I received a phone call last night from a woman in St. Pete. After talking for awhile, she told me about something she does in her spare time... working with a marching band for adults.
This band is called The Second Time Arounders. Intrigued I looked them up on the 'net and on youtube. Evidently they march like... 500 people. They have a color guard and everything.
Some things I noticed: their uniforms are pretty forgiving. Most of us are not the size we were in high school. They appear to wear tennis shoes. The rifle team has men, which is cool, and I suspect it's due to the large number of men in the military who have done that kind of rifle work. They do a lot of parades such as Macy's Day etc. I think it's easier to practice for parades. And their halftime show is not anything intricate. It's standing and playing and that too... I think people travel from all over so they learn their music and play.
I thought this was one of the coolest things ever. I wish they had one down here. I'd join in a heartbeat. Very fun...
(There is other video that show the men better in the rifle line. This doesn't show their musicianship, but their sheer size...)
I've been working at my current job for six years. Everyone knows me.
My gf has been working at her current job (same group) for eight years. Everyone knows her.
She is three inches taller than me, 15 pounds thinner, has long brown hair, has a lean face, and big brown doe eyes.
I am shorter, heavier, shorter brown hair, blue eyes and I have a round face and am bigger chested. (I just am. It's a fact.)
We don't have the same job. We sit next to each other, but I work maintenance on a part that blows fire out of something that flies very fast and she does reliability work on something that rotates from the top and men dressed like GI Joe drive. We both have tough programs. I prefer mine.
I was in the breakroom the other day heating up my lunch when my boss's boss walked in. I said hello and he did the same. At the sink he said, "Heard from Maria lately?"
Maria is someone my gf contracts with while working on what I will call, "Program GI Joe".
I stood there for a second realizing that once again, after six years, sitting down the aisle from me in his big office, he has confused us. After all this time, she and I have become a single entity in his mind. We are referred to as 'The Girls"
Whenever my old boss used to tell me this I'd say something nasty wondering if everyone else then was called "the boys". It really irritates us both.
I punched the keys to the microwave, took a deep breath and said, "No. I don't work Program GI Joe. That's a nasty program to work. I stay as far away from it as possible. I work the 'Fire Breathing Program'".
He said, "Oh yeah, that's right..."
I got back to my cube on low boil. I said to my gf and my Tech Lead, "you won't frickin' believe what happened... AGAIN."
Finally as I passed my TL's cube, I popped my head in and said testily, "So, tell me, if I gain 100 lbs, will we still be confused? Will we still be 'the girls' or will I suddenly become 'the fat one'?"
He nearly spewed his drink.
I have to tell you... after 25 years of dealing with this crap, I'm just about sick of it.
And my gf and I aren't letting it die. It's mostly between us, although my TL knows the jokes. He overhears. Today some blonde walked by my desk and my gf said to my TL, "Oh, was that Bou?" as in, "All girls... surely we can all be confused. We're interchangeable..."
Irritates the crap out of me...
Bones really does deserve his own category.
Two weeks ago he had class pictures. In private school, a company comes in, snaps the picture, a week later we get proofs with a choice of one from two shots, I send in money and my selection and a couple weeks following, we have pictures.
In public school something comes home telling you to pick a pose, a background, a package, and to pre-pay and then they'll take your kid's picture and a couple weeks later you get the package, good, bad or indifferent.
Which is fine, it worked last year, except we're talking about Bones and information is not always forthcoming. This is a theme you will see in this post.
Bones is the scattershot of thought.
He came home one day and said, 'Pictures are TOMORROW!' Said I, "Where is the order form?" Said he, "*blink*"
So I went on line and looked at the school site to gather some sort of information. Fortunately, Middle Schools seem to be inundated with Scattershots of Thought, so they put the pricing information on-line... but they didn't put the package.
I wrote him a check, put on a separate sheet of paper what package I wanted and said, "You know what pose we pick."
After seven years. Same pose.
Pictures came home today. I have no clue what his choices for poses were but before he handed them to me he said, 'Mom. I REALLY thought I picked the right pose. It LOOKED like the right pose..."
He handed me the photos and there was this BIG FACE photo. I mean... the 8x10 has him 1/2 from the top of the page, perfectly centered, BIG BIG Zoomed in face. Big.
I busted out laughing.
He shook his head and I said, "Forever we will remember this year as the Big Face Year, the year Bones picked the pose..."
