Unbelievably good, and just unbelievable. I mean, just the volume of it. And they're all quotes!
*shudder*
Come on America, wake up!
Friday, October 22, 2004
hair6.jpg
I just could not bring myself to cutting my little girl's hair for the first time in her life.
Which was kind of creating a problem.
Her hair has taken to growing pretty fast now...
...and she could hardly see anything anymore.
"So when are you going to do something about it?"
Well, a few tears (mine) and few snips later...
...a new girl! The bangers are a little wavy, but hey, she was moving a lot while I was doing this, and this was my first time. So there!
"Hmmm...where can I find a musical instrument to express my joy with in celebration of getting my eyesigt again?"
Toot-ti-toot-ti-tooooooot.
Playing on a comb. Fun.
Which was kind of creating a problem.
Her hair has taken to growing pretty fast now...
...and she could hardly see anything anymore.
"So when are you going to do something about it?"
Well, a few tears (mine) and few snips later...
...a new girl! The bangers are a little wavy, but hey, she was moving a lot while I was doing this, and this was my first time. So there!
"Hmmm...where can I find a musical instrument to express my joy with in celebration of getting my eyesigt again?"
Toot-ti-toot-ti-tooooooot.
Playing on a comb. Fun.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The words of the Idiot-in-Chief qualify as 'mundane enough', I think.
Just found this amazing quote on a blog that I just stumbled upon, and like:
"See, free nations are peaceful nations. Free nations don't attack each other. Free nations don't develop weapons of mass destruction."
And that is a direct quote. Really. It is from a speech he gave not even three weeks ago. Just see for yourself: From the horses mouth.
This guy has a flair for irony. Probably without having the slightest idea that he does. And this nation is about to elect him.
Unbelievable.
Just found this amazing quote on a blog that I just stumbled upon, and like:
"See, free nations are peaceful nations. Free nations don't attack each other. Free nations don't develop weapons of mass destruction."
And that is a direct quote. Really. It is from a speech he gave not even three weeks ago. Just see for yourself: From the horses mouth.
This guy has a flair for irony. Probably without having the slightest idea that he does. And this nation is about to elect him.
Unbelievable.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
OK. Enough is enough. I'm back from this self-inflicted excile.
After sitting down, the weekend before last, and actually reading some of the stuff I've been blogging for the last couple of months, I realized I needed a break. This was getting waay to melodramatic. And I'm not a melodramatic guy. Not extremely, anyway. Or maybe I am. Anyway, I don't want to be. It isn't something I aspire to. And that's what matters.
So I made a promise to myself: The next time you've written another piece of whining, wuzzy zap and are about to hit that 'Publish post' button, take a minute to read it over. If it's whiny, or pretentious, or one more post about putting the trees to sleep for the winter, or if it's something that is libel to hurt someone, or needlessly mess with their peace, don't post it.
And that's what I have been doing for ten days. Writing and throwing away, writing and throwing away. Because I've slowly come to realize something: Whatever you do, has consequences. Sometimes the consequences you aimed for. Sometimes not. Even when you have the noblest intentions, and are the purest at heart, the consequences can be quite the opposite.
I'll tell you what prompted this.
On that weekend, ten days ago, we had a sudden downpour. My daughter and I were playing here at home, and I thought 'Wouldn't it be fun if we went out and danced ini the rain?' We don't have rain like this were I come from, you see. Not this pouring-down-like-a-water-from-a-faucet kind of rain. Plus, here the rain is warm. Usually. And that was actually the thing. It turns out it is October already. And nobody told me. So it isn't that warm anymore. Now, that did not really register with me as I danced around in the rain with my daughter. She didn't complain, either. Well, she almost never does, anyway. But as I was taking her back inside, quite a while later, I suddenly realized that she was cold. Really, really cold. Still laughing. But cold. So I took her inside, we took of the drenched clothes, dried off and changed into something dry. But she was still cold. Even shivering. Then she sneezed. And then it hit me.
Here I had been doing something for my daughter that I knew she would like. It felt comletely innocent, and good. But it wasn't good for her. I know that sounds naïve. And of course I know I shouldn't allow her to do everything she wants to. And I don't. Which is actually the whole point. I am not like this, generally. I am usually the responible one. The solid-as-a-rock one. Dependable. Granted, I am impulsive, and passionate, and spontaneous, and I live in the now. But I have subdued those impulses to the point where 'reckless' really is not a description of me.
She got sick, developed a cold. I know that you don't get a cold from being cold, per se, but I felt miserable all the same. And I started to think that I needed to pay more attention to what I was doing. You don't just go off and do something reckless with people you love, even if it feels good and right, if you should know that it isn't good for them. No matter how short life is. Right?
Anyway. I promised myself that I wouldn't blog until I found something really mundane to blog about. Something to get my feet back on the ground. And now I have. What I found, is a real-life red-neck who actually has something to say. Isn't that remarkable? Here is a guy, on the red-neck radio program "Imus in the morning", waxing on about his parents living in this trailer and yada-yada yodely-yoo, when all of a sudden he actually starts to make sense. And it turns out that he really is not half-stupid. In fact, he's quite intelligent, and amusing, and well-read!
