--Or--
Be careful what you wish for - because you just might get it.
I have to wonder at the irony. First - a bit of background:
When I graduated from high school and started college, the economic situation in North Dakota as portrayed in the local news was gloom and doom. Towns were dying. Schools were closing. Churches were burned down instead of left to rot. Farms were abandoned. Businesses were boarded up on Main Street. Young people - my friends - were leaving for population centers promising better jobs and education opportunities. Legislators and leaders - people I voted for - exclaimed that North Dakota’s Best and Brightest were leaving the state en masse. I stayed and asked them what that made me? They didn’t answer. (I didn’t vote for them again.)
North Dakota was also at the center of a national debate that started with a simple idea: if people are leaving the prairie, let’s turn it into a National Park and bring back the American Bison. The concept of a Buffalo Commons has been debated for as long as I can remember.
In January of 2008, after sending a reporter and photographer to western North Dakota, National Geographic published “The Emptied Prairie.” They took pictures of decaying farm houses crumbling into their own basements, animal skeletons bleaching on the prairie, and snow-covered gravel roads that lead beyond the horizon and off the edge of the world. They interviewed the few remaining inhabitants of such a desolate hinterland who talked of aching loneliness, torturing wind and bitter cold.
But here is the thing:
The legislators and leaders, the Buffalo Commons advocates and the National Geographic had it all wrong. So wrong.
Like true North Dakotans, the ones who stayed or came back, we dug in. We worked to diversify our economy. Still very agricultural, we welcomed and encouraged alternative energy generation, advanced manufacturing, and entrepreneurship. We poured money and effort into our main streets and tourism activities. We “value-added” everything we could in North Dakota. And it is working, for the most part. We still have a long way to go (education, conservation, native populations, infrastructure, health care), but at least we are on our way. There is just too much North Dakota Realist in me to say the state is “thriving” like many of our politicos will.
And now the irony: The Bakken
Small towns who once quietly bemoaned an inevitable fate of boarded up windows on abandoned buildings and a windswept and empty main street are telling new companies and new people to stay out. In effect, they now have what they wished for and are regretting it. By putting a moratorium on the construction of crew camps or by stopping - by passing ordinances at the city/county level - the rehabilitation of abandoned buildings on the rumor of the building being used for crew housing shows how North Dakota needs to stop breaking its own arm to pat itself on the back and get its collective head in the game. The Oil Boom is here and it is here whether North Dakota likes it or not. How we manage it will determine much of our future for the next 10, 20, 50 years. Maybe longer.
Instead of standing in the way, instead of shoving heads in the sand, instead of wailing and gnashing teeth, let’s see if we can find opportunity.
Cities and towns in The Bakken: negotiate when it comes to placing crew camps. Is there a local entrepreneur willing to open a restaurant/laundry/cleaning/security/you-name-it service in your town that will help support a growing community? Have you considered inviting the crews and companies to church? To the school? Have you considered offering “off-time” personal enrichment activities that will engage this new population and encourage them to put down roots in your dying town? Partner with Oil Companies to manage growth in your community. Reach out to neighboring communities and learn from each other, work with each other. Reach out to places like Osage, Oklahoma and small towns in Texas on the Eagle Ford Shale Fields and learn from them, too.
Sounds easy, doesn’t it? It isn’t. I know. But North Dakotans can do this. We don’t need politicos or magazines to tell us why or how or what. We know. We know how to work, how to stand up for what is right. We have the courage and the strength to make opportunity out of blue skies or grey. We’ve been making North Dakota home our whole lives. This is our state and our opportunity and our time to shine. Do this thing. And do it right, so that our children and grand-children can point to this time in North Dakota history and the people who made it happen as one of many reasons to be proud of living here.
Flickr
Friday, February 24, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Me neither
I have to tell you I’m a little miffed. That’s WASP-ish for “pissed the hell off, damn it.”
I don’t want to talk about why, so I’m going to change the subject.
My oldest daughter’s play opened last night. It was horrible.
Banana was amazing, brilliant even.
She’s my kid and I’m bias, right? Well, yes she is my kid and of course I’m going to tell her she’s phenomenal and all that, but she was. She really was. I would have thought that even if she wasn’t my daughter.
