So Star Jones goes
and kills her career in public yesterday on The View. Shoots herself in
the foot while she's at it. Today Ba Ba Wa Wa did one of those we
will miss her things. We will miss your bizarro opinions and skinny new
self. We will miss your attitude and lack of gratitude. Don't let
the door hit you in the ass on your way out.
Ever since STAR lost eighty
gazillion pounds and wouldn't talk about having STOMACH STAPLING
SURGERY, she was headed for the mortuary. That nearly botched
boob lift didn't help much either.
Plus she married a perfectly nice
guy. Except, wait, he's GAY, Star!!!!!!!!!! Do you think we
bought that whole "we're not having sex until after marriage" crap?
And getting sponsors to pay for her wedding? Tacky. Tacky. Tacky. .
Then she wrote a book about relationships about two minutes after the honeymoon. Like she has a CLUE!!
Followed by joining AOL as a love coach. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Sorry. I just couldn't wait to be the bearer of bad tidings. This whole STAR as DIVA thing is so Mrs. Linklater.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Shootin' Six
Patrick's Saturday Six is located at his Weekender place.
I'll do a link eventually.
1. You are given a "remote control" that involves life itself. Of these functions, which would you think you'd make the most use of: fast-forward, rewind, or pause?
Rewind. Forty years. Duh.
2. If you could use a "change channel" button to become a totally different person, would you do so?
YES. Walking in someone else's shoes would be intriguing. Assuming my options did not include the Elephant Man, the Bearded Lady, any transgender types, or Monica Lewinsky.
3. Do you own a gun? If not, what would it take for you to purchase one?
I do not own a gun. I will never own a gun. I'm scary enough without a gun. With a gun, I could kill someone.
On the other hand, I've mentioned before that I seem to have a knack for hitting bullseyes with those air rifles used at kids' camps. I'm also near perfect at the shooting galleries at Great America. Perhaps I was a sniper in a former life.
I was once engaged to a medical student whose family restored antique weapons. One day he wanted me to shoot a pistol at some cans. So I could get used to firing guns. People who own guns always want people who don't like guns to do stuff like that. No thank you. He married someone else. Even though he was a doctor, he continued his family's lucrative hobby of restoring antique weaponry. A few years ago his wife was found accidentally shot through the heart out on their shooting range.
That could have been me.
Another time I went with a guy I know into a gun shop not too far from where I live. I was amazed that there was a place with so much firepower in the middle of my suburban existence. I have never felt a greater sense of malevolence in my entire life. Gun anime is evil. I'll let law enforcement and the military deal with it.
Okay, I could get a taser maybe. But only for frying bugs -- thanks for the idea, Remo.
4. Take the quiz: What piercing are you?
I'm not a piercing person. Anytime I see someone with a pieced nose, eyebrow, lip, tongue, navel, penis, labia, anything but their ears -- although seventeen ear piercings is a bit much -- I just assume they are in too much psychic pain to function on all cylinders. So I treat them with the deference I reserve for small children and serial killers.
Even mainstream and very socially acceptable ear piercings don't interest me, although I have thought about them from time to time, for the convenience of it. Especially since it isn't just gypsies who do that sort of thing anymore.
So, as you might expect, I took the test only to discover that I'm so "boring" according to the testers that I would only rate an ear piercing. Haaaaaa. I already knew THAT.
5. Would you ever get a piercing described in your answer to the previous question?
Ears? It could happen. I might be on shore leave some time, get drunk and end up at Claire's with my buddies.
6. Do you tend to visit friends and relatives at their homes more or have them visit you in your home more?
Since my friends and a number of relatives live in swank places like Hawaii, Malibu, Montana, San Diego, Georgetown, London, Paris, Door County, San Antonio, and Ireland, to name a few destinations, and own houses that are substantially bigger than mine, chances of them having me come to visit are greater than the other way around. And that's just one reason to let them entertain me. However, the Fourth of July is always a great time of the year to come to Chicago.
I'll do a link eventually.
1. You are given a "remote control" that involves life itself. Of these functions, which would you think you'd make the most use of: fast-forward, rewind, or pause?
Rewind. Forty years. Duh.
2. If you could use a "change channel" button to become a totally different person, would you do so?
YES. Walking in someone else's shoes would be intriguing. Assuming my options did not include the Elephant Man, the Bearded Lady, any transgender types, or Monica Lewinsky.
3. Do you own a gun? If not, what would it take for you to purchase one?
I do not own a gun. I will never own a gun. I'm scary enough without a gun. With a gun, I could kill someone.
On the other hand, I've mentioned before that I seem to have a knack for hitting bullseyes with those air rifles used at kids' camps. I'm also near perfect at the shooting galleries at Great America. Perhaps I was a sniper in a former life.
I was once engaged to a medical student whose family restored antique weapons. One day he wanted me to shoot a pistol at some cans. So I could get used to firing guns. People who own guns always want people who don't like guns to do stuff like that. No thank you. He married someone else. Even though he was a doctor, he continued his family's lucrative hobby of restoring antique weaponry. A few years ago his wife was found accidentally shot through the heart out on their shooting range.
That could have been me.
Another time I went with a guy I know into a gun shop not too far from where I live. I was amazed that there was a place with so much firepower in the middle of my suburban existence. I have never felt a greater sense of malevolence in my entire life. Gun anime is evil. I'll let law enforcement and the military deal with it.
Okay, I could get a taser maybe. But only for frying bugs -- thanks for the idea, Remo.
4. Take the quiz: What piercing are you?
I'm not a piercing person. Anytime I see someone with a pieced nose, eyebrow, lip, tongue, navel, penis, labia, anything but their ears -- although seventeen ear piercings is a bit much -- I just assume they are in too much psychic pain to function on all cylinders. So I treat them with the deference I reserve for small children and serial killers.
Even mainstream and very socially acceptable ear piercings don't interest me, although I have thought about them from time to time, for the convenience of it. Especially since it isn't just gypsies who do that sort of thing anymore.
So, as you might expect, I took the test only to discover that I'm so "boring" according to the testers that I would only rate an ear piercing. Haaaaaa. I already knew THAT.
5. Would you ever get a piercing described in your answer to the previous question?
Ears? It could happen. I might be on shore leave some time, get drunk and end up at Claire's with my buddies.
6. Do you tend to visit friends and relatives at their homes more or have them visit you in your home more?
Since my friends and a number of relatives live in swank places like Hawaii, Malibu, Montana, San Diego, Georgetown, London, Paris, Door County, San Antonio, and Ireland, to name a few destinations, and own houses that are substantially bigger than mine, chances of them having me come to visit are greater than the other way around. And that's just one reason to let them entertain me. However, the Fourth of July is always a great time of the year to come to Chicago.
Reptile Dysfunction
Dr. Drew Pinsky is a
sex and love therapist who hosts an advice show on The Discovery
Channel. Not that I watch it, no, really I don't. That's
like watching Martha Stewart when you're living on fermented mare's milk in
the Mongolian desert. What's the point?
For some reason Dr. Drew has been doing a commercial for one of the YOU CAN GET IT UP AND KEEP IT UP drugs where he mentions E.D. -- erectile dysfuctnion -- a minimum of 352 times. Except that when Dr. Drew says the word E-rectile it comes out REP-tile for some reason. That's why I don't know which drug he is shilling for, because I was so fascinated by the sound, followed closely by the concept, of REPTILE dysfunction, that I couldn't wait for him to say it again.
Reptile dysfunction. I wonder if this is something that only happens to reptiles over sixty-five. Or it's something that happens to almost half of the reptile population over forty. Does it affect their self esteem when it dysfuncts? Or interfere with normal reptile activity with a partner? And does that partner have to be a reptile for the dysfunction to count?
Of course Dr. Drew's commercial has nothing on the impact, if you will, of the half hour informercial that has been running ad nauseum for DUALACTIONCLEANSE.com. The one that starts out by saying -- no -- EXCLAIMING!!! that you can feel as alive as you did in your twenties, but first you have to get your colon unclogged.
Yep, you can lose as much as fifteen pounds just by getting rid of that compacted fecal matter you've been carrying around. Look, if they can say those words on TV, I can say it here.
I don't know about you, but between chipping away at the uh, stuff that's clogging our colons versus repairing those unfortunate reptile dysfunctions, I'm more comfortable taking my chances with the reptiles.
For some reason Dr. Drew has been doing a commercial for one of the YOU CAN GET IT UP AND KEEP IT UP drugs where he mentions E.D. -- erectile dysfuctnion -- a minimum of 352 times. Except that when Dr. Drew says the word E-rectile it comes out REP-tile for some reason. That's why I don't know which drug he is shilling for, because I was so fascinated by the sound, followed closely by the concept, of REPTILE dysfunction, that I couldn't wait for him to say it again.
Reptile dysfunction. I wonder if this is something that only happens to reptiles over sixty-five. Or it's something that happens to almost half of the reptile population over forty. Does it affect their self esteem when it dysfuncts? Or interfere with normal reptile activity with a partner? And does that partner have to be a reptile for the dysfunction to count?
Of course Dr. Drew's commercial has nothing on the impact, if you will, of the half hour informercial that has been running ad nauseum for DUALACTIONCLEANSE.com. The one that starts out by saying -- no -- EXCLAIMING!!! that you can feel as alive as you did in your twenties, but first you have to get your colon unclogged.
Yep, you can lose as much as fifteen pounds just by getting rid of that compacted fecal matter you've been carrying around. Look, if they can say those words on TV, I can say it here.
I don't know about you, but between chipping away at the uh, stuff that's clogging our colons versus repairing those unfortunate reptile dysfunctions, I'm more comfortable taking my chances with the reptiles.
Friday, June 23, 2006
CATFIGHT Part III
This comment was posted at my opponent's blog:
By the way, I'm 38 -- not that young. And, I've been around awhile and my experience has been mostly positive with men. I NEVER said I have never been discriminated against by a man or men. [Bold italics Mrs. L's] I DID say that women tend to cause more grief or other women and themselves than men cause. [Sorry, but you did NOT say that -- comment Mrs. L's] It's time to stop playing the blame game on men as an excuse not to be accountable for your own judgmentalness and shorcomings as a woman. Be stronger than that and be a better role model for other women.
Comment from jeannieclaire - 6/23/06 7:36 PM
If you never said you were never discriminated against by men, who wrote this comment in your blog?
Their reality [discrimination] is not my reality. I have never had a problem with a man.
And who wrote this sentence in your entry "Why I can't relate to women"?
I have, as a woman, never experienced discrimination in high school, college, or in my professional career post-college.
So many women who haven't got a clue, so little interest in spending another minute telling them.
Hate to go, but I need to work on fine-tuning my judgementalness.
By the way, I'm 38 -- not that young. And, I've been around awhile and my experience has been mostly positive with men. I NEVER said I have never been discriminated against by a man or men. [Bold italics Mrs. L's] I DID say that women tend to cause more grief or other women and themselves than men cause. [Sorry, but you did NOT say that -- comment Mrs. L's] It's time to stop playing the blame game on men as an excuse not to be accountable for your own judgmentalness and shorcomings as a woman. Be stronger than that and be a better role model for other women.
Comment from jeannieclaire - 6/23/06 7:36 PM
If you never said you were never discriminated against by men, who wrote this comment in your blog?
Their reality [discrimination] is not my reality. I have never had a problem with a man.
And who wrote this sentence in your entry "Why I can't relate to women"?
I have, as a woman, never experienced discrimination in high school, college, or in my professional career post-college.
So many women who haven't got a clue, so little interest in spending another minute telling them.
Hate to go, but I need to work on fine-tuning my judgementalness.
"I Don't Relate To Other Women ' Blogger Answers Mrs. L
Mrs. Linklater wasn't going to make a really big deal out of this
catfight. [See previous entry.] She actually had a moment of maturity,
but, fortunately, it passed. THEN, Mrs. L discovered that
she had been BLOCKED from leaving a comment at this misguided woman's blog. TSK TSK. It's
not nice to block Mrs. Linklater. Here's what this sanctimonious
priss wrote in the comments at her journal -- she was too chicken to write them here:
FACT: Descrimination is obviously a reality for the two women who have posted to my blog. I'm sorry they have experienced this reality in their lives.
Uh. The word is "Discrimination." Only one of your commenters was a woman. Me. [Then I was blocked, because I think you're afraid of me. Na na na na na.] The other commenter was a GUY, if you'd taken the time to check. I thought you were supposedly some kinda professional writer. By the way just because you've self published a book doesn't make you a professional writer.
FACT: Their reality is not my reality. I have never had a problem with a man.
Yes you have. You write in your journal about your first husband, whom you divorced because he was abusive. I consider THAT a problem.
I have often had trouble dealing with women.
Here's a thought. Write down everything about women that you don't like. Those qualities are the ones you don't like in yourself. And cause trouble with other women. Oh, wait, you do that in the next couple of sentences. First this:
Perhaps that is why most of my friends are male rather than female and why I prefer to work with men over women.
I've seen the picture you posted at your book site. It is very pretty. I bet you play the flirt card with guys all the time. You have to be real with women. Just don't get fat or ugly or old or your flirt value will expire faster than a library card in a rock band.
