Record-Holders

Does the name Robert Wadlow mean anything to you? Not to me either, but I remember some of the pics I have seen of him over the years (I just did not know his name). The pic I have linked to is "Work Safe"; on the back of the card was the inscription, by someone who attended one of his shoe promotions:

I seen Robert in Purcell.
Age 22 — weight 491
Height 8 feet 9 inches
Weight at birth 8 1/2 lb.
Weight at 6 mo 30lb
Weight at 18 mo 62lb
Weight at 9 years 180
Height at 9 years 6ft 1in.
Size of shoe 37A

You see, Robert Wadlow was the tallest man in the world. He has a disease known as acromegalic gigantism, resulting from a pituitary cancerous growth. He died at 22, not directly because of the disease, but indirectly from it. You see, this large man spent a lot of time on the road, selling shoes. That was his job.

Ironically, one might say he died indirectly because of mis-fitting shoes. You see, because of his height (and weight), he had little feeling in his feet. And at times, he would get blisters on his feet. He got blisters and an infection because of this, and he died of "blood poisoning." So the tallest man in the world, because of his job as a shoe salesman, died. Strange.

When I was in school, we learned about the tallest man in the world, the heaviest man in the world, the man with the largest mustache. Joe Brower Minnoch was the heaviest man in the world, but he seems to be heavier than I remember. Not that I ever met him. I found a site that had him weighing in at a bulky 635 kg (100 stone). That is 1,397 pounds! He lost lots of weight after being admitted to a hospital in or near Seattle, something more than 400 pounds. Now this was before surgery – the man dieted. What a feat! I am trying to loose 20 pounds, and this man lost 20 squared!

I don't have much today, but I was thinking about heaviest/tallest/whatever. I grew up with the Guinness Book of World Records, and it was important, for whatever reason. Okay, I am a grown up now, but I don't hear anything about it, other than a bit about kooky records.

How 'Bout Them Apples

Yesterday, I was sitting at my desk, eating a clementine. It was a tasty clementine, and I enjoyed every bite of it. I really love fruit. But after savoring my last bite, I could not recall the first time I had ever tasted a clementine. Funny thing is that I don't remember them as a child.

There are so many fruits that I can't remember from my childhood. I had star fruit the other day – a fruit I would never have even seen as a girl. And apples? I can remember only three or four kinds of apples as a kid, and now, you know, you normally have 8 to 12 different kinds that change from season to season. A far cry from Granny Smith, Red Delicious, and Golden Delicious of the early 1980s. Now you can pick up a Pink Lady and sink your teeth into said lady. Or now, get a Braeburn and go to town on it. If eating fruit sounds like sex, well, I guess it can be.

I was reading Cinderella today, and loved her line, "I was hoping that these pictures could give you a taste of my world." Taste is such a wonderful word, sort of carnal, primitive.

When I was eating my clementine yesterday, I could feel someone staring at me. Since I was at the computer working, I did not see who it was. Guess he or she finds fruit similarly erotic.

Think of some phrases:

Nice pear (pair).
Peach Fuzz.
Forbidden Fruit
Tangerines (word for breasts)
Twig and Berries

And some people even take pictures of fruit. Oh, my, looks like I am hungry for a good plum.

Uncomfortable Meetings

The other day I was getting lunch on Broughton Street – it was the week of Thanksgiving, so things were a little dead, actually. I don't eat on Broughton Street much anymore. Too long of a walk, actually. I used to work close enough to casually walk down here and eat something.

Well, Friday I was ordering and someone said "Hi, Leesa." And no, he did not grab my ass. I looked up, and I saw a "friend" with his wife. I keep saying that I screwed practically all married men in Savannah, and although that is a gross overstatement, it sometimes feels that way. But even though I feel that way, I rarely run into people that I have slept with. Part of it is me switching jobs. Well, that's most of it.

Anyway, I ran into someone . . . with his wife, of all people.

So we start our pleasantries. The conversation, with name changes, went something like this:

Ex-Married Guy Friend: Hi, Leesa.

What Ex-Married Guy Friend Meant: Hi, Leesa. Remember me? We fucked.

Leesa: Hey George. I have not seen you in forever. How are you?

What Leesa Meant: Oh my God, I don't want to see you here now. Do I have to order a salad now? I am really hungry. Do I have to sit with you and wifey? Can someone just come in and kidnap me?

Ex-Married Guy Friend: I am great. This is Lara, my wife. Do you remember me telling you about her?

What Ex-Married Guy Friend Meant: Don't tell Lara that we fucked, okay? Please let me get away with this.

