Some funnies.....

Guess my Age

A man decides to have a face-lift for his birthday. He spends $5,000 and feels really good about the results. On his way home, he stops at a newsstand and buys a paper.

Before leaving, he says to the sales clerk, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but how old do you think I am?"

"About 35," was the reply.

"I'm actually 47," the man says, feeling really happy.

After that, he goes into McDonald's for lunch and asks the clerk the same question.

The reply is, "Oh, you look about 29".

"I am actually 47."

Later, while standing at a bus stop, he asks an old woman the same question.

She replies, "I am 85 years old, and my eyesight is going. But when I was young, there was a sure way of telling a man's age. If I put my hand down your pants and play with your balls for 10 minutes, I will be able to tell you your exact age."

As there was no one around, the man thinks, What the hell and lets her slip her hand down his pants.

Ten minutes later, the old lady says, "Okay, it's done. You are 47."

Stunned, the man says, "That was brilliant. How did you do that?"

The old lady replies, "I was behind you at McDonalds."
















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Little Johnny and the Word Game

In school Mrs. Rogers was playing a word game with the kids.

She would shout out a letter and then pick on a student, and the student would pick a word that starts with the letter.

Mrs. Rogers said the letter "B" and Johnny raised his hand.

Since Mrs. Rogers thought he'd say bitch She called on Sally instead. Sally said Ball

Mrs. Rogers said the letter "P", and Johnny raised his hand again.

Since Mrs. Rogers thought he'd say Pussy, she called on Frank, who said paper.

Finally, Mrs. Rogers said the letter "R", and again Johnny raised his hand.

Mrs. Rogers couldn't think of a bad word that started with "R" so she picked Johnny.

Johnny hesitated and said "Rat" .... "A Big Mother Fucking Rat"





















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Male Friend Needs Technical Support

Sequel to Upgrading to Wife 1.0.

Can you please advise me. I'm having some problems. I'm currently running the latest version of Girlfriend and I've been having some problems lately. I've been running the same version of DrinkingBuddies 1.0 all along as my primary application, and all the girlfriend releases have always conflicted with it. I hear that DrinkingBuddies won't crash if you run girlfriend in background mode with the sound turned off. But I'm embarrassed to say I can't find the switch to turn the sound off. I just run them separately, and it works okay.

Girlfriend also seems to have a problem coexisting with my Golf program, often trying to abort Golf with some sort of timing incompatibility. I probably should have stayed with girlfriend 1.0, but I thought I might see better performance with GirlFriend 2.0. After months of conflicts and other problems, I consulted a friend who has had experience with GirlFriend 2.0. He said that I probably didn't have enough cache to run girlfriend 2.0, and that eventually it would require a Token ring to run properly. He was right --- as soon as I purged my cache, it uninstalled itself. Shortly after that, I installed girlfriend 3.0 beta. All the bugs were supposed to be gone, but the first time I used it gave me a virus.

I had to clean out my whole system and shut down for a while.

I very cautiously upgraded to girlfriend 4.0. This time I used a SCSI probe first and also installed a virus protection program. It worked okay for a while until I discovered that GirlFriend 1.0 was still in my system! Then I tried to run GirlFriend 1.0 again with GirlFriend 4.0 still installed, but GirlFriend 4.0 has a feature that I didn't know about that automatically senses the presence of any other version of girlfriend and communicates with it in some way, which results in the immediate removal of both versions! The version I have right now works pretty well, but there are still some problems. Like all versions of girlfriend, it is written in some obscure language that I can't understand, much less reprogram. Frankly, I think there is too much attention paid to the look and feel rather than the desired functionality. Also, to get the best connections with your hardware, you usually have to use gold-plated contacts. And I've never liked how GirlFriend is totally "object-oriented".

A year ago, a friend of mine upgraded his version of GirlFriend to GirlFriendPlus 1.0, which is a Terminate and Stay Resident version of GirlFriend. He discovered that GirlFriendPlus 1.0 expires within a year if you don't upgrade to Fiancee 1.0. So he did. But soon after that, he had to upgrade to Wife 1.0, which he describes as a "huge resource hog". It has taken up all of his space, so he can't load anything else. One of the primary reasons that he upgraded to Wife 1.0 is that it came bundled with FreeSexPlus 1.0. Well, it turns out that the resource allocation module of Wife 1.0 sometimes prohibits access to FreesexPlus, particularly the new Plug-Ins he wanted to try.