Most women I know are catty, jealous people lacking of a self-esteem.
I think you mean "Lacking IN self-esteem." It's mistakes like that which call into question your claim of professional writerhoodliness. Plus, don't forget what I said about your criticism of other women being about yourself. Ya know?
Sure, not all women are this way, [How would you know, you don't have any female friends] it just seems to be the norm, in my opinion.
We all have our own realities and form our own opinions based on our own realities and perceptions.
Abso-freaking-lutely. Your reality seems skewed by what you choose to ignore.
FACT: Descrimination is obviously a reality for the two women who have posted to my blog. I'm sorry they have experienced this reality in their lives.
Uh. The word is "Discrimination." Only one of your commenters was a woman. Me. [Then I was blocked, because I think you're afraid of me. Na na na na na.] The other commenter was a GUY, if you'd taken the time to check. I thought you were supposedly some kinda professional writer. By the way just because you've self published a book doesn't make you a professional writer.
FACT: Their reality is not my reality. I have never had a problem with a man.
Yes you have. You write in your journal about your first husband, whom you divorced because he was abusive. I consider THAT a problem.
I have often had trouble dealing with women.
Here's a thought. Write down everything about women that you don't like. Those qualities are the ones you don't like in yourself. And cause trouble with other women. Oh, wait, you do that in the next couple of sentences. First this:
Perhaps that is why most of my friends are male rather than female and why I prefer to work with men over women.
I've seen the picture you posted at your book site. It is very pretty. I bet you play the flirt card with guys all the time. You have to be real with women. Just don't get fat or ugly or old or your flirt value will expire faster than a library card in a rock band.
Most women I know are catty, jealous people lacking of a self-esteem.
I think you mean "Lacking IN self-esteem." It's mistakes like that which call into question your claim of professional writerhoodliness. Plus, don't forget what I said about your criticism of other women being about yourself. Ya know?
Sure, not all women are this way, [How would you know, you don't have any female friends] it just seems to be the norm, in my opinion.
We all have our own realities and form our own opinions based on our own realities and perceptions.
Abso-freaking-lutely. Your reality seems skewed by what you choose to ignore.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
A Trip to the Woodshed
Mrs. Linklater came across an AOL journal called, The world is a wild ride. . . and found this paragraph in an entry entitled "Why I can't relate to other women."
"So, I just finished reading an op-ed piece in the San Francisco Chronicle about women having difficulty getting into college by writer Joanne Levy-Prewitt. I don't know where this person is coming from. I have, as a woman, never experienced discrimination in high school, college, or in my professional career post-college. I think some women simply hate men -- perhaps daddy was not a good sound role model for them encouraging their strength and independence like mine was. They, therefore, hate all men and blame them for their own shortcomings as a woman. I think the problem with many women is not so much that they are stressed out, or high standards are placed on them. I think their problem is they lack a self-esteem and accountability. It is easier to blame their plight, or lack of self-suredness on a man, then to look in the mirror and come to terms and acceptance with who they are as a person."
Needless to say, this woman is young. Apparently she hasn't read any recent history books. She is acting like discrimination never happened. And never happens now. She also fails to givie proper respect to the women who came before her. Me for instance. I tried to leave this comment in her blog, but it was too long. I tried to send it as an email, but I am not one of her accepted correspondents. So I decided to post my thoughts here instead.
Dear I-can't-relate-to-other-women:
You say you don't know where the writer of the Chronicle article was coming from. Forgive me, but I don't know where you're coming from.
Let me start by asking you to explain what you mean when you accuse women of blaming men for their shortcomings as women? Huh?
I can understand when women "blame" men for assigning themselves power, just because they're male. But blaming them for my "shortcomings" as say, a chef, a mini van driver or a grass stain remover? If that's what you mean, I don't get it.
I do know that if you scratch guys of a certain age you'll find that many still think that a woman's greatest shortcoming is that she isn't a man. They do seem to spend a lot of time blaming us for not being more like them.
Don't kid yourself about discrimination. It's alive and well, but it's just gone underground. You have no idea what has transpired behind your back. Did you try to get into an engineering school? Get a science scholarship? Work for a newspaper or TV station as a sportscaster? As a car expert? Ever have a dream of anchoring the 6:00 news by yourself?
Your generation is fortunate. A lot of things are now in place that weren't in place for my generation.
Athletics were for boys. A girl couldn't play on a Llittle League baseball team even if she was the best player in the neighborhood.
Girls had to play girls' basketball -- six players: three defenders on one half of the court, three shooters on the other half. No full court play.
Women couldn't run in the Boston Marathon. There was no Olympic marathon for females.
There was no interscholastic competition for high school or college girls.
There were no athletic scholarships for girls. No FREE EDUCATION for any female with athletic prowess.
Speaking of free education, try to get into a military academy back then as a female.
Or join the armed forces so you could fly jets or helicopters.
Try to get hired by an airline as anything other than a flight attendant, sorry, stewardess, especially if you got pregnant, or were over a certain age, a certain height, or a designated weight. And don't gain an extra pound or you're going to be out of a job.
Women couldn't get jobs as FBI agents, Secret Service agents, dectectives, firefighters and construction workers.
Women couldn't get membership in any of the trade unions to be a plumber or an electrician.
Female journalists got relegated to the women's pages.
Remember the harassment of the first female sportswriters in the lockerroom?
Female ad writers were not allowed to write about "male" products.
Women were ALWAYS paid less because is was assumed they had a husband or would get a husband to take care of them.
It was considered a compliment for an editor to say you wrote like a man.
Our male bosses could make flagrant sexual remarks and overt propositions with impunity.
If pregnant, we HAD to get married. Or go to Mexico for an abortion.
Just try to get hired as a college professor or as the president of a college.
Forget tenure.
Forget running for president, senator or governor.
You were an OLD MAID if you weren't married by 25.
If you went into medicine you became a nurse. If you got into medical school, you went into pediatrics or psychiatry. Female surgeons did not exist.
If you went into law, you became a lawyer's secretary. If you actually made it through law school and became an attorney -- just try to make partner.
All anybody cared about was how fast you could type, no matter what school you graduated from.
Your husband made all the decisions.
You couldn't buy a house on your own without a cosigner.
Your husband could rape you.
There was no place to go if you were abused. My city still only has 500 beds for 7,000,000 people in the metro area. Cops didn't seem to listen to your complaint. Or offer help. Plus there were no laws in place. There still aren't any with teeth.
If you were battered, it was considered something you caused. There were no hotlines, no counseling, no advocacy. Forget restraining orders.
Women couldn't join a country club without a husband.
To this day most business is conducted on the golf course.
Or gentlemen's clubs.
Welcome to my world.
The struggle is not over.
I don't think women hate men. I think the founders of the modern women's movement responded to the years of built up resentment toward unequal pay and unequal treatment and set about to rectify it. Good for them.
Like it or not, feminism is in your generation's DNA. My daughters EXPECT equal pay and equal treatment. I didn't teach them. They absorbed it from their teachers as they were growing up. Equal pay and equal rights were built into the curriculum.
And you who have never been discriminated against -- are you aware that Social Security pays women less than men no matter how much they earned because women live longer.
Did you know that stay at home moms who don't work have nothing put away in Social Security? They have to count on their husbands for their retirement? And they could be SOL in a divorce.
So, please, don't go taking a bite out of the generation that made sure you got dealt a better hand.
Sincerely,
Mrs. L
"So, I just finished reading an op-ed piece in the San Francisco Chronicle about women having difficulty getting into college by writer Joanne Levy-Prewitt. I don't know where this person is coming from. I have, as a woman, never experienced discrimination in high school, college, or in my professional career post-college. I think some women simply hate men -- perhaps daddy was not a good sound role model for them encouraging their strength and independence like mine was. They, therefore, hate all men and blame them for their own shortcomings as a woman. I think the problem with many women is not so much that they are stressed out, or high standards are placed on them. I think their problem is they lack a self-esteem and accountability. It is easier to blame their plight, or lack of self-suredness on a man, then to look in the mirror and come to terms and acceptance with who they are as a person."
Needless to say, this woman is young. Apparently she hasn't read any recent history books. She is acting like discrimination never happened. And never happens now. She also fails to givie proper respect to the women who came before her. Me for instance. I tried to leave this comment in her blog, but it was too long. I tried to send it as an email, but I am not one of her accepted correspondents. So I decided to post my thoughts here instead.
Dear I-can't-relate-to-other-women:
You say you don't know where the writer of the Chronicle article was coming from. Forgive me, but I don't know where you're coming from.
Let me start by asking you to explain what you mean when you accuse women of blaming men for their shortcomings as women? Huh?
I can understand when women "blame" men for assigning themselves power, just because they're male. But blaming them for my "shortcomings" as say, a chef, a mini van driver or a grass stain remover? If that's what you mean, I don't get it.
I do know that if you scratch guys of a certain age you'll find that many still think that a woman's greatest shortcoming is that she isn't a man. They do seem to spend a lot of time blaming us for not being more like them.
Don't kid yourself about discrimination. It's alive and well, but it's just gone underground. You have no idea what has transpired behind your back. Did you try to get into an engineering school? Get a science scholarship? Work for a newspaper or TV station as a sportscaster? As a car expert? Ever have a dream of anchoring the 6:00 news by yourself?
Your generation is fortunate. A lot of things are now in place that weren't in place for my generation.
Athletics were for boys. A girl couldn't play on a Llittle League baseball team even if she was the best player in the neighborhood.
Girls had to play girls' basketball -- six players: three defenders on one half of the court, three shooters on the other half. No full court play.
Women couldn't run in the Boston Marathon. There was no Olympic marathon for females.
There was no interscholastic competition for high school or college girls.
There were no athletic scholarships for girls. No FREE EDUCATION for any female with athletic prowess.
Speaking of free education, try to get into a military academy back then as a female.
Or join the armed forces so you could fly jets or helicopters.
Try to get hired by an airline as anything other than a flight attendant, sorry, stewardess, especially if you got pregnant, or were over a certain age, a certain height, or a designated weight. And don't gain an extra pound or you're going to be out of a job.
Women couldn't get jobs as FBI agents, Secret Service agents, dectectives, firefighters and construction workers.
Women couldn't get membership in any of the trade unions to be a plumber or an electrician.
Female journalists got relegated to the women's pages.
Remember the harassment of the first female sportswriters in the lockerroom?
Female ad writers were not allowed to write about "male" products.
Women were ALWAYS paid less because is was assumed they had a husband or would get a husband to take care of them.
It was considered a compliment for an editor to say you wrote like a man.
Our male bosses could make flagrant sexual remarks and overt propositions with impunity.
If pregnant, we HAD to get married. Or go to Mexico for an abortion.
Just try to get hired as a college professor or as the president of a college.
Forget tenure.
Forget running for president, senator or governor.
You were an OLD MAID if you weren't married by 25.
If you went into medicine you became a nurse. If you got into medical school, you went into pediatrics or psychiatry. Female surgeons did not exist.
If you went into law, you became a lawyer's secretary. If you actually made it through law school and became an attorney -- just try to make partner.
All anybody cared about was how fast you could type, no matter what school you graduated from.
Your husband made all the decisions.
You couldn't buy a house on your own without a cosigner.
Your husband could rape you.
There was no place to go if you were abused. My city still only has 500 beds for 7,000,000 people in the metro area. Cops didn't seem to listen to your complaint. Or offer help. Plus there were no laws in place. There still aren't any with teeth.
If you were battered, it was considered something you caused. There were no hotlines, no counseling, no advocacy. Forget restraining orders.
Women couldn't join a country club without a husband.
To this day most business is conducted on the golf course.
Or gentlemen's clubs.
Welcome to my world.
The struggle is not over.
I don't think women hate men. I think the founders of the modern women's movement responded to the years of built up resentment toward unequal pay and unequal treatment and set about to rectify it. Good for them.
Like it or not, feminism is in your generation's DNA. My daughters EXPECT equal pay and equal treatment. I didn't teach them. They absorbed it from their teachers as they were growing up. Equal pay and equal rights were built into the curriculum.
And you who have never been discriminated against -- are you aware that Social Security pays women less than men no matter how much they earned because women live longer.
Did you know that stay at home moms who don't work have nothing put away in Social Security? They have to count on their husbands for their retirement? And they could be SOL in a divorce.
So, please, don't go taking a bite out of the generation that made sure you got dealt a better hand.
Sincerely,
Mrs. L
I Want a Taser!
I watch A & E
and the Discovery Channel. I've seen the clips of police officers using
a taser on each other for demonstration purposes, but today I got to
see it used for real.
Some erratic driver was caught live on tape escaping from the local police in the next town over. The traffic helicopter joined the chase. Those of us watching the morning news could see the guy drive off the road into a grassy area followed by three cop cars. He got out of his car and started to run but turned around to face the cops.
The officers got out and surrounded the guy who was gesturing like a crazy man. You could tell they were yelling at him to get down on the ground, but the guy was using his hands and screaming at them while refusing to do what they asked.