Bones has a science project. He must enter the science fair. I'm in charge of math with Bones, but my husband is in charge of all the other classes because I can't handle the stress and I'm the one that does all the tutoring. My husband keeps up with the tests and projects, I help Bones learn.
Evidently Bones told his Dad last week that this project was due 28 September. No paper, no nothing, nothing is online, just Bones writing in his planner, "Due the 28th".
Information is not always forthcoming with Bones.
Come Sunday, after we came back in town, it was realized that nothing had been started... and the 28th is Wednesday. I kept saying, "Are we sure it's SEPTEMBER 28th and not OCTOBER 28th?" My husband replied, "Look, I only know what's in Bones' planner and he wrote the 28th" to which Bones replied to both of us, insulted we would question, 'IT IS SEPTEMBER!"
Fine. Big debate then ensued as to what kind of bread might mold the quickest given breads have so many preservatives to keep them from... molding... and it was decided that I should go with the Publix deli bread. We can't keep it in the breadbox for more than three days before it turns green.
Out I ran to pick up white and whole grain deli bread for this is the science experiment... which molds faster and under what condition.
We have slices of bread all over the dang house. It's in the light, in the dark, it's wet, it's dry, it's on the porch. It's like some sick Dr. Seuss book for 7th grade science kids, "Will you keep it here or there? I will keep it everywhere. Will your bread mold under your bed? It will mold under the bed, in the dark and in a shed!"
But now we're in a state of panic because it must mold by Wednesday, with presentation on Friday. I kept saying, 'I don't get it... he doesn't have science on Wed or Fri." (He has block scheduling... LOVE IT!)
We must get this bread to mold and we must have enough pictures to support the project and we have Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday morning if we push it to the limit.
Yesterday (Monday) evening my husband is with Bones. They're in the kitchen taking pictures of bread, all of which have been labeled and are mold free. After all, it has only been 24 hours.
My husband looks at him and says, "I'm going to move it around and you take second set of pictures. We need to make it look like we've been doing this a lot longer than two days."
Bones stood there looking at him, camera in hand, and then he said, 'I don't feel comfortable with this. It's cheating."
The house went silent. This coming from a boy who was born taking the truth and stretching it beyond all limits known to man. This is a boy who would call a tall tale by another name... The Truth.
My husband stood looking down at him incredulously. I stood there feeling the laughter rising up from within.
"I don't feel comfortable with this... It's cheating," he said again, to which my husband by now has nearly blown a gasket and says very loudly, "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRICKIN' MIND? Cheating? I'm trying to keep you from FAILING because you've done NOTHING on this project. And you're worried about a second set of pictures being CHEATING, "Mr. Can lie to me with a straight face"? ARE YOU NUTS?!"
A busted out laughing then. I'm still laughing. A second set of pictures was taken to try to add more data, and they will get thrown out because the project is due OCTOBER 28th.
As I suspected.
Let the molding begin...
So my boss who retired in December died about six weeks ago. A cancer finally got him. I immediately called his wife to see if she needed me to help her... she was in Tampa with him when he died and I got concerned she was going to get stuck there and be forced to make the trek back alone, a grieving widow, something that did come unexpected.
She was fine, she had a ride, but she told me the service would be later.
So I waited and waited and then I saw his Obit in the paper and it made NO mention of the two companies he worked for, only that he worked aerospace for the last 20+ years. Then it said his services were closed and private. I realized... we'd all been shut out.
That's fine. That's a choice. There was obviously a lot of anger there over something and that's not my business, but I was irritated as his grandson deserved to hear wonderful things said about him. (Y'all may remember parts of this... I think I did a post, planning my funeral.)
I thought nothing more of it.
On Friday I received a voicemail that I was invited to a service on Sunday at their home, a small get together. I was told only certain people had been invited. My gf and I were both invited. I wasn't in town so I couldn't go.
But today... it was so weird. None of us know who was and who was NOT invited and my voicemail said specifically that she wasn't inviting anyone my boss hated.
Those were the words.
So now my gf and I are wondering... who did he hate? The couple of us that KNOW we were invited at the LAST MINUTE, are quiet because we're wondering who else is being quiet for fear of offending someone, but they couldn't go because it was last minute.
Odd invitation. Plain as day, I'm inviting you because he liked you... not inviting anyone from work he hated.
Wow. Talk about the Passive Aggressive Funeral.