On top of that, Wife 1.0 must be running on a well warmed-up system before he can do anything. Although -he did not ask for it, Wife 1.0 came with MotherInLaw 1.0 which has an automatic pop-up feature that he can't turn off. I told him to try installing Mistress 1.0, but he said that he heard if you try to run it without first uninstalling Wife 1.0, Wife 1.0 will delete MSMoney files before doing the uninstall itself, Then Mistress 1.0 won't install anyway due to insufficient resources. Can you help??

Sept. 11, 2001, my memories

Guy R. Holton, December 24, 1908--September 11, 2001

my father, doing the things he loved, dressed for daily chores

While the world watched with unbelief and absolute horror as planes flew into the twin towers of the World Trade Center, my oldest sister, my sister-in-law, and myself were in a waiting room in Thomas Hospital in South Charleston, WV. My father was having a bronchoscopy, seeing if his lungs were clear enough to have surgery to repair his broken hip. He had climbed out of his hospital bed, the night before, even though he had not walked in six months, to get a glass of water.

He caught us between shifts. I was going home, my oldest sister, Geraldine, was coming on. My neice, Cheryl was going to stay with him that night, so I would be able to get some rest. They had put my father on thickened liquids, as he was aspirating (breathing in) his liquids. He wanted plain old water. He was wearing heal protectors, soft coverings for his feet to protect his heels from contact sores. As soon as his foot hit the floor, he slid and fell, breaking his hip in two places. He was in the last room from the nurses station, Room 14. It wasn't until I began working at Thomas myself that I learned that is where they put patients who are not expected to survive. It is a large room, private, and can accomadate many family members. We were used to giving Daddy his baths, and changing his linens, and assisting him with his meals. It had become our second home.

We sat in the waiting room, each in our own thoughts. My brother was at home, waiting for the medical supply people to deliver a hospital bed, because we were determined to bring our father home. He hadn't seen his dog, Jojo, in a month, and the little beagle was beginning to greive. He was lost without his master.

I knew now why my father had been having such horrible headaches. When I had told his doctor, he had just given him more darvacet. The headaches had not improved. Then my father could not keep anything down. When he fell, they did a full body cat scan, and found the large tumor sitting on his brain. At 91, the oncologist said there was no way he would treat him. In his condition, at his age, he would not survive the first treatment. So, we would at least bring our father home, so he could die in his own house, surrounded by the things he treasured.

We watched the TV in the waiting room, seeing the images of planes crashing into the World Trade Center, and we couldn't absorb it. It was not as real to us as the old man who had guided our lives for so long. Finally, the procedure was over. I was berating myself for not doing what my gut had been telling me to do since Daddy had come to the hospital. Just whisper in his ear, "Daddy, you can go home right now. You don't have to stay here. What will happen will happen at home." He would have understood. But I was afraid. Afraid of not being up to the task. Afraid of not being strong enough to deal with watching him die. For this, I can never forgive myself, no matter what anyone says.

He had already began telling me of people who came to visit him, his brother's and sister's long dead. "I swear, Debbi, they were just as real as you are now, but they're dead. But Garnett was here. Last night, they were all here." Were they there? I like to believe they were, come to welcome their brother home.

Daddy was moved back to his room, and I left to go to a doctor's appointment. I was going home, and would come back to the hospital that evening. The night before my father had been praying to die, the pain was so bad. I stroked his hair, and he said, "Debbi, that ain't doing a damn bit of good" so I stopped. Those were to be his last words to me. About 3:00 that afternoon, my brother and neice came out, and told me that he had just died. No matter how old, no matter how much you expect it to happen, death is always a shock. Always, your first thought is one of disbelief. "But, he's coming home." They took me to the hospital, not trusting me to drive myself.

