It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then-- just to loosen up.
Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker. I began to think alone -- "to relax," I told myself -- but I knew it wasn't true.Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally, I was thinking all the time.
That was when things began to sour at home. One evening I turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent the night at her mother's.
I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself. I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?"One day the boss called me in. He said, "Listen, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another job." This gave me a lot to think about.
I came home early after my conversation with the boss."Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking . . . ""I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!""But, Honey, surely it's not that serious." "It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as a college professor, and college professors don't make any money. So if you keep on thinking, we won't have any money!""That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently. She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama.
"I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door.
I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors. They didn't open. The library was closed. To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night. Leaning on the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinkers Anonymous poster.
Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was "Porky's." Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting. I still have my job and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking.
I think the road to redemption is nearly complete for me. Today I took the final step to recovery. Today I registered to vote as a Republican.
(Big props to Bob for sending that to me!)
Trying out SmugMug
If you're interested, I posted some pix at http://amygeek.smugmug.com.
Feel free to check them out and comment...
Feel free to check them out and comment...
Baseball
So, my friend Jim and I went to see the Mariners play the Red Sox on Saturday night. Turns out that baseball is way more fun if you're wearing one of the team's hats. I was yelling and cheering and clapping loudly behind a Red Sox fan's head like a real fan.
It was a great game and we won - but it went down to the wire...
It was a great game and we won - but it went down to the wire...
Now this is a creative kid
JEANNETTE, Pa. (AP) - Meow. A district judge has been asked to decide whether that word is a harmless taunt or grounds for misdemeanor harassment. Jeannette police charged a 14-year-old boy for "meowing" whenever he sees his neighbor, 78-year-old Alexandria Carasia.
The boy's family and Carasia do not get along. The boy's mother said the family got rid of their cat after Carasia complained to police that it used her flower garden as a litter box.
The boy testified Tuesday that he only meowed at the woman twice. Carasia testified, "Every time he sees me, he meows."
The boy's family and Carasia do not get along. The boy's mother said the family got rid of their cat after Carasia complained to police that it used her flower garden as a litter box.
The boy testified Tuesday that he only meowed at the woman twice. Carasia testified, "Every time he sees me, he meows."
Now that's a good quote
"The penalty good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men." - Plato
I was watching a documentary about Berkeley in the 60's (ironically called "Berkeley in the 60's") last night and was touched by a protest in 1960 where the protesters sang the national anthem to show that they weren't unAmerican - that they respected their country. It made me think about the fact that I am so busy being embarrassed by this administration that I'm not proud of being an American. The conservative movement has claimed the country and the flag as their own and taken it away from the left and I'm not going to allow them to.
Whenever I see a flag, I figure that person is a conservative which means they've won that battle in my mind. So, I'm getting a flag and I'm going to put it on my house and then I'm going to find a "Protest is Patriotic" sticker and I'm putting it on the flag.
So there.
I was watching a documentary about Berkeley in the 60's (ironically called "Berkeley in the 60's") last night and was touched by a protest in 1960 where the protesters sang the national anthem to show that they weren't unAmerican - that they respected their country. It made me think about the fact that I am so busy being embarrassed by this administration that I'm not proud of being an American. The conservative movement has claimed the country and the flag as their own and taken it away from the left and I'm not going to allow them to.
Whenever I see a flag, I figure that person is a conservative which means they've won that battle in my mind. So, I'm getting a flag and I'm going to put it on my house and then I'm going to find a "Protest is Patriotic" sticker and I'm putting it on the flag.
So there.
Chocolate Mary
I know this is a very strange segueway to the next blog posting, but I couldn't resist...
From MSNBC:
Workers at Angiano's gourmet chocolate company, Bodega Chocolates, discovered under a vat a 2-inch-tall column of chocolate drippings that they believe bears a striking resemblance to the Virgin Mary.
Chocolate drippings usually harden in thin, flat strips on wax paper, but Jacinto said she froze when she noticed the unusual shape of this cast-off: It looked just like the Virgin Mary on the prayer card she always carries in her right pocket.
Windows Live Local
Where I work. (Building on the right. If you click and hold your mouse on the image, you'll be able pull the image up and see the sport fields).
Deleted link to my house cause I'm friggin' paranoid of the kooks on the internets.
Deleted link to my house cause I'm friggin' paranoid of the kooks on the internets.