BLAMO!!!!! Well, maybe ZZZZZZZZZAAAAAPPPP! is more accurate.
He was down so fast Mrs. Linklater had to wait for the replay later to realize what happened.
COOL. Gotta get me one of those. Can you use it to get dates? Or split a watermelon when you don't have a knife?
Some erratic driver was caught live on tape escaping from the local police in the next town over. The traffic helicopter joined the chase. Those of us watching the morning news could see the guy drive off the road into a grassy area followed by three cop cars. He got out of his car and started to run but turned around to face the cops.
The officers got out and surrounded the guy who was gesturing like a crazy man. You could tell they were yelling at him to get down on the ground, but the guy was using his hands and screaming at them while refusing to do what they asked.
BLAMO!!!!! Well, maybe ZZZZZZZZZAAAAAPPPP! is more accurate.
He was down so fast Mrs. Linklater had to wait for the replay later to realize what happened.
COOL. Gotta get me one of those. Can you use it to get dates? Or split a watermelon when you don't have a knife?
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
The Father Factor
Over the years Mrs.
Linklater's interest in men's professional sports has included more
than just the firm derrieres belonging to the athletes. She often
wonders what makes them excel and what makes them flounder. Aside from
the usual suspects -- too much money, women, alcohol and drugs.
She calls it the Father Factor. What part does dad seem to play in the success or failure of the great ones? Or the ones who could have been great.
From where Mrs. L sits, which she admits is pretty far away, she still feels free to play fast and loose with her observations and twist them to suit her arguments. Just like her idol, what's that bitch's name -- oh yes, Anne Coulter.
Mrs. L activated the Father Factor machine last weekend. For some reason on Father's Day, a few notable high profile athletes crashed and burned in spectacular fashion.
Phil Mickelson totally choked. On the final hole of the US Open he lost his mind and decided to go for a birdie instead of par, ending with a double bogie and coming in second. Listening to things a critical person once said to you can make you do dumb stuff like that.
Mrs. Linklater lost several tennis matches during a difficult personal time in her life, when an inner critical voice, who shall remain nameless, would interrupt her toss during the serve. A year later, the voice and the trouble were gone.
Tiger, very surprisingly, had already choked earlier, not making the cut in a major tournament, any tournament in fact, for the first time since turning pro. This Father's Day would be his first without his dad.
Mark Prior, a former ace pitcher for the Cubs, choked on Father's Day, too. Hewas making his first start since his re-hab for his most recent injury this spring. The first batter he faced hit a home run and it was down hill faster than Jack and Jill from there. The day was a total bust, even though Prior, the most recent hope for the Cubs' future, looked like he'd found his old form during a very successful warm up game in the minor leagues.
Not to put too fine a point on all this, but Mrs. Linklater thinks there were more than the usual issues affecting those guys. Somewhere, she thinks, Dad played a part in what happened to them that day.
Phil Mickelson has a long history of coming in second. Recently he seemed to have broken through whatever spell his demons had over him, winning two majors in a row with a good chance for a third on Sunday. Finally he was winning the tournaments that had eluded him for so long. He was on a roll at least until Father's Day, when he reverted back to his old ways in a manner that caused Mrs. Linklater to question what games dear old dad has been playing inside his son's head.
She made her Father Factor observation before knowing anything about Mickelson's dad. Moments ago she looked the guy up and discovered that Dad had been a top gun pilot with some heroic exploits notched on his belt. A tough act for a son to follow. Unless Dad gave him permission. Mrs. L wonders how competitive Phil Sr is with Phil Jr. Based on Junior's blow up on father's Day she would say Dad still looms pretty large in his son's legend.
Somewhere there's a reminder to Junior that Senior is still the top gun. Especially on Father's Day. Perhaps Pop is still not ready to relinguish his numero uno spot to sonny boy. Certainly there's a good argument that Phil Junior still feels intimidated enough by Dad's shadow to throw away his chance to win when he had his eyes on the prize.
Yeah, you're not buying any of this, but humor me.
Tiger and his dad had an enviable bond. Never in sports has there been a better example of how a loving parent can elevate a child to greatness. But the bond was broken when Tiger's dad died a few months ago. Not that all the confidence, competence and unconditional love his father gave him were lost. But the effects of Tiger's sadness following his loss were bound to surface somehow on Father's Day.
Ironically, Nike made a commercial to commemorate this iconic relationship that ran all during the tournament, which only served to emphasize Tiger's absence. Thinking about his father had to be a huge emotional distraction for Tiger with his first fatherless Father's Day looming. Certainly something made him shoot a couple of rounds of 76 and miss the cut.
Mrs. Linklater has no clue about Mark Prior's relationship with his dad. But the play by play guys talked about how tight and uncomfortable he looked on Father's Day. His body language said LOSER. Was the Father Factor in play? When a seasoned ballplayer suddenly seems to lack confidence, question his ability, or behave inappropriately, Dad issues may be kicking in.
Clearly in front of the weekend's Father's Day crowd of 40,000 at Wrigley, the tension of his long awaited return got to Prior. Personally, when Mrs. Linklater heard he was going to pitch on Father's Day she wondered why the Cubs' organization didn't let him ease into the rotation with an afternoon start sometime during the week. The Cubs haven't been winning and with his return, Prior was carrying a huge burden on his shoulders to jump start the franchise again with a great outing. Based on what the guys calling the game saw, the problem wasn't that his skills were impaired. His head was impaired.
That's where Dads do some of their most significant work. Creating the Fear Factor tapes which play over and over in a player's mind. Which begs the question, at least for Mrs. L, what part did Prior's current or prior relationship with his father play in his total ineptitude on Father's Day?
All of this brings our La-Z-Boy shrink to a couple of prime examples of a father's power. In these instances, the power is for good, not evil. She thinks it's no coincidence that Joe Montana and John Elway are the two greatest comeback quarterbacks in NFL history. Not just great quarterbacks. Great comeback quarterbacks. Elway had 46 fourth quarter come from behind victories and one tie. Montana had 31. Is there anything tougher in professional sports?
But it wasn't their great physicality that made the difference. It was their calm in the face of enormous pressure that made the difference. And that kind of calm only comes when Dad's in your corner.
Elway had the classic size and arm strength for his job, but it's worth noting that he finally won his Super Bowl rings well past his prime while playing on a knee held together with spit and string.
Joe Montana went in the late rounds of the draft, his height and arm strength not given much of a chance in the NFL. Technically, the scouts were right. He never threw with rocket power. However, his timing and throwing accuracy were almost infallible. But it was his composure when the going got tough that became legendary, prompting a nickname: Joe Cool.
The story of Joe Cool has been told many times. With 3:20 left, the 49ers were down by three points to the Bengals in the 1989 Super Bowl. In the huddle the team was waiting for the call. Montana sees someone on the sideline. "Isn't that John Candy?" he asks the other players. In the middle of the biggest game of the year, with their chances for winning ticking away, Joe Cool remained so unflappable he could think about something else. Then he marched the 49ers 94 yards for the winning touchdown with only 34 seconds left.
The reason those two Hall of Fame players have joined the ranks of the NFL's greatest comeback quarterbacks is in large part due to the Father Factor. Their dads gave them the confidence to do anything, especially when push came to shove.
Listen to players in any sport who talk to themselves when they're in a difficult situation. How often do you hear -- "You idiot." "What are you doing?" "That was so stupid!" Those are critical parental voices they're channeling.
Based on stories told about Elway and Montana, neither one had to deal with negative parental head noise. They had dads who told them early and often "You can do it, Son." Peyton Manning also comes to mind. Ben Rothlisberger did too, until his recent helmet free crash.
Montana's dad, Joe, Sr, was always supportive. His only child waited for him to come home so they could play catch, shoot hoops or throw the football together throughout his childhood. Joe Sr backed his son, regardless. Against a high school football coach who kicked him off the team for not following the prescribed weight training program, even though it interferred with playing baseball. When he was a high school All American, but languished at seventh on the Notre Dame depth chart. When he wasn't a first or even a second round draft pick. Montana overcame doubters and naysayers all along the way because his dad was always 100% behind him.
John Elway, who spent his childhood on the sidelines shadowing his football coach father, honored him best in his enshrinement speech for the Hall of Fame:"
"My dad wasn’t just my best friend, he was my hero, my mentor and my inspiration. He was the keeper of my reality checklist, and the compass that guided my life and my career. And he taught me the No. 1 lesson of my life – always make your family proud. Now that he’s gone, I thank God every day for letting him see the Broncos win two Super Bowls.
"My dad didn’t so much teach me how to play football, but why to play it. He taught me to compete, to never give up, to play every down like it’s your last. He taught me to appreciate the game, to respect it, to play it like it was meant to be played. He taught me to enjoy my successes and learn from my failures. And above all, he told me, 'Make sure when you go out with your offensive linemen, you pick up the tab.'”
Michael Jordan had a similarly close relationship with his dad. When his father was murdered, Jordan quit basketball to play baseball for a couple of years, refusing to link his abrupt departure to anything associated with his father's death. The Father Factor works in unusual ways. I wonder how his own sons will fare as they embark on their own youthful sports careers.
In a Monday Night 41-7 win over the Raiders, Brett Favre paid his father a final tribute, passing for an amazing four touchdowns in the first half and 399 yards for the game on the day after his father's sudden death. "I knew that my dad would have wanted me to play. I love him so much and I love this game. It's meant a great deal to me, to my dad, to my family, and I didn't expect this kind of performance. But I know he was watching tonight."
On the flip side of the coin, how about an example of very talented, physically gifted players who could have made it, but failed miserably?
Like Ryan Leaf, who even in college revealed the behavioral signs of his impending implosion. Had to be a bad dad there. Drunk, abusive, critical, whatever, Mrs. Linklater doesn't know exactly. But she's invoking the Father Factor.
High school and Ohio State star quarterback, Art Schlichter, is another example. His gambling addiction has caused him to continue to commit felonies for which he is currently incarcerated. Mrs. L thinks that the Father Factor played a huge part. But she also thinks there were probably other abuse issues, too.
Jeremy Shockey, tight end for the Giants, was on the short road to ruin spending his free time getting lapdanced in strip clubs, drinking escessively, and running off at the mouth. A magazine article described his difficult relationship with his absent father and his life with a wacko Mom. But someone seems to have stepped in to help the guy get his over the top behavior back in line. However, he's still vulnerable.
There's one notable lefthanded quarterback from the eighties whose father controlled every part of his life from what he ate to how long he slept. The plan was to create a superstar athlete who would succeed beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Last I read this unfortunate young man was arrested for yet another drug possession. [SEE COMMENTS]
Mrs. Linklater thinks that an idiot should be able to identify players at risk. Unfortunately professional sports lets those people coach instead.
And those players deemed at risk as rookies should be mentored by Hall of Fame father figures in their sports who should call them, give them advice, and offer encouragement.
Football Hall of Famer Terry Bradshaw sent a message via TV to NFL youngster, Ben Rothlisberger, after his motorcycle accident. Pointing his finger at the camera, Bradshaw invoked the Father Factor. He shook his finger and told Ben he was an idiot for not wearing a helmet. And Ben is one of the good ones.
At a time when immature, uneducated, fatherless teenagers are leaving school to join professional sports, more young players could use some of that tough love.
She calls it the Father Factor. What part does dad seem to play in the success or failure of the great ones? Or the ones who could have been great.
From where Mrs. L sits, which she admits is pretty far away, she still feels free to play fast and loose with her observations and twist them to suit her arguments. Just like her idol, what's that bitch's name -- oh yes, Anne Coulter.
Mrs. L activated the Father Factor machine last weekend. For some reason on Father's Day, a few notable high profile athletes crashed and burned in spectacular fashion.
Phil Mickelson totally choked. On the final hole of the US Open he lost his mind and decided to go for a birdie instead of par, ending with a double bogie and coming in second. Listening to things a critical person once said to you can make you do dumb stuff like that.
Mrs. Linklater lost several tennis matches during a difficult personal time in her life, when an inner critical voice, who shall remain nameless, would interrupt her toss during the serve. A year later, the voice and the trouble were gone.
Tiger, very surprisingly, had already choked earlier, not making the cut in a major tournament, any tournament in fact, for the first time since turning pro. This Father's Day would be his first without his dad.
Mark Prior, a former ace pitcher for the Cubs, choked on Father's Day, too. Hewas making his first start since his re-hab for his most recent injury this spring. The first batter he faced hit a home run and it was down hill faster than Jack and Jill from there. The day was a total bust, even though Prior, the most recent hope for the Cubs' future, looked like he'd found his old form during a very successful warm up game in the minor leagues.
Not to put too fine a point on all this, but Mrs. Linklater thinks there were more than the usual issues affecting those guys. Somewhere, she thinks, Dad played a part in what happened to them that day.
Phil Mickelson has a long history of coming in second. Recently he seemed to have broken through whatever spell his demons had over him, winning two majors in a row with a good chance for a third on Sunday. Finally he was winning the tournaments that had eluded him for so long. He was on a roll at least until Father's Day, when he reverted back to his old ways in a manner that caused Mrs. Linklater to question what games dear old dad has been playing inside his son's head.