When I walked in the room, he was left as he had died, meaning no one from the medical staff had changed his gown, washed the body, or positioned the body. His eyes were open, his head turned to one side, all of the medical equipment had been removed, and he was white as stone. I felt rage, and guilt, and such a horrible sense of loss. A great, great man had died that day, yet people outside his room laughed and worked and went about their lives as if the world had not changed. I kissed his forehead and cried. I would not cry for the many others who were lost that day for sometime. My tears this day were for my father.

Jojo lived for another month. His master didn't come home this time. He had no reason left to live. He crawled under my father's bed and wouldn't come out. For months afterward, I would hear my father walk through the house at night, and Jojo's claws clicking on the lineolium as he walked with him, but I was not afraid. He was my father. How could I fear the man who gave me life?

Its a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood....

Things here are getting hairier and hairier all the time. No, we have not been infested with werewolves. I wish we had. Then it would just be a full moon sort of problem. No, these beasts are out all the time. I like to call them neighbors. Sometimes, they actually act like neighbors.


The latest catastrophe started over fishing poles. Which were borrowed from M to be used by J and my son to go fishing off the pier. They have been catching eels, which, were quite the favored dish of King Henry VIII, but, as he doesn't live here, and no one else likes them, they get tossed back into the water. Anyhoo, the fishing trip over, my son came home, and J went to her home with the demon child. (God, that's so mean. Lord forgive me.) This is the kid who has the box of bones buried in the woods, or at least that's my suspicion. I can't prove it, as I don't have a cadaver dog yet, but I've been checking around.


As J is one of those people who feels the need to tell you her woes over and over and over again, and is constantly in need of assistance, we have all chipped in. And, to give her credit, she has been helping us in return. Or we thought. Today, M sent her son down to J's house to get the fishing poles back so she could take her two sons fishing. J said, "Fuck that! She's not getting them back." Evidently she has decided to hold them hostage in lieu of payment for some such shit*. M is an assertive individual. The poles were hers, were given to J in good faith that they would be returned in good condition, and not held hostage. She promptly trotted down to J's house to give her "what for" and a fairly large piece of her mind. Alas, she was not granted admission, whereupon, she called the LAW.

My son, who had just woken up, said, "What? I've got to get away from here." So, I dropped him off at a friends house. He and J had been keeping company, one might say, off and on for a few months now. I have referred to her affectionately at times as the Butt girl. How he has avoided being put in the demon child's box of bones, I have yet to figure out!

The LAW informed J that, no, you cannot hold fishing poles hostage. Subsequently, they were returned to M. We were informed that we were no longer welcome to put nary a toe on J's property as a result of the morning's events. We were not unduly disturbed by this, as we all live in fear of the demon child anyway.



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I will be moving again, within the next month or two. I have sold my humble abode, and have secured my next home of residence, not too far from where I live now. It is not as roomy as where I live now, but I believe it will suffice for a while.


While I had opted for Mexico, with a trunk load of toilet paper, my son and friends have dissuaded me from that "stoopid idea, got to be the craziest one yet..!" It's just that through my reading I have learned that toilet paper is deemed to be a hot commodity in Mexico.

Why Mexico? Why not?

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While driving my neighbor M to work the other morning, for some absurd reason, I decided to use her car instead of mine. Purely selfish reasoning on my part, actually. We'll use her gas! I also forgot my purse. M had lost her license due to a traffic violation, so, I thought, hell, why not help her out. God knows there have been times when I have needed a friend. I dropped her off, and making my way home in her pale blue 1987 Thunderbird that pulls to the right when you hit the brake, who happened to pass me with the most amazing smile on his face? Why it was a young state trooper.

I thought, WTF? Why is he looking at me? Which is when I noticed the inspection sticker, which said 07 05. Not being a mathematician, I was still able to conclude that it had expired, and then I thought, "Oh shit!" Looking for a road, a lane, somewhere I could possible turn in and hide, I glanced in my rear view mirror, and the little trooper was right there, right behind me, twirly blue lights and all. I pulled to the side of the road. Its a country road, but a shortcut for those working in Newport News and Hampton. He had me pull up in someones lane, and came up to the window and asked for the usual, my "license and registration."


