July 25, 2008

Okay, don't get used to this.

9:05 a.m.

Anyway, we'll see how this works out, but if it even for a moment starts to interfere with doing laundry or watching my shows, well, that'll be it! And no, this does not constitute a return to blogging. I quit, and I meant it. Mostly. Or not.

SO, Reba was out at 6 this morning. The state inspection folks walked in yesterday, and so she's having to go in early and stay late, which is tiresome. And it meant that even if I did have a day off, I still couldn't sleep late.

Dozed back off, then got up and got Jonathan up so he could go to band camp. This week is 8-noon, next week is all day. Heh.

Next thing on the agenda for later on in the day is taking the pets to the vet--AGGGHHHHH!! Rebecca had made the appointment (so we could get the employee discount) and made it for noon, and I didn't think about it until this morning, so after I got back from delivering Boy to the high school, had to call and reschedule the visit. So, 40 minutes from now, it'll be time to wrangle the pooch and kitty into the Volvo and go see if anything ails them.

Random thoughts: 1. Has anyone else noticed that the newest trend in men's hairstyles (that being the sort of product-laden short spiky-do that is gathered up in the center of the head liken unto Ed Grimley), has now made the jump to old guys? Several of the local teevee reporters/meteorologists/anchors have taken on this silly-looking new style. Or the alternative one, that looks like when Goober decided to become a swinging bachelor on the Andy Griffith Show and got some sort of weird Julius Caesar hair-do. Sorry, but it just looks stupid. And not just stupid on old guys, either.

2. I don't really give a fat rat's patootie if Europe would overwhelmingly vote for Obama. There is a reason we declared independence, and Europe has done nothing in intervening years to convince me that we made a bad decision. I have a deep and abiding mistrust of any American politician who craves the adulation of foreigners more than that of their fellow citizens.

Okay, I'm going to the animal doctor.

10:27 a.m.

Not bad at all--both Lightning and Patches were pronounced to be in excellent health, got their shots, and thanks to Rebecca being on staff, we got a healthy 50% discount. Which is nice, seeing as how this past Monday the Focus suffered yet another broken brake line, causing it to spew brake fluid from here to yonder, and necessitating the scheduling of yet another trip to the shop for a wallet extraction. ::sigh:: I sure wish I was independently wealthy.

Now, to get the dishwasher unloaded and reloaded, then to the bank so Rebecca can deposit her paycheck (she's so danged flush that she just bought herself a new LG Dare and agreed to pay the extra part of the phone bill for it) and then we'll go get Boy from band, and then we'll start on getting the clothes downstairs and separated.

Random thoughts:

1. I cannot tolerate the Rachael Ray show unless the sound is off.

2. Bob Barker was apparently not a very nice person in real life if the Internet is to be believed, but good grief, I cannot stand The Price is Right with Drew Carey as the host. Is there any way to reanimate Bob and wheel him around on stage? Or maybe get Bill Clinton to do it. Now THAT would be a show!

3. I am very tired of the local news media promoting their websites as a place where you can "start your own blog," or "blog your thoughts on our story." Most of these sites are nothing more than message boards. And leaving a single comment on a story someone else wrote about is not writing a blog. Then again, there's probably not a better way of illustrating how inept and out of touch traditional media is than to watch them continue to grapple with the phenomenon of independent citizen-journalists. It's not like it's new now, and yet it still seems like a mystery to most of the old-style print and broadcast folks. Then again, the difference between reporting your own opinion and reporting the facts seems to have eluded them, as well.

Anyway. Time to separate the clothes. Go to the bank.

2:20 p.m.

Bank, school, home, lunch (ham and cheese quesadillas!), clothes taken to the laundry room and picked apart, first load started (unmentionables!), Judge Joe Brown on the teevee, and boy would I like to have a nap right about now.

Random thoughts:

1. I wonder why none of the judge shows on the teevee have bleeding heart liberals? Probably for the same reason that liberal talk radio has such a tiny audience.

2. Speaking of TV judge shows, The Hon. Lynn Toler is really hot.

3. Lobsters.

Annnnnd, 6:25 p.m.

Still no sign of Reba, although I did get a call saying that it's going to be a while longer still before she's home. Supper's on, clothes being washed and folded, second load of dishes being washed, the hummingbirds are hitting the feeder, and stuff such as that. And thus ends the blogging portion of my off-day. Well, that is, if I still blogged. Which I don't.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:48 AM | Comments (6)

July 21, 2008

Advice for Young Ladies

Some of you might know this, but for those who don’t, my employer has switched my schedule to four-10 hour days per week, meaning I now have Fridays off. Which means I now have a day where I can go and do things, such as get my hair cut. Which is exactly what I did first thing Friday morning past, (with Boy in tow, since he needed shearing as well).

