Blog number 237 ******** 29 October 2008
Today I was out back trimming a native weed that sprouted alongside the sidewalk I put in the first year we lived here. I let the thing grow because it looks kinda nice and I like native things anyhow. I used to get into a hassle with our landscaper back in Sacramento because I told him not to cut down a pretty weed that was growing by the house. He almost got it twice, but he saw me looking at him just before he did his dastardly deed, so he ceased and desisted.
Dandelions to me are flowers, not weeds. They look pretty in lawns. Sure, not when they are spreading their seeds, but before that.
I digressed, didn't I?
This native scrub I was trimming back, I was barefooted and I had branches lying all about. I tripped on one branch, stepped hard with my bare feet on sharp rocks, tripped again. It seemed a long time before I finally made it to the ground after tripping and stumbling between rocks and branches until I finally realized I was going to ground. I relaxed and hit the cement wall with my shoulder and settled on my ass.
Sitting there after such excitment, I had to laugh. The way I went down was ridiculous. I had shorts on, so I looked at varicose veins I had never seen before for a while. I think they came up because of the effort I had just gone through because later, sitting in front of the telly, they weren't there.
I realized almost immediately that I couldn't get up. "I fell down and I can't get up," ran through my mind, causing another bout of laughter.
I Yelled, "Momma," not because I expected her to come and help me, because I knew she wouldn't be able to hear me. I yelled it because it fit the joke.
It was pretty relaxing sitting there leaning against the wall, relaxing in the sun, grateful I didn't get hurt. I sat there for a while, but I knew I would have to get on my feet before night fell and daylight rolled around. So I very carefully got on my hands and knees - on sharp rocks, remember. In this way I crawled all the way onto the sidewalk where I rested again and planned the next move. I pushed as hard as I could with one hand and sort of willed myself erect. Viola! In the land of the living once again.
I went inside and the first thing I said to Teresa was, "I fell down and I couldn't get up."
After cursing at me for a while, she tells me she wants me to tell her whenever I go outside to do anything. I told her I never know what I am going to do until I see something that I want to do. She wouldn't buy that, so I guess I will have to sign out from now on.
But that was a hell of a lot of fun!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
YOU GOTTA UNDERSTAND
You might notice that some of these Blogs are out of sequence and some are missing. What happened is that I got messed up and wound up with three separate Blog addresses, so sometimes I would write an entry and it would show up on one Blog and no other. So some entries were missing.
I went back and found the most complete Blog - which is this one, and went to the others and picked out what didn't get printed in this Blog and printed them here.
So we should be all caught up.
You might notice that some of these Blogs are out of sequence and some are missing. What happened is that I got messed up and wound up with three separate Blog addresses, so sometimes I would write an entry and it would show up on one Blog and no other. So some entries were missing.
I went back and found the most complete Blog - which is this one, and went to the others and picked out what didn't get printed in this Blog and printed them here.
So we should be all caught up.
ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING
Blog number 222 08 October 2008
Last week I had slight chest pains whenever I did some walking or moving. Not bad enough to take nitroglycerin, and they disappeared whenever I rested, so I went with that. The day before, however, and yesterday morning, they didn't go away with resting, so I took the nitro and it worked. I decided to get in touch with a heart doctor, 'cause it sure seems like I'm gonna be visiting a hospital bed some time in the future.
I was given a stress test and a sonogram yesterday, and it looks like I might get by with a stent. I sure hope so. I'll know for sure Tuesday when I go in for my appointment.
I watched my heart beat in the sonogram picture and I was struck with the image of the valve opening and closing with such precision and regularity without anybody doing anything. It looked like two drumsticks alternating hitting a drum. Seemed exactly like a magic miracle to me. I was fascinated.
I didn't like the stress test at all. Yukkers! Nausea. I hate being nauseous. Fortunately I had three people talking me through it, which helped. When one of them said, "Twenty seconds more," I knew I could make it. The first time I had one of these, two people were standing there, saying naught. I kept saying I was sick in a strange way. They didn't care. It felt like my head was nauseous, not my stomach. Can one's head vomit?
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:09 PM 3 comments Links to this post
Last week I had slight chest pains whenever I did some walking or moving. Not bad enough to take nitroglycerin, and they disappeared whenever I rested, so I went with that. The day before, however, and yesterday morning, they didn't go away with resting, so I took the nitro and it worked. I decided to get in touch with a heart doctor, 'cause it sure seems like I'm gonna be visiting a hospital bed some time in the future.
