2177. uzmakk - 4/25/2000 7:18:57 PM

We are travelling along the Eastern Shore when we abruptly turn off the highway and begin to travel down a dirt service road. After several miles, we stop. Lionel (that was the driver's name) emerges from the cab with a staff and says that he wants to show me something. As soon as we had turned off the highway I had begun to look for some type of weaponry in the back of the truck. Nothing available. Two Fools in Their Finery were about to meet Their Maker at the hands of the Deliverance Boys. Having no weaponry of my own to speak of and having quite a bit of time to analyse my situation , I immediately jumped out of the truck and feigned an interest in Lionel's staff. I put myself directly next to him so that I could reach his staff.i.e. he could not make a move or step back to use his staff without me being able to grab hold of it. There was tremendous tension, it seemed that much time passed, both of us knew what the situation was, he explained the carvings in his staff to me while we watched eachother's every twitch, a little play acting to save face. I eventually worked him back into the cab. I suppose the little fat fellow was keeping my babe under control, he never touched her, they both watched. Lionel had the weapon, that's where I was focused. I cannot decide, in retrospect, whether it would have been better to have had Camile Paglia as my travelling partner or not. We all got back in the vehicle and began travelling again. This was no great victory because Lionel could spring from the vehicle staff at the ready at any time, I thought. We ended up back on the highway however, and the Buddhists informed us that they had decided to take us all the way to Atlantic City. They also wanted to know if we knew any orphans, or knew where any orphans could be had. They, ofcourse, wanted to take us to our apartment, but we gave them the slip at Starn's Shoprite in Ventnor Heights. And so ended that jolly adventure.

2178. PelleNilsson - 4/26/2000 1:49:34 AM

Nice story uzmakk, although I must confess I had missed the first part.

Some time this week I will add it to the collection along with your and marshame's fights, and Eric's story too.

2179. Adrianne - 4/26/2000 11:07:20 AM

Webfeet

Which pump do you have? They don't all work the same, or as well, for all women. Check their company website, if they have one. Also, if you don't want to call La Leche, they have a website that might have info. Try breastfeeding.com

or this

or La Leche.

On all those sites, search under "pumping".

Do call the ob's nurse, they'll have non-militant lactation experts that can advise you for free, usually.

2180. CalGal - 4/26/2000 11:18:21 AM

Eric,

I hadn't checked this thread in quite a while, because I've been so damn busy. Your story was beautiful and terribly sad. The truth about George at the end was a powerful one, and those of us who escaped families like that know how easy it is to be beaten by them. Thanks for reminding me. Even if it will give me nightmares for a while.

2181. CalGal - 4/26/2000 11:19:24 AM

Web,

I don't know how dreadful a confession this is, but I expressed manually for 10 months. The pumps never worked as well.

2182. EricCartman - 4/26/2000 12:39:37 PM

Webfeet, Cal Gal:

Thanks for the kind words. I really appraciate all the great feedback you guys have given my little "family values" tale.




By the way, I just got off the phone with my mother a few minutes ago. George passed on at about 5:00 this morning. So even what turned out to be a flawed goodbye has some value after all.

2183. Adrianne - 4/26/2000 12:42:30 PM

I'm sorry, Eric. And thanks for the post about your Uncle. It was very moving.

2184. theDiva - 4/26/2000 1:02:15 PM

Oh, Eric. My deepest condolences. You and your family will remain in my prayers.

2185. rubberducky7 - 4/26/2000 1:03:21 PM

sorry to hear it eric

is there gonna be a funeral? if so, are ya gonna go?

2186. CalGal - 4/26/2000 1:09:02 PM

Cart,

So even what turned out to be a flawed goodbye has some value after all.

Ain't that just a bitch?

I'm sorry for your loss.

2187. EricCartman - 4/26/2000 1:26:39 PM

Adrianne, Diva, Scott, CalGal:

Thank you. I imagine much of the day will be used helping my mother cope (she actually is handling it much better than I thought she would). Scott, there won't be a funeral; George's wish was to be cremated and scattered over Burney Falls. Basically it's going to be one of those things where I'll be there as long as my fucking bitch cousin isn't.

Families are fun, aren't they?

Thanks for all the warm wishes and condolences, y'all. It means a lot. Ciao for now.

