In my hot little hands

So this morning at 8:50, life found me sitting sipping iced coffee in the parking lot at WXRV radio, waiting until 9am for the business offic to open so I could go in and pick up my major award ("Fragile! It must be Italian!")

As I pulled into the parking lot, "Wilted Rose" came on the station. That was great timing and a beautiful thing, if ever there was one.

Last night when I got home from work, I told Doug about the win, and he was actually thrilled for me. He applauded my determination (I told everyone within a 50 mile radius of my big mouth last week that I would win, and I did, so he thought that was awesome).

(For a larger version of the above, click here and if you're interested in the entire set of BNL pictures I've got on Flickr, click here).

So indeed, he was happy for me. Genuinely happy. Instead of eye-rolly "Oh Dear GOD not another BARENAKED LADIES THING!" I think he was happy because this cost me zero dollars. And that makes it extra special, no?

I will wait until he is piss drunk to tell him of the giant shrine I'm going to build in the center of our livingroom in which I will store the guitar for posterity. It will feature a hermetically-sealed, safety glass, velvet-lined case, piercingly loud security alarm, framed pictures, ticket stubs, special lighting, and a kneeling rail for those to come and gaze upon its beauty.

Oh yes. Yes it will.

He will be more receptive to this fact once he's trashed. I figure sometime this holiday weekend I'll be able to drop that love bomb in his lap. And maybe I'll allow him to build a similar Dylan themed shrine, on the small wall below our air conditioner, or perhaps on the wall above the toilet in Jessica's bathroom.

---

After I picked it up, I drove to work and got there close to two hours late. It was worth it. Got me a Steven Page automagraphed guitar. Everyone in the office was impressed and happy for me. My boss cocked her head to the side and said "Ya know, I'm kind of surprised that you haven't yet built a shrine here at your desk of some sort. You just have desktop wallpaper of them and you don't have anything really... personal displayed."

She's right. I think my big fear is that based on the history of my job security over the last three years, I'm afraid I'll get laid off at the drop of a hat. It's happened too many times. Settling in and getting comfortable, homesteading the cube farm, always leads to a big box and a pat on the back as I turn in my security access card.

I'll take her comment as an invitation to go ahead and start building that shrine at my desk. Mwah ha ha.

I want to learn to tune the guitar. Maybe play some chords. You all know I'm not at all serious about the shrine as it were. I am serious about protecting it, especially from "the boy."

My big dream is to get it signed by the other four members of the band. I just need to figure out how to do that. Whom to (lovingly and non-threateningly) stalk and beg.

All in due time. In the meantime, it's mine. And I'm a happy gal.

Not much else to report to the masses. Just happy. Happy happy. This should be a very busy weekend, filled with the returning teenaged malcontent daughter and hopefully some wicked good geocaching.

I won! I won I won I won!!!

So all week local radio station "The River" 92.5 has been giving away guitars autographed by Steven Page of Barenaked Ladies. He's out promoting his new side project called "The Vanity Project," and he signed 5 acoustic guitars. I pledged I would win one. And this morning, I did.

Yes I did.

To win, one must answer a trivia question. Not so much the "what is this song about" kind of thing, but questions they posed to Steven in studio last week when he was in house pimping TVP. They would ask, and give four choices.

Monday, the question was "What did Steven Page want to be when he grew up?" The choices were teacher, animator, director and something else (answer turned out to be animator). I got a busy signal the entire time and never made it through. Rats.

Yesterday the question was "What is Steven Page's favorite fast food item?" Choices were Egg McMuffin, Whopper with Cheese, Stuffed Crust Pizza or Bucket o'KFC chicken. I didn't get through. It was busy the entire time again. For the record, the answer is Egg McMuffin.

The DJ hinted at what the question would be this morning, so I called my sister in her office and had her google for me. She couldn't find anything that fit, or matched, or even came close, so I thanked her for her services and decided I'd take the risk of being wrong... and start dialing.

The question was "What is Steven Page's least favorite BNL song?" I had an inkling, but wasn't sure until I heard the four options, and then knew my hunch off the bat was wrong. I totally knew the answer. The options were One Week, Million Dollars, Grade 9 and ... something else. I totally forget.

Phone busy, phone busy, GAH! I KNOW this! I HAVE to get through.

And then I got a ringer instead of a buzzer. It rang and rang, and I was afraid the stupid Verizon bitch recording would come on and say "Your party isn't answering" the way she does... and I would have been so irked. But. I scored. The DJ picked up and asked me if I knew, I told him I was willing to take a guess. He read me the four options and I asked hopefully:

"Is it Grade 9?"