I was given a stress test and a sonogram yesterday, and it looks like I might get by with a stent. I sure hope so. I'll know for sure Tuesday when I go in for my appointment.
I watched my heart beat in the sonogram picture and I was struck with the image of the valve opening and closing with such precision and regularity without anybody doing anything. It looked like two drumsticks alternating hitting a drum. Seemed exactly like a magic miracle to me. I was fascinated.
I didn't like the stress test at all. Yukkers! Nausea. I hate being nauseous. Fortunately I had three people talking me through it, which helped. When one of them said, "Twenty seconds more," I knew I could make it. The first time I had one of these, two people were standing there, saying naught. I kept saying I was sick in a strange way. They didn't care. It felt like my head was nauseous, not my stomach. Can one's head vomit?
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:09 PM 3 comments Links to this post
HIT AND RUN
Blog number 224 28 October 2008
I went to the library yesterday with a twelve year old friend. I was carrying two books to the checkout when my friend asked me what books I had. I told him they were novels about hit men. He asked me what a hit man was. I told him if you wanted someone killed, you would give someone else a thousand dollars and they would kill him for you.
He said, "Isn't that illegal?"
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:53 AM 0 comments Links to this post
I went to the library yesterday with a twelve year old friend. I was carrying two books to the checkout when my friend asked me what books I had. I told him they were novels about hit men. He asked me what a hit man was. I told him if you wanted someone killed, you would give someone else a thousand dollars and they would kill him for you.
He said, "Isn't that illegal?"
Posted by Don Reynolds at 6:53 AM 0 comments Links to this post
BE A WINNER, NOT A WHINER.
Blog number 227 12 October 2008
A couple of years ago I got an epiphany while listening to two radio talk show hosts. These two had a program that was pretty funny, so I thought of them as humorous people. That is until they got to talking about the 100 funniest movies.
One of them declared that he thought "Singing In the Rain" was not only one of the top hundred funniest movies, but the top number one funniest movie of all time! His CO-host agreed with him.
It was then that I realized that not everyone looked at the universe in the same way. I thought if something was funny, it was funny. If someone didn't think it was funny, then that person had no sense of humor. That's what I thought.
Apropos to this, I heard a funny joke on a television program called, "The History of Jokes." I'll tell the joke later.
I first told it to my youngest son, Derek, and I laughed before he did, but he laughed. Then I next told it to my second oldest son, Kavi, and he said, "That's not funny." Then I told it to Maryanne and she looked at me like I was nuts. Yesterday I told it to my granddaughter, Tara, and she burst out laughing right away.
I realize now that I can use that joke to kind of scientifically investigate the "joke focus" of different people. Since people are patterns of patterns, I can then use this information to predict the future behavior of individuals and then I can offer this information to Homeland Security and make a lot of money. Then I can use that money to buy an airplane and flying instructions, hire a cook, a butler and a cleaning woman, build a new house with a huge kitchen with lots of copper pans hanging from the ceiling, a workout room with a live-in personal trainer, and a gardener to care for my extensive flower and vegetable garden.
I'll move to New York across from Central Park. My garden will be on the roof of my condo. Ah, life is good when you make good plans.
This is the joke I will use to make my fortune:
A priest, a rabbi and a whale went into a bar.
The priest said, "I believe Jesus is the messiah, so I'll have sacramental wine.
"The rabbi said, "I believe the messiah hasn't come yet, so I'll have Manischewitz wine.
"The whale said, (and here you make a "eeeeeee" sound like a whale singing.)
It's funny. Trust me.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 1:45 PM 7 comments Links to this post
A couple of years ago I got an epiphany while listening to two radio talk show hosts. These two had a program that was pretty funny, so I thought of them as humorous people. That is until they got to talking about the 100 funniest movies.
One of them declared that he thought "Singing In the Rain" was not only one of the top hundred funniest movies, but the top number one funniest movie of all time! His CO-host agreed with him.
It was then that I realized that not everyone looked at the universe in the same way. I thought if something was funny, it was funny. If someone didn't think it was funny, then that person had no sense of humor. That's what I thought.
Apropos to this, I heard a funny joke on a television program called, "The History of Jokes." I'll tell the joke later.
