Cute Little Brother Alert

I'll say it for you -- aaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Cute Big Sister Alert

USA!  USA!  USA!

New Jack O' Lantern

This picture came in my email, along with some really funny, very risque pumpkins that I probably shouldn't post here. 

But ya gotta love a pumpkinburger. 

Happy Birthday To Me

Today was my birthday. I think the plastic surgery turned out well, don't you?

Mrs. Linklater's Very Biased Illinois High School Football Column

Unlike a lot of high school sports in Illinois, a team has to qualify for the playoffs in football.  Basically, win the conference, automatic bid. Win at least six games, automatic bid. Sleep with the right people, get an at large invitation. Sorry, did I type that out loud?

Then it all goes to hell.

The seedings in the brackets are based on a bizarre, unfathomable point system that can rank a team which finished third in a conference AHEAD of a team that finished second. Even when the team that finished second [as well as the team that finished first] BEAT the team that finished third. WTF?

Needless to say that happened to the high school I have been following. My alma mater. My friends' son's school. They finished the conference higher and get seeded lower in their playoff bracket.

Another thing I discovered is the way they group the schools. I thought the groupings were based on total school population. Nope. It's only based on the number of boys who are eligible to play football. At least that one makes sense.

So, to make this long story short -- or not, you never know -- my high school ended up seeded 8th in the top of two brackets of 16 for their group. They should have been seeded seventh.

Why does this matter? Because of who they have to play in the next round. But first, the play by play of the first playoff game last night.

Short version: once again they came from behind with less than a minute remaining. If the triple overtime win was considered the best game of the year by one of the columnists, last night was the second best game for me.

Long version: 0-0 at halftime. Unexpected for a team that has scored over 40 points almost every game. Lots of missed opportunities, fumbles, bad passes. Helpful holding calls against their opponents. Finally. 7-0 [my team] in the fourth quarter. Nothing fancy. Then a fake punt for a first down by the other team to continue their own 96-yard drive for a touchdown. Followed by a trick formation which gave them a two point conversion and the lead: 8-7 with three minutes to go.

Next my friends' son went on a mission. In his previous twoyears as a freshman and sophomore tailback, his teams had only one loss during that whole time, when he was knocked out early with a concussion against the team they were now playing. It was payback time.

First he ran back the ensuing kick off for 38 yards. Then he ripped off four more carries for 22 yards. Usually he splits time with the senior tailback. But the fullback was injured. So the two tailbacks lined up together, stacked in the backfield. Something everybody has wanted all year. Senior at fullback. Junior at tailback. One has been called the best back in the conference by an opposing coach. The other has been called a locomotive by one of the reporters. If they both wear the same color socks, it's hard to tell them apart. Two more carries for nine yards. Now they're in the red zone. Thirty three seconds left. The train leaves the station. Touchdown. They go for two and make it. But it's called back for the umpteenth holding call.  The second attempt for two goes awry.  13-8.  22 seconds left. Yes, there's a kick off. Yes, the other team has a chance to score on a Hail Mary.  But they don't. Game over.
 
Now my alma mater has to play the undefeated number one seed which has racked up 22 INTs this year. And just beat their first round opponent 39-0. Great. Meanwhile the team that came in third behind my team in their conference -- a team my team beat -- is playing a lower seed. Not fair.

A total of 13 points separates my team's 8-2 season from a perfect 10-0. Both times they lost they were coming back. Once they were butt up against the endzone. To quote Vince Lombardi: "They didn't lose the game, they just ran out of time."
 
The team hasn't been ranked all year. Their head coach gets no respect. Not that he deserves it. But it's starting to become obvious. Probably because his teams have been knocked out of the playoffs in the first round way too many times for the talent he gets. This year they made it to the second round.

The rest of their coaches sum up the problem as they see it, comparing this team from an affluent area to their opponents, with taunts like, "They eat nails; you eat cake. You eat cake for breakfast. You eat cake for lunch.  You eat cake for dinner."

So far, the team has proved resilient, knowing they can come from behind and win. They never, ever quit. But it will take a miracle for them to get through to the next round.

Tony La Russa's World Series

Jerry Reinsdorf, owner of the Chicago White Sox, once said the biggest mistake he ever made was letting former GM Hawk Harrelson fire Tony La Russa, when the ex-lawyer was the Sox manager. Harrelson had a bug up his butt for some reason, a permanent state of his, and he dumped La Russa a couple of years after the Sox won the division in 1983. Reinsdorf should have fired Harrelson instead. He did, finally. Harrelson, like so many incompetent management types recycled himself up to the White Sox announcer booth, where he can't hire and fire player personnel, he can only whine about them.

All La Russa did was head for Oakland where he created a monster team that couldn't lose. Ironically, one of the most intimdating closers on those teams was Dennis Eckersley, an ex-Cub who had been a mediocre starter and was re-born in the bullpen.

But that's how it goes with the baseball teams in Chicago. You can follow the Hall of Fame careers of a whole bunch of players after they get traded, particularly from the Cubs.

Lou Brock is probably the most notable example. Joe Carter is another. I'm sure Cubs fans have a long list. And not just rookies. Proven players. Management wrote off Nomar when he got hurt, thinking they'd made a mistake on an aging player who'd seen his best days. I'm sure the Dodgers were glad to get him in the Cubs' fire sale at the end of last season. He was batting in the 340's for most of this summer in L.A., maybe the only reason LA was still in the hunt toward the end.

But this is about La Russa, who will retire and walk into the Hall of Fame long before Ozzie Guillen wins another division championship with the White Sox. Tonight a sports radio commentator said that this year's Sox were the best team not to make the play offs. They could have -- would have -- repeated with La Russa.

Ozzie Guillen is old school. He manages instinctively, by the seat of his pants. As far as I'm concerned, he won the World Series last year because he had a dream lineup of double digit winning pitchers. Not because he's a good manager. I could have won the World Series with that group. A lot of that same bunch stunk up the place this year. Personally I think it was because they got rid of El Duque -- why, I'll never know. Just having him around made the staff better. Nothing Ozzie did.

La Russa, on the other hand, can usually outmanage anyone. He can take whatever players he has and make a winning team. Even when, like this year, he has to cope with some long losing streaks -- eight games, six games, and plenty of three and four game streaks.  It was ugly.

Last year, I was hoping the Cardinals would face the White Sox in the World Series, just to watch La Russa manage against Guillen. But the Cardinals couldn't get by the Astros.

Yeah, he got swept by Boston in the World Series two years ago. But Boston was on a mission.  When they took down the Yankees for the division championship, they couldn't be stopped. However, no way La Russa was going to lose this one. His second World Series appearance in three years if you're counting.

La Russa thinks it's fun to study computer printouts of weird and obscure statistics about his players that you and I couldn't comprehend.  He loves to find an unusual relationship between his line ups and unexpected stuff like the local humidity. Then exploit it to his advantage.

Cubs fans hate him. Because they hate the Cardinals. But I love Tony La Russa. Because I am a White Sox fan and I remember how good we had it when he was here. And how good we could have it still, because he's not a one hit wonder.