We hied ourselves to the foot of Talladega Hill, across the tracks and over the mighty Pinchgut Creek, to the HeadStart over close to Target. Being that it was 10:00 a.m., there was no one but the three staff members awaiting there.

We were ushered back immediately, and I took my place in the chair operated by an attractive young woman of decidedly Rubenesque proportions, and removed my spectacles so she could have unhindered access to my noggin.

Being thus blind, at first I could not be sure of what flashed before my eyes as she drew the drape around my neck, but after several more such preparatory tonsorial flourishes, I could no longer deny that the dewy plumpness of her upper right arm contained quite an extensive bit of tattoo ink.

Now, I am of a certain age, and I still associate such markings with convicts, sailors, and women of the camp. However, I am also quite aware that fashion has overtaken my staid blue-nosed preconceptions, and have come to know that even respectable people such as rap singers and hair care professionals now deem permanent epidermal artwork to be quite desirable. Yet, after my haircut was done and I’d retrieved my glasses and had a moment at the cash register to carefully examine her choice of embellishment, I still find myself compelled to offer some unsolicited advice, most especially for the young ladies in the reading audience who wish to delve into this sort of everlasting identification.

First, I know you all want to project the carefree, stylish, devil-may-care attitude of a certain late-1960s Dunaway-Beatty pairing, but let’s face it—Bonnie and Clyde aren’t choice role-models. So, you know, actually taking the time to etch their names into your upper arm is probably not really a good idea if you have aspirations in life for a job that has stuff like a retirement plan and health insurance.

Second, if you’re dead set on the glamorization of the lifestyle of those who wind up lead-perforated, at least try to find yourself a really, really good tattooist. Nothing ruins a perfectly good countercultural jab at The Man than to get a tat that looks as if it was done by a fourth-grader who forgot to take his Ritalin. Although I realize no one teaches good penmanship and handwriting in school anymore, it would really be a good idea to find someone who has had some classes in such things before letting him practice on you.

This admonition to seek a professional also goes for Piece of Advice #3, namely, if you believe your Bonnie and Clyde calligraphy must contain an emblem of crossed submachine guns, for the love of all that is holy, PLEASE get someone who actually knows what one looks like. The use of a crudely drawn something-or-other that looks like it was traced from a Beetle Bailey comic strip simply ruins the entire effect you’re going for.

Remember, young ladies, not all of your fellow citizens will squeal with delight in your choice of body decoration and may, in fact, look askance at it. But if you simply cannot resist the lure, never ever scrimp on quality. Either that, or practice with Sharpies first.

And by the way, the haircut looks just fine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:15 AM | Comments (20)

July 10, 2008

Another Birthday

Yeah, hard to believe—two posts in two days! Not that I’ve taken up blogging again, because I haven’t, but sometimes events warrant an update of an almost bloggish sort.

Got home from church last night (through a blinding thunderstorm, I might add), got the kids unloaded, got myself dressed in work clothes (at 9:00 p.m., I might add) and set to work fixing MY STUPID TIRE.

The other day I came out of the parking deck here at work and rolled over a high curb with the side of the tire and BANG-wheeeeeessssssshhhhhhhhhh. Big gash in the sidewall. The sidewall of a tire that I’d just bought a few months back after the “old” tire had suffered similar sidewall damaged by the hand of a certain wife of mine.

And this newest tire, only about a week old?

Seems it had gotten a nail in it while Reba was driving home.

At least not in the sidewall.

So, I got my pliers and my rubber cement and my rasp and my hook and my plug strips and my spotlight and backed the van into the garage (because it was still pouring rain outside) and set to work. The nail didn’t actually seem too deep. Probably could have left it alone, but because I’m a moron, I went ahead and pulled it and set to work making the tiny hole bigger with the rasp and had a heck of a time since it’s a BRAND NEW TIRE but finally got a hole big enough for the hook to go in and managed to tear up one of the sticky strips without actually plugging the giant new leak I’d made. Second time was the charm, though. Cleaned up the tools, pulled the van back outside and got the compressor out and proceeded to replace the air I’d let out (while standing in the rain, I might add.)

Got the pressure up to normal, unplugged, pulled the van in the right way into the garage, got out and went inside the house, got my work clothes back off, noticed Reba in Rebecca’s room on her bed talking, thought everyone should be in the bed, told Boy to get in the bed, and then Catherine, got my sleeping clothes on, decided to check my e-mail, sat there and vegetated and watched the news.

