Woody Cavenaugh

Its the truth, and I feel like Captain Obvious for stating it here, but I feel like I must. I must because there is more than just the obvious here. Sure women are more likely than men to have an eating disorder like anorexia, or bulimia. It is also true that men don't play the calerie counting game, ie "There are no caleries in this double bannana split, because I didn't pay for it". And only women could get in a serious debate over which brand of bottled water is better for you.

But these things are as obviously true as the sun rising and setting. What many people fail to notice is that women actually eat different than men. I'm also not talking about choosing a green salad over a thick ribeye steak. Although this is generally true as well. What I speak of is none other than the actual method that the food gets from the plate to the mouth.

I noticed it a long time ago and it really had a great deal of influence on my dating life. The real crux of the matter is how one deals with finger food. The messier the food, the more obvious the differences. In college if I could get the girl to agree to a second date I would always suggest O'Brians Rip Roaring Ribs. I would tell them how great the food is, and make clear my excitement at what a treat it is to eat there and how much more special it would be with the girl in question. Once we got there, I usually had to lay on some serious peer pressure to get them to order the ribs. My argument always started with "Mark's rule of restaurants": If the place where you are eating has a food product in its name, then do not be disappointed if their other items leave something to be desired. Example: Don't get pancakes at Burger World, and don't get Waffles at Taco Shack, or at least if you do, don't complain when they suck. Once they are brow beat into submission and the order for beef ribs is away the great and many fold social experiment begins.

Step one is I eat like I eat. Step two is to watch how they eat. Beef ribs are by their very nature both a finger food and a visceral activity. I find it relaxing to grasp a dripping bone and rip the sweat flesh away savering every precious moment of meaty bliss until the bone is clean and dry. Meat + Bone = Bliss This is true for all mammal and avian meats that I have tasted and has lead to a personal preference of foods served on the bone like ribs, fried chicken, chicken wings, pork chops, etc. While enjoying, I watch the expression of the one I am dining with. If they turn white, which was often the case, there would be no third date. My consolation prize was they always had plenty of left overs I could eat later. In these situations a typical woman's only concern is to eat as little of it as possible, not get any on them and keep up appearances in case someone at another table is watching.

Some occasionally got into it, and gave it an old school try. None ever mastered the man-art of cleaning the bone before moving on to the next one. Come to think of it some men aren't very good at that either. And I suppose, I am not as good as my father, and his father before him. When they finished with a bone not even the dog wanted it. This was mainly because they would chew up the bones and spit out course bone meal (they were eating the marrow). I choose not to do this for two reasons, one is the effort involved for so little reward, and two is I like my teeth and don't want to wear them all out before I die.

The ways my dates handled the eating of their own ribs was important and often fun to watch as well. The unworthies would go at it gently with a fork and a knife. They would get less than half of the meat and complain that there was nothing but fat on their plate. Those worthy of a possible second look would at least use their fingers (often with their pinkies up?). The one who grasped the bone in two hands and seemed to enjoy herself I ended up marrying. Though I admit, somtimes I have to give in and finish her discarded bones myself.

Through my observations I have the following to reveal.
a. When men eat out, they are eating. Same as anywhere else.
When women eat, it is a social occasion. See and be seen.

b. There is no "b". My grand unified theory of gender dining is all wrapped in a pretty meat bow in "a".

Need proof? You should, we're all amature social scientist here. Go out to eat and watch what everyone else around you is doing. Who has the greese or sauce stain on their shirt? Who needs to wipe their mouth? Who is actually wiping their mouth? Who is doing most of the talking while they have food left on their plates?

Thank you, and good eating.

Posted by at 1:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I can't think of a single time in my life I was surrounded by so many genuinely nice people as was at HoggFest. I can also feel comfortable saying that from my perspective as a volunteer that the event went off without a hitch and was a complete success. All David had to do was say out loud what he needed and people would fire off in all directions to get it for him.

At the event I met bloggers I had met before, bloggers I had read but had never met before, and bloggers whom I had never read, or ever met, and every one of them were amazingly good people to meet and know. It made me wish I had a job where all I had to do all day was sit around and read all of the local blogs every day.

I think the only person I wanted to shake hands with that I didn't, was probably the busiest looking guy at the whole event, Jay Ovittore. I don't think he stopped moving the whole day.

