It's All in the Attention to Detail

If you don't already know this already about me, I love BEER. Sure, when I say that you must envision someone who plays quarters and buys suitcases of Busch beer or Old Milwaukee. You may also envision a frat boy who wears a toga and whose favorite saying is "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG! "

So you certainly run the risk of misunderstanding the statement above because afterall it does sound so juvenile.

But, I'm not going to take it back. I do love beer. However, my interest in beer is much like the wine connoisseur's interest in wine. Brewing beer is a science, as well as an art that involves the creative and complex combination of tastes. So, imagine my pure delight with two developments in the last year that has strengthened my love affair with BEER, you hunky tempter!

1. The opening of Total Wine. It's like a candy, toy, and fireworks store all rolled into one - for adults. Aisles and aisles of wine and beer from all over the world carefully and methodically organized and labeled.

2. The passing of a law that now allows higher alcohol beer to be sold in NC. We were relegated to only having 6% alcohol by volume beers available to buy. Fortunately, thanks to the new law we can now enjoy beer that has 7, 8, 9, or even 10% alcohol by volume- if we so choose. The funny thing with this new law was that there were people opposed to it. Imagine that. Critics had visions of college kids and underage drinkers indulging in high alcohol beer and resulting in ugly and tragic consequences. I have to say though, the likelihood of high school and college drinkers buying high alcohol beer is very slim. They're on a budget for one thing-"Quantity over quality" is the motto. And for another, I think most are far too attached to the taste of PBR and Milwaukee's Best that they could never stomach some of the higher alcohol content beers.

So with these developments my weekends have include various samplings of beer from Total Wine. My husband makes a weekly trip and carefully chooses the beer for the weekend. This past weekend was no exception, and so now I will feature the beers that we tried-proving that packaging is very important to beer distribution.

First, we tried Sierra Nevada's Bigfoot Ale, a late winter seasonal beer. It's a barleywine style ale with 9.6% alcohol by volume. I have to admit that I did not care for it as much as other beers I have tried. It was very dry (as I find Sierra Nevada beers to often be-especially the IPA) and very bitter/hoppy. It also had a grapefruity taste which may also have turned me off. But I have to give props to the marketing team that designed the packaging for this beer. It shows exemplary attention to detail. The package is a cartoonish drawing of an old coot looking for Bigfoot in wooded scene. He sees Bigfoot's foot prints in the mud and you can see Bigfoot hiding in the bushes off to the side. The old coot has a dog with him, who is terrified because although the old coot can't see Bigfoot, his donkey with his donkey senses can definitely tell Bigfoot is there in the bushes and the donkey is visibly shaking and petrified with fear. The funny thing is when you open the beer and look at the back of the bottle cap. There is a scene of the old coot, the donkey, and Bigfoot sitting around the campfire drinking Bigfoot beer. See, it's all in the attention to detail.

The other beer we tried this past weekend was Long Leg Ale brewed by Camerons. This brew is 4.8% alcohol by volume and is an English Fuggles Hop Style beer. Overall, a fine beer. A nice full taste with the right combination of malt and hops. Although I wondered what a Fuggle was. No, its not the effeminate men who sing children's songs on the Disney channel-that would be the Wiggles. And no, it's not a person who does not have witchcraft powers in a Harry Potter book-that would be a Muggle. A fuggle is simply a mild, aromatic hop with a slight fruitiness and woody character-according to Alternative Beverage company. Now the packaging for this beer is quite comic too. It includes two surly looking Englishmen on stilts-hence the LONG LEGS.

And finally the third beer sampled is from the Dogfish Head Brewery. I have tried their Indian Brown and Chicory Stout and both are exquisite beers. This time we tried the Raison D'Etre, "a deep mahogany ale brewed with beet sugar, green raisins, and Belgian-style yeast. As complex as a fine, red wine." YUM. I have liked all the beers out this brewery. Although the packaging wasn't as comical as the other two, it was the best of the three.

Well, another weekend is just around the corner. Where there will be more time for more sampling and critique. Of beers and packaging.

Campfire Stories, Evening Sunsets, and Cheesy Sunday Afternoon Movies

This post will involve a campfire, a sunset, and a cheesy movie. What do they have to do with each other? Well, nothing really. They're just occurrences from the weekend that will serve as fodder for this post.

I love to camp. It's a pleasure that I have always known was in my blood, however I didn't get too many chances while growing up. Not that my family wasn't athletic and outdoorsy. We were, to a certain extent. Regardless, we never did do the camping thing. When we travelled it always involved Holiday Inn stays and my siblings and I could not wait to get into the pool. And we would always eat dinner at Sizzler Steakhouse-if we could find one.

Anyway, the only camping I ever took part in as a kid was with Girl Scouts. I know, I know the fact that I was in Girl Scouts sounds like I was a nerd. And maybe, just maybe, you would be right in that assesssment. I'm willing to embrace my Nerdness at this point in my life. In fact I will soone be considered a great big NERD in a few years when my daughter becomes a teenager. Anyway, I got to camp with Girl Scout three times and each experience was different. I camped in a pup tent in a sleeping bag on the ground one time, in a cabin in a sleeping bag on the floor another time, and the third time was in a platform tent with cots-in a sleeping bag too. Which the mention of sleeping bag will make me digress again because I have to tell the story of the sad, ugly sleeping bag...