Yes it was. (Insert Windows "Ta-Daaaa" noise here).

I started laughing and had to pull over. I won. I never win anything. And this, my friends and longtime readers who know my hairy obsession with the five Canadian men who write lovely upbeat ditties about mental illness, post-modern ennui, and chickety China, is the greatest day of my life.

I gave all my particulars to the DJ, thanked him wholeheartedly. I called my sister back, who was streaming online and heard me answer the question. She was plotzing as badly as I was. I called Jessica and had Grandma get her out of bed so I could tell her. She was not thrilled to be woken up but was totally thrilled that I won...

C didn't hear me win, she wasn't streaming (that loser) so she missed it. I told the story a million times at the office. I posted on the BNL discussion board and one of the members had a picture that she emailed me... she works for the company that makes the guitars. Thank you, Kelly! She told me that someone from the radio station took it. I have no idea who it was, so I'm hoping the nod and thanks there at the bottom is okay. Dude. Check out his T-shirt. Heh.

So I'm home, and there is this hellish torrential rainstorm raging outside, otherwise my fat butt would be right over there to the station picking up the guitar. I am hoping it lightens up so I can dash over and get it.

Pictures forthcoming.

I won. Holy crap, y'all. I won!

Geocaching and Giant Tikis!!!

The weekend was incredibly fun. Saturday we went to Michael and Jon's and did some crazy geocaching. We learned that when frustrated it is quite okay to kick things. You may be pleased with what you uncover.

We also saw this cool abandoned/disused Chinese restaurant on the side of the road that had a wicked cool tiki out front. Nothing more fun than hanging out taking pictures of a giant tiki, I tell you what.

Sunday was a whole lotta nothing, except for a brief visit to Home Depot. We have a revisit of termites in a new portion of the house, so we went out and got stuff to put into the Terminix containers... rather than pay crazy money for Terminix to come out and do it.

Doug is confident we'll have their little chewing asses kicked in no time. I can't tell you how pissed I am that these gnawing bastards are back... Terminix can kiss my ass. Yes! I said that. You heard me!

---

My commute to work this morning worked out great. I think I got into Marblehead just in time. I drove past the cemetery where Christopher Piper would be laid to rest, and the Marines were there with the bagpipes playing. The Leathernecks and the Hell's Angels were setting up perimeter. Neighbors to the cemetery had signs out thanking Staff Sgt. Piper for his service and sacrifice. They were getting ready to set up the road blocks just as I went through. I was lucky to get in without having to drive the whole wide way around town.

My boss J graduated with Staff Sgt. Piper. He attended the funeral and reported back that the protesters were there, set apart in a little mini-pen, and the state police had backed their horses up right against the fence. The protesters got a good look at horse ass while they were there, and folks coming out of the church were treated to a regal sight of beautifully groomed and majestic horses lining the street. J said that he had an opportunity to talk to the Marines in attendance who worked under Piper, and to hear them tell great stories of what a generous and giving person he was, and how their lives will be harder without him as their leader. He was very touched by their stories. He came back to the office very subdued but not very sad.

When I drove past the VFW hall, the parking lot was packed beyond belief. I'm sure all the friends, the soldiers, the community who knew him were in there lifting a glass or twelve. I'm glad in the end there was no chaos, and that the family was able to be surrounded by so many friends, and so many strangers who pledged their support.

There was a news story last night about a church in our state with just about the same name as the other church from another state that came to picket this funeral. They're getting hate mail and hate phone calls from yahoos who think they're responsible. The pastor made it clear they're completely unaffiliated with the other church. I have to feel badly for them.

Anyway -- dinnertime. I'm outta here.

Townies...

One of my co-workers can technically be classified as a townie in Marblehead, even though she no longer lives there. She knows everything, she knows everyone. Any time I need to know what is going on in Marblehead, she's my go to guy. I found out more information about Monday's funeral situation in Marblehead, and my worst fears could be realized. I also found out a little more about why his funeral is being protested, and like I said, I understand the mental inner workings of termites better than I understand the motivations of the coming picketers.

The picketers aren't protesting Christopher Piper's personal philosophy. They're protesting Massachusetts' legalization of gay marriage. So because he is from Massachusetts, they're protesting his funeral. It makes as much sense as if they came to picket at the funeral of an elderly woman who dies at age 90. Just because she lives in a state that legalized gay marriage. Christopher Piper didn't even live in Massachusetts anymore. He lived in North Carolina, according to my friend.

There will be a funeral service at Old North, and a parade up to the cemetery, which is near my office. My coworker told me that the town expects thousands of state troopers, army, navy, airforce and marines personnel to be in attendance. This is the first person from Marblehead to die during this war, and the town is going all out for him. Which also means, the whackjobs will be met with 10,000 push backs to their little pickets.