Sara and I arrived at about 10:30am and things were sizzling in the cooker, soon after setting up some tables we made a charcole run and returned with Cameron. Not knowing what to expect, I made three juggling balls before leaving and had those handy just in case kids showed up needing things to do. This was never a problem. At one point about 3pm I was sitting at a table just having finished a late lunch. Two 12ish girls were sitting at the other end, and one said to the other. "I think we can stay here a lot longer. I don't think I am going to be bored for a while." Success! Adults are easy to entertain, the only thing harder to keep entertained than a 12 year old girl would be a 12 year old boy, and all of them were too busy running around having fun to even have that kind of conversation.

Sara burned two rolls of film and we plan to 1 hour those after work today. I will post the best of them here hopefully tomorrow for your passtime and pleasure. (Assuming I get them scanned tonight.)

All that great fun, wonderful music, and terrific people, and all for the best cause too.

Posted by at 8:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (1)

As I mentioned earlier, my humble abode had its phone system blown out by a lightning strike. I personally count myself as lucky that the place didn't burn down from all of the melted phone wires and exploded phones around.

So this week I have worked on the process of getting insurance involved in the repair process. Much of the slowness has been my own fault since I have never filed a claim before. I didn't even file a claim on the bullet holes. I made it through three tiers of insurance help desk and a plan was formed. I get the phone company to go ahead and repair their destroyed equipment and then the insurance adjustor can work on the rest.

What was really amazingly cool and I have to give much thanks for was I called the phone company yesterday just after lunch, and before five in the afternoon the blown out access pannel was repaired and they had dial tone there. Very cool! So today all I have to do is call the insurance guy back and let him know that I am ready for them. First thing this morning, at Sara's wise suggestion, I took a working handset and went out side to the access pannel, plugged in and checked to see if I had any messages on the answering service. It has been a week since there has been a dial tone anywhere near my house after all.

I had five messages.
1 hangup.
1 call about some film we had developed
1 call from the second tier insurance help desk to call them back about the claim on the lightning strike on my telephone system.
1 call from the telephone repair technician letting me know that my access panel had been repaired.
1 call from the telephone company letting me know that the repair technician had let them know that he had repaired the access panel.

So out of five calls three of them were calls from people who knew good and well that I would not be able to receive the call what with my internal wiring all melted and blown appart.

All of these people had alternative phone numbers, in fact all of them used my alternative phone number to call me at work to let me know what I needed to know.

A part of me wants to shake them and scream to the heavens "Why God why would this poor soul call me at this number knowing that it is the reason they had to call in the first place!"

Another part of me is taking a deep breath and realizing that I probably couldn't handle the truth, and should drop it. This is the reasonable voice that I am going to listen to.

Most of the other voices aren't interested in this problem at all and want to change the subject.

Posted by at 8:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

WARNING: What follows follows in the hoofprints of the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse known as "Too Much Information". If you are easily offended, have a weak since of humor, or dislike of Kevin Smith or Jackass do not read further. Read something fun instead.

Ok, now that THEY'RE gone I have to tell you the story of Robot Poop: or how I was transformed into a 1952 Plymoth with an oil leak.

It all started with a sample of Xenical a box of chicken and a dare. I probably should be alarmed that way too many of my stories start this way. At any rate, the other night we had gone to the grocery store, I was starving and I selected an eight piece box of fried chicken as my dinner. I wasn't depressed or anything, just very very hungry. At 7pm we got home and as I was settling down on the couch to eat an entire chicken Sara says, to me. "We have this sample of Xenical." For those who do not know, Xenical is a drug that binds with the fat in food in your digestive track and keeps it from being digested. Thus, you can eat a meal and digest a lower fat version of that same meal. So Sara, who had been giving me the disapproving look for over a half hour after I made my decision to have yard bird for dinner, starts giving me an devious look instead. She says, "If you choose to eat that whole box of chicken I dare you to take this Xenical."

Done and done! Anything that will allow me to eat my dinner without the withering glare is worth doing in my book. So I did it. So until we went to bed every half hour or so she would say to me, "Do you feel anything yet?" I didn't. Not anything at all.

The alarm clock goes off, she hits snooze and says, "Anything happening?" Nope.

All through the day she would call me or instant message me, "Anything yet?" Nope. We had lunch, we had dinner, I had gone to the bathroom the normal ammount with the normal outcome. Nothing unusual.

