CONNER_5_20_06_0017
Originally uploaded by cmort04.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Fish Bowl 1, Mediocre Illusionist 0
I’ve really held my tongue regarding the self described “Master Illusionist” David “I suck” Blaine.
But no more, he is the biggest attention whore there is. Thinking up the most mundane uh...stunts I guess. How he can look himself in the mirror and claim to be an illusionist, much less a master illusionist is beyond me. Don’t you have to create an illusion in order to be an illusionist? How exactly is breathing air underwater in a big fish bowl an illusion? If that’s the case, I too am a certified “illusionist” having earned my divers license the old fashion way, without media coverage. And then to have the nerve to complain out loud that your own stupidity caused shooting pains in your muscles and liver damage! Good, stop doing lame stunts that nobody cares about while giving them dramatic names like ‘Drown Alive’! I have a stunt for him, light your self on fire and throw yourself off the nearest building, only don’t drag it out for a week. Not to mention he failed at his objective which was to hold his breath for 8 min. 58 seconds. His last stunt was equally as exciting as watching paint dry. Sitting in another fish tank, empty this time and not eating for 45 days. Hello, its called a hunger strike and people do it all over the world without an ace medical team close by to administer a cheeseburger if things get dicey. Maybe his next stunt will be something like working for a living, non-stop for one month!!! I can only assume he would fail at that as well. Why do people care about this loser? He can’t even make Niagara Falls disappear like Copperfield did, or do cool stuff without a safety net like Houdini did. The absolute worst thing that could’ve happened to this joker did happen, he got a side ache and divers went in to save his soggy self. I would have much more respect for him if he showed some conviction and drown like a man. This might seem like an excessively negative post, but its really not. I’m just sick to tears of guys like this doing nothing exciting but treating it like he cured cancer while submerged. How dumb does he think we are that with all that’s going on in the world, anyone would care about him and his lame stunt? Why not contribute to society? How about using that highly efficient body of yours to pick up trash from the roads and beaches, or scraping used gum off the highway, anything that is more useful than sitting submerged in a bubble for a week.
But no more, he is the biggest attention whore there is. Thinking up the most mundane uh...stunts I guess. How he can look himself in the mirror and claim to be an illusionist, much less a master illusionist is beyond me. Don’t you have to create an illusion in order to be an illusionist? How exactly is breathing air underwater in a big fish bowl an illusion? If that’s the case, I too am a certified “illusionist” having earned my divers license the old fashion way, without media coverage. And then to have the nerve to complain out loud that your own stupidity caused shooting pains in your muscles and liver damage! Good, stop doing lame stunts that nobody cares about while giving them dramatic names like ‘Drown Alive’! I have a stunt for him, light your self on fire and throw yourself off the nearest building, only don’t drag it out for a week. Not to mention he failed at his objective which was to hold his breath for 8 min. 58 seconds. His last stunt was equally as exciting as watching paint dry. Sitting in another fish tank, empty this time and not eating for 45 days. Hello, its called a hunger strike and people do it all over the world without an ace medical team close by to administer a cheeseburger if things get dicey. Maybe his next stunt will be something like working for a living, non-stop for one month!!! I can only assume he would fail at that as well. Why do people care about this loser? He can’t even make Niagara Falls disappear like Copperfield did, or do cool stuff without a safety net like Houdini did. The absolute worst thing that could’ve happened to this joker did happen, he got a side ache and divers went in to save his soggy self. I would have much more respect for him if he showed some conviction and drown like a man. This might seem like an excessively negative post, but its really not. I’m just sick to tears of guys like this doing nothing exciting but treating it like he cured cancer while submerged. How dumb does he think we are that with all that’s going on in the world, anyone would care about him and his lame stunt? Why not contribute to society? How about using that highly efficient body of yours to pick up trash from the roads and beaches, or scraping used gum off the highway, anything that is more useful than sitting submerged in a bubble for a week.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Get Your e-calendars Hot Off The Virtual Press!
Since I'm never going to get my website up and running, I have opted to offer my calendars on the blog. "Great idea" you say? "Why has it taken you nearly a year and a half of doing them to figure this out" you ask, the answer, I'm not very smart. But all thats changed and you may now send me your email address and in return, like your phone bill, I will send you a calendar every month on or before the 1st, only unlike your phone bill, I will not nickle and dime you into hating this service. So sign up now! And if you can't seem to navigate the comments section of this blog then here is my email address. cmort04@yahoo.com.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
I Break More By 9 AM Than Most Do All Day
I left the house this morning kind of annoyed. It seems that everything I touched slipped out of my hands, or, I ended up knocking over instead of grabbing. It all started in the shower when I reached for the porcelain soap dispenser that I slaved over at Brush Fire (pottery place) one day when we first moved here, tragically this would be the last time soap would be dispensed from with in it closed container of a body, seems that there was some dried soap on the outside and once wet, became too slippery for me to handle. It's body is not so much like a closed container anymore. And to make matters worse, it was full of soap that I now get to clean up so the next person (who happens to be my wife) doesn’t slip and brain herself on the shower spout. I pause briefly and try to think if our life insurance is caught up, not coming to a satisfactory conclusion, I start cleaning up the slippery glass shard infected anti-bacterial mess. Since my hands are now slippery, I can’t get a grip on the big cup I’ve elected to use in the cleanup, and I send it bouncing around the tub with a maddening loudness that I didn’t think was possible. As it turns out, my shower is engineered perfectly to capture the acoustics and amplify them dramatically. More pissed than before, I move to pick it up and drop my towel in the mix. Super pissed now. I feel challenged by a higher power to beat this situation and come out the winner. Yet I can’t help but feel that I’m being toyed with yet thankful I’m not in the prison bathhouse when all this goes down.
