Ikgla wants to convert your children!

I don't know who or what "Ikgla" is, or why it's "the lye", but this doll has many mommies worried.

BEWARE OF IKGLA!!!




Isn't there enough real issues in the world without feeling the need to report on a doll spouting "Ikgla"? Evil doll, just evil!

Oh, sweet irony

Husband O' Mine came home today with an armload of Green Bay Packer swag for the semi-resident Cheese-head, my eldest daughter. One item in the pile of offending green and yellow was a car flag. At closer inspection of the flag, I find this:




*snorf*

I won't pop her blisters, but...

I usually don't do this, but if you have the time, please head over here where you can read about my sister's plans of walking sixty miles in 3 days in the Susan G. Komen Walk for a Cure for breast cancer in Chicago, 2009.

When she plans on doing anything, that usually means she's going to do it. Determined and committed, she is, and admittedly crazy. She's a fellow blogger...she and her husband write the Cozy Kitty blog listed over there on the right somewhere, where you will find a link to her training blog. Just reading it makes me tired.

And proud.

Internet vs. "IRL" diatribe

The local newspaper of the town I live in has been reporting an ongoing story about a local couple wanting to open a Bed and Breakfast inn. Neighbors voiced objections, and when the initial story broke, many people, as their want, left comments about the article, voicing their opinions. A few of the comments took on a slanderous bent when an anonymous poster alluded to bribing the Planning Commision by the couple. After the couple withdrew their petition due to city ordinances, they cited that the opinions made in the comments section of the paper were libelous and a defamation of their character. The couple then attempted to go through the courts to order the local paper to give up identifying information on the person who made the bribery comment.

Today in a Chicago courtroom, the judge dismissed the couples' effort that would have forced the local paper in giving up such information, agreeing with the local paper's attorney when she stated that "no reasonable person would give any credence to comments posted online."

I want to put aside comparing comments, opinions and out and out heresy, since I never read the offending comment. I'm talking about not what was said, but the medium it which it was said. Do the opinions and ideas I expound, the words I choose, carry less weight because I type them using a computer? Is the meaning lost because they are reduced to so many ones and zeroes, and when I hit 'enter' they reappear once again as my thoughts for all the world to see on many other computers, opposed to let's say, having the same comment printed in a newspaper someone holds in their hand? Does standing on a soapbox at the corner of First and Main and yelling my words make them even more real still?

The people I talk with online, are they less so because I can't touch them? Are they less real? I remember when I first went online in the late nineties, I spent time chatting with people all over the world. It was a big deal for me back then. For example, if I mentioned that so-in-so in New York was getting married, my husband would give me an odd look and reply, "Oh, that's your Internet friend." No, she's my friend. Period. I talk to my sister online...is she less my sister at that moment, is her life less because we are not relating "IRL"?

Is this how people thought when the telephone was introduced? It's a good thing that Bell's assistant, Mr. Watson didn't think a disembodied voice was just that, less than the whole of the person deploring "Watson, come here, I need you!", or the acid Bell had spilled on his leg would have burned through to the bone.

According to a website that tracks Internet trends, about 40% of adult Internet users read newspapers online. The Internet is becoming less and less 'disembodied' and more 'IRL' as more people depend on their computers to deliver them information.

I commend my local paper for sticking to freedom of speech and the right to privacy, and a person's right to stay 'anonymous'. I can't agree though with the fact that somehow a person is not 'reasonable' because they choose to take to heart something they read online, that since it was just on the Internet, it should be taken with so many grains of salt.

Yes, there are many things about the Internet that should cause people to "pass the salt, please" when reading, just as there are many things found on any newsstand around the world. I just don't believe a judge should determine which source is more valid. I believe that is up to the reader. To me, ideas are ideas, no matter where I read them and I don't need a judge to tell me which words or comments I should deem relevant.

Two cents, for what it's worth

Just a few points about last night's debate between Joe Biden and Sarah Palin:

Sarah Palin did exactly what I expected her to do last night. I did not expect her to "crash and burn", and honestly, I didn't feel like watching another train wreck. After the Katie Couric debacle, I am sure Palin went through a crash course in VP 101. So, her ability to auto-pilot her way through the debate was no surprise.

I've read that she is a "good" debater, albeit a snarky one, in my opinion. In the 2006 Alaska Gubernatorial debates when asked rhetorically what positions in her administration would there be for her opponents if she were to offer, Palin suggested that former Governor Tony Knowles would make a good chef.

Her ability to toss zingers at her opponents to me isn't a sign of a "good debater". It's like faling back on curse words when one has a limited vocabulary. Yes, I know all politicians have and use quips and barbs. They make for good sound-bites. It seems though when Palin quips, she comes off as being catty. Even when she is trying to inject personal sincerity, like when she mentioned Biden's wife who was killed in a auto accident, adding, "Her reward's in Heaven, right?" it comes off like a non sequitor. Or at least an oddly placed thumb.

Maybe Palin thought she was bringing light-hearted banter to the table when asking Senator Biden at the start of last night's debate, "Hey, can I call you Joe?" (like, what else would she call him, yeah, don't ask, I can imagine). But the chummy, cutesy banter falls flat for me. When she "talks" to the American public, denoting them as "Hockey Moms and Joe Six-Packs", it shows that she really is insular to the rest of the country, and I don't mean location-wise. Does she really feel a need to slap on some stupid label on the people she is trying to reach, as if that makes them more tangible for her? It's ingratiating and patronizing.

Obviously, I have a problem with Sarah Palin that goes beyond politics. It's visceral, guttural and most likely not logical. When she keeps on harping, "I'm just like you!", all I can think is how much she isn't like me. Or anyone else I know, for that matter. I don't know who "Joe Six-Pack" is, whether he's a beer drinker or likes to hang out at the gym a lot...either way, that isn't my husband, or my dad, or my neighbor. Hockey isn't a practiced sport in my area, but if "Hockey Moms" are anything like "Little League Moms", that even distances me further from feeling any connection.

Oh, was that me waxing stereotypically? Just going with Palin's line of thinking, that's all.

In all honesty, I don't want a President or his Second in Command to be like me at all. The only connection I want to feel is one of security knowing that the persons that were elected by the people, work for the people, and that once elected, know what the hell they are doing.

Shark-infested Waters

In an article in the NY News and World Report, Sarah Palin had this to say about Joe Biden, her VP opponent, at a rally in Ohio:

"I've been hearing about his Senate speeches since I was in second grade."

Where exactly was Palin going with this? She could have been commenting about the man's verbosity. But, when one has been a Senator since 1972, I would like to think the person has racked up a lot of words in that time.

If one were to look at this at an age angle, Sarah is forty-four, which would have made second grade thirty-seven years ago, basing that Palin was seven at the time.

How old was her running mate when Sarah was in second grade?