2188. Webfeet - 4/26/2000 9:58:22 PM

Adrianne,

I bought it in a spanish drugstore. Something tellsme it's not exactly top of the line. Just a hunch. Does your baby sleep? or did she? Because Clement, aka Tiger, ( I nicknamed him Tiger because of this ferocious face he makes when he is grabbing for my breast. his little leg goes up as ifhe wants to mount it) doesn't sleep. I was supposed to work from home today and Ididn't accomplish anything.
Tiger wouldn't let me. He only slept when he was ontop of me. The instant I put him down, all hell broke loose. In fact, he just fell asleep only moments ago, after I let him wail for a bit.

Another question: my baby weighs in now at 18 lbs. Double his birthweight at 2 months. He is beautiful and healthy. But many people tell me I am overfeeding him. My pediatrician says nothing is wrong, that you can't overfeed a baby under 5 years of age. Your opi ?


Cal gal
I think Im a type B when it comes to maternity-related things. And the sight of that breast pump bores the hell out of me. But I have to do it for Tiger. In fact, I should be reading the manual right now.

2189. sakonige - 4/26/2000 11:12:30 PM

He will change pretty fast. Have a few nice pictures taken of yourself when you take pictures of him. You will appreciate seeing how beautiful you are as a new mother, and much younger you look in five years.

2190. PelleNilsson - 4/27/2000 5:31:32 AM

The recent stories by marshame, uzmakk and Eric are now in the Collection in the new categories A Touch of Violence and Endings.

2191. pseudoerasmus - 4/27/2000 5:38:56 AM

Nilsson, you're becoming the Greek anthologist of the Mote.

2192. stostosto - 4/27/2000 7:13:32 AM

Eric,
I just read your story. Shit, I don't know what to say. It got to me.

2193. Adrianne - 4/27/2000 7:23:57 AM

Web, darling

"He only slept when he was ontop of me"


Get thee a sling, my child. He can sleep on top of you, you can do other things. Everybody's happy.

He's two months? Yes, that's a lot of weight to gain in two months, but you aren't "over feeding" a two month old unless you're force-feeding him by shoving a tube down his esophagus. He's probably just going to be a big kid, for cryin' out - my nephew was the same way. HUGE. He looked like he was a year old at 4 months - my brother got so sick of strangers asking if he was talking yet that he started telling them that he was (dramatic pause, doleful eyes) ....slow.

Fang, at 21 months, is 21 pounds or so. Wow. Clement IS a big boy! (and Fang's small, too).

Fang slept a LOT (but only for a few hours at a time, she wanted to eat every 3 hours or so) until she was about 2 months old, then she stopped.

Stopped, it seemed, entirely.

But then at about 4 months, she started again, and I was blessed with the rare baby who slept regularly and for long periods. She slept through the night by 5 months (10-12 hours). This is, I caution, very rare - almost mythical, from what I understand. I did nothing to "cause" it, except, perhaps, earn some Karmic points in another life.

My advice, darling? Do what feels right for you and Clement and french cat. Personally, I fed her when she was hungry, and always picked her up when she cried. In the grand scheme, what's a few months of sleep deprivation? I mean, other than maddening? :-)

It goes so fast. For instance, the newborn stage is almost over for you already! You've got yourself an infant! In a couple of months, he'll be an entirely different creature, and in less than a year he'll probably be a freakin' toddler!

I know it's hard and exhausting and embarrassing (gad, I hated pumping at work) and icky and confusing. (But it's also way, way cool).

2194. PelleNilsson - 4/27/2000 7:27:10 AM

PE

Yes, I collect indiscriminately. Who knows what Future Historians will judge as important? It's a pity we don't have any sociologist posting here (or have we?). The Mote could be a nice study object. You know: classifying all posters into 5-6 "types", seeing how they interact and so on.

2195. PelleNilsson - 4/27/2000 7:31:10 AM

Imprisoned

For a hundred years it had been a small but bustling company town where iron ore from deep in the earth had been melted in large furnaces and the iron forged into implements of many kinds. Hundreds of workers lived in a community where The Company supplied everything: housing, medical care, schools, even religious services. There was a brass band, a choir and a football team that played in the third division. And the Resident was the Lord of the Manor, dispensing favour, extracting punishment. But after the war the drive for "efficiency" and "economy of scale" had doomed all that to oblivion. It stood as a ghost town until some local entrepreneurs converted it into a conference centre with the Resident's Mansion as the focal point, lodgings in converted workers' housing and lecture halls in various storage buildings. And the waterfall that had powered it all, first through water wheels and complicated mechanical couplings, and then by an electrical generator, now fed overhead projectors and laptops. It was a curious mix of decay and modernity.