I get it all cleaned up and break the news to my wife. I conceal my soap dispenser breakage in a warning that she should be careful upon entering the shower due to slippery-ness and then mention briefly that I fumbled my beautifully hand crafted (well, hand painted anyway) soap dispenser and its now part of the lineup of things I have recently broken, namely her favorite little ceramic plant pot this weekend. Within minutes of her telling me it was her favorite, I knocked it off its perch and sent it crashing. This looked particularly bad because I was in a pissy mood and not being as gentle in my moving stuff as I should’ve been, coupled with the fact that I now knew that this was her favorite pot. Didn’t look good for me claiming an accident so I uttered some choice curse words to prove my disgust with myself and to prove it was not intentional. So with all that behind me and clear-sailing ahead, I drive to work. Here is where I notice a peculiar trend that doubtlessly has been around as long at there have been power lines, or shoelaces, whichever came first. You guessed it, its the trend where some punk-ass kids take another kids shoes, tie them together and chuck them over the power line to become what seems a permanent addition to said line. I’ve noticed these two pair for sometime and I’m used to seeing them and shaking my head at the poor bastard whose had to walk home shoe-less twice and explain to his mom or dad why he lost yet another pair of shoes, well that poor bastard had to do it all over again because there is a 3rd pair now. I wonder how many tries it takes to nail it. Then I think, why are the still up there? Why won’t the city cut them down? Is it to tricky or perhaps not cost effective? I often think about this (sad to say) and wonder what would happen if you tried to knock them down with a long wooden stick, would the line arc and reduce me to ashes, I assume it will and leave it at that. In my travels, I often see people that I think are funny looking, today was no exception. While driving slowly through Coburg, I see a guy that bears a striking resemblance to Bozo the clown only without the red locks. He does however have the long hair on the sides of his head and a shiny bald path down the middle, you know the kind, it looks like somebody ran a lawn mower right down the middle then polished it. I cleverly nickname him “Patches” chuckle to myself and move on satisfied that my morning is turning a corner onto a more positive stretch.
I get it all cleaned up and break the news to my wife. I conceal my soap dispenser breakage in a warning that she should be careful upon entering the shower due to slippery-ness and then mention briefly that I fumbled my beautifully hand crafted (well, hand painted anyway) soap dispenser and its now part of the lineup of things I have recently broken, namely her favorite little ceramic plant pot this weekend. Within minutes of her telling me it was her favorite, I knocked it off its perch and sent it crashing. This looked particularly bad because I was in a pissy mood and not being as gentle in my moving stuff as I should’ve been, coupled with the fact that I now knew that this was her favorite pot. Didn’t look good for me claiming an accident so I uttered some choice curse words to prove my disgust with myself and to prove it was not intentional. So with all that behind me and clear-sailing ahead, I drive to work. Here is where I notice a peculiar trend that doubtlessly has been around as long at there have been power lines, or shoelaces, whichever came first. You guessed it, its the trend where some punk-ass kids take another kids shoes, tie them together and chuck them over the power line to become what seems a permanent addition to said line. I’ve noticed these two pair for sometime and I’m used to seeing them and shaking my head at the poor bastard whose had to walk home shoe-less twice and explain to his mom or dad why he lost yet another pair of shoes, well that poor bastard had to do it all over again because there is a 3rd pair now. I wonder how many tries it takes to nail it. Then I think, why are the still up there? Why won’t the city cut them down? Is it to tricky or perhaps not cost effective? I often think about this (sad to say) and wonder what would happen if you tried to knock them down with a long wooden stick, would the line arc and reduce me to ashes, I assume it will and leave it at that. In my travels, I often see people that I think are funny looking, today was no exception. While driving slowly through Coburg, I see a guy that bears a striking resemblance to Bozo the clown only without the red locks. He does however have the long hair on the sides of his head and a shiny bald path down the middle, you know the kind, it looks like somebody ran a lawn mower right down the middle then polished it. I cleverly nickname him “Patches” chuckle to myself and move on satisfied that my morning is turning a corner onto a more positive stretch.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Banana Blight, Quite a Plight
A couple years ago I had an ant guy come out and spray around my house to get rid of the pesky and persistent little fellas. This guy was an interesting cat to say the least. Besides dragging me underneath the house to look at crap, he bent my ear for nearly 30 minutes on how bananas are going the way of the Dodo, that’s right, extinct. As soon as I heard this I immediately began telling myself what a nutbag this guy was and that perhaps he’s standing up wind from his ant spray, or that he’s just plain “bananas” Ha ha. He went on and on about how they are sterile (bananas), at least the kind they export and that a fungus is decimating the crops to such a degree that we will find ourselves banana-less within 10 years, (again I snicker using my “inside voice” and feel better about myself for not being as nuts as this guy) He has even gone so far as to grow his own bananas in his apartment. “What a dipstick” I think.
So here we are, several years later and closer to the time when banana cream pie will have to be enjoyed as a memory, becuase as it turns out, he was dead on the money! I did a little research this morning and everything he said was true! (don’t ask why it took 2 years for me to get interested in this) There is a fungus that is destroying bananas left and right. And it looks like all 500 species are affected, of course the hardest hit is the one we eat the most of. And it is in fact a sterile seedless variety. This is a huge problem, aside from it being the main export crop for many countries and the number one dietary staple amongst the people of those countries, it is also something I really like, its handy as a snack, tasty in cereal, when they get too mushy to eat, no problem, you simply have your wife make banana bread with them, problem solved. Now are you with me? Are you on the “Save the Bananas” wagon? I thought so.