I first told it to my youngest son, Derek, and I laughed before he did, but he laughed. Then I next told it to my second oldest son, Kavi, and he said, "That's not funny." Then I told it to Maryanne and she looked at me like I was nuts. Yesterday I told it to my granddaughter, Tara, and she burst out laughing right away.
I realize now that I can use that joke to kind of scientifically investigate the "joke focus" of different people. Since people are patterns of patterns, I can then use this information to predict the future behavior of individuals and then I can offer this information to Homeland Security and make a lot of money. Then I can use that money to buy an airplane and flying instructions, hire a cook, a butler and a cleaning woman, build a new house with a huge kitchen with lots of copper pans hanging from the ceiling, a workout room with a live-in personal trainer, and a gardener to care for my extensive flower and vegetable garden.
I'll move to New York across from Central Park. My garden will be on the roof of my condo. Ah, life is good when you make good plans.
This is the joke I will use to make my fortune:
A priest, a rabbi and a whale went into a bar.
The priest said, "I believe Jesus is the messiah, so I'll have sacramental wine.
"The rabbi said, "I believe the messiah hasn't come yet, so I'll have Manischewitz wine.
"The whale said, (and here you make a "eeeeeee" sound like a whale singing.)
It's funny. Trust me.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 1:45 PM 7 comments Links to this post
THE ECLECTIC HORSEMAN
Blog number 228 13 October 2008
Ever since I was able to obnserve the magic machinations of mine own mind during psychoanalysis, I have been fascinated with minds. Both mine and others. Memories especially intrigue me.
A few years back, while visiting my youngest son Derek, he arranged for me to copy a bunch of his music from his computer to mine. I told him I liked R. E. M., and he volunteered the information that I would probably like "Orange Crush" by R. E. M. He said it was his favorite R. E. M. song. I told him I had never heard of it, but to transfer it. When I got home, I listened to it, and he was right. It's a good song.
That's act one.
A few years pass and there comes a time when I mention him liking "Orange Crush." He said he never heard of it. I dragged it up on my computer and had him listen to it in order to refresh his memory. He said it was the first time he had ever heard it, and not only that - he didn't like it!
That's act two.
There is no act three.
Now to me, the most interesting point of these "false memories" - either his or mine, is that when I think of the time he wanted to download it for me, it is like a video in my mind. I can see the whole event playing out once again, just like it did back then.
Of course, his video of this event is missing from his mental store of DVDs.
When two people remember a single event in different ways, each is seeing a replay of what they saw the first time. Tell me that ain't weird.
Tell me God isn't sometimes jerking us around for no apparent reason except to amuse Himself at our expense.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 2:21 PM 2 comments Links to this post
Ever since I was able to obnserve the magic machinations of mine own mind during psychoanalysis, I have been fascinated with minds. Both mine and others. Memories especially intrigue me.
A few years back, while visiting my youngest son Derek, he arranged for me to copy a bunch of his music from his computer to mine. I told him I liked R. E. M., and he volunteered the information that I would probably like "Orange Crush" by R. E. M. He said it was his favorite R. E. M. song. I told him I had never heard of it, but to transfer it. When I got home, I listened to it, and he was right. It's a good song.
That's act one.
A few years pass and there comes a time when I mention him liking "Orange Crush." He said he never heard of it. I dragged it up on my computer and had him listen to it in order to refresh his memory. He said it was the first time he had ever heard it, and not only that - he didn't like it!
That's act two.
There is no act three.
Now to me, the most interesting point of these "false memories" - either his or mine, is that when I think of the time he wanted to download it for me, it is like a video in my mind. I can see the whole event playing out once again, just like it did back then.
Of course, his video of this event is missing from his mental store of DVDs.
When two people remember a single event in different ways, each is seeing a replay of what they saw the first time. Tell me that ain't weird.
Tell me God isn't sometimes jerking us around for no apparent reason except to amuse Himself at our expense.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 2:21 PM 2 comments Links to this post
RETREAT HELL, WE JUST GOT HERE
Blog number 230 15 October 2008
I'm now reading a book about General Rommel and General Patton of WW TWO fame. Although it is a serious book - no mucking about, it has twice made digs at the Italians. One dig concerned both sides trying to get Italy on their side and the author makes a comment about knowing what Italy was, all that had to be determined was its price.
The other dig concerned Italy's ready acceptance of the fascist salute because "Its easier to raise one hand than both of them."