Growing up, my family wasn't too well off. We weren't poor by any means. We always got what we needed and most of the times we got what we wanted. But there were times that hand-me-downs were necessary in order for my family to economically function. So, that's how I got the dreaded sleeping bag. Of course I wanted my parents to buy me a new one when I had my first camping trip. It would be pink and fluffy and cute. But, that was not going to be. Instead I got a hand-me-down sleeping bag from one of my uncles-who most likely used it for Boy Scouts in the 1960s. It was quite ugly. A dark green color and it had a striped lining that for some reason grossed me out everytime I stuck my feet down there. So I always wore socks-you never know what your feet might touch in the bottom of a hand-me-down sleeping bag. The outer shell of the sleeping bad was cracked from old age, I presume, and the lining was lumpy and not at all thick. I know, now I sound like a snob, and extremely unappreciative. But it wasn't what I wanted and it was embarrassing and I was a kid-that's my best defense. Nonetheless, I was stuck with that ugly sleeping bag for all three camping trips.

Despite the sleeping bag travesty, I continue to love camping. And when I met my husband -whose family were avid campers-it was a match made in heaven. I have a much better sleeping bad now. I could go on and on with camping stories from before, but the point of this post was to discuss weekend events-so I should get back on track.

Well, because we love camping so much, we decided to put a campfire pit in our backyard. We have a one acre mostly wooded lot, but found this little clearing that made a perfect spot for the fire pit. We decided to have a little bonfire on Friday evening-to properly dispose of the Christmas tree and the old logs and trees that had fallen from our property. We had a nice enough time, roasting marshmallows, drinking beer, and telling campfire stories. My daughter-girl after my own heart-loved to hear all my scary stories (especially the Headless Motorcycle man which was an urban legend from my neighborhood).And then I told the UFO stories my Dad used to tell me. The one where he lost all power in the car on the country road and saw unexplained phenomena in the sky. The time he was working on a submarine in San Diego and saw an unidentified blip on the radar screen and when he brought it to his superiors he was told that he saw NOTHING.

Anyway, we were feeling all creepy and spooky when what should appear in the black night sky but a great big white X. It looked almost like spotlights shining a beam of flourescence that crisscrossed to form this illuminated X in the sky. Being of scientific mind, we had to try to explain this occurrence. We are too far out in the country for the lights to have been from some Grand Opening or Carnival or Car Dealership Event which are occassions to employ the use of huge spotlights, so as to attract many people from miles around. The best we could come up with was that they were cloud lines, or possibly exhaust from an overhead airplane that just by coincidence form into an X shape.

Evening sunsets in Red Mountain are spectacular. As the orange orb sets behind the ridgeline the sky turns into a palette of warm colors. Deep purple, hazy red-orange, and pinkish tinges blanket the canvas of the sky. We have a group of hawks that hang around and you can see them soaring in the sky, circling and circling. The pines sway in the breeze. Not too far from our house is some University land that is for public use. Mostly horseback riding, hiking, biking, and hunting are the recreational activities enjoyed while on the land. We decided to take a hike Saturday afternoon to view the sunset from the bank of the Flat River. And while the sites are spectacular, we are a little depressed about the logging that is occurring on the forestland. They have flattened entire patches of forest and have removed many of the tall pines. Not quite sure what's going on with that, but it's a reminder that progress knows no boundaries. It's going to swallow it all up one day. Bittersweet....

And now for Sunday Afternoon Cinema. The one other depressing thing that I must mention is the cessation of college football. I can do alright through January because the NFL cooks up at that point and I have enjoyed many of the January games this year. But with the Superbowl right around the corner signaling the official end of the football season, the weekend before the Superbowl is a perfect time to engage in some TV film watching. This weeks feature was "Just Visiting" a obscure movie that involved knights, time travel, Chrisitina Applegate, horses on subways, Chicago, Tara Reid, and a message of freedom and democracy. Need I say more? I'm still sad, though, that I will have to spend my Saturdays and Sundays quite possibly watching these types of movies.

I could just turn off the TV and watch the sunsets.

But most likely I will find a way to do both. Its a balancing act alright.

Hit the Road Jack-You Can't Go Home Again

I am taking a break from graduate school this semester. Not by choice, really. Basically, I have completed all but 2 courses and then will have to complete a 6 credit thesis and then I will have that durn Master of Science degree. I started this journey in Fall 2003 and have attended pretty much part time, worked full time, and managed to still find time for family and fun. (I'm not looking for any sort of prize for this, I'm just in awe that I've made it this far with all that on my plate. Although I would gladly accept a good ole pat on the back)

Well, I was on track to take my last 2 classes this Spring, but lo and behold, they won't be offered until next fall. So, I have to take an unscheduled break, not to mention it pushes back graduation plans one semester (Summer 2007 Here I Come). I was rather torn about this. Part of me was totally jazzed because I REALLY looked forward to having a break. Another part of me (the sensible and driven side-yeah she exists) didn't want to stop now that I was almost there. But I didn't have much of a choice, so here I am.

Anyway, I decided to try to keep my brain alive and in a studious state by making it a goal to do some pleasure reading during this hiatus. Grad school requires reading a lot of text books and research articles and literature reviews and other not so exciting stuff. So I haven't really had the time to engage in reading of my choosing. Therefore, not only can I catch up on some much needed pleasure reading, but I will also have material for the blog-which may or may not be of excitement to other readers. Heck, it will be exciting for me, nonetheless.

To introduce this month's selection, I will preface it by stating how fabulous I think Jack Kerouac's writing is. Now, I have a feminist friend who abhorred him and accused him of being a male chauvinist. However, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on that one. I tried to find evidence of this accusation, and although he might not have had the most functional relationships with women in his life, he certainly didn't seem to hold contempt for women. In fact after reading Carolyn Cassady's book "Heartbeat" that chronciled her triangular relationship with both her husband, Neal Cassady, and Jack who just so happened to be best buddies I just didn't get that impression about him.

