tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1182221107552366162024-03-05T03:09:08.877-08:00MetaSome fiction, some not.Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-46199470128489578512019-01-09T16:32:00.007-08:002023-02-23T04:41:16.116-08:00General's Star<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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My mom's dad was a captain in the US Army during WWII, and a major during the Korean War. He was creative and funny. I know this because he kept a scrapbook with various souvenirs from WWII, and the captions were great. One pinned copy of the military's newspaper was labeled <i>Steers and Stroops</i>.<br />
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My aunt was in dire straits at one point and had to sell the scrapbook. However, she clearly kept some individual pieces, because she's been sending them to me as presents over the past few years. Today I received one of General Maurice Rose's rank stars, along with her recollections of my grandfather's role. Score one for Aunt Nancy.<br />
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I knew that my grandfather had been in the Spearhead Division. I did not know that he was General Hickey's attache. Here's my aunt's full note on the star. Its direct provenance isn't described. I'll give my grandfather the benefit of the doubt and assume he wasn't light-fingered.<br />
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<i>Jamie,</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <i>This star pin belonged to General Maurice Rose. He's the three-star general who was pinning daddy's bronze star on him in the picture I sent you. General Rose is a bit of history. He was one of the three American generals who came into Cologne, Germany right behind the French. The French did the worst of the fighting at Cologne against the Germans and liberated Cologne.</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <i>Another of the three American generals was General Hickey. Daddy was his attache. And Daddy was at Cologne. There's a picture of the three generals standing on the steps of the Cologne Cathedral after it had been bombed out. War is awful. Some, through out history, I suspect, are just powerplays by men with whopping big egos trying to expand their territories. Others were probably defending what territory they had. But this war was necessary. Hitler's intent was to take over the whole world. He had to be stopped. Very evil man.</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <i>There's a u-tube video of actual footage of the American soldiers coming into Cologne right after the French had moved on. I guess it's still on u-tube. I haven't seen it in a few years. (there are several; <a href="https://youtu.be/z_8Ipy-UpgQ">here's one</a>)</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <i>General Rose was in a jeep with a few others on a "road" they thought was clear. A tank came up over a mound where it had been hiding. General Rose stood up in the jeep to address them. He realized they were in trouble. The Germans said something to him, but he didn't understand German well enough and he interpreted it as "lay down your weapon," or something like that. As he was taking his pistol out of its holster to lay it down, they shot him.</i><br />
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<span id="goog_950697395"></span><span id="goog_950697396"></span><br />Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-49113591101905274042018-08-04T16:47:00.003-07:002022-06-19T05:48:30.837-07:00Open Letter to my Dad, Summer 2018<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif, serif, EmojiFont; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i>I live in Portland, Oregon, which has been the site of multiple political protests since November 2016. For the most part, we don't have a lot of use for 45. My dad has delighted in sending me links to Fox News coverage of violence and disorder.</i></div>
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<i style="background-color: transparent;">Only...Dad renounced his US citizenship and became an Australian about 20 years ago. Nice country; go if you get the chance. But i</i><i style="font-size: 12pt;">t's like the guy who rants up a storm about the government, then reveals he doesn't vote. </i><i style="font-size: 12pt;">I knew he'd be sending another "Are you ok? Also, your country is shit." email after today's protests, so I figured I'd go first.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hi Dad.</span></div>
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This is a long hot summer during a period of political turmoil. The US is fewer than 100 days out from midterm elections that are already the target of multiple disinformation campaigns and other information warfare.</div>