Having said that, I was also impressed that Jim Leyland, in his first year with Detroit, took them to the World Series this year. He, too, is a world class manager. And, interestingly, La Russa's good friend. Leyland was the White Sox third base coach when La Russa was here. And a Cardinals' scout for him too. 

Then he took over Detroit -- a team that lost 119 games just a couple of years ago. What a turnaround. But, as good as he is, Leyland was up against the best of the best this time.

So, way to go Tony. Way to figure out a way to take the team with the worst regular season record ever and win the World Series. Nobody else could have done it. Nobody.

RUSH LIMBAUGH REALITY CHECK

Following Rush Limbaugh's latest embarrassing commentary, I went looking for other stupid things he's said. I found the motherlode.

Reprinted from the archives of the Fairness and Accuracy In Reporting Website -- http://www.fair.org/index.php?page=1895

The Way Things Aren't:
Rush Limbaugh Debates Reality

Excerpts [limited to 25,000 characters]

LIMBAUGH: "Banks take the risks in issuing student loans and they are entitled to the profits." (Radio show, quoted in FRQ, Summer/93)

REALITY: Banks take no risks in issuing student loans, which are federally insured.

LIMBAUGH: "Don't let the liberals deceive you into believing that a decade of sustained growth without inflation in America [in the '80s] resulted in a bigger gap between the haves and the have-nots. Figures compiled by the Congressional Budget Office dispel that myth." (Ought to Be, p. 70)

REALITY: CBO figures do nothing of the sort. Its numbers for after-tax incomes show that in 1980, the richest fifth of our country had eight times the income of the poorest fifth. By 1989, the ratio was more than 20 to one.

LIMBAUGH: Comparing the 1950s with the present: "And I might point out that poverty and economic disparities between the lower and upper classes were greater during the former period." (Told You So, p. 84)

REALITY: Income inequality, as measured by the U.S. Census Bureau, fell from the 1940s to the late 1960s, and then began rising. Inequality surpassed the 1950 level in 1982 and rose steadily to all-time highs in 1992. (Census Bureau's "Money Income of Households, Families and Persons in the United States")

LIMBAUGH: "Oh, how they relished blaming Reagan administration policies, including the mythical reductions in HUD's budget for public housing, for creating all of the homeless! Budget cuts? There were no budget cuts! The budget figures show that actual construction of public housing increased during the Reagan years." (Ought to Be, p. 242-243)

REALITY: In 1980, 20,900 low-income public housing units were under construction; in 1988, 9,700, a decline of 54 percent ;Statistical Abstracts of the U.S).In terms of 1993 dollars, the HUD budget for the construction of new public housing was slashed from $6.3 billion in 1980 to $683 million in 1988. "We're getting out of the housing business. Period," a Reagan HUD official declared in 1985.

LIMBAUGH: "The poorest people in America are better off than the mainstream families of Europe." (Radio show, quoted in FRQ, Spring/93)

REALITY: Huh? The average cash income of the poorest 20 percent of Americans is $5,226; the average cash income of four major European nations--Germany, France, United Kingdom and Italy--is $19,708.

LIMBAUGH: "There's no such thing as an implied contract." (Radio show, quoted in FRQ, Spring/93)

REALITY: Every first year lawstudent knows there is.

LIMBAUGH: "Ladies and gentlemen, we now know why there is this institutional opposition to low tax rates in the liberal wing of the Democratic Party. It's because [low tax rates] are biblical in nature and in root. When you can trace the lowering of tax rates on grain from 90 percent to 20 percent giving seven fat years during the days of Pharaoh in Egypt, why then you are tracing the roots of lower taxes and rising prosperity to religion.... You can trace individual prosperity, economic growth back to the Bible, the Old Testament. Isn't it amazing?" (Radio show, 6/28/93)

REALITY: Amazingly wrong. Genesis 41 is about the wisdom of instituting taxes, not cutting them. After Pharaoh had a dream that prophesied seven fat years to be followed by seven lean years, Joseph advised him to "appoint officers over the land, and take up the fifth part of the land of Egypt in the seven plenteous years...and lay up corn under the hands of Pharaoh." In other words, a 20 percent tax on the grain harvest would put aside food for use during the famine. Pharaoh took Joseph's advice, and Egypt avoided hunger during the famine.

Weird Science

LIMBAUGH: "It has not been proven that nicotine is addictive, the same with cigarettes causing emphysema [and other diseases]." (Radio show, 4/29/94)

REALITY: Nicotine's addictiveness has been reported in medical literature since the turn of the century. Surgeon General C. Everett Koop's 1988 report on nicotine addiction left no doubts on the subject; "Today the scientific base linking smoking to a number of chronic diseases is overwhelming, with a total of 50,000 studies from dozens of countries," states Encyclopedia Britannica's 1987 "Medical and Health Annual."

LIMBAUGH: "We closed down a whole town--Times Beach, Mo.--over the threat of dioxin. We now know there was no reason to do that. Dioxin at those levels isn't harmful." (Ought to Be, p. 163)

REALITY: "The hypothesis that low exposures [to dioxin] are entirely safe for humans is distinctly less tenable now than before," editorialized the New England Journal of Medicine after publishing a study (1/24/91) on cancer mortality and dioxin. In 1993, after Limbaugh's book was written, a study of residents in Seveso, Italy had increased cancer rates after being exposed to dioxin, The EPA's director of environmental toxicology said this study removed one of the last remaining doubts about dioxin's deadly effects (AP, 8/29/93).

LIMBAUGH: "The worst of all of this is the lie that condoms really protect against AIDS. The condom failure rate can be as high as 20 percent. Would you get on a plane -- or put your children on a plane -- if one of five passengers would be killed on the flight? Well, the statistic holds for condoms, folks." (Ought to Be, p. 135)

REALITY: A one in five AIDS risk for condom users? Not true, according to Dr. Joseph Kelaghan, who evaluates contraceptives for the National Institutes of Health. "There is substantive evidence that condoms prevent transmission if used consistently and properly," he said. He pointed to a nearly two-year study of couples in which one partner was HIV-positive. Among the 123 couples who used condoms regularly, there wasn't a single new infection (AP, 8/29/93).

LIMBAUGH: "Most Canadian physicians who are themselves in need of surgery, for example, scurry across the border to get it done right: the American way. They have found, through experience, that state medical care is too expensive, too slow and inefficient, and, most important, it doesn't provide adequate care for most people." (Told You So, p. 153)

REALITY: "Mr. Limbaugh's claim simply isn't true," says Dr. Hugh Scully, chair of the Canadian Medical Association's Council on Healing and Finance. "The vast majority of Canadians, including physicians, receive their care here in Canada. Those few Canadians who receive health care in the U.S. most often do because they have winter homes in the States--like Arizona and Florida--and have emergent health problems there." Medical care in Canada is hardly "too expensive"; it's provided free and covered by taxes.

LIMBAUGH: "If you have any doubts about the status of American health care, just compare it with that in other industrialized nations." (Told You So, p. 153)

REALITY: The United States ranks 19th in life expectancy and 20th in infant mortality among 23 industrialized nations, according to the CIA's 1993 World Fact Book. The U.S. also has the lowest health care satisfaction rate (11 percent) of the 10 largest industrialized nations (Health Affairs, vol. 9, no. 2).