She made her Father Factor observation before knowing anything about Mickelson's dad. Moments ago she looked the guy up and discovered that Dad had been a top gun pilot with some heroic exploits notched on his belt. A tough act for a son to follow. Unless Dad gave him permission. Mrs. L wonders how competitive Phil Sr is with Phil Jr. Based on Junior's blow up on father's Day she would say Dad still looms pretty large in his son's legend.
Somewhere there's a reminder to Junior that Senior is still the top gun. Especially on Father's Day. Perhaps Pop is still not ready to relinguish his numero uno spot to sonny boy. Certainly there's a good argument that Phil Junior still feels intimidated enough by Dad's shadow to throw away his chance to win when he had his eyes on the prize.
Yeah, you're not buying any of this, but humor me.
Tiger and his dad had an enviable bond. Never in sports has there been a better example of how a loving parent can elevate a child to greatness. But the bond was broken when Tiger's dad died a few months ago. Not that all the confidence, competence and unconditional love his father gave him were lost. But the effects of Tiger's sadness following his loss were bound to surface somehow on Father's Day.
Ironically, Nike made a commercial to commemorate this iconic relationship that ran all during the tournament, which only served to emphasize Tiger's absence. Thinking about his father had to be a huge emotional distraction for Tiger with his first fatherless Father's Day looming. Certainly something made him shoot a couple of rounds of 76 and miss the cut.
Mrs. Linklater has no clue about Mark Prior's relationship with his dad. But the play by play guys talked about how tight and uncomfortable he looked on Father's Day. His body language said LOSER. Was the Father Factor in play? When a seasoned ballplayer suddenly seems to lack confidence, question his ability, or behave inappropriately, Dad issues may be kicking in.
Clearly in front of the weekend's Father's Day crowd of 40,000 at Wrigley, the tension of his long awaited return got to Prior. Personally, when Mrs. Linklater heard he was going to pitch on Father's Day she wondered why the Cubs' organization didn't let him ease into the rotation with an afternoon start sometime during the week. The Cubs haven't been winning and with his return, Prior was carrying a huge burden on his shoulders to jump start the franchise again with a great outing. Based on what the guys calling the game saw, the problem wasn't that his skills were impaired. His head was impaired.
That's where Dads do some of their most significant work. Creating the Fear Factor tapes which play over and over in a player's mind. Which begs the question, at least for Mrs. L, what part did Prior's current or prior relationship with his father play in his total ineptitude on Father's Day?
All of this brings our La-Z-Boy shrink to a couple of prime examples of a father's power. In these instances, the power is for good, not evil. She thinks it's no coincidence that Joe Montana and John Elway are the two greatest comeback quarterbacks in NFL history. Not just great quarterbacks. Great comeback quarterbacks. Elway had 46 fourth quarter come from behind victories and one tie. Montana had 31. Is there anything tougher in professional sports?
But it wasn't their great physicality that made the difference. It was their calm in the face of enormous pressure that made the difference. And that kind of calm only comes when Dad's in your corner.
Elway had the classic size and arm strength for his job, but it's worth noting that he finally won his Super Bowl rings well past his prime while playing on a knee held together with spit and string.
Joe Montana went in the late rounds of the draft, his height and arm strength not given much of a chance in the NFL. Technically, the scouts were right. He never threw with rocket power. However, his timing and throwing accuracy were almost infallible. But it was his composure when the going got tough that became legendary, prompting a nickname: Joe Cool.
The story of Joe Cool has been told many times. With 3:20 left, the 49ers were down by three points to the Bengals in the 1989 Super Bowl. In the huddle the team was waiting for the call. Montana sees someone on the sideline. "Isn't that John Candy?" he asks the other players. In the middle of the biggest game of the year, with their chances for winning ticking away, Joe Cool remained so unflappable he could think about something else. Then he marched the 49ers 94 yards for the winning touchdown with only 34 seconds left.
The reason those two Hall of Fame players have joined the ranks of the NFL's greatest comeback quarterbacks is in large part due to the Father Factor. Their dads gave them the confidence to do anything, especially when push came to shove.
Listen to players in any sport who talk to themselves when they're in a difficult situation. How often do you hear -- "You idiot." "What are you doing?" "That was so stupid!" Those are critical parental voices they're channeling.
Based on stories told about Elway and Montana, neither one had to deal with negative parental head noise. They had dads who told them early and often "You can do it, Son." Peyton Manning also comes to mind. Ben Rothlisberger did too, until his recent helmet free crash.
Montana's dad, Joe, Sr, was always supportive. His only child waited for him to come home so they could play catch, shoot hoops or throw the football together throughout his childhood. Joe Sr backed his son, regardless. Against a high school football coach who kicked him off the team for not following the prescribed weight training program, even though it interferred with playing baseball. When he was a high school All American, but languished at seventh on the Notre Dame depth chart. When he wasn't a first or even a second round draft pick. Montana overcame doubters and naysayers all along the way because his dad was always 100% behind him.
John Elway, who spent his childhood on the sidelines shadowing his football coach father, honored him best in his enshrinement speech for the Hall of Fame:"
"My dad wasn’t just my best friend, he was my hero, my mentor and my inspiration. He was the keeper of my reality checklist, and the compass that guided my life and my career. And he taught me the No. 1 lesson of my life – always make your family proud. Now that he’s gone, I thank God every day for letting him see the Broncos win two Super Bowls.
"My dad didn’t so much teach me how to play football, but why to play it. He taught me to compete, to never give up, to play every down like it’s your last. He taught me to appreciate the game, to respect it, to play it like it was meant to be played. He taught me to enjoy my successes and learn from my failures. And above all, he told me, 'Make sure when you go out with your offensive linemen, you pick up the tab.'”
Michael Jordan had a similarly close relationship with his dad. When his father was murdered, Jordan quit basketball to play baseball for a couple of years, refusing to link his abrupt departure to anything associated with his father's death. The Father Factor works in unusual ways. I wonder how his own sons will fare as they embark on their own youthful sports careers.
In a Monday Night 41-7 win over the Raiders, Brett Favre paid his father a final tribute, passing for an amazing four touchdowns in the first half and 399 yards for the game on the day after his father's sudden death. "I knew that my dad would have wanted me to play. I love him so much and I love this game. It's meant a great deal to me, to my dad, to my family, and I didn't expect this kind of performance. But I know he was watching tonight."
On the flip side of the coin, how about an example of very talented, physically gifted players who could have made it, but failed miserably?
Like Ryan Leaf, who even in college revealed the behavioral signs of his impending implosion. Had to be a bad dad there. Drunk, abusive, critical, whatever, Mrs. Linklater doesn't know exactly. But she's invoking the Father Factor.
High school and Ohio State star quarterback, Art Schlichter, is another example. His gambling addiction has caused him to continue to commit felonies for which he is currently incarcerated. Mrs. L thinks that the Father Factor played a huge part. But she also thinks there were probably other abuse issues, too.
Jeremy Shockey, tight end for the Giants, was on the short road to ruin spending his free time getting lapdanced in strip clubs, drinking escessively, and running off at the mouth. A magazine article described his difficult relationship with his absent father and his life with a wacko Mom. But someone seems to have stepped in to help the guy get his over the top behavior back in line. However, he's still vulnerable.
There's one notable lefthanded quarterback from the eighties whose father controlled every part of his life from what he ate to how long he slept. The plan was to create a superstar athlete who would succeed beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Last I read this unfortunate young man was arrested for yet another drug possession. [SEE COMMENTS]
Mrs. Linklater thinks that an idiot should be able to identify players at risk. Unfortunately professional sports lets those people coach instead.
And those players deemed at risk as rookies should be mentored by Hall of Fame father figures in their sports who should call them, give them advice, and offer encouragement.
Football Hall of Famer Terry Bradshaw sent a message via TV to NFL youngster, Ben Rothlisberger, after his motorcycle accident. Pointing his finger at the camera, Bradshaw invoked the Father Factor. He shook his finger and told Ben he was an idiot for not wearing a helmet. And Ben is one of the good ones.
At a time when immature, uneducated, fatherless teenagers are leaving school to join professional sports, more young players could use some of that tough love.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
IN LIEU OF A REAL ENTRY
This list of fifty questions is going around.
1. How tall are you barefoot?
5 ft. 10 1/2 in. -- down from six feet. Kinda creepy huh?
2. Have you ever smoked before?
Never. That puff on my mother's Chesterfield when I was nine did the trick.
3. Do you own a gun?
Nope, but my first time shooting targets at my daughter's overnight camp, I hit all bullseyes. I think I missed my calling. Maybe paintball games would be a way to enjoy my untapped skill. Do they have a sniper version?
4.What's your favorite sport to watch?
Tennis. The sport I miss playing the most.
5. How many letters are in your crush's name?
Oh please. I'll be slapped with a restraining order.
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
I live in Chicago. We consider hotdogs family pets.
7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
O Holy Night if I'm caught in church. Anything from The Little Mermaid otherwise -- I used to watch it with one of my brothers every holiday. A sign of the Apocalypse.
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Fresh squeezed O.J.
9. Are You In Love?
I've stepped in it, but not lately.
10. Have you ever done ecstasy?
I don't do recreational drugs. I do the kind that let me enjoy recreation.
11. Do you like spam?
Spam spam? Cubed and served in a salad with pineapple, sure. Once a year. There's so much salt in Spam it floats.
12. Do you like painkillers?
NSAIDs, not opiates.
13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
Like I'm giving that away.
14. Do you own a knife?
A collection of Cutcos, OXOs and Sabatiers.
15. Do you have A.D.D.?
No, we do bi-polar here. Hang around people who are manic for a day and you'll be begging for relaxing moments with someone who has A.D.D.
16. Full initials?
Not giving those. Someone might send me monogrammed towels.
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.
a. Why don't I go back to bed so I can get up in an hour.
b. I'm glad no one can see me sitting here. At least I think no one can see me sitting here.
c. I need to pee.
18. Name the last 3 things you have bought today.
a. Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream bar.
b. Grilled chicken sandwich
c. Iced tea.
I see a trend.
19. Name five drinks you regularly drink.
1. Arizona Ice Tea with lemon
2. Peach Snapple
3. Bottled water
4. Freshmade Orange Juice
5. Freshmade Grapefruit Juice
20. What time did you wake up today?
Well, if I don't go to bed again soon, it will be 2:30 AM.
P.S. I went to bed again and got up around eight.
21. Are you married?
Not for a long time.
22. Describe your partner you are wed to (if you are not..use a friend). He's a pain in the ass. Oh, you mean a friend I LIKE. Good lunchtime buddy.
23. Current hate?
Rising inflation and the war. And that saggy thing under my chin.
24. Favorite place to be?
Besides my bed? Bozeman, MT.
25. Least favorite place to be?
Doctor's office.
26. Where would you like to go?
To London. Or the bathroom.
28. Where do you think you'll be in 10 years?
Living la vida loca with my 27 year old pool boy. Remind me to get a pool.
29. Do you burn or tan?
I used to burn. Then get freckles like a six year old kid. Now I am covered with a tarp.
30. Favorite color/s?
Fushia and teal.
31. Would you be a pirate?
Blackbeard, Redbeard and me, Nobeard, except for that one hair I keep having to pluck.
32. Last time you had an alcoholic drink?
In New Orleans in May -- an almost virgin Hurricane except for half a shot of rum.
33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
I usually shower at my healthclub and singing would be weird.
34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child? Back in the early fifties, I thought the streetcars I could hear at night were Korean tanks.
36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Britney Spears' interview with Matt Lauer. Yep, I watched it.
37. Best bed sheets you had as a child?
Dry ones.
38. Worst injury you've ever had?
Level three sprained ankle playing tennis. One of the guys I was with threw a towel over my face as I lay on the court. Somebody asked "Why did you do that?" He said, "She's dead, isn't she?"
40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Two.
41. Who is your loudest friend?
Uh, I'm the loudest of everybody.
42. Who is your most silent friend?
I can't tell, I'm making too much noise.
43. Does someone have a crush on you?
Right -- someone has a crush on a 62 year old woman.
44. Do you wish on stars?
"Dear Diary, Tonight I saw a falling star and I made a wish." That's not going to happen anytime soon.
45. What is your favorite book?
The one I just finished -- Absolutely American, about West Point. For a moment I wanted to join the military. But it passed.
46. What is your favorite candy?
Reisen's chocolate wrapped caramels. I haven't had any in awhile. Hmmmmmm.
47. What song did you last hear?
Something Norah Jones -- I was listening to her CD on the way home from a ballgame. She sounds a lot like Eva Cassidy to me.
48. What song(s) do you want played at your funeral? Oh Happy Day with the the real Edwin Hawkins' Singers singing it.
49. What were you doing 12AM last night?
I was asleep.
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning?
Do I really want to get up?
1. How tall are you barefoot?
5 ft. 10 1/2 in. -- down from six feet. Kinda creepy huh?
2. Have you ever smoked before?
Never. That puff on my mother's Chesterfield when I was nine did the trick.