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Vancouver, WA is just across the river to the north of Portland. It's partly a bedroom community, but it's also where a lot of people who think Portland is too hippie/dirty/filled with homeless/ etc. live. Current incarnations of the KKK (Patriot Prayer, Proud Boys, Alt-Right, etc.) are a presence there, and they've taken to swarming through Portland to stir up trouble. The protests since 11/'16 have developed a pattern: The white trash gets a protest or parade permit. Counter-protesters show up. Sides are kept separate by the cops, start throwing things at each other, and the police declare the protest has become a civil disturbance, and start dispersing and arresting people for assaults and the like.<br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" />Today, the troublemakers staged a walk by the waterfront to avoid being searched for weapons, as has been the case previously in permitted rallies in parks. <span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">There have been pictures of the racists open carrying firearms today. <br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" />It's a very volatile situation, and I'm concerned that we're going to have something way worse than Kent State happen. If not today, between now and 2020. </span><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I haven 't lived to age 48 by taking unnecessary risks, so I'm staying away from all that. But I absolutely sympathize with anti-fascists--there are way too many people eager to be the subjects of rulers.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif, serif, EmojiFont; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">All this to say: <br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" />1) I'm fine.<br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" />2) See #1.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Love,</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">James</span></div>
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<span face="Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif, EmojiFont, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", NotoColorEmoji, "Segoe UI Symbol", "Android Emoji", EmojiSymbols" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif, serif, EmojiFont; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span face="Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif, EmojiFont, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", NotoColorEmoji, "Segoe UI Symbol", "Android Emoji", EmojiSymbols" style="font-size: 12pt;">P.S. I know you what you think of my country. Let's take that as read. I just wanted to let you know I'm ok. </span><span color="inherit" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">đ</span></div>
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<br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased;" /><a data-auth="NotApplicable" href="https://www.oregonlive.com/portland/index.ssf/2018/08/patriot_prayer_antifa_face_off.html#incart_breaking" id="LPlnk825941" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">https://www.oregonlive.com/portland/index.ssf/2018/08/patriot_prayer_antifa_face_off.html#incart_breaking</a></div>
Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-78851444981612760172016-12-03T07:58:00.002-08:002016-12-03T14:59:10.844-08:00Misadventures in Not Running: Shingles?!<div class="MsoNormal">
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tl;dr: Get the shingles vaccine. Yes, even you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I completed my eighth marathon in October in Melbourne,
Australia. Between high winds and being misdirected by well-intentioned course
marshals twice, it was a long day. Still, I finished, and was free to enjoy the
rest of a two-week stay capped by seeing the Little Penguin Paradeâlook it up
if youâre having a Cute Emergency.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After returning from Oz, I took a complete break from
running, both for recovery and to heal a sore Achilles I had tolerated for too
long. I got back into the rat race at work and was hit with some standard-issue
family aggravation along the way. My impatience with everyday annoyances was
mounting. I realized how much I used running to manage daily stress; even
mid-distance walks werenât cutting it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just before Thanksgiving, I started having chest pains. I
had just had my annual physical two weeks before the race, and my doctor said
my chances for a cardiac event were extremely low. What the hell? The pain was
more pressing than stabbing, so I decided on self-monitoring rather than
panicking. I headed out of town for the holiday.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the long weekend, the pain became more constant, and I
started breaking out in a weird rash on my chest. An unrelenting headache tag-teamed with the pain to keep me from sleeping properly for several nights--adding to a fatigue which was was out of proportion with my minimal activity level.<br />
<br />
Back home, I went straight to
the doctor. By now the rash had broken out on my back as well. All of it was
only on my left side. The doc took one look and said âYep, thatâs shingles.â
The pain was intense and constant. He put it at 7 on the 10-point scale.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Iâm nearing the end of a weeklong antiviral regimen, coupled
with severe pain meds. I'm on the mend now, but am still only 1.5 weeks into a
condition whose typical duration is 2-6 weeks. Iâll spare you the gross
details, but just donât do a Google Images search on shingles, ok?<o:p></o:p></div>
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My point in detailing all this for runners, in particular,
is in hopes youâll do something to help avoid this super-common problem: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Get the shingles vaccine</b>.<br />
<br />
The one-time shot isn't "recommended" for people under 60, so I always figured "that's something for old people." Nah. Depending on which source you check, 1 in 3 or 4 adults will have shingles. It