Just saying...is it wise to make a crack (or a loosely-veiled dig) at your opponent's age while you are standing next to your seventy-two year old running mate? Hell, who knows what Palin meant to point out with that comment. Anyway, regardless on what the comment meant, I sure hope Palin remembers to use that zinger at Thursday's debate.

McCain has been crying "Gotcha Journalism" in regards to Palin's past interviews. But, for the love of Mike, tell the woman to leave the fishing lures at home. The waters are well full of chum as it is.

Round One

Yes, I watched the first debate last night. I wondered if I had listened to the debate instead, would I have came away with a different opinion. I had read stories back in the day about the Nixon/Kennedy debates that those who listened to the debate on the radio felt that Nixon did very well, whereas those who watched the debate on television, which happened to be the first televised Presidential debate, felt Kennedy walked away with the prize. After all, on radio, no one can see you sweat, as Nixon did profusely on stage, not to mention his over all ill-at-ease demeanor portrayed on televisions across the nation.

So, as much as I tried, I could not ignore the posturing and body language and McCain's totally lack of eye contact towards Obama last night during the first debate. Where Obama stood tall, and actually turned and looked at McCain (okay, at first it was at folksy Jim Lehrer's urging), debating not only issues, but the man himself, McCain hunched over his podium, and smirked his way through the debate, barely turning an eye towards his opponent.

And, if I were to close my eyes, as I am mentally doing so at this moment and recalling what I heard, I come away with two opposing voices, phrases repeated over and over...how many times McCain pointed out that Obama was naive and doesn't understand, whereas Obama pointed out that in many instances McCain was right with some of his decision making in the past.

Obama gave McCain's credit it's due, whereas McCain gave Obama no quarter. Not like Obama was asking.

For the most part, I felt the debate last night was tit-for-tat. I don't think either one rode away with the political brass ring in a major way. Both dodged questions, gave half answers, stuck by their strengths, played in their safety zones. The usual way Presidential debates go..no surprise there.

But at least Obama stepped out of his to admit when McCain was right.

But, then, according to McCain, Obama is naive and just doesn't understand.

100th Post!

Sarah's Next Door Neighbors

Sarah Palin knows International Politics because she lives next door to Russia. Well, she certainly does. Vladimir Putin probably flies right over her house, you betcha, when he's "rearing his head", as she explained to Katie Couric in the infamous interview that left most people totally gob-smacked.



This is what is "next door" to Alaska. Big Diomede Island, next to Little Diomede Island (U.S. has claim to that one). Big D is inhabited mostly by Innuit, more precisely, the Chukchi people. It's roughly eleven square miles in area. Most likely these people have never even heard of Sarah Palin.

Sarah, who?

If Sarah Palin believes her proximity to Russia makes her knowledgeable in international affairs, then the fact that I live a block away from a hospital I believe qualifies me to run an MRI machine.

Scary thought? It should be.

Bailing out a hole, forget the boat.

*The "flawed" financial plan proposed by the President, the $700 billion bail-out...no, let's put it this way...

The $700,000,000,000 plan to bail out the economy. To staunch the hemorrhaging of Wall Street. To save us from a long and disastrous recession. A situation that didn't happen yesterday, or last week, or last month. This has been y-e-a-r-s in the making, and NOW it's an issue of major crisis?

"'October Surprise', much?", I thought as I tired to fall asleep with Anderson Cooper last night. Since that wasn't happening, I turned off Cooper, fired up the boat anchor and googled the blogosphere.

Seems I'm not the only one who's blogging about the timing. Most had valid points, though there were a few tin foil hat bloggers tossing out their two cents. The same folks who believe that the Hadron Collector when fully operational will create a Stargate...

I'm not suggesting that this is the type of surprise that had been whispered about where Bush would find a way to suspend the elections and inciting Martial Law here in the States by creating a reason to escalate the war in Iraq (or when the Stargate opens).

"We are in the mists of a serious financial crisis", he announced solemnly and somewhat fearfully, as if it just appeared, like headlights in front of a startled deer (Bush did have that look to him last night, if you saw the news conference). More accurate of a statement would have been, "We have been in the mists of a financial crisis for way too long."

The writing on the walls of all the foreclosed homes have been here for some time now. For years now, I would drive around what used to be cornfields and see McMansions and mega-plexes pop up as quickly as mushrooms after a summer storm. I would ask myself, "Who are these houses for? Is there a mass exodus to the mid section of my state that I don't know about? Are there plans for large factories or businesses to come to this area? Will there be actual jobs?"

No, it was all for speculation, hence the term "spec-homes" or "spec-buildings". That worked in the movie, "Field of Dreams". If you build it, they will come, and all that. This isn't Hollywood, though. But to give the masses a prod, out comes the "adjustable rate loan".

Why did so many people believe that "adjustable" could only go in one direction?

The "American Dream" is shoved in our faces every day, like lipo-sucked and tummy-tucked bodies in magazines...and they are still air-brushed before making the pages. A roof over one's head has become a five bedroom, 2 and a half bath home for a family of four. Soccer-mom transportation went from Ford mini-vans to Cadillac Escalades. It seems that somewhere down the road, nothing was considered out of reach...the question stopped being, "How much is it?", to, "How low can I get the payments?"

Oh, and now you can have your lipo and your tummy tuck on a credit plan, too.

When did money lose it's tangibillity? Where will $700 billion come from? Which pocket will be dug in this time, since $530 billion has been taken from one pocket already due to the Iraq/Afghanistan war? Whatever pocket it is, it's all from the same pair of pants. And guess who's wearing those pants?




*I tend to rant when I blog about subjects not well versed, ie, I don't know a hill of beans about, so excuse me. Politics being one, and economics being the other, so maybe I shouldn't blog about these issues. But if someone can announce that slamming two particles together will open up a stargate, it's all game.

The Great Wall of River Muck

The above picture is of a chain-link fence (it's not a solid wall) outside one of the high school football fields in town. As I drove by, I saw that the sprinkler system was actually watering the field.

I highly doubt the grass needed it.

Tripping over Stumble Upon

I have become addicted to Stumble Upon. In my many hours of clicking on the little "SU" button on my toolbar, (okay, not hours, I do have some semblance of a life. Really. I do.) I have discovered one thing about the Internet.

It it rife with CATS. Not like that's a bad thing, but what is it with this obsession with cats? Maybe it's because it's just not as funny when a dog is stuffed into an empty 12-pack, or that one will never see a dog perched precariously atop a door, waiting to spring upon unsuspecting owner, I mean ownee. And the pictures of sleeping cats in unflattering positions with a empty bottle of beer...those are obviously humorous setups. We all know dogs are known to be beer-holics, and can at times be found in this position naturally.

Well, at least mine would be if I would give them half the chance. They prefer wine instead.

Now, anyone who thinks I am aiding and abetting to the the delinquency of an animal, minor or otherwise, should know most of my blogging is done with that look...you know, the one where I'm peering over my glasses, thinking, "You're really are falling for this, aren't you?" look. So save your phone call to the ASPCA.

