Where I drive with my sister to Florida

Oh, the adventure. Oh, the drama. Oh, the wrenched shoulder from yanking my backpack up and hurting myself while leaving horrible Logan Airport. Oh, the stories I can tell.

Actually, there aren't many. We kept a low profile, didn't act outrageous, and when we made it to Florida we vegged out and didn't do anything like parasailing or bungee jumping (although I would have if the opportunity presented itself).

Doug, the kids, and I got to Grandma and Grampa's Tuesday night. We made great time, and the kids slept most of the way. They transitioned to bed nicely too, after a short time of running around with the giddy excitement of being awake in the middle of the night.

Oreo made the trip with us. Shirley has another grandchild to love!

And the cat has a friend to try and eat, I mean, make... ha ha ha.

My family, guinea pig and all, left on Wednesday afternoon for home, and I stayed behind.

Before they left, Linda gave the kids her old 80s style Casio Keyboard, which she dug out while packing her stuff. Here, Doug and the shorties give it a whirl. Hours of noisy family entertainment should ensue... Geoff really got a kick out of it, and Jessica took an actual interest. For a kid who thinks everything is "boring," it was nice to see.

It was the weirdest feeling ever to not have them there... but we had a nice time. Linda, mom and I went out to dinner and to a bookstore so I could get some reading materials... Linda and I left my parents house on Thursday morning as planned, only about 2 hours later than we intended. Not bad, considering we are perpetually late in getting started.

That's my dad, my sister and my mom. I'm visible in the top right corner of the picture in my college graduation portrait. Taking the pictures usually leaves me out of the action.

This is Linda's cat, the guinea pig desiring "Precious," or as Geoff calls her, Crecious. He never has gotten the "P" at the beginning right. I like how the flash gleamed in her eye in this one.

And Linda says Goodbye tearfully to Miss Precious Kitty Kitty. Awwwwww Winnna, wattamatta, ah you cwyin? Awwww, Winnna.

Shirley cried a bit (Linda caught her) and Bart was super helpful in the loading of the car... we hit heavy traffic on the Belt Parkway, cruised right the hell over to Staten Island. It was a breeze and a half. But... we got screwed up when we crossed over into New Jersey. (Travel tip for you, DO NOT take the Goethals Bridge over to New Jersey. It is suicide... piece of shit. Take the Outerbridge crossing... it's much better and puts you right where it all makes sense).

I followed the signs to I-95, they indicated neither north nor south in scope, so we found ourselves heading north into Newark. We looped over to like I-278 or some shit, going totally out of our way, and went back down to 440, the Outerbridge crossing, and got on 95. What a great way to start a trip, with a 45 minute detour. Good God.

We made amazing time to Baltimore otherwise... got there right about noon and decided to make the first of our pilgrimages, to Fells Point, home of Homicide: Life on the Streets.

Best TV cop show ever.

We are both big huge giant fans of the show, and it was lunchtime, so we decided to hit a burger joint (none other than Fuddruckers, boys and girls!) and find the hallowed shrine where Bayliss and Pembleton grilled suspects in "The Box," where Crossetti floated face down, where Russert and Felton had their torrid affair, where Gee ran the station with an iron fist and a pasta-loving heart. Aaaah, Baltimore. Charm City. Sweetness.

Lunch at Fudds always makes me think of Dan, and here I'm deciding to document the moment for posterity's sake... going to Fudds without the Guys. Who'da thunk it. Sorry Dan!

There she is. The Old Charm City Police Department Building. The harbor is right there underneath it, and there is a huge long pier, upon which several amazing scenes in H:LOTS were filmed. ("Frank, I need you to absolve me...")

Linda and I were giddy as schoolgirls. We ARE freaks, I know.

The plaque outside the now unused building documents what took place there. And we wept.

The view across the street, cool buildings in Fells Point, mostly pubs, bars, drinkeateries, eatdrinkeries and dives. But they were all cool.

Another view from the backside opposite, with Fells Point boozeries across the street.

In the show, Bayliss, Lewis and Munch all pitch in and buy a bar, and here it is: The Waterfront. This may or may not be the actual storefront of the bar, but it looks like it from what we recall.

This is the interior, and it looks like it is the right place. There was another bar next door, which could have been the place, but it was significantly different, so if it is they've done some major remodeling. This place just looked like it was, with the pulls and the mirrored bar. We had fun discussing the whether or nots of this location... A plaque on the outside here would have been nice too.

The glass doors which lead upstairs to copland... the steps upon which Pembleton saluted Crossetti in full police dress at his funeral after refusing to attend the Catholic Mass, and the city's refusal to give Crossetti a hero's funeral...

Pembleton, played adroitly by Andre Braugher... such a superstar, an amazing actor... totally blows me away.

I had chills recalling this moment. Wonderfully moving episode... and there we were, standing on the same steps of that scene. Sniff. Weep. Sigh.

Before we left Baltimore, I saw this store and couldn't resist taking a picture. Someone else gets the concept of aMuse or a_muse in my case. This is a toy store, and I think I could have just moved in and been happy.

From Balto we jumped back onto 95 and worked our way through Virginia, skipping Washington DC at Linda's suggestion. She suggested that security was going to be a nightmare there, and that we wouldn't be able to just drive and tootle around the way we just did in Baltimore. I agreed, we sped through.

We crashed for the night in Fayetteville, NC. Slept the sleep of death, having spent 14 hours on the road (and licking the dirty steps of television greatness), we were pretty damn wiped out. Got out of the hotel 5 minutes before checkout.

We progressed southward, and made the obligatory stop at South of The Border.

It wasn't nearly as much fun as the times I've been there before. They took down most of their billboards due to protest from the Mexican government... they felt Pedro being depicted as a constant siesta-taking, tequilla-swigging, poncho-wearing lout, and the mock-Spanish writing (Pedro Say "Joost stop you donkey") was offensive. That didn't stop them from using this whack-Spanish lingo on their official website though...

Si, si, Senor! La Seesters Sombrera Grande
at your service.

True, but I'm an Irish chick and I don't have a problem with people referring to my ilk as a bunch of shaleleigh-weilding, whiskey-swilling, leprachaun-molesters. That's funny shit... Stupid President of Mexico, ruining all our fun as capitalistic, materialistic, fat gringos!

So the buildup wasn't there from Virginia southward, and the new billboards are just insipid. There wasn't a lot of merchandise for sale, and it was frigging FREEZING! so we didn't stay long. Long enough to take some Grandma pictures, and I'll be doing a Grandma's Adventures episode here in a few days. We hit the road.

Linda hams it up before we ran out of there shivering.