I just had to tell you. I found the only non-stupid red-neck in existence. And his name is Craig Crawford.
After sitting down, the weekend before last, and actually reading some of the stuff I've been blogging for the last couple of months, I realized I needed a break. This was getting waay to melodramatic. And I'm not a melodramatic guy. Not extremely, anyway. Or maybe I am. Anyway, I don't want to be. It isn't something I aspire to. And that's what matters.
So I made a promise to myself: The next time you've written another piece of whining, wuzzy zap and are about to hit that 'Publish post' button, take a minute to read it over. If it's whiny, or pretentious, or one more post about putting the trees to sleep for the winter, or if it's something that is libel to hurt someone, or needlessly mess with their peace, don't post it.
And that's what I have been doing for ten days. Writing and throwing away, writing and throwing away. Because I've slowly come to realize something: Whatever you do, has consequences. Sometimes the consequences you aimed for. Sometimes not. Even when you have the noblest intentions, and are the purest at heart, the consequences can be quite the opposite.
I'll tell you what prompted this.
On that weekend, ten days ago, we had a sudden downpour. My daughter and I were playing here at home, and I thought 'Wouldn't it be fun if we went out and danced ini the rain?' We don't have rain like this were I come from, you see. Not this pouring-down-like-a-water-from-a-faucet kind of rain. Plus, here the rain is warm. Usually. And that was actually the thing. It turns out it is October already. And nobody told me. So it isn't that warm anymore. Now, that did not really register with me as I danced around in the rain with my daughter. She didn't complain, either. Well, she almost never does, anyway. But as I was taking her back inside, quite a while later, I suddenly realized that she was cold. Really, really cold. Still laughing. But cold. So I took her inside, we took of the drenched clothes, dried off and changed into something dry. But she was still cold. Even shivering. Then she sneezed. And then it hit me.
Here I had been doing something for my daughter that I knew she would like. It felt comletely innocent, and good. But it wasn't good for her. I know that sounds naïve. And of course I know I shouldn't allow her to do everything she wants to. And I don't. Which is actually the whole point. I am not like this, generally. I am usually the responible one. The solid-as-a-rock one. Dependable. Granted, I am impulsive, and passionate, and spontaneous, and I live in the now. But I have subdued those impulses to the point where 'reckless' really is not a description of me.
She got sick, developed a cold. I know that you don't get a cold from being cold, per se, but I felt miserable all the same. And I started to think that I needed to pay more attention to what I was doing. You don't just go off and do something reckless with people you love, even if it feels good and right, if you should know that it isn't good for them. No matter how short life is. Right?
Anyway. I promised myself that I wouldn't blog until I found something really mundane to blog about. Something to get my feet back on the ground. And now I have. What I found, is a real-life red-neck who actually has something to say. Isn't that remarkable? Here is a guy, on the red-neck radio program "Imus in the morning", waxing on about his parents living in this trailer and yada-yada yodely-yoo, when all of a sudden he actually starts to make sense. And it turns out that he really is not half-stupid. In fact, he's quite intelligent, and amusing, and well-read!
I just had to tell you. I found the only non-stupid red-neck in existence. And his name is Craig Crawford.
Saturday, October 9, 2004
We went to The City today. More or less on a whim. Our friend was flying in, and taking the bus, but we decided to surporise her and pick her up instead.
And my daughter is formally the calmest and most wonderful almost-one-and-a-half-year-old in history. She took in stride the 2 x 2 hour drive, plus our wandering between public gardens and Thai restaurants, the non-stop talking and driving all over the city, reminiscing about the time when we all, except her of course, met there exactly ten years ago.
On the way back, they all fell asleep. Which was nice. Me driving. They sleeping. Nice.
And my daughter is formally the calmest and most wonderful almost-one-and-a-half-year-old in history. She took in stride the 2 x 2 hour drive, plus our wandering between public gardens and Thai restaurants, the non-stop talking and driving all over the city, reminiscing about the time when we all, except her of course, met there exactly ten years ago.
On the way back, they all fell asleep. Which was nice. Me driving. They sleeping. Nice.
Friday, October 8, 2004
It is warm today. But I have a serious case of goosebumps.
There are almost four thousand songs on my iPod now. It's on shuffle, presenting my music in a way that really keeps my attention.
Maybe that is why I felt chills up my spine – really, butterflies in my stomach and all – just now, when Elvis Costello started singing
She
May be the face I can't forget.
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day
She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die
How can music have such a grip on your very soul, shaking it to its core?
There are almost four thousand songs on my iPod now. It's on shuffle, presenting my music in a way that really keeps my attention.
Maybe that is why I felt chills up my spine – really, butterflies in my stomach and all – just now, when Elvis Costello started singing
She
May be the face I can't forget.
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day
She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die
How can music have such a grip on your very soul, shaking it to its core?
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