I explained that it wasn't my car. I was driving my friend to work. Seat belt? Well, it doesn't have one on this side, see? Up there by my shoulder? There isn't anything there. No, I don't have my license with me. I left it at home. In my purse. My social security number? Oh, yes, its, 000-00-0004. The inspection sticker? (Now, don't say this if you ever in this situation.) Well, yes, I've been telling her she needs to get it inspected......I just don't understand why she hasn't. I guess with work, and her kids, and trying to make ends meet, and all, she works so hard, you know...(I thought I was being smart.)

"Could you please get out of the car ma'am. Yes, just sit in my vehicle for a minute, while I write out these citations." Oh, look, there's a seat belt thing down there, by the door. I didn't know that was there. It does have a seat belt on this side. Wonder why I never noticed it?"Yes ma'am, you could have used that one." I didn't know it was there! "Ma'am, I'm going to have to have this car towed. Towed? You're going to tow the car? Is there someone you can call to pick you up?" My son? My son. Look, this isn't my car... "Yes, ma'am, but you told me you were aware of the expired sticker, and there was a seat belt that you could use in the car. You pointed it out to me...."

When did state troopers start looking like Opie Taylor, and shrink to 5'6"? When did they start letting 15 year old kids become state troopers? Turns out this is the very same trooper who gave M her citation that caused her to lose her driving privileges. He even asked me about her. What happened to the 6'3" state troopers who were blessed with common sense and at least somewhere in their thirties? The ones you would never even consider popping in the nose and locking in their own trunk?

No offense Opie.

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*my words

David's weekend question

authorblog

David's weekend assignment, should we choose to accept it, is a puzzler for me.

Hollywood's knocking on your door, to offer you top billing in
a studio blockbuster, alongside any movie star of your choice. Whom do
you choose?

The first thing I would have to get over is the fact that Hollywood was knocking on my door? "Say what? Who are you really? Are you from Rent-to-Own? I paid that bill last month. Yeah, right, and I'm the freaking Easter Bunny...you wanna see my little fluffy tail?" It would take a great deal of convincing for me to believe it wasn't a practical joke, as I know some jokesters with a wicked sense of humor.

Then I would have to explain to them numerous times that the only acting experience I had was in high school productions, where I usually had the female lead, ta-da!, but that was a couple years back. And, no, my director wasn't William Shakespeare. I knew of him, but never met the guy. We traveled in different circles you might say.

So, after I have accepted the fact that Hollywood wants moi, I get to choose a leading man. Who do I want to work with. I'm not looking at hot bodies here. Well, not to work with so much, but, yeah, I probably am looking.

Once actor who I have long admired, and I know this will come as a shock to so many of you, would have to be Vincent D'onfrio. From Full Metal Jacket, Feeling Minnesota, and The Breakup, he is an actor that uses every tool at his disposal to become the character he portrays. When I started watching Law and Order CI, I just feel in love with Dectective Goren and his profiling approach to each investigation. He created a character of substance, but also with an edge of mystery.

But, my ultimate choice would be to work with the witty, wonderful, keenly observant Christopher Guest. From This is Spinal Tap, which I have watched probabaly 50 times, to Waiting for Guffman, Dog Show, A Mighty Wind, and last years For Your Consideration, his most popular work is based on the mockumentary. The star of Rob Reiner's This is Spinal Tap, playing Nigel Tufnel, with Micheal McKean, and Harry Shearer, is as funny today as when it was released in 1984. Co-writing the screenplay with Reiner, McKean, and Shearer, he eventually released his own productions.

I feel he would be a challenge to work with, and while the finished product may look like fun and games, I believe it is probably much harder and much more involved than that. I would most likely be in awe.

*Gloom, despair, and agony, on me
Deep dark depression, excessive misery,
If it weren't for bad luck,
I'd have no luck at all,
Gloom despair, and agony, on me....