She was the only shining star in the entire production, unless you count the set - which was incredible in an ingenious sort of “how the hell did they think of THAT” kind of way. Sitting in the audience waiting for the play to start I was awed by the cleverness of the design and admired the skill required and how much construction went into the damn thing. And that was probably part of the reason why the play sucked. I set my expectations too high.
But why did it suck? The topic. The writing. Most of the acting. The whole beat-that-dead-horse-named-“Cliche” a few more times. It was about a perfect little teenage homecoming queen who has to go on meds for an allergy and the meds cause her to gain weight, and whaa-whaa-shove a stick in my eye, complete with perfectionist parents and “Mean Girls” for friends. They did the whole teenage behind the back “Have you seen the WHALE yet?” and “SHE’S HUGE!” and the “back up beeper” complete with sniggering. I’m sitting in the audience cringing because this is an After School Special with a lesson to be learned about self-respect and loving oneself and all that shit.
I should be a little forgiving. If the audience (meaning me) had been different - say, an assembly at a junior high, the play would have rocked the house. I expected different (meaning more sophisticated) from a college/university acting troupe.
Banana, however, was fabulous. She was the narrator/advice columnist - all hipster and cool and jaw-droppingly stunning wearing a costume she designed herself from her own damn closet. She was funny and deliberately sarcastic and got the most laughs by timing her delivery perfectly. She impressed the hell out of me…and I’m not easily impressed with acting/actors.
I guess after watching this group deliver “As You Like It” the year before and "Little Shop of Horrors" last fall, I’m more than a little let down.
But I am considering getting my kid an agent. Emma Stone has nothing on my girl.
I don’t want to talk about why, so I’m going to change the subject.
My oldest daughter’s play opened last night. It was horrible.
Banana was amazing, brilliant even.
She’s my kid and I’m bias, right? Well, yes she is my kid and of course I’m going to tell her she’s phenomenal and all that, but she was. She really was. I would have thought that even if she wasn’t my daughter.
She was the only shining star in the entire production, unless you count the set - which was incredible in an ingenious sort of “how the hell did they think of THAT” kind of way. Sitting in the audience waiting for the play to start I was awed by the cleverness of the design and admired the skill required and how much construction went into the damn thing. And that was probably part of the reason why the play sucked. I set my expectations too high.
But why did it suck? The topic. The writing. Most of the acting. The whole beat-that-dead-horse-named-“Cliche” a few more times. It was about a perfect little teenage homecoming queen who has to go on meds for an allergy and the meds cause her to gain weight, and whaa-whaa-shove a stick in my eye, complete with perfectionist parents and “Mean Girls” for friends. They did the whole teenage behind the back “Have you seen the WHALE yet?” and “SHE’S HUGE!” and the “back up beeper” complete with sniggering. I’m sitting in the audience cringing because this is an After School Special with a lesson to be learned about self-respect and loving oneself and all that shit.
I should be a little forgiving. If the audience (meaning me) had been different - say, an assembly at a junior high, the play would have rocked the house. I expected different (meaning more sophisticated) from a college/university acting troupe.
Banana, however, was fabulous. She was the narrator/advice columnist - all hipster and cool and jaw-droppingly stunning wearing a costume she designed herself from her own damn closet. She was funny and deliberately sarcastic and got the most laughs by timing her delivery perfectly. She impressed the hell out of me…and I’m not easily impressed with acting/actors.
I guess after watching this group deliver “As You Like It” the year before and "Little Shop of Horrors" last fall, I’m more than a little let down.
But I am considering getting my kid an agent. Emma Stone has nothing on my girl.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Sa-wat-dee
Sa-wat-dee is phonetically “hello” in Thai. That greeting, accompanied with the wai - the prayer-like gesture of hands held together under the chin used in place of shaking hands - and a genuine smile will get you just about anywhere in Thailand. That and a really good phrasebook. And baht (money).
Just don’t hand a 20 baht bill to a 7-11 attendant and expect more than just two coins in change. No paper. (A 5 baht coin and a 1 baht coin. Duh.) I had a tough time getting my head around the fact that 100 baht was about three dollars. I hate math.
So, what was I doing in Thailand? Learning about oil wells for work, drinking Chahng (elephant) beer with my teachers, eating the most amazing food (Yam blah meuk (Hot/tangy salad with squid) for breakfast? Chai, kor! (Yes, please!)), and visiting some of the most fabulous temples and buildings in the Pattaya area.