LIMBAUGH: Denouncing Jeremy Rifkin of the Beyond Beef campaign as an "ecopest": "Rifkin is bent out of shape because he says the cattle consume enough grain to feed hundreds of millions of people. The reason the cattle are eating the grain is so they can be fattened and slaughtered, after which they will feed people, who need a high protein diet." (Ought To Be, p. 110)

REALITY: Sixteen pounds of grain and soy is required to produce one pound of edible food from beef (USDA Economic Research Service). As for needing a "high-protein diet," the World Health Organization and U.S. Department of Agriculture recommend that from 4.5 percent to 6 percent of daily calories come from protein. The amount of calories from protein in rice is 8 percent; in wheat it's 17 percent (USDA Handbook No. 456).

LIMBAUGH: "Do you know we have more acreage of forest land in the United States today than we did at the time the constitution was written." (Radio show, 2/18/94)

REALITY: In what are now the 50 U.S. states, there were 850 million acres of forest land in the late 1700s vs. only 730 million today (The Bum's Rush, p. 136). Limbaugh's claim also ignores the fact that much of today's forests are single-species tree farms, as opposed to natural old-growth forests which support diverse ecosystems.

Brotherhood...and Sisterhood

LIMBAUGH: "The videotape of the Rodney King beating played absolutely no role in the conviction of two of the four officers. It was pure emotion that was responsible for the guilty verdict." (Radio show, quoted in FRQ, Summer/93)

REALITY: "Jury Foreman Says Video Was Crucial in Convictions", read an accurate Los Angeles Times headline the day after the federal court verdict (4/20/93).

LIMBAUGH: "Anytime the illegitimacy rate in black America is raised, Rev. Jackson and other black 'leaders' immediately change the subject." (Ought to Be, p. 225)

REALITY: Jesse Jackson has been talking about and against "children having children" in speeches and interviews for decades. So have many other black leaders, especially in the clergy.

LIMBAUGH: Praising Strom Thurmond for calling a gay soldier "not normal": "He's not encumbered by being politically correct.... If you want to know what America used to be--and a lot of people wish it still were--then you listen to Strom Thurmond." (TV show, 9/1/93)

REALITY: In the America that "used to be," Strom Thurmond was one of the country's strongest voices for racism, running for president in 1948 on the slogan, "Segregation Forever."

LIMBAUGH: "There are more American Indians alive today than there were when Columbus arrived or at any other time in history. Does this sound like a record of genocide?" (Told You So, p. 68)

REALITY: According to Carl Shaw of the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs, estimates of the pre-Columbus population of what later became the United States range from 5 million to 15 million. Native populations in the late 19th century fell to 250,000, due in part to genocidal policies. Today the U.S.'s Native American population is about 2 million.

LIMBAUGH: "Women were doing quite well in this country before feminism came along." (Radio show, quoted in FRQ, Summer/93)

REALITY: Before feminism, women couldn't even vote.

LIMBAUGH: "Anita Hill followed Clarence Thomas everywhere. Wherever he went, she wanted to be right by his side, she wanted to work with him, she wanted to continue to date him.... There were no other accusers who came forth after Anita Hill did and said, 'Yeah, Clarence Thomas, he harassed me, too.' There was none of that." (TV show, 5/4/94)

REALITY: Hill could not have continued to date Thomas, since they never dated. Two other women, Sukari Hardnett and Angela Wright, came forth in the Thomas case with similar charges.

LIMBAUGH: Assailing a journalist who had criticized Nixon: "Michael Gartner, portraying himself as a balanced, objective journalist with years and years of experience faking events, and then reporting them as news--and doing so with the express hope of destroying General Motors in one case and destroying businesses that cut down trees, the timber industry, in another." (TV show, 4/27/94)

REALITY: Gartner, the NBC News president who resigned in the wake of the GM truck explosion episode on NBC's Dateline, had no hands-on role in it--nor had he expressed a hope of destroying any company.

LIMBAUGH: Equally accurate when denouncing a fellow conservative, he said of right-wing journalist Cliff Kincaid: "He's written all kinds of pieces about how I don't go make speeches for free, for the cause.... He's just one more of these little gnats out there trying to sink a Boeing 747 that's leaving him in a cloud of dust." (Radio show, 11/19/93)

REALITY: Kincaid's only published piece on whether Limbaugh does speeches "for the cause" was in Human Events (7/27/91): "He does his bit for conservatives when the movement calls. He waived his fees, for instance, when he emceed at roasts for Oliver North and Paul Weyrich and addressed the National Right to Life convention."

Limbaugh vs. Limbaugh

LIMBAUGH: Limbaugh frequently denies that he uses his show for political activism: "I have yet to encourage you people or urge you to call anybody. I don't do it. They think I'm the one doing it. That's fine. You don't need to be told when to call. They think you are a bunch of lemmings out there." (Radio show, 6/28/93)

REALITY: Just an hour after making the above claim, he was--as usual--sending his troops to the trenches: "The people in the states where these Democratic senators are up for reelection in '94 have to let their feelings be known.... These senators, you let them know. I think Wisconsin's one state. Let's say Herb Kohl is up in '94. You people in Wisconsin who don't like this bill, who don't like the tax increases, you let Herb Kohl know somehow."

LIMBAUGH: On the poverty line: "$14,400 for a family of four. That's not so bad." (Radio show, 11/9/93, quoted in FRQ, Winter/94)

REALITY: Just a few months earlier, Limbaugh was talking about how tough it was to make 10 times that: "I know families that make $180,000 a year and they don't consider themselves rich. Why, it costs them $20,000 a year to send their kids to school." (Radio show, 8/3/93, quoted in FRQ, Winter/94)

LIMBAUGH: On Bill Clinton: "Never trust a draft dodger." (Radio show, quoted in FRQ, Summer/93)

REALITY: Although a supporter of the Vietnam War, Limbaugh used a minor physical impairment to avoid the draft (Minneapolis Star Tribune, 9/27/93).

LIMBAUGH: In frequent broadcasts, Limbaugh offers impassioned advocacy for Paula Jones, who charged Bill Clinton with sexual harassment. (TV and radio, April-May/94)

REALITY: Limbaugh boasted that a sign on his office door reads, "Sexual harassment at this work station will not be reported. However...it will be graded!!!" (USA Weekend, 1/26/92).

Baked not Fried

I could eat a bag of Cheetos a day. The full fat ones. The bags that allegedly contain four to six servings but true aficionadas, such as myself, only count as one. But I don't succumb to the siren song of extra crunchy anymore. Somehow I have managed to maintain my restraint, unlike my lack of restraint when an attack of Reisen's chocolates hits. 

Because several months ago I discovered the baked version of Cheetos. Oh thank you thank you Frito Lay. I've only seen them in the small bags so my addiction is still under control, but it could escalate, since they have less than half the fat, fewer calories, not quite so much salt, and none of the guilt. They are my treat at lunchtime. My reward for eschewing Hostess Ho Ho's for dessert. I love that the word "chew" is embedded in eschew. Don't ask me to say it out loud. That's one of the words I never use in conversation, I only write in sentences. 