Oh, and this made my stomach hurt. A black velvet painting of two schmoopy unicorns. It's the size of my couch, lengthwise. It could be yours if you stop and shop at South of the Border!!!! "Interterrible," as my sister would say (long story).

We initially were going to try to hook up with friends of mine who live near Charleston, SC, but they weren't home, so we tootled around Charleston. The day was GORGEOUS and we just drove around looking at stuff. We wanted to also hit Savannah, GA that day, and figured if we got out and walked around we'd never make it. As was we crossed over just at sunset, a most wonderful sunset I might say, and were agog with Savannah. It was lovely, we drove around, checking out all the gorgeous architecture, the people, the sights, the sounds... but alas, could not find a single damn parking space.

We decided after a while to hoof it out of Savannah, and see how far south we could get. We got just south of Jacksonville and stopped for the night at a hotel. Virginia, my sister's best friend and host for her transition, was hoping we'd drive the rest of the way down that night and Linda and I debated the pros and cons. I thought it would be better to spend the dosh on a crashpad instead of spending a few hours in an ambulance/operating room after we got seriously injured in an accident. Six hours more in the pitch dark would get us there at 4am... and there were crazy fucking people on I-95 that night. Everyone was speeding, we were doing at least 85 and people were blowing us away. I thought it'd be better if we had morning light and bright, alert minds on our side. Plus, if we'd gone through, I wouldn't have seen this at a gas station and wouldn't have been horribly entertained:

Hee hee hee. Snark. Isn't Fuelman funny? He looks like a gas pump with an ATM on his chest. And the gas pump is obviously going to his ass, which is SO funny on SO many levels. Okay. Only on one. Gas from his backside. Bwa ha ha!!!! Too damn much. I died laughing. Linda, however, didn't quite see the humor and thinks I am a retard. Well? Huh-yah. Go, Fuelman! Go! Gimme some Fuel, Man! Oh, I kill me.

We got to Ginger & Steve's at about 2 pm after that bright and early start (in spite of our hotel neighbors being noisy assholes at 2am) and collapsed. It was Saturday. We made it. Fort Freaking Lauderdale, baby! Whew!

The weekend was spent relaxing or attending get-togethers with Ginger & Steve's families. It was a load of fun, and we did get downtown into Ft. Liquordale (that's what people call it, I guess... it made me laugh) Sunday for a night time cruise after dinner with Steve's parents/grandma/aunt/brother/brother's girlfriend... Nice city.

We went to a little bar on Hollywood Beach, and there were these three crazy assed drunk Canadians there who were acting like they hadn't heard songs like "Jumping Jack Flash" and "Bat out of Hell" in a hundred years and were playing air piano and doing weird chair dancing with their drunk selves while speaking some whack version of french and english.

We tried not to watch. But they were so funny... and drunk, and entertaining. We thought if we watched them they'd either come over and hang out with us, or come over and try and kill us. Steve, Ginger and Linda have all been instrumental participants in some good bar fights in the past, but I haven't ever. And I figure that 35 is not an age to start.

So we let them do their thing and snickered.

Monday we didn't do much, but at night Linda and I took off to go drive around the city and see another friend of hers who lives there, and I got the kids T-shirts and cool things for me, Doug, Aaron & Michelle from a shop on the strip. It was laid back, man.

My flight home, however, was NOT laid back.

Linda and Steve dropped me off 2 hours before my departure time. I got searched with all due diligence and severity at both the luggage check and in person because I had a one-way ticket. The girl searching my luggage did such a laxidasical and shitty job, and couldn't get all my crap back inside my bag. I basically stood there and laughed. I offered to help her, but she said I wasn't allowed to help or touch my luggage until I next saw it at my destination. It was quite entertaining to watch the poor thing trying to cram all my dirty laundry, my winter coat and shit back into my bag. She looked at me through her eyebrows, and I said "Hey, I got it in there... I bet you can. Don't be delicate, make a fist and pound that shit in there. It isn't Waterford crystal, babe. It's a parka. For when I land. It's cold where I'm going. With my one way ticket." She had to have someone come help her. It made me and the guy behind me laugh.

I didn't laugh when I went through the security checkpoint, though. I set the walk-through thing off because my sunglasses were on top of my head (duh). I totally forgot they were there. So I got escorted by an MP with rifle at ready to be searched by a lady with a magic wand.

My shoe then set the thing off, so they had me take my shoes off (I look like a shoe bomber, don't I? Green Vans sneakers are so damn suspicious!) and they couldn't figure out what inside my shoe was beeping, so they took the lining out. Fuckers, pardon my French It won't go back in right and I was pissed the whole way home. I tell you, security at airports isn't BETTER than before September 11th, it is just SLOWER and more RIDICULOUS. Oh my God. I was so annoyed.

The first leg of my flight was to Atlanta, and was beautiful. We flew really low, and I got a good look at the geography and terrain of South Florida. I got to see the Everglades and Lake Okechobee. From there I had no idea what I was looking at, but it was all cool. Our flight had been delayed in departure, too many jets not enough runway, so we got to Atlanta 10 minutes before my flight to Boston was due to leave. It was luckily at the next gate, and I got on just in time. The flight was bumpy, and we flew really high up there above all the weather... landing was no fun, the approach to Boston was one of the roughest I've ever experienced. The pilot apologized to each of us as we "deplaned" (I love that fake word).

At the baggage claim, a few of us who had come all the way from Ft. Lauderdale didn't have our bags appear. Seems they didn't get our stuff on the transfer plane, even though the planes were right next to one another and there were only three of us. Doug and the kids were late in getting to me due to Doug missing the ramp (they moved it since the last time he was there and he was foncused) so we waited and waited to see if my luggage would show up. Finally this guy "Parker" told us the next plane from Atlanta would most likely have our luggage on it, and that wouldn't be in until 12:45am... so they would courier our shit out to us. Great.

So we left empty handed, had dinner, Geoff fell asleep at the restaurant. He was unhappy that he wasn't getting ON an airplane at the airport... that they were just picking me up. So it took a long time for him to get happy. I had to threaten to get on a plane and leave again if he didn't. He straightened right up. We got home, I watched the Osbournes (Laugh My Ass Off Funny last night with Sharon throwing a ham at the "wanker" neighbors!), and crashed.

There's the update. We made it down, I made it back. Now Linda has to get an asskicking rockstar job and rule the universe. Keep her in your prayers boys and girls, and we shall keep you posted on the goings on in the Southland for her. She rules!

Now, I have dishes to do here kids. Seems that penance for abandoning my family for a week is that I get to do all the housework they didn't do in my absence.

