Published writer, compulsive reader, Old School Whovian, Match Game enthusiast, NKOTB fan, data hoarder, and - surprisingly, given that list - married with four kids. Welcome to my take on life, fatherhood, entertainment, and whatever strikes my fancy. Enjoy!
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
The Gettysburg Address - November 19th, 1863
150 years ago today Abraham Lincoln journeyed to the Gettysburg battlefield to dedicate its cemetery, and delivered one of the finest - and shortest - speeches in history.
The spirit of his mighty words lives on, as I hope they will forever.
Take a moment to read them again, and offer up a prayer of thanks for all those who gave their lives to save freedom and our Union all those many years ago.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
Monday, November 18, 2013
I've Seen It All
I've seen it all. Hubby rearranged fish tank plants/skull to make pathways wider for our handicapped fish. He loves all creatures, big and small...lol....except mice. - Lisa
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Brrr
It is damn cold in this house. Mayhaps I should turn on the heat, or at least pull that last window air conditioner . . .
Monday, November 11, 2013
My Day
Lousy snow. The first of the season and I'm already wishing it was spring. Anyone who likes this stuff should check themselves in at County.
Anyway, I'm at Marquette School of Dentistry getting LuLu an exam.
Later:
Now shopping at Goodwill
Sunday, November 10, 2013
A (Giant) New Pleco!
A productive day. I waterproofed the back porch - and the handprints of the kids we made in the cement back in '07 - then fixed the latch on the back door. Meanwhile Lisa went grocery shopping and made a great chicken dinner. And to top it off, confident that the Ich was gone, Smiley and I went shopping for a new pleco.
We found one. But instead of the 1" version we had, we went home with a giant 8" beast that looks like an aquatic dinosaur found its way into our tank. Heck I was scared to even hold the bag when we left the store.
The best part is, we paid only $4.99 for him. His spine is permanently bent, and so he's gone unsold and unwanted for weeks. It was his disfigurement that sealed the deal, just as GusGus's glaucoma ridden eye made me snatch him up. Yes, I felt sorry for a pleco :)
But, there was more to the adventure. On the way home Parker and I stopped at a store, and when we came back out I noticed the car was leaking onto the pavement. My first thought the radiator went, but no: the giant pleco bag had broken, flooding the backseat and pouring out the door! We managed to save just enough water to cover the pleco and hightailed it back to the pet store, with Parker holding onto him and talking him through the ordeal.
We made it, and this time when we left the bag was securely sealed in a box for transport!
Saturday, November 9, 2013
A great day
A good day overall, and a happy opposite to Friday's misery. Dance in the morning, then a nap, followed by Mass (the priest led off the sermon with a discussion about Aaron Rodgers' injury), then dinner with the family and two of Lu's friends. :)
Friday, November 8, 2013
Phone Problems and the Ick
My phone is acting screwy: text one contact, and another contact replies. I'm sure it's a fluke that can be fixed if I remove the battery, but as a testament to my laziness I'm not about to trouble myself with removing the case just yet. IOW don't count on a text conversation this evening.
Meanwhile, the outbreak of Ick seems to have been arrested in our aquarium, in no small part to my Awesomeness, even in the realm of fish doctoring. We've lost no one in 3 days, and all appear well except the goldfish, who no longer exhibits signs of the disease but never bounced back properly. If there's no further losses before Sunday, I'll start rebuilding the population.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Changes at Marquette
Today Marquette took a concrete step towards eliminating the part- time evening program ( I'm grandfathered in). So if you're a working adult hoping to get a law degree, you have only a year or so to apply and get in the final class.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
A Ghost Story
It was three in the morning when the ghost returned to visit Steven.
At first, shortly after his family moved into the house, there was only the sound of heavy, careful footsteps in the night. Alarmed, Steven would leave the imagined safety of his bed and venture down the hall, terrified of finding an intruder. But it was always the same; the kids fast asleep and unaware, the doors bolted, the windows locked.
In the morning he and his wife found it amusing, a curiosity to liven up the anecdotes they told about their new home. Neither, of course, believed in ghosts.
That was how it started.
