Saturday, July 31, 2004
Amy Fisher has another book coming out, and I thought the following portion of a Sun-Sentinel article would amuse all of you, because I know I was obsessed with that case when it happened. This should be highly disturbing to someone out there, as I was 10 when she shot Mary Jo.
In an excerpt, Fisher writes, "There were so many warning signs in my past. I am hoping that by reflecting on and writing about my life, some of it very painful, I can help stop others from getting into the same kind of trouble."
She also provides a warning to kids and parents, saying, "I did these stupid things, and I'm here to tell you, this is what you should watch out for."
A spokeswoman said Fisher will earn an undisclosed "cut" from the book, but proceeds are also going to several organizations such as Million Mom March, Amnesty International American prison projects, the Legal Aid Society's Prisoners Rights Project and various local domestic abuse shelters.
Not that she didn't earn cuts from the THREE TV movies, which starred Alyssa Milano, Drew Barrymore and some other actress in the title role.
But here's my real beef...
How many other people does she think are going down that same road? How many crazy girls are looking to off their boss/boyfriends' wives? I mean, how many degenerates are there in this country? I can be a cynic sometimes, sure, but I would like to think that she is not indicative of the rest of America.
Of course, we are the same country that produced a hoosier army chick who thought it was funny to pose with naked Iraqi prisoners.
Friday, July 30, 2004
A few things to say about the coverage of the convention:
*Almost every paper had that headline (above) for Kerry's acceptance
*F*scus' paper included a picture of Joe Lieberman making out with his wife
*Kerry looks dead in two-thirds of the pictures
*John Edwards is hot
*The Kerry daughters are hot, too
*This still doesn't take away from the fact that Lieberman and his wife playing tonsil hockey is just plain GROSS
...More later...
:)
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
From: Ashlee
To: Katy
What the f*&%???? The two of us should start our own website! We could come up with shit like that about everyone and everything...we could even take on political issues--and since you're a democrat and I'm a republican, no one could accuse us of running a slanted site! It's brilliant! We would have to include Pat to be our Vulgarity Editor so we would be sure to include the proper profanity proportions that make us the cool people we all are! What do you think??
So, along with my Irish Lit friends Katy and Ashlee, I have a new way to terrorize the Internet:
http://capnipodandthegang.blogspot.com
The three of us will use it to comment on trends, the news, W.B. Yeats, Seamus Heaney, guys with boners at clubs, etc.
It will be oh so much fun.
Don't worry, the White Boy Blog Party will still be in effect. Remember how I had "London Calling," home to a censored version of Pat? Well, consider this other blog a similar thing, but a movement in the OTHER direction. Uncensored. Sheesh, one of my co-writers shouted, "I dislocated my vagina!" in the middle of a crowded fitness center.
Get ready, update your bookmarks, add the link. It's Ipod time.
To: Katy
What the f*&%???? The two of us should start our own website! We could come up with shit like that about everyone and everything...we could even take on political issues--and since you're a democrat and I'm a republican, no one could accuse us of running a slanted site! It's brilliant! We would have to include Pat to be our Vulgarity Editor so we would be sure to include the proper profanity proportions that make us the cool people we all are! What do you think??
So, along with my Irish Lit friends Katy and Ashlee, I have a new way to terrorize the Internet:
http://capnipodandthegang.blogspot.com
The three of us will use it to comment on trends, the news, W.B. Yeats, Seamus Heaney, guys with boners at clubs, etc.
It will be oh so much fun.
Don't worry, the White Boy Blog Party will still be in effect. Remember how I had "London Calling," home to a censored version of Pat? Well, consider this other blog a similar thing, but a movement in the OTHER direction. Uncensored. Sheesh, one of my co-writers shouted, "I dislocated my vagina!" in the middle of a crowded fitness center.
Get ready, update your bookmarks, add the link. It's Ipod time.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
From: Kate
To: Pat
Pat, I love the blog and all.. but I think you're putting a misconception out there. You see, all chaps are buttless. That's exactly what chaps are - buttless pieces of leather that wrap around your legs and smush them against the sides of your horsey so you can look like John Wayne. I, personally own two pairs of chaps (from horseback adventures, not bedroom ones) and both are "buttless." Because, well, all chaps are buttless. Hate to see them getting the bad rep, you know.
Sorry, friend! I stand corrected! I only meant to inform the people that these chaps were VERY buttless. On a scale of 1 to 10 of buttlessness, they were a 10.
Panic on the streets of London, panic on the streets of... Oneonta
Last week, I dreamt that Sh*ffer, Renee and I, along with others, were house-sitting for ReuStar while he's in China. (Though we are not house-sitting, he IS in China). Anywho, in this dream, Sh*ffer tells me that all the graphics jobs I applied were offered to him on a silver platter.
In all reality, this could and should be a likely scenario. Sh*ffer will have no problem finding a job and if he's not doing graphics for the New York Times within 3 years, then someone is on crack. This is all a given, and we all know this.
All I want is a job where I can be reporting, hopefully doing graphics, near the water and/or mountains, where I can get a cheap flight home in case something happens at home.
Of course, this week, in light of everything that's happened, it's silly for me to worry, but last week, I had nothing, and thus I was having silly dreams.
It seemed only appropriate...
The radio here has gotten better. I've learned to accept a lot of it, but also, the radio's selections have gotten better. I get the idea that they cylce through artists. One day, you might here a bunch of Bon Jovi, or a bunch of Cher. And then you'll not hear any for a few days. There's usually a good stream of Phil Collins, though, but I've learned to live with it. One of the sports guys loves Phil Collins and can't see how I don't love the man. There must be some misunderstanding. I didn't wait in the rain for hours, but how many times must I say I'm sorry? I really tried.