Leesa: Hi, Lara. Nice to meet you. As I recall, you are a real estate agent.

What Leesa Meant: Good. Your ass is bigger than mine.

Ex-Married Guy Friend: So, you still work at the Girl Scouts?

What Ex-Married Guy Friend Meant: I lost touch with you. Do you still want to fuck in the afternoons?

Leesa: No, I have not worked there in ages. I am with [insert name of company; for the reader's sake, make it a kick-ass company].

What Leesa Meant: No, Lara, I have not fucked your hubbie in ages.

We went on, in this polite, tiptoe through the manure conversation for several grueling minutes.

Monday, Ex-Married Guy Friend called me and asked me out for "lunch." When I said it wasn't going to happen, he proffered "how about a BJ?"

Two things come to mind: (1) Why don't guys think BJs are sex? (2) Why the hell did he call me?

Although I can't answer the first question, I do know the second. I was so nervous when I was talking with Ex-Married Guy Friend; I know I was twirling my hair into ringlets. It is a nervous habit, but some guys think it is some "come hither" move, so Ex-Married Guy Friend got mixed messages.

And I keep calling him Ex-Married Guy Friend. I am not implying that he is no longer married. Just that he is no longer one of my "friends." And why do I call former lovers friends? They really were not friends, most of them at least.

Next time I see Ex-Married Guy Friend, should I ask him why he thinks BJs are not sex in front of wifey?

Regressing to the Children's Table

With many gatherings as I was growing up, I was relegated to the children's table (or kids' table). Well, I was a child, after all. Even in college, I was a member of the kid's table. Even before I knew what a tryptophan-induced coma was, I was sitting at the kiddie table.

Part of the reason I did not graduate to the adult table was that I was one of the older cousins and none of the cousins were having kiddies of their own, even though cousin Robert was doing everything in his power to impregnate his entire high school senior class. Robert was, and is, a man slut. He once told me that he thought women were only meant to be play toys of his, and, well, he treated them that way. In fact, he still treats them, more or less, that way.

Back to my children's table at Thanksgiving. This year I went back to the children's table. We did not have enough room at the adult table, and since I am the most petite adult, I was relegated to the kiddie table.

So I spent the evening, listening to small children argue about who was older than whom. I, by the way, was a heck of a lot older than the rest of the children, and so I won every argument. Other than the lack of sparkling conversation, I also did not get some of the sides – no salad was at the kiddie table, and thankfully, the cranberries that looked like Jello® was on our table (instead of the cranberries that looked like cranberries). I also had to go to the big person table for my yearly supply of ham (two bites, but religiously, I eat two bites of ham per year).

One good thing about the kiddies table is that this table gets desert first – and if you want chocolate pie, the odds are against having chocolate pie at the adult's table (the kids decimate the chocolate pies).

I am a bit hungover today. Not from alcohol, but from the long weekend.

Happy Monday, you people!

Happy Thanksgiving!

You know, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. For me, it is a time for family, not blogger or google or work. So I think I will take a few days off, like many of you. I know Grant has stopped blogging, and I envy him. He is using his energies on something important. Family is important; so is helping out the community. Noble pursuits, in my mind.

Peace, kill and eat turkeys, and stuff yourself silly!

Playing with Google

Okay, unlike Prata, I use Google. Yes, I know Google is an arm of the Chinese government, helping keep more than 1 Billion Chinese from getting unfiltered Internet. Personally, I think the Chinese government does not want their people uploading pictures of Chinese hotties. For if they did, I am sure that red-blooded Americans would want to move to Shanghai and rent out a flat, auditioning them for less than professional movies.

But I digress.

I use Google to pretend I am someone I am not. For instance, there is a way you can use Google to find unlocked directories on the Internet. I use this to pretend I am a spy. Not the type of woman in stiletto heels who can kick a man's ass any time she feels like it. No, I am more the girl next door type, that stumbles onto something she should not see and starts fleeing with an attractive co-star.

And I did look for a document named "secret.doc." Now I cannot speak Spanish, but I did get one interesting find. It appears to be a document by the Columbian Secretary General's office, concerning how to properly go about carrying on statistical functions (or analyze statistical inferences). Again, I don't really know what this is about, but it is cool.

So after my heart stops racing at the possibility of a Government that comes crashing down on my head, I start to think of fun things to look for.