Anyway, SU has pointed out to me many little corners and crooks and nannies I would have never found before. Like this little FYI page.

And I was wondering why I was getting migraines when I would blog. Or when I would read my blog...aw, c'mon, admit it...y'all do it. You all go and read your blogs to see if what you wrote last month is still as relevant, or witty, or profound as it was when it first burst forth from your keyboard.

What, you don't? Oh, gawd, I really don't have a life.

Coming up for air just in time for an unprecedented flood.

This is video (ignore the voices in the background, I hate my voice) is of the raging Fox River as it rushed beneath the bridge coming into my town, flooding the low-lying areas along the river bank. When you live in a not only a one, but a two river town, let's just say a jon boat is probably a smarter form of transportation than a car when living on the wrong side of the dried out Illinois-Michigan canal. In the background (if you look reeealy hard) there is a train trestle bridge that is loaded down with freight cars so the river doesn't wash away the bridge. On a good day, the river is usually twenty feet below this bridge.

The Fox River reached record flood stage earlier in the week, surpassing a twenty-six year old record. This closed the high school (which is located at the Fox-Illinois river junction) for most the week as a precaution, much to the joy of my daughter. I'll remind her of her joy when summer vacation starts a week later than usual. And, hey, it isn't snow day season yet.

No boat docking for some time.



This building does have a parking lot, the shore is supposed to be on the other side of the trees. There is a river walk somewhere, just don't know quite where.

Hard to see, I took this through my windshield. This is a two block stretch of street, about two blocks away from the river bank. The day after I took this picture, the sawhorse blocking (haha) the road was under water.


Allen Park? What Allen Park?
(picture taken by a friend and fellow blogger)

This was all compliments of the leftovers of Ike which caused two straight days of solid rain. Of course, nothing compared to actually having Ike in full as Texas did. Water does recede on it's own, thank goodness. Buildings and rubble don't take care of themselves, alas.

Reaction to Tragedy

Yesterday was September 11th, seven years removed from that horrible day where many lost their lives, and those who survived, their lives were forever changed. Humanity reacted to that day in ways as diverse as humanity itself. My childhood friend, whom I kept in close touch with through the years no matter where life took her, sat in front of our televisions, hundreds of miles apart, watching the news, in tears of sadness and disbelief.

In the following days, I found myself doing strange things, like closing my blinds, because I didn't want to see the outside, as if outside my window had become a terrifying place. Strangely though, my view of the television never altered from the 24-hour news channel. I stopped reading magazines and turned off music, since these seemed to be trivialities in light of the darkness that descended. I puttered around my house in a somewhat manic fashion, because sitting in one place felt like drowning.

Yesterday morning, seven years to the day, found me on the phone with my childhood friend. Once again, sobbing, hundreds of miles separating us, as she told me that her twenty-five year old son had unexpectedly passed away barely an hour before.

I am finding that I want to react in the same manner that I did seven years ago, like a diver remembering just when to tuck in relation to the water to execute the perfect dive.

The mind remembers what the body wants to forget, but I realize that I am not a diver. I am a friend, and one that writes a blog, questioning whether or not this is too personal for Web 2.0.

Yesterday, my friend lost the largest part of her life that a mother could lose. A child. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children. Thousands of people shouldn't have to lose their lives in a seemingly inconceivable way.

The scale and scope is different, I realize, but the reaction is the same.

I'll see my friend today, and we will do what friends do in times like these. This time though, the miles won't be separating us as they have so many other times in the past.

A Second Chance?

It appears that Illini Park, along with other state parks may see a future after the public outrage after news hit that the Illinois government planned to shut down twenty-five parks and historical sites across the state (not to mention cut the budget of drug, alcohol rehab programs, and for the Department of Children and Family Services).

I don't know how long of a future the parks have, but they have one, nonetheless, which as we all know, is better than no chance at all.

I just thought I would make mention of this after my emotionally-wrought entry in response to the closing Illini Park. There may be more sunsets and campfires in the years to come.

A man hears what he wants to hear...

In a stop in Virgina, Barack Obama, obviously not listening to the little voices in his head screaming "SHUT UP!!!!", spoke (mis-, or otherwise) on the McCain/Palin ticket...

"You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig."

Most people heard this metaphor, loose as it was, and depending what side of the fence they were on, ran with it. Or not.

Did he call Sarah Palin a "pig"? Did he say Sarah Palin wears lipstick? Did she call John McCain a pig, if Palin were to give McCain a kiss?

Better yet, did Obama just say something stupid in the heat of the moment? Most likely.

Since Obama was so metaphorically inclined, he should have said something along the lines of "making a silk purse from a sow's ear". I mean, I think that is where Obama was heading, or least trying to, with his lipsticked pig metaphor.

Other words, Obama was most likely pointing out that the "Oh, wow, gee-whiz!!!" that is Sarah Palin is an attempt to cover the fact that, hey, this is still John McCain, this is still the possibility of four more years of the past eight years, this is still business as usual, but with a new player...who I point out (and hopefully most people) is not a pig, may wear lipstick, may own silk purses, and is not a sow's ear.

I am reminded of my favorite of all metaphors, pointing out how easily manipulated we, the masses are:

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances--Wm. Shakespeare

Trolls in the flesh

In my many years of living on the Internet, lurking in various forums, enjoying a short but sweet experience of freindship in an IRC channel, one thing I learned...Do Not Feed The Trolls. You know, those extremist keyboard jockeys who type the most inflammatory dribble under aliases and sock puppets, just to get a rise from someone. Hell, anyone. And, usually, someone does bite, and lack of hilarity ensues. But, if you starve them, ie, don't reply to them, they skittle away like little cockroaches.

Ah, if it could only be as easy in Real Life.

Who am I pointing the Troll Stick at? The Westboro Baptist Church, who has taken the literal translation of the Bible as many fundie churches do, but in this instance, adding the stink of wet, sweaty "Troll" to the message. It's not enough to mainly base their messages, if not the whole foundation of their "church" on Leviticus (a man, mind you, NOT God) 18:22 "Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination." They feel the need to jump up on their trollish bully pulpit and tell America that "God Hates America, Sweeden, Fags, Catholics, Billy Graham...anybody and anything except the WBC". Also that every catastrophe that has happened in this world since 9/11 is due to "God's judgement on fag-enablers".

Oh, why Sweden, you ask? WBC picketed a vacuum cleaning store because the store sold Swedish vacuum cleaners, and since Sweden took action against a minister who spoke against homosexuals, well, God hates the Swedes, too, and most likely those who buy their products.

The seventy or so members of this church, mostly family of the patriarch/leader Fred Phelps (who a few of them are lawyers, just like dear old dad was before he was debarred) have in the past picketed at funerals for fallen soldiers of the Iraq/Afghanistan war, along with the funerals of the Sago Mine Disaster. They also take advantage of catastrophes to spread their trollish messages, most recently, by thanking Hurricane Gustav, like they previously had thanked God for Hurricane Katrina for destroying New Orleans.