What followed was a lull, two weeks of undisturbed and blissful sleep. And then, an escalation: the footsteps again, this time breaching Steven's room and stopping just beside his bed. After that the mornings brought no peace. The restless nights made tempers flare, and he grew angry each time his wife dismissed his claims, blaming it all on the shifting frame of a century old house.
Steven, for his part, was no longer sure what he believed.
Soon his wife let the news 'slip' to his mother. "I don't understand why you would worry," his Mom said, over his protest that the whole thing was blown out of proportion. "Our family has owned that house since it was built. The only people to pass away there are your great-grandparents, and even if they could come back, you know they would never harm you."
They were words meant to comfort, but did the opposite. He felt no kinship with a couple dead and gone twenty years before his birth. Nor could he fathom caring about his own descendants, at least those he wouldn't live to see. If there were angry spirits in the house, why would they be obliged to tolerate him? For the sake of a relationship four generations removed?
That was the night the figure appeared. There were footsteps of course, loud enough to wake him but no one else (although, to be fair, he never really slept well at night anymore, surviving on catnaps scattered throughout the day). They came forward slowly but confidently, as if the spirit no longer cared to mask its presence, and again, they paused by the bed. Ignoring his fear Steven opened his eyes.
Before him stood a shadow, a man-but-not-a-man. While there was no physical form, the shifting darkness that was its whole worked to craft an illusion of strength and bulk. Through the pressing, psychical weight of his fear Steven sensed a strange familiarity in the figure. Remarkably, he found himself begin to get out of bed.
Not yet, a voice said, and he had no doubt it could be heard only in his mind. Not yet.
That was the beginning of the end.
In the weeks to come Steven would spend his nighttime hours awake, fighting off sleep with a ferocity fueled by fear. His work began to suffer; his children, sensing something wrong, grew distant, and his wife, concerned, begged him to see a doctor. When he refused all pleas for help he found himself banished to the living room couch. For Steven it seemed a hidden blessing. The shadow man seemed contained to the upstairs level, and his few nights on the couch gave him his first true rest in months.
On the night of the final visit there was no sound, only an icy shiver that wrenched Steven awake with a stunning abruptness. The figure stood at the head of the couch, leaning over and staring - if it had eyes at all - directly into Steven's face.
Now, it said.
The figure began to walk away, heading for the kitchen. Steven's body, his mind, his very soul screamed caution, and he resolved to stay where he lay. It was a surprise to him, then, that he found himself on his feet and following the form. They entered the room together, and in front of his eyes the figure disappeared.
Here again Steven's body reacted against his wishes. His head screamed retreat, and yet he looked frantically for the figure, as if instead of vanishing he'd simply lost sight of him in a crowd. Through the pantry lay the door to the basement stairs, and the sound of the familiar footsteps. He opened the door(retreat!) and began to descend. His eyes had grown accustomed to picking out form and figures in the dark of night, and they came quickly to rest on a figure below.
On his way down his foot stubbed against an item on the stairs, and hearing it begin to fall he instictively reached out. His hand came to rest around a taped handle, and instantly registered it as his son's little league bat.
At the same moment he noticed the cellar door hanging off its hinges, and the glint in the shadow's hand as it rushed up the stairs. Before these thoughts were complete the intruder slammed into Steven, slashing at him in a frenzy. The first blow struck harmlessly against the bat.
A second later the man was on him again, grabbing the bat and tossing it aside before raising the knife for a final blow. Steven's eyes went from the knife, to the eyes of his assailant - and then to the familiar figure emerging from the dark.
Pitch dark arms ignored the blade and encircled the intruder's neck from behind, leveraging him up and off of Steven. It was then, only for a moment, that he saw the face of his visitor. There was no face as we know it, simply the impression of one, but in its imagined features was not one face but many; his great-grandfather and his father before him, his sons and his future grandchildren.
Even in the surreal chaos of that moment he knew in the end the fight would be his own. The intruder continued to struggle and the shadow grew paler, and in the dark Steven's hands found the bat once again.
Now, the shadow said, and Steven knocked the intruder to the ground.
He would see the shadow only once more in his lifetime. Years later, he and his wife would babysit their firstborn grandchild. In the middle of the night Steven stirred and wandered into the baby's room, and sat in the rocker alongside the crib. From the corner of the eye he noticed a shadow distinct from the darkness, but did not turn to meet it.
