I swear to the Dark Lord Below, this is what I heard this morning on the news:
"Sen. John McCain teams up with President Bush to raise $3 million in campaign funds....and Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton are still in the race."
OK, did I get my facts totally wrong, or are both Barack and Hillary beating the shit out of McCain in fundraising? And aren't we pretty sure that Obama, the real nominee, is going to beat the fuck out of McCain in the general? Or can we at least agree he's more than "still in the race"?
Oklahoma news, ladies and gentlemen. More live, more local and clearly more delusional.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Babies and God and Europe and a new car
It started innocently enough yesterday afternoon. My wife was chatting me up via Gmail (which any of you are free to do, incidentally) to tell me the story she'd heard about Super-Ellie, daughter of Marky and Funky.
The story itself was cute -- Super-Ellie has decided she'd like to be a superhero, cape and all, which her father vigorously supports.
And it led to the kind of conversation Dr. Wife and I tend to have more often lately, about what it would be like if we had kids and what we'd name them and when we should go ahead and have them and isn't it nice to just "practice" in the interim. (Practice making them, not having them. We're not babysitters.)
But it soon veered into this weird territory where Dr. Wife suggested I seek counseling (and how she'd love to do the same, just to have somebody uninvested in our lives to talk to) because of my mine-pre-mid-life crisis.
Yes. I would like a cool car. But mostly, I would like a car that doesn't billow a blue cloud of smoke that hangs around forever in the underground parking garage, asking out lab techs and pretending it goes to local music shows.
But that's not what my crisis is about. I'm getting older, which sucks, but I'm pretty OK with that. My crisis is that I have no idea if there is any reason for being alive. Am I doing anything? Should I be doing anything? Is the point of life to be happy or to help other people or to be happy helping other people?
This is one of those times when I wish I believed in God or Gods, because I totally understand how comforting it must be to have a goal for your life -- and one in which progress is hard to gauge, so you don't feel too bad if it seems you're not getting anywhere. Heaven is a great idea, because you work all your life to get there and you won't know if you're admitted until you die.
I happen to believe that there's no more you after you die and thus no afterlife. But for people who believe in Heaven, at least they have a destination, albeit one they can't get to since it doesn't exist. My destination is just a grave and a sudden sharp stop to living.
I have goals. But they're shallow and all-too-measurable. I want to take my wife to Europe, because she wants to go so badly is physically pains her. I want to get a new(ish) car, preferably with crazy-great gas mileage and comfortable seats for my ass. I'd like to make more money, have a functional and productive vegetable garden and get really good at cooking. And I'd like to have kids, maybe, if I can figure out how not to screw them up.
But those don't seem like they mean anything other than they might make me happy. But is that enough? I don't know.
(Other issues that are shrink-worthy: I'm a narcissist, sex-obsessed, masochist, low-high self esteem, I use food to replace love, I use food to replace activity, I spend too much time playing video games because I like something I can control, I can't seem to form what I deem actual connections to other people and I'm only doing a little better with connections to dogs.)
The story itself was cute -- Super-Ellie has decided she'd like to be a superhero, cape and all, which her father vigorously supports.
And it led to the kind of conversation Dr. Wife and I tend to have more often lately, about what it would be like if we had kids and what we'd name them and when we should go ahead and have them and isn't it nice to just "practice" in the interim. (Practice making them, not having them. We're not babysitters.)
But it soon veered into this weird territory where Dr. Wife suggested I seek counseling (and how she'd love to do the same, just to have somebody uninvested in our lives to talk to) because of my mine-pre-mid-life crisis.
Yes. I would like a cool car. But mostly, I would like a car that doesn't billow a blue cloud of smoke that hangs around forever in the underground parking garage, asking out lab techs and pretending it goes to local music shows.
But that's not what my crisis is about. I'm getting older, which sucks, but I'm pretty OK with that. My crisis is that I have no idea if there is any reason for being alive. Am I doing anything? Should I be doing anything? Is the point of life to be happy or to help other people or to be happy helping other people?
This is one of those times when I wish I believed in God or Gods, because I totally understand how comforting it must be to have a goal for your life -- and one in which progress is hard to gauge, so you don't feel too bad if it seems you're not getting anywhere. Heaven is a great idea, because you work all your life to get there and you won't know if you're admitted until you die.