Special thanks here go out to Steve and Ginger for the groovy futon crashpad, the great hosting, and the rolling tour of the vicinity. You guys are awesome! And thank you for taking care of my Freaky baby sister. Don't let her get down on herself. Kick her ass periodically.

And teach the bitch how to cook, fer chrissake! (grin).

How Ozzy saved my musical taste

Apologies first off: If you were completely offended by my last entry and my excerpts of those emails which I've been blessed with, I am truly sorry.

But, most have written (I've gotten five emails from real humans today) to laugh their asses off at my pain and suffering. Including my darling sister who BWAAAAAAA!!!!!!ed at me saying "I never thought I'd hear you utter that phrase!" [referring to 'cum bus,' of course].

Well I didn't utter it. I typed it. And I had to so you'd understand what I was talking about. And the impact of me putting it in print seems to go a long way. I'm much better now. Thank you for allowing me to rant and get that off of my chest. Feel free to notify Diarist.Net to let them know that it was the rant of the year or something if you truly, truly liked it. I don't get to rant that much. And most of the rants tend to be politically centered against one party or another, so this would be different.

Secondly, I am so happy to see Shelley back online, special congrats to her and M on their 7th year together. She was absent for quite a few weeks due to host problems... I checked her site daily to see if it was up, and lo and behold yesterday evening there it was. I'd just kind of accepted that she wasn't posting anymore or was on super long term hiatus, and wasn't going to check anymore.

Like Taunia, I confess: I am an addict. I kept checking. And now I've gotten my fix. Whew!!!

Shelley wrote in her entry yesterday about how she enjoys the Osbournes, the new "show" on MTV. I had meant to do so but haven't had time, what with all the ranting on the crap emails I get, so I'll follow on her coat tails... why the hell not.

I have watched both episodes and I'm not sure yet how I feel about it. I need more time with it to decide.

The first episode did make me laugh a bit. They're moving into this huge house bedecked with crosses on every surface, beautiful furniture, tons of space. Kids acting like shitheads, movers breaking stuff so Sharon would swear like a syphillis-riddled sailor. Ozzy mumbling and pacing and walking around looking completely stunned by the magnitude of it all. It was a very peculiar show.

The second installment, focusing on the dog shitting problems, totally made me laugh heartily at times. Ozzy yells at his wife that they don't need a dog trainer, she just needs to get up in the morning and open the [bleep]ing door, and he motions how to do it. He said it three times, for effect and the fact that he mumbles so the three times put together you manage to figure out what the [bleep] he's [bleep]ing saying.

There is a lot of bleeping in that house.

I am actually worried about Ozzy. He seems so old and addled, shaking and zombified as he walks around his house yelling swears at his kids, wife, 90 dogs and cats, and various housemartins and layabouts.

I remember an interview I heard with him about 10 years ago which Doug and I still reference when dealing with our children's wild moments. Ozzy said that he takes the family with him on tour, and instead of waking up in the morning being hit by a flying vodka bottle these days, he's hit in the head by a five year old boy (Jack) throwing a stale croissant. "The life of the aging rock star," Ozzy sighs. So we say that once in a while when feeling the exact same way.

I think his wife is a riot though. The fact that she has stayed with him for so long, is his manager, his best friend, and just an all around general ass kicker with a pretty English mum's face simply slays me. She rules.

When I was about 10 or 11, my neighbor Bob loaned me a copy of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid." Up until that point I was totally into disco (stop your laughing. What do you expect. It was the 70s.. I liked the Bee Gees, Donna Summer, and that ilk. Not that there is anything wrong with that... I was listening to the popular music of the time. I put the album on my turn table and was blown away. "War Pigs," "Iron Man," "Paranoid"... this music, these songs, were fabulous! I was sold. A convert to metal. Disco Sucks! Disco Sucks!

That first exposure to Sabbath's "Paranoid" turned me on to Rainbow, Genesis, Yes, King Crimson and eventually Metallica a few years later. And in going those routes, I discovered Molly Hatchet, Allman Brothers, the Outlaws, Marshall Tucker, the Grateful Dead...

I can honestly say, "Paranoid" saved my ears.

I owe Bob a thanks. I got away from listening to Sabbath and Rainbow and stuff like that when some of the music got just too dark for me to listen to... And I was honestly scared by some of the artwork on their late 70s/early 80s albums and the resulting solo career embarked upon by Mr. Osbourne. Ozzy got more and more into his act as a metal demi-god, and aside from a few big radio hits like "Crazy Train," I didn't listen to metal so much. But they planted the rock and roll demon seed in me baby. I owe him some props.

As a grownup, I have this peculiar interest to see how someone like Ozzy has finally grown up.... having survived so much self abuse. He has responsibilities, his kids, and has a life that no longer includes getting bashed in the head by flying vodka bottles.

More power to him, and God bless them one and all.

---

We didn't get nearly as much snow as Tess did, but it snowed up a bunch of flurries which combined together put about 3 inches of the fluffy white stuff down just in time for the first day of spring tomorrow. (by the way, Tess, nice nod to the TPS reports in the 3/18 entry! BWAAAA! I laughed. Office Space references always kill me).

My daughter was irritated that she didn't have school cancellation today. She'll survive. Plus, they had no snow days this year, just 2 delayed starts, so it'll be good for school finishing up at a decent time (June 11, her birthday). Snow days push that back farther and farther until they may as well just stay in school all damn year.

Today is a busy day. It is my last day here at the homestead before my one week trip off site. I have to:

• finish laundry
• pack stuff, first for my family to overnight to NY, then for me to have a weeks worth of crapola to travel with
• clean up stuff and have the place relatively tidy so that they can wreck it in total for me to reclean again
• pack my plane ticket in my stuff
• find a good book, we've got many. I may take some P.G. Wodehouse with me... that might be fun to read aloud while we drive (while I ride, she drives... we shall see)
• get the discman today from ben
• finish the 2 sites i'm working on... HA! not going to happen, may happen a little, but...
• take dog to kennel
• mail all the bills I just filled out, and put the others in order so they can be mailed out later in the week/beginning of next
• make sure Geoff has something nice to wear for school pictures on Thursday
• find Geoff's glasses, somewhere in the yard, AGAIN. I swear, he will not be allowed to wear his glasses out in the yard anymore. I don't know why this happens...

It isn't a lot to do, but it is when you'd rather watch Jerry Springer and eat ring dings.

So this entry is to just say so long for a couple days. I will have access to email here and there, feel free to drop a line. But my next entry will not be until at least a week from tomorrow, if not later

Email Spam Ponderings

Back in the infancy of the internet, we signed up on some mailing lists. I think I signed up for something X-files related. There may have been others. Little did we know the insidious world of Internet marketing would be chomping the bit to send us offers that we just couldn't live without. But no, really, we can. We can live without the stuff being peddled at us.

