I have a freshly sharpened fork with your name on it now.
I am officially declaring family holidays a complete waste of time; I will diminish and go into the West, where I will watch LOTR movies by myself or perhaps toilet paper the yards of truly happy people who just make that much more of a contrast to the annual misery doled out to the rest of us. Is there anybody out there who even wonders anymore why I freak out around holidays?? They're the times of year specially set aside for family members to reaffirm that, did they not share a DNA profile, they'd really have nothing to do with the rest of us.
My brother sucks. I am thankful this year for friends . . . and a sister . . .and fudge-covered mint oreos.
11.05.2009
The Rating System of Beth
The Rating System of Beth is based on observations made by multiple unrelated people at various times and places. Apparently, I am at least consistent in this.
The Rules:
The Rules:
- Everyone/Everything up for judgement starts out with and will maintain the maximum allowable score--you/it are tops until you/it fumbles into a FUBAR Screw Up (FSU)
- Penalties for a FSU do not occur unless that FSU reduced my overall vapid happiness in such a way that I was forced to pay attention to said FSU
- For each time that I am forced to pay attention to the FSU, 1 point is deducted
- For each time that I am pleasantly surprised by either
- a minor inconsequential detail related in NO WAY to the FSU or
- a happy ending to the FSU, 0.5 points are added
- If the review score reaches 1, I will start assessing the damage potential of every item within reach.
- If the review score drops to 0, heads will roll
- If, at any time (including mid- or post-apocolyptic destruction), you/it manage to commit a "funny" and make me laugh about the FSU, the review score is reset to the maximum allowable score
- Benefit of the Doubt Clause:
- Everything/Everyone up for judgement automatically receives ONE (1) Benefit of the Doubt for having a Bad Day. That is, you/it gets a second chance, without any starting penalty to the second chance.
- If the second chance also results in a FSU, all penalties heretofore withheld will be applied to the total score.
- If the FSU is caused by a person/animal, he/she is subject to the following:
- If the relationship with that person has been of long-standing good quality (as perceived by me), that person is exempt from judgement and all blame shall be placed on outside forces such as:
- Fate
- The Incompetent Wedding Planner
- Illness
- Traffic/Utility Fault/Other Infrastructure Failure
- Me
- If the relationship with that person has been of long-standing good quality (as perceived by me), but that person choses to forfeit judgement exemption because that person martyrs him/herself to guilt regardless of actual blame as a means to control and manipulate others, and then purposely directs his/her self-anger at me, then the FSU score is immediately tallied to 0 and permanently filed under "Piss Off & Die"
- If the relationship with that person has been of long-standing, but declining quality (as perceived by me and the increasing frequency with which I grow weary of having the same arguement again and again), that person is subject to a MINUS ONE (-1) judgement handicap
- If the relationship with that person has been limited to a short-term engagement (example: Shelly the waitress), that person is judged by The Rules as stated above under The Rules
- The maximum allowable score can be surpassed in the following ways:
- The FSU is skillfully acted upon and resolved without me, but I happen to clue-in on my own anyway via a chance break in my overall vapid happiness
- No FSU occurred, but I am surprised by a gift of a favorite thing anyway, just because
- A rare encounter with some new thing/place/event that results in spontaneous Instant Happy, may involve jumping up and down, and a new "favorite" (see my two Diggs Dynamite posts for example)
11.03.2009
Not Right Now, Lumbergh, I'm Busy
I find it both entertaining and annoying when project coworkers see fit to remind me to do something for work that I do on a regular basis . . . and happened to be working on when they thoughtfully "reminded" me to do it via email.
10.23.2009
When Paper Trails Fail
It really bugs me (that is, I really bug myself!) when I send out a paper-check for something . . .say, RENT . . . for which I ensured all funds were set aside as usual and available for when that check hit the bank, only to get gob-smacked with emergency car and vet bills at the same time. A quick look at the bank account and all should be well . . . except that something goes horribly, horribly wrong (probably those $5 fast-food dinners I never remember to keep track of) and then BAM!, I've just bounced my freakin' rent!!
Drives. me. nuts.
