CSquaredPlus3

Large Like Jabba The Hutt

It's my mom's fault.  My inability to explain things to the kids with straight talk.  My brother only wanted to know what the word "virgin" meant that summer evening while we ate dinner as a family in 1980.  After a lengthy explanation where Mom described "purely driven snow", "virgin wool" and things that had never been touched, she asked him, "Now, Joe.  Are you a virgin?"

He replied, "Nope.  I'm a Gemini."  He was eleven.

**********

A couple of weeks ago, I was in the Salt Lake City airport waiting for my two oldest sons to board a Southwest flight to Denver.  Because they're 12 and 10, I decided to forgo the $50 each way unaccompanied minor charge.  They've flown many times with Chris and me, and were excited to travel alone to spend some time with their grandparents.

The boys didn't seem nervous, until I finished the Mom Pep-Talk.

"When you get on the plane, don't pick an empty row.  You won't have control over who chooses to sit with you.  You're small, clean and quiet so you'll be attractive seatmates to everyone.  Do NOT sit next to a man.  Any man.  Not that all men are bad.  It's just that the majority of crimes are committed by men.  Look for a woman.  A clean woman... with kids.  But if she doesn't have kids with her, look for someone who looks like she probably has kids.  Or an old person.  Old women are usually very safe.  You can sit by an older man as a last resort, but only if he's really old and doesn't look creepy.  Not that you can tell if someone's creepy or bad by how they look.  Because sometimes someone can look nice and clean, but they're creepy... don't worry about that right now.  Avoid a large person if you can.  Large people aren't bad, it's just an issue of personal space.  Does that make sense to you?  I don't mean to sound unkind... I'm talking Jabba the Hutt large, not normal large.  You know, where they might leave some DNA on you.  But look out for the slender people who are shedding skin or don't seem clean.  It's a hygiene issue.  Look for someone who has good hygiene regardless of their size.  Know what I mean?  It's important not to judge people by their appearance.  Just look for a clean, mom-type woman... although women commit crimes too... just not as often.  You'll be okay..."

I babbled and confused and worried them.  They wanted to know what kind of crimes people would commit on an airplane.  I explained I would hate for someone to lift one of their iPods.

Oldest Boy is a germaphobe like me and can now add to his growing pile of nightmares, the vision of a Jabba the Hutt-like person invading his personal space and sharing germ-ridden DNA, then stealing his iPod.

A woman, the clean kind with a handful of children, was in earshot of my terrifying pep-talk and instructions.  She understood everything I was trying to convey to my sons and assured me she would keep an eye on them, even offering to sit with them if necessary.

The boys made it to Denver, had a great time, and returned safely with no tales of traumatic events [other than my pep-talk], no flesh-eating diseases, and all of their possessions.  Oldest Boy told me he scouted the moms in the boarding area for the return flight and found one to sit with them.  [He still listens to me and values what I say.  Good news, bad news.]

Oldest Boy and Middle Boy in Colorado - June 2010

**********

In case anyone was wondering...  I'm not a virgin either.  I'm a Gemini.

Be Cool

Early January 1987

"Be cool."  That's all I requested of my brother and his two friends after we got into the bar.  Joe and his buddies were 17 and I was 20.  We all had fake IDs, but Joe & Company didn't look old enough to drive.

I was living in a condo at the Continental Country Club in Flagstaff, Arizona, pretending to attend college that year.  Joe and his friends came up from Phoenix to ski for a weekend and partay with the big kids.  Classes hadn't resumed after first semester break, so the town was relatively dead.  Getting three young-looking boys into a bar with obvious fake IDs, and using my own ridiculous alias of Lupita Gonzalez wasn't difficult when I knew the bouncer at Senior Frog's.

My boyfriend at the time was a nice SAE who lived in a neighboring condo with about 457 other guys.  He was amused by my brother and his friends, also knew the bouncer and thought I might need some help.  SAE-Boy and a couple of his roommates joined us that night.

I wore my cutest Belinda Carlilse "Mad About You" outfit [black leggings and black hip-covering turtleneck] with a 3/4-length red wool coat.  Joe and his friends looked very preppy.  Sweaters tied around their necks, spiffy loafers, coiffed hair and they smelled niiice.

The bar wasn't crowded but there were enough people to make it interesting.  I mingled with strangers, found a few familiar faces and lost track of SAE-Boy, my brother and his friends.  I tossed my coat over a seat at the bar next to an old guy [he was probably 30].  The old guy told me he'd keep an eye on it for me.