Yesterday something happened. Eating in the car, as I am wont to do, I reached into the bag in that absent minded way of people who would eat cat litter if it were cheese flavored, and assumed I had put a Baked Cheeto into my mouth. Only it wasn't. It was a glob of the cheese flavoring which had collected itself into a wad of concentrated ptui.

Apparently some of the stuff got into the bag without any supervision. Without being properly attached to a Cheeto. The only way to describe the taste and texture of that moment is to imagine a dust fuzzy coated in cheese. And covered with a whole shaker of salt.

I was driving. I needed to spit the cheese ball out. But I don't have a toilet in the car, all appearances to the contrary. And I didn't have a tissue close by. There was a box somewhere in the back, but I stopped climbing in the rear seat while driving a long time ago.  So I swallowed it. 

Now, ever since, I have felt compelled to finish bottle after bottle of Snapple tea. I've emptied all the half filled containers of water in the car. And I almost drank from the toilet in the middle of the night.

Next time I will shake the bag and squeeze the bottom to prevent another unfortunate incident. Epecially the thirst in the middle of the night problem. But there's a larger issue I have to deal with now. I can no longer reach into a bag of Baked Cheetos with the confidence of someone who knows what they're getting. Ah, the loss of innocence.

Conspicuous Consumers

The Today Show had a list of some of the stuff we consume every day.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

Over 35 million servings of Bud Light

More than 2 million BK Whoppers

Over 300,000 packs of Pampers

More than 325,000 Barbie dolls -- bought, not eaten

132 thousand pounds of coffee per day drunk at Starbuck's

500 thousand Twinkies

People are being paid to find this stuff out.  Think about that.


I'd like to know how many gallons of mouthwash, how many miles of toilet paper, how many feet of condoms [how do they measure condoms anyway?] how many yards of licorice, the red stuff, and how many bottles of hair gel are consumed daily.

I will ponder these and other deep thoughts as I leave now to drive downtown to work. Hmmm, I wonder how many thousands of flat tires there are every day? How many empty bags of chips are in the back seats of cars?

Not mine, of course. Yogurt cups maybe.

By the way, why is the time stamp on my entries posted with EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME? I live in the MIDWEST. It should be CDT. Is there a button I shouldn't have pushed? Is there someone in India who's messing with me? 

Mrs. Linklater Goes Polar

Every year around this time my furnace usually kicks in. Sometimes it kicks in as early as September. When that happens I used to worry that we would have a long and terrible winter. But in Chicago the seasons don't seem to have any bearing on each other. A hot summer and fall can produce a freezing ass cold winter. Or not. I learned a long time ago that the temperatures of spring and fall are to the temperatures of summer and winter as lava lamps are to fish.

With natural gas prices climbing to the sky, I thought this year I would wait until November to turn on the heat. For the principle of the thing. Unfortunately this fall has been brisk to say the least. In fact, my furnace wanted to turn itself on a good two weeks ago -- way ahead of MY schedule, so I just flipped the switch off.  Na na na na na.

Now we're in the third week of October. It's cooling off rapidly around here. Very rapidly. The temperature dropped to thirty last night. My house holds heat for quite awhile, but I notice this morning that my hands are starting to turn blue while I'm typing this. That was an exaggeration, a figure of speech. The blood just stopped moving in my fingers is all.

I could swear there's a breeze in here, too. What's that about? No problem, I'll just put on some gloves until I'm finished writing this. Then I'll plunge them into boiling water. Besides, what are heating pads and those Thermacare patches for?

I have to say the toilet seat sure is getting cold. Should have taken the plumber up on that heated option they were offering.

Meanwhile, I've got enough polar fleece to outfit a mountain climbing team. Although I'm not moving very well with four jackets on. But I don't care. This is a competition. It's me against the furnace. And the gas company. Of course, the furnace is at a disadvantage, since I've turned it off. Haaaaaaa. And the gas company could care.

You watch, I'll make it to Halloween. I refuse to turn on the furnace until then.

On the other hand, between now and then, I may have to check into a hotel to stay warm.

My Chicago Marathon

Today was the Chicago Marathon. The temperature was, is, freezing, literally. Not to mention the wind, which made it as unpleasant as licking a flagpole in a blizzard. I, however, had a great seat for MY Chicago Marathon -- under the covers in bed, where any sane person ought to be at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning.

The men's winner, one of the Kenyans I'm sure, fended off a last minute challenge and then slipped on the rubberized finish line and slammed his head on the ground. Someone couldn't keep the moisture off the mat? That's like getting to the top of Everest and then tripping on a stone and going over the side. I smell lawsuit.

The women's winner was a another Kenyan who dogged a Russian on her shoulder for most of the race then passed her at the end. The first American woman finished 12th or worse. The McNuggets are taking a toll.

The frontrunner had been a Romanian woman who has come in second a couple of times. She went out so fast she was running with the men for a long time. They talked about her audacity and courage for setting such a killer pace. Mostly it was a dumb idea. I can say that from the safety of my down comforter.

Usually I'm downtown at the halfway point which is conveniently located across from the train station. There's always a crowd, a band, a DJ, a whole carnival of discount events. I'm the Mom holding up a sign looking for a glimpse of my younger daughter, or last year, both of my daughters who ran together. Two hours of waiting for twenty seconds of waving. One year I walked the entire course backward trying to find my daughter and never saw her. Not recommended. Nothing beats a pre arranged spot, a chair to sit in, a cooler with food and drinks.

This year, neither one of them did the race. My younger daughter stayed in London. I stayed warm and cozy and we talked on the phone instead. My training consisted of three oatmeal raisin cookies and a glass of milk. Is there an Olympics for long distance lying down? I'm there.

Michelangelo's Revenge

I have trouble posting pictures people send me from the internet sometimes, but this one was amusing enough and easy enough to load for once, even though it's in the View Larger format. 

Apparently the mural on the ceiling was painted for the folks who use the area for smoking. Kind of like the Cigstine Chapel. 

As the Brits say, "Brilliant!"

This Guy Should Be A Writer

http://journals.aol.com/jayveerhapsody/LoneStarConcerto/

Jon, of Lone Star Concerto [He's in my Other Journals as The Piano Man], is writing again after taking a couple of months off.  I pimped his new journal a few weeks back -- the old one has been cut loose like a tumbleweed on the internet -- but after reading his musings this morning, I have to pimp it again.

He writes like that dead guy that wrote Deliverance. Oh, yes, James Dickey.  Poetry wrapped in prose. He has more deep thoughts than I have dust fuzzies. [Even if I only had one fuzzy, he'd be ahead of me.]

The title of this entry is a joke, by the way, because Jon is already a writer. He's also an accomplished pianist -- anyone who can get paid to play the piano is Rubinstein to me. And Jon can play the stuff that ends in "concerto." I bet he's never had to resort to taking requests for "Feelings."

He's also full of more angst than a Woody Allen movie. Especially if Woody Allen movies gave up trying to be funny. [Oh wait, they already have]. Maybe his writing is more like the humor in Pulp Fiction. You laugh in between the madness and mayhem, most of which is slamming into the walls of his mind.