After recounting the brilliant strategy and opportunistic methodology employed by Rommel in an attack upon the Italians during WW ONE, the summing up reveals that Rommel attained his successes with never much more than five hundred men, and accounted for "nine thousand prisoners, eighty guns, and more horses, mules, and assorted supplies than anyone could count." The cost to his force was six dead and twenty wounded.
He was once ordered to stop an attack because his superiors were cautious about attacking with so few men, but instead he sent most of his detachment back to hill 1096 as instructed, including all his officers, keeping a hundred enlisted personnel and six heavy machine gun crews "because they could not be court-martialed for obeying orders from a direct superior," and proceeded to successfully complete another campaign. The guy just wouldn't stop!
I haven't read anything about Patton yet, but when I do, I will report his exploits too.
Unless they don't amount to much, of course.
Or I just don't feel like it.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 8:29 AM 1 comments Links to this post
I'm now reading a book about General Rommel and General Patton of WW TWO fame. Although it is a serious book - no mucking about, it has twice made digs at the Italians. One dig concerned both sides trying to get Italy on their side and the author makes a comment about knowing what Italy was, all that had to be determined was its price.
The other dig concerned Italy's ready acceptance of the fascist salute because "Its easier to raise one hand than both of them."
After recounting the brilliant strategy and opportunistic methodology employed by Rommel in an attack upon the Italians during WW ONE, the summing up reveals that Rommel attained his successes with never much more than five hundred men, and accounted for "nine thousand prisoners, eighty guns, and more horses, mules, and assorted supplies than anyone could count." The cost to his force was six dead and twenty wounded.
He was once ordered to stop an attack because his superiors were cautious about attacking with so few men, but instead he sent most of his detachment back to hill 1096 as instructed, including all his officers, keeping a hundred enlisted personnel and six heavy machine gun crews "because they could not be court-martialed for obeying orders from a direct superior," and proceeded to successfully complete another campaign. The guy just wouldn't stop!
I haven't read anything about Patton yet, but when I do, I will report his exploits too.
Unless they don't amount to much, of course.
Or I just don't feel like it.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 8:29 AM 1 comments Links to this post
THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS
Blog number 229 14 October 2008
When I was getting checked for my chest pains and was about to lie on a table and have photographs taken of my beating heart, the man-in-charge asked me if I wanted to listen to some music. "Sure," I said.
"Sinatra?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
At the time, I thought he might be a one of those strange Sinatra fans and wanted to listen to him, but as I got to thinking of it, I think he thought that, since I was an old man, I probably liked old time singers like Sinatra, Tony Bennett, et al. all of whom I hate with a passion.
We settled on Iron Butterfly.
This thought reminded me of when that fifteen year old girl asked my wife and me if we knew who the Beatles were. I think that to youngsters, they see themselves as living in the world and old people are "off there" somewhere, not attuned to what is really going on.
They are SO cute!
When I was getting checked for my chest pains and was about to lie on a table and have photographs taken of my beating heart, the man-in-charge asked me if I wanted to listen to some music. "Sure," I said.
"Sinatra?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
At the time, I thought he might be a one of those strange Sinatra fans and wanted to listen to him, but as I got to thinking of it, I think he thought that, since I was an old man, I probably liked old time singers like Sinatra, Tony Bennett, et al. all of whom I hate with a passion.
We settled on Iron Butterfly.
This thought reminded me of when that fifteen year old girl asked my wife and me if we knew who the Beatles were. I think that to youngsters, they see themselves as living in the world and old people are "off there" somewhere, not attuned to what is really going on.
They are SO cute!
PEG O MY HEART
Blog number 231 16 October 2008
I had my "heart conference" today. No operations of any kind to do. That's a GOOD to-do list. Soooo, not much to write about, but I promised. Kinda.
Th-th-that that's all, folks!
Posted by Don Reynolds at 3:34 PM 3 comments Links to this post
I had my "heart conference" today. No operations of any kind to do. That's a GOOD to-do list. Soooo, not much to write about, but I promised. Kinda.
Th-th-that that's all, folks!
Posted by Don Reynolds at 3:34 PM 3 comments Links to this post
SAME TO YOU!
Blog number 233 22 October 2008
A week or so ago I read a book called, "Waiter's Rant" about a waiters experience waiting on tables. The author mentioned reading a book called, "Waiting," by waitress Debra Ginsberg.
So I started reading that.