Pattaya is about two hours south of Bangkok. Our driver made the trip in about an hour - door to door - because there isn’t much traffic at 3am.
For those of you still reading…
On Saturday, January 14, I dragged my sorry ass to the shower at 2 am so I could be presentable and finish packing so as to be on the road by 3 am.
The next 30+ hours are kind of a blur, but suffice it to say the flight from Fargo to Chicago was a blink. The flight from Chicago to Tokyo, Japan just about killed me. And the flight from Tokyo to Bangkok, Thailand frosted the travel marathon only to be followed by an hour in a car to take us the final hop to the hotel in Pattaya. We arrived at 3am Monday, Thai-time.
I have to tell you a little story about bathrooms. Pay attention to the signs on the stall doors, ladies. The sign that looks like this (___ is not for a “West-culture” person expecting a standard stool. The English woman behind me in line laughed out loud when I - half dazed and jet lagged - opened the stall door and stated “Oh, HELL No” and did an about face back to the line for the next “I need to SIT down to do my business” bathroom stall. And that was in Tokyo.
Walking out of the airport in Bangkok - Suvarnabhumi - was unlike any experience I can make comparison…except maybe the sensation of walking fully-clothed (jeans+t-shirt+luggage) into a full-on sauna. That might be a good way to explain it. If I didn’t smell like an airplane bathroom before walking outside, I certainly did by the time we found our driver and got to the hotel.
The hotel where we stayed was also where the training was held, so that kept things uncomplicated. Everything was open-air unless an actual hotel room or conference room. There were no hallways or enclosed stair-wells. And the hotel staff was amazing, constantly sweeping and cleaning and smiling. Always smiling.
The class itself was brutal. Lots of math. Lots of acronyms and slang. The math plus a whopping case of jet lag means I have no clear memories until Tuesday afternoon (Thai-time) or so.
After class Tuesday, we did walk down to Beach Road which was really just an exercise in gawking. And trying not to become a statistic (“another tourist hit by bus/car/scooter”) on the evening news.
I’ve discovered a new skill I posses, however: bargaining. That first night away from the hotel I bought two dresses for 320 baht (originally 300 each) and I didn’t offend the vendor. Although I did offend the 7-11 clerk when - confused - I expected change for a $20 when purchasing a can of Coca-cola Light (no Diet Coke…Coke Light) with 20 baht. Body language is an interesting thing. All she did was sigh, tip her head to the side a bit and give me a pained expression that told me “You are in Thailand, dumb-ass. If you can’t learn the language, at least learn the money.”
After class on Wednesday, our instructors, Daeng and Lex, and their technician, Loom (how awesome are those names?) took us to supper at a favorite seafood restaurant they frequent. I’m so glad we went with them…for several reasons. First, I would have never been able to find the place. Second, I would not have known to bring my own drinks. The guys showed up with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label and a kind of brandy I’ve never seen before, plus all their mixers. The bottles were arranged on a little rolling cart pushed up to the end of our table, along with a bucket of ice, and the waitress mixed drinks as the evening progressed. I stuck with beer.
We had rock lobster, blue crab, various mussels and such, and a kind of fish I can’t remember. All freshly caught and alive just moments before showing up on a dinner platter. The guys showed me how to break the crab “just so” and I ate everything they put in front of me including fish eggs and innards, super-spicy sauces with vegetables and seeds I didn’t recognize.
How we managed to pass the exam after so much food and drink the night before, I’ll never know. But I do know that one tips based on how “wealthy” one is, not on the level of service or price of the meal. Interesting, that.
On Friday, the last full day in Thailand, one of our fellow class-mates, an expat from the UK, generously “toured” us about. He has his own vehicle and a working knowledge of the language after having lived in Thailand off and on for the past 30-odd years. That and he is on his second marriage, both to Thai women. We saw the Sanctuary of Truth, Wat Yannasangwararam, Khao Chi Chan, Buddah statues and parts of the area we would never have found on our own. Including a beach where I was super grateful my sunglasses hid my openly staring at people in all shapes and sizes and various stages of dress.
I must go back with my big camera. Must. But I think I’ll figure a way to stay in Bangkok. Pattaya, though beautiful and interesting, was so very much a tourist trap.
And when I do go back, I will shell out the extra cash for, if not first class, at least business class seats on the plane. Shoe-horned into a coach seat in the tail of an airplane, no matter what the size, should be one of the inner circles of hell in Dante’s Inferno. I considered staying in Thailand for many reasons. Avoiding the return flight altogether was high on the list.