He first saw her across the room, at the registration desk. She must have felt his stare because she looked up and her expression changed from annoyance to bewilderment before they both looked away. He felt confused as the past rushed at him and barely managed to go through the motions of checking in and unpacking. At lunch they were at different tables. Later, at the coffee break, he collected his strength and went up to her. After some forced "how-are-yous" and "long-time-no-sees" for the benefit of the by-standers they moved aside. They stood in silence for while. "Let's skip the afternoon session and take a walk", he said. She agreed.

2196. PelleNilsson - 4/27/2000 7:35:05 AM

So they found themselves on the unkempt path leading up to the main shaft with its ungainly, wooden superstructure. The leaves, blown off the trees by last week's storm, but still keeping their autumn colours, crunched beneath their feet. It was mild and still, not raining, but almost so, giving a soft-edged greyness to the landscape. While they walked in silence he thought about that summer thirty years ago when they had been wildly in love, the kind of love eighteen-year olds are capable of. They had had their future all planned. And then came the senseless, stupid quarrel. And the senseless, stupid pride eighteen-year olds can hold. He had spent many nights waiting for, praying for the telephone to ring without being able to bring himself to pick it up and dial. And then came autumn and she and her family moved back into the city. The pain, although dulled by time, was still there.

She stopped and looked up at him. "Do you remember?", she asked. "Often", he replied. They walked again, her arm in his. And they talked. They talked about their lives, their jobs, their families. But beneath the conventional phrases was the subtext, the real subject of the conversation: We have not forgotten. We are still in love. What shall we do now?. And they made up their minds. "Let's go down to dinner early and try to find a small table", he said, "it looks like a tough day tomorrow." "Yes", she agreed, "and I need to look over my presentation once more."

They turned back and walked once again in silence, reflecting over the traps set by life, and the prisons we build for ourselves out of convention and duty. That evening they would talk again, but carefully, anxious not to stoke the smouldering fire, not to break out of their prisons.

2197. PelleNilsson - 4/27/2000 7:35:47 AM

Author's note:

This place exists although without the conference centre. A couple of years ago my wife and I walked on that path in that kind of weather. We felt like being in a Chekov novella, and we made up the story you just read.

2198. stostosto - 4/27/2000 8:30:45 AM

Ah, Pelle. You shouldn't have added that author's note, bereaving us of that wonderfully mind-stirring image of you! A man, painfully but sensibly resigning, refraining from reviving, an unfulfilled love which is there for life like shrapnel under skin.

But then again. What a remarkable relationship you have with your wife.

2199. CalGal - 4/27/2000 9:52:14 AM

Webbie,

You can't overfeed a baby on breastmilk. I forget when overfeeding kicks in as a possibility, but it is definitely before 5.

2200. sakonige - 4/28/2000 12:23:04 AM

I hadn't thought of it before, but the most striking images I remember of encountering Bill Gates occurred passing on stairs.

2201. uzmakk - 4/28/2000 6:55:18 AM

sakonige:
and?

2202. uzmakk - 4/28/2000 6:57:13 AM

I assume he was ascending the stairs. I understand Gates never descends.

2203. uzmakk - 4/28/2000 7:00:38 AM

btw, Mr. Pelle Nilsson:
You have a lovely wife. Also, no names in my last story were changed to protect the innocent. Chuck(to discard, to cast away)Gender, Melodie. Pretty clever fellow that Chuck Gender.

2204. marshame - 4/28/2000 2:24:55 PM

Webby

Your boobs will settle down after you have been breast feeding for a while, and they will go on auto-pilot, knowing just how much milk to produce and when. But the weeks before they get there, it's a pain.

Webby, you can go to France, come back, live in the Big Apple, get married, have a baby, struggle with breast pumps, but there is one thing that I will never, ever forget about you: you once had a boyfriend who would shoot olives out of his nose to amuse and stimulate you! (I'm assuming he is not Mr. French Husband/Father of Your Child!)