I hope they're prepared to not have their message heard. I get the feeling the army guys may just be... pissed. This should be interesting. We talked about whether we should go to the parade portion. I said I would play it by ear and see how things were going on Monday.

---

This weekend, we thought about going camping because Jessica was not going to be with us to whinge and complain about the outdoors. Then we found out there was Bullriding at the Topsfield Fairgrounds, and opted to go to that instead, coupled with geocaching with Michael and Jon today.

It is forecasted to be brutally hot, so I'm anticipating we'll take it easy, drink tons of water, ice the dogs, and generally have a good time. Funny how when we plan to cache or hike it gets monkey hot. Maybe I should just stop planning things.

I took a couple of pictures at the bull riding, but they didn't come out too sharp. I think it is time for me to upgrade my camera. I must do some research into what is best. This one is good for outdoors, hiking, beating on it. I'd like something sharper with a much better zoom and better functionality in lowlight settings... like BNL concerts or last night's bullriding arena.

So the best pictures I got were of the rodeo clown coming up into the stands to sit on the lady behind us. He was not as funny as he was last year. Same guy, same jokes, just not delivered with conviction.

Alright then -- gotta get red'up to go. I'm talkin' all rodeo like and whatnot.

That which is so sad is revealed...

A couple of weeks ago I posted this enigmatic entry about how my sister is the most wonderful friend someone who is hurting could ever have. A lot of people have left comments expressing support for whatever was going on, and others have emailed asking if we're all okay. I wanted to give it some distance. I wanted to give it some thought. I'm ready to write a bit about what happened, and I am ready to share some of the sadness with you, if you're ready to read it.

My sister has a lovely friend, someone whom I adore. Someone I will refer to as V. V is married to S. V and S are lovely wonderful people. V and S have always been the best and most wonderful folks, and I've watched from the sidelines as their life together has started, grown and has flourished into a family.

V and S had a little girl.

This little girl, very lovely and looking much like her daddy, suddenly died at age 14 months on the overnight of June 4, 2005. I used the Dave Matthews song of "my Grace is gone" on the entry that I wrote for my random quote. That was her name and I'll never ever be able to hear it without thinking of her, at age 14 months, leaving our lives.

"Excuse me please, one more drink.
Could you make it strong cause I don't need to think
She broke my heart -- My Grace is gone."

Dave's song speaks of a woman leaving him, and his stint at a bar crying into his drinks. In this instance, the woman never got to grow to leave anyone. She was a baby, and she never got to stick it to the likes of Dave Matthews.

I never got to meet her, I have some pictures of her. I remember the happiness I felt for V for becoming a mom. I remember shaking my head as my sister hopped on an airplane and paid probably way too much money to immediately fly down there to be by her best friend's side and celebrate this birth.

My sister is that kind of friend, who will pay through the nose to be by your side when you need her -- in happy and sad times. I applaud that. Money isn't something she has, but it is never an object. More friends should think outside their wallets.

Grace died unexpectedly, suddenly, and has ripped a hole in many a heart. V has many siblings. The entire extended family on both sides is obviously devastated at this event, this moment in their lives.

I can only hope and pray that V can recover, that S can recover... that together they can move past this event, and whatever their future holds together -- no children or more children -- that they always and forever cherish this beautiful Grace, and recognize her influence on their lives. No matter how short a life -- we all have influence.

I'm sorry I never got to play with you. I'm sorry my children never got to dance with you. I'm so sorry that My Grace is Gone.

God bless and speed you, Gracey.

This is the fourth child in my life to die. My friend Sheri and her husband Steve lost their son to a congenital heart defect. A friend of Doug's from High School lost a son who was a week old. This past week, a former co-worker lost his 3 year old son unexpectedly.

This is an incredibly hard subject for me to even put out onto the screen. I have friends who are expecting. I have friends with little babies, with newborns, with toddlers. I have friends with teenaged children who just had aneurysms for crying out loud.

Children and the evils that befall them are often not the topic of discussion here. But. This happened, and bad things happen to little people. Rob R-H happened to mention a great quote in his entry of June 22nd, "Sometimes it's a hard world for small things." For those of you who know me, you know that's from one of my top five favorite movies ever. And it's the damn truth.

I've had several friends bear children with disabilities. Even my own son is classified with all kinds of labels and problems. He's great, he's funny, he's alive. But honey, shit happens.

Shit happens. And what are we supposed to do?