Every time I read what he writes my imagination lights up in color. Making me feel like the stuff I write here is like chalk on the sidewalk by comparison. He's Gauguin. I'm not.

Which reminds me, I was lamenting my ennui in this space to another journaler. He suggested that I hook up my tongue to a nine volt battery. Where do I get a nine volt battery?

Read Jon, you won't be disappointed. Maybe some of your unused brain cells will kick in.

Apropos of Nothing

I am amazed by the number of people I know who didn't follow their passions in life; they followed the money. Athletes who could have been championship coaches, but settled for going into the family business. Brilliant writers and photographers who decided to be lawyers.

One young man of my acquaintance still has time -- he's in his twenties -- but he has already given up what he enjoyed -- art and his love of the outdoors-- to pursue a stupid, dead end job at one of the bureaucratic agencies in Washington, DC where his girlfriend lives.

This is the kind of behavior typical of women from my generation -- throwing away what they loved to do for someone they loved. Later, they can feel a strange, unexplainable unrest in their forties that makes them end their marriages and go off to "find themselves."

Since he left high school, I've tried to encourage my artistic, outdoorsy friend to get a degree in computer graphics. The only question he asked me, "Can I make a lot of money doing that?" Wrong question. He should have asked, "Will it be something I'll love?"

Someone else I know wanted to be a professional golfer. He's working for one of the big consulting firms, and hating every moment. His plan is to make a lot of money so he can retire at forty.

I told him to follow his passion and the money will follow. He'd rather make a lot of money now so that when he's forty he can retire and then play golf. I warned him that he may suddenly discover that he's forty years old but can't retire. And hates what he's doing. Just like now.

Every time I hear a college kid complain that they don't know what they want to do with their lives, I tell them to remember what they loved to do as children. Who did they pretend they were when they played? What lessons did they take that they loved? What shows did they watch? What occupied their spare time?

On the other hand the kids who had to endure their parents' divorce or a death or some other trauma may have to delay their childhoods until after high school or college.  I think in many respects the lack of motivation among young people in their twenties may be because they didn't get to be children. They didn't have a chance to "play pretend."  To use their imaginations. To think about what they would want to do with their lives, instead of putting their lives on hold, while trying to hold their fragile psyches together in the midst of family chaos.

Their dreams were stomped on and they need time to pursue them again. So I've encouraged people like that to try things, find out what they like. Go someplace that makes them happy. Be a kid again.  But most parents just nag nag nag -- when are you going to get a job?  They had a job -- they were children once, and something or someone took that precious time away.

Childhood aside, women, more than men, for some reason, seem to have permission to reinvent themselves every ten years or so. We interrupt our careers for children. We have one career while we're going to school to start another one. Being true to ourselves was a freedom we earned the hard way in the sixties and don't want to give up.

On the other hand, any number of women stressed to the max with kids and career are starting to worry -- like men -- about losing that BIG paycheck their family counts on. 

On the other hand, it seems like men need to have permission to change their careers instead of slogging away at something they hate.  Unfortunately, too often there are wives who won't let them. She didn't marry a person.  She married a paycheck, especially if he's bringing in the big dough.

What usually happens is that the guys wait twenty years while doing what they hate, finally dumping their families in emotional frustration so they can change directions.

Maybe they won't have to anymore, now that women can make six and seven figures, too. But she shouldn't be stuck either. They can support each other in doing what they each like.  He can weave baskets and she can make potholders. As long as they're happy.  HEY!!! It shouldn't always be about the money. 

Just contemplating my navel here. I'd like to change directions again myself. This would be my fourth incarnation. Maybe there's a lemonade stand in my future.

Plenty Of Blame To Go Around

Here in Chicago, five year old Diamond Brownridge died after failing to wake up following dental surgery for two root canals. Root canals? Next we'll be hearing about a seven year old who was having a hysterectomy.

An adverse drug reaction, a poorly trained assistant, a dentist who didn't have a license to put people to sleep for dental work -- all of them share blame for her death. But I think there's someone else -- her mother.

What mother would make her five year old child go through the agony of having one root canal in the first place? Nevermind two. And why would any dentist willingly recommend something so painful? Besides the money.

From the beginning I kept asking myself, Why was a small child being subjected to major dental surgery under anesthesia?  She is flat out too young to have to endure something like that.

I read that she had to have the root canals because she was grinding her teeth. Teeth grinding would suggest an anxious child. Another problem entirely. Regardless, dental procedures usually reserved for adults seem entirely unnecessary at that age. Surely there had to be an alternative treatment.

Plus, five year old kids don't have permanent molars -- those are baby teeth.  Just take them out with xylocaine while she's awake if you must. Root canals at five years old? That's absurd. That's abuse.

A trial is going on right now. Today it was revealed that the little girl was given an extra Valium because she was so upset.  No shit she was upset. And the primary reason they said she was so upset -- hysterical -- was because her mother left the room and didn't stay with her. Asshead.

Now it turns out that the girl has an older brother who underwent a similar procedure which required anesthesia, but there was a warning on his chart that he reacted badly to anesthesia. Unfortunately, his sister had a different doctor. So nobody made the possible connection. 

However, the little girl's mother could have mentioned the problem. Actually, she should have mentioned the problem.

But she didn't. Even though she was asked if there was any history.

So far the doctor's license has been pulled. He's fighting to get it back.

The little girl died less than a month ago. Her mother sued the doctor almost as soon as she was in the ground.

Makes you wonder. 

Game of the Year

I'm sure everybody in Chicago thinks I'm talking about the Bears game on Monday. The one that nobody watched after halftime because they'd already gone to bed, knowing the Bears had lost. Only they didn't.

But no-o-o-o-o-o.  Not that game.

Remember that high school game I wrote about a couple of entries ago?  The one that went into triple overtime and MY team won by ONE POINT?  Of course you do.

Well, one of the columnists for the largest paper here decided it was the best game of the year. Even though there's one more regular season game and then the playoffs.

That's because MY unranked team knocked off a highly ranked team. Did I mention in triple overtime? By one point?

Since the score was 46-45, it was also FUN TO WATCH, in a heartstopping kind of way.

I also created a really cool ten minute video for the team that I gave to one of the coaches to play for them the night before the game. Among other things, there were highlights we had shot from several previous games, laid against a headcracking audio track from the opening battle scene in a famous movie. Awesome, if I say so myself. Naturally, it was only fitting that I ended it with a great line that the commanding general says to rev up his troops to beat their enemy, "What we do in this life echoes in eternity!" The coach handed it back to me afterward with one comment, "Outstanding!"  Somebody else said it was one of the best ones I've done. 

Yeah, I'm good. In a small fish that swims in a little pond kind of way.

Mrs. Linklater Gets Quoted

Somehow my brother [the funny one] found an article that quotes me. Yo, bro, how did that come about anyway?

Some female professor of women's studies in Australia has quoted parts of an entry I wrote making fun of the 66 year old Romanian woman who had a baby back in 2005. 

Here's the URL for her article, but it's boring as hell to read. Except for the quotes from my journal, of course.

http://www.chloe.uwa.edu.au/outskirts/archive/volume14/muller

On the other hand, here's the link to the entertaining entry I wrote, called BAG LADY WITH A BABY.