You may be sitting there stunned with a feeling of hopelessness as I was. Or you may say to me, “Colin, what can I do to help make sure this doesn’t happen?” And I would say, “beats me. If a bunch of qualified scientists from all over the world can't figure it out, what makes you think you can”. My advice is to enjoy them while they last and while your at it, enjoy the comic hy-jinx of monkeys in various commercials because following on the heels of bananas will surly be monkeys right? What will they eat. Oh, and say goodbye to the Ol’ Banana-peel-on-the-ground trick that will without fail, send your target slip sliding ass over applecart to the pure delight of onlookers. I make light of this with a little humor, but really, it will suck. I eat them everyday and have recently taken to making, or at least assembling, banana cream pies and puddings. To learn more about the plight of the banana, google banana/extinct and up will come more info than you can shake a bushel at. Anyway, my apologies crazy ant killing guy.
In other news, Dylan’s basketball team took the first place championship after a very exciting last game. Now its on to baseball and yes, its really on already. The team practices 4 nights a week, at least until games start next month. He also was in a Tae Kwon Doe tourney this past weekend and one a gold, silver and bronze.
So here we are, several years later and closer to the time when banana cream pie will have to be enjoyed as a memory, becuase as it turns out, he was dead on the money! I did a little research this morning and everything he said was true! (don’t ask why it took 2 years for me to get interested in this) There is a fungus that is destroying bananas left and right. And it looks like all 500 species are affected, of course the hardest hit is the one we eat the most of. And it is in fact a sterile seedless variety. This is a huge problem, aside from it being the main export crop for many countries and the number one dietary staple amongst the people of those countries, it is also something I really like, its handy as a snack, tasty in cereal, when they get too mushy to eat, no problem, you simply have your wife make banana bread with them, problem solved. Now are you with me? Are you on the “Save the Bananas” wagon? I thought so.
You may be sitting there stunned with a feeling of hopelessness as I was. Or you may say to me, “Colin, what can I do to help make sure this doesn’t happen?” And I would say, “beats me. If a bunch of qualified scientists from all over the world can't figure it out, what makes you think you can”. My advice is to enjoy them while they last and while your at it, enjoy the comic hy-jinx of monkeys in various commercials because following on the heels of bananas will surly be monkeys right? What will they eat. Oh, and say goodbye to the Ol’ Banana-peel-on-the-ground trick that will without fail, send your target slip sliding ass over applecart to the pure delight of onlookers. I make light of this with a little humor, but really, it will suck. I eat them everyday and have recently taken to making, or at least assembling, banana cream pies and puddings. To learn more about the plight of the banana, google banana/extinct and up will come more info than you can shake a bushel at. Anyway, my apologies crazy ant killing guy.
In other news, Dylan’s basketball team took the first place championship after a very exciting last game. Now its on to baseball and yes, its really on already. The team practices 4 nights a week, at least until games start next month. He also was in a Tae Kwon Doe tourney this past weekend and one a gold, silver and bronze.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Eugene Man Driven to Brink of Insanity, Leaves Lunch Early
I have a pet peeve, and its a BIG ONE, so if your a gum chewing enthusiast, I suggest you leave and go to the Wriggley’s site and sit this one out.
I’m gonna lay it all out for you. Lay it on the line as they say. Here goes:
I eat my lunch and read afterwords, I choose not to further the Ozone depleting greenhouse gases or line an Oilmans pockets with cash any more than I absolutely have to, so I eat at work in the lunch room, my little part to save the world right? I clean up after myself, leave it nicer than when I found it etc. All I ask in return is a little peace in which to enjoy my hour. A pretty fair trade if you ask me. Well in the last week, one girl in particular has discovered how much she enjoys chewing gum and talking nonstop as she does it, thereby trapping little bubbles that she takes so much joy in popping after damn near every break in her otherwise nonstop yammering. Maybe she has always done this, its entirely possible that now that I’m aware of it, its ALL I hear. The following is a snippet of the typical conversation she is having: (which may seem one sided, but its not, nobody can get a word in edgewise.)
“What are you having for lunch” GIRL: Oh, I’m having a bowl of soup, (pop,pop) and its delicious, (pop, pop) you should (pop) try it (pop,pop), I (pop) made (pop, pop, pop) myself (pop) Pop pop pippity F’n Pop
I’m not even exaggerating (very much) By the time I realized that I’ve read the same page 3 times because I can’t concentrate, I got up and left early before I got a case of the temporary insanities and ended up on CNN.
This is nothing new to me. I have long wished that chewing gum would be looked upon in society in the same light as smoking crack or purse snatching from defenseless old ladies. But so far it would appear that I stand alone. Sure, its tasty, I have to give it that. Its benefits stop there as far as I’m concerned. I either have to hear it, accidentally brush against it stuck to the underside of a table, or clean it off my shoe or tire. I hate it. If and when I become leader of something, I will banish it from existence, I won’t have to pick up the little wrappers, or those tiny red ribbons employed to open the cursed pack, gone will be the chewed to death gum spit into the urinal that I have to avoid peeing on for fear of splash back and I will be able to have a conversation with whoever I want where as now I have to avoid them like a cockroach does light. I’m not sorry if your one of these offensive gum chewers either, in fact, I hope you get your feelers hurt and it encourages you to kick the habit, take up smoking if you need to, anything but forcing me to listen to, clean up after or avoid peeing on is good in my book.
I think this is as good a post as any to ask for your pet peeves, that’s right viewers, get in on the action, vent your frustration to literally tens of people who read this. It’ll make you feel good.