It started out small. Offers from Expedia.com for hotel rooms after we went on vacations. Offers from Travelocity for discounts on car rental rates, when we never rent cars.

We deleted the messages and proceeded with life. The friend to marketing email ratio was about 5 to 1, friends in the lead.

Time went on, as is its wont, and now it is 2002.

We get email from all the corners of this globe, telling us of the virtues of some FDA shunned wonder drugs, penis enlargements without surgery, how to get secret info on anyone/anywhere, how to correct errors in your credit history for just $39.99 (which is bullshit, don't listen to them).

It will not stop. And it is getting worse by the minute.

Lately we've been getting a lot, and I do mean a LOT, of porn related email advertisings.

"What do high school girls do when they get home and mommy and daddy are still at work? Watch these girls lick and suck..."

Uh, no thank you.

We've gotten anime porn offers, you know, the Japanimation style of Pokemon and Sailor Moon. They start with "teaser" graphics, and a link to their official site where you can pay to watch cartoon sex... live action or comic book style "lay" outs. I don't get enough real human sex, why do I want to watch someone who looks like the girl from Team Rocket get a little somethin' something. Obviously Barenaked Ladies weren't far off when they sang "Gotta get in tune with Sailor Moon cause that cartoon has got the boom anime babes that make me think the wrong thing." People have taken it that extra step. Purple haired girl with a strange jewel in the middle of her forehead taking a hot beef injection from both lower orifices with a big happy smile on her face and sparkle in her eye while flashing the peace sign... "Click here for more!"

Uh, again. No thanks. Now I have to puke when I watch "Tenchi in Tokyo."

Another recent advertisement invites me to come "Ride the Cum Bus..." Uh, NO!!!! Ewww!

I can't imagine a bus full of such a substance. How foul! And how not at all alluring ... that phrase doesn't even turn me on.

The Cum Bus. Aw, ick!

I have visions in my mind of people slipping off seats or trying to walk down the aisle to ask if this bus stops at Uphams Corner and slipping right through the big front windows as the driver steps on the brakes, pointing at the sign "Do Not Talk To Driver."

The newest junk mail that I'm receiving states "Urgent Billing Statement -- Account Past Due" in the subject line. Shit! You gotta be kidding me!

I open the message and it is a mortgage company trying to get me to sign up for a refinance with them at a low rate. How deceptive is that shit? I don't even look anymore if I see anything about an account, or past due. None of my actual real live having to do with my money creditors HAVE my email. Screw these smarmy bastards.

And over the past several days, almost every friggin day, without fail, some schmuck with atrocious grammar skills sends me email telling me the "USA Beretts Are Here.. Get Then NOW!"

Then?

Two dots in an ellipses?

Beretts?

Please, If you are going to send me crap via email, for crying aloud from the top of the holy mountain, spell shit right, wouldya??? And at the bottom of the message is the new standard disclaimer spammers use:

Please Note: Replying to this email will not get you unsubscribed. This email is not sent unsolicited. This message is sent to subscribers ONLY. You received this email because you agreed to get third party offers from another site. If you have questions about this mailing please email...

Yeah, maybe I did in 1996 when I signed up for a yahoo discussion list or something. Now look what it's gotten me. You fuckers bought the email list of subscribers from some other jackass who bought the list, which had been acquired from a company that was going out of business and needed to raise capital so they sold names on their list for a buck a piece to the first willing vulture.

Fuck you all. I am so exhausted by the amount of absolute shit I have in my inbox. You all suck major donkey ass. I've had it.

Guess how many times I've written that to one of these jackasses who give you the opportunity to "unsubscribe."

None.

You know why? Because if human eyes actually see my message do you think they'll actually look into their black, shrunken, evil souls and say "Jeeesh, do you think there are people out there who don't want to learn how to make money from home as a certified llama inspector? Perhaps we shouldn't be sending this stuff out?"

No. They'll send more.

And they'll sell my name to other dickwads who will send me even MORE insidiously wicked and evil stuff. Like I need that.

As is, the friend to junk, shitty bastard, marketing weasel email ratio has fallen from 5:1 to about 1:30. I have three email accounts. The original one we signed up for with our dial up, a hotmail account that I use for things like office online football pools and other mailing lists, and the wayoutinn.com email which I hold as sacred. It is the only one I check with any frequency.

If I close my dial up account, my provider will be stuck with 100 messages a day from natural herbal supplement dealers and natural heroin equivalent types, and ink sales people (I get offers for 75% off of INK for crissake! Why the fuck do I need 75% off of INK! I don't buy fucking INK!!!) It will crash all their POP3 mail servers. They'll be toast.

The hotmail account I expect to be full of junk mail, because I deliberately set it up that way. To be the black hole of such kinds of email for me.

And the personal mail, well as of late people are using web crawlers to find email addresses on line, and I'm starting to get unsolicited, unwanted, unnecessary messages there, insisting that the messages are "Information You Requested on Viagra for Women." No. I'da used the hotmail account if I needed Viagra for Women. Or, I'da looked at the hot teenage girls doing stuff with dogs and pate de fois gras (did I spell that incorrectly? Who cares. Not me. I'm ranting, and correct spelling doesn't matter when ranting).

Oh my GOD I am so annoyed by this shit.

Forgive me, please, dear reader. I am just on a total tear after getting some things that I just really do not give a flying rats ass on a cracker about. I think, by far, this is the rantiest entry I've ever done. I hope it makes you laugh as you picture me freaking out in my computer chair.

I wish I had a machine that would fill the forms out or reply to these messages to the actual senders, and fire them back over and over and over and over again, with fake ass names and anonymous fake email routings, until they crashed all their systems. That'd be my dream. Bruce Cockburn once sang "If I had a rocket launcher, some son of a bitch would die!" And that's how I feel, only instead of a rocket launcher it'd be a really good script to deluge their crap-spewing servers. Yeah, I'd make somebody pay.

I remember being in college and working in the mailroom with my good friend Gregg. We had a super nice, fun boss who let us listen to all kinds of great music while we were working. We stuffed mailboxes. It was our job. Gregg and I worked there for a summer. It was, by far, one of the funnest jobs I've ever had.

One day, a particularly serious, very religious youth ministries/music major guy named Steve came to the back door of the mailroom. He was raging, in as raging a way as a guy like Ned Flanders can rage. A livid Steve.

"I don't think this is very funny..." Steve said as he handed me the envelope advertisement bedecked with scantily clad babes, and banners offering 70% off the news stand price of Playboy. "I cannot believe you would put this in my mailbox, this is smut! Pure smut. It's disgusting. I'm writing a letter to the student life office. I'm telling the president of the college."