Debra mentions being told an anecdote concerning a group of patrons sitting at the same table where one of them kept cursing at the waitress for twenty minutes before one of the group told the waitress that the cursing patron had Tourette's Syndrome.
In case you don't know what Tourette's is, it's a syndrome whereby the sufferer of it uses offensive and dirty words shouted out in a loud voice.
I once saw a documentary about a Tourette's sufferer and he kept cursing, saying dirty words, and throwing haymakers that came awfully close to the documentarian's nose. At one point the documentarian nervously said, "You're not going to hit me, are you?"
Watching this documentary, I was struck by both the cursing and the haymakers. I wondered why, if the behavior was entirely involuntary, did the sufferer pick only obscene words? And why were the haymakers ALWAYS thrown toward the man making the documentary?
I'm not suggesting that those with Tourette's are consciously perpetuating this stereotype. What I am suggesting is that there might be an unconscious "bent," an unconscious passive aggressive drive causing the symptoms to be what they are. After all, it is difficult to conceive that the sufferer would think, "let's see now. I could say, "rabbit," or "look out," but I think I'll say shit. Yeah, that's what I'll do! Shit."
The laws of probability prevent the symptoms from being randomly produced, they are too orderly.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 4:02 PM 4 comments Links to this post
A week or so ago I read a book called, "Waiter's Rant" about a waiters experience waiting on tables. The author mentioned reading a book called, "Waiting," by waitress Debra Ginsberg.
So I started reading that.
Debra mentions being told an anecdote concerning a group of patrons sitting at the same table where one of them kept cursing at the waitress for twenty minutes before one of the group told the waitress that the cursing patron had Tourette's Syndrome.
In case you don't know what Tourette's is, it's a syndrome whereby the sufferer of it uses offensive and dirty words shouted out in a loud voice.
I once saw a documentary about a Tourette's sufferer and he kept cursing, saying dirty words, and throwing haymakers that came awfully close to the documentarian's nose. At one point the documentarian nervously said, "You're not going to hit me, are you?"
Watching this documentary, I was struck by both the cursing and the haymakers. I wondered why, if the behavior was entirely involuntary, did the sufferer pick only obscene words? And why were the haymakers ALWAYS thrown toward the man making the documentary?
I'm not suggesting that those with Tourette's are consciously perpetuating this stereotype. What I am suggesting is that there might be an unconscious "bent," an unconscious passive aggressive drive causing the symptoms to be what they are. After all, it is difficult to conceive that the sufferer would think, "let's see now. I could say, "rabbit," or "look out," but I think I'll say shit. Yeah, that's what I'll do! Shit."
The laws of probability prevent the symptoms from being randomly produced, they are too orderly.
Posted by Don Reynolds at 4:02 PM 4 comments Links to this post
AND A GOOD DAY TO YOU TOO, SIR!
Blog number 234 24 October 2008
Today I had one of those experiences that comes to one every once in a while. You know - the kind that warms the heart, the kind that is in a way, a "secret" because there is no way to transmit it to another human so that they will understand - the kind that belongs just to you and to no one else.
The lovely Teresa took me to the new Fry's Grocery and Vacuum Cleaners and Radios and DVDs and Tool Bins and Starbucks on Pinal Avenue. While Teresa shopped, I sat and drank a cup of four-shot espresso and read the most delicious novel translated from Japanese. At one point I raised my head and stared off into space, thinking about what I was reading.
A mother walked by, trailed by her slight four-or-five year old boy. It seemed the boy was looking at me, but I wasn't sure - my eyes aren't all that good, and the boy had pale eyes. I waved at him to check it out. He quickly turned his head away from me and caught up closer to his mother. So he WAS looking at me.I followed him with my eyes and just before he went behind a display, he looked back at me and gave a big shy smile.
We connected and nobody else in the whole wide world, including his mother, was aware of this.I don't think he would ever tell anyone about this, because to a little boy, it was nothing. So up until I started writing this entry to my Blog, only two people knew of this event and only one (me) thought anything about it.
That event is mine and nobody else can have it.
No use begging, either.
Nope.
Today I had one of those experiences that comes to one every once in a while. You know - the kind that warms the heart, the kind that is in a way, a "secret" because there is no way to transmit it to another human so that they will understand - the kind that belongs just to you and to no one else.