I go to fencing and start moving gymnastic equipment around so we can have class. The clock hits 7pm. It didn't make a noise, to let me know it was 7pm, I just happened to see the time as I was sprinting, well lubricated, to the bathroom.

My emergency pants were at the office so I had to blot both sides of my drawers on which was a six inch diameter wide even circular layer of cooking oil.

Things were happening. My dad tells a story about how in the early 1960's he was driving a 1952 Plymoth that needed constant attention. The trunk was kept full of spare parts, fluids, and tools necessary to made any repair where ever he happened to be stranded. It got so bad that in the winter (and this was coastal NC winter weather which is very mild) he had to replace the regular 30 weight with sewing machine oil for the car to even turn over.

I found myself thinking, "Now I know how that Plymoth felt". I blotted my backside. No need trying to wipe oil, it will only spread. Eventually I felt degreased enough that I could stand up, hitch up my pants and survey the damage I left behind. Damage was worse than expected. For starters, the initial blast and the following sprint really spread the oil around. I knew this because of the ammount of area of the toilet seat covered with oil. I blotted my behind a second time in a wider pattern and cleaned the seat.

You're probably wondering what was in the bowl besides cheap paper. For this you will have to imagine, I would like for you to close you eyes for a moment and imagine the Star Wars Character C3P0. Now imagine this robot going to the bathroom. Know that oil and water do not mix. For the sake of politeness I will not describe it further except to say that there was more than enough oil present to bake a cake, or a nice loaf of homemade bread. Not that I would recommend you use this particular oil, its just an estimate of how much was present.

Flush.

There was still oil standing in the fresh water. I think back to the local commercials about not dumping oil and chemicals into the sewer system. I wonder if this counts?

And that was that. There have been no more outburst since. For those interested I would recommend Xenical. I had that extreme kind of result from eating an eight piece box, a sensible person eating a normal healthy meal would get all of the bennifit with out the Jiffy Lube.

Other uses for Xenical might be for guys who know they are getting a prostate exam in the next 24 hours. Its good to be healthy, its even better to be comfortable.

And that is the end of my public service. You're welcome.

Posted by at 9:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

After all these years I do not think happily back on my high school graduation. It was a time of flat out lies by administration, and for the students one last swift kick in the crotch.

We were told to come up with a senior song, it would be performed at our graduation ceremony. We had two weeks to do it. A week of nominations, and a vote. We were finished ahead of time, and our choice made it into the school paper, the last issue of that school year. Our class had to make up for the cheesy choice that the other four or more classes before us made. They had the same right to choose as we did and every one of them chose "Friends". We had our nominations and when the ballot was put before us, "Friends" wasn't even on it. We had ten to choose from and our song was chosen by an 80% majority.

So graduation day happened we were there, our parents were in the stands and the principal announces to the crowd that the senior song was chosen by us and then they played "Friends". And we couldn't do anything about it.

You see, we had rules, and I went to public school. Every male must wear black or navy dress pants, dress shoes, a white shirt and a tie. Women must wear ankle length dresses or black slacks. Over top of this would be our gown which covered up every inch of what we wore. We were warned that if we did not have on the right clothing we would not be allowed to graduate. When we lined up teachers demanded we pull our gowns up to prove that we had all approprite attire.

Well, I sat though having to dress just so, and I was inspected three times by three different teachers. I got to my assigned seat, things started and soon we were sang "friends" as our class song. Oh no you didn't! It is officially on!

Dress shoes unlike sneakers slip on and off very easily. Shoes are removed and under my chair. Done. Dress socks are removed and placed inside of shoes under chair. Dress pants are a great deal easier to remove than jeans. Good. Done.

I got my diploma sans, shoes, socks, or pants. My only disappointment had to be the fact that no one really noticed, since the gown covered up everything anyway.

Now like a spectre every year at the same time some other group of graduates find themselves kicked squarely in the crotch and I fume.

A student is banned from participating in graduation. Why? She happened to be pregnet at the time. She walked anyway, and announced her own name. Good for her!

A year book gets pulled because some parent had a problem with a superlative, or maybe with just who was voted "Most Whipped". Personally I think this bitty has a real problem with interracial dating and needs to get over it or get hit by a train. Her choice.