mostly affects people over 50. Iâm 46, but even younger folks arenât
necessarily safe; I have a cousin by marriage who got it when she was 11âin her
eye. She canât wear contacts because of the damage it caused. Another good friend--centurion cyclist, 6min-miler, and general badass--got it when he was 24.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The science is still out on what exactly activates shingles,
but most researchers think that a low immune system releases dormant chickenpox
virus. Whether that low immunity is caused by running 26.2 miles, or by unmanaged
stress from a running hiatus, runners can be especially vulnerable. As can
those with cancer or other conditions that cause lowered immunity. Or <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/rt-web-exclusive/running-battles-lessons-learned" target="_blank">runners with cancer</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The shingles vaccine doesnât guarantee youâll never have an outbreak,
but even if you still do, it lessens the severity. My doctor said I can safely
get the vaccine a year from now. You can bet Iâll be at his office first
thing when they open the doors that morning.<br />
<br />
CAVEAT: Consult with a medical professional before getting the vaccine. For instance, according to the Mayo Clinic's site, you shouldn't get the shot if you:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Have ever had an allergic reaction to gelatin, the antibiotic neomycin or any other component of the shingles vaccine</li>
<li>Have a weakened immune system due to HIV/AIDS or another disease that affects the immune system</li>
<li>Are receiving immune system-suppressing drugs or treatments, such as steroids, adalimumab (Humira), infliximab (Remicade), etanercept (Enbrel), radiation or chemotherapy</li>
<li>Have cancer that affects the bone marrow or lymphatic system, such as leukemia or lymphoma</li>
<li>Are pregnant or trying to become pregnant</li>
</ul>
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-->Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-72672800849607492042016-05-28T01:15:00.003-07:002023-01-08T16:42:23.468-08:00Pinned<div class="MsoNormal">
The sound was like a dozen metal trash cans dropped at once
from ten stories up. A car-crash sound. It was after 2 a.m. I scrambled down
four flights and looked out the front door. A car had barreled through the
fenced-off area in front of our brownstone and up onto the stoop next door,
pinning some poor guy up against the front of his building. Just some guy, out
for a smoke.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was struggling to breathe, his crushed ribcage unable to
expand enough to inhale. The car was on top of his legs as well, but moving it
could have made things worse. Neighbors surrounded the car, preventing the
driver and his passengers from fleeing. I couldn't tell what the people in the
car were on, but their eyes were glazed in a mix of shock and chemical confusion.
They werenât really taking it in.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The guyâs cigarette smoke still hung in the air.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at the guy, who clearly was about to pass out from
the pain. I told him âStay awake, buddy. An ambulance is on the way. You need
to keep your eyes open.â<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Several people were making 911 calls, and a team from the
fire department a few blocks away arrived quickly and got to work sawing the
fence so they could get a gurney to the patient.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I could tell he wasnât gonna make it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The EMTs asked everyone to clear the area, so I went back
upstairs and looked out the front window. The firemen dismantled the last of
the fence with the Jaws of Life. The guy was loaded into an ambulance and taken
away. The carâs occupants had yet to be dealt with, but blue flashing lights
had joined the red, so the cops were on the case.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The next day I asked a beat officer about the crash, and he
said the driver had been speeding and lost control of the vehicle. He pointed
left up Vanderbilt Ave. to Grand Army Plaza, noting how traffic lights synced
as drivers built a head of steam on their way downhill to Atlantic Ave.--often passing
60 in the 35 zone. Even if everyone drove sober all the time, mayhem was
inevitable. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I asked about the guyâdid the officer know which hospital
they had taken him to? The cop said they couldnât say anything because of
privacy laws, but indicated it was unlikely someone could survive something
like that. That was the most closure I got.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was so random. I had staggered through the carâs path on
the way to my own front door not ten minutes before the crash. My girlfriend or
other neighbors could have easily been taken out. Was there anything to be
done, or was this just the price of life in the big city? I had been in the
building for a little over a year; it was my neighborhood, but I wasnât a
native. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few months before, I had seen a cyclist hit when a car ran
a red light turning onto our street. She was wearing a helmet, but had still
been thrown up on the hood and smashed her head against the windshield. Even
from bystander distance, you could see blood in some of the windshield cracks.