Anywho, Phil Collins parodies aside, the station(s) here have gotten more bearable, because they're starting to play some stuff I like. I hear "Don't You Want Me" at least once a week, which is still not as much as sophomore year, when I played that song at least once a day. A few days ago, I even heard New Order, and it was "The Perfect Kiss"! I've never ever heard that one on the radio, and I didn't think it was a big hit for New Order. Nonetheless, I heard it, and I danced in my seat. It was a great break from "Kyrie," the song they play so often I'm starting to know all the words.
I'm quite the oddity to my colleagues (as I refuse to say "co-workers" post-Britain). They've gotten used to me, I think, and have begun to appreciate the White Boy Dance Party. Of course, there have been no actual dance parties here, as there are no places to dance.
Except the living room, and I'm always alone when I do that. That's a good thing, though, because I'm usually in my boxers when I do that.
You so silly
I'm an odd fellow, and thus, I usually have odd things in my head. There are a few questions that occasionally pop into my brain.
1) What ever happened to Crystal Waters? We could always use a lady makin' happy and not givin' 20, 30 or 40, but 100 percent... pure love.
2) When did Alanis get older? She's 30 now. Notice, I said older, not old. I know a very lovely photo editor who was 30 when I met her, thankyoumuch. (This is so she doesn't yell at me for being an ass about age). But Alanis was 19 or 20 when she hit it big in the States, and well, I find it weird to associate "go down on you in a theatre" with someone who's closer in age to my siblings than they are to me.
3) When did Dido get HOTT? I saw an AP picture of her and man, oh man, I'm throwin' up a white flag. Thank you.
4) Is 2004 the year of the would-be washed-up rapper coming back just in time so that people of this decade remember who he is? Mase, Juvenile and L.L. Cool J all have new stuff out now, and because they have been gone so long, the first single has to tell all the fans, "No, I didn't die, and so I'm going to sing 4 verses that incorate the words 'Welcome Back' 7,981 times."
Seriously, I'm disappointed that more people don't appreciate Crystal Waters. Back to the middle and around again.
Also, and this is an important thing, but what was ever the appeal of Richard Marx? Sub-question, what happened to him? Not that I want him back on the scene, but I want to know what became of him. I wonder if he's now paying for his musical sins. I'll occasionally hear him on O-town radio, and it recently occurred to me that he tried to combine the vocal stylings of George Michael with the sensibility of Jon Bon Jovi. A terrible combo, I think, and horribly played out. I'll admit that I had a Bon Jovi poster when I was 7, but I'll also point out that Brian and I stuck green Play-Doh on his nose, because we thought that a man with big hair from New Jersey probably also had big boogers.
To: Pat
Pat, I love the blog and all.. but I think you're putting a misconception out there. You see, all chaps are buttless. That's exactly what chaps are - buttless pieces of leather that wrap around your legs and smush them against the sides of your horsey so you can look like John Wayne. I, personally own two pairs of chaps (from horseback adventures, not bedroom ones) and both are "buttless." Because, well, all chaps are buttless. Hate to see them getting the bad rep, you know.
Sorry, friend! I stand corrected! I only meant to inform the people that these chaps were VERY buttless. On a scale of 1 to 10 of buttlessness, they were a 10.
Last week, I dreamt that Sh*ffer, Renee and I, along with others, were house-sitting for ReuStar while he's in China. (Though we are not house-sitting, he IS in China). Anywho, in this dream, Sh*ffer tells me that all the graphics jobs I applied were offered to him on a silver platter.
In all reality, this could and should be a likely scenario. Sh*ffer will have no problem finding a job and if he's not doing graphics for the New York Times within 3 years, then someone is on crack. This is all a given, and we all know this.
All I want is a job where I can be reporting, hopefully doing graphics, near the water and/or mountains, where I can get a cheap flight home in case something happens at home.
Of course, this week, in light of everything that's happened, it's silly for me to worry, but last week, I had nothing, and thus I was having silly dreams.
 |  |
The radio here has gotten better. I've learned to accept a lot of it, but also, the radio's selections have gotten better. I get the idea that they cylce through artists. One day, you might here a bunch of Bon Jovi, or a bunch of Cher. And then you'll not hear any for a few days. There's usually a good stream of Phil Collins, though, but I've learned to live with it. One of the sports guys loves Phil Collins and can't see how I don't love the man. There must be some misunderstanding. I didn't wait in the rain for hours, but how many times must I say I'm sorry? I really tried.
Anywho, Phil Collins parodies aside, the station(s) here have gotten more bearable, because they're starting to play some stuff I like. I hear "Don't You Want Me" at least once a week, which is still not as much as sophomore year, when I played that song at least once a day. A few days ago, I even heard New Order, and it was "The Perfect Kiss"! I've never ever heard that one on the radio, and I didn't think it was a big hit for New Order. Nonetheless, I heard it, and I danced in my seat. It was a great break from "Kyrie," the song they play so often I'm starting to know all the words.
I'm quite the oddity to my colleagues (as I refuse to say "co-workers" post-Britain). They've gotten used to me, I think, and have begun to appreciate the White Boy Dance Party. Of course, there have been no actual dance parties here, as there are no places to dance.
Except the living room, and I'm always alone when I do that. That's a good thing, though, because I'm usually in my boxers when I do that.
I'm an odd fellow, and thus, I usually have odd things in my head. There are a few questions that occasionally pop into my brain.
1) What ever happened to Crystal Waters? We could always use a lady makin' happy and not givin' 20, 30 or 40, but 100 percent... pure love.
2) When did Alanis get older? She's 30 now. Notice, I said older, not old. I know a very lovely photo editor who was 30 when I met her, thankyoumuch. (This is so she doesn't yell at me for being an ass about age). But Alanis was 19 or 20 when she hit it big in the States, and well, I find it weird to associate "go down on you in a theatre" with someone who's closer in age to my siblings than they are to me.