I got one of those forwards today that if you don't send it to 20 people, you'll have bad luck forever. I hate those bad luck forwards. Being a hillbilly by nature, I am highly superstitious. Don't walk under ladders, worry a little when black cats cross the road in front of me, and God help me if I get a chain letter. Broken mirrors, don't ask. Super glue helps, but its kinda like cheating. Red sky at night, sailors delight...red sky at morn, sailors take warning. And as one thought leads to another I got to thinking about being a kid, which is how I learned to be superstitious,I guess.



Of course growing up in the hills, chasing butterflies, barefoot and fancy free, checking the outhouse for an occasional spider, we didn't see many sailors. We saw lots of hobo's, but no sailors.

We set traps for hobo's. We were going to catch us one, and keep him. For what reason, I fail to remember. Maybe to have as a prisoner. We would have kept him in the basement with the canned goods, and the potatoes, and whatever else lived down there. Most likely we would have given him blankets and such to keep warm, and RC cola's to drink, when we found where my mother hid them. Just like the cookies. She always hid the cookies.

That was ok. We ate sugar sandwiches instead. What, you've never eaten a sugar sandwich? Then you've probably never drank unsweetened kool-aide. It most definitely is an acquired taste. One I didn't have much luck with. I'm sure we would have made many sugar sandwiches for the hobo, as well as bologna sandwiches when we had it.

We usually hung around down by the creek, near the railroad crossing, figuring the hobo's would hop off the trains when they slowed down for the crossing there. Why we figured that, I don't know. The trains usually took the crossings going at least 50mph. Whatever hobo we captured after jumping off of that train would have taken at least a year of nursing back to health.

Finally the day came when we saw a man walking down the old dirt road that led to our neck of the woods. He wasn't walking down the railroad, but he had to be a Hobo. He seemed to be holding something in his hands. Hot damn, that must have been his bundle of stuff. He had lost the stick he had it tied to, and had to carry it his hands. We were about to descend the hill to get a better look, when my mother ushered us all in the house. She had that look on her face that was reserved for "Git in the house, there is a mad dog outside!" We never saw one of those either, but we lived in dire fear of them.

My mom grabbed up the phone, and told whoever was on it at the time, (we had a party line and I used to listen endlessly to my neighbors talking), to get off the line, she had to call the law. There was no police back then. There was the LAW.

If someone shot your dog, you would get the law after them. Of course she had to tell them why. "There is a man walking down the street exposing himself. He must be a pree-vert looking for children."

At this time, I was all of five, but I knew a pree-vert was not a good person. I couldn't understand the part about exposing himself. I looked to my sister, who promptly ran to the window overlooking the road, and said, "I don't see anybody...maybe we can see his dick.." I, again, was lost, because I was not familiar with this term either. I figured it was not a good word though. It wasn't used around the house that often. Never by my mother.

When she got off the telephone, she came to us, my sister, me, our neighbor Iry, and said, "You all stay in the house. The law is coming out to get that pree-vert. He's walking up and down the road down there showing his privates." Now, that I knew. The part of his body he wasn't supposed to let anyone see. Why in the blue blazes would a man walk down a hot dusty road with his private parts hanging out? It made no sense to me whatsoever. But I did as I was told. We all stayed glued to the window, except my mom, who had to call everyone and his ugly brother and tell them about the pree-vert. Sure enough the man walked back up the road, but his back was to us.

Shit, I'll never know what it looks like now, I thought to myself. The mysteries of the opposite sex. Of course I didn't think the word sex. That was almost as bad as showing your private parts. It just was not discussed in our house.


We finally saw the law's car come cruising along, and,topping the hill, he pulled up in our driveway, driving his car over the bumps and holes that made up our drive way. Dust was everywhere, but we didn't care. We raced outside to hear what he would say. Of course, I hid slightly behind my older sister, as I was still backward, and didn't want to be noticed.

He said the man was gone. My mother was relieved, thankful her babies hadn't been kidnapped by the pree-vert. We, of course, we're sorely disappointed. We had begun to think he might have been a better captive than the hobo. We would just have to make him cover his private parts up where we didn't have look at them. But I had wanted a quick peak first, just to satisfy my own curiosity.