Westboro Baptist Church seems to have only one purpose, and that is to troll the World by using God as its Sockpuppet, using the excuse of "rejoicing in God's judgements". I am sure the church doesn't see it that way. Extremists never do.

But, rip away all the externals, the who, what and whys and what do you see? A message of HATE from people with some sick superiority complex, led by one very hate-filled man.


Yes, the irony is not lost on me...this very post is "feeding the trolls".

On a Mission from God?

Well, that's what Sarah Palin's opinion seems to be regarding sending troops to Iraq, if her speech to a graduating class at the Walsila Assembly of God church is any indication.

I understand that for those of belief find comfort in praying to a Higher Power asking he/she/it to watch over our Military, or our loved ones, or the elderly woman who lives alone down the street. But to loftily label an ill-entered war as "a task that is from God", well, gee, I guess that makes it just hunky-dory.

Weren't the hijackers on 9/11 supposedly on "a mission from God (Allah)", too? How about The Spanish Inquisition? The Salem Witch Trials? Were these atrocities sanctioned by God?

I am in NO way comparing our military to a terrorist entity or a raving mob. Or a power hungry church hierarchy. I am just pointing out that I really doubt God approves of these kinds of messages. At least I hope the God of my knowledge wouldn't put his stamp of approval on these actions of men.

But then, I could be just one more person speaking for God, and I think there is enough of those already.

Windows Mojave

Windows Vista is running a commercial that I have seen many times on Hulu online videos, but I am sure it's been on traditional television somewhere in the States. It shows a person sitting at a table in a nondescript room, being asked by some unknown person, "Why haven't you switched to Vista?"

"I've heard too many bad things about it", "It's buggy", or other responses along the same lines.

The person posing the question then shows the person being asked about their disdain towards Vista a laptop using Windows "new" operating system named "Mojave". The people being shown the new OS ooh and ahh over Mojave, declaring their wonderment and approval, announcing that they could see themselves using this system.

"Oh, by the way, this is Windows Vista", the questioners announce, and then the participants voice their surprise and how they will most likely run out and give Vista a try.

Me, I would have been incensed that I was made to look like a fool. I don't see that as a positive way to sell a product.

Microsoft has resorted to tricking people into giving their product a second look?

I think many people didn't rush out to get on the Vista bandwagon because they first researched, they read reviews and comments from those who actually used the product. They did their homework. Most consumers are smart consumers. Microsoft seems to think otherwise.

The Fire Dies

Surfing the news tonight, I came across this ever increasing trend in today's economy.

I just was shocked to see how close to home this swing of the axe would be.

Illini State Park in Marseilles was just over the river from where I lived. My dad would take my sister and I fishing there. Well, more like teaching me how to bait a hook and cast a fishing line, since I don't remember much actually catching fish. But, that never really seemed to be the point of fishing with my dad. It was zen like, watching the river flow and swirl in different directions, waiting for my bobber to disappear beneath the water's surface. To actually snag a fish would have broken the trance.

When I was a Girl Scout, scout troops from around the district would spend a week of day camping, where the different troops would set up little camping areas across the park. We would spend days hiking, learning to cook by campfire, and earning our badges. The older girls would be lucky enough to actually camp overnight throughout the week. That would be my first foray into tent camping, which I quickly learned, I did not like. The week would end with a variety show of sorts for the public that the scouts practiced during the week. Then the night would come to a close with a large bonfire and promises to return next Summer.

As I grew older, it became a place to try out new freedoms behind the wheel of a car. Some tried out more freedoms than I did, though, those freedoms involving the back seat. I was strictly a driving with Meat Loaf blaring from my 8-track kind of girl.

Then, just recently, I "rediscovered" Illini Park when we bought our little camper. It became my escape where Ottawa felt like a hundred miles away, not just shy of ten. There was a little ice cream stand that became the nightly meeting place of many retired folks. If you wanted to know what was going on, you didn't need to read the paper, just head down to the park and have ice cream.

And there was always that river flowing past me, zen-like.

The past two years I was able to enjoy these get-aways, and the nights would always end with a campfire.

Now, for Illini, all campfires will quickly smolder away to memory.






I would be remiss if I didn't state this...I just lost a place to relax...hundreds of people lost their jobs.

A woman for woman's sake?

Today, John McCain picked Alaskan governor Sarah Palin to be his running mate for the GOP.

The Democrats couldn't offer you a woman, but the Republicans can...so there!

That's the feeling I get. Or maybe that's just me.

Yes, I'm most likely seeing this through a cynic's eye. Obama could have easily done the same, pick a woman VP to calm the feelings of those felt let down by the party when Clinton didn't win the nomination. But, he didn't. If he did, I would call 'pandering' just as I am with McCain.

Then, I could be wrong. I'm sure it's a very savvy move, politically.*

*In desperate need of a sarcasm icon.

Cheezburgerized Blaidd

I had to. I was compelled. This pic of Blaidd screamed for Cheezburgerization.

What if?

Newsweek ran an article entitled "So What If He Were Muslim?", which pointed out the religious bias and prejudice that runs through, as this article concentrates on, the political arena. The article also pointed out briefly the political run of Mitt Romney, a Mormon, and the fact that there hasn't been a Roman Catholic in the White House since JFK. So, religious bias has been muddying the political waters long before this election, yet not as strongly as today.

So many people have tried very hard to color Barack Obama with the Muslim-laden paint brush from the very beginning of his political run, based on mass emails, and opinions of my DH's co-workers, from what he tells me, although I doubt his workplace is of the exception.

"I'm not votin' for no Muslim!" seems to be the daily rally cry in the break room, when it has been made very clear that Obama is not a Muslim (as if that should really matter). And there is nothing one can say to these people to sway their opinion, which makes me wonder what is the real issue here.

When I read the above mentioned article, I started thinking, "What if Barack Obama's name was 'John Smith', and he was a long time Protestant, who just happened to have a father who wasn't a Caucasian...a black man?"

What if 9/11 never happened? What if Muslims weren't thought of as "Enemy No.1" by many as the Japanese were after Pearl Harbor?

What if no one could label Barack Obama with anything besides the obvious?

I think the real issue would come to light, and I wonder how many would be as eager to voice their racial prejudice as easily as their religious/cultural prejudice? I wonder what the mass e-mails would look like then?

I bet if you rip off the label of the Muslim paint can, you will find the original label underneath.

It's all racism, no matter how one paints it.

Back to the Flatlands

A very nice weekend was had by all. The old camper made the trip and back without a hiccup. I met a lot of nice people at my dad's campground, and visited with an aunt and uncle I haven't seen in almost twenty years. There was a lot of socializing that I'm not usually accustomed to; my idea of camping is mostly spent in quiet solitude (is there any other kind? Noisy solitude?), but no one seemed to mind when I would wander off by myself, or take off on my dad's golf cart, the vehicle of choice of campers.