I guess I ought to tell you how I am looking for this stuff. Say I want to read people's resumes. How can I do that, you wonder. First, I think of an easy-to-guess name of a resume file. For starters, lets go with resume.doc. Then you can place the following in the Google search bar: -inurl:(htm|html|php) intitle:”index of” +”last modified” +”parent directory” +description +size +("resume.doc"|"resume.txt")

When I first did this, the first resume I read was actually for a System Administrator. Can you imagine a System Administrator who does not lock down his own files and has a document called resume.doc. I half-thought I would find another file labeled password.doc so I could see his passwords.

But enough of this. I am sure you can find lots of uses for this little trick.

Reverting to Childhood

The other day, I was in the waiting room of a doctor's office. I was there for longer than I wanted to be, and because I was alone, I was people watching.

Anyway, I was just looking around, half-dazed really, and I started listening to some ten-year-old girl talking to a couple of unrelated five- and six-year-old children. She was talking about all sorts of things, keeping them occupied while their mother was slowly suffering in pain.

Part of me wondered why this women would bring two small children to the doctor's office with her. Were it me, I would have ensured they were in school and gone then, not after work. Of course, I like taking off from work to go to the doctor's office.

Funny thing is that this little girl reminded me of me when I was in fifth grade. As I was half-listening to her talking to her two new friends, I started thinking about when I was her age. I can remember vividly my childhood, and as I was remembering when I was in fifth grade, it occurred to me that I perceive that I still think in the way that I thought of when ten-years-old. And I could have not been thinking in the same manner. If that were the case, I would not have grown much more in my twenty-some-odd years. I can't imagine that.

Perhaps when we change, some of our perceptions of past years are re-gauged. As we grow emotionally, perhaps we re-set our memories based on the growth. If we had a temper-tantrum and were unable to control our emotions, perhaps we re-remember not our inability to control our emotions but the events that caused that pain.

When I was in fifth grade, I had a boyfriend. Being a girlfriend in fifth grade meant that I called him my boyfriend, I chased him around during recess, and I dreamed of white-picket fences and owning my own puppy. I have grown a little since then. I don't chase my hubbie around playgrounds, we don't own any pets, and our house does not have a picket fence.

I can't remember what my point was going to be. Perhaps I should buy a half-pint of chocolate milk and take a nap on a light blue pad. Now that would be wonderful.

Day Off Day Two

You know, the internet has given us access to lots of information. We can nearly instantaneously receive information on news from around the globe, research candidate before voting, download entire books on tape from public sources. And what do most people use the internet for? Downloading porn and checking the weather.

Actually, I have been getting lots of messages from someone who lives near me. Well, he seems to know Savannah well, so I assume he is local. And he sends me messages all of the time. He will go months without sending one, and then I get a message each day. It is cute the first couple of days, and then not so much. So this person is using the internet to "stalk."

I wanted to put together an erotic story today, but my mind is mush. The whole story would be – she wanted him, she looked at him, she flashed her tits, and he entered her. Not much of an erotic story. Not the type I want to write, either.

So today is my second day off in a row.

Day Off

I think I will take today off. Some people have said that my recent posts show signs of a person cracking up. LarryLilly, for instance, said:

Leesa, that would be like looking at a mirror, you looking at you, how long would that last? Given that scene, this identical snowflake and you would spend hours trying to find the ONE thing that makes you two different. No, that would be boring. Rather, sit on the plane with someone not your race, sex, national origin, and try to find the ONE thing in common. That would be better, more refreshing I would think.

Lately your blogs have the view of someone who either needs their medications tweaked, or else your mind is going through spring cleaning in the middle of fall. This summer must have used all your resources, your batteries are drained, you’re like the space orbiter Voyager, so far from your world, not sure that your home is really listening to your rants, batteries running low, lights flickering, wires frayed from over use.

Maybe its time to streak around the house outside, naked, yelling; OK, you can do it 3am, no one will see you, but the cleansing will be cathartic. Get outside your comfort level girl, meet your hubby at some motel, on the other side of town, in the daytime, for no more than an hour, for a lunch time fling, make sure you each arrive in separate vehicles, make sure its rushed. Or else just say F’ it, and go back to bed. This too shall soon pass.

Have a sweet day.

So today, I will be tweaking my medication. I am not going to guarantee this, but I may start writing erotica again. Not often, mind you, but it is a safe way of letting off some of my sexual steam. It helps, believe it or not. Sort of like streaking around the house, naked, yelling, without bothering my Baptist neighbors.