I’m gonna lay it all out for you. Lay it on the line as they say. Here goes:
I eat my lunch and read afterwords, I choose not to further the Ozone depleting greenhouse gases or line an Oilmans pockets with cash any more than I absolutely have to, so I eat at work in the lunch room, my little part to save the world right? I clean up after myself, leave it nicer than when I found it etc. All I ask in return is a little peace in which to enjoy my hour. A pretty fair trade if you ask me. Well in the last week, one girl in particular has discovered how much she enjoys chewing gum and talking nonstop as she does it, thereby trapping little bubbles that she takes so much joy in popping after damn near every break in her otherwise nonstop yammering. Maybe she has always done this, its entirely possible that now that I’m aware of it, its ALL I hear. The following is a snippet of the typical conversation she is having: (which may seem one sided, but its not, nobody can get a word in edgewise.)
“What are you having for lunch” GIRL: Oh, I’m having a bowl of soup, (pop,pop) and its delicious, (pop, pop) you should (pop) try it (pop,pop), I (pop) made (pop, pop, pop) myself (pop) Pop pop pippity F’n Pop
I’m not even exaggerating (very much) By the time I realized that I’ve read the same page 3 times because I can’t concentrate, I got up and left early before I got a case of the temporary insanities and ended up on CNN.
This is nothing new to me. I have long wished that chewing gum would be looked upon in society in the same light as smoking crack or purse snatching from defenseless old ladies. But so far it would appear that I stand alone. Sure, its tasty, I have to give it that. Its benefits stop there as far as I’m concerned. I either have to hear it, accidentally brush against it stuck to the underside of a table, or clean it off my shoe or tire. I hate it. If and when I become leader of something, I will banish it from existence, I won’t have to pick up the little wrappers, or those tiny red ribbons employed to open the cursed pack, gone will be the chewed to death gum spit into the urinal that I have to avoid peeing on for fear of splash back and I will be able to have a conversation with whoever I want where as now I have to avoid them like a cockroach does light. I’m not sorry if your one of these offensive gum chewers either, in fact, I hope you get your feelers hurt and it encourages you to kick the habit, take up smoking if you need to, anything but forcing me to listen to, clean up after or avoid peeing on is good in my book.
I think this is as good a post as any to ask for your pet peeves, that’s right viewers, get in on the action, vent your frustration to literally tens of people who read this. It’ll make you feel good.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
170,000 Lightyears Never Looked So Good
For those of you that know that a light year is “a long way” but were never really sure what that measurement meant or how it came about, you’ve come to the right place. If there is one thing I love its talking about light-years. But before we get into all that, go to www.space.com and check out the Hubble telescopes ‘Best of’ pics and then we’ll talk.....Quickly please....
Ok so now that your back, I assume your in awe of what you saw. Yea, me too. Seeing what exists in space tells me that there is an order to our world that is utterly incomprehensible to our pea brains. Not only that, but its so immense that we can’t actually see it because we are either right in the middle as a piece of space dust, or its just so incredibly far away that there is no hope of being exposed to it through anything other than this Hubble gadget. I don’t want to get into a religious conversation here, not even for a second, but I think there is without a doubt something so beyond us at work in the heavens. Not sure what and don’t want to hear how sure you think you are of who and what it might be. My only intention here is to send you to look at these photos. They are amazing. Now, with that said, lets get back to the meat of this post. Light-years. It goes like this..
ahem..
Light travels at 186,000 miles per second so when you do the math, without fail you will come to a year that totals 5,865,696,000,000. For those who get the tens column mixed up with the hundreds etc, I’m going to spell it out. One light year is five trillion, eight hundred sixty five billion, six hundred ninety six million miles. (As the crow flies of course) The Pin Wheel Galaxy as featured in the photos from the HubbleCam is 170,000 light-years across. Hard...no, impossible to imagine when looking at its grace and beauty as photographed by the Hubble. How can something so enormous be in complete and undeniably perfect form with all the chaos in the universe? Beats me, that’s why I suspect something bigger than what we have the capability to comprehend and that something probably doesn’t care what our political agenda may be when we say the crazy things that we as humans say, like god is punishing New Orleans for its this or its that, the list goes on. My point is if you can’t even begin to understand a fraction of what this higher power is up to, how is it that you were able to puzzle out what it was thinking, much less place blame on others for things that happen within our tiny solar system? I will never understand that, but I find it endlessly entertaining none-the-less. Actually, my whole purpose in writing about lightyears was to put into perspective how long it takes me in to update my blog. Pretty darn quick if you ask me.
Ok so now that your back, I assume your in awe of what you saw. Yea, me too. Seeing what exists in space tells me that there is an order to our world that is utterly incomprehensible to our pea brains. Not only that, but its so immense that we can’t actually see it because we are either right in the middle as a piece of space dust, or its just so incredibly far away that there is no hope of being exposed to it through anything other than this Hubble gadget. I don’t want to get into a religious conversation here, not even for a second, but I think there is without a doubt something so beyond us at work in the heavens. Not sure what and don’t want to hear how sure you think you are of who and what it might be. My only intention here is to send you to look at these photos. They are amazing. Now, with that said, lets get back to the meat of this post. Light-years. It goes like this..
ahem..
