As I sit on my couch, excitement mounting on the inside, I look down at my new ScumBuster with a heighten sense of joy. Now, I know what you a thinking, "this 26 year old male is excited about something used for cleaning bathrooms? Sounds like too many fumes for that Kid." But in my defense (not that I need to defend myself) it was made by Black and Decker so technically it is a tool and tools are manly, and I am all that is man. Anyway, I had been to Lowes and both Home Depots in town to track down this "tool." It is basically a battery operated tub cleaner. It has different brushes that are used to kick soap scums ass and restore your bathroom to it's original greatness (cha-ching, the sound of a royalty check cashing). How does it work you ask. Well, hell if I know.
As I was pulling it out it's package and using an exacto knife to cut the annoying security ties, my hand slipped and the knife came to rest in my middle finger of my left hand. No pain, but a grunt of displeasure at how this was going to throw off my day. I journeyed to the bathroom to clean and bandage the wound. As the dark red blood flowed I examined the cut to see how deep it was. Now, I am not what one would call an expert in the art of medicine, so decided to "Phone a Friend." Or in this case a man with past experiences of stupid wounds, that's right I called my dad. He and I talked and I decided, just to make sure, I would go to the doctor to see if stiches were necessary. I wrapped it up and set off to the quick care center. I felt a little sheepish walking into the waiting room with a possibly minor cut. But it kept bleeding so I continued. After exchanging witty banner with the admitting nurse she asked me what happened. I replied with what had happened and added I was being stupid. She promptly told me that was the male gene hard at work. For this I had no retort, because she was a nurse after all...well, mostly because she was right. So I filled out the paper work and sat down watching whatever crappy soap was on the 16 inch TV high the corner 20 feet away. After a while I noticed my finger had stopped bleeding and it didn't look that bad. I went to tell the admitting nurse I was just going to bail, but she convinced me to hang round just to make sure. So, I did, she is a nurse after all.
The doctor came in. He was a short round man with scrubs almost pink from wear and washing. In squeaky voice he examined my finger bending his white, balding head over blocking my view. I got the standard grunts, Hmms, and other "bedside Manner" learned in the Tropic Island Medical School, and then he left the room. He returned a minute later with "Surgical Adhesive." He returned with super glue, albeit sterilized, but still it was super glue. He put some of my finger and that was it. I paid my copay, a little pissed I paid 20 bucks for super glue and an hour of my day lost, then I left. At least I knew I would be fine and not have to worry about infection.
I get home and start cleaning, because it relaxes me if you must know. Well within the first ten minutes of being home I bumped my finger and it starts bleeding again. I let slip some terms most of you would deem unacceptable. It didn't' hurt, I wasn't worried about what had blood on it, I was pissed off because I had lost twenty bucks for something that didn't hold. I decided to go to my junk draw and become a doctor myself. I found my super glue and put a heaping amount on the cut and finger. No more problems. Now I will have a scar, be out some money, and I have to buy more super glue. I guess the male gene not only allows for stupid mistakes, but makes acceptable stupid cures, like over the counter super glue for deep cuts. Now next time I cut myself, loose a limb, or break a bone I am going to try to fix it with super glue to same some time and money. If that doesn't work then I will think about going to the doctor, but I'm going to give it the ole male gene try first.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
The Prodigal Son
Tonight I went to my parents house at the bequest of my father. For about three months he has mentioned to me how he needed me to get the remaining amount of crap out of my old room. Apparently I am on the endangered list at my old pad. I say this because my two sister's rooms are still intact and not disturbed. Well, that is for the layers of dust beginning to claim residence in the rooms. I find this funny for a couple of reasons.
One, am I not the oldest child, the first fruit of the loins, the bearer of the inheritance, and specifically the ONLY MALE CHILD ON THE MCCORMICK SIDE! This makes me the sole person responsible for the continuation of the proud family name. I guess the fun-gun shys away from the Y chromosome. Two, I am the only child living in town. One sister has moved away, married, and has a family. The other has an apartment in a whole other town, closer to the Granny. But, despite the fact that I am a mere 20 minute drive away, mine is the room resolved to the fate of too much junk. Not my junk, their junk, their junk that has already taken over one guest room like the kudzu is taking over the south. But am I bitter, no, because I know when they get older, I will be the first everyone comes to for decisions to be made, then I will have my revenge ("evil menical laugh").