Chilling. Again, passers-by quickly surrounded the vehicle so the driver
couldnât hit and run. Apparently this happened so often the neighborhood had
developed a protocol to deal with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The car crash ate at me for several days. I found myself
keeping one eye on traffic at all times, plotting crash vectors and picking
safe points to dive in case a wayward vehicle had my name on it. I suggested my
girlfriend do the same. I was getting kind of crazy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I kept seeing the guyâs eyes, wide in fear. I was looking at
someone with minutes left to live. Killed by an impaired driver, but also by
chance. This happened a lot. Too much.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wrote our city council rep and asked if there was anything
to be done. Not about intoxicated drivers; there will likely always be someone
who drives high. But the speedingâcouldnât something be done about that? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Surprisingly, she said the traffic light timing could be
adjusted to keep drivers under the speed limit, and that âtraffic calmingâ
could make it less likely cars would cross over lanes. Within weeks, I noticed
the lights were no longer all green at the same time. Within a few months, road
crews had laid down raised concrete lane dividersâsome with trees and landscaping!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Itâs not like our neighborhood was suddenly free of all
calamity. I saw a man stabbed in front of our building that very summer. The
next year I saw new red spots on the sidewalk, leading to where someone had
apparently bled out. Every time the temperature passed 90, you could count on
street fights breaking out. But at least the cars were tamer. That was
something.<br />
<br />
I still think of the guy sometimes, pinned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-61659352006702962292014-02-02T07:15:00.000-08:002014-02-02T07:15:11.440-08:00Why I'm single.On OkCupid profiles, they ask "What's the most private thing you're willing to admit?"<br /><br />One woman answered: "Um, I don't like fabric softener?"<br /><br />So I wrote her.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">Dear Miss: </span><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">I must protest your anti-fabric softener stance in the strongest possible terms. Fabric softener is one of the few areas in which the United States maintains a position of undisputed dominance. Please do not think of me as an unthinking patriot, as I fully support our migrant fabric softener workers as well. I even think of them as fellow countrymen, beating down endless rows of hard-water conditioned apparel with their well-worn softening sticks. They are a proud people, each with their own stories of hardship and hope. </span><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">But I digress. I would ask you to consider your words more carefully in the future. Just because Big Fabric Softener's image is seemingly unassailable, led by the universally-revered Snuggle Bear, we must remain vigilant in our support of this all-too-fragile industry. It should be a source of pride for everyone within our fine nation's borders. </span><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">Yours in truth, </span><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><br style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;" /><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #555555; font-family: Verdana, 'Bitstream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">James</span></div>
Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-44897037851663344672011-05-30T07:43:00.000-07:002011-05-30T09:32:18.151-07:00G-G<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglclRXBJmV_iws0iKLwqu_AVHaeYVRxAdBxrOLYfcRsYJNYSyWmnqVcKnN-mdyIzA5tJc7A2HmsE9OA90BE8KEB8SHYq8XzjYs3P0BzZx1gWdyXvIeBBpJaAQ81vwUdJgn0nAAkfPqfK7w/s1600/Young+Adult.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglclRXBJmV_iws0iKLwqu_AVHaeYVRxAdBxrOLYfcRsYJNYSyWmnqVcKnN-mdyIzA5tJc7A2HmsE9OA90BE8KEB8SHYq8XzjYs3P0BzZx1gWdyXvIeBBpJaAQ81vwUdJgn0nAAkfPqfK7w/s400/Young+Adult.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612531169052594674" /></a>My paternal grandmother died this morning after a long illness. She was 94. <div><br /></div><div>Virginia Miller Belcher was always G-G to me. She and my grandfather (but especially she) had no interest in being GrandMAW and GrandPAW, so my Aunt came up with G-G ("Grandmother Ginny") and G-Pop as hipper alternatives. It was 1970. They were starting a well-earned retirement, having survived the Great Depression and WWII privations to become self-made millionaires.</div><div><br /></div><div>My grandfather was a well-mannered Southern gentleman ("Open the door for your grandmother"), but G-G sealed business deals with well-planned parties and dinners. She wasn't doing it to land the cover of <i>Southern Living</i>, either. Ginny Belcher had a journalism degree from Northwestern and, as she was proud of saying, had been the third-highest female employee at Illinois Bell before she got married. She saw potential in their partnership. She and G-Pop loved and doted on each other, but they were also driven people who stressed hard work and education as keys to success.