He was almost shaking.

Dave, the boss guy, came over and said, "You're name is on it. We put it in your box. That's what we do. We're the mailroom."

"Yes, I SEE my name is on it, but I don't want it. It's pornographic and I can't believe you'd actually allow this to be put in people's mailboxes at this college," was Steve's answer.

"It has your name on it, as objectionable as a Christian community may feel about this kind of thing, we are not in the position at all to make decisions as to what goes into your mailbox or not. It's junk mail. Throw it out. End of story."

"But how did they get my name?" Steve asked, as if Dave would know.

Dave actually did. Same way email marketing guys have gotten mine. The age old mailing list sell-off.

"You subscribe to Sports Illustrated. Obviously, they sold their mailing list. We got about 50 or 60 of those in today. A lot of magazine subscribers get offers from other magazines. Just throw it out." Dave shrugged and further explained that if he made decisions to throw mail out, bulk, junk or otherwise, what was to stop him from throwing out mail from political candidates he felt weren't "Christian" enough. Or, throwing out mail from other colleges because they weren't Christian colleges. Or OPENING mail from people to read the contents to see if it wasn't Christian, censoring it, marking it up, or throwing it out.

Dave had a great point. We were getting paid 5 bucks an hour to just just deliver what got sent. We weren't there to make a judgment call.

Steve was still pissed, and at the time, I thought he was totally over reacting. I still do. Just throw it out. Just like with my email... delete it and move on. That's what I do with the crap that comes in my mailbox. But it is still annoying, and my heart has softened towards this easily offended, very sweet, but really not so bright guy from my past.

But like with college, and like with the mail slot in the center of my feng shui compliant south-facing red door, it'd be much nicer to open my mailbox once in a while and have actual human mail instead of sheer volumes of crapola.

But alas. We're Americans, and we are labeled sheep, consumers. We are to be marketed at, towards and to. We have lost our souls. Just because we bought something at Best Buy, or signed up for Internet access. Or because we have a pulse. Such is the way of the future.

Just tell me that when it comes time for the chip to be implanted in my forehead that this isn't going to happen, that messages aren't going to be beamed to me for stuff we don't want marketed at me, ever... And if it is going to be that way, hand me a gun.

Wait, I'll buy one. I think I got an email recently offering me 40% off and free shipping for handguns and rifles... or I'll just go to Ted Nugent's Website and pick one up, cheap.

Where's me pot'o gold?

I have a good friend from when I was in high school and her name is Patty. Her last name starts with an O. Every St. Patty's day I would call her Patty O'Furniture. I still get a chuckle out of it. I'm sure she would think I'm a total mental case for just the recollection of the nickname. She and I had a lot of fun together. I miss her.

Anyway, not much to enter today. The Finnean frivolity will be limited this day. We don't have much going on. Jess went bowling with Megan and her family. Geoff was bad at church so Doug dragged him home. I'm tired, didn't get a good night sleep. We have to check on how things are going upstairs. The faucet wasnt the problem, there is a leak somewhere between the faucet and the shower head, so Pete tore the wall out, and we have to check and see what he was able to accomplish. The great thing about having him as a tenant is he knows how to do stuff like this. He should be the home owner... we're lucky to have him here. But we need to see what he was able to accomplish.

I'm tempted to tell them that I can't sub on Tuesday. I don't know why the hell I agreed to it. I have to get the discman from Ben (so we have tunes to listen to on the way to FLA, me and my sister), I have to pack. I have to pack for my family to overnight in NY. I have to give Doug the lowdown on what to do for Geoff to get him to go to bed while I am gone. I have to work on the site I haven't finished. I'm swampped. And, I am tired.

So we don't have a lot of fun planned today. Doug wants to go for a walk because the next four days are supposed to be dreary and dark. It'll be good for us to get Geoff out.

I took some pictures for you to show that we haven't totally lost our spirit. And Doug is drinking the last Guinness we have in house. Suffice it to say, there is a wee bit'o'tha green a'flowin' here at the Way Out Inn, just a wee bit.

Doug gets his Irish Setter, I mean his Rottie Mix,
to pose in the hat of frivolity.

Aaaargh! They're always after me lucky charms!

The hat is too big so he has to keep his head tilted back.
Makes him look cocky.

Megs never knows what's gonna happen to her when she comes to visit.
Here, we embarrass her with a hat.

We bought these two hats when we were in Maine on the Northern Hospitality tour, and it was with full intent to be wearing them whilst shitfaced with A&M. But alas, instead, we're wearing them normal. And it isn't quite as funny as if we'd been full o'black and tans. But hey. Everyone got into it, as you can see, and we don them in honor of our buddies who aren't here to wear with. I'm gonna see if I can get Pete or Jen to put one on next.

Have a great day all.

Talking about Money over Mexican Food

Mister Garfield was truly honored to be the inspiration of my last entry. Aaah, we feed off our friends, do we not?

I sent the last entry to my friend Morgan, who lives far away, and he called me. "You're timing is impeccable!" he stated... absolutely thrilled that my mind would be on The Bear and other walkers in good ole Beverly.

He had just picked up a book called "Weird New Jersey," and there is a whole lot of talk in there about the weird walkers in some of the townships. And it turned his recollections back to he same time in our lives, to the Bear and others. He reminded me of two others, "Old Henry," and "Ooffy Doofy" or is it "Goofy Doofy, I can't recall. Old Henry was a guy who looked EXACTLY like the owner/dictator/ceo/maniac who ran our company, only broke, crazy and dirty. We always theorized that this was some sort of glimpse into his future, that he'd lose everything, go mental, and wander the streets of his hometown terrorizing people.

It could still happen. From what I understand, none of those things have happened... he's filthy rich after selling companies, buying companies, wheeling and dealing. But all that could come to failure. You never know. The ghost of Old Henry could be a reality for him one day yet.

And I'm crossing the street when I see him.

It was so good to talk to Morgan. He made me laugh so hard I almost fell off the couch. And it felt really good to hear his voice, the way he says "That's Awesome," should be trademarked. I adore him. Miss him. I miss a lot of people that I haven't been in touch with for a long time.

---

Well, I substitute taught yesterday. Fifth grade. Not too bad. The kids really behaved except for one kid who pretended to be deaf and stupid. He had piercing blue eyes that I felt the desire to poke out. At one point when I was telling him to stop doing something and he repeatedly pretended to be deaf, I walked over to the phone to call the office.

"What are you doing?!" faking-deafness kid calls out.

"Calling the office to have someone come get you and take you out. You can't be here if you are this disabled. It's disrupting class."