We went back outside, but it was time for Iry to go home. Our hobo capturing ventures were on hold for the day. We talked about the pree-vert all evening. My mom stayed on the phone, updating everyone and his ugly brother. When my brother showed up,we told him all about the pree-vert and the law, and much to our dismay he burst out laughing. He said it was probably old Bob Lacy, drunk as a skunk, trying to take a piss. I was shocked, but my sister laughed. But, in a way it made sense to me. Bob had his outhouse on the edge of a cliff, and we were all waiting for that certain scream in the night that signaled when he sat back just a little too far. It didn't paint a pretty picture. Especially since the cliff overlooked the railroad tracks. We figured one night he would be doing his business and the outhouse would fall off the cliff into the path of an oncoming train, and that would be the end of Bob. I know I wouldn't want to go in that outhouse to do anything!

Looking back on it all, two things strike me. Why a child molester would think it would be a sensible game plan to expose himself thinking little children would run to him and say, "Take me, Mr. I want to go!" and, why didn't all the good neighbors just run out and beat the hell out of him? It wasn't like he was somebody's dog. No one would call the law on them for doing a good deed, such as whipping the crap out of a pree-vert.

You know, I think my brother was probably right. It probably was old Bob, drunk on moonshine, looking for a place to relieve himself. Now him we could a caught with no problems whatsoever. We never did catch a hobo, or really ever see one, but we were always on the lookout, and checked for tracks and such, and we never caught a pree-vert either. I dare say my mother would have had a heart attack if we had.

*From a skit from the TV series HEE HAW

What Blogging Means to Me

Ramblings of a moose has tagged me to complete a questionnaire entitled (what else?) What blogging means to me. So, without further ado, I shall begin. I don't know if I'm supposed to include a picture, but there's one on the side bar, and that will have to do. I am usually the picture taker, and not the subject.

Q1. Are you happy/ satisfied with your blog, with its content and look?

Yes, I am pretty well satisfied with the content and look of my blog. If I were not, you wouldn't see it. That's not to say that it couldn't be improved. I could probably take any post and rewrite it, and, say, there, that's better, but that smacks of nit-picking, a trait in myself I continually beat down with a bag of hammers.


Q2: Does your family know about your blog?

I have informed my family over and over and over about my blog. As of this date, those members who still speak to me have not read it to my knowledge. I made my son read a couple of posts, it took a lot of duck tape, but he read it. "That was all right mama."


Travis used to read it, and left me a comment that I treasure to this day. This was on a "journal" I had on aol. But, on to the next question.

Q3. Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog or you just consider it as a private thing?

Embarrassed? Me? I try my best to work into every conversation. That can be difficult. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about your great Aunt Mary's heart attack....perhaps I'll write about it in my blog..oh, yes, I have a blog, had one for some time now...would you like to read it sometime?...Here's the URL...no, not Earl, URL...oh, you don't have a computer...they have them at the library....wait, wait! I'll come with you! I can show you where the library is...!!"
Q4. Did blogs cause positive changes in your thoughts?

There are not enough words to describe the positive changes this blog has made for me. When I lost Travis, where there was three, there was now two. EJ was there for me, but some things I could not burden him with. Sometimes I had to listen, and be strong, while I watched my oldest son fall apart from guilt and remorse and if only's. I would talk to my oldest sister late at night, and then she was taken away. I found myself turning more and more to this blog. A place to write my thoughts, feelings, memories, a place to try to reconnect with something I used to call life. I am still reconnecting. But, for me, this blog has taken me out of my grief, and anger, and has been more therapeutic than any grief counselor in the world. The comments that have been left, all have touched me, some more than others. And for those who have journeyed with me, I treasure and so value your company.

Q5. Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or you love to go and discover more by yourself?

I have regular blogs that I read everyday, or as often as I can. And, I have discovered a few that I found amazingly clever, some just plain odd, and a few that you wonder if thy are actually being written by a serial killer. What I have ultimately learned from my blog browsing is that there are a lot of wonderful writers out there.



Q6. What does visitors counter mean to you? Do you care about putting it in your blog?