I happen to believe that there's no more you after you die and thus no afterlife. But for people who believe in Heaven, at least they have a destination, albeit one they can't get to since it doesn't exist. My destination is just a grave and a sudden sharp stop to living.
I have goals. But they're shallow and all-too-measurable. I want to take my wife to Europe, because she wants to go so badly is physically pains her. I want to get a new(ish) car, preferably with crazy-great gas mileage and comfortable seats for my ass. I'd like to make more money, have a functional and productive vegetable garden and get really good at cooking. And I'd like to have kids, maybe, if I can figure out how not to screw them up.
But those don't seem like they mean anything other than they might make me happy. But is that enough? I don't know.
(Other issues that are shrink-worthy: I'm a narcissist, sex-obsessed, masochist, low-high self esteem, I use food to replace love, I use food to replace activity, I spend too much time playing video games because I like something I can control, I can't seem to form what I deem actual connections to other people and I'm only doing a little better with connections to dogs.)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Delicious seats
Last night, in a fit of congeniality, Dr. Wife and I attended a RedHawks game (check out that style!) with our friends: The Artist Formerly Known as J-Lo and Noted Photographer Nate Billings.
I'd like to say we came for the pleasure of one another's company, and that was certainly part of it, but I get the feeling Nate and I were most interested in exploring the forbidden world of All-You-Can-Eat Seats.
For $20 -- about $11 more than the price of admission alone -- patrons are given entrance to the game and a bracelet granting them unlimited hot dogs, popcorn, cotton candy, peanuts, nachos and (non-alcoholic) drinks from the concession stand.
Noted Photographer Nate Billings was at his best in rationalizing the cost, reasoning that he would certainly spend more than $11 on refreshments, especially at the ballpark's price-gouging rates. Of course he willingly left out the 2-for-1 admission he could get with his City Arts Card, which he admitted, but I wasn't about to talk him out of it. I, too, wanted to eat a shitload of hot dogs.
The problem, of course, is that All-You-Can-Eat scenarios make responsible eating options see unviable. You paid for the seats. You paid for the "buffet." You had better eat all you can or else the vendor/stadium/Scott Pruitt "wins" by making a profit off you -- which they have every right to do.
So, today, I'm trying to get back to being good. Exercise. Eating vegetables. Drinking water. And I'm trying to remember that, rather than stuff my face with crap, I should eat foods that are healthy and satisfying and good.
Still, eating a shitload of hot dogs is fun. I foresee a future in which I do it again.
I'd like to say we came for the pleasure of one another's company, and that was certainly part of it, but I get the feeling Nate and I were most interested in exploring the forbidden world of All-You-Can-Eat Seats.
For $20 -- about $11 more than the price of admission alone -- patrons are given entrance to the game and a bracelet granting them unlimited hot dogs, popcorn, cotton candy, peanuts, nachos and (non-alcoholic) drinks from the concession stand.
Noted Photographer Nate Billings was at his best in rationalizing the cost, reasoning that he would certainly spend more than $11 on refreshments, especially at the ballpark's price-gouging rates. Of course he willingly left out the 2-for-1 admission he could get with his City Arts Card, which he admitted, but I wasn't about to talk him out of it. I, too, wanted to eat a shitload of hot dogs.
The problem, of course, is that All-You-Can-Eat scenarios make responsible eating options see unviable. You paid for the seats. You paid for the "buffet." You had better eat all you can or else the vendor/stadium/Scott Pruitt "wins" by making a profit off you -- which they have every right to do.
So, today, I'm trying to get back to being good. Exercise. Eating vegetables. Drinking water. And I'm trying to remember that, rather than stuff my face with crap, I should eat foods that are healthy and satisfying and good.
Still, eating a shitload of hot dogs is fun. I foresee a future in which I do it again.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Green it is
While I appreciate the mountain of responses to my last post (I almost didn't make it through all two of them), I have decided to follow one of them.
ShinyHappy suggested pad thai, which I love, but will not make due to the presence of a shrimp-hater in my home. No point in making a meal that only one person will eat.
Brit proposed a week of vegetarian cooking, which scares me, but in a good way. So that's what I'll be doing, as soon as the library tells me a copy of "How to Cook Everything Vegetarian" is available.
I'm feeling kind of unsettled, lately, and I don't know why. Part of it is a feeling that I should be doing something -- anything -- to make the world or even my life better. But I watch TV instead.