</div><div><br /></div><div>G-G and G-Pop helped raise me when my parents didn't have their acts together, which was most of the time. My grandparents were a stable influence during weekend visits. Rolling up the long driveway to their house was like passing into sanctuary. I knew there would be no angry yelling there.</div><div><br /></div><div>I could count on a comfortable routine at their place. There were trips to the beach and shopping for decent clothes and dinners at the country club and church, always church. Say "Yes, Sir" and "No Ma'am." Stand up when people approach your table. Look don't touch. Is your homework done? They had a lot of patience, especially when I was a teenager with raw emotional nerves. They should have gotten medals. </div><div><br /></div><div>It may have been another chance for them to get parenthood right, or it could have been penance for their son's behavior while married. But it doesn't matter to me. G-G and G-Pop were a badly-needed second set of parents and I loved them for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>G-G was always my number one fan. Her rallying cry was "Well get to it, kid!" I'm 41 now and G-G's gone; her cheering will have to come from my memory. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-4989346644212697592010-02-23T05:05:00.000-08:002010-02-23T05:10:46.267-08:00Mom died a year ago this week. She was kind of a slob, and one of the byproducts of that was that she would buy something and then lose it under a pile of other stuff. Then she'd buy another. As a result of this behavior, I inherited six rolls of dental floss. <div><br /></div><div>I just used the last of it. I actually consider a year's worth of dental floss to have been a pretty practical inheritance.</div>Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-74087714424387386262010-02-01T21:15:00.000-08:002010-02-01T21:20:10.512-08:00PerspectiveIt's easy to romanticize a distant train whistle. Up close they're loud warnings: Get Off The Tracks. I prefer them at a remove.<div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-28552456368856495172009-07-23T07:35:00.000-07:002009-07-23T07:38:09.677-07:00Why I Chose StumptownSince I moved from New York City to Portland Oregon four months ago, the top question I've been asked is "Why?"<br /><br />Willamette Week, the top local indie paper, just released its annual Best of Portland poll. These answers sum up why I now call Stumptown home:<br /><br /><p> <b>Best Reason to Love Portland </b> </p><p> A strong plurality of you folks said the <b>friendly, caring, weird and otherwise great people who live here </b> are the best reason to love this city. You know what? We agree. </p><p> Runners-up: The Portland Timbers, craft beer, the food, the bike culture, the weather. </p><p> Some other notable suggestions: </p><p> âAll the beautiful gardens people have in their front yards and parking strips.â </p><p> âBig-city resources, small-city community.â </p><p> âBull Run waterâfresh and natural.â </p><p> âCafes, bikes, vintage stores, people and Forest Park (and days that take advantage of it all).â </p><p> âCasual attitude in a beautiful landscape.â </p><p> âGirls in miniskirts on bicycles!â </p><p> âGreat gardening! Neighbors have chickens!â </p><p> âHot, curvy tattooed chicks as far as you can see.â </p><p> âIs this even a question? Liberals, gays, green, and good music!â </p><p> âThe best Argentine tango community in the U.S.â </p><p> âIts like Amsterdam but cleaner and with better bud.â </p><p> âItâs my hometown, motherfuckers! And bikes.â </p><p> âItâs the best parts of every Urban Utopia youâve ever heard hyped, mashed together and slightly drunk.â </p><p> âLeast-scary city everâhow times have changed.â </p><p> âNo sales tax!â </p><p> âRectangle glasses.â </p><p> âSo many great restaurants, even though everyone would rather eat at food carts.â </p><p> </p>Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-85633668648654879702009-07-23T07:06:00.001-07:002009-07-23T07:06:48.639-07:00KindlingI worry about the permanent record as it shifts from paper. China already does a number on a billion+ people with The Great Firewall. What happens if (alterable, revisionable) digital texts leave comparatively permanent paper behind? Ray Bradbury's firemen wouldn't need flamethrowers, just a figurative delete key.Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-55194874835781171072009-06-28T12:16:00.000-07:002009-06-28T12:18:51.948-07:00Facebook in real lifeHi, how are you?<br />And what type of work do you do?<br />I see. And what type of 18th century literary figure are you?Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-78987840855381529632009-05-10T04:20:00.000-07:002009-05-10T04:55:05.823-07:00A Better Class of Asshole<p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_3203443101" class="p_self pic_padding">About a week ago I heard some repeated irregular banging noises around 2am, followed every few minutes by some cheers. Some drunks had obviously improvised some type of game. This went on about 30 min, but I couldn't really see where they were and wasn't interested in making my first call to the cops just yet. Plus, 2am is just after the bars let out here. Not too too horrible.