Hike? Moi?

DH and younger daughter tried their hand (hands?) at lure fishing, and DH actually landed his first Northern. Younger daughter caught, as she said, a lot of "not-a-fish".

Sent back to the wild soon after

I spent my time reading, cursing GSM Internet access, or lack thereof, and taking pictures like someone who'd never been out of state before.

Pier where the Not-a-fish can be found.

Saturday night was amazingly clear, and with the lack of light pollution and no moon to wash out the dark, I was finally able to look up and see the swath of the Milky Way, arching across the black velvet sky. Forty-six years old, and it I had never seen it before until that night. I stretched out on a blanket and stared at stars I could never see at home.

Did I finally see a pelican over the weekend? Who cares? I surely didn't.

Camping, pt. 2

This afternoon, the DH, younger daughter, the corgis, and I will be heading up to Wisconsin for a weekend of camping. We decided to be brave and venture out with our 20+ year old camper 200 miles to spend the weekend with my dad, fishing, visiting around a campfire, and hopefully not finding ourselves at the side of the road with a major mechanical failure on our hands.

At least it has new tires. And, no, it's not on fire.

I may even have access to Internet while I'm there.

I won't have a river to watch flow by this time around, but I will have a marsh that I can spend time bird-watching...which reminds me, I need to pack my bird watching guide. I understand there will be egrets and herons, possibly some bald eagles, and if I'm lucky, some pelicans. The inside joke is, everyone in my family has seen pelicans here in my town, except me, so I don't believe them. Up until now, pelicans to my knowledge are big birds that sit on piers somewhere off the coast of California...not the riverbanks of Illinois, or the marshes of Wisconsin, as now my dad tells me.

See, he's in on it now, too.

I guess I could now turn this posting into something deep and mindfully vast, but I won't. It's just a "Hey, it's me here, just blogging about my upcoming weekend. Move along now. Nothing else to see here."

That is, until I come back next Monday with pictures...maybe one or two will be of the elusive (at least to me) pelican.

First Day, 2008-2009

Today started the ritual of waking up in the morning a half-hour late, because I assumed I set my alarm on my cell phone correctly, then realizing I didn't (thank Bob for an internal alarm that eventually wakes me a half hour later than intended). Then, the stumbling out of bed, tripping over the dog and yelling up the stairs to wake up my daughter.

She also assumes she set her alarm clock. She has no internal alarm for a back-up, though.

Then I fire up the laptop then fire up the stove to boil some water for coffee. The water boils way before the laptop loads enough so I can log in. The laptop loads long before my daughter makes her appearance.

Luckily, she is not a girly-girl, or the next forty-five minutes would be spent in agony, waiting for her to apply make-up, pick out an outfit, run a straighter through her hair...as it is it's "throw on a black t-shirt and jeans, run a toothbrush around her mouth, hunt down the errant sock, grab shoes and a brush and spend the drive to school ripping the brush through her way-too long hair as she sheds all over my van's interior.

Today, I try and navigate though the throng of first day of school traffic. The buses, the young drivers, and an occasional police car, bottle-nosed as other kids whizz by on skateboards, or slunk by on...did I really see a pair of fluffy bedroom slippers?

I know there are stomach-dwelling butterflies fluttering everywhere. The butterfly swarm seems to be much larger this year, at least in my stomach, that I know. My daughter is heading for school this year with the usual uncertainty and trepidation, cranked up a few notches. She's in her Junior year. There is more emphasis in "What are your plans for college?". My daughter is still thinking in terms of, "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Just help my daughter get through high school first, please.

Books vs. Computers

Well, I guess this isn't really an "either/or" situation as the title suggests. I been thinking about books, and the piles of them I have scattered throughout my house. I think about how maybe I should buy a Kindle or some other type of E-book and download what I want to read. Or maybe find more books available on-line and read them on my laptop. It would certainly cause less clutter in my life if I did.

Then, tonight I was watching old episodes of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" on Hulu, (don't laugh, I'm a Whedonholic), and there was a discussion at the end of the episode between the librarian Giles (played perfectly by Anthony Head) and a computer lab teacher, explaining why he preferred books over technology.



I agree with this on a purely emotional level. Although it seems my lifestyle depends heavily on computers as a social network, as a source of news, or just to find those silly little tidbits such as pictures of cats with oddly typed "capshuns", for me there is nothing like holding a book, running a hand over the cover, and if it is an older book, taking a deep whiff of the pages, wishing that the papery smell could be captured in a bottle, for I would wear it as perfume. Well, not the ones that have succumbed to mold and mildew, of course.

As lost as I would be without my computer, how less my life would be if I could no longer become lost in a book...lost in something I can carry with me where ever I go. Something as simple as words on a page. Touched by my hand. Written by the hand of another.

Thanks for cell phone cameras

Taking a drive to a local park this afternoon, we sat along the river bank, watching the geese float by. The sun was starting to set and steam was starting to rise from the river. I happened to look towards the sunset and saw how golden sunbeams were streaming through the trees, shining a spot on a picnic table in the distance.

I knew when I left the house I should have grabbed my camera. And, of course, every time I leave the camera at home, I find some view I want to capture, and nothing to catch it with.

DH came to the rescue with his cell phone. It didn't exactly capture what I saw myself, but he did pretty good with a simple point and shoot via his phone.

Fireworks and Little Girls

Warning: Another Olympic/China rant. If you are tired of these diatribes, here's a cute corgi you can look at instead for your viewing pleasure. I perfectly understand if you'd rather see the corgi. If you don't like corgis, well then, you're on your own.

I can understand the issue with the digitally added pyrotechnics used in the opening ceremonies that only benefited the television viewing audience. Supposedly, it was a safety issue that involved not wanting to use a helicopter pilot to follow and tape the path of the "footprints" (which I thought were amorphous blobs, but what do I know?)

But, in the case of the cute little pony-tailed girl who sang "Ode to the Motherland", where it was revealed later that the voice was not her's, but of another little girl who just wasn't cute enough to take center stage in the "Bird's Nest", the explanation in the end was "National interests".

On a "talk-back" segment on CNN today, someone pointed out that people should stop picking apart the opening ceremonies because it was "entertainment", after all. Okay, I could buy that, that is until "National interests" came into play.

It's those same "National interests" that hid away protesters, told people who wanted to petition the government to stay home, and sent some of those who voiced opposition against the Olympics to prison.

Nothing "entertaining" about that now, is there?

Celebrity

John McCain's ad-machine has been ratcheting up the idea that Barack Obama is more of a celebrity than a candidate for the Presidency of the United States of America. Commercials showing images of Obama speaking to swelling, cheering crowds, hanging on every bit of oratory as Obama smiles from the adoration are shown to point out McCain's question of, "Do we want a celebrity in the White House?"