Well, I win this time, because today is payday and I have a couple checks here that need to be sent in this week that will not only cover my financial faux pas but also ease the pain and suffering thankyouverymuch. Better luck next time, paper-check!
Drives. me. nuts.
Well, I win this time, because today is payday and I have a couple checks here that need to be sent in this week that will not only cover my financial faux pas but also ease the pain and suffering thankyouverymuch. Better luck next time, paper-check!
9.11.2009
He Said/She Said (medical record frustration)
I finally got a copy of my current medical file from the neurologists and read through it last night for the first time. My suspicions have been confirmed:
1. Nurse practitioners (the ones who take down your history) only listen to 1/2 what you tell them
2. Doctors don't actually read what the nurse practitioners record
3. Diagnoses are made according to a randomly generated set of test results and a consultation with a psychic monkey
1. Nurse practitioners (the ones who take down your history) only listen to 1/2 what you tell them
2. Doctors don't actually read what the nurse practitioners record
3. Diagnoses are made according to a randomly generated set of test results and a consultation with a psychic monkey
"You have phasing in right T4 and a splinter in your finger! Lucky numbers: 2, 12, 42, 43, 68"
9.03.2009
The Lost Posts (June 21 2009)
Today I'm in Detroit, MI.
Just for the next few hours, however, since I'm here on a flight layover on my way to IL. I've already stopped into a few of the stores here looking for take-home souveneirs for friends and family--not a usual thing, but if I see something interesting while I'm wandering around between flights I'll pick up something for the kids. Kaitlyn, my niece, is still easy to shop for, but Johnny's hit that early 'tween age when I'm more challenged to find something he'll enjoy.
For the budding artiste (K) I found a fun little book for kids of all ages that challenges the reader to draw things right in the book. She's just starting to read, with help from her big brother who has spelling tests to study for on a weekly basis, and she's already shown a fair talent for creative drawing. And good, too!
While I'm here, I can't help but notice a great deal of folks passing through on various flights who are here from Africa, I think a religious conference of some kind as there are many Bible cases and totes of all sorts with church or faith-school organization logos.
I'm here during the late-lunch hours in a smaller, more remote section of the airport. Lunch options are limited, and since the bagel place was out of the Asiago-wrapped hot dog (pig-in-a-bagel?) I wound up down the way at a pub called Thee Irish Pub.
The name is a little weird . . . totally improper use of a pronoun in place of an article. (Thee means "you".) I could tell right away this was going to be a crazy spot--the place was fairly packed and seemingly understaffed. While I was looking over the menu at the door, a gentleman who'd been sitting at a table to my left was having some difficulty getting the attention of a waitress. He seemed nice, shy probably, but clearly getting frustrated as the two waitresses were on the opposite side of the room dealing with whatever and having their own crisis and gripes between themselves and very. slowly. working their way over to where we were. On top of that, the seating hostess showed up (between bussing tables), and as he started asking if he could place an order she just jumps right in and points out that he'll just have to hold on for a waitress and she just couldn't help him.
I should have cut and run back to the bagel place, but I dug in and did what I could to try to help the man out (plus, the cabbage soup looked decent)--he was not from here (African by his accent, with that impressive deepest-dark skintone), stuck in a rude place, and I hate the thought of someone's impression of Americans tainted by RUDE Americans AND a faulty impression that you are not being helped because of your skin color . . . he was trapped
by his location at the farthest end of the restaurant away from where the waitresses were, and it had nothing to do with anything except inept waitstaff. Maybe I'm a little sensitive to that from growing up in the south, where ignorant old white men still rant about The Negro, and ignorant young Nation of Islam rant for 20 minutes about The Whites because I asked "Can I help you?" while working at Lowe's--different story. I dunno, I just saw what was happening, how he was
getting upset and how the attitudes of the waitstaff might be interpreted from any variety of viewpoints. I grabbed a table a little farther into the room and eventually (some 10 minutes later!!) the waitress made her way over to me to ask what I wanted to drink--"Coke please, and I believe that gentleman is ready to place his order, he was here before me." He waved his thanks.