I also have to admit he was one hell of a good looking guy, but my girlie crush is not why I love his writing.

I like Jack for his originality. His attention to the working man. His unpretentiousness. The beauty and honesty with which he expressed some of humanity's deepest emotions- a longing for the past, the search for enlightenment, and a sense of adventurism and curiousity about what was out there beyond the railroad tracks. I have read most of Kerouac's works several times-"On the Road", of course and "Dharma Bums" being the most obvious favorites. I absolutely loved "Big Sur"-so passionate. I also enjoyed reading some of his other known works like "Town and the City", "Dr. Sax", and "Visions of Cody."

My sister gave me for my birthday several years ago a collection of Kerouac's early works which is the subject of this post-FINALLY get to the heart of the matter. It's called "Atop and Underwood-Early Stories and Other Writings." I had it on my bookshelf for these past few years and have now finally picked it up. It's easy to read because it is a collection and doesn't require becoming entrenched in a plot, so you can pick it up and put it down as your schedule allows. I was interested by the title which I first assumed to refer to some natural place. However, Underwood is (was?) actually a typewriter manufacturer. Which got me to thinking about how different the process of writing was during Jack's time. I can just imagine him in his small, dingy apartment type, type, typing away on the keys of his old Underwood typewriter with cigarette in mouth in the wee hours of the morning cranking out the thoughts and stream of consciousness that came to (through) him.

Now, I am old enough to remember typewriters. I took typing in 10th grade which has had lasting benefits-I kid you not. Technology graduated to word processors by the time I got to college, but I still had my trusty Epson typewriter with it's own correction tape. I have one distinct memory of that damn typewriter where I ran out of ribbon and had a big paper due the next day. Here I was at Wal-mart at 6:00 in morning or whatever ungodly hour they opened to buy a new ribbon. I was greeted by a Wal-Mart good morning song where the employees gathered at the front of the store and welcomed early morning customers with a catchy song. Needless to say it most certainly did not brighten my spirits. But, I digress.

I feel very fortunate that the PC is now the method of writing. And I think about how easy it is to delete and backspace and cut and paste and drag. You better believe you couldn't do that with a typewriter. But I wonder if Jack would use a PC instead of a typewriter if he was alive today. His writing was so fresh and quick that I think it might not have been the same had he been able to manipulate his writing. In fact, he probably wouldn't have used a PC in that manner. The true writers I know practice their writing in so many different ways. On scraps of papers, spiral notebooks, journals,cocktail napkins, a web blog. Because a true writer will always be writing in their head. They are astute and when the mood strikes them that just begs a word, a phrase, a sentence, a thought, a story- they can't help but write it down- wherever they can find.

I will end this post with a few snippets from "Atop An Underwood" that I found interesting, insightful, and beautiful:

"I think about the fool and the other fools, and myself a fool. Hurrying away the past of tomorrow, like I had hurried away the past of today, in the past.

Fools, I think. Myself a fool. I must take it slow now and look at the present and say to myself: Look, John, hold the present now because someday it will be very precious. Hug it, hold it
And just yesterday I was sauntering home thinking about the future. The future! What a fool, I, myself,a fool, hurrying."

-from Go Back, 1940.

"[Y]ou realize that a man can take a train and never reach his destination, that a man has no destination at the end of the road, but that he merely has a staring point on the road-which is Home.

...I hope little madman, tht you realize that the destination is really not a tape at the end of a straight-away racing course, but that it is a tape on an oval that you must break over and over again as you race madly around. And whether you give up the race after circumventing the swarming oval once, or whether you continue through the marathon alleys lof life-whichever you do, little madman, you shall always return to the place where the road begins."

-from Where the Road Begins

"Young Fellow(YF): That's why I'm not worried about world affairs. That's why I am worried about the world. But I'm not the first one. As long as we have forests and rivers and grass and cigars and human beings like you and the fellows, it's okay. There's no harm done. World affairs go on an on and solve themselves and then un-solve themselves; but he world itself, she's something to worry about. She's the only thing that we men have. And we can't have her if we don't take the time off once in a while to puff on a stogie, let's say, right in a spot like this. "

-from There's Something About a Cigar, 1941 (a play)

"Give them the money, and they hand you the stuff. Take it, criticize it, taste it, and above all, get your fill of it. You can't be an artist unless you're a member of humanity. Hermits make awful poets, I think. You can't ruminate peacefully by a little stream in the woods unless you've just been liberated from the turmoil of civilization. Peace is a relative thing. And it always turns out to be short-lived."

....How wise that rock looks. Never says a word, can't be wrong. It has something that I haven't got; and I have something it lacks. Who is the luckiest? The granite is forever truthful-it is in its nature. I cannot be forever truthful. Yet, on the other hand, the granite is part of this vast scene here on the shores of the Hudson; I, my fine young masters, am not only part of the scene, but am Master of the scene. I see it, smell it, feel it, and own it. The granite does none of those things. It merely is part of the scene. It is not conscious of the scene. I am. I may not be forever truthful, but I have a chance to try. The granite will never have a chance to own this scene."

-from "God"

"...Time, damned and cursed Time must persist, and does. New Time advances, destroying old Time. Time advances in its maddening amble, unstopping. All things persist and will not delay for one meagre second. Why? Why? Why?"