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_620513630" class="p_self pic_padding">About 10 after 4 this morning I was awakened by the same noises, and thought "Oh HELL no."</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_2757824278" class="p_self pic_padding">So I grab my ridiculously strong flashlight and go out on the balcony, which is three stories up. I see four guys on the next block: two teams of two tossing rocks into some containers. Exactly what I thought--the type of thing that would be incredibly boring sober, but was probably pretty challenging to this crowd.</p><span class="time_stamp ts_other"></span><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_2018487697" class="p_self pic_padding">I train the light on them. "GUYS! YOU'RE KILLIN'" ME! IT'S 4A.M.! CALL IT A NIGHT!"</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_417607851" class="p_self pic_padding">They all look up, don't say a word (as if being quiet will make me go away, even though I have 120 lumens on them). They're shielding their eyes to try to see. I keep the light on them.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_4106263869" class="p_self pic_padding">"GUYS. 4 A. M.! CALL IT A NIGHT!"</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_3749543530" class="p_self pic_padding">Then they actually picked up their stuff and left, without saying a word. They didn't stomp off, or even look put out. They weren't upset, but realized they were inconveniencing people.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_243874921" class="p_self pic_padding">Never ever ever would that have worked back East.<br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" id="msg_642141372_2044735543" class="p_self pic_padding">I love Portland. Even the drunken assholes can be reminded of their innate polite streaks.</p>Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-10376374395882282052009-03-01T10:14:00.000-08:002009-05-10T04:50:01.928-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;">New York, New York I won't go back</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Indelible reminder of the steel I lack</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">I gave you seven years</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">What did you give me back?</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">A jawgrind disposition to a panic attack</span><br />--Soul Coughing, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Incumbent</span>Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-50361363045034596502009-02-26T18:04:00.000-08:002009-02-26T19:33:48.883-08:00And so it goes.<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mom, with a friend of the family who gave her away.<br /><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkg8qNASDZh_X8lBQjBC-uBgUiCO4AYSS5g5-33DjKHU_vgefxy5W-g0k3ZShrk43sA4ZZ4CzjPJKekkTtGBwgtzeqvVmM5vb9Qfd6_OlCDx2g_UfehCR9aYtYfBA5KlzUytC_N6FpSlkr/s1600-h/IMG_0129.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkg8qNASDZh_X8lBQjBC-uBgUiCO4AYSS5g5-33DjKHU_vgefxy5W-g0k3ZShrk43sA4ZZ4CzjPJKekkTtGBwgtzeqvVmM5vb9Qfd6_OlCDx2g_UfehCR9aYtYfBA5KlzUytC_N6FpSlkr/s400/IMG_0129.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307310214327908770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>My mother is on the verge of dying after a week and a half in hospice. She has cancer throughout her body, including breast cancer with metastization, liver, and lungs. I'm very glad she made the choice to enter hospice once it was clear she would not win the fight. She has had outstanding care, and the hospice nurses have all made sure she did not feel pain. She had a very nice room with a big window, and a view of a lake with ducks.<br /></div><br />Mom has had a hard life, much of it by her own choosing. She abused alcohol and prescription drugs for decades, culminating in her dismissal from nursing after stealing the narcotic Demerol and shooting it into her thigh while on shift.<br /><br />For the last four years, mom lived in a halfway house for recovering addicts, and she loved it. There was a pool right outside her window, and she was largely left alone, which was always goal number one for her; the sure way of getting mom not to do something was to try to tell her to do it.<br /><br />Mom was also codependent, and until the last few years of her life could not stand to be alone. She avoided conflict to the point of complete passivity, and is technically still married to a man she hasn't seen for 15 years. She just couldn't deal with going through the process of divorcing him, which she thought would have made her a three-time loser in marriage. I don't buy too much into Freud, but mom lost her dad to a heart attack when she was a teenager, and I know that she had loved him very much and always missed him. Whether that connected her to whatever men stuck around, I don't know.