3. Do you own a gun?
Nope, but my first time shooting targets at my daughter's overnight camp, I hit all bullseyes. I think I missed my calling. Maybe paintball games would be a way to enjoy my untapped skill. Do they have a sniper version?
4.What's your favorite sport to watch?
Tennis. The sport I miss playing the most.
5. How many letters are in your crush's name?
Oh please. I'll be slapped with a restraining order.
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
I live in Chicago. We consider hotdogs family pets.
7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
O Holy Night if I'm caught in church. Anything from The Little Mermaid otherwise -- I used to watch it with one of my brothers every holiday. A sign of the Apocalypse.
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Fresh squeezed O.J.
9. Are You In Love?
I've stepped in it, but not lately.
10. Have you ever done ecstasy?
I don't do recreational drugs. I do the kind that let me enjoy recreation.
11. Do you like spam?
Spam spam? Cubed and served in a salad with pineapple, sure. Once a year. There's so much salt in Spam it floats.
12. Do you like painkillers?
NSAIDs, not opiates.
13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
Like I'm giving that away.
14. Do you own a knife?
A collection of Cutcos, OXOs and Sabatiers.
15. Do you have A.D.D.?
No, we do bi-polar here. Hang around people who are manic for a day and you'll be begging for relaxing moments with someone who has A.D.D.
16. Full initials?
Not giving those. Someone might send me monogrammed towels.
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.
a. Why don't I go back to bed so I can get up in an hour.
b. I'm glad no one can see me sitting here. At least I think no one can see me sitting here.
c. I need to pee.
18. Name the last 3 things you have bought today.
a. Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream bar.
b. Grilled chicken sandwich
c. Iced tea.
I see a trend.
19. Name five drinks you regularly drink.
1. Arizona Ice Tea with lemon
2. Peach Snapple
3. Bottled water
4. Freshmade Orange Juice
5. Freshmade Grapefruit Juice
20. What time did you wake up today?
Well, if I don't go to bed again soon, it will be 2:30 AM.
P.S. I went to bed again and got up around eight.
21. Are you married?
Not for a long time.
22. Describe your partner you are wed to (if you are not..use a friend). He's a pain in the ass. Oh, you mean a friend I LIKE. Good lunchtime buddy.
23. Current hate?
Rising inflation and the war. And that saggy thing under my chin.
24. Favorite place to be?
Besides my bed? Bozeman, MT.
25. Least favorite place to be?
Doctor's office.
26. Where would you like to go?
To London. Or the bathroom.
28. Where do you think you'll be in 10 years?
Living la vida loca with my 27 year old pool boy. Remind me to get a pool.
29. Do you burn or tan?
I used to burn. Then get freckles like a six year old kid. Now I am covered with a tarp.
30. Favorite color/s?
Fushia and teal.
31. Would you be a pirate?
Blackbeard, Redbeard and me, Nobeard, except for that one hair I keep having to pluck.
32. Last time you had an alcoholic drink?
In New Orleans in May -- an almost virgin Hurricane except for half a shot of rum.
33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
I usually shower at my healthclub and singing would be weird.
34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child? Back in the early fifties, I thought the streetcars I could hear at night were Korean tanks.
36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Britney Spears' interview with Matt Lauer. Yep, I watched it.
37. Best bed sheets you had as a child?
Dry ones.
38. Worst injury you've ever had?
Level three sprained ankle playing tennis. One of the guys I was with threw a towel over my face as I lay on the court. Somebody asked "Why did you do that?" He said, "She's dead, isn't she?"
40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Two.
41. Who is your loudest friend?
Uh, I'm the loudest of everybody.
42. Who is your most silent friend?
I can't tell, I'm making too much noise.
43. Does someone have a crush on you?
Right -- someone has a crush on a 62 year old woman.
44. Do you wish on stars?
"Dear Diary, Tonight I saw a falling star and I made a wish." That's not going to happen anytime soon.
45. What is your favorite book?
The one I just finished -- Absolutely American, about West Point. For a moment I wanted to join the military. But it passed.
46. What is your favorite candy?
Reisen's chocolate wrapped caramels. I haven't had any in awhile. Hmmmmmm.
47. What song did you last hear?
Something Norah Jones -- I was listening to her CD on the way home from a ballgame. She sounds a lot like Eva Cassidy to me.
48. What song(s) do you want played at your funeral? Oh Happy Day with the the real Edwin Hawkins' Singers singing it.
49. What were you doing 12AM last night?
I was asleep.
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning?
Do I really want to get up?
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Sixin' on Saturday
http://patricksweekender.blogspot.com/ -- You can play here
1. What vegetable can you not get enough of? What vegetable that you've actually tried cooking do you hate, no matter what is done to it?
I can't get enough lettuce. I love lettuce. All kinds. Even the ones that aren't called lettuce, like arugula and endive. Olive oil, balsamic vinegar, some salt, a bunch of lettuce, and I'm happy.
I could probably do without beets. Except julienned into microscopically thin slices so that they're more like colorful condiments than an actual vegetable you can taste.
2. Have you ever given your father one of those tacky flashing ties as a Father's Day gift? What's the "worst" gift you've ever given your dad?
Hard to tell the worst; he didn't seem to like much of anything I gave him.
3. When is the last time you donated clothes to a charity drive? If you had to guess, what percentage of the clothes in your closet right now no longer fit?
I'm giving clothes away all the time. But only after I haven't worn them for fourteen years. You never know. As for how many of my clothes no longer fit -- if I can get an arm or a leg in them, they fit. So that leaves a pair of hot pants from the sixties [They survived the fourteen year rule because I consider them museum quality]. And some Pucci print bikini panties I couldn't toss. I could have them bronzed I suppose.
4. Take the quiz: Where should you spend your summer vacation?
These EXPERTS tell me I should be down at the beach. Actually I prefer the mountains.
5. If you could spend one week anywhere in the world or two weeks at home relaxing, which would you choose?
Home. There's theater, restaurants, beaches, pretty much anything you want for vacationing here. Except mountains.
6. Do you tend to be more of a morning person or a night owl? If you could, would you become the opposite?
I'm old; we never sleep. I'm usually awake by 5:30 or 6:00. And I often stay up past midnight. Is there such a thing as both a morning and a night person?
1. What vegetable can you not get enough of? What vegetable that you've actually tried cooking do you hate, no matter what is done to it?
I can't get enough lettuce. I love lettuce. All kinds. Even the ones that aren't called lettuce, like arugula and endive. Olive oil, balsamic vinegar, some salt, a bunch of lettuce, and I'm happy.
I could probably do without beets. Except julienned into microscopically thin slices so that they're more like colorful condiments than an actual vegetable you can taste.
2. Have you ever given your father one of those tacky flashing ties as a Father's Day gift? What's the "worst" gift you've ever given your dad?
Hard to tell the worst; he didn't seem to like much of anything I gave him.
3. When is the last time you donated clothes to a charity drive? If you had to guess, what percentage of the clothes in your closet right now no longer fit?
I'm giving clothes away all the time. But only after I haven't worn them for fourteen years. You never know. As for how many of my clothes no longer fit -- if I can get an arm or a leg in them, they fit. So that leaves a pair of hot pants from the sixties [They survived the fourteen year rule because I consider them museum quality]. And some Pucci print bikini panties I couldn't toss. I could have them bronzed I suppose.
4. Take the quiz: Where should you spend your summer vacation?
These EXPERTS tell me I should be down at the beach. Actually I prefer the mountains.
5. If you could spend one week anywhere in the world or two weeks at home relaxing, which would you choose?
Home. There's theater, restaurants, beaches, pretty much anything you want for vacationing here. Except mountains.
6. Do you tend to be more of a morning person or a night owl? If you could, would you become the opposite?
I'm old; we never sleep. I'm usually awake by 5:30 or 6:00. And I often stay up past midnight. Is there such a thing as both a morning and a night person?
Ask Mrs. Linklater Posts Again
There's another couple of postings at Ask Mrs.
Linklater. She straightens out Dear Abby thanks to a suggestion from loyal reader,
Chris, who writes Inane Thoughts and Insane Ramblings [see Other
Journals].
Mrs. L also takes on Ask Ellie from the Chicago Sun-Times.
http://askmrslinklater.blogspot.com/
Mrs. L also takes on Ask Ellie from the Chicago Sun-Times.
http://askmrslinklater.blogspot.com/
Friday, June 16, 2006
FLAPS DOWN
You might think that breastfeeding is easy. The equipment
comes already attached. There's no milk to buy. No nipples to lose
under the sofa. No batteries included.
But activating the suction machine correctly is only one of the many malfunctions that can interfere with the supply of milk.
Everything from inverted nipples to a baby who can't suck properly to being too tired for your body to make enough milk are just for starters. Plus, what works for one woman doesn't work for others. The usual.
Thirty-six years ago Mrs. Linklater decided she wanted to breastfeed her children. She'd heard about all the good stuff it could do for a baby. Yes, they knew about the benefits back then, too. Using one's titolas for suckling a child wasn't invented yesterday. She also thought it would be great to have huge boobs for a change. [Until that unpleasant encounter with a delivery guy who became fixated on her chest. EWWW.]
Reducing allergies, preventing illnesses, having healthier, happier babies, all the good things you hear about now were the same good things they were touting then. Plus nursing offered the added benefit of providing protection for breast tissue against cancer. The theory isn't quite as simple as use it or lose it, but close enough.
The one major difference three and a half decades ago was that many doctors didn't realize how what you ate or drank, like alcohol, coffee and orange juice, the diseases you had, like hepatitis and now HIV, and the pills you took, from diet pills to sleeping pills, could go through the milk and affect the baby. Even now you'll get arguments about alcohol, because no one likes to give up their booze. So your baby is a little LD, those cranberry cosmos were worth it.
Back in the golden olden days, the doctors didn't listen to the moms. They only talked among themselves. What do you think, Al, would Mom's Mai Tai before nursing make a baby drunk? Nah. a little sleepy maybe, no big whup.
As a nursing mother I could tell right away that my babies were affected by my food choices. For some reason, orange juice made my second child fussy. I didn't do caffeine, nicotine or booze.
When my younger daughter was a eleven weeks old, I took Dramamine before a plane ride and the bad news was that I knocked her on her ass for the good part of the next day. The good news was that I knocked her on her ass for the good part of the next day. No, I didn't do it again. Breastfeeding should be used for good, not evil.
Around that time, I was asked to start a milk bank at one of the hospitals. Diligently, I wrote down all the drugs each volunteer mother was taking and got very worried when the doctor said it didn't matter about the drugs because they didn't go through the milk. If you're wondering whether I said I didn't agree with him, I said "I don't agree." Like he cared.
I was concerned because more than fifty per cent of the nursing mothers who donated milk were on Librium, a powerful psychiatric drug. Holy shit. If you think Brooke Shields invented post partum depression, guess again. She just made it infamous. I can only wonder what happened to the babies who got the Librium in that milk.
Plus, the women were asked to express only an ounce or so of their foremilk into a bottle, then freeze it. When the bottle was full I would pick it up and take it to the milkbank at the hospital.
Foremilk is the first milk that comes out of the breast. It looks thin and bluish like skim milk because it has less fat. If you keep expressing milk you will begin to see the hindmilk which has more fat. It mixes in with the foremilk as it comes out, like a river, bright white and opaque.
It seemed to me that a baby would need the fat in the hindmilk for calories. I wasn't sure if foremilk alone was enough for a new baby. Ultimately, between what I considered dangerous drugs in the milk and the lowfat stuff I collected, I decided to get far away from the milkbank. When the docs finally realized how much crap might be coming out of mom's machine a few years later, the bank closed.
Trying to breastfeed my first child, I was pretty much on my own. There were no lactation specialists to count on. While breastfeeding was enjoying a resurgence after decades of bottlefeeding, you were SOL back then unless you had family or friends who were currently nursing and could demonstrate for you. My mother had been an obstetrical nurse, but she had passed away.
I tried La Leche League, the national support group for nursing mothers. They had reading materials which weren't very helpful to me ahead of time. As a group they seemed to sit around and brag about how long they breastfed their kids. That, and how many birth orgasms they'd had. Don't get me started.
If you needed help preventing sore nipples which I assumed would happen to me, nobody offered much. To sum up what most of the literature said, "Shit happens."
For women with fair skin who had never breastfed, their suggested methods for toughening up nipples were lame. No need to discuss their dumb thumb twisting techniques here. Mostly because they were totally ineffectual. Nothing short of dragging your tits on the sidewalk all day can toughen your nipples like attaching a baby to your boob for ten minutes every two hours. Unfortunately no matter what you do, if you've got fair skin, or it's your first baby, you're probably getting sore, sister. [For most people that last paragraph is probably TMI.]
Ultimately, I didn't get to the weekly meetings of La Leche until my child was three weeks old and by that time I had figured the important things out. Sore nipples were part of the initiation rite. It took about a month to get past them.
However, the ladies at La Leche seemed more interested in whether or not I'd had a birth orgasm, since I hadn't had an epidural. Let's see, having an orgasm while pushing a bowling ball out of my body. Not going to happen. Besides, why would you want to have an orgasm in a delivery room with your doctor sitting with his or her face between your legs? Could there be a more inappropriate time or place?