I got a little visitor hickey-doo thingy to put on my blog when I was thinking about trying to earn money with ads and such. I got it to see if I was getting enough traffic to even bother. And then I forgot it was there. It really doesn't mean too much, as I would write here probably if no one read it. I just feel the need to write. I like to write. Whether it makes sense or not, I need to put thoughts down where I can see them. Always have. I have two blogs that are private. They don't get any hits at all!


Q7. Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?

Of course. Just as when you read a novel, you picture the characters in the novel. If there is no picture of blogger, I conjure one up in my mind. I can think of only one time where the blogger resembled the Frankenstein monster, in my mind that is, and it wasn't one of the regular


visitors here. It could have been his mother, or maybe he was in drag, I don't know. But I couldn't get that monsterous look out of my mind. Then there are those that just defy description.


Q8. Do you think there is a real benefit for blogging?

Of course there is a 'real benefit' for blogging. That is why so many people blog! Everyone has something to say. And this is a wonderful way for people to give voice to that which stirs their passion.

Q9. Do you think that bloggers’ society is isolated from the real world or interacts with events?


That would depend on the blogger and their passion. Some bloggers are almost one step ahead of world events. You glance through some blogs and see incredible research that has been done, and just using the war in Iraq as an example, so many bloggers interact with the events of this war on a daily basis, it should be required reading for the administration.

Q10. Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it’s a normal thing?


Criticism is how we learn. Unbiased, constructive criticism should be taken as what it is, someone's attempt to help you improve, or to see something in a different light. That is a plus. Hurtful, spiteful, mean, and ugly comments and attacks are a whole different ballgame. I leave them all in my comments. Even the one from the Unibomber.

Q11. Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them?

Do I fear some political blogs? No. Do I avoid them? Yes. Because of my son. Because of my faith. Because I feel the need to defend both, and the writers of some of these blogs and their readers do not want to hear another side to the story. Or so it has been my experience, thus far. Perhaps that is why I try to stay away from the political arena here as well. I guess it's out of respect for my son. Right now his image is being used in a way in which I do not approve. And I am defending him the best way I can. But, at least I don't have to do it here. Not yet, anyway.

Q12. Did you get shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?

Actually, no. If you're going to blog about your interest in young girls, well, someone you don't want to might be reading. If you don't live in the "free world" (where ever that is now), and you attack your government, they might take offense. Here's a link, though, that I found...
http://committeetoprotectbloggers.org/

Q13. Did you think about what will happen to your blog after you die?

I dare say there will be no more new posts. And if there are, hot damn, call the National Enquirer, cause there's money to be made!! It will bring a whole new meaning to the term Ghost Writer.

Q14. What do you like to hear? What’s the song you might like to put a link to, in your blog?

Title :Garth Brooks - The River

This is lyrics from www.lyrics007.com
You know a dream is like a river

Ever changin' as it flows

And a dreamer's just a vessel

That must follow where it goes

Trying to learn from what's behind you

And never knowing what's in store

Makes each day a constant battle

Just to stay between the shores

And I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Like a bird upon the wind

These waters are my sky

I'll never reach my destination

If I never try

So I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Too many times we stand aside

And let the waters slip away

'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow

It has now become today

So don't you sit upon the shoreline

And say you're satisfied

Choose to chance the rapids

And dare to dance that tide

And I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Like a bird upon the wind

These waters are my sky

I'll never reach my destination

If I never try

So I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

There's bound to be rough waters

And I know I'll take some falls

With the good Lord as my captain

I can make it through them all

And I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Like a bird upon the wind

These waters are my sky

I'll never reach my destination

If I never try

So I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Lord, I will sail my vessel

'Til the river runs dry

Yea

Now, I must tag a few fellow bloggers. I hope they haven't been tagged already.

Queenies Random Ramblings

My Travels, Travails, and Thoughts

Anne of Queen Anne's Revenge

The rules:

1)Name the person, with link, who tagged you. See Above.

2)Complete the questionnaire without changing the questions. Now , whoever I tag has to copy them down as I did. Sorry about that----NOT.