2205. uzmakk - 4/28/2000 4:32:18 PM

Take care of those boobs, Webbie. You are getting lots of good advice.

2206. Jenerator - 5/3/2000 8:09:53 AM

Webfeet,

Congratulations on your new baby. I'm glad you stuck with the name Clement.

I saw my sister over Christmas who was breastfeeding her new four month old daughter (her first child was thirteen months at the time). Her boobs were in the triple J's, and she assured me that they would eventually shrink. She also said that although they never went back to their original size (always a little bigger), the fulness of them remained, and that it had a great affect on her hubby.

2207. marshame - 5/3/2000 4:56:51 PM

Pelle

I loved your story. It reminded me of seeing my old high school/college boyfriend at our 25 year high school reunion. Ah, memories of that 18-year old love are bittersweet.

2208. PelleNilsson - 5/3/2000 5:11:36 PM

Thank you, marshame.

2209. marshame - 5/3/2000 5:35:01 PM

He put his arm around my waste and hugged me tight, and my (then) husband said "That was then, this is now!"

Sniff.

2210. janjon - 5/3/2000 6:01:48 PM

People who will hug waste tightly are special indeed.

2211. PelleNilsson - 5/4/2000 1:32:48 AM

Hahahaha!

2212. Webfeet - 5/4/2000 9:20:44 PM

Week 2 Breastfeeding

The so-called pump is sitting in a plastic bag somewhere ready to go back to the Spanish drugstore, if I can find the receipt. What it reminds me of--and maybe all of you who are familiar with the Muppet Show may recall--is one of those chemistry sets out of Beeker's lab. You remember Beeker, don't you? He was the original nerd with a shock of bright orange hair who was always setting the lab on fire.

So, the upshot is, like calgal, I am doing it manually, which makes me feel like I am masturbating myself in the Ladies Room somehow. Is that weird? Maybe. But there, well, I said it. There's something furtive about it, you know, standing there in the stall squeezing milk out of my breasts.. I'll stop there.

Jenerator

Yeah, but we never call him Clement. We call him bunny, or tiger or proot (which means fart in french). Triple J's--that's impressive. I have a feeling these knockers are here to stay, too, which irritates me simply because I will always have to wear a large when I am a medium. To say nothing of boob discrimination--you would think all clothes were designed for sixteen yeaer olds with little pine cones. Where is trialshark? Lets take on Calvin Klein.

Marshame

We were on a Greek cruise ship, and we were seasick and bored so he took the pits fromthe Greek olives and blew them out his nose at me. No, that was not my husband. You never end up marrying the ones that snort olive pits out of their noses for some reason, do you?

2213. CalGal - 5/5/2000 12:11:35 AM

There's something furtive about it, you know, standing there in the stall squeezing milk out of my breasts.. I'll stop there.

I used to stop whenever someone came into the restroom; I couldn't bear the concert of squirts and tinkles.

I think I've mentioned some of this before, but not at the Mote:

I was a hell of a producer. On top of what I fed Spawn directly (who was 20+ lbs at 6 months), my output was at least 24 oz a day--quite often more than that. I'd freeze the excess. Have you noticed that when you freeze breastmilk, the cream rises to the top? My butterfat content was impressive, let me tell you.

One time, I had just finished filling an 8 oz bottle in the morning before work, put it on the counter, turned around too quickly, and knocked it over. Oh, no--but there's no use crying over it.

So I sat down and filled another whole bottle.

My babysitter was plagued with production problems and gave up when her daughter was four months old. She called me The Cow. This was, apparently, a compliment.

And take heart. No matter how silly you might feel, it could be much, much worse. There is a woman at one of the contracts I'm working who has a mechanical pump. She attaches it to her breasts and sits out in the open in the women's room, while this contraption is....I'll stop there.

2214. joezan - 5/5/2000 12:20:08 AM

Uh...if I could be of any assistance......

2215. PelleNilsson - 5/5/2000 1:42:28 AM

TMI

2216. CalGal - 5/5/2000 10:33:18 AM

I went to bed knowing that I'd see a TMI post from Pelle in the morning. And you did not disappoint.

2217. uzmakk - 5/5/2000 10:40:25 AM

An alternate title for the most proximate section of this thread could be:

Stories Large and Productive

2218. PelleNilsson - 5/5/2000 11:53:36 AM

CalGal

The urge was irresistable.