Two Snowflakes

Ever since I was a little girl, I have heard that there are no two snowflakes that are alike. And ever since I have heard that, I have thought to myself, "How the heck do you know that?" I will readily admit that I am no expert on the cold wet stuff, but how do we know that there are no two snowflakes that are alike. Do we do this through math, showing that the crystallizing of water is such that there are so many different permutations that it is nearly impossible to have two water droplets that end up with the same crystalline structure.

I have not seen science labs where scientists are looking at crystalline structures, documenting them and comparing them to known crystalline structures. Can you imagine a scientist saying, "Yes, I look at snow structures, comparing them to ensure that no two are alike. I have a super-computer what spends its days comparing known structures, and four graduate students continue to collect data each winter."

That being said, you know that on occasion, two highly unlikely events may occur. In fact, they do occur with regularity. Look at Rutgers for instance. How many people would think they would have been undefeated at the beginning of the year? Highly improbable but possible.

I really think that people may be like snowflakes. We all are so different, but I wonder if there is someone just like me somewhere. Highly improbably but possible. Someone who has gone through what I have gone through, and reacted the same way. Someone who loves flannel pajamas, who has molded her husband in such a way that she catches him saying, "tinkle" and "PJs." Someone who looks into the sky and wonders who else is stealing a glance at the same constellations.

I have read a bit about other dimensions, string theory and such. Mostly I like to have the concepts drift over my head, me being dazzled by the words. Sort of like poetry that you don't understand. You can think the words are wonderful but not have any idea of what they mean.

I know we all want to be special – feel special. But I think it would be really neat to have a friend who knew everything you knew, looked like you looked, felt how you felt, loved all of the movies you have loved. You could braid her hair, she could braid yours, paint her toenails, have her paint yours, just chill with your identical snowflake.

Hmmmmmmmmmm. Perhaps I am a bit flakey. Where the heck is my medication?

"Why do you wake up each day?"

"Why do you wake up each day?"

That was a question that someone asked on YouTube yesterday. I did not see the original video, but I did see Hill88's response.



Okay, she gets silly at the end, but I really think this is something I am going through. I have been thinking about how I spend my time and I wonder to myself, "Am I contributing to my community in any meaningful way?"

When I was first married, I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted a family (read: I wanted children); I wanted to be called doctor, not medical doctor, but some PhD doctor; I wanted to live in an old house in downtown Savannah; I wanted to be part of a larger family, with lots of nieces/nephews, my kids, my parents and aunts and uncles all living nearby.

Well, looks like I will not have that large family, not even a child. This is something that saddens me greatly. And because of the current state of my marriage, I am not sure adoption is possible at this time (we are working stuff out, so introducing a child into our marriage would be a bad IDEA). I love kids so much and would not want a child to be part of a family in trouble.

Well, it looks like I will never be called doctor. Okay, hubbie calls me doctor when I explore his bod, but that's not really what I was talking about. I wanted to have respect, and I thought having some piece of paper would help towards that end. Now I know this is a false assumption, but I love learning, I love research, and I love smart people.

Well, it looks like my address will not change to a street name in old Savannah. Those houses look small from the outside, but they are spacious on the inside. I have been in a couple of the houses, and they are definitely beautiful. The cost of said houses? I am not sure, but they are out of my price range, I know that much. To be so close to all of the action of downtown and to be able to walk to places. I think that would be lovely.

Well, to be part of a family where we all live in the same area. Looks like that will not happen as well. My brother and sister are not in Savannah, and they will probably not move here in the future. Funny thing is that it seems to be driven with economics. They followed their jobs to other cities, and not the same city. And I know there are better economic opportunities in say, Atlanta, but I really don't want to live there. The traffic is horrible, and the parts of Atlanta I have seen are not so nice. Plus, it is so big that the commute to and from work would be undesirable.

I do have blessings in my life, but today, I guess I am seeing what I don't have that I wanted. Not in a very spiritual place, but you know, we can't all be chipper all of the time. Thanks, YouTube for the buzz-kill.

The original video can be found below (I found it after I wrote this):



There have been over 200 video responses to the video. Wow. Looks like I will waste some time this morning. And I don't even know what "Peace Out" or whatever people say comes from.

Expressing Ourselves

I have not been very creative lately. Not sure why, but as ddot
would say, "I just have not been feeling it right now."

The other day I was watching a little boy draw a picture. It was so interesting to watch and dissect. Dissect what the boy was doing, not the artwork itself. The boy was four or so, and as a four-year-old, he has limitations. His straight lines are not all-that-straight, his pictures lack depth, contour, or whatever. But using his current "toolkit" of artistic methods, he is able to draw very expressive pictures. The house. The tree. The family. Very expressive indeed.