Just don’t hand a 20 baht bill to a 7-11 attendant and expect more than just two coins in change. No paper. (A 5 baht coin and a 1 baht coin. Duh.) I had a tough time getting my head around the fact that 100 baht was about three dollars. I hate math.
So, what was I doing in Thailand? Learning about oil wells for work, drinking Chahng (elephant) beer with my teachers, eating the most amazing food (Yam blah meuk (Hot/tangy salad with squid) for breakfast? Chai, kor! (Yes, please!)), and visiting some of the most fabulous temples and buildings in the Pattaya area.
Pattaya is about two hours south of Bangkok. Our driver made the trip in about an hour - door to door - because there isn’t much traffic at 3am.
For those of you still reading…
On Saturday, January 14, I dragged my sorry ass to the shower at 2 am so I could be presentable and finish packing so as to be on the road by 3 am.
The next 30+ hours are kind of a blur, but suffice it to say the flight from Fargo to Chicago was a blink. The flight from Chicago to Tokyo, Japan just about killed me. And the flight from Tokyo to Bangkok, Thailand frosted the travel marathon only to be followed by an hour in a car to take us the final hop to the hotel in Pattaya. We arrived at 3am Monday, Thai-time.
I have to tell you a little story about bathrooms. Pay attention to the signs on the stall doors, ladies. The sign that looks like this (___ is not for a “West-culture” person expecting a standard stool. The English woman behind me in line laughed out loud when I - half dazed and jet lagged - opened the stall door and stated “Oh, HELL No” and did an about face back to the line for the next “I need to SIT down to do my business” bathroom stall. And that was in Tokyo.
Walking out of the airport in Bangkok - Suvarnabhumi - was unlike any experience I can make comparison…except maybe the sensation of walking fully-clothed (jeans+t-shirt+luggage) into a full-on sauna. That might be a good way to explain it. If I didn’t smell like an airplane bathroom before walking outside, I certainly did by the time we found our driver and got to the hotel.
The hotel where we stayed was also where the training was held, so that kept things uncomplicated. Everything was open-air unless an actual hotel room or conference room. There were no hallways or enclosed stair-wells. And the hotel staff was amazing, constantly sweeping and cleaning and smiling. Always smiling.
The class itself was brutal. Lots of math. Lots of acronyms and slang. The math plus a whopping case of jet lag means I have no clear memories until Tuesday afternoon (Thai-time) or so.
After class Tuesday, we did walk down to Beach Road which was really just an exercise in gawking. And trying not to become a statistic (“another tourist hit by bus/car/scooter”) on the evening news.
I’ve discovered a new skill I posses, however: bargaining. That first night away from the hotel I bought two dresses for 320 baht (originally 300 each) and I didn’t offend the vendor. Although I did offend the 7-11 clerk when - confused - I expected change for a $20 when purchasing a can of Coca-cola Light (no Diet Coke…Coke Light) with 20 baht. Body language is an interesting thing. All she did was sigh, tip her head to the side a bit and give me a pained expression that told me “You are in Thailand, dumb-ass. If you can’t learn the language, at least learn the money.”
After class on Wednesday, our instructors, Daeng and Lex, and their technician, Loom (how awesome are those names?) took us to supper at a favorite seafood restaurant they frequent. I’m so glad we went with them…for several reasons. First, I would have never been able to find the place. Second, I would not have known to bring my own drinks. The guys showed up with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label and a kind of brandy I’ve never seen before, plus all their mixers. The bottles were arranged on a little rolling cart pushed up to the end of our table, along with a bucket of ice, and the waitress mixed drinks as the evening progressed. I stuck with beer.
We had rock lobster, blue crab, various mussels and such, and a kind of fish I can’t remember. All freshly caught and alive just moments before showing up on a dinner platter. The guys showed me how to break the crab “just so” and I ate everything they put in front of me including fish eggs and innards, super-spicy sauces with vegetables and seeds I didn’t recognize.
How we managed to pass the exam after so much food and drink the night before, I’ll never know. But I do know that one tips based on how “wealthy” one is, not on the level of service or price of the meal. Interesting, that.