He is ninety, tall and lean. He carries himself like a young man, not a man in his 10th decade. His mind is sharp and although he does wear hearing aids, his hearing appears so too. He is warm and funny... and doesn't talk much about the past, although that's what he's been asked to do.
I sat next to him during dinner. His accent is thick, something I cannot do justice here... thick and warm.
Me: Would you do it again?
Him: No, absolutely not.
Me: When did you get out?
Him: 1947. They kicked us all out. We weren't allowed to stay in. I'm from Philly and in 1939, I'd learned a trade. We were allowed to go around and figure out what we wanted to do. I saw a bricklayer with a big wheelbarrow and said, "that's not for me!" *big laugh* So I became a welder. I figger'd that's what I'd do for them when I was brought in in 1943. But no, they made me a mechanic. I got good hands *wiggling his fingers* and so that's what I became.
Me: Did you work in your field after you got out?
Him: No I did not. I tried. Oh I tried. I went to all the aerospace companies. *twirling his hands over his head" what are them things called? Rotors. Helicopters. Tried to get on with them too. But they all said to me. "We don't hire no niggahs", so I went to the Philly shipyard. No work there either, or so they said, *rolling his eyes* So they said.
I was aghast. My face showed it.
He laughed: Dear, those were ugly times. Ugly. When I was at Tuskegee, that was the first time I'd ever seen whites and blacks work for the common good. But after the war, it was over. Back to where it was before.
I felt like I'd been time warped. He spoke of it like we were still living it. I gather he was an angry man, and rightfully so, because he said to me, 'I found Grace through the Lord. He saved me. I got saved, quit drinking, quit being angry, and married this wonderful woman right here and I became a Pastor. The Lord has been good to me...'
It was a thought provoking conversation. There are things I look back upon our history and think, 'I'd have fit there', but I look upon other times and think, "I'd not have fit at all...I'm glad I am where I am."
I am glad I am where I am...
We were at dinner tonight and the strangest conversation came up.
Mr. T: Like the time we were at Shamu's.
My husband raised an eyebrow.
Mr. T: Getting lost.
Bones: I NEVER got lost there. That wasn't me!
Mr T: Who was it?
My husband's eyes got big. "Wait. I remember this."
Me: What in the heck are you all talking about?
Hunhead: Our kids didn't get lost. One of Bob's kids.
Mr. T: That's right. It's when we went to Seaworld with Uncle Bob and Aunt Cindy.
Me: What? I didn't know this.
Hunhead: We never told you. Bob lost Brent. It was scary.
Me: Where in the heck was *I*?
Hunhead: You and Cindy were somewhere. You had Bones and she had their daughter. Bob lost Brent. He was... 3? He just walked away. I was freaking. Bob was about to have a breakdown. I stayed with our two and his oldest while he went looking, climbing over stairs and rushing through people to find him. When he finally found him he said, "Cindy can never know this..."
Me: Wow. I remember this now, where we were, where Cindy and I were, and y'all having a seat for us. But I never knew he was lost!
Hunhead: Guess I just broke our pact...
Me: That was... 10 years ago!
Lose a kid, find him, and take it to your grave... I'm still laughing. FWIW, Bob and Cindy are no longer married. Perhaps having to hide the situation from his wife was a pretty good indicator of where they were really headed... as for my husband not telling me. I know him. He flat forgot. He had his own life to worry about.
I saw online in the news that some little first grader, ever so excited about the treasures he was bringing for show and tell, had with him a crack pipe and crystal meth.
Fortunately the teacher got to it before it made the classroom. So excited was he, I suspect, he showed his teacher in advance. I'm gathering.
As for me? I actually googled crack pipe images today to see what one looked like since I didn't know. What has happened to our world that a 6 year old knows... and a 46 year old Mom... doesn't.
Mr. T has spent most of the night studying prepositions. He has all A's and... a C. His C is in Honors English, a pretty jacked up class. He has to be able to write from memory 60 prepositions.
He failed the first time, only coming up with 40. He needs to know 80, but she'll settle for 60. He has to retake it until he knows at least 60. After the third try, Mom and Dad get a phone call.
I'm trying to figure out how this is going to help him in life. When kids ask me about Math, I go into a dissertation explaining the forming of the brain, linear thinking, problem solving, independent thought, and then I give hard examples. "So, your Mom decides you can redecorate your bedroom, how do you know how much paint you need?" "You're at the store and you only have $5. You want ice cream, How do you decide how much you can get? You can get just Breyer's, but looking at the price of ice cream and doing the math, you realize you can get Publix brand AND syrup with the same money. That's math..."