-from Farewell Song, Sweet from my Trees


"Remember above all things, Kid, that to write is not difficult, not painful, that it comes out of you with ease, that you can whip up a little tale in no time, that when you are sincere about it, that when you want to impress a truth, it is not difficult, not painful, but easy, graceful, full of smooth power, as if you were a writing machine with a a store of literature that is boundless, enormous, endless, and rich."
-from "Credo"

You're a Lawbreaker, Privacy Taker, Don't You Mess Around With Me

I usually refrain from political related posts in my little ole blog. Why? Not really sure. I am a fairly political minded person. I am well aware of current affairs, I vote, I advocate, and I show interest in the political issues that I value. Because there are plenty of blogs that deal solely with political issues and since my blog is one of a personal nature, maybe that's why I have steered clear. Nonetheless, I am going to go out on a limb and make a political post (sort of)......

I'm sure (at least I hope) most people have strong opinions about the government spying program (AKA the Terrorist Surveillance Program-which goes to show you, you can spin almost anything-like when Lisa Simpson is US president and calls for a "temporary refund adjustment" which is really just a TAX HIKE). Anyway for those of you who live under a rock and for the writer in me that must provide the background information, this program is the one that allows the government to wiretap and invade personal privacy under the suspicion of terrorist activities without probable cause and without obtaining a warrant. Some are arguing it's UNCONSTITUTIONAL, others are arguing it's ILLEGAL, and then they're are others that are saying it's necessary to protect ourselves against terrorists.

I'm clearly against this practice. And I'm not going to go into great detail about why, other than once you take away one civil liberty, it will inevitably lead to another and another. I think it could be considered -to borrow a phrase-a DOMINO theory in that sense. I just think we need to be finding a way to protect our civil liberties AND protect us against terrorists. I think it's possible to do both in a legal and constitutional manner, at least it's worth a try. But this administration's reckless abandon has shown time and time again that they're not interested in bridging relations and collaboratively solving problems. Instead, they're much like the bully in the schoolyard who calls the shots and believe me it really is for your own good. You need protection after all from all the other bullies who want to steal your lunch money and beat you up.

Anyway, what I am going to post is one of our commander in chief's prickly responses to the criticism of this program while speaking at Kansas State University.

He says (not the actual quote-but this is the jist):

"It's not illegal. (PAUSE) Anyway, if I was breaking the law do you think I would tell Congress about it?"

And then he gets that sly smile on his face, all hunched over and looking squirrely and then he chuckles- almost like Beavis and Butthead.

Great argument! That instills such faith and confidence in your leadership ability and judgement. It never ceases to amaze me that this is actually the leader of the our country-the person who represents MY country-saying stupid stuff that is illogical and combative in a poor attempt to defend himself.

So the next time I decide to engage in illegal activity, I will remember this. It is not considered "breaking the law", as long as I inform my local law enforcement agency of my intentions.

Oh wait, this would be only if the illegal activity is designed to rid the world of all the "terrists"

Pet Adoption Stories, Little White Lies, and Stand in Daughters

The voice mail message immediately piqued my interest:

"Hey, this is El. Just calling to see how you were doing. I have a very funny story to tell you. I also may have to borrow you daughter, which is actually related to this funny story. So call me when you get a chance."

If you want someone to call you back immediately, then I suggest using this type of message-leaving tactic. First, I have the promise of a funny story. Second, I just have to know why you need to "borrow" my daughter and how it all relates to the aforementioned funny story.

So I call El back and she proceeds to set the stage for this funny story.

Evidently, El and her family are ready to adopt a cat. El has had cats before and let it be known that I have absolutely no doubts in her cat caretaking abilities. They hadn't been able to have cats, since their crazy & elderly cat lady neighbor owned a whole bunch of feral cats that kept reproducing. Yeah, cat ladies do exist, they are not just a stereotype. Being responsible and humane people, El and her husband just didn't want to subject their prospective cat with the possibility of cavorting with the feral cat neighbors. Sadly, the elderly cat lady neighbor passed away a couple of months and her feral cats were cleared out. So, it was now the purrfect time for El and her family to adopt their very own cat.

El has already visited the Animal Protection Society (APS), the county agency that is responsible for pet adoptions for stray and unclaimed animals, once before. And the APS being the cautious and responsible agency that it is does not adopt animals without proper screening. The screening process involves a series of questions that interested pet adopters must answer. Evidently, there are "right" answers and "wrong" answers. If you answer incorrectly you are sent away with no pet, and no parting gifts either for that matter. El learned from her last attempt to adopt a cat, that the APS does not adopt cats to families with children under the age of 5. El has a little boy who just turned 5 and a daughter who is 2 1/2. You see the dilemma, don't you?

Anyway, you know the old addage that one lie leads to another? Well, the rest of the story will demonstrate how one lie will inevitably snowball into another, and so on and so forth, until you're left with one doozy of a lie.

So El, thinking that she is going to beat the APS at their own game, decides to tell a little white lie on her application. Afterall, are they really going to verify the information provided to be accurate and true? Anyways, she finds the most perfect cat. She loves this cat and she wants this cat. The cat loves her and she spends about 20 minutes bonding with this, the most perfect cat. So, what else is a person supposed to do? Sure, she could do the honest thing and flunk the screening- again. Or, there may be other alternatives. El, against her better judgement, mind you, decides she will fib-just a little-by providing on the application a phony age for her daughter. She puts down that her son is 5 (the truth) and stretches the truth (just a bit) by indicating that her daughter is 7.

So, El is thinking all is well and good. Maybe she's feeling a little guilty, but hey, she just wants to give this cat a good home. She pays the $50 deposit and the cat is set aside for her family. She should pass the screening with flying colors and be allowed to take the cat to her loving home. But, wait, no, there's more to this screening process.