On Friday, the last full day in Thailand, one of our fellow class-mates, an expat from the UK, generously “toured” us about. He has his own vehicle and a working knowledge of the language after having lived in Thailand off and on for the past 30-odd years. That and he is on his second marriage, both to Thai women. We saw the Sanctuary of Truth, Wat Yannasangwararam, Khao Chi Chan, Buddah statues and parts of the area we would never have found on our own. Including a beach where I was super grateful my sunglasses hid my openly staring at people in all shapes and sizes and various stages of dress.
I must go back with my big camera. Must. But I think I’ll figure a way to stay in Bangkok. Pattaya, though beautiful and interesting, was so very much a tourist trap.
And when I do go back, I will shell out the extra cash for, if not first class, at least business class seats on the plane. Shoe-horned into a coach seat in the tail of an airplane, no matter what the size, should be one of the inner circles of hell in Dante’s Inferno. I considered staying in Thailand for many reasons. Avoiding the return flight altogether was high on the list.
Potentially re-wound
I try to stay out of political and religious conversations, especially since I tend to lean one direction and almost everyone I’m related to leans in the opposite. I’m not sure how this happened. Blame it on a penchant for studying history, a habit of reading questionable publications and an unwillingness to allow any one doctrine to dye my thinking one color or another.
My keeping my mouth shut makes for less-stressful family gatherings. And now that I’m in business for myself, I have no interest in alienating potential customers because of my ‘leanings’ and I tend to keep politics and religion out of conversations altogether.
I think that is terribly sad. My freedom of speech is self-censored and carefully monitored because I don’t want to offend anyone. But here, where I’m semi-anonymous - or at least I let myself believe I am semi-anonymous - I am a bit more brave. Kinda. Not really. But ok.
I read this today.
And I wondered if the Republicans yelping how this is an “attack on religious freedom” understand what they are really saying.
One group holds a certain belief. Some other people believe differently. Does that mean each gets to tell the other what do to based on their beliefs? No. There we have a simplistic description of religious freedom.
But when the Republicans demand people with a different belief system comply to their belief system (pro-life) they are essentially attacking another belief system (pro-choice).
Such a slippery slope of razor blades…of “Doublethink” where two ideas - completely contradictory - are accepted and believed as simultaneously true…and swallowed whole.
My keeping my mouth shut makes for less-stressful family gatherings. And now that I’m in business for myself, I have no interest in alienating potential customers because of my ‘leanings’ and I tend to keep politics and religion out of conversations altogether.
I think that is terribly sad. My freedom of speech is self-censored and carefully monitored because I don’t want to offend anyone. But here, where I’m semi-anonymous - or at least I let myself believe I am semi-anonymous - I am a bit more brave. Kinda. Not really. But ok.
I read this today.
And I wondered if the Republicans yelping how this is an “attack on religious freedom” understand what they are really saying.
One group holds a certain belief. Some other people believe differently. Does that mean each gets to tell the other what do to based on their beliefs? No. There we have a simplistic description of religious freedom.
But when the Republicans demand people with a different belief system comply to their belief system (pro-life) they are essentially attacking another belief system (pro-choice).
Such a slippery slope of razor blades…of “Doublethink” where two ideas - completely contradictory - are accepted and believed as simultaneously true…and swallowed whole.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Explosive personality
In the month of December I go through an internal inventory of sorts, determining where I am, what I’m doing, how it’s going and whatnot. It is a very informal process and is entirely too connected to the holidays. I usually find that I’m still too riddled with bad habits to consider the previous year a success, but I’ve also gotten to the point where I know better than to make resolutions I’ll just break within a week of the New Year. So, there’s that saying about having 6 of one and half-a-dozen of the other, but I’m no good with math.*
===
My younger daughter’s hair is amazing. Thick and long and the color of sun-bleached wheat right before the harvest. I love braiding it. Combing it. And she is still of the age where that isn’t uncool, to have your mom play with your hair. My elder daughter’s hair is a wild mob of red ringlets that falls to her waist. Heavy and soft at the same time. If I so much as reach for her hair, she flinches, like I’m coming at her with a branding iron. The randomness of genetics is fascinating.
===
The picture is from my window, yesterday morning. I took it with my new phone, which is really a stupidly expensive, yet tiny little super computer I manage to lose several times a day in my purse.