Here's a Valedictorian who wasn't given his diploma, it had nothing to do with his outstanding grades though, apparently the principal simply didn't like his speech. Wait until that principal hears mine. I've got your speech riiiight here! Butthead.

Here's another valedictorian who wasn't allowed to give credit to her inspiration to graduate in her speech. Fortunately sanity prevailed and she was allowed to exercise free speech. Attention school people, you might be giving the education, but once you give it you can't take it back or claim ownership of it.

There are others, but this is making me tense, and I like being more relaxed and composed when I go to acupuncture.

Posted by at 10:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

One of the perks of being gainfully employed is insurance options that allow for wellness. My boss is a huge fan of acupuncture and Chinese herbology, and my wife is a huge fan of acupuncture and Chinese herbology, so I didn't stand a chance. Fortunately since I spent two years of observation without being able to participate, I had lots of opportunity to be skepticle and watch what happened with my wife on a first hand basis.

I was impressed enough with her whole process that when I was able I was excited about getting on board myself. Michele Salinas who is our practioner takes the two pronged approach using both acupuncture and herbal medicine at the same time. When she asked me what my goal was I told her I wanted to get off of my high blood pressure medicine. The warning on my particular blood pressure medicine is to have blood test often since the drug could damage my liver. That is its number one side affect. So now it should be obvious why I want an alternative.

My first visit was a bunch of questions, family history, personal history, banter, stuff like that. Then she checked my pulse in six places and made a note on my file. Then she looked at my tongue and made a note. She looked at my tongue again, asked a question, and made a note. She did this maybe six time, and when she was satisified ordered me to take off my shoes and socks and lay back on the table. The first time I was punctured I was expecting to feel something a tingling or something like that. I felt nothing. Ok, I felt a little anxiety about being poked for the first time but nothing related to the needles. I barely felt them at all. Instead of feeling a prick, I felt a gentle tapping. Nothing more.

The next time I went in she checked my pulse in six places, seemed very happy about the result and looked at my tongue. She told me that my tongue was looking better but it always takes longer for it to show up on my tongue. Ok, whatever, the only thing I ever learned by looking at my tongue was what color the candy I just ate was. The acupuncture this time was different. She would put a needle in and the area around it felt like it was getting a very mild electrical pulse. As she added needles each one seemed to have a corresponding needle that the electrical sensation moved through. Since my background is IT I describe it as nodes talking to one another. And not every node communicated with every other node. There were specific paths the electrons flowed through. (Again, just my way of explaining it.) It is rather relaxing simply being aware of the movement of electrons going one direction and another.

But this is only one part of the whole experience.

The other part of this is the bag of weed she sold me. Well, weed isn't exactly what I ended up with but it is funny to call it a bag of weed so I go with that. The bag had seeds, twigs, dried mushrooms, roots, bark, stuff I don't really know what is and sea shells. Yep, sea shells. Those came in a separate bag and had to be cooked a whole hour before I added the other stuff. Total brew time on my herbal tea, three hours. The most shocking part of the whole thing is it taste good to me and I always look forward to my daily two doses. A cup in the morning, and a cup in the evening. Its really rather relaxing.

The upshot of it all is, I sleep better, I have more energy, and my blood pressure is lower. Overall I can say I feel better.

Now for you disbelievers, and I am glad you are out there. Some of you might say its all in my head like faith healing and cat girrls. Here's the thing. If it works, then it worked, regardless of how it worked. The only way you can really knock it is to try it yourself and speak from experience. It is what I did.

Where to go:
Carolina Acupuncture and Herbal Medicine
Michele Salinas, LAc, Dipl. CH, RN
336-235-2730

Posted by at 9:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We got word Friday that the best thing to ever happen to our greater organization since the invention of the desktop computer has been given the axe. This has made a lot of people angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move. My shop takes even greater offence since we would never have been without his having created us. I take personal offence since this guy's the reason I am working here right now to begin with.

The working world I live in is a strange place filled with stranger things and ideas. In the real world a business is run with the unifying goal of making money. This not being the real world, the only goal is power. "Students first? Oh yes, if I have the time, and if I can find an angle to make work for me." That seems to be the attitude of most everyone above the working class line and below the line of Chancellor. Nothing happens in that dark gray place that doesn't involve the movement of power.