Anyway, he and I shared some "Wow, they are really horrible" smiles over employees yelling at other customers before I finished up and ran out of there as fast as I could. Example from the bartender/waitress to someone sitting at the bar asking if he could order a burger: "I can't take your order right now. You don't realize HOW MUCH I have to clean up back here and this entire area is a MESS! I have to ORGANIZE."
"Have a good trip," I say to the man as I walk by on my way out. "'Bye" he says with a smile.
Just for the next few hours, however, since I'm here on a flight layover on my way to IL. I've already stopped into a few of the stores here looking for take-home souveneirs for friends and family--not a usual thing, but if I see something interesting while I'm wandering around between flights I'll pick up something for the kids. Kaitlyn, my niece, is still easy to shop for, but Johnny's hit that early 'tween age when I'm more challenged to find something he'll enjoy.
For the budding artiste (K) I found a fun little book for kids of all ages that challenges the reader to draw things right in the book. She's just starting to read, with help from her big brother who has spelling tests to study for on a weekly basis, and she's already shown a fair talent for creative drawing. And good, too!
While I'm here, I can't help but notice a great deal of folks passing through on various flights who are here from Africa, I think a religious conference of some kind as there are many Bible cases and totes of all sorts with church or faith-school organization logos.
I'm here during the late-lunch hours in a smaller, more remote section of the airport. Lunch options are limited, and since the bagel place was out of the Asiago-wrapped hot dog (pig-in-a-bagel?) I wound up down the way at a pub called Thee Irish Pub.
The name is a little weird . . . totally improper use of a pronoun in place of an article. (Thee means "you".) I could tell right away this was going to be a crazy spot--the place was fairly packed and seemingly understaffed. While I was looking over the menu at the door, a gentleman who'd been sitting at a table to my left was having some difficulty getting the attention of a waitress. He seemed nice, shy probably, but clearly getting frustrated as the two waitresses were on the opposite side of the room dealing with whatever and having their own crisis and gripes between themselves and very. slowly. working their way over to where we were. On top of that, the seating hostess showed up (between bussing tables), and as he started asking if he could place an order she just jumps right in and points out that he'll just have to hold on for a waitress and she just couldn't help him.
I should have cut and run back to the bagel place, but I dug in and did what I could to try to help the man out (plus, the cabbage soup looked decent)--he was not from here (African by his accent, with that impressive deepest-dark skintone), stuck in a rude place, and I hate the thought of someone's impression of Americans tainted by RUDE Americans AND a faulty impression that you are not being helped because of your skin color . . . he was trapped
by his location at the farthest end of the restaurant away from where the waitresses were, and it had nothing to do with anything except inept waitstaff. Maybe I'm a little sensitive to that from growing up in the south, where ignorant old white men still rant about The Negro, and ignorant young Nation of Islam rant for 20 minutes about The Whites because I asked "Can I help you?" while working at Lowe's--different story. I dunno, I just saw what was happening, how he was
getting upset and how the attitudes of the waitstaff might be interpreted from any variety of viewpoints. I grabbed a table a little farther into the room and eventually (some 10 minutes later!!) the waitress made her way over to me to ask what I wanted to drink--"Coke please, and I believe that gentleman is ready to place his order, he was here before me." He waved his thanks.
Anyway, he and I shared some "Wow, they are really horrible" smiles over employees yelling at other customers before I finished up and ran out of there as fast as I could. Example from the bartender/waitress to someone sitting at the bar asking if he could order a burger: "I can't take your order right now. You don't realize HOW MUCH I have to clean up back here and this entire area is a MESS! I have to ORGANIZE."
"Have a good trip," I say to the man as I walk by on my way out. "'Bye" he says with a smile.
8.06.2009
Kings of Leon
I found this group passable (as in "okay") right up until all the local radio stations started playing them every hour.
If I hear "Use Somebody" one more time I'm going postal.
If I hear "Use Somebody" one more time I'm going postal.
8.03.2009
Line Jumpers (rube said it best)
I do all my "TV" via webcasts or netflix, and recently I've been watching this old Showtime series called Dead Like Me. It's sort of cute, and I enjoy the interplay between the group of reapers more than just following the story of George's day.