Light travels at 186,000 miles per second so when you do the math, without fail you will come to a year that totals 5,865,696,000,000. For those who get the tens column mixed up with the hundreds etc, I’m going to spell it out. One light year is five trillion, eight hundred sixty five billion, six hundred ninety six million miles. (As the crow flies of course) The Pin Wheel Galaxy as featured in the photos from the HubbleCam is 170,000 light-years across. Hard...no, impossible to imagine when looking at its grace and beauty as photographed by the Hubble. How can something so enormous be in complete and undeniably perfect form with all the chaos in the universe? Beats me, that’s why I suspect something bigger than what we have the capability to comprehend and that something probably doesn’t care what our political agenda may be when we say the crazy things that we as humans say, like god is punishing New Orleans for its this or its that, the list goes on. My point is if you can’t even begin to understand a fraction of what this higher power is up to, how is it that you were able to puzzle out what it was thinking, much less place blame on others for things that happen within our tiny solar system? I will never understand that, but I find it endlessly entertaining none-the-less. Actually, my whole purpose in writing about lightyears was to put into perspective how long it takes me in to update my blog. Pretty darn quick if you ask me.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Local Man Becomes Unlikely Hero, Remembers Valentines Day!
It’s true, let me set it up for you:
There I was, minding my own business, working hard with not a care in the world. Then Kim tells me she got a little something for Dylan for Valentines Day. Calmly, cool and collected so as not to let on that the day once again snuck up on me, I made my plan to climb out of the lack of planning hole I found myself. Just like that, my easy going day turned into a frenzied panicky state of chaos. On the surface however, I was cool as a cucumber and its this kind of control that shot me to the status of HERO. After solving the problem and pulling it all together, I browsed the local paper for my picture and story, most likely on the front page. I must have just missed the press deadline cause there was nothing. CNN blanked me as well. Having found myself on some sort of media blacklist, I’m forced to pat myself on the back here at Mortontimes.
As it turns out, I wasn’t the only sap that fell behind the Sweetheart Day 8 ball, I had plenty of company, both men and women all scurrying around hoping to find that perfect card. You know the one. The card that the copywriters thoughts and yours align perfectly to give you the exact words that you were thinking only in a nice scripty font instead of your barely legible chicken scratch you call handwriting. Sometimes though, when all those cards are gone and your forced to pick through whats left, you have to re-align your exact words to match some flunky copywriter who got lucky and managed to get his half assed thought printed on a card. Fortunately, this was not the case with me. Clearly the planets aligned to help me through this difficult time and before I knew it, I was on my way with a couple of beauties (cards that is) See, I have to not only find one card and gift, I also have to find one that will be from Dylan. No worries, like any hero, I simply say: “Keep turning the screws, I can take the pressure”, and I get it done. Surely that ‘quick to act’ ability will land me in USA Today, let me check.....Nope! Bastards.
Anyway, morning came and we had a little Valentine day celebration and opened our gifts and Dylan of course tore into his giant chocolate frog before breakfast and started the day off with a sugar buzz that will no doubt come up during the next parent teacher conference. Not to worry though, the squeaky wheel gets the grease as they say and he left the house with a little something for the teacher.
He has a couple special girls he likes in class, but they frown on showing any sign of affection nowadays and everybody has to give everybody else a valentine, including the boys giving them to the boys etc... Whats the point of that? Is this not a holiday where you man up and tell your chick you dig her? Nope, its not, according to my wife, its simply a holiday invented to sell crap and make those with nobody special feel even worse about it. She has a somewhat skewed perspective on this holiday. I on the other hand know exactly what its all about, and because of my insight, instead of calling my valentine a gift, I’ll from here out refer to it as an ‘insurance policy’ (wink, wink) I hope Kim doesn’t read this.
I like that we have a national holiday to boost the economy and I refuse to feel saddened by other peoples inability to find someone special. That falls right in line with my rebelling against the tidal wave of politically correct responses we’re expected to give, but I’ll ask forgiveness just in time for the next big holiday, the celebration of the resurrection of our lord and savior, the Easter Bunny.
Just kiddin’
There I was, minding my own business, working hard with not a care in the world. Then Kim tells me she got a little something for Dylan for Valentines Day. Calmly, cool and collected so as not to let on that the day once again snuck up on me, I made my plan to climb out of the lack of planning hole I found myself. Just like that, my easy going day turned into a frenzied panicky state of chaos. On the surface however, I was cool as a cucumber and its this kind of control that shot me to the status of HERO. After solving the problem and pulling it all together, I browsed the local paper for my picture and story, most likely on the front page. I must have just missed the press deadline cause there was nothing. CNN blanked me as well. Having found myself on some sort of media blacklist, I’m forced to pat myself on the back here at Mortontimes.
As it turns out, I wasn’t the only sap that fell behind the Sweetheart Day 8 ball, I had plenty of company, both men and women all scurrying around hoping to find that perfect card. You know the one. The card that the copywriters thoughts and yours align perfectly to give you the exact words that you were thinking only in a nice scripty font instead of your barely legible chicken scratch you call handwriting. Sometimes though, when all those cards are gone and your forced to pick through whats left, you have to re-align your exact words to match some flunky copywriter who got lucky and managed to get his half assed thought printed on a card. Fortunately, this was not the case with me. Clearly the planets aligned to help me through this difficult time and before I knew it, I was on my way with a couple of beauties (cards that is) See, I have to not only find one card and gift, I also have to find one that will be from Dylan. No worries, like any hero, I simply say: “Keep turning the screws, I can take the pressure”, and I get it done. Surely that ‘quick to act’ ability will land me in USA Today, let me check.....Nope! Bastards.
Anyway, morning came and we had a little Valentine day celebration and opened our gifts and Dylan of course tore into his giant chocolate frog before breakfast and started the day off with a sugar buzz that will no doubt come up during the next parent teacher conference. Not to worry though, the squeaky wheel gets the grease as they say and he left the house with a little something for the teacher.
