Tuesday, June 19, 2007
“Dreams I Will Never See”
I listen to music I have loaded on my computer at work. It’s a wide range of stuff, over 120 hours of rock, C&W, classical, opera, pop, blues, just no rap. Its on random play, which at times makes it interesting, I will go from Hells Bells by AC/DC right over to Mozarts Kyrie from his Requiem opera. But I was dwelling in a neutral mind when I heard this one, Molly Hatchets “Dreams I Will Never See”, and it reminded me of my daughter Ann.
Hold that thought, here comes a loose end.
It was fathers day this weekend, and it was also my oldest sons birthday this past Friday. So as I think of my dad, dead now some 11 years or so, I also think of my children. Well, my two living sons and my dead daughter. And they are getting old, all three of them. My oldest turned 35, dam he is getting old. What does that say about me? HA I answer, I am not that old. My youngest son will be 33 this year, and this past May 13, my only daughter would have been 30.
Still hold onto that first loose end, here is a string from that loose end.
My two sons are single. They either heard what I kept telling them many years when they were acting the way kids do when growing up, me replying “I hope YOUR kids are just like YOU” So maybe they remembered that. I was married at 20, had my son at 22, my second son at 24, my daughter at 27. I had my tubes cut when my first wife was 8 months pregnant, if we didn’t get a girl, after 3 kids, we BOTH knew it was time to “call in the dogs and pee on the fire” and “hang a lantern on it.” They have various levels of girlfriends, but they are too much into whatever they are doing now. I guess a war in a far away place, Vietnam, a place without a future, Vietnam, and a DRAFT made guys my age more motivated about life. End of that thread. Snip that sucker off. Threads gone.
Back to the original thread.
Now, as a dad, I know how my sons are, they call, they send me an e-mail at times, but I also know from my dad how his daughters; my sisters, doted on him. I don’t get doted on by my sons. I get e-mail, I get pics, I get well, guy stuff. But I don’t get doted on. And I don’t see my sons getting married. I see them BOTH being Uncle Larry’s. Uncle Larry, my namesake, my dads younger brother, a playboy ALL his life until he was like 55, when in a moment of weakness he married his latest buxom real blonde (a first for him, since all the previous ones were chemically created, DOW, modern life thru chemistry). This one was a true blue Sven and Ollie Swedish lady. But he then died soon after getting married, not helped by the fact that this Swede was right off the boat, or plane, or whatever, didn’t know jack about ambulances, (this was pre 911, the phone number, not that other 911), and didn’t speak much English. So when your having a heart attack in a NYC 15 story apartment building, you don’t get much help when your running up and down the hallways yelling in an unknown language pounding on doors in your housecoat. Uncle Larry up and died. I see my sons doing the same I am sad to say. Well, maybe they know English, but they don’t seem to anxious to get married. Not that it really bothers me, just one less thing I need to worry about, grandkids.
But, (promise, this is the end of the loose thread above) I guess I always assumed that my daughter would have gotten married, I don’t know why, especially when you consider that the reason she killed herself was over a boy. Dam, I wish I could have told her that NO MAN is worth killing yourself over, especially if they cant at least walk on real water. I guess I just assume that, that she would have married, that she would have doted on me. But anyway, lately, on fathers day, and her birthday, and death day, I see myself looking at Dreams I Will Never See.
I know for a fact what they say is true:
Loose your parents, you loose the past.
Loose your mate, you loose the present.
Loose your child, you loose your future.
And while this at times past would have caused me to shed a tear or two, after almost15 years, its easy to tell as a matter of fact. I have been without her almost as long as I have been with her. A tipping point on the scales. I have a poster of her in the shop at home, a huge 3 foot by 4 foot poster used at the trial against the counseling center she was under their care at the time she killed herself, it was her class picture taken two weeks before she ended her life, she is smiling, I see her beauty, and I see her future in the sparkling eyes, blue like mine. How could I see that face and not see the dreams I will never see.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Permanent Body Flotation Devices
However, I am the only man in the class. There are some 25 women, ranging in age from mid 20's to mid 60's. All sizes, but mainly people, like myself, that suffer from "Remain At Table Too Long Everytime Syndrome", aka, RATTLES.
But the class workout shows a deceidily important advantage women have over men. Their permanent flotation devices, aka boobies, make them better positioned to spin in the water. With the belt on, they bob like corks. Me, lacking the above waterline flotation devises, spin like a top that is sitting in a pool of Play-doh.
So I flounder, taking on water faster than the Titanic, but also am faced with another dilemma. While I am spinning UNDER water, the view I have leaves me wishing I was near sighted. I mean, now I know why they dont shoot views of synchronized swimming from under water for Olympic Prime Time coverage. Somethings, like underwater swimming, and trying to spin yourself to health, are best left unseen. The twisting of legs, arms, wide open shots and the like, well, I may be kinky at times, but that is more kink than I would wish to have.
That is my two cents, but I could also be plain out of money today!
(Editors note, thats me, the editor...No play-doh was harmed in doing this rant.)
Monday, June 11, 2007
I want to be a rat!
I want to be a rat. I know, some woman in my past have called me that, but really, I want to be a rat. Reading medical research recently, I read one very encouraging article and one not so good story about rats. Previously it has been reported that researchers can switch on and off the rats ability to gain weight and then take it off. Kind of like binge & purge without the feather and food tray. This week they had a story about taking rat cells and being able to make stem cells from them, and thereby making any rat part out of it. Bad kidney? Hey no problem, just take some skin cells, and turn them into kidney cells, transplant when big enough to do its thing. This weekend they found the reason behind Alzheimer’s in rats, well, when the rats were given human Alzheimer cells to begin with. But hey, they can now fix that. So I want to be a rat. They have all these medical news NOW, not maybe in the next 20 years or so for humans. That’s the great news.
The bad news article I read is where they are training rats to be used to find mines and unexploded improvised explosive devises, aka IED’s in
Sometimes its easy to think we should be someone or even something we aren’t when things seem that the other side is better off. OK, maybe we aren’t quite that vain, but then, what happens when you’re a poor ugly duckling, dream to be single, rich and beautiful, and then you wake up and find yourself as Paris Hilton? With Rosie O’Donnell cruising the streets of south central LA at a fast rate of speed cursing at every policeman she sees in the hope of getting arrested and thrown in jail just so she can spend a night with Paris. Talk about a nightmare LOL.
I still think being a rat isn’t as bad as it seems, I mean, you get three hots and a cot, but I don’t know if that little circular cage wheel you have to run on is such a good idea, I mean, how are you supposed to read blogs and cruise the internet when your running literally in a rats race?
Have a great day, rat race or not!
Friday, June 08, 2007
8 random thoughts
1. I am a morning person. It doesn’t matter if I went to bed at 3am, I get up no later than 6am.