3) When did Dido get HOTT? I saw an AP picture of her and man, oh man, I'm throwin' up a white flag. Thank you.
4) Is 2004 the year of the would-be washed-up rapper coming back just in time so that people of this decade remember who he is? Mase, Juvenile and L.L. Cool J all have new stuff out now, and because they have been gone so long, the first single has to tell all the fans, "No, I didn't die, and so I'm going to sing 4 verses that incorate the words 'Welcome Back' 7,981 times."
Seriously, I'm disappointed that more people don't appreciate Crystal Waters. Back to the middle and around again.
Also, and this is an important thing, but what was ever the appeal of Richard Marx? Sub-question, what happened to him? Not that I want him back on the scene, but I want to know what became of him. I wonder if he's now paying for his musical sins. I'll occasionally hear him on O-town radio, and it recently occurred to me that he tried to combine the vocal stylings of George Michael with the sensibility of Jon Bon Jovi. A terrible combo, I think, and horribly played out. I'll admit that I had a Bon Jovi poster when I was 7, but I'll also point out that Brian and I stuck green Play-Doh on his nose, because we thought that a man with big hair from New Jersey probably also had big boogers.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Because Hilary's a pervert, I have found the best picture ever. On Friendster, click on my friends and then locate Baron. Under his friends, look for Timothy, and let his picture load. I still can't decide if I think this is creepy or not, but it is hilarious nonetheless.
We gonna party like it's yo berfday, pt. 2
In honor of the "Father Figure" whose birthday was this past weekend, I give you...
Apparently, buttless chaps are all the rage
Deni, one of the admins, is on maternity leave, so I get to sit in her desk, which is in the back by the photo corner. I think everyone else is praying that Deni returns soon, not because we all have to do her work (we do), but because having me by the photographers is bad news.
Anita and Julie are both would-be hippie types in their late 30s or early 40s, hence why they're photogs. They have particularly wicked and twisted senses of humor. More often than not, we'll sit back there looking at pictures of townspeople and comment that they look like murder victims, future panty-raiders or products of bestiality.
Much in the same vein as "Hey, Peter, breast exam on channel 9," is the everso common "Hey, Emily, check it out! It's a mullet!" And often in a Scottish accent, no less.
Emily is the admin whose desk is next to mine. She handles a lot of the community pages, wedding announcements and the senior center's menu listings for the next two weeks. Why we publish this, I don't know, but one of our reporters says this is common of small-town papers. We also publish the school menus, too. Emily is not originally from O-town or the area, but from Oregon, as in the state hella that way, so she understands how I feel as though I've stumbled upon my own Raytown.
I get really tripped out on the senior center's menu. It will say, "rosey apple sauce" or "parsley potato loaf," and I'll just wonder how someone can submit that to a paper. Emily confided in me that the menus actually come over much wordier, but she edits them. For instance, "warm round fresh bread loaf" can become "fresh bread loaf" or "fresh bread." I'd go with "bread" myself, but hey, that's me.
"Rosey apple sauce," though, takes the cake. Julie said it sounded like a porn name, and then we of course had to turn every menu phrase on the page into a porn name. These poor old people are driving all around the O.C. (Ots*go County) to get good ol' senior eats, and here we are being a bunch of weirdos gettin' our kicks off it.
And if not the rosey apple sauce, it's probably something else, like "asperger's" becoming "ass-burgers," spawning, "Welcome to Hardee's, what would you like on your ass-burger?" Julie then got to read my LondonNet review of Heaven, where I was fondled by an old pervert with the leather vest, unsightly chest-hair and buttless chaps. Well, Julie asked if I owned any "buttless chaps," and then asked where I got them, if she could borrow them, etc. Anytime we had a mugshot of an old person who died, to go in the obits, of course, she wondered aloud if those people wore buttless chaps. I swear, this woman is me, but with long hair, a camera and no Y chromosome. She knows all the bars here, too. I don't, but she does, and she can tell me which one will have all the perverts and which ones will be tame. Funnily enough, she prefers the Oak, where the perverts rule the roost.
"The Drip"
Yes, the Oak seems to be the place for creepy men looking to hit on unassuming guys. The other night, Jack (my reporter roommie), and I were standing outside the Oak when we saw this tall lanky black man with a shaved head. He appeared older, at least 40. Well, he smiled at Jack, and Jack said hi. Jack's not gay, but he is a very friendly and personable fellow. He'll talk to anyone, and he recognized this tall black guy (who, as it turns out, is a Wal-Mart employee) because this guy had testified in a trial Jack had covered. Jack started chatting about that trial and this guy rolled his eyes, making a comment about how he can't escape that trial. Well, he lingered, and when Jack asked me and his friend what we wanted to do next, this tall black guy (John) said, "Whatever you want. You wanna smoke? You wanna go back to my house for a beer?"
"Uh, no thank you," Jack said politely.
"Fine then, suit yourself," John said.
It was at this time when a cute girl with dark brown hair and a denim jacket turned the corner and said, "John, are you harassing Jack?"
John did that shy thing that people do when they get called out for flirting, so this girl pulled John aside, and kindly told him to leave us alone. She then came up to us and Jack thanked her.
John was still looking at us, though, and I soon noticed that he had a big symmetrical wet spot in the center of his crotch. It was especially noticeable because of his tight jeans, and so Jack's friend guessed he had an STD that caused the big round wet spot. Thus, we began affectionately (or not affectionately) referring to this man as "The Drip." I just cringed and conceded that I'd rather be at Soco.