Who dictates "celebrity", really? The man at the podium, or the actor under the Proscenium arch, or the rich dilettante stepping from a limousine to a light show of camera flash...do they?

No.

There is no "celebrity" if there is no audience. There is no "celebrity" if there is nothing offered to said audience...a riveting soliloquy, a flash of naughty bits, and in Obama's case, a call for us to believe that there can be something better than what came before.

I use the term "celebrity" seldom, if at all. I tend to think the term is overused and therefore lessens the object of the terminology. Obviously John McCain sees it the same way.

Which, of course was his point all along.

Admission

Okay, I admit, I did watch bits and pieces of the Olympic opening ceremonies Friday night...it was either that, or curl up in a cave somewhere so I could be hid away from technology. Anyway, DH wanted to watch the ceremonies, so I took to my laptop and would occasionally glance over to the television. Small house, one television, and all that.

The ceremonies were pretty and shiny, and done with a precision that I could not comprehend. All I could think of was the hours, days, weeks (years?) that was put in by the 15,000 volunteers as they went from one amazing routine to another. China definitely put on a happy, welcoming face for all the world to see, but I couldn't help but compare it to the poor kid forced to smile as Mommy and Daddy puts on the "functional family"act when company comes over to visit. But, hey, I'm a cynic. Cynicism aside, though, from what I saw, the people of Beijing should be proud of their achievement.

Then, this morning, I read an on-line article about how the "stone faces" of the police and military is scaring the tourists. The IOC is suggesting that the police should "smile more". The head of the IOC Marketing Committee was quoted as saying:

"The Chinese are scaring the wits out of foreigners. We can't have it like this. When, in addition, they have weapons and look scary, it is even worse."

Welcome to China.

But, but, but...

According to the dictionary, the word "but" appears to be a multi-tasking word. It can be used as an adverb (albeit awkwardly) as in, "Get out of here but fast!", a preposition as in, "Nobody said so but me", a conjunction as in, "They went to the store, but I stayed home and did laundry", and a noun, meaning a kitchen in a small dwelling (only in Scotland, though).

Alas, the word "but" seems to be mostly used as an attempt to lessen the severity of a situation, as in, "I had an affair with the woman, but, I didn't love her."

The word, "but" is also used to try and negate any opinion that has come before, such as, "You, know, I don't mean to be so blunt, but, you are an ass".

See, I really meant to be blunt, except I used the word "but" to hide my intentions, lamely. So, let me rephrase, slightly.

Mr. Former Politician Who At One Time Ran For Vice President, you are an ass. By your use of the word "but", you have tried to justify your actions.

The English Language. Use it wisely. Use it responsibly. Don't be an ass.

EDIT: It has been reported that Edwards had came out to his family in 2006 about the "liason" as he put it, so I do not know in where in the frame of time the above words were used...but the toothpaste can't be put back in the tube, and all that.

New BK Commercial

I have to wonder where the ad-men's heads were when they developed the new BK campaign, "Don't Cheat on Beef", where a pissed-off cow busts in on some guy eating a chicken product (or by-product, as the case may be).

Now, wouldn't the cow be glad he or any members of his family weren't being ground up for the sake of the King of Burgers?

Just sayin'...

Also, maybe depicting a Mad Cow isn't the best image to use in a fast food commercial?

File under, "Inane Ramblings"

Pompless Circumstances

I've really thought this one over...whether or not to watch the Olympics at all this year. I've always been a sucker for the pomp and circumstance of the opening and closing ceremonies. I've enjoyed the opening ceremonies mostly, because not only did it give the host country a chance to welcome the world, it gave the country a chance to say, "Hey, this is who we are". The country's culture and history are woven artistically through a cavalcade of light and sound and color...some countries were more deft at this than others. But with China's rich history and culture, the opening ceremonies should be one of the better ones.

But, can I watch with a sense of awe? Can I watch without thinking of Yang Chunlin. He passed around a petition in 2007, one that did not look favorably on the Olympics coming to China, and is now in prison for voicing an opinion. Or Hu Jia, a blogger, who compared the upcoming Olympics to the ones held in 1936 in Berlin...an analogy I had made in a past post some time ago. Difference is, Jia is in jail, while I am sitting here, asking myself if I am going to watch the Olympics.

Maybe I answered my own question. I may watch an event or two, but not the ceremonies. I guess no matter where, no matter who is the host country, the ceremonies do smack at promotion, if I want to don my cynic's glasses and see them in that light. But in this case, it's blatant propaganda, and I don't need cynicism to see that.

Life is but a dream

This has been around the Internet for a few years now. I came across it again last night and wondered if I could watch it again without welling up.

Nope.

*Why I Blog #46

...because I don't have the balls to sing at a Karaoke bar.





Wait a mo'. On the subject of Karaoke, blogging does have some things in common with attempting to sing in front of a room full of strangers.

1. A comment, idea, observation may sound really interesting, profound, keen only while it is still residing in one's head. Just as one sings to themselves, thinking, "Wow, I'm pretty wicked talented! I'm findin' me a Karaoke bar!", not realizing that the skull must have some strange acoustic qualities that causes the deluded to believe they are blessed with perfect pitch, the blogger grabs on to some random thought floating in his cerebral goo and thinks, "Wow, I'm pretty wicked deep! I'm finding me a bloggin' site!"

I don't know of any structural qualities of the skull that cause that delusion, though.

2. Both only gets worse with alcohol.

3. There are always exceptions, unless #2 is a factor.


Notice: There are far more talented bloggers than there are Karaoke singers. I mention this because I'd much rather have the Karaoke Community call me out than the Blogger Community. After all, Karaoke singers aren't in my living room, sitting on my lap at any given moment.



*Alcohol was not a factor in the creation of this post. Honest to Bob.

Mild-mannered insurance man by day...

On one of the way too many talent competition shows scattered across television today, America's Got Talent (although not the best of grammar) showcased a thirty-two year old insurance salesman from Missouri who wanted to sing opera to make his mom happy.

So next time you deal with a cubicle-dweller, he, or she, may have a secret identity...in this case, a young man who when as a child listened to "The Three Tenors", and became inspired.

When I first heard Pavarotti sing "Nessun Dorma" during a time when I felt I really needed to expand my music appreciation, I cried as his voice reached a crescendo, holding that last note for a seemingly impossible amount of time.





What this man lacked in professional skill, he surely made up for it with heart, soul, and love for his mom, and Opera. One can have all the training in the world but without passion, a gift is found wanting.

And it was this man's passion that brought me to tears, just as if it were Pavarotti himself proclaiming, "Vanish, o night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At daybreak I shall win! I shall win! I shall win!"

Reading required on my terms

I have been reading Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and I'm finding it a hilarious read. As usual, late to the party I am. The book has been out for y-e-a-r-s, and I'm just getting around to reading it. A friend of my daughter's had brought it over along with a bag of other science-fiction novels that she had no interest in reading. Pity, her. So, looking for something to read, I helped myself.