Why do I have both of my kids, and why do my friends and people around me lose theirs? Why is my roommate from college's son Autistic? Why is this other friend going through life with a child with cerebral palsy? What makes the difference? Where do we find the answers? Who deserves to suffer, who deserves to see the child walk down the aisle and dance at a wedding? Where is God? How does this happen?

What did any of us do wrong?

Why can't kids just be born, be healthy and grow up to dance at their weddings with their parents in joy and happiness?

I'm forever surprised and amazed that both of my kids are alive and walking today. I'm amazed that Jessica survived lead poisoning at 2 years to be the intelligent and beautiful woman she's becoming today. I'm surprised at Geoff just BEING most of the time, with the life of super danger he leads.

I have no idea how we got where we are today. I have no idea if tomorrow something horrible will happen to Geoff at camp, or on the way home from the grocery store. A year ago I lost him at a park. He wandered away from me and decided to walk home. I remember the terror I felt when I could not find him. I remember how the police suspected me, and asked me questions as if I'd thrown him into the river and then feigned his missing status.

I remember the dry mouth and heaves that came when I heard over the police radio that they had him, and he was okay.

I cannot possibly imagine what S and V went through and are going through, and will go through over time. All I can say is that every minute of every day they are on my mind. They are in my thoughts. They are in my prayers.

With the events of my last entry, and the people I speak of who are planning to picket service personnel funerals in Massachusetts -- all I can say is "Dude. There are much more important things in life to do."

There are such important things to do and to consider.

And that's why I'm writing this entry. Not so much to talk about friends behind their backs, because goodness knows they're not reading my journal right now. But because I want each of you, whether you have kids or not, to just stop being petty and ridiculous. To love one another. To touch the lives of other people, like Grace did in her short tenure amongst us.

I want love to rule... I want to see, hear, experience and know that those around me are doing love. Doing kindness. Doing things which bring joy.

I want each of us to make an impact on another person, and to do so in a positive, loving way. I want love. I want you to love. I want you to feel. I want you to shed the sarcastic attitude and just do something wonderful for someone. If you have a child, watch that child grow and change and teach that kid to give love to others. If you have no kids, just freakin' hold the door for someone sometime.

There is so much that is so important in life. And as of late, I truly believe no one is seeing that which is so beautiful around them.

So do me a favor... In Grace's name -- do something kind. Do something loving. Let her be a legacy to you, even if you never met her, got to play with her, got to dance with her. Just exhibit her namesake -- Grace -- to another. Stop bickering, stop whining about who parked crooked or drove past and splashed you in their Lexus (guilty as charged), or complaining about your body or your boss or your apartment or your debt.

That's all. That's all.

Thanks.

Piper

So, I watched the news before I got in bed, as is my wont each evening. I like for Kevin Lemanowicz to tell me how warm or humid or rainy or thundery or sunny it will be the next day, so my dress may be appropriate. One of the lead stories disturbed me deeply. It concerns the funeral of a serviceman who died on June 15, 2005.

The serviceman, Christopher Piper of Marblehead, died as a result of injuries he sustained in Afghanistan. He made it all the way from Afghanistan to Germany to Texas, and died. Friends and family are shocked, and deeply saddened -- of course. He leaves behind a wife and two children.

The news reports that there is this religious group from another state (whose name and philosophy I am reluctant to even mention here lest a Google search link me somehow to them) planning a protest AT HIS FUNERAL. This group has a problem with homosexuality. A big problem. So why are they targeting a married man with two teenaged sons if they hate gays and gay people? Because Army Special Forces Staff Sgt. Christopher Piper was tolerant and supportive towards gays. According to the news report.

I went to their webpage, and they don't mention Christopher Piper at all as one of their picket sites. But they do mention plenty of other servicemen who were killed by IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) on their "Thank God for IEDs!" page. I get the impression they're happy that soldiers are killed by IEDs because an IED was used against their church. They also think Billy Graham is evil and plan on protesting him. I really don't get their reasoning or understand what they're doing. But I do know that what they're doing, even if I agreed with it, is in incredibly bad taste and exhibits pride and poor judgement that only truly fanatical and delusional people can show.

It isn't bad enough that these men suffered. They're dead... For Christoper Piper, his wife is a young widow, his kids have no dad. It isn't bad enough that men like him are in harm's way constantly and are doing so with the belief that they are protecting the individual rights of citizens here in this country to speak, live, breath, exist, and protest.

But because he was a nice guy to people, of whatever philosophy or stripe, a bunch of yahoos are going to come in and protest him. I can't think of anything that God would hate more than what they are planning to do.

It is getting completely out of hand with these people. They've protested gay students graduating high school. They've protested middle school students writing papers in school about gay figures in pop culture. Now they will drag their opinion into a private arena, where a woman and her two children cannot quietly and solemnly lay this man to rest.