I mean, you have to wonder about a guy who gets all up in arms about talking about a trial and an article about said trial, and then two minutes later wants to seduce the guy who wrote this article. What a weirdo. I thought it best that we get him some paper towels or Depends or something, and then get the hell outta dodge.
In honor of the "Father Figure" whose birthday was this past weekend, I give you...
 |  |
Deni, one of the admins, is on maternity leave, so I get to sit in her desk, which is in the back by the photo corner. I think everyone else is praying that Deni returns soon, not because we all have to do her work (we do), but because having me by the photographers is bad news.
Anita and Julie are both would-be hippie types in their late 30s or early 40s, hence why they're photogs. They have particularly wicked and twisted senses of humor. More often than not, we'll sit back there looking at pictures of townspeople and comment that they look like murder victims, future panty-raiders or products of bestiality.
Much in the same vein as "Hey, Peter, breast exam on channel 9," is the everso common "Hey, Emily, check it out! It's a mullet!" And often in a Scottish accent, no less.
Emily is the admin whose desk is next to mine. She handles a lot of the community pages, wedding announcements and the senior center's menu listings for the next two weeks. Why we publish this, I don't know, but one of our reporters says this is common of small-town papers. We also publish the school menus, too. Emily is not originally from O-town or the area, but from Oregon, as in the state hella that way, so she understands how I feel as though I've stumbled upon my own Raytown.
I get really tripped out on the senior center's menu. It will say, "rosey apple sauce" or "parsley potato loaf," and I'll just wonder how someone can submit that to a paper. Emily confided in me that the menus actually come over much wordier, but she edits them. For instance, "warm round fresh bread loaf" can become "fresh bread loaf" or "fresh bread." I'd go with "bread" myself, but hey, that's me.
"Rosey apple sauce," though, takes the cake. Julie said it sounded like a porn name, and then we of course had to turn every menu phrase on the page into a porn name. These poor old people are driving all around the O.C. (Ots*go County) to get good ol' senior eats, and here we are being a bunch of weirdos gettin' our kicks off it.
And if not the rosey apple sauce, it's probably something else, like "asperger's" becoming "ass-burgers," spawning, "Welcome to Hardee's, what would you like on your ass-burger?" Julie then got to read my LondonNet review of Heaven, where I was fondled by an old pervert with the leather vest, unsightly chest-hair and buttless chaps. Well, Julie asked if I owned any "buttless chaps," and then asked where I got them, if she could borrow them, etc. Anytime we had a mugshot of an old person who died, to go in the obits, of course, she wondered aloud if those people wore buttless chaps. I swear, this woman is me, but with long hair, a camera and no Y chromosome. She knows all the bars here, too. I don't, but she does, and she can tell me which one will have all the perverts and which ones will be tame. Funnily enough, she prefers the Oak, where the perverts rule the roost.
Yes, the Oak seems to be the place for creepy men looking to hit on unassuming guys. The other night, Jack (my reporter roommie), and I were standing outside the Oak when we saw this tall lanky black man with a shaved head. He appeared older, at least 40. Well, he smiled at Jack, and Jack said hi. Jack's not gay, but he is a very friendly and personable fellow. He'll talk to anyone, and he recognized this tall black guy (who, as it turns out, is a Wal-Mart employee) because this guy had testified in a trial Jack had covered. Jack started chatting about that trial and this guy rolled his eyes, making a comment about how he can't escape that trial. Well, he lingered, and when Jack asked me and his friend what we wanted to do next, this tall black guy (John) said, "Whatever you want. You wanna smoke? You wanna go back to my house for a beer?"
"Uh, no thank you," Jack said politely.
"Fine then, suit yourself," John said.
It was at this time when a cute girl with dark brown hair and a denim jacket turned the corner and said, "John, are you harassing Jack?"
John did that shy thing that people do when they get called out for flirting, so this girl pulled John aside, and kindly told him to leave us alone. She then came up to us and Jack thanked her.
John was still looking at us, though, and I soon noticed that he had a big symmetrical wet spot in the center of his crotch. It was especially noticeable because of his tight jeans, and so Jack's friend guessed he had an STD that caused the big round wet spot. Thus, we began affectionately (or not affectionately) referring to this man as "The Drip." I just cringed and conceded that I'd rather be at Soco.
I mean, you have to wonder about a guy who gets all up in arms about talking about a trial and an article about said trial, and then two minutes later wants to seduce the guy who wrote this article. What a weirdo. I thought it best that we get him some paper towels or Depends or something, and then get the hell outta dodge.
Saturday, July 10, 2004
Almost hit a possum a few weeks ago. The little guy had scampered across the road until he got to the yellow line. And then he just sat there. Thankfully, no one else was coming, so I could swerve to the other lane, but the boat that is the Buick kept going and I had to swerve again so as to not go off the road and land somewhere 200 feet below at the base of the Catskills.
I break for little critters, but next time, little guy, you're gonna have to not stop halfway across the road. Sure, the yellow line is shiny and fun to play on, but I got a Buick to drive, and you're gonna have to admire that yellow line from the other side of the road. I'm all for fun and games, but I don't think you, your mama, the road cleaners or my undercarriage would appreciate what would happen if you stayed put.
Eight million years ago, right around graduation, both Protz and Erica posted on their respective blogs what their soundtracks would be. I loved this, because, well, if anything ever seemed tailor-made for a Pat post, it would be this.
Except I don't really know how to put it in the format they used. I have been making soundtracks since I first got to college, ala "High Fidelity." It started when I made Courtney a CD for her birthday first semester, then I made one for myself for that semester, and I continued until the end of sophomore year. I still make her soundtracks for her birthday, but I stopped making them for myself. I guess it's because 2002 felt like the last soundtrack-able year, and because 2003 just didn't feel soundtrack-able.