He has a couple special girls he likes in class, but they frown on showing any sign of affection nowadays and everybody has to give everybody else a valentine, including the boys giving them to the boys etc... Whats the point of that? Is this not a holiday where you man up and tell your chick you dig her? Nope, its not, according to my wife, its simply a holiday invented to sell crap and make those with nobody special feel even worse about it. She has a somewhat skewed perspective on this holiday. I on the other hand know exactly what its all about, and because of my insight, instead of calling my valentine a gift, I’ll from here out refer to it as an ‘insurance policy’ (wink, wink) I hope Kim doesn’t read this.
I like that we have a national holiday to boost the economy and I refuse to feel saddened by other peoples inability to find someone special. That falls right in line with my rebelling against the tidal wave of politically correct responses we’re expected to give, but I’ll ask forgiveness just in time for the next big holiday, the celebration of the resurrection of our lord and savior, the Easter Bunny.
Just kiddin’
Friday, January 27, 2006
Lessons In The Shaving Mug.
Last night as I finished cleaning the kitchen after dinner, Dylan quietly came in after his bath and told me that
he had cut himself with my razor. Sure enough, he takes his hand down to reveal a nick out of his chin.
I nearly started laughing, and told him that I would teach him in the morning how to properly shave.
"Why would you laugh at an 8 year old who sliced himself while playing unsupervised with a razor," you say?
I say, "cram it and keep reading".
This is the second such incident, the first was a little cut on his arm. The first time, he started out telling me that he cut himself on accident when he “wasn’t playing” with my razor, but just wanted to see if it would cut the hair on his arm. I told him then that I was proud that he told me and glad that he didn’t try to hide it. Last night I was even more proud when he didn’t try to cover anything at all and flat out said he cut his chin trying to shave. We cleaned him up and he wanted a band-aid instead of the old tried and true piece of toilet paper stuck to it. So he puts one on and climbs up in bed just in time for Kim to get home. She goes in and sees that he’s got the blanket cranked up to his nose, and knows something is up. After guessing that it was another tooth lost, she went right for the shaving attempt. He giggled and confessed yet again. So this morning we both lathered up with the mug and brush, and I gave him his first instruction on how to shave. Its funny, you don’t really think about it until you have to show someone else how to do it. The first challenge is getting over the mirror doing opposite of what you know your hand is doing, and after a few seconds of that, and some advice on not ever letting the blade slide sideways, he was shaving, making the goofy faces to tighten the skin and everything.
Between the shaving and stopping dead in his tracks when he came across a poster of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model in Walmart, I’m beginning to suspect that the ladies will sooner than later be a huge factor in his life. If I’m totally honest with myself, I think they have been for at least a year now.
My point to this little post is that even though he doesn’t have a reason to shave, I want him to know the proper way to do it so that he doesn’t get hurt while letting his curiosity get the better of him, same reason that he knows how to swim even though we don’t have a pool. When the time comes for him to date, which he has already asked about, We will be the ones to make sure he knows the proper way to protect himself and his girlfriend. Some of you out there may think that the only way to do that is through abstinence, but some of you out there were never a teenage boy, and those of you who were know that its not a realistic expectation. Not even close. You can preach it and teach its benefits, but in the end he needs to know how to do it safely and when the day comes, I want him so prepared that he takes precaution as naturally as he buckles up when getting into the car. Planting the seeds of trust and being open when he comes to me with his mistakes will hopefully flower into the kind of relationship where we can talk openly about the hard issues that he is sure to face. Turning a blind eye to his natural instincts and preaching is only going to make me a grandfather before my time. Like everything, education and knowledge, not fear is what will protect him. And judging by his current awareness at 8, he is going to need to be well educated.
he had cut himself with my razor. Sure enough, he takes his hand down to reveal a nick out of his chin.
I nearly started laughing, and told him that I would teach him in the morning how to properly shave.
"Why would you laugh at an 8 year old who sliced himself while playing unsupervised with a razor," you say?
I say, "cram it and keep reading".
This is the second such incident, the first was a little cut on his arm. The first time, he started out telling me that he cut himself on accident when he “wasn’t playing” with my razor, but just wanted to see if it would cut the hair on his arm. I told him then that I was proud that he told me and glad that he didn’t try to hide it. Last night I was even more proud when he didn’t try to cover anything at all and flat out said he cut his chin trying to shave. We cleaned him up and he wanted a band-aid instead of the old tried and true piece of toilet paper stuck to it. So he puts one on and climbs up in bed just in time for Kim to get home. She goes in and sees that he’s got the blanket cranked up to his nose, and knows something is up. After guessing that it was another tooth lost, she went right for the shaving attempt. He giggled and confessed yet again. So this morning we both lathered up with the mug and brush, and I gave him his first instruction on how to shave. Its funny, you don’t really think about it until you have to show someone else how to do it. The first challenge is getting over the mirror doing opposite of what you know your hand is doing, and after a few seconds of that, and some advice on not ever letting the blade slide sideways, he was shaving, making the goofy faces to tighten the skin and everything.
Between the shaving and stopping dead in his tracks when he came across a poster of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model in Walmart, I’m beginning to suspect that the ladies will sooner than later be a huge factor in his life. If I’m totally honest with myself, I think they have been for at least a year now.