I cite all sorts of examples.
I'm trying to figure out how he's going to use the knowledge of knowing 60 prepositions, identifying them as such.... The bird can only do so many things to a house before you have to expand beyond, into, out, around, through, on, etc.
And I'm helping him study and I'm trying to figure out what exactly I'm going to say if I get that phone call. How polite... MUST I be?
From Writersblock, who emailed me, we have the BEST flash mob EVER.
I have poured over this video, watching musicians stream in. My question is... when in the hell did the timpanis appear? I so missed them coming in!!!
I traveled up to the Panhandle for some 'business' this weekend, with a girlfriend and her daughter. We arrived Friday afternoon and left early this morning. We stayed with my folks, which was a joy as always.
We had stopped in Tallahassee to spend the night, Thursday night, the trip being too long to make leaving at rush hour as we did. It is 9 hours from my door to my folks', adding meals and stopping for gas.
When we checked in, a hotel room I got for us for just over $100, not a good deal, but one I was OK with considering it was Tallahassee on football weekend with OU coming to town, in an area I knew was safe, I was informed that if I'd reserved a room for the next night, although one was NOT available, I'd have paid... $399.
Suddenly I felt like I'd gotten a bargain.
The next morning we made our way to McDonalds for breakfast, something I do not do often as I struggle to maintain my middle aged weight.
My girlfriend is six years my junior, her daugther is my eldest's age. So that puts us at... 46, 40, and 16.
We walked up to the counter and there was a tiny little southern woman working the register. She big energy, little black woman, complete with Southern accent and great sense of humor, probably in her 60s or 70s. She was a real pleasure to talk to... but this is where it is funny.
My gf's daughter said, "I don't eat oatmeal, yuck" as her Mom was eating a small bowl of the McDonald's oatmeal as they waited on the rest of their food.
Said the McDonald's woman, "Oh no, baby, this is GOOD oatmeal. When I was a little girl, we had this stuff that would stick to your throat *pointing to the base of her throat*. It was big. That stuff was BIG!"
Looking at my gf she continued, 'You wouldn't remember the stuff. You're too young. I called that stuff, Welfare oatmeal. It was big and nasty and it stuck, right here in my throat. I'd have to walk 7 miles to school because my Mom would make me eat that welfare oatmeal and if I missed the bus, too bad. I'd have to walk. I think I walked every day to school."
We were laughing.
She continued, 'That was some bad stuff...' and looking at me she said, "you remember, wasn't that stuff nasty?"
I busted out laughing and said I always hated oatmeal and I understood.
We got in the car and I said, "Why do YOU not remember it because you're too young, but *I* do?!"
We keep laughing about it. I suspect the fact I'm evidently old enough to remember 'welfare oatmeal' and she is NOT, is going to come up... for years to come...
My favorite is at 1 minute 40... he is still so in love with her.
Bones had to supply a character analysis in his Drama class for extra credit.
We're all about extra credit.
This is his submittal. My comments are in italics.
1) Name- Bones
2) Age- 12
3) Gender- Male
4) Overall Appearance- all American boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. Look cute and loves to be around people. (Humble is obviously not in his vocab...)
5) Clothing style- A trendy casual. Who likes to wear jeans and likes to dress up. (I think my husband's take on this was 'casual slob'. I had him put trendy casual. He's into that whole skinny jean thing. He has a teacher who had breast cancer and so the kids wear pink on Fridays for her. He wanted me to buy him pink skinny jeans. I put my foot down...)
6) Home Life- my home life is great. I am very grateful for what my parents have accomplished to be able to afford my house. I always think how great it is to be able to be fed everyday and to have a roof over my head. Sometimes I just think wow my life is great. (I need to work with him on punctuation.)
8) Place in community- I am just an average video game playing kid. And I love to go outside and play and smell the fresh air. My community is very clean and nice and is very organized.
9) Childhood- my childhood was filled with laughter and drama. My childhood was arguably the best years of my life. I was not responsible for anything except having a dang good time. (There is so much to laugh about in this paragraph. Let me state that the drama did not come from me...)