I thought about making a London soundtrack, and Shaffer and I are still in the planning process for the Club Graffixxxxxxx soundtrack. That one will have to be a double disc, because not only will we have our token theme songs, but we'll have to have the songs we each sang when we earned our Xs. And of course we have to have a thick amount of George Michael AND Wham for ReuStar. Goodness, we could do a whole disc of that stuff, but I don't think I will.
Anywho, the frame of mind I always used for Courtney's soundtracks and for mine was a funny one. I'd pick out the songs that stuck out for whatever reason, whether it be because we had bonded over that song, or I had gone to KC to see that band, or it a hit in the dorm, or whatever. Hence, this is how "Annie Waits," "Angel in Harlem" and "Rebel Rebel" got to be such big Pat songs. But I'd also pick the songs that captured the mood of what had been going on. A lot of those would be pulled from the songs that I would listen to for solace. And that's how a lot of those solace songs ended up being the songs that I listened to all the time, and thus fit into the first category.
The good ol' Pat standard "Bizarre Love Triangle" ended up like this, and all three versions of said song ended up on one soundtrack or another. The New Order version was a dance hit for moi and Keith, but the Frente one was for personal reasons and well, the Stabbing Westward version of course had to go on the second semester sophomore year soundtrack. I mean, duh. That soundtrack was probably the most intense, because it also had Gary Jules' "Mad World" and Ani's "Gravel," the best song about a best friend or ex deciding he (or she) wants to come back and make amends.
And then sometimes you'll have that song that makes you think of something, like being on the beach, or driving down the highway, or staying up late one night talking to someone you really like. They're associated with those events, but they're not necessarily suited to these topics, let alone about those topics.
Another thing to think about is how we change. I was all into U2 and New Order my first two years of college and now I turn off a lot of it when it comes on the radio (U2) or my playlist (New Order). And I rarely bring out the Ben Folds anymore, except when it's time to make soundtracks for other people.
It is with this weird overly analytical way of thinking that I present for you my stab at...
Circa Summer 2004
(Which will probably be outdated about 20 minutes after I post it)
Opening credits: "Temptation," New Order
Waking up: "Theme from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure," Danny Elfman; "Who Do You Want To Be Today," Oingo Boingo
First date: "Strange Powers," The Magnetic Fields; "The Way You Look Tonight," Tony Bennett
Love scene: "Somebody," Depeche Mode's version (original) or Veruca Salt's; "Love Will Tear Us Apart," Joy Division
Fight scene: "Gravel," Ani DiFranco; "Bizarre Love Triangle," Frente
Breaking up: "You Suck," The Murmurs; "Birth of Words," The Samples; "Dreams," Fleetwood Mac; "Somewhat Damaged," Nine Inch Nails
Life's OK: "Mr. E's Beautiful Blues," Eels; "Reasons To Be Cheerful, pt. 3," Ian Dury and the Blockheads
Driving: "Sex on Wheels," My Life With The Thrill Kill Cult
Deep thoughts: "Follow The Light," Travis
Flashback: "Friends of P," The Rentals; "Freeze Frame," J. Geils Band; "Connected," Stereo MCs
Partying: "Rapper's Delight," Sugar Hill Gang (the 15-minute version they play at Shattered); "Humpty Dance," Digital Underground
Happy dance: "Move Your Feet," Junior Senior
Long night alone: "Clocks," Coldplay
Death scene: "Boxing," Ben Folds Five; "Run Wild," New Order
Closing credits: "Our Time," The Yeah Yeah Yeahs; "Rush," Big Audio Dynamite
I figured it was OK to use songs that have already been on other soundtracks, as Erica did it on her list.
Of course, I don't really know who would direct the story of Pat with a soundtrack like that. Tarantino? John Woo? John Singleton? Vincent Gallo? John Hughes? Kevin Smith? John Cusack? Guy Ritchie? Bo? Carrot Top? The guys who do the Teletubbies?
Thursday, July 08, 2004
July birthdays:
8 -- Ashley P.
9 -- Jackie and Fiscosity
11 -- ReuStar, John Henson (of Talk Soup)
19 -- Becca L.
30 -- Halley
From the back to the middle and around again...
Back in O-town after a weekend in San Louie. Dad's doing very well, and while he has trouble speaking sometimes or remembering common words, he's got his wits about him and he's mentally all there. The tough part will be communicating every thought again, but he's up for the challenge, and it's a lot better than expected. He's able to carry on sophisticated conversations and each day he's a little better, and a little less tired.
His physical movement is perfect; what's still rough is his speech, but even then, it's hard to tell he had a stroke... It takes a few minutes of conversation to realize it, and even then, he's aware. His mind is all there, he has wits about him. It's just that the broca center of his brain is impaired. Or, as we say, the "broca is a little broken."
This part of the brain is the one that is at work when two people are talking. If you and I were having a conversation, the broca is the one that registers in my brain what you are saying as I am listening, and then it prepares my response so I can say something back.
Dad understands concepts, but the vocabulary is a little rough. My god-sister Courtney works in occupational therapy and so she picked me up from the airport so she could come work with Dad.
She said some idioms and had him finish them.
Ex: No use crying over... spilled milk.
It takes a village to.... raise a child.
Well, after that one, he wrote "shoot Hilary," in reference to the former first lady's book.
So, he's still sharp.
Dad is doing so well, in fact, he told me not to look for jobs in the Midwest just on his account.
"We're gonna be okay," he said. "This will take a while, but we'll be fine."
