Blog: Ramblings and Rants

ROFL oh, ah LMAO… uh… LOL

Jeezuz, this is funny!
Red vs. Blue explains Real Life vs. The Internet

My favorite part:
Guy 1: “How do you recommend [people prepare for using the Internet]?”
Guy 2: “I dunno. Try going to your local middle school chess club, hand out crystal meth and guns. That might be good practice.”

Grieving is the series of unexpected little reminders that hit you between moments of feeling fine. —Pariah Burke, 2004

Strawberry Blonde and I were sitting on our bed enjoying a late breakfast of freshly made Belgian waffles. While channel surfing for something mindless to provide a soundtrack to our happy munching the image of Captain America fighting Nazis splashed across the screen.

“Ooh! Let’s watch this,” I exclaimed. As a kid and young adult, I had been very much into comic books—at times sporting an $80 a week habit. While no longer a reader, I still enjoy learning about the cultural impact of comic books and their characters.

The Travel Channel was presenting some in-progress show that included Captain America, detailing the Marvel Comics’ character’s significance to pre-WWII America. We learned something new: In the pages of comics, Captain America began fighting Nazis before the real G.I.s had, before even Pearl Harbor. That angered the then-large and growing Nazi political party in America, the New York (main) branch of which protested outside the offices of Captain America’s publisher. There were bomb and death threats, though the creators naively ignored them.

BREAKING NEWS: Munch’s “The Scream”, “Madonna” Stolen At GunPoint From Musuem Sunday Morning

The Scream, stolen this morning from the National Art Museum in Oslo.

This morning in Oslo, Norway thieves stole Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” and “Madonna” at gunpoint. The daring robbery occured during the museum’s business hours in full view of patrons and employees.

Munch painted four versions of “The Scream” in different media. Stolen this morning was the tempera and pastel on board. It and “Madonna” carry a combined value of $74 million USD.

My last day in Chicago; a day to myself.

After sleeping in until 7 o’clock (Central Time), I wept through Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Then, over my second cup of coffee, I finished up a postcard to Strawberry Blonde’s parents I had begun three days ago.

I’m killing time, waiting for the clock to strike the hour of decency back home. I miss my Strawberry Blonde—we’ve been apart for nearly two weeks now—and my heart can hear naught but the interminably slow ticking of the clock.

When I am home, every single morning begins the same way: Either Strawberry Blonde or I (usually she) rises first and makes coffee. While the kids sleep, we steal carefully out to our backyard patio, and wake up together. We fill each other in on the dreams of the night before, our final bedtime thoughts, and waking musings. We say “I love you” (in several languages) a few dozen times.

The last time our days began that way was a week ago last Wednesday, when I flew out for the first of my latest round of training gigs. Since then I’ve given three classes in two cities. Next week I’ll give two more.

Early tomorrow I will return home for forty-eight hours, to fly out again for five and one half days. After that I’m taking a week off; I want to be home with Strawberry Blonde, Mojo, and Sassy. I also want to spend time with my first child, my cat, Chloe.

In Chicago the time is 9:16. That means Strawberry Blonde yet slumbers in our bed, our girls tucked in tight beside her, in Portland, Oregon’s 7:16 morning. In forty-four minutes she should be awake—or at least sufficiently rested to not miss the sleep should my call wake her. In three-quarters of an hour I may call.

Spread out before me the great city of Chicago beckons for exploration. Today is my day to myself, to collect a new subway on my way toward roaming ’round America’s Third Largest City.

Walking along Lake Michigan—the first Great Lake I am to see in person—excites me. As does the art museum near its southern shore. A hundred undiscovered restaurants, shops, and sites taunt me, daring me to seek them out. The Chicago River invites me to cross her.

This day is ripe with the fruit of a wanderer’s dreams—and I am more than thrilled by the sights and sites I might see—but for now, all I can see is the glowing crimson digits of the bed-side clock winding with maddening lag up toward the hour when my love shall awake.

My last day in Chicago, and I finally have full Internet access sufficient to access secured sites (like this one) and post to my blog.

Over the last few weeks, every hotel in which I’ve stayed has had Internet connection problems. These aren’t crumby motels, mind you. These are Holiday Inns, Marriots, etc. They’ve all been having problems—something about their Comcast WiFi hardware not properly interfacing with the ISP StayOnLine’s connection—or something like that.

There will be a Saturday Slant tomorrow, though it shall only be posted here, in the flow of the blog; I don’t have FTP ability, so I can’t update the main Saturday Slant page.