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP2FKiziD5wyZ7V1s_3bHX8xJHAW2JncZDU4K3I6NSs8I8IX3WXJY7dAutZhb8GVJo2PecP1nSkG37keBPinRCApULb3_0RmZ-15YWaoDuM3lTWFkeXKjAQhQjY_XxyVGcTY1GJJbBba8/s1600-h/IMG_0133.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP2FKiziD5wyZ7V1s_3bHX8xJHAW2JncZDU4K3I6NSs8I8IX3WXJY7dAutZhb8GVJo2PecP1nSkG37keBPinRCApULb3_0RmZ-15YWaoDuM3lTWFkeXKjAQhQjY_XxyVGcTY1GJJbBba8/s400/IMG_0133.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307310756330944994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mom and Dad on their wedding day.</span></span><br /><br />I don't outline these problems to diss mom, but rather to establish how tough she had it. The thing is, an addict is sometimes incapable of making healthy decisions. So when I would ask her to get the divorce so she could get her half of the house she co-owned with this guy (she needed the money), and she wouldn't, I realize that she was running as fast as she could just to stay in place: staying sober and paying her rent and bills on time was a triumph for her. The idea of going down to the county courthouse and dealing with bureaucracy was just more than she could take on.<br /><br />I spent a week in hospice with mom. I stayed overnight in her room on a sofabed, spending time by her side holding her hand, stroking her hair, telling her it was going to be ok even after she became unresponsive. The cancer was horrific even with the regular morphine and drugs used to help with the secretions her lungs were producing. She had a deep persistent cough, and since she stopped taking fluids and had said she didn't want an IV, the only thing to do was wait for the coughing reflex to end. I spent several hours one night fighting the instinct to pick her up, take her away from the hospital, and nurse her back to health.<br /><br />What was magic about the week was how many people made it clear they cared for my mom and me. Mom's friends from the halfway house visited, bringing flowers and her favorite stuffed animals. The hospice nurses had all been through the same experiences themselves, and so were called to the work much like priests. Every one of them had chosen to work there. When one nurse had to leave because she had the following three days off, she kissed her forehead and said "I have to go now, Mary. Say hi to my Mom."<br /><br />While mom was still lucid and able to talk, she was also able to deal with longtime guilt. A staff chaplain gave her a blessing and said a prayer for her, and also had an Episcopalian priest come in to give communion, which mom was able to keep down. She had been worried about being a bad mom to me, and I was able to put that out of her mind, letting her know she did the best she could.<br /><br />Mom maintained her sense of humor while she was still awake, even after she couldn't talk. When I told the nurses my mom had also been a nurse, and that she liked working most with babies in Ob/Gyn, one of them said "Well, babies are easier to deal with than some of the adults." Mom raised an eyebrow as if to say "You got that right." After a nurse cut her hair mid-length and brushed it, I told her it looked better. Mom put her index finger to her chin as if to say "Duh!"<br /><br />Mom loved being goofy and laughing to the point of tears. She hated having her picture taken, but loved to capture funny reactions by snapping ambush pics. She loved using funny voices. She loved needlepoint and cats and calm. She loved me.<br /><br />When I had to go, I told mom that I loved her and that I knew she loved me. I told her everything would be better soon. And I told her I hoped she saw her daddy.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzY9k-u35FFBFPKSruXdKPByEceLuL2dLfyys7i2ci-OlkNNJh_oAgJM9af9EOYGvsB4DMINdfSNV8Va5Xb7nQlFOBD7K-hCsv3nprjtkyGRPEQgx1lLyoKe62TZb46SxRXpJg7B1s1AXq/s1600-h/IMG_0131.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzY9k-u35FFBFPKSruXdKPByEceLuL2dLfyys7i2ci-OlkNNJh_oAgJM9af9EOYGvsB4DMINdfSNV8Va5Xb7nQlFOBD7K-hCsv3nprjtkyGRPEQgx1lLyoKe62TZb46SxRXpJg7B1s1AXq/s400/IMG_0131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307310514630738898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mom and Dad leave for their honeymoon.</span></span></div>Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-594123081289758922009-02-18T09:05:00.001-08:002009-02-18T09:05:43.977-08:00I'm going to say goodbye to my mom.Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-118222110755236616.post-18941709419125603642003-06-03T08:01:00.000-07:002009-02-10T23:50:09.281-08:00Gosh it feels good to be doing low-key things. Post-shower Summertime, listening to A Prairie Home Companion--Leo Kottke's picking and strumming something technically amazing and emotionally reassuring at the same time. The cats are fed and I will be before long. I've called and written those who needed to be called and written. The sun's going down and an evening of reading and games lies ahead. For once, I'm in the moment.Satoricalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06461718124743477269noreply@blogger.com