Whistle while you (look for) work
But hunting for a job sucks. It's not like high school, where if you don't get the movie theatre job, you can still work at that restaurant down the street. No, now the places are not down the street, but hundreds of miles apart, and it's not so interchangeable. Granted, I am a slut in that I do Web, graphics, reporting and copy editing with a touch of design, but my heart is in the reporting. Reporting for graphics is fun, as long as it's reporting. The copy editing is frustrating because I can read shitty copy but not be able to change too much because I wasn't the one reporting. Sure, I can change the grammar and sometimes even the structure, but that's not always kosher. Sometimes I want to just rewrite the whole damn thing.
But, I can count my lucky stars in that I:
A) Have this internship to keep me occupied
B) Have this internship to give me more experience
C) Have this internship to make me look like I know more than I do
and most important
D) Don't have to work at Wal-Mart this summer...
I know, I know, I should miss the hoosiers and the blinking lights and the fat-ass CSMs who sit around and talk about Isaiah or role-playing games or what they think of W2 forms or what Wal-Mart brand outfits they want to buy on their lunch breaks. I should miss that, but not so sadly, I don't. At all.
We gonna party like it's yo berfday
As I mentioned above, two people have birthdays this Friday. I think it's time, then, to whip out a good ol' comparison ala summer 2003. The talking about Wal-Mart got me thinking about it, too, as all I did at Wal-Mart was write blog posts in my head. Thank God I have a job I actually like now, but still, it's time for an old school birthday tribute to two of my old school honeys, both having birthdays this week.
Happy berfday, fools!
8 -- Ashley P.
9 -- Jackie and Fiscosity
11 -- ReuStar, John Henson (of Talk Soup)
19 -- Becca L.
30 -- Halley
Back in O-town after a weekend in San Louie. Dad's doing very well, and while he has trouble speaking sometimes or remembering common words, he's got his wits about him and he's mentally all there. The tough part will be communicating every thought again, but he's up for the challenge, and it's a lot better than expected. He's able to carry on sophisticated conversations and each day he's a little better, and a little less tired.
His physical movement is perfect; what's still rough is his speech, but even then, it's hard to tell he had a stroke... It takes a few minutes of conversation to realize it, and even then, he's aware. His mind is all there, he has wits about him. It's just that the broca center of his brain is impaired. Or, as we say, the "broca is a little broken."
This part of the brain is the one that is at work when two people are talking. If you and I were having a conversation, the broca is the one that registers in my brain what you are saying as I am listening, and then it prepares my response so I can say something back.
Dad understands concepts, but the vocabulary is a little rough. My god-sister Courtney works in occupational therapy and so she picked me up from the airport so she could come work with Dad.
She said some idioms and had him finish them.
Ex: No use crying over... spilled milk.
It takes a village to.... raise a child.
Well, after that one, he wrote "shoot Hilary," in reference to the former first lady's book.
So, he's still sharp.
Dad is doing so well, in fact, he told me not to look for jobs in the Midwest just on his account.
"We're gonna be okay," he said. "This will take a while, but we'll be fine."
But hunting for a job sucks. It's not like high school, where if you don't get the movie theatre job, you can still work at that restaurant down the street. No, now the places are not down the street, but hundreds of miles apart, and it's not so interchangeable. Granted, I am a slut in that I do Web, graphics, reporting and copy editing with a touch of design, but my heart is in the reporting. Reporting for graphics is fun, as long as it's reporting. The copy editing is frustrating because I can read shitty copy but not be able to change too much because I wasn't the one reporting. Sure, I can change the grammar and sometimes even the structure, but that's not always kosher. Sometimes I want to just rewrite the whole damn thing.
But, I can count my lucky stars in that I:
A) Have this internship to keep me occupied
B) Have this internship to give me more experience
C) Have this internship to make me look like I know more than I do
and most important
D) Don't have to work at Wal-Mart this summer...
I know, I know, I should miss the hoosiers and the blinking lights and the fat-ass CSMs who sit around and talk about Isaiah or role-playing games or what they think of W2 forms or what Wal-Mart brand outfits they want to buy on their lunch breaks. I should miss that, but not so sadly, I don't. At all.
As I mentioned above, two people have birthdays this Friday. I think it's time, then, to whip out a good ol' comparison ala summer 2003. The talking about Wal-Mart got me thinking about it, too, as all I did at Wal-Mart was write blog posts in my head. Thank God I have a job I actually like now, but still, it's time for an old school birthday tribute to two of my old school honeys, both having birthdays this week.
 |  |
Happy berfday, fools!
Monday, July 05, 2004
If you're reading this, you probably know me, and know that I have an irreverent sense of humor. Well, a good chunk of it came from Dad, and so, because of that, and because of the way he's handled the last week, I have no shame in presenting...
Funny sentences in my inbox in response to Dad's stroke
*"He's a tough old bean and I'm sure that if anyone can pull through this and bounce back 110%, he can."
*"I'm sorry to hear the news but am relieved to hear that he seems to be recuperating. Although I do like to get down on my knees, I'm not the praying type. However, I have thoughts and for now mine are with you, your family and especially your father."
*"She said he completed two of them while she was there - according to Courtney, this is the perfect therapy for Leo, as he enjoys it and it somehow exercises an important part of his brain. (Here, I must note that she was using big OT words which were beyond me. Nonetheless, the gist appeared to be that the crosswords were a good thing)."
*"I am freaked about Leo, but glad to hear things are improving. Now that Dr. Michael is on the job, though, things can only get better. If he is 1/2 as successful as a neurologist as he is as a waiter, all worries are over."
*"I'm a little slow on the uptake, just read your blog tonight. But I just wanted you to know that I'm sending up some Texas-sized prayers for your dad. (Those are bigger than you'd find in the rest of the country, you know.)"
Aren't those great?