===
In a moment of weakness, I signed up for CodeAcademy’s little program called CodeYear…where you give them your email address and each week they email you a link to a lesson in writing code. Like, computer programming code. In Java. Which is supposed to be super-easy and my 12-year-old kid could probably figure it out in about 5 minutes, but Holy Mother of Confusion Batman, that first lesson taking me out behind the woodshed for a beating like none-other.
What little I know of code is HTML code and I cheated heartily when learning even that little bit by just modifying what was already there. Swapping colors. Changing sizes of things. Stuff like that. In CodeYear, I actually have to THINK like a computer, which is nine kinds of silly because OF THE MATH!*
===
*I have decided that 2012 is going to be The Year. This Year is My Year. If my math is correct, 2012 is the Year of the Dragon and it is about damn time.
===
My younger daughter’s hair is amazing. Thick and long and the color of sun-bleached wheat right before the harvest. I love braiding it. Combing it. And she is still of the age where that isn’t uncool, to have your mom play with your hair. My elder daughter’s hair is a wild mob of red ringlets that falls to her waist. Heavy and soft at the same time. If I so much as reach for her hair, she flinches, like I’m coming at her with a branding iron. The randomness of genetics is fascinating.
===
The picture is from my window, yesterday morning. I took it with my new phone, which is really a stupidly expensive, yet tiny little super computer I manage to lose several times a day in my purse.
===
In a moment of weakness, I signed up for CodeAcademy’s little program called CodeYear…where you give them your email address and each week they email you a link to a lesson in writing code. Like, computer programming code. In Java. Which is supposed to be super-easy and my 12-year-old kid could probably figure it out in about 5 minutes, but Holy Mother of Confusion Batman, that first lesson taking me out behind the woodshed for a beating like none-other.
What little I know of code is HTML code and I cheated heartily when learning even that little bit by just modifying what was already there. Swapping colors. Changing sizes of things. Stuff like that. In CodeYear, I actually have to THINK like a computer, which is nine kinds of silly because OF THE MATH!*
===
*I have decided that 2012 is going to be The Year. This Year is My Year. If my math is correct, 2012 is the Year of the Dragon and it is about damn time.
Friday, December 02, 2011
Balance is a myth
So Tanner was put down on October 26. The night before, I took a call from a sobbing (youngest) daughter. She had tried to help Tanner get up to go outside and they had slipped, falling hard. Tanner could no longer stand and from what I could understand, had probably broken something. Follow that with a pissed-off call with The Boy because I was about 200 miles away and he would have to deal with all the drama at home.
Sorry.
The next day, I talked to the eldest daughter and she was holding it together quite well. And then I went out and read her Twitter feed. No wonder she is an actress.
After all that and much more I’m not interested in writing about, much less think about, we’ll have her buried this spring in the pet cemetery where Rex is. I like to think that will make Tanner happy.
***
I hate this Google+ bullshit. While I’m not nearly as concerned with anonymity online as I once was, I like having a blog that isn’t directly attached to my name. Although, I’m sure it is an easy connect the dots exercise for most.
Google+ requires real names attached to real people. Where is the fun in that? I like my nom de plume.
Facebook is different, as is LinkedIn, ad nauseam. But my blog was where I could howl or bitch or just blabber without having to worry it would blow back on me. Much. The part I really dislike is that I can no longer “share to blogger” on the sidebar here like I used to from Google Reader. Now everything is a “re-post” if I want to share. Do. Not. Want.
Google? If you are listening? I loved you once. Now? I’m kinda having second thoughts.
***
I put 3000 miles on my Jeep this month. Ever since I took a job that had me on the road, I’ve often wondered how many times around the world I could have traveled had I not zig-zagged about the region. Now, I’m starting to wonder how many times to the moon and back I could travel, would my Jeep allow for interstellar jumps.
I’ve also found the Book channel on my Sirius XM radio. Love. A great break from all the Octane and Alt Nation rock I suddenly know all the words to. I swear I could memorize the entire Library of Congress if you put it to music. Homer’s got nothing on me…provided there is a chorus.
Sorry.
The next day, I talked to the eldest daughter and she was holding it together quite well. And then I went out and read her Twitter feed. No wonder she is an actress.
After all that and much more I’m not interested in writing about, much less think about, we’ll have her buried this spring in the pet cemetery where Rex is. I like to think that will make Tanner happy.
***
I hate this Google+ bullshit. While I’m not nearly as concerned with anonymity online as I once was, I like having a blog that isn’t directly attached to my name. Although, I’m sure it is an easy connect the dots exercise for most.