I'm pissed.

I'm all for people protesting any stupid thing they believe in. Go ahead -- just do it somewhere appropriate. Don't like the war? Great. Protest it until your lungs fly out of your mouth, just do it on appropriate turf. Support gay rights? Yeah -- wave your sign and yell and scream... on appropriate turf.

At this man's funeral, there should only be family, friends, loved ones, members of the community who know and adore him - gay, straight, male, female, young and old. Not the frothing blatherings of someone's political agenda no matter what it may be.

There used to be places in society where rhetoric dare not tread. This was one of them. A funeral. Sacred ground. Find another venue, another spot, another something -- and allow this family to hopefully find the blessing of the peace that passes understanding.

See, I think that maybe God would like that.

There are lot of things I personally and humbly think that God would like better. See, just because I've read the bible and believe the contents doesn't mean I can speak for God. So I can't say God likes this and God hates that. But I have an inkling of an idea. I believe God would rather see these people putting their efforts into, I don't know -- feeding hungry kids? Building houses for people who have no homes, no shelter? Maybe?

I think God probably doesn't like when people stand up and shoot their mouths off in anger towards others while saying that these are God's opinions. God likes when we mirror his love, mirror his compassion, mirror his understanding. In fact, I think God loves it.

I don't believe that God hates any one of us on the planet. If they want to pinpoint passages of scripture to back up their philosophy and say "See, this is why God hates gays or Sweden or Christopher Piper or whatever..." then I just ask why he'd send us the blood of his son if he hates the vast majority of the planet? Why would he have done that in the first place -- he so loved the world. Every last one of us.

And I still believe he does, even these jerks who run around spitting venom in his name.

Another thing that chafes my britches about this is that the funeral is Monday in Marblehead. I only know of one cemetery in Marblehead. I have to drive past it daily. There is a VFW hall in town, and it is across the street from the cemetery. I have a feeling this entire scene could get ugly. Fast. And I have to drive past it.

I have a sinking feeling this event could mess with my commute, or my going to get lunch, or my just having a pulse in that town on Monday. We'll have to see.

A big part of me wants to see one of these guys with their signs so I can go up to them and beat the crap out of them. But the smart part of me that doesn't want to go to jail says that they'll get theirs eventually, when they find out what God truly loves and hates.

On Monday, I had one of "those" mornings. I did my entry after walking Geoff to the bus. I got some dishes done. I got some laundry going. I packed his bag for camp so he would have everything he needed when I picked him up from school. I went to the school, got the boy, drove him to camp. I realized when I got there that I'd forgotten his immunization records, a big no-no for any camp going kid. You must have proof of immunizations. So. I drove home. I got the immunization record. I drove back to camp.

I dropped off the document, waved to Geoff, reminded his counselor to put sunscreen on his ears because they stick out and always burn. I hit the road.

I was only 10 minutes later than I'd thought I would be that morning, so I figured, hey -- I'm doing really well with this.

Getting close to I-95, I suddenly believed deep in my heart of hearts that no one remembered (no one being me) to turn off the coffee maker. Because I knew no one would be home until 8pm, I knew I'd better go back and turn it off.

It was off. That was all for nothing. Gah.

Again, I headed towards my office. Getting to I-95, I hopped on the highway and managed to go less than half the distance to the next exit when traffic suddenly came to a complete halt. Oh, hell no. Two lanes closed for the big ongoing nightmarish paving project. FTS, I'm outta here.

I got off at the next exit and decided to head east to Rte 1. I could cruise down Rte 1, and then hit 95 again and continue on my way. Natch.

Just past the Topsfield Fairgrounds, again, traffic ground to a halt. Road construction. Double oh hell no. Detour into the neighborhood to the west. I was behind a nervous nelly who was deathly afraid to venture into the neighborhood and follow the big hugeassed orange signs at any sort of sensible speed, lest she blow past a big arrow telling her which way to go and she'd plummet of the face of the earth or be eaten alive by the aboriginal residents of Topsfield. So we crawled along like turtles. And me cursing her existence.

Eventually, we made it safely back to Rte. 1 and I blasted past Ms. Dingus at about one billion and a half miles per hour. Holy crap... I can't believe I was stuck behind her.

Back on 95, cruising along, 80mph, blasting past that police speed trap just north of Centre Street. Luckily, I was not the rabbit in the pack, and the guy in the other lane going about 10 mph faster than I was got nailed by the wolf. I cruised off the highway and into Peabody. Traffic was bumper to bumper the entire way. I'm cursing myself for even bothering to try and make it to work. Just give up. You'll never get there. By the time you get there it will be time to turn around and go back and get Geoff from camp.