Here are some other funny things, not directly about his stroke, but still great:
*"One of my best guy friends and I hooked up and the next morning I went to the bathroom about 7 AM b/c I thought I was going to puke up one of the 4 40's I had consumed the night before (among other things, that is) and I looked in the mirror and freaked out. My neck was so banged up I looked like Roy Horn after that tragic tiger mauling. I had 5 huge bite marks...yes, it was worth it, but now I'm stuck wearing turtle necks for about a week in the middle of the f-cking summer."
*"I hope you were talking about chicken breasts. Because otherwise, there's no story. I get up, they're there. I take a shower, they're there. I go to sleep, they're there. Just getting in the way, all the time."
*"I did better this time though than last time I was in Memphis. Last time, I almost got my ass kicked b/c I was drunk off my ass in a cab with 5 of my friends and I started talking to the huge black cab driver about relationships. He told me it was my fault my relationship with (name deleted) ended and I said, "It wasn't like that, bitch!" Word to this wise...never call black memphis cab drivers bitches...they will flip the fuck out. We made amends, however, after he told me I had a black girl ass and asked me if I would be his woman. Guys are so easy...show 'em an ass or a set of boobs and anything is possible."
Aren't these great, too?
Thanks to Ashlee, Fiscus, Keith, Kelly, Josh and Dan for all of those. Most of you will be able to guess which ones WEREN'T Dan's (I can't say he has a black girl ass -- checking out the Pursch-a-booty has just never been a PG pastime)
*"He's a tough old bean and I'm sure that if anyone can pull through this and bounce back 110%, he can."
*"I'm sorry to hear the news but am relieved to hear that he seems to be recuperating. Although I do like to get down on my knees, I'm not the praying type. However, I have thoughts and for now mine are with you, your family and especially your father."
*"She said he completed two of them while she was there - according to Courtney, this is the perfect therapy for Leo, as he enjoys it and it somehow exercises an important part of his brain. (Here, I must note that she was using big OT words which were beyond me. Nonetheless, the gist appeared to be that the crosswords were a good thing)."
*"I am freaked about Leo, but glad to hear things are improving. Now that Dr. Michael is on the job, though, things can only get better. If he is 1/2 as successful as a neurologist as he is as a waiter, all worries are over."
*"I'm a little slow on the uptake, just read your blog tonight. But I just wanted you to know that I'm sending up some Texas-sized prayers for your dad. (Those are bigger than you'd find in the rest of the country, you know.)"
Aren't those great?
Here are some other funny things, not directly about his stroke, but still great:
*"One of my best guy friends and I hooked up and the next morning I went to the bathroom about 7 AM b/c I thought I was going to puke up one of the 4 40's I had consumed the night before (among other things, that is) and I looked in the mirror and freaked out. My neck was so banged up I looked like Roy Horn after that tragic tiger mauling. I had 5 huge bite marks...yes, it was worth it, but now I'm stuck wearing turtle necks for about a week in the middle of the f-cking summer."
*"I hope you were talking about chicken breasts. Because otherwise, there's no story. I get up, they're there. I take a shower, they're there. I go to sleep, they're there. Just getting in the way, all the time."
*"I did better this time though than last time I was in Memphis. Last time, I almost got my ass kicked b/c I was drunk off my ass in a cab with 5 of my friends and I started talking to the huge black cab driver about relationships. He told me it was my fault my relationship with (name deleted) ended and I said, "It wasn't like that, bitch!" Word to this wise...never call black memphis cab drivers bitches...they will flip the fuck out. We made amends, however, after he told me I had a black girl ass and asked me if I would be his woman. Guys are so easy...show 'em an ass or a set of boobs and anything is possible."
Aren't these great, too?
Thanks to Ashlee, Fiscus, Keith, Kelly, Josh and Dan for all of those. Most of you will be able to guess which ones WEREN'T Dan's (I can't say he has a black girl ass -- checking out the Pursch-a-booty has just never been a PG pastime)
Friday, July 02, 2004
-Erica's mom
Thank you all for your prayers, thoughts, calls and e-mails. It's meant a lot to me and the family, and when Mom told Dad that a whole town in Colorado was praying for him, he said in his typically understated-enough-to-be-deadpan style, "Well, that's pretty good."
The doctors' prognoses have been good, and they say he's been improving at a great rate for someone who had a stroke. He's walking like normal and can carry a conversation. My sister and god-sister say that you can talk to him for 10 minutes before noticing, and then he might trip on a word. His mind is intact, it's just that his vocabulary is still coming back. It will take work and effort in speech therapy to get his lawyer-esque communication skills back up to snuff, but he's aware of what lies ahead of him and has already formed a plan on how he wants to approach rehabilitation. Even after a stroke, he can be detailed and organized.
My brother didn't want to go home last weekend. Certainly not for a garage sale. Mom wanted to sell all this stuff he was attached to, and she wanted him to help carry it up the stairs and outside. He fired off on a huffy e-mail to the sibling listserv, warning us about the garage sale and telling us that he wasn't looking forward to going home.
Thank God he did.
The garage sale was Saturday and I have no clue how it went. I more or less don't care about it except that it got John home, and that he was able to be home on Sunday morning.
Mom was at Mass but Dad and John were still home. The phone rang at 10 and John woke up, but didn't answer it. He figured Dad could get it, as John doesn't answer phones two feet away from him, let alone phones that are downstairs on a wall while he's still groggy.
He couldn't go back to bed, though, so he went downstairs to get some food and bum around on the net. The doorbell rang and he assumed it was someone confusing our house for the neighbors', who were having an estate sale. The doorbell kept ringing, though, so he went to the door.
It was Pat Carmody, a woman who has gone to church with my parents since 1976, who has done volunteer work with my mom and gone on trips with her, whose husband has worked on cases with my father.
"I was coming to check up on your dad," she said.
John, still half-asleep, had no clue what she was talking about.
"I just called a little bit ago, and he didn't sound like himself," she said. "It didn't sound right."
