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Archive for August, 2008

Is it my imagination, or does it seem that hurricanes this year seem to be favoring the Gulf of Mexico? 

If you’ve been reading this blog long enough, you know that my family makes an annual fall pilgrimage to the beach.  Said beach is in Southern Florida, Gulf side.  So it sort of goes without saying that I am not cool with the latest groove the hurricane season has been wearing into the atmosphere. 

Especially since we have shelled out a large sum of money for non-refundable, non-changeable plane tickets. 

RIght now I am going to just live like there is no such thing as a hurricane but in the back of my mind I am starting the seeds of a full-blown freakout, in the event that our beach vacation and a Gulf-side cataclysm are to exist concurrently.  If this happens there will be much cursing. 

If you know of any medicine man who might be able to change this possibility, please provide his contact information.  I will be more than happy to pay him in chicken bones and polished rocks. 

 

— Mox

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Stop the presses.  I have nothing more to say. 

I used to be able to churn out hundreds, thousands, of words every day. 

Here lately, I’ll get started on something, get about halfway through it and decide, pfft.  I don’t feel like finishing it. 

I am having an epic battle with The Lazy. 

And also a problem with The Boring. 

And possibly a conversation with The Lack of Self Confidence. 

Definitely a stare-down with The Mid-Life Crisis. 

Ack. 

But I’ve made a rule to myself, no cruising other people’s blogs until I post something on my own.  I follow that rule, mostly.  Keeps me from adopting someone else’s voice.  

I think I need a vacation. 

 

— Mox

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On the way to school this morning, the topic turned to politics. 

“Barak Obama?  That’s all they ever talk about on the radio.” 

“Well, he’s one of the people running for President right now.” 

“Shoot.  I wanted that lady to be the first girl President.” 

(I am raising a feminist, apparently.  Good for me.) 

“Mom?  If I got to be President, here’s what I’d make people do:  No smoking.  No litter.  And animal cruelty, if people were cruel to animals they’d have to come to the White House and talk to me about that.  And I would put them in jail.” 

So the kid’s got a domestic policy, at least.  A vote for Spawn is a vote for clean air, clean streets, and happy cats and dogs. 

 

— Mox

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To An Athlete Dying Young   by A. E. Houseman

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

A young man, who was the father of my sister-in-law’s oldest child, decided over the weekend that the world would be a better place without him in it.  Was there a note, yes there was, but there was no way to explain it to his 13-year-old son.  It was a stupid, selfish act, and I am angry. 

That is all. 

 

— Mox

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The wheels on the bus

I think the time is quickly approaching, when I am going to have to bite the bullet and buy another car. 

When I paid off my car a year ago, there was much happy dancing on my part.  I have not been without a car payment since 1991.  But I finally was able to buy a car that I really wanted and really liked, and so I paid it off rather than trade it in.  And I love my little car. 

But I am getting to the point that I’m not saving anything, because what I’m saving in car payments every month instead is adding up to big repair bills every few months.  So I’m not really getting ahead in saving a few months’ worth of payments, since I’m having to turn around and spend that same amount all in one lump sum. 

I did a quick look through the local classifieds and car dealer websites and wow, I may need to buy a horse instead. 

Gah. 

 

— Mox

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And it’s not just me after I get home from the gym. 

In order to go work out today, I had to take an antihistamine, spray my nose with nasal spray, and take a couple of hits off my inhaler.  You know, so I could breathe. 

The combination of high humidity, a change in atmospheric pressure, and ragweed pollen in the air have all conspired to suffocate me.  This time last year (when I was still 39) I didn’t have this much of an issue.  The hell? 

I’ll tell you what stinks.  40 stinks. 

 

 

— Mox

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And as you know, Crazy Cat Lady can (and does) bitch about the things that irritate her.  So here goes. 

I’ve mentioned this before, but it really bothers me so I’m mentioning it again: people who congregate around the entrance to a building for a smoke break.  I do not smoke, and I do not wish to smoke.  Therefore I do not wish to inhale your exhale.  Move along.  Go stand out there in the parking lot, as far away from the building as you can get.  I don’t care if there’s no shade out there.  Go.  Go on. 

In a parking garage it’s worse.  Coming back from lunch today, I scored a good spot on the second floor of our parking garage, and as I was getting out of my car, the smell of cigarette smoke was so powerful it about knocked me down.  Sure enough, right at the door to the elevators stood three youngish men, puffing away.  And I had to walk through their midst to get to the elevators to get to my office.  A person can only hold her breath for so long, folks. 

I mean, how ignorant do you have to be to not realize that standing around an entrance-way with your lit cigarette and making other people walk through your second-hand smoke is rude?  Pretty damned ignorant, I’m guessing, so here I am to tell you:  it is rude. 

I have no patience with rude. 

And before anyone comes at me with the words “smokers rights” you’d better consider the basic rights of your fellow citizens, you know the ones who have the right to ingress and egress without being harassed by your rudeness and cigarette smoke.  Don’t even get me started on those unfortunate souls who can’t handle cigarette smoke because of health issues.  Think about other people.  Get the hell away from the door. 

Yeah, it pisses me off.  Can you tell? 

 

 

— Mox

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