In the hospital, after trying and failing several times I finally got my baby to latch on. Having the nurses try to help me was a comedy of errors. They were useless.
All they seemed capable of doing was weighing my child before and after she was fed -- something hospitals stopped doing, then started, then stopped again. Depends on who's running the place.
Following the failures, one nurse marched into my room with my hungry daughter and said in a firm voice, "This baby only got a quarter of an ounce the last time, what are you going to do about it?"
Sitting there in bed, naked from the waist up, thinking I was finally going to be able to do this, I had to fight back tears. Wait a minute, I'm Mrs. Linklater!!! This isn't MY fault!! Besides where does that bitch get off talking to a new mother like that?
"How dare you talk to me that way! That's MY baby! Not yours! I've been trying to nurse her every time you bring her in and this time I thought I could finally do it. But you've made me so upset that I probably won't have any milk at all."
She stuttered and stammered something about just being concerned and I never saw her again. I did see the head nurse peeking her head around the door while I was ripping El Bitcho a new body part.
Despite the altercation, I managed to nurse successfully for the first time. Now I worried about making enough milk. Supposedly you shouldn't have to worry about that, but you do. My first child nursed every three or four hours. Peeped. Pooped. Slept. My second nursed every hour and a half around the clock for four weeks. Sucked air, never burped, pooped from midnight to three AM. Both had gained 2.5 pounds after a month.
What I learned is that it isn't how many fluids you drink, especially if you're into beer, which is pretty stupid, it's how much rest you get. Good maintenance means good production.
Breastfeeding is not a time to diet. Or pig out. In my perfect world there would be spas for nursing mothers. With chefs to make all the meals. Massages, pedicures, manicures. Soothing music. Aromatherapy. Who am I kidding? I also think that Elizabeth Arden would be a great place to have a baby, too.
My second and last child was weaned at a year. But I could still express milk when she was three years old. That might explain why some grandmothers can become wetnurses. Once you've done it you can do it again with or without a baby. It may take some WD40 to get things up and running, but think of the bond grandma can have with her grandchildren. Yep. Just imagine.
Maybe that's a new career I could carve out for myself. Being a wetnurse for moms who have to go back to work after twelve weeks. I might be on to something. Get me one of those powerful electric milk pumps -- the big shiny chrome ones -- and I could go into production and start selling Original Mama's Milk from a stand on the corner. 'Lipitor free." "Paxil Free." "A little Zantac from time to time."
Now that our trusty government has stated unequivocally that babies should be breastfed for six months or you are a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mom, how soon do you think companies will start operating their own daycare centers or set aside a special place for nursing moms to express milk to bring home to their babies?
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
But activating the suction machine correctly is only one of the many malfunctions that can interfere with the supply of milk.
Everything from inverted nipples to a baby who can't suck properly to being too tired for your body to make enough milk are just for starters. Plus, what works for one woman doesn't work for others. The usual.
Thirty-six years ago Mrs. Linklater decided she wanted to breastfeed her children. She'd heard about all the good stuff it could do for a baby. Yes, they knew about the benefits back then, too. Using one's titolas for suckling a child wasn't invented yesterday. She also thought it would be great to have huge boobs for a change. [Until that unpleasant encounter with a delivery guy who became fixated on her chest. EWWW.]
Reducing allergies, preventing illnesses, having healthier, happier babies, all the good things you hear about now were the same good things they were touting then. Plus nursing offered the added benefit of providing protection for breast tissue against cancer. The theory isn't quite as simple as use it or lose it, but close enough.
The one major difference three and a half decades ago was that many doctors didn't realize how what you ate or drank, like alcohol, coffee and orange juice, the diseases you had, like hepatitis and now HIV, and the pills you took, from diet pills to sleeping pills, could go through the milk and affect the baby. Even now you'll get arguments about alcohol, because no one likes to give up their booze. So your baby is a little LD, those cranberry cosmos were worth it.
Back in the golden olden days, the doctors didn't listen to the moms. They only talked among themselves. What do you think, Al, would Mom's Mai Tai before nursing make a baby drunk? Nah. a little sleepy maybe, no big whup.
As a nursing mother I could tell right away that my babies were affected by my food choices. For some reason, orange juice made my second child fussy. I didn't do caffeine, nicotine or booze.
When my younger daughter was a eleven weeks old, I took Dramamine before a plane ride and the bad news was that I knocked her on her ass for the good part of the next day. The good news was that I knocked her on her ass for the good part of the next day. No, I didn't do it again. Breastfeeding should be used for good, not evil.
Around that time, I was asked to start a milk bank at one of the hospitals. Diligently, I wrote down all the drugs each volunteer mother was taking and got very worried when the doctor said it didn't matter about the drugs because they didn't go through the milk. If you're wondering whether I said I didn't agree with him, I said "I don't agree." Like he cared.
I was concerned because more than fifty per cent of the nursing mothers who donated milk were on Librium, a powerful psychiatric drug. Holy shit. If you think Brooke Shields invented post partum depression, guess again. She just made it infamous. I can only wonder what happened to the babies who got the Librium in that milk.
Plus, the women were asked to express only an ounce or so of their foremilk into a bottle, then freeze it. When the bottle was full I would pick it up and take it to the milkbank at the hospital.
Foremilk is the first milk that comes out of the breast. It looks thin and bluish like skim milk because it has less fat. If you keep expressing milk you will begin to see the hindmilk which has more fat. It mixes in with the foremilk as it comes out, like a river, bright white and opaque.
It seemed to me that a baby would need the fat in the hindmilk for calories. I wasn't sure if foremilk alone was enough for a new baby. Ultimately, between what I considered dangerous drugs in the milk and the lowfat stuff I collected, I decided to get far away from the milkbank. When the docs finally realized how much crap might be coming out of mom's machine a few years later, the bank closed.
Trying to breastfeed my first child, I was pretty much on my own. There were no lactation specialists to count on. While breastfeeding was enjoying a resurgence after decades of bottlefeeding, you were SOL back then unless you had family or friends who were currently nursing and could demonstrate for you. My mother had been an obstetrical nurse, but she had passed away.
I tried La Leche League, the national support group for nursing mothers. They had reading materials which weren't very helpful to me ahead of time. As a group they seemed to sit around and brag about how long they breastfed their kids. That, and how many birth orgasms they'd had. Don't get me started.
If you needed help preventing sore nipples which I assumed would happen to me, nobody offered much. To sum up what most of the literature said, "Shit happens."
For women with fair skin who had never breastfed, their suggested methods for toughening up nipples were lame. No need to discuss their dumb thumb twisting techniques here. Mostly because they were totally ineffectual. Nothing short of dragging your tits on the sidewalk all day can toughen your nipples like attaching a baby to your boob for ten minutes every two hours. Unfortunately no matter what you do, if you've got fair skin, or it's your first baby, you're probably getting sore, sister. [For most people that last paragraph is probably TMI.]
Ultimately, I didn't get to the weekly meetings of La Leche until my child was three weeks old and by that time I had figured the important things out. Sore nipples were part of the initiation rite. It took about a month to get past them.
However, the ladies at La Leche seemed more interested in whether or not I'd had a birth orgasm, since I hadn't had an epidural. Let's see, having an orgasm while pushing a bowling ball out of my body. Not going to happen. Besides, why would you want to have an orgasm in a delivery room with your doctor sitting with his or her face between your legs? Could there be a more inappropriate time or place?
In the hospital, after trying and failing several times I finally got my baby to latch on. Having the nurses try to help me was a comedy of errors. They were useless.
All they seemed capable of doing was weighing my child before and after she was fed -- something hospitals stopped doing, then started, then stopped again. Depends on who's running the place.
Following the failures, one nurse marched into my room with my hungry daughter and said in a firm voice, "This baby only got a quarter of an ounce the last time, what are you going to do about it?"
Sitting there in bed, naked from the waist up, thinking I was finally going to be able to do this, I had to fight back tears. Wait a minute, I'm Mrs. Linklater!!! This isn't MY fault!! Besides where does that bitch get off talking to a new mother like that?
"How dare you talk to me that way! That's MY baby! Not yours! I've been trying to nurse her every time you bring her in and this time I thought I could finally do it. But you've made me so upset that I probably won't have any milk at all."
She stuttered and stammered something about just being concerned and I never saw her again. I did see the head nurse peeking her head around the door while I was ripping El Bitcho a new body part.
Despite the altercation, I managed to nurse successfully for the first time. Now I worried about making enough milk. Supposedly you shouldn't have to worry about that, but you do. My first child nursed every three or four hours. Peeped. Pooped. Slept. My second nursed every hour and a half around the clock for four weeks. Sucked air, never burped, pooped from midnight to three AM. Both had gained 2.5 pounds after a month.
What I learned is that it isn't how many fluids you drink, especially if you're into beer, which is pretty stupid, it's how much rest you get. Good maintenance means good production.
Breastfeeding is not a time to diet. Or pig out. In my perfect world there would be spas for nursing mothers. With chefs to make all the meals. Massages, pedicures, manicures. Soothing music. Aromatherapy. Who am I kidding? I also think that Elizabeth Arden would be a great place to have a baby, too.
My second and last child was weaned at a year. But I could still express milk when she was three years old. That might explain why some grandmothers can become wetnurses. Once you've done it you can do it again with or without a baby. It may take some WD40 to get things up and running, but think of the bond grandma can have with her grandchildren. Yep. Just imagine.
Maybe that's a new career I could carve out for myself. Being a wetnurse for moms who have to go back to work after twelve weeks. I might be on to something. Get me one of those powerful electric milk pumps -- the big shiny chrome ones -- and I could go into production and start selling Original Mama's Milk from a stand on the corner. 'Lipitor free." "Paxil Free." "A little Zantac from time to time."
Now that our trusty government has stated unequivocally that babies should be breastfed for six months or you are a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mom, how soon do you think companies will start operating their own daycare centers or set aside a special place for nursing moms to express milk to bring home to their babies?
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Last Saturday's Six
From your front door:
1. What is the color of the first vehicle you spot?
Silver. It's a Nissan sedan. It isn't mine. If I were to go out my back door, I could see my black Jeep. Out my front door, I see a Nissan that belongs to my neighbor across the street.
2. Is this the last vehicle you drove? If not, does this car belong to you or someone in your home?
As I said in question one, it belongs to my neighbor across the street who has a double driveway with no cars parked in it, but always parks his car on my side of the street, in front of MY parkway. For some reason he can't park in front of his own house or use his driveway.
Lately I've noticed one of those storage things outside his house. His wife and his wife's car and their kids haven't been there. Wonder if they're getting divorced. Hmmm. I've been working some nasty hours, so I could have missed something.
3. What kind of tree is closest to your front door?
Next to the two giant elm trees that shaded my back yard until Dutch Elm disease took them, it's my favorite tree -- a four story evergreen. A sugar maple I planted from a one foot seedling fifteen years ago is over three stories high this year. But that's in my backyard. There's a couple of weeds out front I ought to pull up. They're almost up to my front door.
4. What's the weather like at the time you answer these questions? Did you feel any dramatic change of temperature or humidity as you stepped outside of your home?
It's sixty five degrees. It feels the same inside as out. Perfect weather for me.
5. Of your immediate neighbors -- those whose homes you can see from your front door -- how many of them do you know by name?
Seven. We have a block party every year so I get to see their nametags and remember who they are. Four of them have been here longer than I have. One of them was in my class in high school. Another was married to an alcoholic who used to shoot his .357 magnum through the living room ceiling. She traded that hubby for a better model about fifteen years ago. After I had a few midnight calls at my door when she and her kids were trying to escape from Mr. Shootemup.
6. How many of those do you speak to when you see them?
All of them. If I don't speak, I wave. They wave. We all wave. Their kids call me by my first name. I can't get them to say Mrs. Linklater -- they just stare at me.
1. What is the color of the first vehicle you spot?
Silver. It's a Nissan sedan. It isn't mine. If I were to go out my back door, I could see my black Jeep. Out my front door, I see a Nissan that belongs to my neighbor across the street.
2. Is this the last vehicle you drove? If not, does this car belong to you or someone in your home?
As I said in question one, it belongs to my neighbor across the street who has a double driveway with no cars parked in it, but always parks his car on my side of the street, in front of MY parkway. For some reason he can't park in front of his own house or use his driveway.
Lately I've noticed one of those storage things outside his house. His wife and his wife's car and their kids haven't been there. Wonder if they're getting divorced. Hmmm. I've been working some nasty hours, so I could have missed something.
3. What kind of tree is closest to your front door?
Next to the two giant elm trees that shaded my back yard until Dutch Elm disease took them, it's my favorite tree -- a four story evergreen. A sugar maple I planted from a one foot seedling fifteen years ago is over three stories high this year. But that's in my backyard. There's a couple of weeds out front I ought to pull up. They're almost up to my front door.
4. What's the weather like at the time you answer these questions? Did you feel any dramatic change of temperature or humidity as you stepped outside of your home?
It's sixty five degrees. It feels the same inside as out. Perfect weather for me.
5. Of your immediate neighbors -- those whose homes you can see from your front door -- how many of them do you know by name?