As members of the human race, we have a compulsion to express ourselves. Those on blogger are expressing themselves, obviously, by writing or sharing pictures, words, ideas. Whatever is in your toolkit. Those on YouTube express themselves with video, something that I am not sure I could ever do. I am one of those people who forgets to remove the lens cap, or when in the video, looks incredibly uncomfortable, mostly because I tend to be camera shy. Occasionally, in a party, I can be witty, I can trade barbs with friends, and that sort of thing, but once a camera has been activated, I clam up nearly instantly, as if I do not want a record of my words.

Even my writing is anonymous. I have not really written anything to share that I want to attribute to me. Mostly, I guess, because this blog is about me. I have, a long time ago, written and was published in incredibly obscure magazines. The title of the article was the important part – that got the 36-point print. My name was the same size as the work. At times, I did not even care that the name was on the article. I was young and writing about subjects which I was passionate about – the environment, overpopulation, pollution, whatever. Now I can barely remember what the point was.

I have spent a lot of time just thinking about creativity. For a while, I enjoyed taking pictures. I loved photographing weird things – trees from various angles, common household items, and close-ups of flowers. Okay, the flowers were more normal.

I have been working on me lately. With the getting out of debt, the weight loss stuff, and training hubbie to be a better husband (that was a little joke).

We saw a movie this weekend. What is funny as that when I was in college, I thought movies cost so much. And now, years later, the price seems much more reasonable. I don't think the price of a ticket has kept up with inflation. I read somewhere that when our grandparents talked about the "good ol' days" with nickel popcorn and 25 cent movies, the prices were higher if you take inflation into account. But I bet the food was better, even if it cost more. Off-topic, but something I was thinking about. Guess I had a need to express myself.

Have a wonderful Monday.

You Tubers

What a wonderful YouTube video.

Remembering Our Veterans

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day, and I am at awe at our veterans. Savannah is really close to a couple of Army posts, and so I am sometimes reminded of those currently serving in our military.

I have attached a five-part video series from Mr. Loken, a 94-year-old World War II vet. I do not know the gentleman, but I am constantly amazed at those who have lived such a long life and gone through so much. When I was in elementary school, I remember hearing about a veteran of the Civil War. The oldest living veteran's seem to be from World War I, and of special note is Antonio Pierro, a combat veteran. If course, this centurion is younger than , Emiliano Mercado del Toro, the oldest war veteran – and the second oldest verified human ever. These types of records fascinate me.

But tomorrow is not about growing old, as many war veterans never made it back to the United States. I am just talking about US war veterans because Veteran's Day is a US Holiday – the same sentiments apply to other country's veterans. Other countries have similar days that are celebrated at different times of the year.

About a month ago, I was in a drug store, waiting for the pharmacy tech to fill my prescription, and I noticed a sign, saying something about veterans and active duty personnel perhaps losing some sort of pharmacy benefit. Instead of getting drugs filled at local pharmacies, they will have to get them filled by mail order. Now I don't trust the government to handle my tax refund without problems; how are they going to handle filling millions of prescriptions?

Seems to me that the veterans of this country are sort of getting screwed. I mean, the pay is okay I guess, but you sometimes lay your life on the line for a few bucks, diminishing medical benefits, and a decent retirement. Most of the veterans I have met seem called to some greater good – that it is not all about the money. I just think that we ought to be paying them a bit more, give them decent health care, and not bother them to mail in their prescriptions. Instead, we honor them one day per year. Maybe two days if you count Patriots Day.

I remember talking to one veteran a few years ago. The man was old, but I am not sure how old. He had Parkinson's Disease, and his right arm, hand and leg would shake. His keys would jangle as he shook uncontrollable, talking about his military experience. He was a cook, and I really did not figure out which war he was in. I was embarrassed to ask, as he talked about things that probably should have clued me into the conflict. But his stories were mostly about his buddies, how he had to improvise with everything because the equipment was crappy, that sort of thing. Seems that the US government was skimping back then as well.

I can't imagine having 100 million dollar planes in the air and soldiers not going to Iraq with proper body armor. Just does not make sense to me. So I will be thinking about our war veterans tomorrow. I guess we ought to think of them more often, though. They deserve at least that.

94-year-old World War II Vet's story on YouTube

Les Buzzwell Loken, a 94-year-old World War II vet, tells his story on YouTube today.

For those who have this blocked, here are some imbedded movies.