Anywho, I'm in Season 2, and one of the characters is stuck at the bank in the line that never ends and seems to go nowhere and mostly Rube just wants to get the hell out. We've all been in that situation, regardless of the actual place. This woman cuts in line and he has to give her a set down. Gotta love it . . . I said a mental "eff yeah!", because, honestly, who hasn't had this happen to them AND had to listen to some lame excuse by the offending jerk?? And yes, using your children like that IS shameful, Asshole. . .
Anywho, I'm in Season 2, and one of the characters is stuck at the bank in the line that never ends and seems to go nowhere and mostly Rube just wants to get the hell out. We've all been in that situation, regardless of the actual place. This woman cuts in line and he has to give her a set down. Gotta love it . . . I said a mental "eff yeah!", because, honestly, who hasn't had this happen to them AND had to listen to some lame excuse by the offending jerk?? And yes, using your children like that IS shameful, Asshole. . .
7.21.2009
Dentistal Visits Make Me Unhappy (a theme, by beth)
Dentistal Visits Make Me Unhappy
by beth (age: 32, going on 6)
I had to go to the dentist today for a check-up before I came to work. I saw 4 different people there.
The first lady was the receptionist and she said that I had to sign a new "receipt of statement" (it was pink!) because the office was now going to file my insurance for me, which is nice. She had blonde hair.
The second lady I saw at the dentist office was mean and made me bite down on this red thing that is too big for my mouth, and it cuts the inside of my mouth and makes me gag. She yelled at me because in order to bite down on this red thing in my mouth I have to move my teeth but if I don't move my teeth I can't bite down and it falls out of place. She yelled at me when it fell out of place, too. Then, when she tried taking an xray, I gagged (twice!) and got xrays in my brain. I didn't get to see that picture.
The third lady I saw was the dental hygienist and she cleaned my teeth with a pick that made my teeth and gums hurt, even though she said my teeth were already pretty clean. But this time she used cinnamon polish instead of mint. I like cinnamon better, even though my teeth hurt more. She gave me a turquoise toothbrush!
Then the doctor came in and said everything looked really good and that I should think about Invisalign for my bottom teeth, which are crowded on one side, but I said no. The dentist is very quiet and nice. He has white hair, and blue eyes, and very light skin, and a white jacket. He's like a ghost!
Then the mean lady wanted to make me come back again in six months, but I said no, I'll come back in a year (because I don't like her but I didn't tell her that).
And I'm not doing any more xrays again because they make my mouth hurt for DAYS. And also my teeth hurt, too. And last night I bit my cheek when I was sleeping and that hurts, too.
The end.
by beth (age: 32, going on 6)
I had to go to the dentist today for a check-up before I came to work. I saw 4 different people there.
The first lady was the receptionist and she said that I had to sign a new "receipt of statement" (it was pink!) because the office was now going to file my insurance for me, which is nice. She had blonde hair.
The second lady I saw at the dentist office was mean and made me bite down on this red thing that is too big for my mouth, and it cuts the inside of my mouth and makes me gag. She yelled at me because in order to bite down on this red thing in my mouth I have to move my teeth but if I don't move my teeth I can't bite down and it falls out of place. She yelled at me when it fell out of place, too. Then, when she tried taking an xray, I gagged (twice!) and got xrays in my brain. I didn't get to see that picture.
The third lady I saw was the dental hygienist and she cleaned my teeth with a pick that made my teeth and gums hurt, even though she said my teeth were already pretty clean. But this time she used cinnamon polish instead of mint. I like cinnamon better, even though my teeth hurt more. She gave me a turquoise toothbrush!
Then the doctor came in and said everything looked really good and that I should think about Invisalign for my bottom teeth, which are crowded on one side, but I said no. The dentist is very quiet and nice. He has white hair, and blue eyes, and very light skin, and a white jacket. He's like a ghost!
Then the mean lady wanted to make me come back again in six months, but I said no, I'll come back in a year (because I don't like her but I didn't tell her that).
And I'm not doing any more xrays again because they make my mouth hurt for DAYS. And also my teeth hurt, too. And last night I bit my cheek when I was sleeping and that hurts, too.
The end.
7.15.2009
Some Days . . .
There are some days (why is it always two or three in a row??) when it just seems that everyone around me is grumpy for whatever reason. Family, work, whatever.