Throughout the evening I noticed the bartender making big fruity drinks.  Very unusual in a small, college town bar in the middle of winter.  I also noticed the bartender and the bouncer exchanging glances, shaking their heads and appearing generally irritated.

SAE-Boy approached me and said, "That old guy threw-up on your coat."

The old guy had leaned over [aiming for the floor], emptied his stomach, and some of his yack had gotten on my red coat.  Time to go home.

I went to find my brother.  Joe and his friends were sitting in a corner booth, at a table that was a little too high for them, emphasizing their youth/still small-ish stature, sipping giant blue drinks decorated with umbrellas, swords, fruit and bendy straws.  They were laughing and flirting with a couple of obliging college girls.

Mortified, I walked over to Joe and said, "What are you doing?  I told you to be cool."

He gave me a sincerely confused look.

"What are you drinking?"

"Blue Hawaiians.  Wanna sip?"  As he offered me his glass, I thought how much he and his friends looked like various versions of Anthony Michael Hall.  They were a scene from a John Hughes movie.

I took a sip.  "We need to go.  Some old guy threw-up on my coat and you guys should be drinking beer.  Nobody orders Blue Hawaiians."

Joe and his friends conspicuously and happily finished their drinks, sucking all the alcohol out of the pineapple pieces.  They grabbed the paper cocktail parasols along with their coats, and we left Senior Frog's.

**********

My brother turns 41 today.  Our birthdays are less than two weeks apart so as adults, before life separated us by a state or two, we usually celebrated together at Mom and Dad's house.  I have at least a dozen pictures of the two of us holding our shared cake while Mom takes our picture.

Happy Birthday, Joe.  When I see you this July, let's go out for Blue Hawaiians.

Stubbed Toe

[Click on all photos to enlarge.]

My brother turned 40 on Sunday, May 24th.  My "little" brother.  The one who I still think of as 5, or 12, or 17, or 20-ish [emphasis on the "ish"].  The one who I was able to convince to do just about anything as a young kid, including spin me around on his shoulders because I told him we could easily be on Dance Fever or get a job as Solid Gold dancers.  We had the skill!  We had the desire!  It didn't matter that I outweighed him by nearly 20 pounds... if he just caught me, held me, threw me -- he'd get stronger!  His current back problems are likely a result of our rigorous dance training, under my zealot-like direction.

I can't believe he's 40.

**********

Toddler Child stubbed his toe this weekend.  A good old-fashioned, big-toe, stub.  As Toddler Child and I inspected his big toe again this morning, vivid memories of the day my brother was brought home from the hospital flooded my mind.  My parents don't believe me that I remember.  But I do.

**********

May 1969

My third birthday was days away.  The baby was so cute.  I wasn't jealous of the attention he was getting, but I wanted him to be my baby.  I remember sitting on the green couch, my legs straight while I was allowed to "hold" the baby.  It was more tiring than I thought it would be.

I remember being on the front porch, I think Mom had opened the door to greet my grandparents as they arrived.  In all of the excitement, I stubbed my big toe.  No one noticed.  It was bleeding so I cried.  Mamaw finally realized I was upset.  She pulled a tissue from her purse that already had blood-red stains on it.  Her signature lipstick.  She sat beside me on the front porch and dabbed at my toe.  I remember thinking how pretty her tissue looked, with her lipstick and my blood.

That's all I remember.

More than anything, I remember how much I loved my brother.  He's my only sibling and we're fortunate to like one another and be friends.  True friends.

I can't believe he's 40.  It's like... he's an adult.

Happy Birthday, Joe.  I'm proud of the man you are and fortunate to call you brother, and friend.

I still can't believe he's 40.

My Money's on Miss Piggy

Per Wikipedia - "In colloquial speech, bullying often describes a form of harassment perpetrated by an abuser who possesses more physical and/or social power and dominance than the victim. The victim of bullying is sometimes referred to as a target. The harassment can be verbal, physical and/or emotional.

... Targets of bullying in school are often pupils who are considered strange or different by their peers to begin with, making the situation harder for them to deal with."

One of our sons has been bullied recently.  He seems to grasp what has happened and although hurt and fatigued, he has a surprisingly logical perspective about the situation.  The bully-er is not a bad or mean child and is fortunate to have a mother who received the information graciously and will redirect his behavior appropriately.  I'm confident of this.