10) Philosophy on Life- I view life as a rollercoaster ride. It has a start and a finish but in the middle is when you have the most fun. (OK, he and I have the same philosophy, except different reasoning. For me, life is like a rollercoaster ride because half the time you've got your hands in the air screaming and laughing and the other half, you're hanging on for dear life, gritting your teeth and praying. Not quite the same...)
11) Hopes for the future- My hopes for the future would be a healthy successful salesman. With a family but also being happy with my life. (Sales? He already put himself there? Hunh.)
12) Fears- I have a fear of being struck by lightning. I always have been. (Fortunately, he is no longer afraid of the rain...)
13) Secret- I have a hole in my heart. One in four people have one. I cannot have energy drinks because of it. I probably don't need one to begin with anyways. (He's right. It's our anti-drug campaign for him too... a beautiful thing.)
I'm back to eating healthy after my very bad no good summer. One cannot subside on doughnuts alone, although I'd sure as hell like to try.
For breakfast I eat an egg, one slice of whole wheat low cal toast and a cup of coffee. Every snack after that, about every 2-3 hours, I keep at 100 calories, until I get to my main meal. I eat a LOT of fresh vegetables.
My brother in law, my husband's younger brother, is a health nut. He has the potential to have my father in law's build, a man that was 5'6" and weighed 280 at the peak, and he is ever vigilant to stave off the health problems Pop had. So my bil works out all the time, lifts weights, and is constantly reading about health foods, protein, lean meats... etc.
If you were to see him, you'd be amazed at what great shape he's in... probably the most fit 47 year old man I know. He is dedicated...
So when I have a health food question, I ask him, and being also crazy smart, he always goes into some sort of dissertation about amino acids, and on and on, to which I hear, 'blah blah blah', until he gets to the part I need to know... what I need to eat and why.
(I'm getting to a funny story. I promise.)
I'm also back in the gym. I'm lifting light weight, running on the elliptical, walking in the neighborhood, and riding a stationery bike to round it out. I do about 30-45 minutes of cardio, with light weights after. I lost a lot of muscle mass in the Spring and I'd like to bring it back.
To the story...
We were in the kitchen for family dinner and my bil inquired about my work outs. (He always asks and is sincere. We compare notes.) I said, "I read that eating Greek Yogurt is really good for you, so I've been eating one for a mid morning snack. It's 110 calories, not too much, and my body is handling it well. Do you think the fact I get it with fruit already in it is bad?"
He said, "Nah, but it's not the best for you. The best is buying it plain and adding your own..."
I finished if off and bought 6 little cups of plain vanilla Greek yogurt. And a peach.
Yesterday morning I sliced up my peach and poured the yogurt on it. I took a bite and...
... fought the urge to spew it all over. I managed to choke it down and I txt'd my bil and I swear this is how it went.
Me: I just took a bite of yogurt with fruit and I'm trying really really hard not to puke.
Bil: Oh yeah. I can't eat it like that; it's gross.
Me: Wait. You told me this is how to eat it!
Bil: I can't. I turn it into a shake.
So here I thought this is the way HE ate it, instead he converts his into a frickin' shake? And being the cheap Scot that I am, I decided that I WILL finish those other five cups.
This morning I decided it just needed more fruit. I would drown it in fruit. I was in the kitchen at work washing my peach and strawberries when some of the guys walked in. I told them about my bil and the fiasco the day before when one of them said, "And... you think the strawberries is going to... help?"
I said, "Good Lord, I'm hoping. It's all I can do to choke this crap down..."
Back in my cube, strawberries, peaches, yogurt, mixed together, I took a bite and... my body started to rebel. Something deep in my brain was screaming, 'POISON!'
I walked out of my cube, mouth closed, teeth clenched, over to where the guys were (two cubes down) and stood there. One of them said, "The strawberries didn't work... I can tell..." I shook my head no, grimaced and swallowed.
I told them, "I think it needs chocolate..."
Tomorrow I'm adding blueberries. I have four more of those crappy little cups to eat...
Bones was two years old. He was in pre-school. He does not remember it.
Mr. T was four years old. I had taken him out of pre-school so we could have a "Mommy and Mr. T" day... he'd not have to share me with anyone. He remembers exactly where we were and what he was eating for breakfast. It is all very clear in his head.
Ringo was in first grade. He remembers it vividly. I picked him up early from school.
None of my boys remember life before 9/11. They don't remember what it was like to greet someone at the gate at an airport. They don't remember when you didn't have to take off your shoes. They don't remember when air travel wasn't a pain in the neck.