A haiku. For the Grumpy Pee-poles:
I'll go away while they're grumpy, 'cause now I feel grumpy, too. Frackers.
A haiku. For the Grumpy Pee-poles:
I'll go away while they're grumpy, 'cause now I feel grumpy, too. Frackers.
6.15.2009
And Furthermore . . .
And furthermore, if your life is so jaded that you are absolutely convinced within your deepest, most hopeless self, that life has no meaning, you clearly haven't given the matter enough thought. "Life has no meaning" is a salve for those who feel meaningless.
Life has no meaning . . . and yet it does. Synecdoche: is it the part, or the whole that you refer to--a single example of life, or life in all it's measure? First, you have to define "life" before you can determine what it means, because the answer is going to vary from person to person. The conclusion, whatever it is, drilled-down to the single example is that the meaning of a person's life is going to vary from person to person as well.
Second, whatever YOU think the meaning of your life is, be prepared for disappointment. The meaning of your life cannot possibly be defined by YOU, these are only hopes and dreams as you want them to define you. Your life's meaning is defined by others, by their interpretation and reception of your words or actions, by the affect your life has on theirs. It could be something you may not ever remember having said or done, of something so insignificant to yourself that what it means to others goes unnoticed by you. If you think your life's meaning is some grand achievement, and you attain it, then I'm happy for you. But what does it mean for someone else? Did it bring hope or sorrow, help or hindrance to someone you'll never meet, and as a result their lives were changed? Are you the example, or the warning? How will you be remembered, and for what?
It's likely you'll never know. You're just as likely to be forgotten as remembered, and who knows what someone will ever remember of you (good or bad) anyway?
All I can say is this: don't get so wrapped up in thoughts of dying and hopelessness you can't see life around you. We're all dying, but we live first; to be meaningful before we're meaningless.
Yeah, I get what you're trying to say, Waste-of-Time Movie, but is this supposed to be the grand epiphany I'm to get from watching you?? Puh-lease . . . Possible Death beat you to it a long time ago. Now go away and take your enlightenment to someone who needs it . . . like some artistic philosophical recluse needing to remake another Arthur Miller play, using other Arther Miller plays for inspiration (most especially this one).
Life has no meaning . . . and yet it does. Synecdoche: is it the part, or the whole that you refer to--a single example of life, or life in all it's measure? First, you have to define "life" before you can determine what it means, because the answer is going to vary from person to person. The conclusion, whatever it is, drilled-down to the single example is that the meaning of a person's life is going to vary from person to person as well.
Second, whatever YOU think the meaning of your life is, be prepared for disappointment. The meaning of your life cannot possibly be defined by YOU, these are only hopes and dreams as you want them to define you. Your life's meaning is defined by others, by their interpretation and reception of your words or actions, by the affect your life has on theirs. It could be something you may not ever remember having said or done, of something so insignificant to yourself that what it means to others goes unnoticed by you. If you think your life's meaning is some grand achievement, and you attain it, then I'm happy for you. But what does it mean for someone else? Did it bring hope or sorrow, help or hindrance to someone you'll never meet, and as a result their lives were changed? Are you the example, or the warning? How will you be remembered, and for what?
It's likely you'll never know. You're just as likely to be forgotten as remembered, and who knows what someone will ever remember of you (good or bad) anyway?
All I can say is this: don't get so wrapped up in thoughts of dying and hopelessness you can't see life around you. We're all dying, but we live first; to be meaningful before we're meaningless.
Yeah, I get what you're trying to say, Waste-of-Time Movie, but is this supposed to be the grand epiphany I'm to get from watching you?? Puh-lease . . . Possible Death beat you to it a long time ago. Now go away and take your enlightenment to someone who needs it . . . like some artistic philosophical recluse needing to remake another Arthur Miller play, using other Arther Miller plays for inspiration (most especially this one).
Synecdoche, NY (my two cents)
Did. Not. Like.