Google+ requires real names attached to real people. Where is the fun in that? I like my nom de plume.
Facebook is different, as is LinkedIn, ad nauseam. But my blog was where I could howl or bitch or just blabber without having to worry it would blow back on me. Much. The part I really dislike is that I can no longer “share to blogger” on the sidebar here like I used to from Google Reader. Now everything is a “re-post” if I want to share. Do. Not. Want.
Google? If you are listening? I loved you once. Now? I’m kinda having second thoughts.
***
I put 3000 miles on my Jeep this month. Ever since I took a job that had me on the road, I’ve often wondered how many times around the world I could have traveled had I not zig-zagged about the region. Now, I’m starting to wonder how many times to the moon and back I could travel, would my Jeep allow for interstellar jumps.
I’ve also found the Book channel on my Sirius XM radio. Love. A great break from all the Octane and Alt Nation rock I suddenly know all the words to. I swear I could memorize the entire Library of Congress if you put it to music. Homer’s got nothing on me…provided there is a chorus.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
I don't know what that means
Where are we going?
I’ve started investigating alternative schools for Muffy. The Boy, who cannot keep a secret to save his life, leaked this intel before I was sure of what road to take. Now - I’m on the road to Changing Schools whether I like it or not.
In regional news, I’m still spending the majority of my day starving to death. Or - at least thinking I’m starving. I’m not. My pants are still too small.
Because I read good things about them on the internet - and therefore it Must Be Gospel - I am now a devoted fan of Larabars. Good to the YUM. I’ve not met a Larabar flavor I don’t devour like a starving animal. Which I kind of am. But then not. I’m all kinds of conflicted about this whole diet thing, in case you are not a student of the obvious.
In other news, iTunes has decided it must be close enough to Christmas to start including Holiday Music in my shuffle. Intolerable. And what is this Ping it keeps asking me about? Not all that interested, really, unless I can set it to send me the free song downloads every week without having to navigate the iTunes Store. That I’d sign up for.
***********************
Assisting the Socially Neotenous
Unlike some people I know in real life (or on Facebook - as real as that can be, I guess), I don’t gauge my value on the planet by how many Facebook “Happy Birthday” greetings I receive. Am I the only person on the web to think such blasphemous thoughts?
If I may directly address a tiny segment of the population: The only person who should be miffed about you getting or not getting Birthday Greetings is your MOM. She’s the one who suffered your birth, childhood and puberty. Go thank her instead of demonstrating your mastery of passive-aggressive behaviors.
Of course, watching this play out has me slowly shaking my head at my computer screen…grown-damn-adults acting like children online. Of course, we didn’t need the internet to make fools of ourselves. I should know.
I’ve started investigating alternative schools for Muffy. The Boy, who cannot keep a secret to save his life, leaked this intel before I was sure of what road to take. Now - I’m on the road to Changing Schools whether I like it or not.
In regional news, I’m still spending the majority of my day starving to death. Or - at least thinking I’m starving. I’m not. My pants are still too small.
Because I read good things about them on the internet - and therefore it Must Be Gospel - I am now a devoted fan of Larabars. Good to the YUM. I’ve not met a Larabar flavor I don’t devour like a starving animal. Which I kind of am. But then not. I’m all kinds of conflicted about this whole diet thing, in case you are not a student of the obvious.
In other news, iTunes has decided it must be close enough to Christmas to start including Holiday Music in my shuffle. Intolerable. And what is this Ping it keeps asking me about? Not all that interested, really, unless I can set it to send me the free song downloads every week without having to navigate the iTunes Store. That I’d sign up for.
***********************
Assisting the Socially Neotenous
Unlike some people I know in real life (or on Facebook - as real as that can be, I guess), I don’t gauge my value on the planet by how many Facebook “Happy Birthday” greetings I receive. Am I the only person on the web to think such blasphemous thoughts?
If I may directly address a tiny segment of the population: The only person who should be miffed about you getting or not getting Birthday Greetings is your MOM. She’s the one who suffered your birth, childhood and puberty. Go thank her instead of demonstrating your mastery of passive-aggressive behaviors.
Of course, watching this play out has me slowly shaking my head at my computer screen…grown-damn-adults acting like children online. Of course, we didn’t need the internet to make fools of ourselves. I should know.
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