This is how long it took me to get to work:

My 45-50 minute commute took me a hour and 47 minutes.

Today's commute almost had me turning around and heading back home, but for entirely different reasons. I got Geoff to camp on time, and was about 3 minutes from my office when I heard that Steven Page of BNL was making a live in studio appearance at the local radio station up near my house.

Holy Crap!

I slammed on the brakes. I almost spilled my coffee. Do you know the amount of will-power it took to keep me heading towards the office? Do you know the Herculean strength I needed to apply to my body, my feet, my hands, my brain, just to keep from flipping a big fat U-turn to go home, hang out freaking out Fangrrrl style for a couple hours and then going over to the radio station to salivate in the vacant lot across the street?

Believe me -- it was an effort.

Everyone at work was proud of me. G and C both were shocked when they heard him on air and realized that indeed, I was sitting there in the office.

I'm nothing if not messed up in my priorities in life.

And another example of me not having my priorities straight is that I didn't leave work the minute I got there to drive into Boston and go get a wrist band for tonight's in-store appearance by The Vanity Project (aka, Steven Page). I'm a loser. But the wristbands are all gone by now.

"That's all, that's all."

So it was asked of me by a few people: How did Geoff do at his first day of camp.

Well, for a boy who didn't want to be there, he tells me it was "the greatest day of his life." You may recall that he said the exact same thing the day that Aaron took him fishing in North Carolina. So I guess that he now has a new greatest day. Sad but true.

He liked it so much that when Doug went to pick him up, he denied that he was Geoff and said he was "Joe" so that he didn't have to leave. Doug was standing at the pick-up spot, and they radioed for the boy, and the response was 'uh, we don't have a Geoff down here...' there were only a few boys, so they rounded them up and got descriptions. Doug said "yeah, the blonde with glasses." And then Geoff got the royal lecture about telling the truth and yeah we're glad you liked camp so much but you can't go and lie like that because grown ups take it all pretty seriously and the like.

Crazy.

He also came home with a wicked bad sunburn on his back. I asked him if his counselor put sunscreen on him, and he said "Just my ears."

You'll recall at the beginning of this entry that I did indeed instruct the counselor to make sure he got sunscreen on his ears. All he heard, obviously, was "sunscreen" and "ears."

Boys. They crack me up. Rob will probably agree when he reads this that indeed -- yes, boys hear things differently. They do things differently. I called the camp director today and informed him of this fact and he said he'd go over sunscreen safety with the boys... and he thanked me for understanding and not freaking out yelling.

What can I say. I have a boy who does exactly these things.

Ferry the girl away...

My son. You'd think that a kid would WANT to start summer camp. They would WANT to skip the last day of school (half day on a MONDAY, who does that!?) and go straight to camp. But not Geoff. I told him that he was going to camp and he freaked out "but I won't see my friends again! I'll miss learning something! What if they teach something I need for the rest of my life!" Oh! The DRAMA of preadolescent youth!

Dude, more than half of them are going to the same camp. In fact, my guess is more than half of them will not be in school today, they'll be... AT CAMP! As for missing something, he just doesn't really get the fact that there ain't no book learnin' goin' down in no school today. It's the last day. It's a HALF day.

Man. My son...

So he went to school. I'm going to pick him up at about 10am, drive him over, get him acclimated, pat him on his pointed little head and wish the staff luck.

This should be interesting.

I am glad I'm staying home this morning, I am just plain worn out. Between the Geoff drama and our weekend adventures, I need just a few minutes to breathe, and do dishes.

And write a journal entry.

Today's quote of the moment is dedicated to Jessica. Read it, over there in the left side bar, and come back here. Okay. Explanation:

Jessica likes to sniff me. Yes. I said that. Jessica will be sitting on the couch next to me, and she'll lean over, stick her nose on my shirt and inhale. Sniffffffffff! I have NO idea where this came from, but it cracks me up and then we get into this whole "You may not sniff your mommy!" argument and I push her and she sniffs me. It's weird. It is one of those truly Jessica-Christine weirdnesses that I don't honestly expect anyone on earth to understand, comprehend, get.

She says she likes the smell of our laundry, and that sniffing Geoff or Dad is just weird. And sniffing me isn't? Whatever.

Yesterday on the ferry, we were getting ready to deboat and she sniffed me and said "You Stink."

What! Little brat! How dare she. "I do not stink."

Then she starts laughing and says "You stink. Yes you do. You smell like beef and cheese. You don't smell like Santa." If you don't recognize the quote, it's from the movie Elf and Will Ferrell's character, Buddy Elf, says it to the store Santa in the department store where he is "working." So she and I bust out laughing our asses off. Doug standing behind us, looking at us wanly as if to say "How did I get myself into this mess."