Luck of the Irish Setters

I am not a terribly lucky person. I am not talking about having a roof over my head or enough food to eat. I am very blessed for those things. I am talking about entering contests and winning prizes.

Case-in-point: I went to some trade show where you place your name in a fish bowl and they pick someone for a prize. I was one of three names for this one vendor who had a really crappy location. He also did not have any freebies and so not many people visited him. Okay, I had a one-in-three chance to win a really cool electronic gadget that I did not need and you know what? I did not win.

A one-in-three chance and I did not win. I also have entered many more of the contests that day, and did not win a single prize. I know, odds were against me winning, right? How come everyone else I knew won something? Again, odds.

I once attended a lecture, and at the beginning of the lecture, we all handed in names for prize drawings. During the three hours (yeah, needed something to keep this interesting), he would pull out names and give prizes. It made that lecture on "Worker's Comp in an At Will State" much more interesting. By the end of the talk, all of the pieces of paper had been pulled and prizes handed out, and you know what? I did not win anything. My piece of paper was not in the empty fishbowl. My luck.

I once was pulled over by a gay cop, and no amount of cleavage could have gotten me out of the ticket. I was thinking about telling him about my boyfriend problems (you know, perhaps he had similar boyfriend problems), but you know, as luck would have it, we probably shared a boyfriend at the time.

When I have a report that is due, I frequently save the report because I am sure my computer will re-boot automatically. True event: once I was doing this, and the entire block lost power. My document was saved recently, but because the power was out, I still missed the deadline – and was unable to call or email the excuse because when you have fancy phones, when the power goes out, you are screwed. I mean, someone does not come under of the cover of darkness and screw you. You are just screwed in the bad sense of the word.

So you lucky souls, fill out cards for stuff, drop your business card in the fish bowls. Me, I must have been a bitch in a previous like, because like the song proclaims, "if it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all."

Not Much to Say - Rumsfeld Resigns

Today is one of those days – I really don't want to write anything. Not sure why I don't, but I don't.

I was talking to hubbie last night, and I cannot believe how time flies. It seems like we have 50 million things to do, and I just can't get everything done I want done. I want to write more (no time). I want to read more (no time). I want to get an advanced degree in astrophysics (no time).

I just heard Donald Rumsfeld resigned. Donald Rumsfeld sent in his resignation after the Abu Ghraib Prison incidents, and President Bush did not accept his resignation. After the mid-term elections, it looks like Rumsfeld resigned again and this time Bush accepted the resignation. Bush is speaking now, and what I don't understand is that Rumsfeld has so much more to do with Abu Ghraib Prison than he does with pulling out of Iraq.

Bush said that people in the US are concerned with a lack of progress in Iraq. You know, some of us don't think we should have gone there in the first place (second place, the first attach of Iraq was different). I still don't see how attaching Iraq gives us less terrorists. None of this has to do with Rumsfeld.

Rumsfeld changed the military - and many don't like what he has done. I don't know exactly what he did, but he has privatized much of the military. If I had more time, I guess I could find out exactly what that means.

I just don't feel good. Maybe tomorrow.

Walking into the Light

I have heard from two people recently - both people cared for aging parents as they were dying. Both people had extremely similar experiences.

And, you know, had I not heard both within weeks, I would have discounted both stories because it sort of flies in the face of what I believe.

Anyway, in the last couple of days of each of these peoples lives, they experienced talking with people who are dead. Let's call the first person ~Deb. Anyway, ~Deb was in her seventies and her heath was failing. And in the last few days, she started having conversations with her mother, a mother who died fairly young, and ~Deb always felt abandoned by her mother.

Her son and daughters each heard ~Deb carry on what they characterized as "sane conversations" with her dead mother. My first reaction was to discount this, asking if she was on any pain medications. Cold, heartless, but the words fell out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. My friend grinned, not upset, almost knowing that it was something I would ask.

She said she thought Mom was loosing it at first, but then to see her calm face, a face that she really did not recognize. Her mother always got tight-jawed when talking about her mother, but now, in her final days, she seemed much more at peace with her mother. Sure, a preacher did ask if she needed to talk to anyone to resolve issues, but I am fairly sure he did not mean anyone who was no longer living.

She talked about seeing people who were not there, and I wonder now if this woman was caught between heaven and earth. Is that possible? I don't believe that people now dead can interact with us – it is not part of my beliefs as a Catholic, but when I hear about this and other stories, I sometimes wonder.

The other woman who was dying talked with her mother, her father and one sister the last two days of her life. She would ignore people by her bed when talking to them, and then as if something had changed, she weakly came back to the room, talking to people in the room after she regained her composure.