Seven. We have a block party every year so I get to see their nametags and remember who they are. Four of them have been here longer than I have. One of them was in my class in high school. Another was married to an alcoholic who used to shoot his .357 magnum through the living room ceiling. She traded that hubby for a better model about fifteen years ago. After I had a few midnight calls at my door when she and her kids were trying to escape from Mr. Shootemup.
6. How many of those do you speak to when you see them?
All of them. If I don't speak, I wave. They wave. We all wave. Their kids call me by my first name. I can't get them to say Mrs. Linklater -- they just stare at me.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Hobie Billingsley and a friend of mine
My friend Nancy [in
the left of the picture] went to Indiana University to train with the
now legendary diving coach, Hobie Billingsley, back in the early
sixties. That's Hobie in the middle. She had plans to make the
1960 or 1964 Oympic Team, but she hurt her back badly in a freak
trampoline accident during training and had to give up diving.
She switched to volleyball and played on a multitude of national championship teams for years alongside her sister Patti -- herself a two time Olympic setter whose husband was also an Olympian. The athletic DNA in that family has spawned cyclists, marathon runners, and a bunch of other volleyballers. Their grandma is an amazing eighty-seven year old woman who STILL plays badminton and tennis, bowls and cycles. I need a nap just writing about them.
Nan and more than a dozen other divers from Hobie's era made it back to IU for his 80th birthday a week or so ago. Interestingly enough I recognized the woman on the right of the picture as an anchor on a PBS news show in Chicago. Dibby went to the same high school I did, but I had no idea she also went to Indiana to dive and knew my good friend, too. Cosmic.
The reason I posted this picture is that I think Dibby doesn't look too shabby for 65. Nan's looking pretty swank for 62 herself. Just got a brand new knee too. Most women look forward to silver, gold, and diamonds as the years pass. Former jocks start dreaming about titanium knees and hips. Gotta get your bling the best way you can.
She switched to volleyball and played on a multitude of national championship teams for years alongside her sister Patti -- herself a two time Olympic setter whose husband was also an Olympian. The athletic DNA in that family has spawned cyclists, marathon runners, and a bunch of other volleyballers. Their grandma is an amazing eighty-seven year old woman who STILL plays badminton and tennis, bowls and cycles. I need a nap just writing about them.
Nan and more than a dozen other divers from Hobie's era made it back to IU for his 80th birthday a week or so ago. Interestingly enough I recognized the woman on the right of the picture as an anchor on a PBS news show in Chicago. Dibby went to the same high school I did, but I had no idea she also went to Indiana to dive and knew my good friend, too. Cosmic.
The reason I posted this picture is that I think Dibby doesn't look too shabby for 65. Nan's looking pretty swank for 62 herself. Just got a brand new knee too. Most women look forward to silver, gold, and diamonds as the years pass. Former jocks start dreaming about titanium knees and hips. Gotta get your bling the best way you can.
Ben Rothlisberger
Motorcycle riders talk
about the feeling of freedom they have when they ride without a helmet.
There is nothing that can compare with this ultimate sense of
liberation. The power of the wind on their faces, the myriad scents
that fill their nostrils, the bugs that stick in their teeth.
Ask any testosterone poisoned rider about the rush that comes with helmet-free cruising at over a hundred miles an hour, weaving in and out of traffic.
Death seems like such a small price to pay for the thrill.
Playing professional football, on the other hand, must make a guy feel like a big damn sissy by comparison. Players not only have to wear helmets, they're protected with faceguards and mouthgards. And the fastest they can go is a slow 20 some miles an hour for a measly hundred yards. Their "rush" only comes in four and five yard increments. And someone is always there trying to stop them. Not fun.
So is it any wonder that Big Ben, the youngest quarterback to win a Super Bowl, risked his 14 millliion dollar paycheck to embrace a target rich opportunity to ride a crotch rocket without some damn helmet to get between him and his quest to feed his need for speed?
I hope he enjoyed it.
Actually I just hope he can remember it.
Ask any testosterone poisoned rider about the rush that comes with helmet-free cruising at over a hundred miles an hour, weaving in and out of traffic.
Death seems like such a small price to pay for the thrill.
Playing professional football, on the other hand, must make a guy feel like a big damn sissy by comparison. Players not only have to wear helmets, they're protected with faceguards and mouthgards. And the fastest they can go is a slow 20 some miles an hour for a measly hundred yards. Their "rush" only comes in four and five yard increments. And someone is always there trying to stop them. Not fun.
So is it any wonder that Big Ben, the youngest quarterback to win a Super Bowl, risked his 14 millliion dollar paycheck to embrace a target rich opportunity to ride a crotch rocket without some damn helmet to get between him and his quest to feed his need for speed?
I hope he enjoyed it.
Actually I just hope he can remember it.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Ask Mrs. Linklater Posts Again
Mrs. Linklater thanks Patrick of
Patrick's Place [see Other Journals] for bringing this advice column
travesty to light. Everyone should consider themselves deputized. It could happen to you.
http://askmrslinklater.blogspot.com/
http://askmrslinklater.blogspot.com/
Mrs. Linklater's Science Class
Ohio State University, AP
A geologist using satellite data found a massive crater in Antarctica. The
location of the crater, hidden more than a mile beneath the ice, is circled
in this image.A big thank you to AOL for posting this detailed map today. Somebody knows how to color between the lines.
Mrs. Linklater never ceases to be amazed at the number of scientists who come up with theories about stuff that they say happened 100 million years ago during the good old days of say, the permian-triassic era in places nobody can get to, like Antarctica.
These theories are particularly intriguing when whatever it is the geologists think they have found to prove this theory is buried under an icepack about a mile thick. Like you can disagree with them.
It's even more amazing when they use satellite technology to help provide evidence. As if an infra red camera up in the sky, make that WAY up in the sky, can help clarify a hole in the ground more than 5000 feet under the ice. Did I mention the ice? Of course, that's never stopped the beaker geeks from theorizing before.
Mrs. L doesn't know about you, but her red flag was starting to wave when they had to circle the area for you.
Before finding the location on the map provided, a process which was hampered by the use of a yellow circle to point out the area which was also yellow, Mrs. L had already found another spot that looked even more likely than the one the scientists have suggested as ground zero. You can even see it with your naked eye -- that tear drop thing near the bottom.
Call her naive, but given the likelihood that the yellow spot inside the helpful circle is indeed a crater made by an asteroid 100 million years ago, Mrs. Linklater feels compelled to offer her own thoughts on the subject.
After all, she, unlike many, is embracing the possibilities of global warming, given her latest arthritis issues.
This recent report has her worried that some rock doc has been starring too hard at his computer screen and is starting to see things.
Because, she theorizes, that area could also be a thumbprint of a very large person and we are just the germs in the scab of a pimple on its face.
All that stuff we call magma inside the earth may just be the zit juice of a giant. And what we consider millions of years may be a nano second in real time. Put that on your Bunson burner and heat it.
Given the size and number of species which were allegedly extinctified by the supposed impact of the reported asteroid which hit the earth so long ago that there was no FOX NEWS or Geraldo to investgate, Mrs. Linklater thinks a huge shit storm is not beyond the realm of possibility either.
In any case, we should take it all with a grain of salt.
The Inscrutable Weight Loss Diet
The Japanese have ceremonies for everything.
From losing your virginity to committing suicide, there are rituals that circumscribe every moment. In true Zen fashion, the correct performance of the act becomes as important as the act itself. Particularly when it involves pleasure or pain.
Even those of us whose moments of pleasure are sandwiched between checking our email and answering our cell phones can appreciate the Japanese genius for symbolism and ritual.
In our hurry up I've got carpool world we can acknowledge how the contemplation of an experience during its slow, measured movements would serve to heighten every aspect of the climax, if you'll pardon an expression.
Of course after World War II, most performances of those carefully crafted, nuanced, and very ancient rituals went out the window when the country was occupied by beerdrinking American soldiers out for a good time. Bad karma. Appreciation for the power of delayed gratification requires centuries of navel contemplation and the USA wasn't even 200 years old. A pimple on the butt of a life of introspection.
The American character does not have the rich patina of the Japanese. We act on our impulses almost as quickly as we have them. The Japanese response is often imperceptible.
The idea of spending years to learn the intricate nuances required to perform the tea ceremony would never occur to us. Worrying about the correct tilt of one's finger while pouring flavored water is just wasting valuable time we could be using to satisfy our thirst for immediate gratification.
We want results now. A job done. The Japanese savor the experience.
So it's not surprising that in Japan, it's not what you eat but how you eat it.
Eating food reflects the centuries of contemplation which permeate so much of Japanese life to this day.
The result is that women in Japan live longer with thinner bodies than almost anywhere else in the world.
You've probably heard about the Japanese girl who gained 25 pounds in two months living in the US. Or how anyone who switches to an American diet becomes a big fat cow.
When the young woman got back to Japan the extra pounds disappeared. Quelle surprise!! Then she did what everyone else does, she wrote a book about it. Oh, sure tell us we're fat, then try to make money off our big fat asses.
So, to lose those unsightly bulges, all we have to do is cook and eat like the Japanese.
No thank you, I have a cupboard full of Mexican food to get through first. Plus, I don't want to learn how to make apples look like swans yet. Or risk my life serving that poison blowfish.
Meanwhile, in case you haven't figured it out by now, Japanese women eat very differently than the rest of the world. Mostly they eat less. There is only a two per cent obesity rate among women in Japan. Versus thirty-four percent in the US As a result, women in Japan have an 85 year life expectancy in Japan versus 80 years over here.
Preparing a meal in Japan is like painting. The art and beauty of the food matters as much as the amount. The arrangement on the plate is as important as the preparation. In all there is restraint, which may be the main difference between the Japanese and Americans in everything. We barely give lip service to portion control. Lip smacking is more our style.
Fish is the main source of protein in the Japanese diet. Served raw or grilled. Rice bran oil or canola oil, not butter, are used for cooking. Vegeables are the main course, not the side dish. Fish, meat and poultry are used as condiments, sprinkled on top, not served on a slab in the middle. Rice is cooked with water and no oil. At the end of the meal, unsweetened green tea is served hot as the final punctuation.
The Japanese use small, separate plates to serve the different foods. Like people who've had stomach stapling.
Eat only until you're almost full. Once again, restraint is required. Eighty percent full if you play the numbers game.
Everything is prepared fresh in the Japanese diet. Microwaved Mac and Cheese, while hot, is not considered fresh.
Healthwise, there is ample protein from the ubiquitous soy products and fish, which provide virtually no saturated fat. Lots of fresh vegetables and fresh fruit round out the Japanese diet.
Portions are dainty to miniscule. Even you have seconds, the amount still remains small. Halfway through a meal, stop and decide if you really need the rest of what is on the plate. Try that with your blooming onion appetizer at Outback. Pay attention to internal cues. Lower your threshhold of pain.
Remember the green tea served at the end of the meal is drunk slowly. And not served with three layered chocolate cake.
Some people believe green tea can act as an appetite suppresant. For most Americans, the mere mention of sushi provites the same result.
In general, warm drinks that provide no calories are great distractions from snacking. They become a calming, gentle way to end a meal. Especially when accompanied by your dose of Ambien.
Dessert? One of those apples sliced and diced into swans, maybe.
Okay. Okay. I get it.
Make you want to rethink that Belgian Waffle and side order of thick sliced bacon this morning?
I didn't think so.
From losing your virginity to committing suicide, there are rituals that circumscribe every moment. In true Zen fashion, the correct performance of the act becomes as important as the act itself. Particularly when it involves pleasure or pain.
Even those of us whose moments of pleasure are sandwiched between checking our email and answering our cell phones can appreciate the Japanese genius for symbolism and ritual.
In our hurry up I've got carpool world we can acknowledge how the contemplation of an experience during its slow, measured movements would serve to heighten every aspect of the climax, if you'll pardon an expression.
Of course after World War II, most performances of those carefully crafted, nuanced, and very ancient rituals went out the window when the country was occupied by beerdrinking American soldiers out for a good time. Bad karma. Appreciation for the power of delayed gratification requires centuries of navel contemplation and the USA wasn't even 200 years old. A pimple on the butt of a life of introspection.
The American character does not have the rich patina of the Japanese. We act on our impulses almost as quickly as we have them. The Japanese response is often imperceptible.
The idea of spending years to learn the intricate nuances required to perform the tea ceremony would never occur to us. Worrying about the correct tilt of one's finger while pouring flavored water is just wasting valuable time we could be using to satisfy our thirst for immediate gratification.
We want results now. A job done. The Japanese savor the experience.
So it's not surprising that in Japan, it's not what you eat but how you eat it.
Eating food reflects the centuries of contemplation which permeate so much of Japanese life to this day.
The result is that women in Japan live longer with thinner bodies than almost anywhere else in the world.
You've probably heard about the Japanese girl who gained 25 pounds in two months living in the US. Or how anyone who switches to an American diet becomes a big fat cow.
When the young woman got back to Japan the extra pounds disappeared. Quelle surprise!! Then she did what everyone else does, she wrote a book about it. Oh, sure tell us we're fat, then try to make money off our big fat asses.