I went into the cleaning with the idea I was going to throw most of it away, because if I haven't used it or needed by now, then more than likely I wasn't going to need it. But, sifting through what was essentially my memories for the past ten years hit me harder than I expected. I found all kinds of great mementos, letters, inside jokes, and items I just couldn't bear to through away. I know they have no practical use other than me looking at them and tumbling into a nostalgic trance for an hour or an afternoon. When it was all said and done, I had four larges bags of trash and eight boxes of my childhood/adolesence I just couldn't part with. Those boxes have a resting place of the storage shed above my garage. I might not look at them for the next ten years, but at least I know they will be there in case they are needed. Little boxes of friends, feel-goods, and more simply times. "It is the experience of the past that make us who we are today", this is not uncommonly heard or told, but throwing this stuff away would be like throwing little pieces of me away. And that is just not acceptable. So they now hides in a dark, dry place awaiting an opportunity to put a smile on my face and a tear in my eye.
One, am I not the oldest child, the first fruit of the loins, the bearer of the inheritance, and specifically the ONLY MALE CHILD ON THE MCCORMICK SIDE! This makes me the sole person responsible for the continuation of the proud family name. I guess the fun-gun shys away from the Y chromosome. Two, I am the only child living in town. One sister has moved away, married, and has a family. The other has an apartment in a whole other town, closer to the Granny. But, despite the fact that I am a mere 20 minute drive away, mine is the room resolved to the fate of too much junk. Not my junk, their junk, their junk that has already taken over one guest room like the kudzu is taking over the south. But am I bitter, no, because I know when they get older, I will be the first everyone comes to for decisions to be made, then I will have my revenge ("evil menical laugh").
I went into the cleaning with the idea I was going to throw most of it away, because if I haven't used it or needed by now, then more than likely I wasn't going to need it. But, sifting through what was essentially my memories for the past ten years hit me harder than I expected. I found all kinds of great mementos, letters, inside jokes, and items I just couldn't bear to through away. I know they have no practical use other than me looking at them and tumbling into a nostalgic trance for an hour or an afternoon. When it was all said and done, I had four larges bags of trash and eight boxes of my childhood/adolesence I just couldn't part with. Those boxes have a resting place of the storage shed above my garage. I might not look at them for the next ten years, but at least I know they will be there in case they are needed. Little boxes of friends, feel-goods, and more simply times. "It is the experience of the past that make us who we are today", this is not uncommonly heard or told, but throwing this stuff away would be like throwing little pieces of me away. And that is just not acceptable. So they now hides in a dark, dry place awaiting an opportunity to put a smile on my face and a tear in my eye.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
"So this is Christmasand what have you done
another year over
a new one just begun
and so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
the near and the dear ones
the old and the young
a very Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year
let's hope it's a good one
without any fear
and so this is Christmas
for weak and for strong (...if you want it)
the rich and the poor ones
the road is so long
and so happy Christmasfor black and for white
for the yellow and red one
slet's stop all the fight
a very Merry Christmas
and a Happy New Year
lets hope it's a good one
without any fear
so this is Christmas
and what have you done"
-John Lenon
fire 12/15/05
damages: Everything!
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Get Ready, It Is Coming
Today starts the random Christmas pictures. So, you are going to have to periodically check the site because my pictures rock (well, they rock in a kinda scary, guard the kids kinda way). Enough of that, now to the meat and potatoes.
Yesterday some one posed the question to me, "what traditions do you have for Christmas?" I easily rattled off things like, Christmas Eve with the cousins, Cliff house biscuits on Christmas morning, Santy Clause, and etc. There was a brief discussion amongst us sharing ideas and funny stories. Then the question, "What traditions do you have for the Birth of Christ?" That one hit me like a ton of bricks. My mind raced trying to find a definitive answer that didn't leave me looking or feeling shallow. The best I could come up with was the nifty advent calendars we use to read every night before going to bed. You know, the ones with the little windows and the "divine" chocolate you get, marking the victory of patiently, and some times not so patiently, sitting through the story. But, that happened years ago...like ten years ago. Then I realized I didn't have any real traditions or special methods of bring Christ into the world. Of course there are the services and carols and other highly marketed Christmas musts, but personally there is nothing. So much of the month is focused on year-end quotas, dodging Christmas Crazies (as I have deemed them) while shopping, and finding that one perfect gift for the twenty some odd people on my list. But, were does that leave the birth of the Messiah? Trying smiling after figuring that out.