The APS has to actually meet the kids before the adoption can take place! Have you ever heard such a thing? Foster parents of real live kids go through less of a screening. (Well, hopefully not but you get the point) So, now El is panicking. How is she going to produce a 7 year old daughter to the APS, so she can just take the poor cat to a good home?

She then proceeds to tell the APS worker that the daughter is actually her husband's daughter and lives elsewhere. More lies. They ask her if she ever visits. And El tells them- yes, she does, but she just came for Christmas so it was doubtful that she would be visiting soon. Even more lies. You see how one lie leads to another, huh? Well, the APS worker has to clear this with her supervisor before they will release the cat to her because they really are supposed to meet the kids. I guess to ensure that the kid won't set the cat on fire or something, or to verify that you haven't just told a bold faced lie. Because what kind of pet owner would you be if you're willing to defraud the APS? Actually, it might have been better to just lie that she didn't even have kids. Would they follow up with a home visit? This did occur to El, but she was more horrified about lying that her children didn't exist as opposed to lying about one of their ages.

Anyway, this is where my daughter comes in. She IS a 7 year old. And rather dramatic and good at playing a role I might add. So,El asks me if I would mind having my daughter stand in for her daughter if the APS supervisor deems it necessary so she can simply adopt this cat. She, of course, puts no pressure on me and tells me she understood if I had an ethical opposition to, well, lying. She suggests that I talk it over with my husband. She also says that if I was a believer in karma, then I probably shouldn't agree to it. Now, I do hope that karma exists, because there are times that certain people just deserve to get it dished right back to them. But, I also know that technically it is not right to lie.

That being said, doesn't everyone lie at one time or another? The way I look at it is this way- what is the intention of the lie? If it's to avoid getting your ass in trouble, or to incriminate an innocent person, to defraud for financial gain, or if the lie furthers someone's sinister agenda, then I'm all against lying. However, there are times when you just have to do it. To spare feelings, to get out of unpleasant situations, or to help someone adopt a pet that is most likely going to euthanized if a new home is not found.

The hardest part of this caper, is how to explain it all to our children. We naturally want to teach our kids that it's wrong to lie. So how can we expect them to pretend to be brother and sister without sending them the wrong message? Does the end justify the means in this instance? Will my daughter become a pathological liar? Or can this be seen as grooming for a future career in theater? I'm sure that if I tell my daughter that it's like being in a play, she will be fine with it and it will make perfect sense. Afterall, aren't actors just a big bunch of liars, pretending to be things they really are not?

Basically, this is how I plan to morally resolve my friend's request.

A Case of Uncontrollable Laughter and a Search for Religion

Have you ever been the victim of an uncontrollable urge to laugh? You know the type of urge I'm talking about. Usually this condition does not strike in isolation. In fact is most often involves other victims who become entrenched in the giggle cycle and unwittingly perpetuate the symptoms. What are the symptoms, you ask? Well, the symptoms are varied but may involve red face, tears streaming down the cheeks, belly busting laughter, an inability to speak without laughing, and uncontrollable bladder functions. And let it be known that this condition is extremely infectious, if one person comes down with a case of it, others in close proximity may also be induced into uncontrollable laugther -which incidentally further perpetuates the condition for the original victim.

I can't tell you how many times this has happened to me. And the fact that I have so many of these opportunites that I can no longer remember how many times I have been afflicted, quite frankly, is what makes life worth living.

I'm going to retell one of these laugh incidents that was encountered during my search for religion.

I guess you can say that I am a searcher. I loved that show "In Search Of" with Leonard Nimoy where they explored weird, creepy, and unusual events. I always am looking for meaning in things that happen-the lessons of life, if you will. And this searching and looking has obviously carried over into my quest to understand religion.

Just to bring you up to speed, I was raised Roman Catholic. So needless to say my religious upbringing was rigid and ceremonial. I exaggerate about the rigidity because in all truthfulness my parents were never authoritarian nor strict. But I have to admit that church experiences in the Roman Catholic tradition are not of the kind that encouraged me to enjoy church. There was of course the stand, sit, kneel routine that the Catholic Church organizes their mass around, most likely in an attempt to make sure no on falls asleep during the boring readings.

The music and singing were my favorite parts of the mass. That was when my sister and I would giggle at the organist everytime his voice cracked or missed a note. We also were reduced to giggles when the altar boy would ring the bell just a little too long or perhaps off cue when the Eucharist was prepared. You see, we could find humor in the most unlikely places. I also endured all the CCD classes I could care to remember which prepared me for all the holy sacraments: communion, confession, and confirmation. Although I have to interject, what 13 year old really knows what religion they want to proclaim to the high heavens to be their religion of choice for all eternity? I had to pick a Saint name (I picked Margaret, my middle name and grandmother's name). I made a sash and we had a stupid retreat where we had to make collages from magazine pictures that illustrated a certain quality-love, kindness, I can't remember what else. However, why can I distinctly remember The Wall t-shirt worn by Mike LaPoutre? Boy, the enthusiasm that this exercise elicited! And by the way, where the hell were my priorities anyway? My only defense was that I was 13!

So with this disillusionment with church I did some exploring on my own. I had a Jewish friend and in Girl Scouts (don't laugh) I earned a badge by attending her synagogue. I also attened Lutheran mass (and vacation Bible School at the Lutheran church). I've been to Episcopal mass to where they have Eucharist too, but it involves chunks of yeasty bread as opposed to the dull flat communion wafers. I went to a Presbyterian service in college when I was dating (I use that term loosely) this guy who went to that church. It was a univeristy church, so the minister wore blue jeans and Birkenstocks. Now that was a sermon I could kind of relate to, even though it came across rather preachy. But there was a spagetti dinner afterwards where I dined with other Christians.