Reba finally came through the bedroom, and pointed to my left arm, “You’ve got black stuff on you.” Sure enough, I’d not been nearly as fastidious as I’d thought and had a smear of black road grime all over my left arm. Well, crap.

And then, “Rebecca wants to get baptized.”

WHOA—that came outta nowhere! But explains the confab there in Middle Girl’s room. Rebecca has been thinking about this for a while now, and she’d finally gotten to the point where she felt compelled to make that decision.

SO, we asked her if she wanted anyone to be there, and she figured it would be okay if the preacher and the youth minister were there, but that was it. Those calls were made, got Jonathan and Catherine out of bed and redressed, and it was back out into the rain and back across the county to the church building.

I had the same rush of emotion and found myself thinking the same thoughts as the time (almost exactly three years ago) that I’d had when I baptized Oldest, and found myself expressing similar sentiments to Rebecca once we were both down in the water (which we’ve now gotten hooked up to a filter system, I might add).

It is still quite a powerful thing to me—the idea of the new birth; not physical, but spiritual. I remember when she came squalling into the world, and what a fine big red baby she was and thinking how there could be no greater feeling. But there is, and it is the idea that when I lifted her back up out of that water, sputtering and snorting, the parent-child relationship had been supplemented by a greater one of being brother and sister in service together to our Creator.

She got her wet clothes off and changed, and we all had a short prayer together, headed back home, and got into bed sometime after 11:30.

And slept well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:41 AM | Comments (10)

July 09, 2008

Cake and Ice Cream for ALL!

What do Fred Savage, Courtney Love, Kelly McGillis, Tom Hanks, Jimmy Smits, John Tesh, O.J. Simpson, Brian Dennehy, Donald Rumsfeld and I all have in common? (I mean, aside from our almost fanatical devotion to the Pope and nice red uniforms?) That's right, it's our birthday! YAY! So all of you are welcome to grab a big bowl of ice cream and a nice slice of cake (just be careful when O.J. is cutting his) and join us for a big celebration!

Other interesting things that happened today:

1540--England's King Henry VIII had his 6-month-old marriage to his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, annulled. She got to keep the vacation house, the Mercedes, and her head.

1776--The Declaration of Independence was read aloud to Gen. George Washington's troops in New York. Afterwards they all went to see Mamma Mia at the Winter Garden Theater, and pronounced it "really FABULOUS!"

1816--Argentina declared independence from Spain. Spain was like, all, "yeah, whatEVer."

1850--Zachary Taylor, the 12th president of the United States, died in Washington, D.C., after serving only 16 months in office. Conspiracy theorists speculated an evil genius named Karl R. Ove who arrived from the future in a time machine was responsible for his death.

1896--William Jennings Bryan caused a sensation at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago with his "cross of gold" speech denouncing supporters of the gold standard. There were reports of mass harrumphing, and no small amount of men in bowler hats clamoring in the streets.

1947--The engagement of Britain's Princess Elizabeth to Lt. Philip Mountbatten was announced. The lovesick couple exchanged a restrained, yet heartfelt handshake and thenceforth were often photographed standing not far from each other.

1962--Terry Oglesby, inventor of the Cornatee (cornbread-battered and deep fried manatee on a stick), born in Birmingham, Alabama.

1992--Democratic presidential candidate Bill Clinton tapped Sen. Al Gore of Tennessee to be his running mate. Make up your own quip for this one--there are so many possibilities I can't choose one.

1995--The Grateful Dead played their last concert, at Soldier Field in Chicago. There are reports of mass mellow harshage, and no small amount of dudes being all bummed out.

1997--Boxer Mike Tyson was banned from the ring and fined $3 million for biting opponent Evander Holyfield's ear. George Foreman attempts to capitalize on the phenomenon with his Tender Ear Grill, with less than satisfactory results.

2000--Pete Sampras won his seventh Wimbledon singles title, tying the record for men at the All England Club. "Who cares," right? Right.

2001--A court in Chile ruled that Gen. Augusto Pinochet could not be tried on human rights charges because of his deteriorating physical and mental health. Reached for comment, Satan said, "Awww, how pitiful. I'll make sure when he gets here to have a nice quiet room for him with pretty flowers and a comfy bed."

2007--Sen. David Vitter, R-La., whose telephone number was disclosed by the so-called "D.C. Madam," accused of running a prostitution ring, said in a statement he was sorry for a "serious sin" and that he had already made peace with his wife. Wives of every other guy in America warn their husbands they'd best not think they can get away with anything like this without winding up seriously deceased.

2008--American press continues to report everything seemingly is spinning out of control. But you know, who believes anything you read in the paper, so I decide not to worry about anything and have a happy birthday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:36 AM | Comments (16)