Here's my day, lately, in case you're so bored you want to hear about my boring life:
Wake up -> shower -> get dressed -> eat cereal -> make coffee -> pack lunch -> drive to work -> sit at desk -> bang head against mountian of impossible work -> drive to the gym -> workout -> go home -> be lazy -> go to sleep.
In the meantime, I've got books I haven't read, books I have written, dishes that need doing, laundry that needs folding, dogs that need playing with, weight that needs losing, a lawn that needs tending, shit to pick up, shit to throw away, bills to pay, bad habits to break and no idea what to do.
It's, uh, pretty disheartening. And my life is awesome. Seriously. So many people have shitty lives. And not just in the Sudan. People in America, people in Oklahoma, people down the street -- all of them have it harder than me. But that doesn't mean I don't want to do better or to do something. I just don't know what or how or why -- just that I want to do it now.
ShinyHappy suggested pad thai, which I love, but will not make due to the presence of a shrimp-hater in my home. No point in making a meal that only one person will eat.
Brit proposed a week of vegetarian cooking, which scares me, but in a good way. So that's what I'll be doing, as soon as the library tells me a copy of "How to Cook Everything Vegetarian" is available.
I'm feeling kind of unsettled, lately, and I don't know why. Part of it is a feeling that I should be doing something -- anything -- to make the world or even my life better. But I watch TV instead.
Here's my day, lately, in case you're so bored you want to hear about my boring life:
Wake up -> shower -> get dressed -> eat cereal -> make coffee -> pack lunch -> drive to work -> sit at desk -> bang head against mountian of impossible work -> drive to the gym -> workout -> go home -> be lazy -> go to sleep.
In the meantime, I've got books I haven't read, books I have written, dishes that need doing, laundry that needs folding, dogs that need playing with, weight that needs losing, a lawn that needs tending, shit to pick up, shit to throw away, bills to pay, bad habits to break and no idea what to do.
It's, uh, pretty disheartening. And my life is awesome. Seriously. So many people have shitty lives. And not just in the Sudan. People in America, people in Oklahoma, people down the street -- all of them have it harder than me. But that doesn't mean I don't want to do better or to do something. I just don't know what or how or why -- just that I want to do it now.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Something new.
I want to cook something different. Something good, but something I haven't cooked before.
While I may fancy myself a great cook, in my heart, I know better. There are things I can make that won't be bad -- pan-seared meats, boring spaghetti or lasagna, boxed rice dinners.
Jesus, now that I think about it, I can't cook at all! Everything I make is so...dull. Turkey breast cutlets, cooked in a pan. Same for tilapia fillets. Use a little oil or a little butter for browning. Woo.
Spaghetti? I don't make my own sauce very often. I usually just add ground turkey to sauce and put it over the noodles. I can make Mac and Cheese -- not borne of the box -- but that's so fattening it isn't really fair. Anything can be good when you put that much cheese and butter in it. Seriously. Losing your job would be delicious with cheese and butter.
Grilling is...fun. But chicken breasts or steaks are pretty dull, even with a decent marinade. Fajitas are fun, but it's been done.
I'd like to try something new. And I have no idea where to start. I'm so busy worrying about calories and fat and dietary fiber that I've fallen into a rut -- a dangerous rut, because when you're bored, that's when you go for anything different. And I don't want to just dive face-first into a fast food bag.
Any suggestions?
While I may fancy myself a great cook, in my heart, I know better. There are things I can make that won't be bad -- pan-seared meats, boring spaghetti or lasagna, boxed rice dinners.
Jesus, now that I think about it, I can't cook at all! Everything I make is so...dull. Turkey breast cutlets, cooked in a pan. Same for tilapia fillets. Use a little oil or a little butter for browning. Woo.
Spaghetti? I don't make my own sauce very often. I usually just add ground turkey to sauce and put it over the noodles. I can make Mac and Cheese -- not borne of the box -- but that's so fattening it isn't really fair. Anything can be good when you put that much cheese and butter in it. Seriously. Losing your job would be delicious with cheese and butter.
Grilling is...fun. But chicken breasts or steaks are pretty dull, even with a decent marinade. Fajitas are fun, but it's been done.
I'd like to try something new. And I have no idea where to start. I'm so busy worrying about calories and fat and dietary fiber that I've fallen into a rut -- a dangerous rut, because when you're bored, that's when you go for anything different. And I don't want to just dive face-first into a fast food bag.
Any suggestions?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
So...