Despite these experiences, I still hadn't found what I was looking for. It seemed like organized relgion, particulary Western Christianity, just couldn't offer what I was searching for. So, I decided to do some reading on Eastern religions. I read about Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, and whatever other -ism that was trendy for a hip college student to explore. All that self-deprivation somehow didn't appeal to my hedonistic tendecies and I just couldn't find a connection.

Right now you're probably thinking-What does all of this have to do with the uncontrollable laughter affliction?

Well, I'll get to that now. During my curious phase, I happened to attend a religious gathering for Eckankar. Don't ask me why. Maybe it was the rag tag group of friends I was hanging around that needed some excitement and enlightenment. For whatever reason we saw the ad in the student newspaper and trasped over to the student union after inhaling some susbtance that will remain nameless. I had no business attending any religious event in that state of mind. But nevertheless, here I was with this motley crew of stoners attending this meeting.

It started innocently enough with some opening words and preparation for mediatation. The mantra for Eckankar, however, is not Om. Instead, the very serious and earnest attendees of this session got into their meditation by exalting the mantra:

"HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH"

I swear I tried my best, but when I heard that one woman's high pitched HU ringing through, I could not control myself and broke into complete hysterics. The attendees acted as if nothing was unusual-from what I could tell. Which now that I think about it if they were doing it right they should've blocked out all earthly distractions, including my uncontrollable laughter. Everytime I thought I got my composure together they would break into the:

HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH! again

I can't remember what else went on during this little adventure, but believe me I was embarrassed. Afterall, I really do have some respect for religion- even though I almost peed my pants.

So although, my search for religion still continues, I have to say that my search for laughter has not been as difficult. Thank God! or Buddah, or Vishnu or whatever Almighty Power you believe in.

It's Electra-fying

I recently heard an introduction of Carmen Electra as she was out promoting the silly Cheaper by the Dozen II.

Which the mention of this will force me to digress to why do studio executives insist on making sequels? In fact I'm afraid that there can be no more doubts that the Hollywood film making machine has most definitely hit rock bottom. When you look at many of the movies that were released in 2005 how many held original stories. The movies were either remakes of an old movie (Ashton Kutcher I'm looking at you), movies based on old TV shows (how could they sully the reputation of The Dukes of Hazzard? and Bewitched-need I say more?), movies based on novels, or sequels to movies that probably sucked to begin with. Not to say one way or another whether any of these movies were good. It's just the lack of originality that I have issue with.

Anyway, back to my point....

Carmen Electra was introduced by the interviewer in this manner:

"From Baywatch to Playboy, our next guest has done it all"

I just involuntarily grimaced when I heard that charming introduction, as if it was illustrating some extreme range of talent.

Let it be known for the record, I'm by no means calling into question Carmen Electra's quite obvious talents.

There are 3 things certain in life-death, taxes and crazy people

Time for an installment called: Some People Are Craaaaaazzzzy (or Ignorant) You decide.

My husband & I bought a house this past June. At closing, the previous owners paid their half of the year's taxes, which was deducted from our closing costs. Therefore, we were made well aware by our closing attorney that we would be responsible for the entire year's taxes. For some stupid reason, the county does not change over the addressee on the tax bill until the next year after purchase. Therefore, the tax bill was sent to the previous owners. Most normal people either show up to closing so they know the drill or their real estate agent informs them of what has transpired. Most normal people know, or at least when they find out what they should know, send the tax bill to the new owners.

Well previous owner, who shall be referred to as Mr. Ass from this point on, became very agitated when he received the tax bill in August addressed to him. I know this for several reasons. The first one being my Mom is the receptionist at the closing attorney's office. So Mr. Ass called the attorney right after receiving the tax bill complaining about the bill, at which time it was explained to him to send the bill to the new owners-he knows the address-and we that we knew it was our obligation. Well, the other way I knew he was agitated was that he showed up at 10:00 at night ringing our doorbell. I did not answer the door at that time of night, and thought it looked like him out there and wondered why he was paying us a visit. So, when he showed up the next morning at 8:00 am on a Saturday morning I answered the door to find out what he wanted. Well, what he wanted was to personally hand the tax bill to us. At that time we had the discussion, where I verbally acknowledged that yes, I knew we were responsible for the entire year's taxes and that he needn't worry about it anymore.

Well taxes are technically due on Sept 1, but you have until Jan 5 to pay before interest starts to accrue and collections measures are taken. I shouldn't have mentioned this to him during this conversation, because he became even more agitated because his name was on the bill. I informed him that the county had sent me a statement notifying us that they had record that we were the new owners and that we were responsible for the taxes-so there is no problem.

Months pass, and the due date for property taxes to be paid before interest accrues finally arrives. Mr. Ass was most likely on pins and needles these past few months wondering if we were going to pay the taxes and if he was going to have his credit record ruined because of us. I'm assuming this to be true because once again he calls the closing attorney to smear our name and threaten a law suit. Why he was telling this to them is beyond my scope of logic and understanding. Because I have an inside source of information, I was informed of these events. The reason for this grave misunderstanding is that the taxes were paid last week, but the payment has not posted yet-lest dear readers you assume that I'm a deadbeat that refuses to pay my property taxes.