My brother Mallory Joe was severely bullied when he was in the sixth grade.  We were raised to be lovers, not fighters.  No toy guns in our house, no hitting, no unkindness tolerated... Mother wouldn't even allow us to say the word "weird" because it was derogatory.  People aren't weird, she would say, they're... different.  

Mallory Joe didn't know how to handle the bullying.  I don't think Mom knew how bad it was.  She listened to my brother and encouraged him to take the high road, remember sticks and stones may break my bones... all the quasi-hippie, make love, not war encouraging words.  Mallory Joe did what Mom said... and continued to get. his. ass. kicked.

One day Mallory Joe came home from school, disheveled, clothing torn and clearly shaken.  Mother asked him what had happened.  I watched her make-love-not-war-philosophy fly out the window as she listened to the humiliation my brother had endured after school.

She sent Mallory Joe and one of his friends out to find the bully that afternoon.  She was calm and firm as she gave the boys specific instructions on how and what to say to the bully.

I'll never forget seeing Mallory Joe and his friend confidently ride away on their bicycles, empowered with the knowledge that amnesty for acts not yet committed awaited them when they returned home.  Mother channeled her best pissed-off Miss Piggy voice and yelled after them, "OH... AND MAKE HIM BLEED, HONEY!"

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye."

Miss Piggy

Three Good Things

Chris and I were talking this morning about how heavy things feel, for all of us.  None of us [or very few of us] are completely insulated from what's happening with the economy.  It's a difficult, stressful time and not knowing what the next several months will bring, compounds the heaviness.

There are always things for which we are thankful.  We know this.  And after we have discussions where we review the worst case scenarios, we take a breath and remind ourselves of the good things.

Mom and Dad lived for a few years in Caracas, Venezuela right after Chris and I were married.  As a Christmas gift one year, Dad flew Chris, my brother Mallory Joe and me to South America for a couple of weeks.  I think it was a gift for Mom and Dad too.

On the surface, everything appeared wonderful.  Mom had spent much of her childhood in the Philippines so she spoke Spanish well and had experience living as an expat.  Mom and Dad lived in a beautiful penthouse apartment overlooking the new U.S. Embassy, had a full-time driver, maid and memberships to a prestigious country club.  Two months prior to the move Dad had been diagnosed with kidney cancer, had surgery to remove a kidney and was sent to Venezuela with a clean bill of health.  Life is good!  Right?  Well...

Mom's birthday is three days before Christmas and she was turning 50 that year.  She missed her friends, understandably.  Navigating life in a foreign country where only 3% of the people spoke English [statistic per Mother, at the time], required her to rely on the Spanish she hadn't used for years and it exhausted her.  We were out for lunch one day and she was trying to order sandwiches for all of us.  She became frustrated, looked at me and said, "I can't remember how the hell to say mustard in Spanish.  Can we lose the mustard?"

One afternoon, Dad was at work, Chris and my brother Mallory Joe were playing ping-pong, drinking Venezuelan beer [Polar tasted good.  Chris and Mallory Joe consumed it daily while playing ping-pong.] and Mom and I were sneaking a smoke on her veranda.

Mom said, "I don't know what to do.  This has just been so difficult."

We discussed various solutions, all involving travel and being away from Dad longer than she felt was reasonable.  She recognized she was tired and in a funk due to the many life stressors she'd just endured.  A major move, culture shock, a husband with a cancer diagnosis, finding homes for three animals she loved dearly prior to the move, turning 50, and missing her family and friends.  She knew she simply needed to keep moving forward.

She vented about the difficulties of living in Caracas.  There were many - all legitimate.

I said, "But Mom, there are some neat things about living here.  Can you think of just three good things?"

She thought...

"The birds are beautiful.  I love seeing parrots and macaws flying.  Free."

"And the orchids.  I can grow orchids on my veranda.  I've never been able to grow orchids like this.  Aren't they beautiful?"  [Mom has always loved gardening, so this was important and valued.]

She was looking a little perkier as she lit another cigarette.  We sat quietly while she thought.

Finally she said, "And when your father and I go out to eat, and I order a drink... anywhere... they bring you the whole bottle, even if it's Grey Goose, and set it right. On. The. Table."

My brother, my friend.

My brother Mallory Joe has always been one of my closest friends.  He's my only sibling and I'm older by three years. 

NOTE:  I only refer to him as Mallory in a loving way.  Our personalities were parallel to Alex and Mallory Keaton on the 1980s show Family Ties.  I was like Alex and Joe was like Mallory.  We've always been able to laugh at ourselves... and each other.