They don't remember... when we were not at war. We have been at war, had Troops in the Middle East... as far back as their memories carry them.
They don't know the sadness, the fright, the horror. We worried where the world was going. We understood it was a turning point. We were aghast at what was to be for our children. We wondered... who was next?
I find myself appalled that people think we should forgive. There appears to be so much wrong with that. I am not capable of remembering and forgiving. To remember is to remember the horror of all of it.
I read the comics every Sunday morning. It is what I've done since I was a child. I get breakfast, read the Sunday comics, then start at the front of the paper and work back.
This morning I decided to go through and see what the various writers had depicted. Most had a bit on it. Some did not, which I did expect and did not offend. But one in particular said, "Always forgive, Always remember". I sat there thinking, "Really? Always forgive? Why should we forgive murderers?"
It is not in my heart to do so. I am saddened still for the families that lost loved ones. I am sorry for the deep change that had to occur in our Country. I am saddened that some people still don't realize, we are in perpetual danger.
I don't worry that we have forgiven, but more that we have forgotten. Afterall... history repeats itself. Today, I counted three American flags being flown in my neighborhood as I was leaving.
Is that a sign that we have forgotten? Or a sign... we no longer care?
First, thank you for all the birthday wishes! It was a crazy crazy day, with more laughter than I expected.
I left the house at 7AM and got home at 9:30PM. I told my husband, "We don't have time for this. We'll blow off my birthday this year."
Curriculum night for Bones' school was from 6-8 and as my husband I drove over I said to him, "Mr. T seems a bit disturbed about our not celebrating" to which my husband replied, "Yeah, it's not right. You can say you want to blow it off all you want, but that's not right. I'll drop you off at Scouts as planned after this and then I'll get a cake. I don't care if it's 10:00, we're celebrating."
So he dropped me off at Scouts where my older two boys were and he went home, picked up Bones, and took him to Publix where he was going to buy my favorite ice cream cake and Bones was to pick out cards from everyone.
So. An ADHD kid picks out the cards.
He picked out a card to be from Mr. T and saw another card catch his eye. This other card had a shark fin and the 'Jaws' type music implied. He opened it, LOVED how the shark was eating a cake and completely fixated realizing... THIS was the perfect card to be from Mr. T.
The cards were brought home and the boys went to sign them... when Ringo noticed something right away.
Notice those red letters? They are 1.5 inches tall. IN RED.
That would be Mr. T's big black block letter M over the BR. Thankfully... Mother and Brother rhyme.
I cannot quit laughing. Bones... was clueless.
I'm hijacking Boudicca's blog for a few minutes to wish her a Happy Birthday today. She was born on this date "several" years ago. I always forget the exact year and have to check my anniversary. */;-)
Happy Birthday! Have a healthy, prosperous life.
TGOO and Hubba
I have three boys. I love them all the same, no favorites. Each brings something different to the table. Each makes me laugh in a different way. Each makes my heart swell with love.
And they are all different. In particular, my eldest two.
Today something happened that hammered it home and made me laugh.
Ringo had the same English class Mr. T has, two years ago. The following conversation happened in the car today, on the way home from school.
Mr. T: Mom, do we know any Cubans?
Me: Of course. We live in S. FL. David's grandmother is Cuban.
Mr. T: I'm not calling David's grandmother.
Ringo: Yvonne's Mom is Cuban.
Mr. T: OH! I'll call her...
Ringo: Mom, he's doing that project I had to do. Remember? You have to interview someone Cuban and then write a paper.
Me: Wait. When is this due?
Mr. T: Monday.
Me: When did you find out about it?
Mr. T: Today in class. I want to get it done as soon as possible. I'll call her Mom tonight or tomorrow...
Me casting a nasty glance at Ringo: Monday, huh?
Ringo, returning the nasty glance with a grin: Hey, Mom, remember when *I* had that project?
Me: How.In.THE.HELL could I forget?
Ringo: I just forgot about it. Hey, Mr. T, so it was Monday morning and I remember it's due, so I tell Mom, she calls Dad, Dad calls Yvonne and then calls Mom back with her number saying it's OK, I called Yvonne from Mom's cell and interviewed her on behalf of her Mom, then when we got to school, I ran into the library and wrote the paper.
Me: It was due THAT day.
Ringo: I forgot!
Me: I was so pissed. I nearly stroked.