So I take it upon myself to contact the Tax Collector to see what I can do to alleviate this lunatic's fears. I talk to the representative who informs me that she has spoken to Mr. Ass already and he refused to listen to her too. Evidently, there is a statute that may result in the previous owners being held responsible for taxes if the new owners fail to pay-which is stupid if you ask me. So his fear may have some justification. However, he also tells the tax representative that we told him that we were not going to pay the taxes. Okay, lunacy has now been replaced by LIAR, LIAR PANTS ON FIRE! For the record, we never said such a thing-in fact quite the contrary.

It gets better. The tax representative assures me that there is nothing we...get this.... as WOMEN can do to convince Mr. Ass that every little thing is gonna be alright. UGH! And that she would have the Collections Manager, who is a man, contact him to resolve this matter. Yeah, this is 2006 but I live in a rural area. What can I say?

Ok, what is wrong with Mr. Ass?

For one, he is an anal person. Everytime we looked at the house, or went to the inspection he was there lurking around. When we had the water tested which involved taking a sample for the outside well and did not involve any entry into his house, he had to be there. He was quite prickly when the home inspector ran the dishwashwer and turned down the AC to test them during the inspection. I guess he was afraid his electric bill would shoot up a whole $2.00. So, he's cheap too. Frankly, it was just a little unnerving having him there when we first looked at the house. He technically wasn't in the house. Instead, he was sitting in the yard of the house across the street (that house is vacant and was on the market at the time) looking all dejected and sad. The reason he was even selling the house was that he and his wife had bought 13 acres land and wanted to build. The house had been on the market about 6 months and I guess he was getting anxious. It's a really great house, it's just very remotely located so that was most likely the problem he had with selling it as quickly as he had wanted. So, in an effort to entice a sale the house was reduced by about $15,000 by the time we looked at it. Also let it be known that he had to pay about $13,000 at closing so I'm sure he wasn't all too satisfied by that.

I could give him the benefit of the doubt and figure he is just ignorant. He's just a country boy who don't know no better I s'pose. He owns about 4 monster trucks (I swear I'm not exaggerating) and we continued to receive his tool and truck parts catalogs in the mail after we moved in. So, perhaps he just didn't understand the process, or rather he was anticipating the worst case scenario from this incident. I would have thought that the Tax Collector's office would have alleviated some of those fears though.

At the risk of unfairly perpetuating the country boy stereotype with my "get it off my chest" rant, I have to make mention of a surprisingly interesting documentary that has aired on PBS the past two nights and concludes tonight. It's part of their Frontline series and is documentary that follows two country boys from Eastern Kentucky. I was impressed with the depth and honesty of these "characters". The filmmaker really illustrated how these seemingly simple people are actually really complex with hopes, dreams, and fears. I know that I'm guilty of stereotyping and making light of country boys or rednecks or whatever other label you want slap onto this group. Therefore, for the record, I want it to be known that from this day forth I will think twice about making fun of country boys.

Unless of course you're Mr. Ass. Then you just plain deserve it

One Kind Favor

Being nice can be a difficult cross to bear.

This may sound surprising because how could kindness possibly result in any negativity? They say random acts of kindness can be contagious carrying over to others as they pass the kindness on. While I think there may be some truth to that, there is also the case of personality characteristics that just don't lend themselves to kindness. Not to say that some people are just plain mean, but instead I think some just don't realize how their grumpiness, curtness, or inattentiveness affects others. Therefore, they don't pay attention to their kindness compass that should be encouraging them to curtail their seemingly insenstive behavior at the risk of insulting another person.

I have always been described as a "nice" person. Throughout my life I have operated in a way that is overly sensitive to others feelings. This has been very helpful in relating to others and getting along with all kinds of people. However, it also has hindered me because I sometimes feel like I can't seem to muster the toughness and directness needed in some situations because I'm worried about how what I say is going to be perceived by others. I'm careful in my approach to others. I read social cues and back off when I get the vibe someone doesn't want to be bothered. I try to stress the positive when I'm dealing with the negative during conflicts with others. I'm constantly thanking others for what they do, and want them to be sure when I appreciate what they've done.

My Mom is a lot like that too. So, I guess that's where I get it from. The inspiration for this post actually was derived from a situation my Mom encountered with one of her.... friends. I guess that's the correct term. It might be more appropriate to call this person someone who my mother dines out regularly with and graciously listens to her complaints. My Mom met this person because she lives in the same subdivision and these two people can't be more unalike. My mom is sweet, kind, caring and very agreeable. However, this person is harsh, gruff, and very disagreeable. EVERY time my mother and her dines out she is always complaining. The steak was not cooked to her liking, the nachos were too soggy, the service was slow, etc. Now, there is some level of expectation that comes with dining out, but it's my opinion that this person just wants to complain to complain-not because there may be a valid reason. And that is the problem with dealing with these kinds of people, because they complain all the damn time, it's hard to really care or to take them seriously when something really does occur that gives reason to complain. It's like the "Boy Who Cried Wolf" parable.

Anyway, this "friend" of my mother has been having some supposed medical problems recently. First, she was told she had some heart condition several months ago, but then another doctor told her it wasn't as extreme as the first doctor had diagnosed. Then on Christmas she drove to eat out with other friends and couldn't walk when she got to the restaurant. So for the next week, she got a cane and had people running all over town to do her errands. My mom helped her out by taking her to the doctor, buying groceries, filling prescriptions, listening to her. The doctors couldn't find anything wrong with her legs to explain why she is not able to walk, except for some mild arthritis. However, this woman desparately wanted to be admitted to the hospital.

Finally, on the day after New Year's Day, my Mom is awakened from her nap, because she has not been feeling well with a phone call from this person. She very casually and calmly tells my mom that she is having a heart attack and would like my mother to come over and let the paramedics in. When my mother arrives at her house she is ordering the paramedics around with instuctions and is sent to the hospital.