John went up to check on Dad. He was in the bathroom and had kicked over the trash can in frustration. He was trying to open his medicine bottles but his hands couldn't turn the cap. When he tried to talk, all that came out was gibberish.
"Get dressed," John said. "We're going to the hospital."
"No, no, I'm fine," Dad said.
"No, we're going to St. Luke's."
John went down to tell Mrs. Carmody. "Just call 911," she said. "You don't have time."
The ambulance was there within three minutes, and fifteen minutes later, they were at St. Luke's. This is important to note. Time was of the essence.
Dad was having a stroke.
Had they not gotten there as soon as they did, it could have been a lot worse.
Not that it was easy as it was. That first day was hellacious and Brian, Wendy and John spent several hours in the waiting room. Mom was back in the ER with him saying Rosaries. When Brian, Wendy and John could finally see him, he was having trouble talking and identifying people. John was pretty shaken up about it, as anyone would be, especially someone prone to stress. For some reason, the antsy brother prone to stress and freaking out was delegated to be the one to call me and keep me updated. After hearing five messages on my voicemail, I wasn't sure if I would ever see my dad again, or if his brain was oozing out his ears. The way John was telling it, it sounded as though Dad didn't even have a head anymore.
Thank God I got to talk to Mom and Kerry later that night and throughout the week.
It wasn't quite a stroke, they said, but it was like one, and it affected the part of the brain that delegates communication. His thoughts were all there, but communicating them was tough. He stumbled on words, saying "Hamster" when he meant "Hampton" or "break a crack" instead of "crack (or break) an egg." However, he was saying all those words and phrases because various family members were "testing" him to get a feel of how affected he was.
How do you get to the Arena (Bar and Grill)?
"You get on 40, take 40 to Hamster (Hampton), make a right, go two lights, and turn, and then go a few more streets."
Not something you'd get off Mapquest, but damn good for someone who had a stroke a few days earlier. And, it's accurate. You DO get off at Hamster (Hampton), make a right, go two lights, turn, and go a few more streets. And when you get in, you ask for Lisa.
How do you make cream cheese brownies?
My dad makes cream cheese brownies that are so good, I can't even come up with a comparison. They are just that good. He's made them for years, and only once has he ever given the recipe to a non-family member. He's got it down to a science, and he's very thorough about following the rules he set for making them.
Mom said he was able to get every part until the Wesson oil. He knew it was oil but he couldn't say the exact name, but he was able to space his fingers for the spatial measurement of half a cup. And when he got to "break an egg," he said "break a crack." The concept was clearly there, but it was the vocabulary that was rough.
He's aware of it, though, and he's got a plan ready for how he'll approach this. It's frustrating that it will take him away from work for a bit, but he's already made some appointments with his partner and on the day after the stroke, he wrote down a list of numbers Mom should call to let them know he wouldn't be making their meetings this week.
Now, I haven't seen him yet, but what Mom said is that he's not remembering language, not things. It's not like amnesia, where someone will walk in and he'll have no clue. It's more like he'll hear a name that doesn't quite click, and then he'll see the card they sent and get cues based on the context, and then he'll remember. And as the brain swelling goes down, the remembering and "connections" have been quicker. Each day I talk to Mom, she sounds exponentially more hopeful.
A few days ago, after some friends came to say a Rosary with him, he woke up in the middle of the night and could recite a "Hail Mary" all by himself. Now, the Hail Mary is a pretty lengthy paragraph, and it has the stilted terms like "Blessed art thou amongst women." If I had a stroke, i wouldn't be able to say amongst, but Dad could. If any of the penguins he had as teachers were still hobbling about, he would have called them to brag. But they're all in the penguin zoo in the sky, so he woke Mom up instaed.
"Hey, listen to this!"
The rest of the prayers for the Rosary were still tricky, though, so Mom wrote them all down, so he could get a head start on remembering them. Until then, he'll read his Rosaries.
I'm thinking of this all as nothing short of a miracle. The stroke itself is frustrating and the uncertainty it's causing will just have to be accepted. He's going to need some therapy, and it will take some work from all of us, but he's still alive, he's got his health and his mind, and soon, he'll once again have his words. And we'll once again have his smartass comments. Mom said they're already starting to come back.
The fact that John was there was key. If Dad hadn't gotten the phone, it could have been several hours before anyone knew what was happening, and by then, there could have been some irreversible damage. Had my mom been there, she may have asked him if he wanted to take a phone call, and he may have mumbled something that she very well could have interpreted as him being half-asleep. It took him being on the phone for it all to surface. Had Kerry or I been there, we would have answered the phone. Thank God John doesn't have that sense of urgency.
Second, Thank God Mrs. Carmody took the effort to come down. It's only 2/3 to 3/4 of a mile, and she drove, of course, but still, she could have just written it off as him being asleep. The fact that she came down to the house and made John go upstairs puts me forever in her debt.
Third, that so many people were praying for him and showing concern was also a big boost. Because he knew what was going on, he was able to see that everyone was supporting him. We didn't want to confuse him by mentioning too many names, but there were tons of people calling and offering help. Mom had to limit the number of people who could go in his room. He was getting too worn out greeting well-wishers, especially because he had to think carefully about each word they were throwing at him. Josh has already called dibs on buying dad a drink (he probably won't get to drink it, though), and my god-sister Kelly has offered to fly in from D.C. And my cousin BZ is paying for me to fly in this Saturday.
Everyone, in his or her own way, has helped, even if it just means calling to say hi. Various peple have cheered me up, some by leaving voice messages, some by sending stories about THEIR dad's strokes, and some by telling me stories about breasts. No matter what the method has been, you have all cheered me up and kept me going through this, and for that, I am eternally appreciative.