I am finding that it's one of those few books where I'll be reading along, then find myself bursting out laughing (well, really, the closest I get to "LOL", is a stifled "snorf"). It's as if the story is being played in my head, full sound, and the narration sounds oddly like a Monty Python skit. Michael Palin, to be precise. I wonder why I waited so long to read the novel. Oh, probably I was busy reading other books.

Speaking of novels I had never gotten around to reading, I remember when Nineteen Eighty-Four was required reading in high school, which meant, I never read it. Pity, me. I finally did pick up the novel, a few years ago, since at the time one of my daughters was requiredly reading it for an English class. Totally amazing, utterly depressing tale that left me in an empty void of a mood for a few days afterward. That is what I meant by 'totally amazing', that a story could affect my emotions to such a degree. I would think about the line, "If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stomping on a human face -- forever", and wonder if that could actually happen in my childrens' future, and knowing that people live that type of existence in varying degrees all over the world today. The ending had left me with such despair, as Winston succumbed to the authoritarian regime. An apathetic old man, left to do the only thing he could...show his love for Big Brother. In the end, we all give up and give in.

Or, maybe we are already doing so today...

Not all stories have happy endings, or should. Those that don't are cautionary tales that we all should heed.

Now, back to making up for lost literary time, reading the story about the world being quickly boiled away, so aliens can plan an intergalactic bypass...nothing depressing about that. And as far as picking up any other "required reading" of late, I did give Moby Dick a try not too long ago. Still haven't gotten past, "Call me Ishmael" yet. Sorry, Mrs. Radle.

Home again, home again, jiggity-jig

I've returned from the wilds of Illinois, unscathed. Kind of hard to become scathed when I'm camping out of a mini-version of home, and I'm only 5 minutes away from the nearest town...just across the bridge.

The Illinois River and Dam, with the home town of my childhood across the way. Big brick building is the defunct Federal Paper, nee, Nabisco.

River view from the bridge's apex.

With the exception of an extremely hot Friday that found me in the cooler confines of the camper, it was a very nice weekend. But of course, my idea of camping is sitting in front of a fire, reading, or this:

And not a stray wi-fi signal in site. See, I was totally "roughing-it"

Saturday night, the humidity finally broke, the biting bugs took a break using me as a smorgasbord, and we watched the sun set and waited for the stars to pop out from the darkening sky. To which I discovered something amazing. Even though I could look up above and see maybe three or four stars (light pollution is a bit of an issue, even at the campground), I could take my binocs and point them towards the heavens. All of a sudden there were hundreds of stars dotting a totally blackened sky. That was the highlight of the weekend, found in the darkness.

A camping I will go...

The family invested in an older model motor home last year, and we try and get out to the state park a few times over the summer for a weekend. Mind you, the park is only seven miles from where I live. But it is one of the overlooked gems in my area. Although Illini State Park isn't nestled amongst sandstone cliffs and canyons like Starved Rock State Park, nor does it have wandering trails that one can traverse for miles, it does have many other natural amenities.

Illini Park, and particularly where we camp is right along the Illinois River, and to me, almost nothing is more relaxing than watching the river flow by. Makes me almost forget that I am bereft of Internet, unless I pick up some stray Wi-Fi signal. But I would never ever take advantage of some lonely strange signal...no, not I.

With morning views like this, who needs Internet?

I have every intention of waking up at sunrise while I'm camping so I can take some pictures of the sun as it rises over the river as it streams through the morning mists. But, then there is that "best laid plans of mice and men" and those who barely can make a cup of coffee, let alone frame the perfect sunrise through the camera lens before 6 a.m.

I will try and snap some shots during the weekend and hopefully post some here sometime next week. Until then, "Hi-ho, a derry-o..."

A Lion's Tale

I saw this video a few days back, like many others have, I assume. The video has hit viral proportions long before I saw it for the first time. It tells the story of giving up something, then discovering that it can come back to you, if only for a short while.

I apologize for the Whitney Houston back up music, but it does help in the Kleenex department.

Usually, I sit and pick apart most stories like this, knowing that snopes.com is my friend in calling bull shit...but, I just couldn't with this one. Besides, it is a true story. Also, I don't care if the video is crafted and edited to pull at the heartstrings, for when I see this, my heart plays a bittersweet symphony.





Some days, it's nice to leave one's cynicism at the door and just enjoy, smile, and have a little weepy moment.

A Second Look

I was re-reading my post about how time seems to "whoosh-crash-trip" at pivotal events of life (well, at least that is how it is for me, call me weird, or at least clumsy...if you see someone trying to navigate down the sidewalk like The Minister of Silly Walks, that would be me). Anyway, I noticed how I placed a negative tag onto every example I used for marking the passage of my eldest daughter's life up to her flying from the nest...with the exception of the band instrument. She played contra bass clarinet, and, yes, it was taller than most of the other band members. But, I'm derailing myself. As usual.

Well, it's taller than her when she's sleeping, erm, I mean sitting...

Anyway, back to subject. Laying in bed last night, waiting for sleep to conk me upside the head, I thought about how unfairly I painted this picture, how I took a broad swoop with the greyest grey paint I could find to color my view of past events.

Maybe, because there was a lot of greys in my daughter's life growing up, looking at it through my perspective. But that I could dip my brush into a brighter color, I could see the events in another hue, I realized that:

Days spent in at school, she learned to be a duck, letting the slings and arrows shot from the other kids roll off her like beads of rain.

Time spent on the bench at soccer matches gave her a feeling of being a part of something that may not always use her skills, but still needed her, for there is no "I" in "team".

Sitting in school meetings taught her that people will advocate for her, even if it was just "mom", and that she could also advocate for herself, and do so articulately and with passion.

Growing up, one has such a tumultuous relationship with the world. I guess I harbor memories of how my life was, growing up, and therefore projected those memories and feelings onto my daughter. But guess what?

My daughter is not me. Not by a long shot.

When she looks at the world, she's holding a paint-laden artist's pallet, full of every color imaginable in one hand, and a brush, heavy and dripping with paint in the other, poised to swoop.

I don't know what color she's using, but it's certainly not grey.

Time is relative to what, exactly?

I've been really hung up on the issue of time, lately. More precisely, the passage of. How can a memory of decades past seem like just a few years ago?

I remember walking out of my daughter's high school on the day of her graduation. As I stood still, crowds of parents and students milling around me, I felt this *whoosh* crash into my back, like a wall of water from an approaching storm. It was all the memories of seeing my oldest going off to school on her very first day, watching her walk to the bus stop. Seeing her walk off the bus, trying not to cry after a bad day. Sitting with the school band, playing an instrument taller than some of the students. Warming a bench at a soccer match, eagerness etching her face, waiting for a chance to play that usually never came. Going to school meeting after school meeting, explaining to her teachers that her "not writing to her ability" wasn't due to laziness, it was due to a learning disorder they never heard of, although I could Google "dysgraphia" in two seconds and tell them all about it, if they only cared to listen.