My point to this little post is that even though he doesn’t have a reason to shave, I want him to know the proper way to do it so that he doesn’t get hurt while letting his curiosity get the better of him, same reason that he knows how to swim even though we don’t have a pool. When the time comes for him to date, which he has already asked about, We will be the ones to make sure he knows the proper way to protect himself and his girlfriend. Some of you out there may think that the only way to do that is through abstinence, but some of you out there were never a teenage boy, and those of you who were know that its not a realistic expectation. Not even close. You can preach it and teach its benefits, but in the end he needs to know how to do it safely and when the day comes, I want him so prepared that he takes precaution as naturally as he buckles up when getting into the car. Planting the seeds of trust and being open when he comes to me with his mistakes will hopefully flower into the kind of relationship where we can talk openly about the hard issues that he is sure to face. Turning a blind eye to his natural instincts and preaching is only going to make me a grandfather before my time. Like everything, education and knowledge, not fear is what will protect him. And judging by his current awareness at 8, he is going to need to be well educated.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Home Improvement Improves Home.
I'm proud of this title, it really says it all in the redundant way that real news does.
Enough about me...
We have a small kitchen and a mud room that is nearly the exact same size. Roughly 7 x 11 for each. So why not spiff it up a little by replacing the linoleum? No big deal right, I’m pretty handy and I already have in my head a game plan for how this is coming together.
It’s simple, take off the trim, measure , cut and place, replace the trim and its off to something fun to do for the rest of the weekend.
I think you all know where this is going.
You guessed it, and it fully confirms what I’ve always said, “nothing is easy”
Not even purchasing this ‘weekend fun-draining’ sheet of polished plastic was easy.
I get started by organizing my workspace. One room at a time. I choose the mud room in case I make any mistakes while I’m getting the hang of it. I push the washer and dryer into the kitchen which leaves about enough room for one of my legs to get through to the fridge, but no big deal, I’ll have this knocked out in a couple hours max. Well, a couple hours later, I’m still removing trim and sinks and preparing the surface. When I get it all ready to start measuring is when I get that first sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one that simultaneously says your in over your head and your never gonna get this room done by the end of the weekend. Much less both rooms. This room, tiny as it is has 3 door ways! Which means 6 door jams to cut around. Plus a water heater and all the gas and water pipes that conveniently pop up through the stupid floor. I tell my self that the measuring is going to take the bulk of the time in this project, and to be patient and take as long as you need to get it right, measure, re-measure and then doubt your ability to read a ruler and re-measure a couple more times before committing a razor to this “plastic gold” When 10:30 p.m. rolls around, I’m done....MEASURING! And my work of art has been transferred to the sheet in the living room where I will now throw caution to the wind and start hacking this thing into a near perfect replica of my room. That done and an hour later, the moment of truth, all my hard work will be put to the test, with Kim watching over me and lending me moral support during this tough time in the operation. (Actually I think she wanted to see that I didn’t jack it up) we laid it down to make sure it fit and to make any adjustments in the event that any were required. Who am I fooling, of course there would be adjustments, why wouldn’t there be, I’ve only been working on this stupid room for 12 hours now with nothing to show for it yet except an inaccessible kitchen. Still, I set to the task with the determination of uh...um...well, something with one hell of a lot of determination. 45 more minutes of trimming here and touching up there and I’m done. Except for 'the move everything back in' part which can easily be done in the morning.
Morning rolls around and its time to put everything back, including hook up the washer again which I convince myself will leak because it would be too easy for it not to. I’m wrong, the washer hooked up and didn’t leak one drop, the sink however developed a leaky pipe to make up for it! Why oh why! After uttering a choice string of words about Murphy and his bullsh**t laws, I fetch my monkey wrench and fix the problem with relative ease. With that room accomplished, its time to get started on the kitchen. To find out how that went, just re-read the above and swap out washer and dryer for even heavier fridge and stuff. I would be more specific, but re-living this is putting me through the same mental fatigue and I can’t do it. All in all, I got ‘er done and it looks great and if anyone comes over and says otherwise, you might end up buried in my back yard, so WATCH IT!
Enough about me...
We have a small kitchen and a mud room that is nearly the exact same size. Roughly 7 x 11 for each. So why not spiff it up a little by replacing the linoleum? No big deal right, I’m pretty handy and I already have in my head a game plan for how this is coming together.
It’s simple, take off the trim, measure , cut and place, replace the trim and its off to something fun to do for the rest of the weekend.
I think you all know where this is going.
You guessed it, and it fully confirms what I’ve always said, “nothing is easy”
Not even purchasing this ‘weekend fun-draining’ sheet of polished plastic was easy.
I get started by organizing my workspace. One room at a time. I choose the mud room in case I make any mistakes while I’m getting the hang of it. I push the washer and dryer into the kitchen which leaves about enough room for one of my legs to get through to the fridge, but no big deal, I’ll have this knocked out in a couple hours max. Well, a couple hours later, I’m still removing trim and sinks and preparing the surface. When I get it all ready to start measuring is when I get that first sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one that simultaneously says your in over your head and your never gonna get this room done by the end of the weekend. Much less both rooms. This room, tiny as it is has 3 door ways! Which means 6 door jams to cut around. Plus a water heater and all the gas and water pipes that conveniently pop up through the stupid floor. I tell my self that the measuring is going to take the bulk of the time in this project, and to be patient and take as long as you need to get it right, measure, re-measure and then doubt your ability to read a ruler and re-measure a couple more times before committing a razor to this “plastic gold” When 10:30 p.m. rolls around, I’m done....MEASURING! And my work of art has been transferred to the sheet in the living room where I will now throw caution to the wind and start hacking this thing into a near perfect replica of my room. That done and an hour later, the moment of truth, all my hard work will be put to the test, with Kim watching over me and lending me moral support during this tough time in the operation. (Actually I think she wanted to see that I didn’t jack it up) we laid it down to make sure it fit and to make any adjustments in the event that any were required. Who am I fooling, of course there would be adjustments, why wouldn’t there be, I’ve only been working on this stupid room for 12 hours now with nothing to show for it yet except an inaccessible kitchen. Still, I set to the task with the determination of uh...um...well, something with one hell of a lot of determination. 45 more minutes of trimming here and touching up there and I’m done. Except for 'the move everything back in' part which can easily be done in the morning.