The lovely Teresa took me to the new Fry's Grocery and Vacuum Cleaners and Radios and DVDs and Tool Bins and Starbucks on Pinal Avenue. While Teresa shopped, I sat and drank a cup of four-shot espresso and read the most delicious novel translated from Japanese. At one point I raised my head and stared off into space, thinking about what I was reading.
A mother walked by, trailed by her slight four-or-five year old boy. It seemed the boy was looking at me, but I wasn't sure - my eyes aren't all that good, and the boy had pale eyes. I waved at him to check it out. He quickly turned his head away from me and caught up closer to his mother. So he WAS looking at me.I followed him with my eyes and just before he went behind a display, he looked back at me and gave a big shy smile.
We connected and nobody else in the whole wide world, including his mother, was aware of this.I don't think he would ever tell anyone about this, because to a little boy, it was nothing. So up until I started writing this entry to my Blog, only two people knew of this event and only one (me) thought anything about it.
That event is mine and nobody else can have it.
No use begging, either.
Nope.
LESS ARTISTS, MORE CRAFTSMEN
Blog number 235 25 October 2008
Today is Sunday. Tonight I get to watch "Dexter," "Mad Men," and "Entourage." Goody.
These programs are produced, written, directed and acted by craftsmen.
On the other hand we have "Crash," a new series with nice camera shots, nice opening credits, lots of money invested. And then it all goes to crap. I knew from the first scene that there were going to be problems with this turkey. It opens with a long sex scene. Obviously a precursor to what is coming.
So humans have sex.
Amazing!
The problem with this series is that nobody cares. A cop with no stripes on his sleeves starts ordering other cops around like a top sergeant, and then when he is out on patrol, he wears sergeant stripes.This same cop hassles a sexy Latina after accidentally ramming into her car, feeling her up, going to her house and kissing her while her husband is out of sight, but in the same room, and then has sex with her on the side of his car while stopped at a stop sign. And she obviously hates him. Guess you have to really insult a woman if you wanna have quick sex with her.
Then we have a Black architect trying to get a job designing some alterations a white woman wants on her house that her husband is very much against. You just KNOW the Black man and the white woman is going to have sex. Because it's cutting edge, you see. And sure enough, they do.
Then a Black poet is talked into doing rap for a powerful music mogul even though he insists he is NOT a rapper, that he writes poetry, period. So after no rehearsal, he proceeds to wow the crowd and is promised that he is going to be "the next big thing."
Crash could have been up there with Dexter, Mad Men, et all. You can see it has the potential, but the insistence on sex, juvenile nonsense and carelessness makes it into nothing more than a teenage sex thriller.
Obligatory sex scenes are like car chases, hand to hand combat and gunfire. They eat up the time while adding nothing to the story. You can almost hear the director saying, "I need something here. I know! I'll put in a sex scene (chase scene, fight scene, gun battle scene).
"I don't really like being a critic, but if not me, who? Somebody's got to say these things. Otherwise trash will tend to propagate its self.
Today is Sunday. Tonight I get to watch "Dexter," "Mad Men," and "Entourage." Goody.
These programs are produced, written, directed and acted by craftsmen.
On the other hand we have "Crash," a new series with nice camera shots, nice opening credits, lots of money invested. And then it all goes to crap. I knew from the first scene that there were going to be problems with this turkey. It opens with a long sex scene. Obviously a precursor to what is coming.
So humans have sex.
Amazing!
The problem with this series is that nobody cares. A cop with no stripes on his sleeves starts ordering other cops around like a top sergeant, and then when he is out on patrol, he wears sergeant stripes.This same cop hassles a sexy Latina after accidentally ramming into her car, feeling her up, going to her house and kissing her while her husband is out of sight, but in the same room, and then has sex with her on the side of his car while stopped at a stop sign. And she obviously hates him. Guess you have to really insult a woman if you wanna have quick sex with her.
Then we have a Black architect trying to get a job designing some alterations a white woman wants on her house that her husband is very much against. You just KNOW the Black man and the white woman is going to have sex. Because it's cutting edge, you see. And sure enough, they do.
Then a Black poet is talked into doing rap for a powerful music mogul even though he insists he is NOT a rapper, that he writes poetry, period. So after no rehearsal, he proceeds to wow the crowd and is promised that he is going to be "the next big thing."
Crash could have been up there with Dexter, Mad Men, et all. You can see it has the potential, but the insistence on sex, juvenile nonsense and carelessness makes it into nothing more than a teenage sex thriller.