It was snippets of sounds and sights, of a once gawky, lanky twig of a child turning into a tall, lithesome amber-eyed beauty who would rather play football and rollerblade than spend a day mall-crawling. It was her life viewed through my eyes up to that point, condensed in a millisecond.

For all you Sci-fi geeks out there, it felt like stepping through a rift in time, actually.

They, whomever "they" are, say you see your life flash past your eyes before you die. I say you see the life of your children flash, or in my case, crash behind me like a sound wave, at every milestone of their lives. Because this phenomenon happened again a year after her graduation on the day she was married. And it will happen again if I am blessed with grandchildren.

And it happens on smaller scales also, like when daughter brings home first boyfriend, dad oils up shotgun, hones knives. Daughter gets heart broken, dad stores shotgun and knives away for another day. Whoosh-slam-trip.

So, what is time relative to? The milestones in life that rise from the ground, as they must do, because I seem to be tripping over them a lot lately (the tripping happening after the back-slamming and whooshing). Last month, my youngest turned sixteen, which is totally impossible, since it was only a year ago she had just turned ten. But, that day there was that whooshing, slamming and tripping again, so it must be so.

Either that, or I am the most uncoordinated person on Earth.

Also, another oddity of time...the older one gets, the quicker the milestone appear.

I dare not blink.

"I'll take 'Actions of an insane wife' for $1000, Alex"

Yesterday, a storm blew through town and caused a wee bit of damage next door (which is property we own, and where the step-mom-in-law lives). When I say "wee", I mean a limb fell from a tree and landed on top of a storage portico. When I say "limb", I mean a third of an old dutch elm.

Front view

Back view

So, the tree limb, still attached to the tree by it's bark, more or less, is situated between s-m-i-l's house, and a small house we use for storage. In-between the two houses is the portico. Wedged under the crushed roof of the portico is my husband's trailer.

Real stupid place to be view

Inside trailer is his entire collection of radio-control model airplanes, receivers, and all the other expensive accouterments that go with. Basically, his hobby, his only hobby is sitting under a buttzillion pounds of tree.

So, what do I do first? I sneak under the portico which is sandwiched between trailer full of expensive toys and said tree limb so I can open the door and check if the airplanes are okay. Sneak? Like the tree limb was going to hear me and decide to crash down on my head, compacting the trailer like an accordion?

I only did this so I could call DH at work and hopefully be able to say, "Um, honey, your airplanes are okay, but you know that huge tree in the front yard? Well, a tree limb fell off in the storm a little while ago and landed on the lean-to and your trailer is stuck now...but everything is in one piece".

I slowly open the side door and find that everything is snug as a bug in a rug. Amazingly, everything that could have been damaged, wasn't. DH was able to hoist the roof off the trailer with floor jacks and four by fours, and pull it out from under the tree-laden portico, in perfect condition. Two shingles on the s-m-i-l's house need replacing, and the other house we use for storage fared just as well.

And, yes, I did also check up on s-m-i-l to see if she was alright...but she wasn't at home at the time when all this tree-havoc was happening. I do have some sense of priorities. Sheesh.

Lighten up. Just a bit.

I was pondering the recent cover of the New Yorker today... the one showing a cartoon of Obama and his wife, standing in the Oval Office, doing the infamous "knuckle bump", which thanks to a Faux News talking head, I now know not to make this move in public, as it is considered a symbol of terrorism. News to me, guess my girls are terrorists...they've been "knocking and locking" for some time now. I better check them to see if they own any offending scarves.

Back to the cover, and the outrage it has caused. At first blush, I will admit I was aghast with the rest of them. I found the cover to be in totally bad taste. Then, the more I looked at the cartoon...the portrait of Osama hanging on the wall of the Oval Office, the American flag burning in the fireplace, how the Obamas were dressed...it was so over the top. It was depicting every stupid tin-foil hat e-mail I have gotten since Obama started his run for the White House. He's a Muslim. He doesn't respect the Flag. He supports terrorism. The only thing missing was a copy of the Qur'an sitting atop a desk that he probably would have place his hand upon during his swearing in ceremony if elected, according to the mass e-mails I've received.

To me, at least, it became very obvious that this cover was a comment on the innuendo, rumor, hearsay and out and out fabrication that has overshadowed this campaign. It was a image that pointed out all the gullibility of those who probably also believe in Nigerian money scams.

By the way, my local paper did print a political cartoon depicting Obama typing such and email scam to Clinton. Oh, the audacity!

The essayist Jonathan Swift described satire as "... sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but their own". Who's the butt of the joke? The subject, or the observer who doesn't get it?

But then, maybe it's me who "doesn't get it". Maybe the cover was in agreement of all those who never give a second thought to sending off a inflammatory e-mail to every contact in their address book in a knee-jerk fit of indignation? But that's what is so great, and maddening about satire. Good satire makes one think, then think again. Bad satire is "Beavis and Butthead". Then again, it's me who doesn't "get it", because I can't see the satire for the crudeness. It's all in the eye of the one holding the glass.

Sometimes a cigar is just a good smoke, and satire is just humor, albeit misplaced at times. I don't think that satire's role is to be humorous, if only to laugh at the human condition, and get it's goat while it's at it.

Finally

After years of trying to entice the little suckers to my flower/weed garden, spending money on nectar that it seemed only the ants liked, I look out my window and what do I see?

Is this all mine?

If I had only knew the little birdies preferred home made nectar, I would have made it long ago. But not like the one woman who complained about not being able to attract hummingbirds to her feeders. When asked what she used for nectar, she replied, "Oh, I make my own! Four parts water to one part artificial sweetener..."

No fat hummingbirds for her, so sir.

So, was the wait worth it? Sometimes it's the tiniest things in life that brings me joy.

Man and Wife, Woman and Husband.

After about 3 changed dates, a wedding dress stuck in Customs (No, it's in transit! No, it's still in China! No, really, it's being shipped as we speak!), not knowing until two days before whether or not my not as of yet son-in-law (Wow, that sounds weird) would be able to get a short leave for the July 4th weekend, it's, how they say in movie making parlance, In The Can.

So, thank you to the groom's parents who gracefully shared their beautiful yard for the service/reception, a local big box craft store for having a 50% off sale on wedding decorations last week, my old friend who came out of retirement and quickly whipped up a beautiful wedding cake, the same friend who made the wedding cake for my husband's and mine reception almost 25 years ago, family and friends, and Oly the Dog, who gave his blessing by christening the archway before the ceremony...it was a lovely day.

And, thank you to my new son-in-law, for putting a smile on my daughter's face. I hope you both are full of smiles and laughter amid the ups and downs and lulls in life. Because it's the times in between the highs and the lows, the normal, mundane everyday life that can be the biggest test of all.