Uh-oh. For some reason the link may come up for a different entry. How bizarre is that?  You can go into the archives from January, 2005 and find it dated 1/25/05.

Wait a minute, one of my technical genes kicked in. If the link fails this URL might work: http://journals.aol.com/jevanslink/AskMrsLinklater/entries/2005/01/25/bag-lady-with-a-baby/1576

Trust me, you won't be disappointed. Plus there's a photo of me with friends on my sixty-first birthday, having thoughts about telling the next guy I date that I want to have his baby. Here's a little taste of some of the thoughtful things I wrote:

Do you think she's nursing?  

This birth will no doubt create a whole spate of new book titles:

*Coping with Menopause During Pregnancy

*Wrinkles or Stretch Marks -- You Be the Judge

Mrs. Linklater's Riveting High School Sports Columns Continue

For those of you who don't have the stomach for my previous columns about high school football, as fascinating as they were, here's a quick summary of the last two games of my high school alma mater, the one where the son of good friends plays. He's the reason I've been going to the games. Unlike Congressman Foley, I'm no longer hanging out at the hotdog stand trying to pick up teen boys.

Last week they lost a wild one for the conference championship by one touchdown, 47-40. The last team with the ball won. This week they won a wild one 46-45 over a ranked team. The last team with the ball won.

The Ugly Details:

The score at halftime of the game they lost was a mere 14 - 14.

Unfortunately, thanks to a mismatch in the defensive backfield, the score jumped to 34 to 14 [them] by the end of the third quarter. Game over? People began to leave the stands. But the kids never quit. Recovered fumbles, onside kicks, you name it, they did it. 

Last night my friends' son had over 100 yards of combined yardage before halftime. The week before he returned a kick off 68 yards, which led to a touchdown and sparked his team's final comeback, even though they came up those seven points short.

But last night, unllike last week, they didn't lose, beating the 12th [or 10th or 21st, depending on which poll you follow] ranked team in the state by one point in triple overtime. They are 6-2 for the season which qualifies them for the play offs. And more stomach churning excitement.

You need a defibrillator to attend these games, what with all the picks, fumbles, greasy hand offs, bad kicks, flat out miracles and last second comebacks. 

"Our" QB started last night's game by throwing two interceptions and fumbling the ball. His fumble went for a touchdown. For the other team. That didn't bode well, especially since the other guys had a 6'5" receiver with speed. An Irish Randy Moss.

I recognized the Randy Moss kid's name. It was the same as his dad's. Living most of my life around this area, I realized I had played on a really good softball team with the Randy Moss clone's mother and four of her husband's sisters. Randy's mom even decided to become a tennis pro in her forties and was good enough in a year to get hired by a local club. Then I also remembered that last year, her tall, fleetfooted spawn singlehandedly beat us in the playoffs.

Last night, during the THIRD overtime, the score was tied 45-45, after exchanging field goals and two touchdowns apiece. But after the other team's last touchdown, their PAT was no good. One more point and we would win..

We were lucky to be there. With less than two minutes in regulation, in front of a homecoming crowd, the good guys were down eight points, 29-21. But, like the week before, they never quit. This week they got a last second touchdown and tied the game with a two point conversion. Time remaining: 1:15. 

Now in the third overtime, calling two timeouts to let their opponents' kicker think about his important kick had worked. He missed it.

But, after we scored a TD during our turn, since you take turns during an overtime, it was our placekicker's turn to wait. Naturally, the other team called two timeouts so he could get all hinky and screw up. Tick tock tick tock.

When it was time for the kick, our head coach couldn't watch. He was going to let the noise from the fans tell him if we had won the game.

When the kick went through the uprights and the refs threw their arms in the air, the stands eruptied. Then they emptied. The entire student body was on the field surrounding the players -- jumping, hugging, screaming. You know the drill. It was freezing cold, but there was a whole group of shirtless boys painted in school colors running around like wild Indians.

I had five layers of clothing and a blanket over me. But when the game finally ended I suddenly felt very cold.  For four hours, adrenaline had kept me warm in the unseasonably cold weather. Now I needed some hot chocolate. I wanted to pour it over my head.

I'm too old for this.

A Moving Story

My next door neighbors, lovely people, decided to move back to Sweden. In fact, they've already left. Yesterday the movers came to pack up their house.

Instead of doing the logical thing and parking in front of my neighbors' house, as you might expect, since it was my neighbors who were moving, the movers parked a truck the size of an apartment building in front of my house.

That sucker was one huge moving van, the kind that can carry two houses' worth of stuff. In fact, it was so long that its back end butted up to the edge of my lawn on one side while the front end extended several yards past my driveway on the other side.

Needless to say my driveway was completely blocked. So was my car, which was sitting in my driveway.

Meanwhile there was nothing parked in front of my neighbors' house. Their driveway wasn't blocked. Nor were there any cars parked in it.

None of the movers bothered to see if I was home. No one bothered to ring my doorbell to ask if I had an opinion about having a moving van parked across the front of my property, blocking my driveway.

Assheads.

I came out of my house, got in my car, backed it up until it was almost touching the van and prepared to honk my horn, but one of the movers saw me before I started blasting away.

I got out of my car and made the universal gesture that says, "What the f*ck are you doing blocking my driveway?"

"Oh, sorry."

The three movers stopped loading the van, set their boxes down and removed the ramps they were using to load my neighbors' stuff. This took some time.

As I started to get back into my car, one of the movers came over to drive the van out of the way so I could get out of my driveway. This meant driving almost three houses down, the thing was so long.

Climbing into the cab of the truck he turned to me shouted, "Just honk when you come back and we'll let you back in."

That's when I had to make a split second decision. Stay and fight, or just leave. My whole body was ready for confrontation. "Whaddya mean YOU'LL let me back into MY driveway? YOU'RE going to MOVE that frigging van now and block somebody else's driveway."

But the fight I was born to start, the argument that was just itching to be had, the persuasive language I was longing to use, the toe to toe I was dying to participate in, never took place. Mrs. Linklater stepped away from the moment.

Here's the part you might not understand. How could Mrs. Linklater just give up? Easy. I had to be downtown for work and I was running late. I also knew that I wouldn't be back until late. So having a moving van parked in front of my house, aside from being annoying, wasn't that big a deal, since I wasn't going to be around anyway. Quelle disappointment.

So instead of telling the movers to back up their freaking moving van from the front of my house to the front of my neighbors' house or I'd call the cops [who, I just know, would love to drop whatever they were doing to take care of my problem], I didn't say anything.

I even passed up a chance to ask them why they decided that it was okay to block MY driveway in the first place, but, I really had to go.

So I just got in my car and left, disappointed more than anyone will know that I had to pass up such a wonderful opportunity to prove that women over sixty who live alone can still play the bitch card.

Another Month Another Disease

Well, it's National Celebrities Who Have Breast Cancer Month, so we're all being reminded about how important it is to have a mammogram each year. Or, as I call it, the yearly Tits In A Ringer X-Ray.

While the money it costs to pay for those mammograms makes the manufacturers of those torture machines richer every October, along with the doctors that can't wait to slam your breasts into them -- there are a few other things you can do to help prevent breast cancer besides getting a mammogram.