Obligatory sex scenes are like car chases, hand to hand combat and gunfire. They eat up the time while adding nothing to the story. You can almost hear the director saying, "I need something here. I know! I'll put in a sex scene (chase scene, fight scene, gun battle scene).
"I don't really like being a critic, but if not me, who? Somebody's got to say these things. Otherwise trash will tend to propagate its self.
BABIES ARE MORE THAN YOUNG HUMANS
Blog number 236 28 October 2008
We went to Phoenix today for our weekly visit. A good baby day, it turns out.
As we were led to our booth in Mimi's, I saw in the first booth, a cute little girl, about two years old, brunet page boy, laying her head on her mother's shoulder, sleepy eyes, slowly rubbing her mother's pregnant belly.
A few minutes later, getting up to go out to the car to get my pen and paper which I had forgotten to bring in, I passed the child's booth where she was now sitting up, eating. I put my hand on her head and she gave me a beautiful smile. She smiled again at me as I came back through there on my way back from the car and as I sat down, she said, "Hi." I said "hi" back.
Sweet!
************
When we lived in California we occasionally went to a Catholic mass that always had SRO. Along the whole back of the circular room, adults would be standing, holding babies which very often squawked and talked. Again, sweet!
At the end of the services the priest always called the young up to stand around him and be blessed. After services The priest would stand out in the yard and greet the parishioners as they left, and the children he would engulf in a big hug. It's the only time I ever felt envious of not being in the priesthood. I wanted to do that!
One service I was sitting on the aisle and Teresa was to my right. To her right was a couple that had an active one year old. The baby tried to climb over Teresa's leg to get out and Teresa moved her leg so the baby couldn't. The baby, noticing this, looked up at Teresa with big puzzled eyes and kept trying, like a duckling trying to climb over a high step.
Teresa asked the dad if he wanted me to hold her. The Dad agreed, so all through the rest of the service I got to cuddle that sweet, sweet child. That was a good service!
Another time I was watching this two year old boy ahead of me and across the aisle. He was giving his dad fits, squirming and trying to get loose. I noticed him give his Dad a "look" and he quieted down. I knew what was coming, so as he made a sudden dart up the aisle for the back of the room, as he went by me, I scooped him up and gave him to his dad who had just begun the chase.
The Dad sat him down, and every once in a while the boy would look back at me. Trying to figure out my place in his scheme of things, I guess. I would just grin at him.
I think of those two experiences a lot. Highlights in my life.
We went to Phoenix today for our weekly visit. A good baby day, it turns out.
As we were led to our booth in Mimi's, I saw in the first booth, a cute little girl, about two years old, brunet page boy, laying her head on her mother's shoulder, sleepy eyes, slowly rubbing her mother's pregnant belly.
A few minutes later, getting up to go out to the car to get my pen and paper which I had forgotten to bring in, I passed the child's booth where she was now sitting up, eating. I put my hand on her head and she gave me a beautiful smile. She smiled again at me as I came back through there on my way back from the car and as I sat down, she said, "Hi." I said "hi" back.
Sweet!
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When we lived in California we occasionally went to a Catholic mass that always had SRO. Along the whole back of the circular room, adults would be standing, holding babies which very often squawked and talked. Again, sweet!
At the end of the services the priest always called the young up to stand around him and be blessed. After services The priest would stand out in the yard and greet the parishioners as they left, and the children he would engulf in a big hug. It's the only time I ever felt envious of not being in the priesthood. I wanted to do that!
One service I was sitting on the aisle and Teresa was to my right. To her right was a couple that had an active one year old. The baby tried to climb over Teresa's leg to get out and Teresa moved her leg so the baby couldn't. The baby, noticing this, looked up at Teresa with big puzzled eyes and kept trying, like a duckling trying to climb over a high step.
Teresa asked the dad if he wanted me to hold her. The Dad agreed, so all through the rest of the service I got to cuddle that sweet, sweet child. That was a good service!
Another time I was watching this two year old boy ahead of me and across the aisle. He was giving his dad fits, squirming and trying to get loose. I noticed him give his Dad a "look" and he quieted down. I knew what was coming, so as he made a sudden dart up the aisle for the back of the room, as he went by me, I scooped him up and gave him to his dad who had just begun the chase.
The Dad sat him down, and every once in a while the boy would look back at me. Trying to figure out my place in his scheme of things, I guess. I would just grin at him.
I think of those two experiences a lot. Highlights in my life.
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