Speaking of busting out laughing, I got a phone call on Saturday from my old friend Dr. Bobby K, professor extrordinaire at some university, somewhere in the USA. Ole Rob there is just dying laughing, and I can't understand a word he is saying. Finally he gets out, "I've been laughing for 48 hours -- I had to call you and tell you why."

Rob was in a pet store in his current state somewhere in America, buying dog food for ole Cooper Dog. He went to pay the man at the register for said canine victuals. Suddenly he hears the in-store music playing "Easy Lover" by Philip Bailey and Phil Collins. And he uncontrollably busts out laughing in the cashier's face -- he cannot stop laughing.

The poor guy at the register must have been quite confused. But in his mind's eye, Rob sees me sitting in the passenger's seat of his car in like 1984, singing into the "mic" in my hand "She's a sleazy mother..." in a high, fake falsetto mocking tone.

And he can't stop laughing.

So there is he is, two days later, still laughing. He said to me "I look back on those things we used to do, and we were funny. God, we were so funny."

Sometimes when 17 and 18 year olds are together, they think they're funny. More often than not, they are just funny in the moment. But. If they can get to age 38 and they are suddenly swept over by how ridiculously funny something was 20 years ago, and they can't stop laughing, you know that shit was true. True funny.

We were funny. We were damn funny beyond any shadow of a doubt. The crap we would do and sing and joke about was just downright juvenile and really funny. I wish to hell that I'd had a camcorder back then, to tape Rob stomping on the brakes and beeping the horn in rhythm to the Eagles' "Heartache Tonight" as I sang out the windows through all of downtown Huntington NY on a hotassed summer night.

Rob thinks he's lost his funny. I don't think so. I laugh my ass off still when we talk on the phone, and let me tell you -- God bless the phone. I seriously would have no friends on this earth if it weren't for the damn phone. We can laugh ass off about Geoff stories (I told Rob the bungee cord wedgie story and he just about died) and all kinds of stuff... he's still funny. He just needs a proper venue.

Bobby K -- this one's for you! Sing it with me now, brothers and sisters! "She's a sleazy mother, She’ll take your heart but you won’t feel it..."

Yesterday we drove Jessica down to drop her off with my parents. It was a long round trip, but we had a lot of fun during the day.

We actually got out the door 10 minutes before we planned... which, for those of you who know and love us, is a very rare event indeed. We missed one ferry by mere seconds.

The ferry ride over was cloudy and cold so we stayed in the cabin. I enjoy the ferry ride when it is hot hot hot and sunny. Crashing out on the upper deck and just enjoying the rays and tanning my feet -- that's the life. We met Grandma and Grampa in Port Jefferson, ate a great lunch at Papa Joe's right in town. Enjoyed the company, the beer, and the nice breeze. Port Jeff was certainly nicer weatherwise than New England was.

We then did some geocaches. One really tricky one right behind the restaurant, and another quick and easy one by the docks in the guardrail.

We did a third that required some more walking, so Doug and I went off to do that while the kids had ice cream with Grandma and Grampa. God bless Grandma and Grampa! The park where this one was hidden is under construction, and at first I didn't think we were going to be able to access the site.

There was a huge fence, and keep out signs everywhere, but then I saw this opening in the fence with a nice walkway to a statue... hmmmm. So we went in. It was a tricky find, but find it we did. Then we enjoyed combing for beach glass along the shore. A ferry came, and we could have hustled back and gotten the boy, but we took our time. We caught the next one after taking my parents for a nice walk all around downtown, checking out little stores and listening to South American pan flute music in the square.

The ride home seemed to take a million years more than the ride down. We eventually made it back. Our deck stairs still need fixed. So we're using Jessica's front door to get in the house, which is confusing the dogs. Doug said he'll come home from work early and get the deck fixed.

Geoff's cub scout den has their 'year end reward' for good behavior today. They're playing Laser Tag, and it should be tons of fun. I am hoping to go straight from work over there, seeing as I'm not at work now... it'd be good to stay at the office until 6 and then drive over... thus making up some time.

But I may come home first at 4 and get Geoff from camp, give Doug some time to maybe fix the deck, that way we don't need to sit in the dark with flashlights and bug spray.

That's the muppet update over here. I hope all y'all had a good weekend.