We all know what happened. In walks a guy who turns our greater organization from a land of smoke and mirrors to a functioning unit that can not only produce, but can document how they got there. Our king didn't bother with politics, our king made things happen. This angered many of the power players because they felt that he was gaining power without playing the Great Game, and they were right. Games are for children or leisure, not for business.

I refuse to give in to the fear of loss. This is a kin to jealously, and that way lays the dark side. I am going to continue to do what our king set us up to do. I am going to win the Great Game by not playing. In the old days if something went poorly everyone could point fingers at everyone else and who ever spins the best yarn wins the match and the power gained from it. It was easy, there was no information, there was no proof. There was just one word against another, aliances, double crosses, and shady deals. My great joy is knowing that when anyone points a finger at my greater organization I can have the truth of the matter in full color in about fifteen minutes. It really doesn't matter to me who wins one way or the other. What matters most to me is that I stink up their corn flakes with a healthy dose of fact. Sometimes the greater organization ends up at fault, sometimes not. These things matter not to me.

I believe that our king was used as a bargaining piece for something else. It remains to be seen if what we lost will be worth what we gain. From my vantage point in the data stream, I can see only one thing valuable enough to warrent this great loss. We shall see soon enough if the sacrifice was worth it. I pray it is.

Posted by at 8:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So you might have noticed the local weather was pretty nasty yesterday. Browns Summit was said to have gotten 4 inches of rain in an hour. Lots of thunder, lots of lightning, the whole nine yards. Sara and I made it home last night about 6:30pm wet and hungry. When I got in the door I noticed an unusual smell, but since I was carrying dinner the odd smell was quickly overwelmed by chicken. (Chicken makes everything better.) The smell wandered away from the front of my mind even before the first piece of Churches chicken hit my lips.

Later that evening...

We're watching CSI and I am brewing my tea. (The process takes three hours.) Our cordless phone chirps that its battery is low. This is odd for several reasons, first the phone has a couple of days of standby charge, and second it was sitting on its cradle. These thoughts wandered away looking for something to connect to.

Connection established.

I saw the cordless phone's power supply. Ok, to be fair I saw about half of the cordless phone's power supply. It took about twenty minutes to find the other half (fifteen feet away). The phone line (part of it) was lying in the floor pointing away from the phone. It was burned, melted, and otherwise destroyed beyond repair. There is about a foot and a half of phone line that I haven't found yet. The table under the phone cradle is scorched to the tune of about five inches wide.

It was a this point that we stopped the world and made a systematic check of everything plugged in to anything. Appart from the GFI in the bathroom being tripped the lightning strike was kept out of the electrical system by the cordless phone's power supply which made the ultimate sacrifice in the process.

The second phone, a corded one appeared to be intact. We traced the cord which appears to be undamaged to the wall socket, which had severed its relationship with the wall entirely.

Ok, so I've got smoked phone lines all through the house. I will be replacing at least one phone and all of the inside wiring. It could have been a great deal worse considering the damage.

This morning, I walked outside to the junction box. It was open. This is odd as these boxes are actually screwed shut. The screw was still there. The door had been blown open. These junction boxes have basically two sides, a customer side and a phone company side. The phone company side of the box had been blown out through the customer side of the box. I can't wait to have this conversation with the phone company. They will probably tell me that anything on my side of the box is my responsibility, regardless of how it got there.

My only real concern now is wether or not to involve my homeowner's insurance in this. On the one hand I pay insurance to pay for things like this. But if things like this happen, I have to pay more on my insurance. Guido the insurance guy is a hard man to please.

Posted by at 8:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I have been hearing on the local news this undercurrent of "Now Fear This" surrounding this woman who is battling anorexia. The "Fear Factor" sorrounds a bracelet being sold at the website that is used as a way for anorexics to locate others like them as a means of support. Lump in that kids and prisoners have always worn colored jewelry, pants too low, and pants legs pulled up to signify something. Forget the fact that main stream adults can wear, "Livestrong" bracelets, "Bacon is a Vegetable" T-shirts (I'm wearing mine today), and Star Trek Uniforms and it is ok, even accepted. We mock the Star Trek fan, but we do accept them.

On the webpage is a neatly laid out code of what colors signify what, and on other websites you could find other charts that probably even conflict with hers. The internet after all, like the jelly bracelet, is filled with infinite variety.