It reminds me a bit of the Movie Beatlejuice. Not the comedy, but something that the "dead handbook" said. The living usually do not see the deceased. Something like that. What if this trite little movie has a bit of truth in it? What if we are not in tune with those who have passed before us? I know that I believe that we sometimes do not pay attention to God. Part of my discernment process. But what if there is more to it than that. What if the dead can see us, and we can sense them?

Nah, I still don't believe it, but darned it, there are some things that are hard to explain. I blame the morphine, but were these two women on pain medications? I never got a straight answer in one case, and I learned my lesson and did not ask the second person.

Hooked on YouTube

This is a video from LisaNova, probably one of the more popular "YouTubers". She is pretty funny, and this video is about addictions. I am fighting an addiction to YouTube. You can go on for a minute, then clicky-clicky, and hour passes, and you have done nothing. What is worse is that most of the videos are very amateur. I am not talking about amateurs getting down and dirty. I am talking about bad production. Sort of like really bad television. Think of "Saved by the Bell" without the laugh tracks and Screech. Funny is that he is the only character I remember from that sit-com.

Paris Hilton is on YouTube – that's how bad some of the videos are. TheHill, another one of my favorites, is more popular than her, though.

How lame is it that I know some people on YouTube – lonelygirl15, TheHill88, LisaNova, and others. Oh, how lame can I get?

You know the only phrase in French I know is "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" I don't know what the heck it means, but apparently it makes me pretty popular when I say it at parties.

You know, the American experience has changed so much over the years. When I was growing up, there were three big channels, and most people watched certain shows. We all wanted to know who shot JR – there were so many that could have. I really don't remember the show, but at the time, I did. Even though I did not watch the show each week, I certainly watched that episode.

You know, I have been using GMail this last week, and it is so much better than my current email I am so in love with GMail. And I would never have tried it, had one of my friends not had a new Blogger site. Blogger beta.

You know, the other day, I noticed that each time I commented on others' sites, I had to log on again from Blogger. It was like Google is trying to force me to go from Classic Blogger to Blogger Beta. Maybe not, but really I think it could be happening.

Similarly, Microsoft is pressing us to use IE 7.0. Notice that when you do the Windows Updater, it comes back with IE 7.0 as a "High-priority update". It almost sounds like a critical update, but it is not. Windows will not crash (any more than it already does) if you don't install the update. It is a bit of a trick. Now I am not a techie, so I don't know if IE 6.5 or IE 7.0 is better. What I do know is that most sites will do okay with IE 6.5, but my national security work may be interrupted under IE 7.0.

Okay, I am closer to a crack whore than someone who works for NSA (come on, guys, I am not close to either one). But I don't want to be the first to change. That was with IE 7.0, Beta Blogger, or GMail. I like to ride behind the wave – that way, I normally don't get caught in the wake of something unexpected.

Okay, Monday randomness. Have a great Monday!

Fire and Ice

I like warm weather, which is pretty good since I live between South Carolina and Hell. And I don't mean to disparage those in Florida, but Georgia is sort of hot. Most of the time. I can remember many Thanksgivings when I am still wearing shorts while getting ready for the festivities. In short, Georgia = Hot Place.

I don't like being cold – feeling cold. When my hands get cold, it is sort of like there is a nerve that reached down to the core of my being and makes me feel like ice. I could never live in anywhere cold. Not Wisconsin, not South Dakota, not North Dakota (if it even exists), not Michigan. All so darned cold for too long.

I am not sure that North Dakota even exists. I have never met someone from there, and I have not even known anyone who has met someone from there. Some doubt that we landed on Mars; I doubt that North Dakota exists. I think they made the whole thing up to either even out the number of states (to make our flag a kick-ass flag), or to give one political party some more votes in Congress. Then I looked at North Dakota's alleged governor – his "name" is Hoeven. Have you ever heard of someone with that name? And, I might add, blatantly implanted in his name is the word "even." The state flower is the Wild Prairie Rose (or Rosa arkansana). Note that the species name is practically Arkansas. And I can say this because I can't offend anyone from a state that does not exist.

Now I like winter in other places. If someone would say, "Here are two airline tickets to [insert cold place with snow, skiing, hot tubs, and fireplaces here]. Spend a week freezing your ass off." I would go. I would freeze. I would drink adult beverages by a roaring fire. I would hot tub until my skin resembled raisons. I could do that . . . for a week.