Stop smoking for starters. Quit taking birth control pills or popping HRT if you've been loading up on either one of those horse hormones for more than five years. Of course, if you're smoking AND doing the pill, it's only a matter of time, but you're definitely getting the Big C. Might as well reserve a room at the hospital. 

While we're coming up with things you can do, nurse your babies. Nursing hormones offer protection against breast cancer for your mammary glands. The longer you breastfeed, the better. Use 'em or lose 'em.

Cheryl Crow is our most recent poster girl for breast cancer.  She's skinny enough to be one of those women who smokes instead of eats. But let's give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she doesn't. However, I'll bet she's been doing birth control for a couple of decades. You can pay a high price for being horny.

The cancer society never gives out the stats on the percentage of women who get breast cancer each year who were taking birth control or HRT.  I wonder how much the pharmaceutical companies are donating to them to keep their mouths shut? 

It's also Domestic Violence Awareness Month, the Disease of Women Who Think He'll Change. But you'd never know it, considering the lack of coverage. No celebrities like to admit they've been pummeled by a partner. And the media are only interested in ordinary people after you've been punched around until you're dead.

Okay, my yearly rant is over. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Coming to a Bookstore Near You

One of my relatives is a published novelist. She has the smarts and the patience to write a couple of million words and not fall asleep. The other day she invited me to join her at a weekend writers' seminar for people who want to polish their novels all nice and shiny. The ultimate reason for attending the weekend is so an agent will announce that you're the next James or Jane Patterson, causing a bidding war among publishers and Hollywood directors which, in turn, makes millions of dollars suddenly appear in your empty bank account.

There's even an entire morning spent critiquing the first three chapters of your oeuvre. 

Except I have no plans to write a novel. I've wasted my IQ points watching too much television and reading People Magazine.  Because of that, I have no oeuvres to critique. And people would wonder what the hell I was doing there.

Until I realized that even though there's no way I could ever write a novel, I could write a memoir.

The good news is that a memoir is kind of like a novel because everybody makes up stories about what happened to them while they were growing up. And I could do that.

But I don't have a memoir oeuvre either.  And there's only a week to write one and send it in.  So I had better get started. How's this for the opening:

CHAPTER ONE

At least I don't have to worry about my epitaph. Pick one, any one.

"That woman is a piece of work."

"She said F*CK before it was fashionable."

"I'm looking for a loose cannon and your name keeps coming up."

CHAPTER TWO:

When my mother was my age, she had been dead for twelve years.

CHAPTER THREE:

I don't think a daughter ever gets over being two inches taller than her own father.  I don't think he got over it either.

CHAPTER FOUR:

I have three brothers and a sister, but why talk about them.  This is about me me me.

You know, this memoir thing isn't too hard after all. A few more words and I'm good to go. Maybe I should start practicing my autograph. 

Lazy Entry

Patricks' Saturday Six.  See Other Journals to click on a link to his blog.

1. You move to a new city: what is the first thing you're most likely to check out in your immediate surroundings: restaurants, grocery stores, shopping malls, movie theaters or historic sites? 

The healthclubs. Because I'm into health, yeah, that's it.

2. Consider the local television stations in your area: do you generally stay more with one station for entertainment and local news, or do you tend to rely on one station for local news and others for entertainment?

You must not have a remote. I'm a ho. As soon as a commercial comes on I change channels.  One of the perks of living alone.

3. Is there a set time of day or night that you blog, or do you just post whenever the spirit moves you?

I don't keep track of my movements.

4. How often do you write a blog entry, then save it as a "draft" rather than publishing it immediately to think it over before actually posting it?

Haa.  Never. That's what the delete button is for.

5. Which makes a better dessert after a good meal: ice cream, pie, or cake?

I can't pack away the dessert as well as I used to after a good meal.  So I usually let ice cream, pie, or cake be my meal. Saves time.

6. What is your favorite flavor of the item you selected in question #5?

Favorite ice cream -- Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia.  Favorite pie -- pecan or cherry.  Favorite cake?  Cake is like sex -- it's all good; some are just better than others. 

What Color is Your Car?

Remind me to stop clicking on those dumb pretend news links on the AOL Welcome screen -- such a complete waste of time. Meanwhile, since I did decide to click on one, there was a study done in England about the car colors that get into the most accidents, supposedly because they are a reflection of the personalities of the people who drive them.  Needless to say there was a disclaimer -- they don't know whether the statistics apply to Americans or not, but it must have been a slow news day because AOL posted it for its USA readers. 

The car colors are listed in order of most likely to have an accident.  I drive a black Jeep. I'll cop to outsider and rebel. But I'm a pussycat behind the wheel. Nothing bothers me. I don't even have to use my horn. I also drive slower than the speed limit in the right lane. Yeah, go figure. The only accident I ever had was years ago in a red rental car when some woman at a stop sign lost her mind and decided to pull out right in front of me. Even then I managed to turn my car parallel to hers instead of her car hitting me broadside or vice versa. So na na na na na.

1. Black cars denote an aggressive personality or someone who's an outsider or rebel.
2. Silver cars indicate someone who's cool, calm and slightly aloof.
3. Green cars can often be chosen by people with hysterical tendencies.
4. Yellow cars signify someone who is idealistic and novelty loving.
5. Blue cars are chosen by the more introspective, reflective and cautious driver.
6. Gray cars represent those who are calm, sober and dedicated to their work.
7. Red cars denote those who are full of zest, energy and drive and who think, move and talk quickly.
8. Pink cars are chosen by gentle, loving and affectionate drivers.
9. White cars represent status-seeking extrovert drivers.
10. Cream cars are the least likely to be involved in accidents and denote self-contained and controlled owners.

Mark Foley -- Mainstream and Gay or Perverted and a Pedophile?

Would someone please tell Mark Foley that he's not gay, he's a pedophile?  

I'm surprised that the Gay and Lesbian Alliance isn't all over this one. According to Dictionary.com a gay person [generally speaking] refers to a man who is sexually attracted to other men. MEN is the operative word. Foley is into boys.

Ironic that a conservative Republican Roman Catholic like Foley couldn't wait to jump on the gay bandwagon when his behavior came out from under a rock. Being a homosexual is so mainstream now that it is no longer considered a psychological disorder. The shrinks even took it out of their Big Book of Really Scary Personality Types You Can Grow Up to Be.

Naturally Foley has his lawyer announce that he is gay to make him seem, uh, normal. Because admitting to being a pedophile doesn't have nearly the same cache as admitting to being gay. Although it does offer a host of opportunities for prison time.

Foley's erroneous claim that he's gay continues to fuel the confusion created by those who would have you think that all gay people are pedophiles. Being sexually attracted to children, no matter which sex, is what makes someone a pedophile. Period. Sorry, Mark, you can't play the gay card once you start acting inappropriately with boys.

Also, am I the only one who knew the congressman had been molested at around the same age as the boys he has solicited on line? People were acting like this was some surprise revelation. Admitting to his molestation was a surprise, perhaps. But pedophiles are made, not born. Nor does it surprise me that the culprit was a member of the clergy [since he's Catholic, that would no doubt be one of the many pedophile PRIESTS among us]. Garbage in, garbage out.