There's this guy I know who has a blog that his boss has told him to write. But nobody goes to it, because nobody knows it is there or cares.
Which is too bad for this guy I know. And his blog. Which is conveniently located at http://gregipedia.wordpress.com/
Because I bet you'd like this guy I know's blog. It has a familiar tone, somehow. But it also feels like it gets edited a little by somebody's boss. Hhn. Funny how that happens to blogs sometimes.
Blog.
Which is too bad for this guy I know. And his blog. Which is conveniently located at http://gregipedia.wordpress.com/
Because I bet you'd like this guy I know's blog. It has a familiar tone, somehow. But it also feels like it gets edited a little by somebody's boss. Hhn. Funny how that happens to blogs sometimes.
Blog.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Tabouleh? Really?
So, we went to Bristow on Saturday for the Tabouleh Festival. Apparently, Bristow has a pretty healthy Lebanese population and is home to both Bishop Brothers Tabouli and Slyman's Lebanese Foods, which produce a lot of tabouleh for most of the country.
It was a small-town fair, basically. Face-painting, funnel cakes, sad ponies doing a sad circle in the sun: nothing special.
Well, there was one thing that was special -- an almost total lack of tabouleh. It's the sort of thing you might expect to find at a tabouleh festival. Or, I don't know, some sort of information about Lebanese culture or customs. But in Bristow? Not so much.
We found this elementary school that was doing an all-you-can-eat Lebanese buffet. But when we got there, at 12:30 in the afternoon, they turned us away. "Sorry, folks, we're almost out of food."
So we ended up going to a Knights of Columbus spaghetti dinner, which they hold once a month, and only got any tabouleh at all because somebody brought over some leftovers from the other place.
I really don't understand the point of that thing. Why not just call it the Bristow Small-Town Fun Fair? Because trying to play up the tabouleh aspect is really just false advertising.
It was a small-town fair, basically. Face-painting, funnel cakes, sad ponies doing a sad circle in the sun: nothing special.
Well, there was one thing that was special -- an almost total lack of tabouleh. It's the sort of thing you might expect to find at a tabouleh festival. Or, I don't know, some sort of information about Lebanese culture or customs. But in Bristow? Not so much.
We found this elementary school that was doing an all-you-can-eat Lebanese buffet. But when we got there, at 12:30 in the afternoon, they turned us away. "Sorry, folks, we're almost out of food."
So we ended up going to a Knights of Columbus spaghetti dinner, which they hold once a month, and only got any tabouleh at all because somebody brought over some leftovers from the other place.
I really don't understand the point of that thing. Why not just call it the Bristow Small-Town Fun Fair? Because trying to play up the tabouleh aspect is really just false advertising.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Tr-hulu-ble
Hulu.com is a dangerous thing. Have you been there? Do you know? Has it deployed its claws and sunk them deep within your soul, dragging you down and down into a pit of hopeless despair?
Hulu gives me an Internet hard-on. It's an E-rection. Because Hulu is a Godsend for those of us who finish work early.
There are shows I love and shows I like and shows that I'll watch again because I forgot if I like or love or loathe them. And many of those shows are on Hulu.com, brought to you with limited commercial interruptions by Chili's or Sisco or Whothefuckcares, LTD.
My iPod holds many wonderful things. OK, just two wonderful things -- audio and video. But it cannot hold everything, try as I might. And for that there is the Internet and for the Internet there is Hulu.
Watch episodes of "Firefly." Do it. Now. Or how about the entire catalog of "Newsradio"? "Futurama" clips, anyone? It's so awesome, that I'm afraid I'll E-jaculate. Uhn, girl. Uhn.
Hulu gives me an Internet hard-on. It's an E-rection. Because Hulu is a Godsend for those of us who finish work early.
There are shows I love and shows I like and shows that I'll watch again because I forgot if I like or love or loathe them. And many of those shows are on Hulu.com, brought to you with limited commercial interruptions by Chili's or Sisco or Whothefuckcares, LTD.
My iPod holds many wonderful things. OK, just two wonderful things -- audio and video. But it cannot hold everything, try as I might. And for that there is the Internet and for the Internet there is Hulu.