Meanwhile, Mr. T is all over it and will have his completed... probably Saturday.
Am I the only one singing this song in their head today?
I know that the invasiveness of certain social networks does not bother the normal person. Any data that is gathered by an unseen entity, if you can't see it, why worry?
It bugs me, which is one of the reasons I won't do it. I'm not budging. Now we have... the Clouds.
The high school just went to Google Cloud. Away from outlook they went and all the email is now done in Google. There were export issues for the band email database, so this week I keyed them in by hand. Typing at the 90-100 words per minute that I do, it didn't take that long.
So I was sitting at the band director's desk, typing in email addresses and I noticed that a picture popped up. I was startled as I wondered, who was this person staring at me in the picture? Did Google put some random picture?
I mean, how absurd?
And I realized, that I was looking at a real picture of one of the Dads. Every email I typed in where someone had some sort of Google account with a picture attached, suddenly appeared in the band director's database.
I know, everyone is OK with this but me, the absolute invasiveness of all these systems. Does he know that I know what he looks like now, just from typing his name into contacts? But really... does he care? More than likely not.
Privacy is gone, folks. And we seem to be OK. It is bigger and crazier than anything Orwellian. We don't have to have cameras on street corners.
They're in our own homes. And WE are supplying... the data. How sweet is THAT for Big Brother?
Poor planning on my part. Labor Day. Finished all my books. Library closed.
Hate it when that happens.
Sarah's Key. It will haunt you. Great book.
Bones' has made a contribution to the blog. He asked me to pull up his favorite video from when he was a kid. I found it on youtube and he was howling.
Today is the 71st year for The Great Omnipotent One.
You know what the funny thing is? I remember when my grandfather was 71 and I thought he was old as crap. Well, because... he was. He was a mess at 71. But my Dad? If you ask my kids if their grandfather is old, they'll scrunch up their faces like you're stupid and say, "No." Then they add, "Poppy was old..." And Poppy... was. (Their other grandfather.)
The kids and I were playing this funny game called Imaginiff the other night. I meant to write down some of what happened, as it was dang funny. Anyway, TGOO had a spot on the board, and we came to a card that we had to read with TGOO in mind and it said something like, "Imaginiff Big Daddy were in a confrontation... he would be most likely to run away, fight to the bitter end, sweet talk his way out of it, pretend it wasn't happening, or find a compromise."
Every single one of us put "Fight to the bitter end". Heh. We laughed hysterically after. (Sorry, Dad, true story. I meant to tell you that tonight during our birthday talk...)
My Dad is the historian in the family, the resident Genealogist. He's got Mom's family traced back to Mayflower, his to Jamestowne, both to the Revolutionary War and the Civil War (opposite sides). He's done his Y-DNA and as I posted, Mom's mDNA.
If Mom is the emotional glue that holds the family together, then TGOO is the historical glue.
TGOO and I have traipsed through cemeteries finding old family graves from the 1800's, been in the bottom of an old Court House looking for something only to look at each other completely aghast as we held old papers in our hands from family, showing slave ownership. (The urge to take all that home was overwhelming. It stayed at the Court House, but dang... it was tough to leave it.)
He's been documenting everything in databases as I've now been on a mission now to get it all in my head and copied as well.
It is his father that my oldest son has started to resemble the most. (BTW, Dad, Ringo now wears his hair brushed back like my Big Daddy did in his twenties, to show off that magnificent widow's peak. It is eerie... between the eye lids and the forehead... I am looking at the 1940s.)
TGOO has the green thumb I will never have. He turns wood. He studies history. He can still shoot with such amazing accuracy he has on his garage door a target with holes in it labeled, "From 25 feet... with my new Glock". (I think that's what it says...) He's a regular renaissance man.
Who would fight to the bitter end. Heh.
Love you, Dad. Happy Birthday!
Busy, busy, busy. I have a freshman not afraid to ask for help, which is GREAT, but I find that I may be trying to help him pass the most jacked up high school English class in America as we try to decipher the difference between paraphrasing and summarizing.
We've been having in depth book discussions and character analysis of various books he was required to read. Boggling my mind it is, as I never had this type of English in high school. I'm not sure I had it in college.
I'm off to watch the Gator game, but I leave you with this interesting and amusing article. This is courtesy of my reader Cin, who emailed me the link.
In particular, you Southerners in 'cane country will be the most interested. I give you... the Waffle House Index.