Morning rolls around and its time to put everything back, including hook up the washer again which I convince myself will leak because it would be too easy for it not to. I’m wrong, the washer hooked up and didn’t leak one drop, the sink however developed a leaky pipe to make up for it! Why oh why! After uttering a choice string of words about Murphy and his bullsh**t laws, I fetch my monkey wrench and fix the problem with relative ease. With that room accomplished, its time to get started on the kitchen. To find out how that went, just re-read the above and swap out washer and dryer for even heavier fridge and stuff. I would be more specific, but re-living this is putting me through the same mental fatigue and I can’t do it. All in all, I got ‘er done and it looks great and if anyone comes over and says otherwise, you might end up buried in my back yard, so WATCH IT!
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
DYLAN & GRANDPA
DYLAN & GRANDPA
Originally uploaded by cmort04.
This is one of my favorite photos. While not technically very good, it has a timeless feel that in its imperfection has really captured the essence of the moment when Dylan was hugging Grandpa and saying goodbye after a visit. For me It sums up how he loved his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.
Friday, January 13, 2006
The Passing of a Giant
January 11 was marked by the passing of my Grandpa. Not a man of huge stature, but a giant in character and experience. As a boy, I spent a lot of my most precious memories with both he and my Grandma at their house in Prospect, OR. When I think back, as I often do, my memories of those times are very special and will be cherished for the rest of my life. Grandpa taught me how to fish, how to be patient and wait for them to get hungry, and even when I was sure that there were no fish in the river or lake, all of a sudden, just like he told me they would, they started biting, at that moment, the cold went away and I could hardly take my eyes off the tip of my pole. He also thought nothing of getting us up at the ungodly hour of 4 am to go sit in a cold boat in the middle of a colder lake with an even colder breeze blowing off the snow covered mountains. I don’t feel the cold or remember how tired and crabby I must have been, what I do have is the wonderful memories and experience of a time spent with a great man that only that kind of character building exercise can bring. There were many trips to Diamond Lake, or the Rogue River like that. When I’ve gone back to those spots, I’ve felt like he is with me, now I’m sure that his spirit will be. When I take my son on the lake, I’ll continue to think back to when I was in this same spot 27 or so years earlier, eating the fish bait that he assured me was actually Velveta cheese, (it is still hands down the best tasting fish bait I’ve ever eaten). Only now, I can see what kind of memories my son will have and that inspires me to make the effort to spend those times together. They are the things that will define me as I grow older and hopefully become a grandpa. His lessons were many, and not all that he taught were warm and fuzzy, some stung a little, but I see now what I didn’t see as a young man and I still pull from those experiences as I try to raise my son with the same values.
He lived a full life, filled with experiences and love that the rest of us can only hope to achieve.
He touched many generations. Dylan had a unique bond with him. They would talk baseball and baseball history. I sat and listened to a conversation about Shoeless Joe Jackson that amazed me. Dylan had just finished a book about his life in those times and during that conversation I think Grandpa was treated to some special memories he hadn’t visited in some time, and I learned a lot as well. For instance, I never knew that he was a pro in the minor leagues. How did I not know this? The answer is that he was a humble man who wanted to give you the benefit of his life experience without being boastful and the depth of his experience was staggering. I had a brief involvement with the Lions Club here in Eugene, and among those people, there were probably 5 who personally knew him, but all respected his achievements within that club. I’m sure the same can be said nationally as he was very active and his voice was heard and respected by too many to count. My prayers are with my Grandma now, I hope the love from her large family will help in this transition, but nothing will fill the gap left by this man and their 67 years of marriage. But maybe the knowledge that their future generations will carry on and use their fine example as a model of a life well lived can grant a kind of peace that doesn’t fill the void but makes it acceptable and easier.
He will be missed terribly but I’m comforted by the thought that Grandpa is resting in peace and finally comfortable again. Where ever he may be is surely a better place for having him.
He lived a full life, filled with experiences and love that the rest of us can only hope to achieve.
He touched many generations. Dylan had a unique bond with him. They would talk baseball and baseball history. I sat and listened to a conversation about Shoeless Joe Jackson that amazed me. Dylan had just finished a book about his life in those times and during that conversation I think Grandpa was treated to some special memories he hadn’t visited in some time, and I learned a lot as well. For instance, I never knew that he was a pro in the minor leagues. How did I not know this? The answer is that he was a humble man who wanted to give you the benefit of his life experience without being boastful and the depth of his experience was staggering. I had a brief involvement with the Lions Club here in Eugene, and among those people, there were probably 5 who personally knew him, but all respected his achievements within that club. I’m sure the same can be said nationally as he was very active and his voice was heard and respected by too many to count. My prayers are with my Grandma now, I hope the love from her large family will help in this transition, but nothing will fill the gap left by this man and their 67 years of marriage. But maybe the knowledge that their future generations will carry on and use their fine example as a model of a life well lived can grant a kind of peace that doesn’t fill the void but makes it acceptable and easier.
He will be missed terribly but I’m comforted by the thought that Grandpa is resting in peace and finally comfortable again. Where ever he may be is surely a better place for having him.
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