Together, they were content to stare into the face of the future.
- Me, 2009
At first, shortly after his family moved into the house, there was only the sound of heavy, careful footsteps in the night. Alarmed, Steven would leave the imagined safety of his bed and venture down the hall, terrified of finding an intruder. But it was always the same; the kids fast asleep and unaware, the doors bolted, the windows locked.
In the morning he and his wife found it amusing, a curiosity to liven up the anecdotes they told about their new home. Neither, of course, believed in ghosts.
That was how it started.
What followed was a lull, two weeks of undisturbed and blissful sleep. And then, an escalation: the footsteps again, this time breaching Steven's room and stopping just beside his bed. After that the mornings brought no peace. The restless nights made tempers flare, and he grew angry each time his wife dismissed his claims, blaming it all on the shifting frame of a century old house.
Steven, for his part, was no longer sure what he believed.
Soon his wife let the news 'slip' to his mother. "I don't understand why you would worry," his Mom said, over his protest that the whole thing was blown out of proportion. "Our family has owned that house since it was built. The only people to pass away there are your great-grandparents, and even if they could come back, you know they would never harm you."
They were words meant to comfort, but did the opposite. He felt no kinship with a couple dead and gone twenty years before his birth. Nor could he fathom caring about his own descendants, at least those he wouldn't live to see. If there were angry spirits in the house, why would they be obliged to tolerate him? For the sake of a relationship four generations removed?
That was the night the figure appeared. There were footsteps of course, loud enough to wake him but no one else (although, to be fair, he never really slept well at night anymore, surviving on catnaps scattered throughout the day). They came forward slowly but confidently, as if the spirit no longer cared to mask its presence, and again, they paused by the bed. Ignoring his fear Steven opened his eyes.
Before him stood a shadow, a man-but-not-a-man. While there was no physical form, the shifting darkness that was its whole worked to craft an illusion of strength and bulk. Through the pressing, psychical weight of his fear Steven sensed a strange familiarity in the figure. Remarkably, he found himself begin to get out of bed.
Not yet, a voice said, and he had no doubt it could be heard only in his mind. Not yet.
That was the beginning of the end.
In the weeks to come Steven would spend his nighttime hours awake, fighting off sleep with a ferocity fueled by fear. His work began to suffer; his children, sensing something wrong, grew distant, and his wife, concerned, begged him to see a doctor. When he refused all pleas for help he found himself banished to the living room couch. For Steven it seemed a hidden blessing. The shadow man seemed contained to the upstairs level, and his few nights on the couch gave him his first true rest in months.
On the night of the final visit there was no sound, only an icy shiver that wrenched Steven awake with a stunning abruptness. The figure stood at the head of the couch, leaning over and staring - if it had eyes at all - directly into Steven's face.
Now, it said.
The figure began to walk away, heading for the kitchen. Steven's body, his mind, his very soul screamed caution, and he resolved to stay where he lay. It was a surprise to him, then, that he found himself on his feet and following the form. They entered the room together, and in front of his eyes the figure disappeared.
Here again Steven's body reacted against his wishes. His head screamed retreat, and yet he looked frantically for the figure, as if instead of vanishing he'd simply lost sight of him in a crowd. Through the pantry lay the door to the basement stairs, and the sound of the familiar footsteps. He opened the door(retreat!) and began to descend. His eyes had grown accustomed to picking out form and figures in the dark of night, and they came quickly to rest on a figure below.
On his way down his foot stubbed against an item on the stairs, and hearing it begin to fall he instictively reached out. His hand came to rest around a taped handle, and instantly registered it as his son's little league bat.
At the same moment he noticed the cellar door hanging off its hinges, and the glint in the shadow's hand as it rushed up the stairs. Before these thoughts were complete the intruder slammed into Steven, slashing at him in a frenzy. The first blow struck harmlessly against the bat.
A second later the man was on him again, grabbing the bat and tossing it aside before raising the knife for a final blow. Steven's eyes went from the knife, to the eyes of his assailant - and then to the familiar figure emerging from the dark.
Pitch dark arms ignored the blade and encircled the intruder's neck from behind, leveraging him up and off of Steven. It was then, only for a moment, that he saw the face of his visitor. There was no face as we know it, simply the impression of one, but in its imagined features was not one face but many; his great-grandfather and his father before him, his sons and his future grandchildren.