3)Tag other people. That I can do and I hope they will follow through. this tag is a questionnaire to be answered on the topic " What does blogging mean to me?".

authorblog: Weekend Wandering

authorblog: Weekend Wandering

David Mcmahon challenges us from his most excellent blog to answer the question, "What makes us happy?" Seems simple enough, doesn't it?

The first thing and only thing that came to my mind was my oldest son. He has been there for me through some of the toughest times I will ever face. He has shouldered burdens that most men his age don't even consider. But to see him laugh, to know he is content, makes me content as well.

But, I had to wrack my brain for other things that make me happy. The past two years have been spent in shades of gray. It still doesn't seem appropriate to feel happy, truly, about anything, other than my oldest son's well-being. Deep down, however, I know that is not how my lost child would have it be. He lived his life to the fullest, trying his best to make every second a memory. So, I will try to think of some things that I really do enjoy.

I love a brand new mystery novel, especially one from my list of favorite authors, the cover tempting me, tantalizing me, to lose myself in the pages within.

I love my first cup of coffee in the morning, with the forbidden half and half, with two teaspoons of sugar, (yes, I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar, thank you!) and that very first sip, oh, its just glorious.

Sitting on the front porch in the evening with neighbors and friends, talking about nothing, laughing and picking at one another, making total fools of ourselves, just because we can, always leaves me feeling warm inside, a part of something larger and so much more than myself.

Walking down to the pier, and striking up a conversation with a fisherman, just as the sun is setting, watching the ducks swimming peacefully about, wondering what creatures lurk just beneath the water's surface, talking about bait and lures, and fishing lines, takes me into a whole new world. I like it.

Watching my cats do their cat things, and talking to them like they were children, "I told you to stay out of the street, dammit! Get back in the yard, right now!!" Do I really believe they understand me? Sometimes, when they turn there back to me, tail in the air, ears back, blatantly ignoring me, I believe they do.

Little things make me happy. The big things seem never to live up to our expectations. The vacations, the holidays, the evening's out, all seem to fall short somehow. Its those simple everyday things that bring me joy.

Of course, if Vincent D'onofrio showed up one night wearing nothing but a smile, I would be ecstatic, but that would be spontaneous, as I don't see that happening any time soon.

There's other things that make me happy, but always little things. That's what life really is. The little things.

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Now I have a challenge for you. Guess this young lady's age. I bet you don't even come close. She took this picture herself. I see a photographer in the making.

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Owen Wilson Quits Acting to Recover at Hollywood.com

Owen Wilson Quits Acting to Recover at Hollywood.com

I love this guy. Every movie he has made I have watched at least three times. He makes me laugh. He is a wonderful actor, and his timing is perfection. And, he obviously suffers from a deep depression. If he does, indeed, have a drug problem, that is secondary to the depression.

People who have untreated depression will do almost anything to make themselves feel better. And depression leads to suicide. That is how people with depression die. Many people can hide their depression quite well. They put on a happy face for their friends and family, and take it off when they are alone.

I've described my own depression as being in dark place, with no light, and no way out. It isn't a matter of "shaking it off, putting a smile on your face, or think of something else", it is a much deeper agony, that disrupts every aspect of your life. At times it is all you can do to get through the day.

For men, it seems to be an even greater burden to admit to having this disease. Because that is what it is. A disease. And you can take medication for it. Much as you would take medication for diabetes, or heart problems. The medication will correct certain chemical receptors in the brain. I know. It worked for me. It works for me everyday.

The stigma of depression or any mental health issue is still with us. With all of the crap going on today, we still gasp when we learn of someone who succumbs to the pain they feel. This stigma is what prevents so many from seeking help, from going to the family doctor and saying, I feel like I want to die, help me.

Depression is not something new. It just didn't spring up in the 60's or 70's. It's been around forever, usually called melancholia, then later on it fell under the blanket term neurosis. Now, there are a host of terms to describe depression, and a host of medications to help. Yes, they have side-effects, but most are mild, and go away within a few weeks.

I hope Mr. Wilson feels better, and finds a doctor who can help him. His movies, his acting, his existance in this world has given me a great deal of pleasure. And I thank him for that. But, more importantly, I hope he recovers fully. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. I have seen it, and embraced it.

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