"I'm okay! Don't call the office."

The office had answered the phone, the girl on the other end took my news well, that he didn't need to come down, that we'd reached an 11th hour agreement.

At the almost-end of the day, I went to drop something off at the office and the boy who had given me such a damn hard time last Friday was sitting on what I call "The Group W Bench," and I eyeballed him. Yeah, whatever you did, punk, serves your ass right. I hate that kid.

I'm subbing Monday and Tuesday, then going to Florida, then... I think I'll have three days free after I get back where I'll either cater or sub, depending on who asks me first. Then. Nothing but Geoff. Until the summer.

---

Doug is looking kind of for a new job. He's not really looking, just wondering what's out there in his field that pays better. He's happy where he is, but the pay isn't spectacular, and we're thinking that he'll have more success in his field than I will finding another job. So he's putting out feelers. We'll see what happens.

Last night we went out to dinner, both of us were exhausted and neither wanted to deal with cooking. So we went to this TexMex place in Haverhill called Pedro Diegos. We go there about four or five times a year and wish we had more money to go more regularly. Great wings, great margaritas, great sangria, nice waitstaff, and the kids are comfortable there. It's never crowded, but they seem to be healthy compared to other places in Haverhill. Restaurants come and go in that town like you wouldn't believe. It's the kind of place I look forward to taking friends when they come visit, so when you come visit, we'll be sure to take you, okay?

So over dinner we talked about money, finances, and how we have enough to pay our taxes, and if Doug gets something good for over the summer then we won't have to worry until end of August/early September for me to have some gainful employment. It felt good to have a plan. For a minute or two. Here are some pictures of us from the restaurant.

This morning, after I slept in until noon, got up and did dishes, Doug came tearing out of the front part of the house saying "We've got a problem, go look in the front bathroom."

I was on the phone with my sister, and I opened the bathroom door.

"Aw, crap. Gotta go," I tell her.

Water was pouring out of the ceiling from our upstairs tenants' bathroom. Through our light fixture. All over the floor. I guess Doug went to go to the bathroom and when he opened the door and turned on the light... surprise!

He quickly got dressed and ran upstairs. Jen was in the shower but Pete got her out. Doug came back downstairs perplexed at best. Here we are, thinking we're set for a while, with a nice cushion of savings, our taxes covered, our next six months in the bag, and now we'll have to replace a bathroom, or possibly two.

They did some investigating and figured out that the faucet was leaking inside the wall, that there wasn't a broken pipe. Doug went to the hardware store about an hour ago. I can hear a lot of stomping around and water spigots opening right now up there. I think he may be back and they are doing the repair.

Please, let it work. Please, please, please! If it's not one thing, it's another. To quote the late, great Gilda Radner's Ms. Roseanne Rosannadanna. We'll see if it all works out here.

---

Doug is starting to sort of plan what he's going to do with the kids while I'm out of town. I suggested they catch "Ice Age," in the theatres. Geoff does a good job at the movies these days, so that will probably be a night out.

A friend of his from high school who lives in Boston called the other day and invited us to join her and her husband and son in going to the BSO (Boston Symphony Orchestra) for a Classical Cartoons music expo.

All the classics.

I was crestfallen as I will not be able to attend. All the culture I ever learned was from Bugs Bunny, to paraphrase Elaine Benis on Seinfeld. So that is one item. Jessica is looking forward to it, "Kill the Waaaaabbit" has been hummed by all of us several times in the past day or so. Sorry I'll be missing it.

Ok. Jessica's making cookies and Geoff is running around like a maniac. Time for me to return to my normal role, and get more coffee, and help with the oven part of things (Jessica is still not confident in putting in and taking out items at the stove). Aaron and Michelle were supposed to be with us this weekend but they stayed home so M could get some work done for school. So it's a mellow weekend. We have funny hats for St. Patrick's day, we'll be sure to sit around wearing them tomorrow. The Ides of March and St. Patty's day. All in one weekend. Oy.

Walkers; Preacher Jack

Mister Garfield calls them "Walkers" in a recent email. He outlines a few examples of the walkers he's known in his time, and webituaries a Nashua character known for his bunny keeping skills.

It is strange he should send this, because just last night I was thinking of some of the "walkers" I have known over the years. I drove through Salem and Beverly after meeting with the people for whom I'm designing a website. Both towns have their fair share of walkers, and over the last several years I've seen them off and on, and wondered where they go and what they do when they aren't walking.

Here's an excerpt from Mister Garfield's email:

In earlier years, my hometown of Winsted hosted a disinherited race of street people, known collectively as "Walkers." Walkers were not G. Walker Bush's relatives --- they were people of no known address or employment whose only apparent reason to be was to harmlessly haunt the Winsted business district.

Crusty, a phlegmatic older gent with a neck brace who was widely rumored to have written the New Vaudeville Band freak hit "Winchester Cathedral" was the star, but there was also Scuzzy, a young derelict who often rode a bike with a banana seat: the Doty Twins -- who were actually Scattered Mom and Slattern Daughter; The Tree Lady, who blessed things with a sapling branch; and Russ Hazzard, a Vietnam Vet and drunk who carried a hatchet and often passed out beneath the bandstand in the park.

I mention this because Omer V. Lavoie, Sr, a mentally disabled man known as the Nashua Bunny Man passed away last week, and I feel a special fondness for this man I never knew. Omer "was a familiar sight in town, tooling around its streets with a stuffed rabbit on the handlebars of a four-wheeled scooter, dragging a wagon that held a plush gorilla." He was an amiable gent, and really popular with kids. He claimed to have lost his mind when "a television dropped on my head."

Mr. Lavoie raised and sold bunnies. His life was bunnies. "He loved them to pieces," said one Nashua businessman. "It was all he could talk about." His home was a sort of Bunny Fantasyland. A hand-painted sign shaped like a rabbit welcomed visitors. One outer shack was labeled Bunny Maternity House and decorated with plastic bunnies wearing pants and dresses, and the whole yard was littered with plastic rabbits and easter eggs.

Cleaning the hutches and caring for his lapidary friends was Omer's primary interest, though he managed somehow to father six of his own. Mr. Lavoie was often a mess, but the bunnies and scooter were always immaculate.

To a man who reminds me of home and who can serve as inspiration to Chris Geiger, who recently acquired her first guinea pig, "8.0."

Mr. Lavoie sounds familiar even though I've never seen or met him. I had intended for this to be my entry today, and was thinking of writing it last night, so getting Mister Garfield's email today made it even more timely for me to put this "remembrance" of walkers up.

When I worked in Beverly, there were mentally unstable, homeless, and addicted people who would walk up and down the street, just like the ones referenced above in Winstead.