So, to lose those unsightly bulges, all we have to do is cook and eat like the Japanese.
No thank you, I have a cupboard full of Mexican food to get through first. Plus, I don't want to learn how to make apples look like swans yet. Or risk my life serving that poison blowfish.
Meanwhile, in case you haven't figured it out by now, Japanese women eat very differently than the rest of the world. Mostly they eat less. There is only a two per cent obesity rate among women in Japan. Versus thirty-four percent in the US As a result, women in Japan have an 85 year life expectancy in Japan versus 80 years over here.
Preparing a meal in Japan is like painting. The art and beauty of the food matters as much as the amount. The arrangement on the plate is as important as the preparation. In all there is restraint, which may be the main difference between the Japanese and Americans in everything. We barely give lip service to portion control. Lip smacking is more our style.
Fish is the main source of protein in the Japanese diet. Served raw or grilled. Rice bran oil or canola oil, not butter, are used for cooking. Vegeables are the main course, not the side dish. Fish, meat and poultry are used as condiments, sprinkled on top, not served on a slab in the middle. Rice is cooked with water and no oil. At the end of the meal, unsweetened green tea is served hot as the final punctuation.
The Japanese use small, separate plates to serve the different foods. Like people who've had stomach stapling.
Eat only until you're almost full. Once again, restraint is required. Eighty percent full if you play the numbers game.
Everything is prepared fresh in the Japanese diet. Microwaved Mac and Cheese, while hot, is not considered fresh.
Healthwise, there is ample protein from the ubiquitous soy products and fish, which provide virtually no saturated fat. Lots of fresh vegetables and fresh fruit round out the Japanese diet.
Portions are dainty to miniscule. Even you have seconds, the amount still remains small. Halfway through a meal, stop and decide if you really need the rest of what is on the plate. Try that with your blooming onion appetizer at Outback. Pay attention to internal cues. Lower your threshhold of pain.
Remember the green tea served at the end of the meal is drunk slowly. And not served with three layered chocolate cake.
Some people believe green tea can act as an appetite suppresant. For most Americans, the mere mention of sushi provites the same result.
In general, warm drinks that provide no calories are great distractions from snacking. They become a calming, gentle way to end a meal. Especially when accompanied by your dose of Ambien.
Dessert? One of those apples sliced and diced into swans, maybe.
Okay. Okay. I get it.
Make you want to rethink that Belgian Waffle and side order of thick sliced bacon this morning?
I didn't think so.
Thursday, June 8, 2006
THIS JUST IN
One of my brothers took time out from his busy job making the world safe for attorneys to email me this important document
from the Dictrict Court in Orlando, Florida. I pass it along as a
public service.
ORDER
This matter comes before the Court on Plaintiff’s Motion to designate location of a Rule 30(b)(6) deposition (Doc. 105).
Upon consideration of the Motion – the latest in a series of Gordian knots that the parties have been unable to untangle without enlisting the assistance of the federal courts – it is ORDERED that said Motion is DENIED.
Instead, the Court will fashion a new form of alternative dispute resolution, to wit: at 4:00 P.M. on Friday, June 30, 2006, counsel shall convene at a neutral site agreeable to both parties. If counsel cannot agree on a neutral site, they shall meet on the front steps of the Sam M. Gibbons U.S. Courthouse, 801 North Florida Ave., Tampa, Florida 33602.
Each lawyer shall be entitled to be accompanied by one paralegal who shall act as an attendant and witness. At that time and location, counsel shall engage in one (1) game of “rock, paper, scissors.” The winner of this engagement shall be entitled to select the location for the 30(b)(6) deposition to be held somewhere in Hillsborough County during theperiod July 11-12, 2006.
If either party disputes the outcome of this engagement, an appeal may be filed and a hearing will be held at 8:30 A.M. on Friday, July 7, 2006 before the undersigned in Courtroom 3, George C. Young United States Courthouse and Federal Building, 80 North Hughey Avenue, Orlando, Florida 32801. DONE and ORDERED in Chambers, Orlando, Florida on June 6, 2006.
And you thought paying some lawyer $1500 an hour wasn't worth it.
ORDER
This matter comes before the Court on Plaintiff’s Motion to designate location of a Rule 30(b)(6) deposition (Doc. 105).
Upon consideration of the Motion – the latest in a series of Gordian knots that the parties have been unable to untangle without enlisting the assistance of the federal courts – it is ORDERED that said Motion is DENIED.
Instead, the Court will fashion a new form of alternative dispute resolution, to wit: at 4:00 P.M. on Friday, June 30, 2006, counsel shall convene at a neutral site agreeable to both parties. If counsel cannot agree on a neutral site, they shall meet on the front steps of the Sam M. Gibbons U.S. Courthouse, 801 North Florida Ave., Tampa, Florida 33602.
Each lawyer shall be entitled to be accompanied by one paralegal who shall act as an attendant and witness. At that time and location, counsel shall engage in one (1) game of “rock, paper, scissors.” The winner of this engagement shall be entitled to select the location for the 30(b)(6) deposition to be held somewhere in Hillsborough County during theperiod July 11-12, 2006.
If either party disputes the outcome of this engagement, an appeal may be filed and a hearing will be held at 8:30 A.M. on Friday, July 7, 2006 before the undersigned in Courtroom 3, George C. Young United States Courthouse and Federal Building, 80 North Hughey Avenue, Orlando, Florida 32801. DONE and ORDERED in Chambers, Orlando, Florida on June 6, 2006.
And you thought paying some lawyer $1500 an hour wasn't worth it.
Monday, June 5, 2006
SPEAKING OF NINCOMPOOPS
Unhappily married woman in Illinois with four young children starts writing an AOL journal.
She begins internet "correspondence" with Michigan man who also has a journal.
She believes he is a successful financial adviser and a decorated former member of the Special Forces.
Unhappily married woman ends marriage. Coincidence? I think not.
Internet thing becomes live action thing.
Michigan man moves to Illinois in December 2005 to live with woman and her four children in her home following her divorce.
Have I mentioned her children?
Illinois woman tells a friend Michigan man is going to make her rich.
Michigan man and Illinois woman stop writing in their journals for the most part. Why bother?
In May 2006, a new entry is suddenly posted in the man's journal, Surrounded by Nincompoops.
It is written by a woman who claims she is the wife of the Michigan man. Among other things, she says Michigan man is not who he says he is.
In a follow up IM, she says one day he told her he was going out to get a new wedding ring for himself [to please her] and she wondered why he didn't come back.
In an email to this writer, the Illinois woman claims the Michigan man divorced this wife in 2001. And gave her a substantial settlement.
Wife in Michigan says nope -- never happened. After checking with her attorney just to be sure.
Prior to Michigan man's disappearance in December, he emails wife a copy of an email letter that appears to be from the Army. With a job offer.
Turns out the military does not offer people jobs via email, even retired lieutenant colonels. Especially PRETEND retired lieutenant colonels. No matter how many dot.govs and General Bag o Winds' names are on it.
[The FBI is still laughing over that one.]
On his way to buy ring before re-upping into the Army, Michigan man plans quick stop in Chicago. Time to defend self in person before the Commodities Futures Trading Commission.
Client got hinky about his trading practices.
House of cards begins to tumble.
Good bye dear wife in Michigan, I must go now. Errands to run before I get my gun.
Instead Michigan man apparently drives not to Chicago, jewelry store or the Army, but to Southern Illinois to be with woman with four children, never to return.
Wife says he did email and call. Hello dear wife, I'm in the Army now. I hate missing Christmas with you and the kids.
In March of 2006, a newspaper in Michigan alleges that the still married man now living in Illinois with another woman faces multiple lawsuits and huge fines for bilking hundreds of people out of thousands of dollars in a hedge fund Ponzi scheme. Michigan wife feels shock and awe.
Wife's name is on his businesses so she is also being sued.
Fraud comes to light when clients suddenly cannot reach him. Computers for his businesses disappear.
Wife in Michigan says she learns he doesn't have a license to trade.
She also accuses husband of lying about his alleged twenty year career in the Special Forces after contacting the Army while trying to find out where he was.
Wife claims the Army says runaway husband received a less than honorable discharge when he was still in his teens and they haven't seen him since.
Illinois woman claims that the Army would not tell the wife anything because of his "clearance."
Michigan man's friend of thirty years is affected by Ponzi scheme. Two sons who worked with man are also affected. Six more children who have considered him a father, biological and otherwise, are affected. Plus there are four more kids who will be affected.
Did I mention yet another woman he was also having an affair with? She paid a visit to his wife in Michigan.
Is your score card running out of room?
Writer of this journal emails woman in Illinois to inform her of the article about the lawsuits and says, in effect, are you nuts?
No reply.
Cut and paste these links to read for yourself:
ENTRY BY WIFE IN MICHIGAN AT NINCOMPOOPS JOURNAL:
http://journals.aol.com/lotzamoe/SurroundedByNincompoops/entries/1882
PICTURE OF MICHIGAN MAN WITH CLAIM OF TWENTY YEAR CAREER IN MILITARY
http://journals.aol.com/lotzamoe/SurroundedByNincompoops/entries/1848
NEWSPAPER ARTICLE
http://www.lsj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060321/NEWS03/603210331/1004/news
COMMODITY FUTURES TRADING COMMISSION ADVISORY
http://www.cftc.gov/opa/adv06/opawa12-06.htm
She begins internet "correspondence" with Michigan man who also has a journal.
She believes he is a successful financial adviser and a decorated former member of the Special Forces.
Unhappily married woman ends marriage. Coincidence? I think not.
Internet thing becomes live action thing.
Michigan man moves to Illinois in December 2005 to live with woman and her four children in her home following her divorce.
Have I mentioned her children?
Illinois woman tells a friend Michigan man is going to make her rich.
Michigan man and Illinois woman stop writing in their journals for the most part. Why bother?
In May 2006, a new entry is suddenly posted in the man's journal, Surrounded by Nincompoops.
It is written by a woman who claims she is the wife of the Michigan man. Among other things, she says Michigan man is not who he says he is.
In a follow up IM, she says one day he told her he was going out to get a new wedding ring for himself [to please her] and she wondered why he didn't come back.
In an email to this writer, the Illinois woman claims the Michigan man divorced this wife in 2001. And gave her a substantial settlement.
Wife in Michigan says nope -- never happened. After checking with her attorney just to be sure.
Prior to Michigan man's disappearance in December, he emails wife a copy of an email letter that appears to be from the Army. With a job offer.
Turns out the military does not offer people jobs via email, even retired lieutenant colonels. Especially PRETEND retired lieutenant colonels. No matter how many dot.govs and General Bag o Winds' names are on it.
[The FBI is still laughing over that one.]
On his way to buy ring before re-upping into the Army, Michigan man plans quick stop in Chicago. Time to defend self in person before the Commodities Futures Trading Commission.
Client got hinky about his trading practices.
House of cards begins to tumble.
Good bye dear wife in Michigan, I must go now. Errands to run before I get my gun.
Instead Michigan man apparently drives not to Chicago, jewelry store or the Army, but to Southern Illinois to be with woman with four children, never to return.
Wife says he did email and call. Hello dear wife, I'm in the Army now. I hate missing Christmas with you and the kids.
In March of 2006, a newspaper in Michigan alleges that the still married man now living in Illinois with another woman faces multiple lawsuits and huge fines for bilking hundreds of people out of thousands of dollars in a hedge fund Ponzi scheme. Michigan wife feels shock and awe.
Wife's name is on his businesses so she is also being sued.
Fraud comes to light when clients suddenly cannot reach him. Computers for his businesses disappear.
Wife in Michigan says she learns he doesn't have a license to trade.
She also accuses husband of lying about his alleged twenty year career in the Special Forces after contacting the Army while trying to find out where he was.
Wife claims the Army says runaway husband received a less than honorable discharge when he was still in his teens and they haven't seen him since.
Illinois woman claims that the Army would not tell the wife anything because of his "clearance."
Michigan man's friend of thirty years is affected by Ponzi scheme. Two sons who worked with man are also affected. Six more children who have considered him a father, biological and otherwise, are affected. Plus there are four more kids who will be affected.
Did I mention yet another woman he was also having an affair with? She paid a visit to his wife in Michigan.
Is your score card running out of room?
Writer of this journal emails woman in Illinois to inform her of the article about the lawsuits and says, in effect, are you nuts?
No reply.
Cut and paste these links to read for yourself:
ENTRY BY WIFE IN MICHIGAN AT NINCOMPOOPS JOURNAL:
http://journals.aol.com/lotzamoe/SurroundedByNincompoops/entries/1882
PICTURE OF MICHIGAN MAN WITH CLAIM OF TWENTY YEAR CAREER IN MILITARY
http://journals.aol.com/lotzamoe/SurroundedByNincompoops/entries/1848
NEWSPAPER ARTICLE
http://www.lsj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060321/NEWS03/603210331/1004/news
COMMODITY FUTURES TRADING COMMISSION ADVISORY
http://www.cftc.gov/opa/adv06/opawa12-06.htm
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