Watch episodes of "Firefly." Do it. Now. Or how about the entire catalog of "Newsradio"? "Futurama" clips, anyone? It's so awesome, that I'm afraid I'll E-jaculate. Uhn, girl. Uhn.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Breaking up is hard to do
Mother's Day is coming up and I decided to crassly take advantage of one of my friends and get pictures taken for my Mom and Mother-in-Law. So it was me and the wife and the brother-in-law and me and the wife and the brother and the sister-in-law and sometimes all of us together, at the Botanical Gardens, dressed all fancy-like.
While the story should be how big I owe my photographer friend, who did the deed gratis, I was more fascinated by the couple breaking up at the Botanical Gardens.
Mr. Camera knows which shots he wants. We get some standing, we get some sitting, we get some leaning, but he really wants some on the shady bench. Funny thing, though, the bench is occupied by a couple (teen-agers? mid-20s? hard to tell) who are ending things in public at the Botanical Gardens on a Sunday afternoon.
My brother-in-law said he saw the girl wiping tears away, which makes me thing she was the dumpee and he the dumper. That baffles the mind. Not that a guy could break up with a girl, but that he brought her to a giant public flower garden to do it. Really? Who wants to break up in public? Did she beat you and you want witnesses? It makes no sense.
It has been long enough now that I have fairly vague memories of my last break up, when I was (shocker!) the dumpee and she the dumper. The actual dumping was pretty awkward -- I told her to fuck off jokingly and she realized I also kind of meant it and that was that.
I remember feeling weird seeing her after that, because I realized how little we had in common besides having dated. And pretty soon, she was just another person I wanted to avoid, like so many people. But no crying. Which was nice.
Though it's nothing I want to experience again -- there are lots of things like this -- it's weird to think that I'm never going to break up with anyone for the rest of my life. I'm married to the woman I love. I plan on staying married to her. So I don't want to break up with her or anybody, but it's just kind of odd to realize that that's all over with.
Don't you ever kind of miss something unpleasant? Not because you want to do it again, but just because you know you won't? I think it has something to do with salt and vinegar potato chips.
While the story should be how big I owe my photographer friend, who did the deed gratis, I was more fascinated by the couple breaking up at the Botanical Gardens.
Mr. Camera knows which shots he wants. We get some standing, we get some sitting, we get some leaning, but he really wants some on the shady bench. Funny thing, though, the bench is occupied by a couple (teen-agers? mid-20s? hard to tell) who are ending things in public at the Botanical Gardens on a Sunday afternoon.
My brother-in-law said he saw the girl wiping tears away, which makes me thing she was the dumpee and he the dumper. That baffles the mind. Not that a guy could break up with a girl, but that he brought her to a giant public flower garden to do it. Really? Who wants to break up in public? Did she beat you and you want witnesses? It makes no sense.
It has been long enough now that I have fairly vague memories of my last break up, when I was (shocker!) the dumpee and she the dumper. The actual dumping was pretty awkward -- I told her to fuck off jokingly and she realized I also kind of meant it and that was that.
I remember feeling weird seeing her after that, because I realized how little we had in common besides having dated. And pretty soon, she was just another person I wanted to avoid, like so many people. But no crying. Which was nice.
Though it's nothing I want to experience again -- there are lots of things like this -- it's weird to think that I'm never going to break up with anyone for the rest of my life. I'm married to the woman I love. I plan on staying married to her. So I don't want to break up with her or anybody, but it's just kind of odd to realize that that's all over with.
Don't you ever kind of miss something unpleasant? Not because you want to do it again, but just because you know you won't? I think it has something to do with salt and vinegar potato chips.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Well, shit.
Nobody likes Jim Gaffigan but me. The wife HATES him. My brother-in-law is constantly bitching about the lady voice that Jim uses (admittedly, a bit too) often. Aaaaaand, I guess I don't know any other people.
I mean, I do, but they're all having babies or going to school again or my parents.
I've been waiting for Jim Gaffigan to bring his act to Oklahoma for a looooong time. And now he's coming. July 11. And nobody wants to go with me.
Granted, at $40 a ticket, you'd have to actually want to see him perform. I'm not going to drag somebody to the show that's going to hate it, especially if it means spending another $40.
So, yeah. This sucks.
I mean, I do, but they're all having babies or going to school again or my parents.
I've been waiting for Jim Gaffigan to bring his act to Oklahoma for a looooong time. And now he's coming. July 11. And nobody wants to go with me.
Granted, at $40 a ticket, you'd have to actually want to see him perform. I'm not going to drag somebody to the show that's going to hate it, especially if it means spending another $40.
So, yeah. This sucks.
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