I am not saying I am completely void of spirituality around this time of year. Far from it, in fact. But there is not that one thing I long to do or wait for... Right now I am listening to the KLOVE radio station on-line. They are playing Heart of Worship. One of may favorites. The verse goes "I am coming back to the Heart of Worship and it is all about you, it's all about you Jesus. I'm sorry Lord for the thing I've made, cause it's all about You." Talk about perfect timing, or God's presence in your life even when you don't know it. Wrapped in that blanket of Love and Grace. Man it's amazing. I have to listen to the end of the song... Wow, awesome...Time to make a change.
So, I shout it now from the mountain top, or the Top of my office chair...Family beware, this year I am introducing a Christ centered tradition for years to come. Now I don't know what it is going to be just yet, mostly because I just sat down today and started typing, but I will have one, and next year I am going to add another one. Eventually buying presents, work, and the Christmas Crazies will only be a by product of the Coming Of Christ, God the Son, the Messiah. Oh, yeah.
Now, I leave you with the First Wish of a Happy Christmas, from Mine/Me, to Yours: I call this Home Cooking.
Yesterday some one posed the question to me, "what traditions do you have for Christmas?" I easily rattled off things like, Christmas Eve with the cousins, Cliff house biscuits on Christmas morning, Santy Clause, and etc. There was a brief discussion amongst us sharing ideas and funny stories. Then the question, "What traditions do you have for the Birth of Christ?" That one hit me like a ton of bricks. My mind raced trying to find a definitive answer that didn't leave me looking or feeling shallow. The best I could come up with was the nifty advent calendars we use to read every night before going to bed. You know, the ones with the little windows and the "divine" chocolate you get, marking the victory of patiently, and some times not so patiently, sitting through the story. But, that happened years ago...like ten years ago. Then I realized I didn't have any real traditions or special methods of bring Christ into the world. Of course there are the services and carols and other highly marketed Christmas musts, but personally there is nothing. So much of the month is focused on year-end quotas, dodging Christmas Crazies (as I have deemed them) while shopping, and finding that one perfect gift for the twenty some odd people on my list. But, were does that leave the birth of the Messiah? Trying smiling after figuring that out.
I am not saying I am completely void of spirituality around this time of year. Far from it, in fact. But there is not that one thing I long to do or wait for... Right now I am listening to the KLOVE radio station on-line. They are playing Heart of Worship. One of may favorites. The verse goes "I am coming back to the Heart of Worship and it is all about you, it's all about you Jesus. I'm sorry Lord for the thing I've made, cause it's all about You." Talk about perfect timing, or God's presence in your life even when you don't know it. Wrapped in that blanket of Love and Grace. Man it's amazing. I have to listen to the end of the song... Wow, awesome...Time to make a change.
So, I shout it now from the mountain top, or the Top of my office chair...Family beware, this year I am introducing a Christ centered tradition for years to come. Now I don't know what it is going to be just yet, mostly because I just sat down today and started typing, but I will have one, and next year I am going to add another one. Eventually buying presents, work, and the Christmas Crazies will only be a by product of the Coming Of Christ, God the Son, the Messiah. Oh, yeah.
Now, I leave you with the First Wish of a Happy Christmas, from Mine/Me, to Yours: I call this Home Cooking.
Friday, December 2, 2005
"It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year"
I have learned the much needed lesson of retail suicide. What in world is he talking about you might ask, (and if you don't ask that, then don't read, go to the website for the criminally boring)? Retail Suicide is what I call it when you decide to abandon the "mom and pop" stores and shop only at the Megga-Bigg-One Stop shops. But this suicide is not year round, it only starts after a certain point in the year. Christmas is what you are thinking, right? Nope much earlier than that. It begins when the first Christmas decorations, knick-knacks, and Crap hits the shelf. And this year the winner is Big Lots, with Christmas on aisle three in the middle of October. Yeah, I know it's now Dec and I am just now calling the Lots out on it, but I have been busy, and truthfully we know the "real" cluster starts the weekend before Thanksgiving. But October, I mean damn, what about, Oh I don't know, Halloween, All saints Day, veteran's Day, Thanksgiving, not to mention numerous other bank and foreign holidays? What I want to see is merchandising push for Boxing Day, or Rashasona (cause that's fun to say), or the Revolution Anniversary (Nov 20th in case you didn't know). I could sport a t-shirt saying "Down with Tea leaves Up with south of the border imported beans that determine if people have a good day or not." I mean, that's a catchy slogan. Imagine it in green or light blue or better yet, in Cream...Get it Cream? That's what I want to see. Not that I am anti Christmas. By no means is that the truth. I just don't remember a Season When I have been so busy, it is about to drive me MADDD! But I digress.