The Colbert Report
I'm a big fan of this show. I still prefer Jon Stewart, but Stephen Colbert really does a great imitation/impersonation of Hannity, O'Reilly, etc. He's pretty tough on the folks who come on though, but often in a dopey, conservative way.
Anyways, if you watch the show, you'll get a kick out of this.
And, if you have never seen the show, here's a clip about what would happen if every idiot in America was forced to vote.
Anyways, if you watch the show, you'll get a kick out of this.
And, if you have never seen the show, here's a clip about what would happen if every idiot in America was forced to vote.
Post vacation
Yes, it's that time of year...time for the family vacation ritual. You know, you gather 19 of your closest siblings, their spouses (the few that are left), their kids and the grandparents and go away to a resort that's filled with lots of other families just like you...
That's right kids...I have just returned from a week with my family.
Day 1 in the Poconos: 1,000 degrees + 100% humidity. I hide in my room and read my book, but do make an appearance for dinner. We have to "dress" for dinner - no jeans, t-shirts, etc, guys must wear a jacket. We need two tables to accommodate all of us. They tell me to order one of everything cause meals are included. I join in and eat the food. It's mediocre, but at least there's lots of it. (sigh). My room has 2 twin beds. Turns out they can combine them together into a king size bed. I ask them to do this three times between 3:30pm and 7:00pm. At midnight, when they still haven't done it, I give up and climb into a twin bed. It leans towards one side and makes me have dreams about killing Deanna, who I haven't even spoken to in a year or so. After I kill her (relax, it's a dream), she comes back to life and sets me up so that I get busted for killing her. I'm pissed off at her in the dream for behaving thusly.
Days 2-6 are a blur. Weather is better - not as hot (mid-80's) but 96% humidity. I'm so not used to it and have a habit of sweating, feeling uncomfortable and running up to my room to cool down. I have a (rather pleasant) massage, take pictures of the beautiful flowers, butterflies and my unusually adorable nieces and nephews (10, count em, 10). I then manage to delete all the photos I took. Pulled out card so that I could try to restore them and put in second card (I'm such a geek. Yes, I'm restoring them as I type.)
I go with the boys (that's what I call my brothers cause, seriously, they are boys. Even though they all have kids. Ejaculation doesn't necessarily mean that you are a grownup...) to shoot skeet. I've never held a gun before, so the boys are seriously amused and take pix of me shooting a rifle. They threaten to send them to the NRA, but I'm pretty sure I'm on their enemies list, so what else could they do to me? I shoot some skeet and feel pretty darn good about myself.
I take a golf lesson. It was 1/2 hour and I do pretty well - I mean, I hit the little ball and it flies pretty far. The guy is very complimentary and says that lots of people can't even hit the ball at first, so I'm feeling like I am quite the pro, so I go out to play 9 holes with 2 of my brothers that afternoon. Mostly I whiff or dig up the golf course. They keep telling me to stop trying so hard and when I finally (last few holes) do that, I manage to connect with the little ball a few times and make it fly in the air. That night, my left hand is sore - apparently I was really clinging onto that darned golf stick (what the heck are they called? I keep forgetting. I know it's not a golf cue.). I lie in bed and practice - seriously. There's something wrong with me, right?
So, we play another 9 holes the next day and I am a golf goddess. Alright, not exactly a goddess, but a world apart from the previous day. Balls are flying (ha) and I'm pretty darned happy. Oh yes, one of my nieces (she's 15) was driving me around both days in a golf cart (there wasn't a lot for teens to do, so this managed to be the highlight of her vacation) and at least I don't look like such a dork to her the second day.
Some Brits decide to blow up airplanes by mixing hair gel and nail polish remover together (or some other combo) so the airports are all a-twitter. I realize that it's going to take me forever to get to my plane on Saturday.
Leave early on Saturday to check in. Get there 90 minutes before flight (hey, there's a lot of traffic on Long Island around JFK) and check-in and security scan are totally normal. Weird. A little disconcerting actually.
Fly home - stewardess remembers me from last week. (We bonded cause she knows a friend of mine. She's very chatty so I look very popular on the flight, which is always important.)
Sunday - relax, pick up dog, read papers, misc. chores around house, acclimate to west coast time.
Monday - back to the grind. Oddly enough, I don't mind it. Vacations are good, but it's nice to be home...
That's right kids...I have just returned from a week with my family.