Might as well throw in the alcohol made me do it defense. Alcohol made Mel Gibson anti-semitic. Now it's made the congressman write salacious IM's to high school boys.

What next? Alcohol made me pregnant? Oh wait, that's been done.

 

With Apologies to Ogden Nash

There once was a pervert named Foley

Whose emails were almost unholy

He measured his boys

By the length of their toys

After drinking too much of his Stoli

He Was Right

As much as I love to whine and moan here, I'm happy to say that by switching computers I was able to fix my weird HTML mistake in the Football Column Number Eleventy-One entry.

How? By doing exactly what the AOL Journals Editor said to do. No more. No less.

Getting rid of the bad HTML took less than a minute. My whining and complaining took hours. But I wouldn't trade those wasted moments for anything.

Meanwhile, thanks Jeff for your help.

 

 

What Code Was That Again?

I FOUND THIS VERSION OF MY JOURNAL BY ACCIDENT ONLINE.   

 <title>
Mrs. Linklater's Football Column Number Eleventy-One
</title>
- <description>
<font size="3"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is about the fourth column I've written about my friends' son and his high school football season this year.&nbsp; But who's counting?</span><br style="font-family: verdana;">
<br style="font-family: verdana;">
<span style="font-family: verdana;">Today however, instead of my usual riveting summary, I'm writing before the game. I missed the last two because I was partying across the pond.</span><br style="font-family: verdana;"> <br style="font-family: verdana;">
<span style="font-family: verdana;">Since I left and came back, my
friends' son [let's call him JUNIOR] has racked up four touchdowns and some serious yardage. And he's just the backup tailback. </span><br style="font-family: verdana;"> <br style="font-family: verdana;"> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Last game his coach said he was going to get some more time than usual carrying the ball. But after the guy who starts uncharacteristically fumbled early on, the coach let them split the time, racking up over 100 yards apiece.&nbsp; </span><br style="font-family: verdana;">
<br style="font-family: verdana;"> <span style="font-family: verdana;">The local NBC affiliate covered the game -- because at almost 100 years, the schools have the oldest football rivalry in the state -- or the country for that matter. One of his touchdowns was even on the nightly news -- a nice one too -- dragging three guys several yards, breaking tackles, running into the endzone.&nbsp; A little flash and dash.</span><br style="font-family: verdana;">
<br style="font-family: verdana;"> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Apparently JUNIOR was a surprise to some coaches from the other team watching up in the box. They had no idea who he was. Even though he ran over everyone last year against their sophomore team. One of his sophomore coaches overhead them saying, "Who is this guy? Why don't we know about him?"&nbsp; If they'd asked their own coaches, they might have known.&nbsp; <br> <br> The local paper did a nice job of giving both boys plenty of ink. [NOTE: After hitting SAVE, I noticed this entry has some weird artifacts I can't get rid of, and half the quotes in the article may not have posted, sorry]<br> <b><font size="3"><br style="font-family: verdana;"> </font></b></span></font><b><font size="3"><span style="font-family: verdana;">  It's probably only fitting that [JUNIOR] had his best varsity game for [THE] football team last Thursday. After all, last week was premiere week for most of the network television stations -- and [HE] has moved up from best supporting actor to co-star in the [THE]backfield.</span></font></b> <p style="font-family: verdana;"> </p> <p style="font-family: verdana;"><b><font size="3">[THE] Incumbent tailback, a senior, and [MY FRIENDS' SON], a junior, each rushed for more than 100 yards and two touchdowns as [THEIR SCHOOL[ rolled past [THEIR] rival&nbsp; 45-18 in the division opener for both teams. </font></b></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;"><b><font size="3">   This wasn't just a case of the backup running back enjoying a big second half against a depleted defense. [JUNIOR'S] 118 yards in 16 carries were accumulated in prime time, as he alternated series with [THE STARTING BACK], who piled up 116 on 21 carries. </font></b></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;"><b><font size="3">Not bad for a guy [MY FRIENDS' SON] who didn't even play football until his freshman year of high school. </font></b></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;"> </p> <div style="font-family: verdana;" class="sidebar"> <div class="enlarge_pic"><b><font size="3">[QUOTES FROM BOTH BOYS:]<br> <br> </font></b></div> <b><font size="3">"[JUNIOR] played an awesome game tonight, and he's a great athlete. He picked
me up when I had a little bit of a slow start (including a first period fumble). Our offensive line did an unbelievable job for both of us." <br>
<br>
That makes it a mutual admiration society. </font></b> </div> <p style="font-family: verdana;"><b><font size="3">"Both of the [BROTHERS] [THE STARTING BACK and his younger brother] have taught me so much about playing running back," said [MY FRIENDS' SON]. "[THE YOUNGER ONE] showed me a lot when I first started playing and [HIS BROTHER] is always giving me suggestions in practice."</font></b></p> <font size="3"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today will be another easy game I'm afraid.&nbsp; Except for the team's first game, a non conference loss, 14-8 -- no excuses, but they had a chance to win that one -- they haven't had much to challenge them since.&nbsp; Next week, that will change. <br> <br> Time to put on my watching football in the stands outfit.&nbsp; Lined waterproof pants, layers of shirts with a hoody AND a windbreaker, a hat, gloves, blanket.&nbsp; Did I mention it's about 50 and the wind is blowing? Welcome to Chicago. <br> <br> Fire up the hot dogs, Mrs. Linklater is going to lay down some mustard.<br> <br> P.S. The team won 44 to 6. Next week is the first time they'll face some real competition -- a team that went to the state championship last year. They aren't doing as well this year, but anything is better than watching the fourth string kill time in a slaughter.&nbsp; <br> <b><br> P.P.S. If you want to read the missing quotes, drag your mouse on that weird purple bar that I can't get rid of over there left.</b><br> </span></font> <font size="3"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></font><font size="3"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></font> </description> <pubDate>Sat, 30 Sep 2006 09:44:37 -0500</pubDate>
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CODE BLUE

The Journals Editor has offered a solution to that strange purple bar that showed up in my Football Column Number Eleventy-One -- the bar I can't get rid of. The only thing interesting about it is that you can scroll your mouse over it and see the missing quotes from the newspaper article I copied.

Here's what Jeff [the new guy] at MagicSmoke said:

I took a look at your blog -- it seems that it's pulling in Style CSS from your "About Me" column.

I have no idea what Syle CSS is. Or how he knows this is the problem.

So, try removing this line of code:

<DIV class=sidebar style="FONT-FAMILY: verdana"> (and the relevant closing code.)

What button do I push to find html code? Have I mentioned I know nothing about manipulating html code? Plus I'm on a MAC so that may not be something that's even offered to me.

The easy way around would be to go to the entry, click "edit entry", select the HTML View. Then copy everything and paste it into Notepad, copy everything, and paste it back into your entry over the old code and republish. Notepad can automatically strip out a lot of weird code that appears automatically.

Like I thought, I can't choose HTML view.  I also don't have NOTEPAD, since that's a Windows option I believe.

Let me know how this works.

Sorry, nothing works.