Retail Suicide. Let me play it out for you. Now part of the Retail Suicide (RS) is my own fault, and I know this, admit it, and think about changing it, but it is so much easier to complain. My first mistake happened on November 23rd. I, forgetting the next day was Thanksgiving, went to work out around 4pm. During my run I thought about what most people do when they are exercising...eating, namely what's for dinner. Well I was having a Martha Stewart moment and wanted to make a casserole with some left overs, but realized I was one ingredient short. So when they kicked me out of the gym, at 5pm, I thought I would just swing by and pick up that one item on my way home. Sweaty, cold, and in a hungry rush, I went to Brookshires. After I dodged three old ladies with full carts and two three year olds with candy induced foaming of the mouth I realized I was at a super market the night before Thanksgiving, after work had left out. My first response was, What a Dumb Butt am I, my second thought was, I really look like crap. As I winded my way from aisle to aisle, mad that I was going to have to stand in line for one item, I vowed I was not going to make that mistake again, but...
Tonight I decided to go the epitome of Cramped, bustling, Mega centers. The Tas Mahaj of retail. That's right Wal Mart. At five o'clock I hit the road to get groceries, because the are cheap and I want to spend my money on your Christmas presents. Boy, brains and timing are not my friend this time of year. Busy, yes, loud, yes, obnoxious, yes, border line ridiculous, no full out ridiculous. Fortunately I keep a well detailed layout of Walmart in my glove compartment. I know which aisles to stop at, which ones to avoid and which ones it is best to park the cart and maneuver around the people. I was able to fight in and out of there in about 45 minutes. This was only due to the fact I caught a check out line as it was opening. But, seriously, screaming kids, ugly women, men in suits fresh from work hitting on soccer moms in there work out clothes, how awful is that. It makes my skin crawl to think of all the time wasted in that Labyrinth of commerce. Maybe it's my man brain but when I go in there I not there to dally. I get in, get what I need, and get the H-E-Double hockey sticks outta there. So do as I say, not as I do, order everything you need online, have them deliver, it will be much easier on your mind and soul. Just a friendly little PSA from you neighborhood neurotic.
Retail Suicide. Let me play it out for you. Now part of the Retail Suicide (RS) is my own fault, and I know this, admit it, and think about changing it, but it is so much easier to complain. My first mistake happened on November 23rd. I, forgetting the next day was Thanksgiving, went to work out around 4pm. During my run I thought about what most people do when they are exercising...eating, namely what's for dinner. Well I was having a Martha Stewart moment and wanted to make a casserole with some left overs, but realized I was one ingredient short. So when they kicked me out of the gym, at 5pm, I thought I would just swing by and pick up that one item on my way home. Sweaty, cold, and in a hungry rush, I went to Brookshires. After I dodged three old ladies with full carts and two three year olds with candy induced foaming of the mouth I realized I was at a super market the night before Thanksgiving, after work had left out. My first response was, What a Dumb Butt am I, my second thought was, I really look like crap. As I winded my way from aisle to aisle, mad that I was going to have to stand in line for one item, I vowed I was not going to make that mistake again, but...
Tonight I decided to go the epitome of Cramped, bustling, Mega centers. The Tas Mahaj of retail. That's right Wal Mart. At five o'clock I hit the road to get groceries, because the are cheap and I want to spend my money on your Christmas presents. Boy, brains and timing are not my friend this time of year. Busy, yes, loud, yes, obnoxious, yes, border line ridiculous, no full out ridiculous. Fortunately I keep a well detailed layout of Walmart in my glove compartment. I know which aisles to stop at, which ones to avoid and which ones it is best to park the cart and maneuver around the people. I was able to fight in and out of there in about 45 minutes. This was only due to the fact I caught a check out line as it was opening. But, seriously, screaming kids, ugly women, men in suits fresh from work hitting on soccer moms in there work out clothes, how awful is that. It makes my skin crawl to think of all the time wasted in that Labyrinth of commerce. Maybe it's my man brain but when I go in there I not there to dally. I get in, get what I need, and get the H-E-Double hockey sticks outta there. So do as I say, not as I do, order everything you need online, have them deliver, it will be much easier on your mind and soul. Just a friendly little PSA from you neighborhood neurotic.
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