The office we worked in was once a furniture store, and the whole front of the office area was glass, suitable for window shopping from the outside, and homeless guy watching from the inside. "We" was a gang of employees comprised of Morgan, my then boyfriend who shortly thereafter became my husband, the secretary Marian, Clayton, Harry (I could do a whole entry on Harry's exploits alone... but I won't), Jeff and myself. We would watch for these guys and yell out "Hey! There's [insert homeless guy nickname here]," and we looked forward to seeing them.

Your day was never complete until you saw all of them. It's kind of sick in retrospect, but the job we were doing was insipid at best, and we passed the time the best we could. Eventually we all sort of "adopted" a guy as our own, and when they'd walk by we'd yell "Hey Harry, there's your guy!" and everyone'd cheer. For me, it became a way of saying a prayer for my guy.

I felt bad that they were walkers like that, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. The kinds of guys that if the city of Beverly was hosting a major event would probably be put on a bus and dropped off somewhere. Or, they were guys that wealthier towns like Hamilton and Wenham probably DID put on a bus in the morning and drop off in Beverly to get them off the nicer tony streets and away from the people who couldn't stand to see them. So I'd pray for them when I saw them.

There were a ton of these guys, but three people who stand out in my memory very clearly.

We called the first guy "The Bear" because he so closely resembled one of the bears in Disney's Beartown Jamboree Jug Band... without the jug or the hat. He was my guy.

He had a slow, loping gait, seemed partially lame on one side, and so he could be seen coming for quite a ways. He would kind of grin maniacally while walking, shake his head, talk to himself. He had big teeth, and wore a green winter ski parka. He always had a cigarette going. He was prematurely silver, and I didn't think he could be much older than his mid-30s.

One day I was walking out of a luncheonette with a sandwich and pretty much walked right into The Bear. I was shocked. For the last year I'd been watching this guy and cheering for him... we kind of kept score of which guys would walk by the windows and get excited when we saw them.

So there I was, face to face with The Bear. He smiled at me and walked past. I was sort of relieved, and didn't know what to say... and was sort of stunned the way you are when you see a celebrity (reference my Topher Grace entry for example of the same). He then turned around and called out, "Hey..." and I stopped in my tracks. I turned around to see him, and he was smiling. "You work over there, don't you?"

"Yes..." the frightened rabbit narrator replied. "I do."

"I see you around. My name's Brian," and he stuck his hand out, and asked me mine. I replied and shook his hand and he smiled big, showing these huge teeth, and I noticed that his eyes were the darkest blue I'd ever seen.

"Have a great day..." he said and loped down the street. I ran back to the office to tell Morgan that I met The Bear, that his real name is Brian, and I was giddy. My homeless dude talked to me. All that time, he'd been watching us too. Morgan was especially psyched. He was very fond of The Bear. And we both thought it was hysterical that he was named Brian, because our boss was named Brian, and they couldn't have been more polar opposite from one another. So we found that very amusing... and we'd laugh whenever we'd have to go see Boss Brian for anything, because Bear Brian would pop into our heads. I still laugh when I think of that ...

Another guy was called "The Pink Panther," and I can't remember who he "belonged" to in the office ... He was skinny and had short, greasy, brown hair, bad teeth, and sunken eyes. We called him the Pink Panther, because he walked down the street one day with a 6 foot tall stuffed Pink Panther doll and it cracked the shit up out of all of us. He rode a bike around too. He came in the office one day because he'd noticed that a few of the sales guys would stand up not too far from the windows and throw pennies at the low wall below the windows while talking in kind of a street game. So he collected some pennies and left. He kind of creeped me out.

And the last guy burned into my memories was a true street dude, filthy, hair all matted and long, full beard, definitely looked older than he probably was, and he collected bottles and pushed a shopping cart around. I believe he belonged to Harry, for a specific reason. One day, Harry came out of the office and the guy was checking out his car, which was some late 80s/early 90s Pontiac or something "Bill Blass Signature Edition..." I guess Mr. Blass did the design of the interior or something and his logo was all over the place. The dude was checking out the car, and when he saw Harry he said, "this is a really nice car."

Harry thanked him, and in his mind made up a little scenario, that this man was really Bill Blass, fallen on hard times, and the sight of the car and logo brought him back a lot of good memories. Hence, the dude became known to us as Bill Blass. Of course.

I have no idea what ever became of Harry... Last time I saw him was in 1996 when he ran a road race in Marblehead. The runners gathered right by our house to start the race and he was there with his new wife. That was the last I've seen of him. Jeff got married and moved to New York or Atlanta or something, but it didn't work out. Morgan I've been in touch with... and Marian lives in Beverly still, I believe, and I've been meaning to get in touch with her and find out how she's doing.

When I worked in Salem, there was a guy who was about 350lbs who would wait at the bus stop with a Chihuahua under his arm. It was a sight. I don't know that he was homeless or what, he didn't look well cared for, and it was funny to see him with this tiny dog. I saw him for years, and most recently did see him when driving through Salem to go to Marblehead for some reason, about a year ago. I wonder if he still has the dog. What his deal is. I've always wanted to stop the car and jump out and say hello... I've noticed you and would love to know your story. What's your dog's name? How are you doing? I think about him once in a while, and I guess it's a way of praying... I hope he's doing well.

And there was a great honkytonk blues pianist named Preacher Jack who used to play bars in the area with a guy by his side named Sandy Berman.

Sandy used to own a blues bar in downtown Beverly but he fell on hard and nasty times and the once nationally renowned blues hall stood vacant for many years by the time I got into the acoustic music scene in the Boston Area.

We booked Preacher Jack at the coffeehouse one night. He was lanky, thin as wire, hair once red blonde was grey and red blonde, and he had a fire in his eyes and an intensity that I usually connected to someone who was an alcoholic, or currently drunk, but he wasn't. We apologized for the condition of the church hall's piano. But he didn't care that the thing was out of tune because "The Lord was going to speak through" him that night no matter what condition that instrument was in.

Jack put on a hair-raising, spellbinding, fire and brimstone, angels and devils, hardcore, deep, down, and gritty blues piano show and blew my socks off. The Lord certainly spoke through him, and I got to witness a shadow of the genius that was Preacher Jack. He was very into Elvis. "King Elvis!!!" He'd wail out while playing, as if channeling the spirit of the man... "The greatest! The King! KIIIIIIIING ELVISSSSS-ah!"

"Amen!" Sandy would yell... Sandy played the tambourine and acted as his Emcee, letting us know that the Lord was in the house, and Jack was his messenger. It was revival in spirit, and creepy and dark, and loud and funny all at once. If you can imagine.