Yeah, I could list an entire series of possible themes, undercurrents, symbolism, etc, etc and the various reasons I didn't like this movie . . . but I'm not going to. Why waste more time than those moments already sucked out of my life by watching it? Prosaic Everyman as defined by "artistic" philosophers who are so wrapped up in their own down-trodden views on life they, too, fail to truly live. Go back to your seclusion and dreary world views of your confined experiences in bourgious developed countries and stay away from me . . . I'm too busy enjoying life before I die to be dragged down by your supposed entertainment. If I wanted to watch Death of a Salesman, I'd have gone to the library and borrowed their dusty VHS copy.
From IM:
Beth says:
*i really hate mondays
Lauren says:
*me too
*im ready to leave already
*im tird
Beth says:
*and today I started with a headache thanks to this stupid movie Paul wanted me to watch last night
Lauren says:
*hahah tird...not tired
*how does a movie give you a headache?
Beth says:
*Synecdoche
*it's essesntially a reversioning of Death of a Salesman
*how this one man is supposed to represent all of the world, in that we're so wrapped up in our own misery, waiting to die, waiting for someone to hand us meaning and joy on a silver platter while we can't see and enjoy what's right in front of us
*and in the end, life is meaningless and we die
*big. fat. waste. of. time.
*did not lik
*like
Lauren says:
*and so it gave you a headache
Beth says:
*and Paul and everyone else I know are all "oh, it's great, and I just cried at the end, and epiphany, epiphany"
*and 15 mins in I'm thinking to myself, geez, they really go out of their way to make the connection to Death of a Salesman, and how even this man's "life" is unreal to him--the only thing that is real to him (and thus maybe why he can't get away from it) is his own misery
*but I had to sit there the whole two hours
*and that's what gave me the headache
*that, and at the end Paul was all excited to see my reaction and proclaim it the best movie ever, and I said "not a good movie, did not like it"
*and I lay out a few of my first impressions, and what do I get back but the standard Paul response: "No, you're wrong. . . "
*which is the big ol' signal that Beth is now done with this conversation, since her opinions are now officially wrong
*so I went home
*with a headache
*which I still have
*stoopid movie
Lauren says:
*take advil
Yeah, I could list an entire series of possible themes, undercurrents, symbolism, etc, etc and the various reasons I didn't like this movie . . . but I'm not going to. Why waste more time than those moments already sucked out of my life by watching it? Prosaic Everyman as defined by "artistic" philosophers who are so wrapped up in their own down-trodden views on life they, too, fail to truly live. Go back to your seclusion and dreary world views of your confined experiences in bourgious developed countries and stay away from me . . . I'm too busy enjoying life before I die to be dragged down by your supposed entertainment. If I wanted to watch Death of a Salesman, I'd have gone to the library and borrowed their dusty VHS copy.
From IM:
Beth says:
*i really hate mondays
Lauren says:
*me too
*im ready to leave already
*im tird
Beth says:
*and today I started with a headache thanks to this stupid movie Paul wanted me to watch last night
Lauren says:
*hahah tird...not tired
*how does a movie give you a headache?
Beth says:
*Synecdoche
*it's essesntially a reversioning of Death of a Salesman
*how this one man is supposed to represent all of the world, in that we're so wrapped up in our own misery, waiting to die, waiting for someone to hand us meaning and joy on a silver platter while we can't see and enjoy what's right in front of us
*and in the end, life is meaningless and we die
*big. fat. waste. of. time.
*did not lik
*like
Lauren says:
*and so it gave you a headache
Beth says:
*and Paul and everyone else I know are all "oh, it's great, and I just cried at the end, and epiphany, epiphany"
*and 15 mins in I'm thinking to myself, geez, they really go out of their way to make the connection to Death of a Salesman, and how even this man's "life" is unreal to him--the only thing that is real to him (and thus maybe why he can't get away from it) is his own misery
*but I had to sit there the whole two hours
*and that's what gave me the headache
*that, and at the end Paul was all excited to see my reaction and proclaim it the best movie ever, and I said "not a good movie, did not like it"
*and I lay out a few of my first impressions, and what do I get back but the standard Paul response: "No, you're wrong. . . "
*which is the big ol' signal that Beth is now done with this conversation, since her opinions are now officially wrong
*so I went home
*with a headache
*which I still have
*stoopid movie
Lauren says:
*take advil
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