So here's what I see happening. A bunch of idiot concerned adults are going to organize together to get all bracelets banned in schools, maybe try to make it a crime for children under the age of 18 from wearing any sort of jewelry. On the surface it might even seem like a reasonable solution.

You know, the irony of all this is the group that tries to take away these bracelets are probably the same group that wants drunk drivers and sex offenders to have the fact stamped on the offenders car's liscense plate for the world to see.

If I were a parent, I would do nothing to keep my child from wearing "coded" jewelry. Why? Because now my child is telling me on a daily basis where their head is at. There would be no more, "I had no idea my child was going through that" that we hear every day as one tragedy after another unfolds on TV. The truth isn't "out there" the truth is on their wrist for the parent, teacher, and councilor to see.

If your kid suddenly starts wearing "sexually active" bracelets it means just one thing. You the parent waited just a little too long to have "the talk" and you have some catching up to do right away. If your kid suddenly starts wearing an "anorexia" bracelet it is a billboard on the highway of life asking for help.

Wouldn't you want that kind of knowledge?

I imagine this perfect utopian world where everyone wears a uniform shirt that gives you the skinny on the wearer clearly and simply. They would have phrases like, "Poor Impulse Control", "Mostly Harmless", "Prone to Violence", "Militant Omnivore", "Issues", "Unfaithful", "Saintly", and "Motherly".

Huh, maybe I should go into business making T-Shirts. Here's your sign.

Posted by at 8:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Sara graduated with her Master's degree on Friday and she let me go to the departmental graduation. (I had to promise to be good.) It was really pretty fun and interesting.

The first thing I was surprised about was the sheer number of beautiful and/or interesting looking people in attendance. I have personally never seen so much cleavage in one place that didn't a.) have a cover charge, or b.) wasn't on cable. It actually took me something like 20 minutes to figure out what they were all doing there, and then it hit me. This is a "Film and Video Production" graduation ceremony. Duh? Of course the beautiful and interesting are going to be in attendance.

I didn't actually make a head count but I believe there were something like 10 graduate students and maybe 18 or 20 undergraduates. That said, they were able to have a rich and interesting ceremony without having to schedule in pee breaks. Got to see Lee Kinard, haven't seen him since they dedicated Spring Garden street to him a few years ago.

I know it was a little weird for Sara but I enjoyed the looks the other grads and undergrads gave her the whole time. It must have freaked them out that this person they had never seen before was greeted by the instructors warmly and graduating with them. The others both grad and undergrad were students who may or may not have had jobs. Sara is a full time state employee working towards a career, who just happened to finish her masters one class at a time over a few years. The practical upshot of this is that she was the most experienced one in the group.

After was a reception where students could hobknob and trade addresses. Since Sara knew no one but the instructors, she simply went around thanking each of them and holding brief conversations while the others looked on in mild confusion (if they noticed at all).

For myself I got just enough pictures to prove that I don't know how to use a camera. I also saw Rusty Sheridan. I had no idea he was so tall. It also never occured to me that getting that morter board hat to stay on his head would be so much fun to watch. I would show you pictures, but as I said, I learned this weekend I am not much of a photographer. (Plus I didn't bring any waivers.)

After we had dinner with friends, and then Sara donated her hair to charity.

All in all it was a good start to the rest of her life.

Posted by at 1:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It is happening right now in Denver. Insanity says I, and I've heard this before, which makes it even more creepy.

So a pit bull killed a child, lets round up all the pit bulls and kill them all. Why? Is it one of those sins of the one, sins of the many thing?

It says here in this US Department of Justice webpage that "Blacks were 7 times more likely than whites to commit homicide in 2002". So I guess in Denver and places like Denver they will also get around to rounding up all of the African Americans and kill them too. Be afraid.

Does this sound like a good idea to you, because it sounds like republican conservative knee jerk insanity (insert explicatives where you will) to me.

It makes me want to breed and train killer teacup poodles and release them in rich neighborhoods. I can't wait for some rich person's house to be surrounded by cops so we can hear them yell out of their window, "You can take my Tinkles when you pry her from my cold dead hands!"

Posted by at 9:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (18)

Here's what we have.
1. Schools doing their best to teach readin' writin' and 'rithmatic to students with a healthy dose of science and history to boot.

2. Parents expecting schools to take over the parenting role with reguards to behavior, right and wrong, how not to be arrested, etc.