Growing up, friends teased us.  They said it was weird that we got along so well.  "Chrisy and Joey never fight.  So weird."  It was true - mostly.  We generally got along and played well together as young kids, and as teenagers we were tight.

I attribute this NOT to any inherent kindness or gentleness within my brother Mallory Joe or me, but to Mother.  On the occasion we had a kid fight, she would say and do the following:

1. If we hit one another then tattled, Mom would say, "Chrisy, if you really need to hit your brother, go ahead.  I'll just watch.  Go on now.  Hit him.  What?  You don't want to.  Joey, maybe you'd like to hit your sister?  Come on... let her have it."  My brother Mallory Joe and I would look at each other like she was sooo stupid, and try not to laugh.  It worked though.

2. She dramatically lectured us after each argument about how there's NO ONE in the ENTIRE world as close as siblings.  The BLOOD that ran through our veins was sibling blood.  Not even she and Dad were that close.  NOTHING was more important than the relationship between siblings.  The lecture was powerful every time I heard it.

3. Mother always made us apologize, hug and say I love you.  Always.

Except... for the times she wasn't there to lead us in a rousing rendition of Kumbaya.  We relied on our training to find Shangri-La, and it usually went something like this...

[My brother Mallory Joe 17, me 19 (home from college for a weekend), ending an argument about something important like, what kind of drink he should (beer) or should NOT (a Blue Hawaiian - duh) order when I get he and his friends into a bar when they visit me at school and ALL sleep in my dorm room.]

Joe:  You're just an uptight bitch!
Me:  YOU'RE an uptight bitch!
Joe:  Ha ha.  Bitch.
Me:  Bitch.
Joe:  You're an idiot.
Me:  You're a bitch.

[...]

Joe:  Wanna go sit on the swing set and have a cigarette?
Me:  I don't have any.
Joe:  I do.
Me:  Okay...  I'm sorry.
Joe.  I'm sorry too.

We hug.  My brother Mallory Joe gets the cigarettes and a lighter.  We climb to the top of an old swing set in the backyard.  It's dark.  We sit quietly, and share one cigarette between the two of us.

Me:  Are you sure the neighbors can't see us?
Joe:  No.  Just hide the cherry.

[...]

Joe:  Hurry.  Here they come.
Me:  How can you tell?
Joe:  I know their lights.  Give me the smoke!  Go!

I hand my brother Mallory Joe the cigarette, run inside the house, grab his Polo Cologne and spray it all over myself and him as he comes in the back door.  We hear the garage door open.  We frantically wash our hands, run to the couch, assume relaxed positions and turn on the Weird Science video we'd rented for the 10th time that year.

Mom and Dad walk in, smile at each other and say, "Isn't it nice to see the kids enjoying each other?"

Kumbaya.  Puff-puff.

Tru Dat

I'm not hip, although every once in a while a word from the Urban Dictionary comes out of my mouth and I'm proud that I recalled it from somewhere, and used the word correctly.

Neil at Citizen of the Month posted about slang today after needing to google a few words contained in some comments he received on a prior post.  The seven of you who read my blog (see note) most likely have already read Neil's post, so this is a "department of redundancy department" post on my part.

NOTE:  I used to say I had three readers, but I feel confident upping that number to seven.  Although, my family is no longer a part of that total.  My Dad doesn't "believe in blogs".  He says he doesn't like it when people express private emotions publicly, and politely told me he wouldn't be reading my blog, but it was "nice" that I had one.  Mother's busy.  She plays bridge, shops, and takes stuff back.  She checks a post once every couple of months.  My brother Mallory Joe loses addresses and phone numbers.  I think he's still looking for the link I've sent him a few dozen times.  I'm pretty sure I annoy the rest of my family.  It's okay.  Really.

Neil references an article in his mother's AARP magazine that lists 50 words kids are using these days.  He challenges his readers' knowledge of these words.  It's entertaining, and I was only familiar with a handful.  I'm 42.

Made me think of a few overused words and phrases that I've used in an effort to be hip, and I see on many other blogs.