Day 1 in the Poconos: 1,000 degrees + 100% humidity. I hide in my room and read my book, but do make an appearance for dinner. We have to "dress" for dinner - no jeans, t-shirts, etc, guys must wear a jacket. We need two tables to accommodate all of us. They tell me to order one of everything cause meals are included. I join in and eat the food. It's mediocre, but at least there's lots of it. (sigh). My room has 2 twin beds. Turns out they can combine them together into a king size bed. I ask them to do this three times between 3:30pm and 7:00pm. At midnight, when they still haven't done it, I give up and climb into a twin bed. It leans towards one side and makes me have dreams about killing Deanna, who I haven't even spoken to in a year or so. After I kill her (relax, it's a dream), she comes back to life and sets me up so that I get busted for killing her. I'm pissed off at her in the dream for behaving thusly.
Days 2-6 are a blur. Weather is better - not as hot (mid-80's) but 96% humidity. I'm so not used to it and have a habit of sweating, feeling uncomfortable and running up to my room to cool down. I have a (rather pleasant) massage, take pictures of the beautiful flowers, butterflies and my unusually adorable nieces and nephews (10, count em, 10). I then manage to delete all the photos I took. Pulled out card so that I could try to restore them and put in second card (I'm such a geek. Yes, I'm restoring them as I type.)
I go with the boys (that's what I call my brothers cause, seriously, they are boys. Even though they all have kids. Ejaculation doesn't necessarily mean that you are a grownup...) to shoot skeet. I've never held a gun before, so the boys are seriously amused and take pix of me shooting a rifle. They threaten to send them to the NRA, but I'm pretty sure I'm on their enemies list, so what else could they do to me? I shoot some skeet and feel pretty darn good about myself.
I take a golf lesson. It was 1/2 hour and I do pretty well - I mean, I hit the little ball and it flies pretty far. The guy is very complimentary and says that lots of people can't even hit the ball at first, so I'm feeling like I am quite the pro, so I go out to play 9 holes with 2 of my brothers that afternoon. Mostly I whiff or dig up the golf course. They keep telling me to stop trying so hard and when I finally (last few holes) do that, I manage to connect with the little ball a few times and make it fly in the air. That night, my left hand is sore - apparently I was really clinging onto that darned golf stick (what the heck are they called? I keep forgetting. I know it's not a golf cue.). I lie in bed and practice - seriously. There's something wrong with me, right?
So, we play another 9 holes the next day and I am a golf goddess. Alright, not exactly a goddess, but a world apart from the previous day. Balls are flying (ha) and I'm pretty darned happy. Oh yes, one of my nieces (she's 15) was driving me around both days in a golf cart (there wasn't a lot for teens to do, so this managed to be the highlight of her vacation) and at least I don't look like such a dork to her the second day.
Some Brits decide to blow up airplanes by mixing hair gel and nail polish remover together (or some other combo) so the airports are all a-twitter. I realize that it's going to take me forever to get to my plane on Saturday.
Leave early on Saturday to check in. Get there 90 minutes before flight (hey, there's a lot of traffic on Long Island around JFK) and check-in and security scan are totally normal. Weird. A little disconcerting actually.
Fly home - stewardess remembers me from last week. (We bonded cause she knows a friend of mine. She's very chatty so I look very popular on the flight, which is always important.)
Sunday - relax, pick up dog, read papers, misc. chores around house, acclimate to west coast time.
Monday - back to the grind. Oddly enough, I don't mind it. Vacations are good, but it's nice to be home...
Why you should come visit me
VISITORS and natives alike never cease to be amazed at how peachy summer in Seattle is, though it arrives reliably every year around the Fourth of July. Clouds lift, mountains and water come out of hiding, decks fill with flowers and bare limbs, and trendy menus promote a different local berry every week: strawberries, raspberries, marionberries. At noon, the light is so dazzling that the city almost looks like Provence: an illusion enhanced by the masses of lavender at farmers’ markets and the wonderful French restaurants popping up around town. At dusk, which lingers past 9 o’clock, a silvery Alpine wash suffuses the snowcap of Mount Rainier. Seattlites take to the hills and islands on weekends, freeing parking spots and restaurant tables for visitors downtown and in the nice old residential neighborhoods that are adjacent. No need to gnash your teeth in envy as software magnates wave from yachts and sailboats. For a $6.50 round trip you can hop a commuter ferry from downtown to Bainbridge Island and bask in the same spectacular view.
For more, click here.
For more, click here.
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