Needless to say she did not have a heart attack. She calls my mom from the hospital going on and on about how nice the hospital is. The bed is so comfortable and now she can get some rest. This lasted for a couple of days, when she finally realized that staying in the hosptal is not at all relaxing and hospitable. She should've checked into a hotel and ordered the bellhop and room service attendents around instead. The bed was not comfortable after all. And the nurses aides were rough and unfriendly. And the food was terrible. Now this woman has a wheelchair and will have to go through physical therapy to be able to walk again because her muscles have weakened from non-use. So once again my Mom is doing her grocery shopping and filling prescriptions- which she doesn't mind doing. However, because this person is so particular my Mom is stressed out making sure she buys the right blue box of graham crackers for fear of being bombarded with criticism.

My point in all of this is that my mother's kindness has lead to this person to drain her energy with her negativity and hypochondria. But if it wasn't her it would probably be some other nut. That's just how my Mom is. She has a tendency to attract these weirdos. Like the extremely overweight woman she befriended in Maryland when she lived there temporarily after my dad's death. She met her through some volunteer program that gave rides to people who could not drive. She ended up being approached to borrow money and to run all over town for this person. Don't get me wrong, I'm not critical of giving charity by any means. It's just that some people are easily taken advanatage of when they are too nice.

So in thinking of New Year's resolutions I thought that maybe a pledge to not be so nice would be in order. However, who am I kidding? I can't possibly keep that one. And actually I'm glad of that.

Thank goodness, my across the street neighbor didn't make that same resolution either, because he helped us out big time last week. I was grilling out on Thursday evening and was followed out to the back deck by my husband, daughter, and cat (which incidentally was being held precariously by my daughter). The cat did not want to be held nor be outside in the dark, so my daughter closed the door behind her when she came out to make sure the cat would't scurry back inside. Somehow, the lock was engaged, so when the door was closed we could not get back in. Being very secure people, no windows were unlocked so our options were very slim- call a locksmith or break a window. My husband and I are in our pajamas, my daugher is barefoot, and the wind is kicking up and raindrops starting to fall. I go across the street to the neighbors to use their phone. However, Steve is a very handy man and offers to try to help pick the lock for us. After about 5 minutes of trying he eventually is able to use a piece of flashing to pry the lock open and cuts his finger in the process. I can't tell you how much I wanted to hug this man at that moment in time. However, I restrained for fear of invading personal space, but profusely thanked him again and again. Now I plan to return a favor to them by baking something sweet and yummy for them to enjoy. You see, I have to be sure they know how appreciative I am of this rescue.

The meaning in all of this is that being nice might make it more likely to be taken advantage of, however being nice may just be who you are. People will reap the benefits of kindess sometime down the line. And as for the insensitive clods out there, they may need to try just a little more tenderness.

So, I hope kindness abounds in 2006. You never know when you're going to need it.

E.P.T. (Extremely, Positively Thankful)

Welcome back. It's seems like such a long time since my last post, so let me fill you in on some random happenings and developments.

No Christmas bonus from my husband's employer really sucks. Oh wait, without sounding too unthankful I should mention that we did get a six pack of Guinness.

A father who will treks to Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve at 5:30 and climbs up a ladder to retrieve the last 20 inch Purple girl's bike in the store so his daughter will wake up on Christmas morning with a brand new bike under the tree is a keeper.

Having no cable or satellite TV during college football Bowl Game season also sucks big eggs!

Property taxes being due on January 1st...UGH!!!! need I say more. Oh, the joys of home ownership.

Taking down the Christmas tree is never as much fun as putting it up.

Watching General Hospital during Christmas vacation is one of life's greatest guilty pleasures.

In-laws who in the past don't call to tell us when they are coming and just show up have now resorted to calling to tell us when they're coming and then don't show up.

Speaking of visitors, my Aunt Dot was a little late this showing up this month. This of course left much time and nervous energy to contemplate how my life was going to be turned upside down if she didn't just damn show up. Granted when you're not on birth control and enjoy a fairly active sex life (for a married person that is) it would seem that this sort of occurrence is to be expected. However, since it has been 3 years of no birth control, I had naturally just assumed either my husband was shooting blanks or my eggs had dried up. But for some reason this month really scared me. I mean where would I put a nursery? I would have to do a lot of rearranging. And child care costs. FMLA. And diapers and sleepless nights. You see the reason for my fear.

I have to admit, though, I got a little sad when she finally decided to show up on the "new" New Year's Day (you see New Year's Day usually falls on January 1st. But this year, because it fell on a Sunday and in the kindgom of NFL they could not share court with the lowly college football peasants- so all Bowl Games and yes, even the Parades didn't happen until Jan. 2nd this year.) Because of this slight delay in Aunt Dot's arrival, my midnight champagne New Year's Eve toast was soured by the possibility that I could possibly be giving alcohol fetal syndrome to my unborn child.

Thankfully, all the alcohol I consumed between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day has only damaged MY liver. Oh and by the way I learned the taking Tylenol for a hangover is not a good idea. Morning news shows can be rather helpful. Your liver is the organ used to absorb acetemenophin (sp?) the active ingredient in Tylenol and obviously alcohol also taxes your liver. So take Ibuprofen instead to cure those pesky hangovers.

So, that should bring us up to date. Of course lots of other exciting and eventful occurrences took place over the past two weeks, but there are only so many hours in the day with which to post them all.

On second thought, that's pretty much all that happened.