Even in the surreal chaos of that moment he knew in the end the fight would be his own. The intruder continued to struggle and the shadow grew paler, and in the dark Steven's hands found the bat once again.
Now, the shadow said, and Steven knocked the intruder to the ground.
He would see the shadow only once more in his lifetime. Years later, he and his wife would babysit their firstborn grandchild. In the middle of the night Steven stirred and wandered into the baby's room, and sat in the rocker alongside the crib. From the corner of the eye he noticed a shadow distinct from the darkness, but did not turn to meet it.
Together, they were content to stare into the face of the future.
- Me, 2009
Monday, October 28, 2013
Fish Armageddon!
A tragedy here today: one of the two feeder goldfish that have survived year after year was violently attacked by a rogue Molly overnight. A side fin was ripped clean off and there's a gash along its side. I removed the Molly, and tempering my anger, gave him to Smiley in a bowl of his own.
Meanwhile the goldfish survives, obviously in pain, and much weakened. *fingers crossed* In addition, for three days in a row we've lost fish. A Black Moor died overnight on day 1 (but I had seen the ba*tard Molly attacking it the previous evening). A Beta followed on Day 2, and on Day 3 a red tigershark and a small feeder fish died. Grace is begging me to call Dale Czech for help, but I think that's just because she thinks he's cute. It's fish Armageddon around here!
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Thanks Crystal!
Thanks to the Facebook status of Crystal G, WE Energies is sending me 5 free window insulation kits, outlet gaskets, and a nightlight. Thanks Crystal!
"FYI- WE Energies offers FREE weatherization kits to all of it's customers. You get window film and outlet insulators. Call them at 1-(800) 242-9137 to request your kit AND your free cookie book! I just did it We can all afford to save a few bucks."
Sunday, October 20, 2013
An Illogical Rant
I am not exaggerating when I say I am sickened by the current St. Louis/Boston World Series matchup. The only scenario more disgusting would be a Boston-Cubs series. I will not watch so much as an at-bat of this Series, and I maintain some faint hope that a work stoppage will somehow pop up and eliminate this monstrosity from happening at all.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Someone stole my Groceries
Left a bag of groceries behind at the register at Pick N' Save, and of course someone stole it. The store employees were rude as hell about it, who knows why - it's not like I expected them to replace them. Ugh. That's why I get for not shopping at Aldi or Piggly Wiggly this morning. F- Roundy's.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Relaxin'
On the way home from dance a few weeks ago
What my kids look like after a pizza buffet - Lisa
What my kids look like after a pizza buffet - Lisa
Friday, October 11, 2013
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Junie and The Sound of Music
Junie came home from school singing songs from "The Sound of Music", which they'd watched in class today. I'm super happy; I'd been trying to get them to fall in love with it, but good luck getting the kids to watch anything more than 10 years old at home. Now it's all she can talk about :)
Monday, October 7, 2013
Three Thoughts
Ack. FB is rife with goofy political stuff as of late.
a) Whether the Redskins change their name or not is not a political issue, it's a social and economic one - if the public and their $ demands it, it'll happen. Repeat, it is not a partisan issue and I don't blame Obama. Geesh.
b) the gov't 'shutdown' is not the apocalypse, and the people involved are not traitors. Disagreeing on how/if to fund this bloated corpse of a gov't is a legit issue for both sides. Calm down.
c) I think Obama is a barely adequate executive who, to his favor, has continued many of the Bush-era policies and done a world of good re: student lunches. I didn't vote for him, I don't want him, I'll be glad when he's gone - BUT he's the POTUS and he will be for three more years, so I'm not going to waste my breath on pointless attacks or impeachment motions. Save your energy for 2016 when it'll do some good.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Vo Nguyen Giap
Vo Nguyen Giap, the history teacher turned General who helped drive both the French and US out of Vietnam, has died at the age of 102. He fought for the wrong side, but he was an opponent worthy of respect and so RIP sir, RIP.