• hawt - let's just all go back to typing "hot".
• whatevah - again, "whatever" conveys it just fine.
• I'm just sayin' - TMZ's been using this for years, not that I go to that site...
• ahem -This is a nice word.  We're all using it too frequently.
• dude - on occasion this works, but there's a new breed of young women who pepper their posts with "Dude!".
• Dooce-ease - Some may disagree with me, but I think Dooce is a good writer and I believe she's tapped into the psyche of many which is why she's so popular.  She has an identifiable writing style that I see imitated frequently when I blog surf.  Dooce's style sometimes gets old on her site, so to see so many others use phrases like, "..and then I was all...", " and he was all...", or "Dude...".  She's a female "dude" user that can get away with it.  Usually.  The rest of us need to think twice before throwing in a "dude" in an effort to be hip.
• Gawd  - God works.  We don't need to spell it incorrectly in an effort to avoid saying His name in vain.  He'll still love us.
• heh-heh or huh-huh or Beavis & Butthead laugh - Yawn.  I thought it was funny the first time I used it in a post too.  I'm so clever... duh.

I think I'll quit before I alienate all seven of you.  Remember.  I stand before you, guilty of using all overused hip-terms and imitating other bloggers.

Check out Neil's post.  He links to the AARP article, but you can also click here to read it.

Peace out.¹

¹From the Urban Dictionary:  1. A slang term telling someone good-bye, used with a hand gesture in which you pound your chest with your fist twice, then give the peace sign.

I think I might be good...

It was Parent Night last night at the boys' school.  Chris stayed home with the kids and I went solo, which is usually how we have to handle things like this.  It works for us.

I rarely get to drive alone - anywhere.  I love it.  I enjoy talking with the kids and listening to music appropriate for them, but it's a treat to listen to whatever I want, as loudly as I want and sing while car dancing.  I sing and car dance with the kids in the car, but they don't like it.  It embarrasses them.  Chris doesn't like it either.  He says, "Please don't clap."

Oldest Boy's teacher auditioned for American Idol over the summer knowing she wouldn't make it because of her age - she's too old (I'm older than her, so I can say that).  I didn't hear the entire story, but the gist was she had drawn enough attention to herself that they allowed her to sing.  She's a belter who can carry a tune and she sang - Pat Benatar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot.

My brother Mallory Joe and I used to sing every word of every Pat Benatar song in my bedroom at the top of our lungs.  I know, who didn't? 

My friend Lynn P. Carlson was/is a belter and sang any time she could find a microphone.  Working swim meets, there was always a PA system (we were lifeguards), so the opportunity was hers many, many times.  She sang Patty Smythe's The Warrior, anything Pat Benatar, or Belinda Carlisle and occasionally Elvira by the Oakridge Boys.  She even sang at her own wedding - not the kind of tender, looking into your new husband's eyes singing, but the "I can do that, give me the mike!" singing.  I think she closed the party with New York New York.

We all know music is powerful and personal.  Punk Rock Dad recommended a book recently that, among other things, explains "...why people have a lifelong passion for music they heard in their youth...".  I believe the title is This is Your Brain on Music.  (Correct me if I'm wrong - anyone.)

This morning while working out with Supermodel, Pat Benatar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot played in the gym.  I was 14 years old again in my mind, singing with my brother Mallory Joe.  I could see my bedroom, the posters on the walls, my pet parakeet Larry...  So vivid.

What is it about wanting to be able to sing or play an instrument well that grips many of us, even the *shy* ones and at very young ages?  Maybe it's explained in the book.  Probably why Nickelback's Rockstar was so popular.

On the way home from Parent Night yesterday, I took my time, listened to and unabashadly sang along with Joe Cocker, Kid Rock, and a little Sam Cooke.  I believe in church, it would be called, "a joyful noise".

This is for you Lynn P. Carlson:

(The music's not in sync with the visual - sorry, it came that way.)

10 Random Things

Deb at San Diego Momma tagged me for this "10 Random Things" meme.

If you blog, check out Deb's post on "The Five Stages of Blogging".  Her PrompTUESDAY exercises are a fun, pressure-free way to challenge creative writing skills.  Her site is a safe environment, with one of the nicest, welcoming community of bloggers I've stumbled upon.  I'm sure there are many more out there, but it's refreshing to feel comfortable and encouraged, not judged or excluded while wading in the blog waters.

My 10 random things:

1. Driving - I've had 24 moving violations and been in five car accidents. [Alcohol has never been involved in any of these incidents.]  The reason I can still legally drive is that the tickets span 25 years, they were in multiple states, most when I was younger and able to fly under radar with points and insurance.  I'm not an aggressive driver, just unlucky (maybe a bit distracted too).  I get caught at everything I attempt that even slightly breaks a rule.  All of the accidents were my fault and resulted in multiple tickets.  I was only injured once, and have never injured anyone else - maybe a little whiplash.  Dad was thrilled when I married Chris so he wouldn't have to insure me.  I have no business behind the wheel of a car.