I just don't like cold that much. Colorado must be a really nice place, but it is way high up, and it gets too cold. Plus every once in a while everything burns. The problem with pristine forests is that they occasionally burn. Not like a house, where you have two fire trucks to save the people, pets. We are talking about fires that burn for days/weeks.

I see, on occasion, smoke when traveling down I-95. I assume forests are burning, but they are not in my backyard. And what is interesting is that it is not like California – these fires cannot be found on CNN, with people saying that they lost their houses. The fires burn and I hear little national news about our fires. Maybe they are Florida fires. I really don't know. I have not been that close to them.

Excuse me while I brace myself for the weekend. We will be in the 60's. and I will not be freezing my ass off. How I love Georgia. Go Jackets!

YouTube Faker Video

This video is from LisaNova (You Tube goddess). Her video is about the Michael J. Fox-Rush Limbaugh incidents.

Inertia

Inertia [in-ur-shuh]: An object in motion will remain in motion, and an object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an outside force.

Have you ever started working on one aspect of your life intensely, then as you are working at that part of your life, other parts improve because of or in spite of the intensity of the work you have done? Yeah, me neither.

Actually I think most of our lives have more to do with inertia than we care to admit. I did not really know the definition until this morning, well, not the whole definition. I did not realize it had to do with an object at rest remaining at rest, and this sort of strengthened my arguments.

Most of us, myself included, is probably at rest most of the time. I mean, more of us watch television at night, not reading, not taking classes, not working out, not learning a musical instrument. We remain in our comfort zone, watching the same television shows during the same dinners, and wake up the next morning to go to the same job. Our only mind-stimulating diversion would be to visit ~Deb's blog and picture her in latex. That's it, objects remaining at rest.

Recently hubbie and I have decided to attach our debts. We just got sick and tired of writing the same old checks each month. We exerted force to our lives, changing its direction, creating a different kind of inertia. Now our lives are in motion, working towards climbing out of debt.

Here is the weird part. Since we have started our attach, on our debt, other stuff has happened. We eat out less (to put more money towards our debts), and wouldn't you know it, I have lost 5 pounds. Son of a bitch, I lost weight while trimming our expenses. Yeah, they are related, but not intentionally. You know, ten more pounds and I am at college weight. Weird.

And I am working out more later. Not because of my weight, but because I am a member of a heath club, and it was either use it more, or get rid of the heath club membership. So instead of working out a few times per week, I work out nearly every day. So not only am I loosing weight, but I am actually improving my heath as well.

We did not have cable, so I did not cut the cable bill. I actually sometimes want cable, especially the history channel. We have made a deal, hubbie and I. When we climb out of debt, we will get basic cable, if it includes the history channel. And when I say cable, I am not sure if I mean cable, direct TV, or what. All foreign things to me.

Inertia is a strange thing. Several times I have tried to loose weight. I have normally lost 5 pounds and then no more. I have a feeling because of this inertia, I may have a better chance of loosing the remaining ten pounds, and if that is so, I will think that inertia has something to do with it.

And I thought I would never use high school physics in the real world.

Web Mail Slut

People, I have a problem. A big problem.

You see, I have had the same web mail address for years. Recently a friend of mine invited me to join her private blog, and in order to do so, I needed to have a gmail account. Damn Google, wanting to capture market share.

Anyway, after the 30 day grace period, Blogger shut me out from Blogger Beta (needing the Gmail account). So I reluctantly signed up for the account.

My problem is that Gmail is freekin' awesome. It is so much better than my web mail. So much better. Now I am not going to go into why Gmail is so good. But my problem is that I am committed to my other web mail. I have been using it for years, and I actually don't get too much personal mail. Mostly Blogger mail – all of the comments I get, and so forth. Some stats on how many people visit my blogger sites, that sort of thing.

Anyway, I have this unused Gmail account, but it is so much cooler than any of my other email account. It is easier to group messages, it is easier to add people, it is just plain cooler.

So here I have my faithful web mail, and it doesn't look as nice as this new Gmail account. I am faithful to my email, and I have not strayed. I still like my email, though the lust phase has ended. We are comfortable with one another. I know all of my current web mail's buttons. I can send an email efficiently, and it has treated me well. So why am I lusting for Gmail?

Gmail is sexy, and you know, Gmail doesn't want a commitment. Gmail just wants me to use it, and I am oh, so tempted. But I am afraid. What if Gmail is better – what if it treats me better? What if I like it better? What if I dream of Gmail? Long for Gmail? Horribly, what if I dump my web mail for Gmail? How will that make me feel?

I am such a web mail slut.