Another Thumb Update
Around one or two in the morning my damaged thumbnail fell off, which is good, because as of late it had started to smell like rotting zombie flesh, and lets not forget the occasional pus that leaked out at odd times. In the words of my wife, the whole thing is "Soooooooo unsexy." She is wrong of course; there's someone for everyone, and somewhere on Craigslist some nutty chick would pay good money for a swollen, pus-filled zombie thumb. If you know her, shoot me a message; maybe she can help me pay down that van repair.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Grumbles
Lisa, over my objections, vetoed a planned night out of town for our anniversary because it conflicts with Trick or Treat for the kids, and she feels its important we are there for the offspring that day. The weekend before is YaYas bday, so that's out, and the weekend after is just plain lame. It would have been our first night away alone since Job Prior, 5 yrs ago, and I can't say I'm not irked. When these buggers grow up and say we never did anything for them/cared for them/sacrificed for them, I have to remember to bring this up (along with a million different points).
The Van is Back
My van is back. The serpentine belt, tensioner, and something vitally important and impressive (but illegible on the receipt) were replaced. All things being relative, it wasn't that awful in overall price, coming in at just about 2x the cost of LuLu's teeth - and those things were just useless chunks of calcium. All kidding aside, I could use a nice bandage to stop the financial bleeding, but the important thing is we're back on the road and I've helped our moribund economy.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
More Car Repairs
Very bummed. Van went down with what sounded/acted like a broken belt early this afternoon, but upon inspection the belt is intact and all the pulleys are working . . . it's now at the shop and it'll certainly cost me more than I want to spend. Damn. And I just filled up the tank too, which part of me always views as a jinx. D'oh!
More Leaks
More alleged leaks from the supposedly confidential arbitration hearing for Alex Rodriguez. Former union head Marvin Miller was dead on; maintaining any semblance of confidentiality when dealing with the jokers at MLB is wishful thinking. WTH is wrong with the current leadership of the MLBPA??????
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
3-1
It's official, the Sad Sack Slapjacks are now 3-1 in my fantasy league after knocking off the league leader, and by morning I'll know if I share the top of the board.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Our Fishtank!
Our new aquarium (before we added 3 Danio's, a white Molly, a catfish, and a red Beta). Note the nifty skull AND the Gary the Snail (from Spongebob) subtly placed in the left forefront. Thanks Dale!
NY Times Magazine
While I'm thinking of it the best magazine in America is the NY Times Magazine (their Sunday supplement). It features intriguing and well written features, quick but insightful interviews, the "Ethicist" column by Chuck Klosterman, style and food coverage, and more. It also comes with a ~$20/month price tag, since you have to buy a Sunday Times to get it. I get my copies from my father, since I'm too cheap to buy a subscription, but it's well worth waiting a week or two to get my hands on an issue. If you've got the moolah, subscribe.
This product WORKS
For the record: Side Socket - the 'as seen on TV' compact power strip that swivels the cords to the side - works as advertised. VERY satisfied with the product.
Some history on TV
Studying while the Military Channel plays in the background . . . just watched a documentary on the great battle of Cowpens and Tadeusz Kościuszko's role in getting the American army out of harm's way in the aftermath of the victory . . .
My Thoughts - Spoilers
If a TV show has already aired, a sports event has ended, or a movie is more than a year old, then it's not a "SPOILER", it's common knowledge.
Your failure to pay for cable, check your DVR, rent a film, or just get home in time to watch something does not force upon me the necessity to edit the common water cooler conversations of our time.
180 Minutes at the Dentist
Lisa and I spent three hours of our day at the Marquette Dental Emergency Clinic while Lu had two teeth removed, the result of an infection that had spread to her jaw. Olivia's fine and literally dancing around, so please don't mollycoddle her by saying how awful it must have been. You know what was awful? Spending 3 hours of your day off reading six month old issue of Time and then paying for the whole shebang out of pocket. Cry for *me* Argentina, cry for *me*!
Baseball Trivia
A bit of baseball trivia: with the retirement of Darren Oliver today, there is only one player left in MLB whose career started prior to the strike of '94. That player? A-Rod.
Junie Lost a Tooth
Last night Laurenzerz lost her first ever tooth, an event somewhat diminished both by her knowledge that we're the Tooth Fairy and the fact I didn't realize it was her first and so gave it only a brief to-do. We'll make up for that tonight :)
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