Turtle and a stretch of dangerous road

Today we geocached our mighty asses off. Found three and went to do site maintenance on another one. We participated in the safe road crossing of a turtle (Carlos Santana would have been very proud of us for loving the earth and being good creatures filled with love for others!). We were blasting down Lee Hook Rd. and Doug yells "Wow! Look at the turtle!" and bangs a U-turn and goes back to it. We got out, and the turtle had its head so far out of its shell that I couldn't believe my eyes. I've never seen a fully extended turtle neck like that before. He was sniffing the air and trying to figure out if he should cross or not.

We agreed that we would help him, but neither of us wanted to pick him up. Not because turtles are icky, but I was afraid of having my fingers chomped off, and Doug says that turtles carry salmonella on their bellies and shells and that if you're not able to immediately clean up you could regret the helping out activities later.

Knowing that a little girl in Florida was killed while trying to help a turtle cross the street, we kind of signalled to traffic to slow a bit as the little dude made his way across. Suddenly, another car passes and pulls over. This young Asian guy gets out and says "Hey! Are ya helping the turtle cross!?" He went and picked it up and carried it across the street. No fear of finger chomping or of salmonella on his part. He was beaming ... "It's good luck to help them cross," he tells us.

Yes it is. I wanted to hand him a quick-nap wipey thing, just to continue the good luck karma. Unfortunately I didn't have any.

I hope he washed his hands when he got home.

Well, Doug is making supper and I'm needing to help Jessie pack her stuff up. Friday morning Doug pointed out to me that we were mentally deranged if we thought we could take a night of rock and then drive Jessie to NY the following morning. I listened to his reasoning and fully agreed. So we're taking her down tomorrow.

More then.

Los Lonely Boys

Tweeter Center
June 17, 2005


Three brothers looking as if they might be the notorious Mexican Mafia step out on stage. Three men, standing in front of Carlos Santana's humongous stage set -- they look small, they look slightly out of place. A guitar, a drum kit and a bass are all they have.

And then they start playing.

The sound is Stevie Ray Vaughn meets the Refreshments. Immediately the semi-thug image of Ringo (yes, that's his real name) on the drums, with his bad-assed bandana melts away, revealing a young man who wants nothing more than to beat the rock out of the skins and send the beat flying into your face. His brothers, Henry (Guitar) and JoJo (Bass) step up to the mic and flawlessly belt out their art. Singing a gorgeous two part harmony while riffing tremendous Texas guitar-driven rock.

These are Los Lonely Boys -- these are the crown jewels of Texas rock. Heir apparent to the throne of Stevie Ray, they blew invisible walls off the shed of the Tweeter Center, and also blew me away. I was familiar only with their one radio hit "Heaven." I didn't know they were rock gods in blue button down shirts, pony tails and black pants.

Their short opening set at last night's Santana concert was worth the price of admission itself. At the end of their last song, Henry and JoJo performed some searing instrumental acrobatic feats which left people astonished and humbled. I mean, I can't even describe what they did it was so cool, funny, and awesome.

If you get a chance to see them live, do so. If you enjoy what they call "Texican" rock, great harmonies, latino flair and music played without overt and invasive technology this is a live show that you cannot miss.

I have a deep respect for anyone who can actually play an instrument, and play it well. Perform and perform well. I've always been a huge proponent of a lot of solo folk artists because there is nothing more pure, basic and incorruptable than a human voice and a guitar. Combine that with another gorgeous human voice and a bass, and another human voice and a set of drums which deliver the beat to your heart, and you've got yourself something so honest, so beautiful and so impressive. In an age where lipsynching is the norm and not the exception, hearing one off note and seeing the face of the musician who screwed up as he giggles -- it's all beautiful and good.

I loved them.

And they ushered in Carlos Santana. The master. El Papa. With his amazing lineup of about a dozen musicians, one would think the amount of bodies on stage were there to compensate for the man's age or inability to play.

Not so.

Santana's guitar work is as pristine and pure as if it were the 60s or 70s. And watching him you can see this is an older man with the heart of a little kid, up there, riffing like mad, flinging his arms in the air to bring the audience to its feet to dance. Maria, Maria -- the man is amazing.

I'd rather watch ole Carlos any day compared to that decroded piece of crap Mick Jagger. He is the elder statesman of Latino American rock -- and it was humbling to watch him last night.

Along with Santana's amazing guitar work goes this bizarre spiritual/visual video production with a picture of the earth and a foetus super imposed upon it, followed by a dove flying, and gorgeous views of mesas and some African Tribesmen dancing. It is truly surreal, and I suppose if you are baked half out of your mind it might have a lot more "meaning." But for the clean and sober it is kind of funny and really sort of campy.

It was a great night. And if I could, right this minute I'd be at Hampton Beach checking out Los Lonely Boys again. I'm into it. Bueno!