3. A president who decited that every student is going to take the same test. If your school has low scores you will lose funding. If you have low scores three times in a row, bad things happen.

Who makes the rules? (say it with me) "He who has the gold makes the rules." The president gets the gold from the parents (in the form of taxes). The schools have no say in the matter.

The parents want students who have been well parented at school.
The president wants students who test well.

Nothing else matters.

School systems need to throw out concepts like critical thinking, and writing skills and give the customer what the customer wants. The customer only wants a child who is well behaved and tests well. Now I know this shakes the very pillers American education is based on, but times have changed. Math, science, reading, writing, research, critical thinking, history, and fitness have no place in today's society. Just give up, drop it, and move on.

One day the parents may realize that they are the ones that are supposed to be doing the parenting, and one day the president might notice that he is an idiot surrounded by other idiots. When that day comes, they come crawling back to the schools with a request that their "kids be less dumbness please", nod, smile, reassure them, but please don't rub their faces in it, that would be rude.

Posted by at 2:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

So the other day leaving UNCG's Campus we were parked on Administration drive which is a one way street. Leaving you have to take a left onto College Avenue, which is also a one way street. As is typical when we park on Admin drive, I got in the left hand lane to make a left hand turn onto Spring Garden Street. Someone turned onto College going the wrong way on a one way street. As College Avenue has only been one way for about a year now it is not unusual for people to accidentally make a wrong turn, but either way the end result was that I had to swerve pretty hard to avoid hitting her. And as a result I ended up having to turn right instead of left onto Spring Garden Street. This was a bummer, but it didn't ruin my day as we ended up using the route change as an excuse to have dinner at Rock Ola. You'd think the story was over, but apparently it just began.

This morning Sara had training off campus so she was driving and she dropped me off on Admin drive. She turned left onto college avenue with the plan of turning right towards the location of her training. The SUV driver was laying in wait. She pulls out of metered parking suddenly and cuts Sara off forcing her to stop. She jumps out of her green SUV with Virginia plates and proceids to cuss Sara up one side and down the other. Apparently she knows all about me. She knows who I am, she knows where I work and as soon as she is finished giving Sara a piece of her mind, she is going to Mossman to have me fired. She thinks a. I tried to kill her, and b. I "have messed with the wrong b*tch" (her words apparently).
Ok.

1. If you are going to cuss someone up one side and down the other wouldn't you want to cuss the person who you feel has wronged you and not his frightened passenger?

2. If you feel you have been wronged wouldn't you want to go strait to the police and file a report.

3. Wouldn't you feel thankful that the guy in the little green car managed not to cream the front of your big green SUV when you turned the wrong way on a one way street?

It is for these reasons that I have decited that this woman is probably in need of professional counciling. However, this won't stop me from talking to the police if she continues to harass my wife. It is my hope that whatever has caused her to lose her rational mind sorts itself out so she doesn't go postal on some other random person.

Am I missing something here?

Posted by at 8:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

First. Go see this movie.
If you are going to take the time to read this you need to at least see what it is I am refering to.

Second. Bring your towel.
I had mine, went to a sold out show, and was stunned by the total lack of towels, Peril Sensitive Sunglasses, or small blue furry creatures from Alpha Centeri in attendance.

Third. Don't Panic.
If you are a fan you already know that Douglas Adams published several versions of his books each one ever so slightly different from the other. This one is the furtherest from canon yet, but most of it rings true. Except of course the romantic bits necessary for the standard Holywood ending.

Fourth. You'll need to stick this fish in your ear.
If you are a fan you already know that Douglas Adams greatest gift was his dialogue. Each and every word was carefully chosen such that the reader, listener, or viewer might have the best comic experience possible. Karey Kirkpatrick, knowing this and knowing how awful his own dialogue was in comparison chose to change the original rather than improve his own. For example, Shakerspere wrote "To be or not to be, that is the question", Karey Kirkpatrick would have rewritten this line to say instead, "To be or not to be, that's what I can't figure out." Surprisingly the original dialogue is so good that even after being purposely and systematically changed, you could instantly identify who wrote what. Fortunately for all fans involved, one day Karey Kirkpatrick will die and Douglas Adams will be waiting for him on the otherside. Should I die first, you can be assured I will be standing in the line of volunteers willing to hold Karey Kirkpatrick down.

To summerize, go see this movie, you will enjoy it.

Posted by at 3:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)