2.  Geography - I'm terrible at geography.  I have no idea where I am on the planet - ever.  North, south, east and west are up, down, right and left to me.

3.  Hoop Skirts and Canopy Beds - When I was a little girl my Mamaw (Hoosier for grandma) would ask what I'd like her to bring me back from a trip.  I always requested a hoop skirt like Anna wore in The King and I.  When asked what I wanted for Christmas or a birthday, I asked my Grandmother Fisher (who I simply called Grandmother) for a canopy bed.  Sadly, they remain unfulfilled wants.

4.  Yul Brynner - I fell in love with Yul Brynner in the early 1970's, about the same time I wanted to be a stripper, after watching him dance with Anna.  He still melts my butter.

5.  Shrimp - I no longer eat shrimp since my brother Mallory Joe described them as "cockroaches of the sea".  I can't get the visual out of my mind.

6.  Airplanes - I worked for an airline before we had kids.  I'm not a pilot (I wasn't a flight attendant either) but worked in pilot training.  I've had the opportunity to fly a B737, B757, and an A320 full flight simulator.

7.  Who am I? - I often feel like I'm playing too many roles in life.  All the faces I wear for various friends and family members.  If the worlds collided, I might be discovered for the phony that I am.

8.  Tricks -  I don't have many, but I'd love to learn to tap dance and play the drums.

9.  Aromas - Smells fascinate me.  I smell dirty socks, sniff stains on the carpet, and can identify a stranger's perfume/cologne.  I have a good sniffer.  As anyone who's been pregnant knows, sense of smell heightens while with child.  Chris and I were hiking in Arizona when I was 5 months pregnant with Oldest Boy.  Chris was in front of me.  I smelled stink and barked, "Did you fart?".  Chris said, "Nooooo.  But I'm sure someone in Colorado did."

10.  Massages - I don't enjoy professional massages.  I've tried.  I'll try again - maybe.  I can't relax naked, while a stranger touches me everywhere.  I've tried wearing my underwear - still awkward.

Enough about me.  Let's see if we can get Mary at Unmitigated, Kate at The Big Piece of Cake, Joanne at Joe Girl, and Corbie at Random Musings to play...  or anyone else who feels inspired.

I don't care who you are...

When I was in high school, I was the Alex P. Keaton of the Family Ties family in our home.  I couldn't wait to vote in my first presidential election - I voted for Reagan.  Alex would have been so proud.  My parents groaned when I called them from college and told them I voted straight Republican.  All I'll share about my politics now, is that I am neither a registered Republican, nor a Democrat.  I'm an Independent, and please don't riff on politics. I can't hang right now.  I need to do more homework.

As I got a little older and fiddled around on the dark side in college, my mind opened in new ways.  However, I've always been able to slip back into my Alex P. Keaton mode and say things to my parents and brother to get a reaction (my brother was the boy version of Mallory Keaton).  My family knows I'm doing it to be a poke in the eye - it's just ornery fun.  I'm not bigoted towards any group of people, except maybe "bad" people.  (I suppose I struggle with a few judgments here and there.)

A friend recently emailed me a knock-knock joke that was pushing the bounds of good taste.  In the current election, there are a few "-ism's" that are being targeted via cheap jokes.  Ageism, racism, sexism, homophobia, multiculturalism...  The knock-knock joke pinged an "ism".  I did not agree with the joke, but like Larry the Cable Guy says, "I don't care who you are, that's funny right there."

I didn't forward this joke to anyone else, but I did to Mom and Dad, knowing as they opened and read it, they'd wonder where they'd gone wrong.

Mom's exact email response: 

"I'm trying to figure out how to get this out of my computer, so it won't surface after I die......"

To coin one more Larry the Cable Guy phrase, "Lord, I apologize for that right there, and please be with the starvin' pygmies down there in New Guinea, A-men."

Cold Water

Today's Joe's birthday.  Happy birthday Bro!  Can't believe he's, well, the age he is.  Still seems like we should be fishing for blue gill at the end of our pier, chasing lightning bugs at night, practicing the 2-step for a dance, or just hanging out, laughing, laughing, laughing...

First blog - not much to say.  Still wish Csquared wasn't already taken.  Guess I'm not that original.  Just testing the waters.  Still chilly...