A year or so later, I saw Jack walking around the square on Lafayette Street where rtes 1A and 114 diverge in Salem, unkempt, bearded, and preaching.

No piano.

I saw him several times over the next year, but haven't seen him since. Sandy had passed away, and I think that Jack lost his sane connection to the music scene, with no regular place to play, and no Emcee who believed in the power of his playing, he just sort of deteriorated. And again, like with the others, I wonder where he is today

pigpigpig; geoff and preschool

The past couple of days have been really quite... uneventful. No catering gigs, no substitute calls that I wanted to take. More on that later.

Pigupdate: The guinea pig seems to have grown. Which is good. She would only eat her pig pig pellets (not poops but the pellets for food) for a couple days but last night devoured a slice of apple like it was ambrosia of the gods.

She bit Jessica yesterday, not sure why, but we'll keep an eye on over handling her. Perhaps she was just sick of all the shit. I just heard her squeak from the next room. Not sure what she's up to but it is an hysterical sound. Yesterday Doug was holding her and got up to walk to the kitchen and she started screaming. I think she was afraid she was going to fall. But you should have seen the look on Doug's face... very funny.

I bought her a permanent little wooden house to live in, as opposed to a cardboard tent. She's moving up in the world. She will probably outgrow this before I know it. But for now, she digs it... safe and she can see. I'd like to see her climb through the holes and have fun, like the pigpigpigs in the book we got. But I doubt that'll ever happen.

I took her out of her pen yesterday while I was folding laundry and let her free range on my bed. I prayed the whole time she was doing it that she wouldn't piss on the comforter I'd just washed this weekend. She did really well, hiding under the folded clothes when they did an overhang off the pile. I'd move things and she would walk around, looking for another safe place, the whole time Kinger was stalking the sides of the bed. I wouldn't let him up, so he just walked around whimpering and wagging his tail. When he can't see her he gets really nervous and starts to cry.

Kinger is right up my ass everytime I go near pigpig. I'm not sure if he is jealous, or excited that he'll get a chance to see her, or perhaps just so neurotic that he thinks I'll forget about him if he isn't right on me. He's too big for that kind of neediness.

---

Doug and I had a heart to heart this morning about Geoff and me.

Once I go on full fledged unemployment, next week, it'll behoove us to take Geoff out of school for more than monetary reasons.

Up until now I've been getting paid what I was earning at my last company. The 60 days paid period ends this coming Monday. It will cost us 125 bucks a week to keep Geoff in school. I'll be pulling down perhaps 550 a week on unemployment. And working a couple days a week. It'd be better for Geoff to stay home with me financially.

He's been having a tough time at school lately, has been willfully disobedient, has been behaving very poorly. His teacher said he is distracting to the class and makes it so that they can't focus on the other children's needs and that's detrimental. So we're thinking it'd be a good idea to have one-on-one mom to boy ratio action on him for a few months, and then in the summer I can pick up catering gigs during the week... but for now it would be on Saturdays. I have to talk to Catering Man about that... April, May and June scaling back to just Saturdays. See what he has to say.

After I get back from Florida, probably the week after that will be Geoff's last week at this school until Kindergarten. We decided to send him there for kindergarten because they have a full day program, which rocks, and because it would only be a little more money than paying for before or after school care for him due to the fact that someone would have to watch him when he isn't in school here (half day programs are so lame). So he'll go back in September. I have to talk to the director and let her know when Geoff's last day is. Sigh. I feel that this is kind of a drag. I want him to go to school and be with the other kids, but he's being such a little brat and is making the lives of those around him a living hell.

I don't really want to give up substitute teaching. It's fun in spite of all the shit (and pudding) that I've had to put up with. But, even though I've been told I'm the bestest substitute teacher ever, I'd rather be the best mom. And doing this is the best mom thing to do. So we'll be tightening our belts for a while, through the summer at least. And praying for a very well paying good job for me in September.

We shall see what the Lord provideth. He's done it for us before, lead us to the right things at the right times. I'm certain it'll all work out.

I have Geoff home with me today because both kids have a doctor's appointment this afternoon at lunchtime. I am picking Jessica up early. I have some work to do on the site I'm building for the small company in Revere, as I have a meeting with them this evening. I have to prep dinner so it can be 100% ready when Doug walks in the door, we can eat, and I can go. Hopefully Geoff will behave for Doug. He was horrible for him last night while I went out with my girls from the old office. Speaking of which:

Only one of the girls from our former group couldn't make it. But here we are. Names are withheld to protect the innocent. But that's my fat ass in the middle.

Earlier in the entry I'd mentioned that I didn't get any subbing gigs that I wanted. I'll expound on that now. I got called to shadow a kid from the behavioral program, going to her classes with her, and spending the day with her. Now, I'm not sure about that. I've substitute taught four days in my life, and you want me to shadow a kid with behavioral issues. Don't you think I'm underqualified? "She's not that bad. She's hardly a behavioral problem at all." Oh, okay, goofy. Why's she in a program that requires she have a shadow for all her classes then if she's hardly a problem?

I declined the offer. No way. I don't have enough experience with these kinds of kids even though my own son might just be one of them. My training is nil, I don't know how to restrain a kid LEGALLY should I find myself needing to. I'd restrain them the way my husband taught me criminals are restrained by cops, tear their rotator cuffs by pulling their arms straight back behind them. They'll stop fighting when they feel the pull. Unless they're on crack. Then they'll keep fighting. But I don't know what to do if a kid freaks in school. I don't have the requisite skills to get her to calm down. I wouldn't know what to do or say. No. Not interested.

When a kid gets a sub, it's viewed as a free for all. They take advantage. I'm not getting in the middle of that scene. No thanks.

I am not sure they'll ever call me again for the middle school because I turned this gig down twice. But, if they offered subs free training on what to do and what to expect in certain situations, then maybe I'd be more inclined. But they just throw people in there. The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette article I'd linked to a couple days ago has the right to be shocked. I'm shocked too. Standing in front of a class of normal, well adjusted, slightly disobedient, wanting to test the sub's limits kinds of kids with a lesson plan prepared by a good teacher is cake compared to getting me involved with kids who might just go whole hog nutty and rip my hair out of my head.

Right now I'm allowing something very foolish to happen. Geoff took the guinea pigpigpig out of her cage and is sitting on the couch with her. I just heard her squeak, and thought she was in her pen. She's with Geoff. On the couch. She seems okay, but he keeps getting up and walking away which makes me nervous so I gotta wrap this up and go police. Perhaps a good picture or two will come out of this. Otherwise, I see a bandaid in someone's future.

Gotta run. bye!