2219. Jenerator - 5/5/2000 12:36:30 PM

These stories scare me, even though I'm female.

2220. marjoribanks - 5/5/2000 3:58:37 PM

Some of you may have heard of the island Vieques in the news this past few weeks. It's been the site of protests, and the locals (and others) want to kick out the US military which uses it as a bombing range. I've been there twice.

Both times, I went on the cheap ferry from Puerto Rico, it takes a couple of hours across a spectacularly blue Caribbean vista. Dolphins jump up and down across the swell of the bow. PR is like a sleepier version of the Bronx, in my opinion, this trip taken at leisure remins you that you are entering a truly bucolic Caribbean atmosphere.

Then you disembark and pay for a space in a crowded van full of people. Bursting with salsa, the van makes its way to the beaches and the lone tourist strip on the 1/3 of the island not owned by the military. Along that strip, cheap Cubano/PR meals are available, and small but clean rooms to rent if you're not splurging on the two or three resorts which also huddle in that area.

Anyway, one evening, on my second trip there, alone in a bar on the strip I started hanging out with a guy named Pizco. Why he was named that, don't ask me. But Pizco and I shared more than a few rums and cokes and then came an invitation. "You go snorkelling a lot," grunted Pizco, "but have you been to Mosquito Bay"?

No, of course I hadn't been to Mosquito Bay. Who the hell wants to go to a place named like that? I not only didn't want to go to Mosquito Bay, I'd already had enough of mosquitoes.

"Listen, Bombay (he was calling me Bombay by now), you buy a bottle of Bacardi Anejo from the shop next door and I will take to to a dreamland"

2221. marjoribanks - 5/5/2000 3:59:17 PM

Well, friends, being close to dreamland already and always open to the suggestion of another bottle of rum, I nodded assent and headed out to the liquor shop with a grinning and somehow revitalized Pizco. We waded into the surf, he pulled his little motorboat to us and we slid into it with that bottle of Anejo and several cans of Coke and some bread and queso blanco.

Chug, chug, chug, the boat and us in unison made the way across to the rim of this particular bay and we headed out along an unbroken fence of jungle. It was beautiful and peaceful, the Caribbean night full of stars and the warm scent of the island vegetation. Then, we came to a gap in the jungle and Pizco skillfully guided our boat through it. It was a bay, with only a twenty-foot or so opening to the sea. A medium-sized bay.

Unimpressed, though , um, rather relaxed due to the atmosphere and libation, I looked at Pizco. "Bombay, look in the water," he said. I looked, nothing. Then suddenly, like an underwater meteor something shot by in a flurry of sparks. Then as I focussed, i could see more. Remarkable, things were whipping by like miniature fireballs.

"What is that, Pizco? Some kind of fish which looks like fireflies or glow worms?"

Pizco laughed. He shook his head - no. Then he reached into the water off the boat, dipped his hand in, and like a fountain of sparks it cascaded down from his fingers into the boat. The water itself was charged with electricity. "Go in Bombay," he said.

2222. marjoribanks - 5/5/2000 3:59:30 PM

I then spent the most surreal thirty minutes of my life. Bounded into the water in a veritable mini Hiroshima of sparks, and swam around and around the boat trailing fire. Then to the shore of mangroves, then back, my every move in the water accentuated by the bioluminescene. The water was warm and inviting, and the fish were good enough to leave me alone, and I was in a state of mind where I'd have preferred to remain there basking in this most unworldly experience.

But then Pizco got tired, and he/we finished the bottle and we made our slow way back around the coast to the strip. I left the next morning.

2223. janjon - 5/5/2000 4:57:00 PM

um, did you consider having yourself checked for radiation levels afterwards?

it don't sound like liquid pixie dust.

2224. marjoribanks - 5/5/2000 5:10:15 PM

Its bioluminescence, janjon. I found this photo at a website (wonder of wonders) devoted to the very place I went to - biobay.com.

2225. marjoribanks - 5/5/2000 5:11:09 PM

Its bioluminescence, janjon. I found this photo at a website (wonder of wonders) devoted to the very place I went to - biobay.com.

2226. uzmakk - 5/5/2000 7:32:19 PM

Pisco is a Peruvian spirit (alcoholic only as far as I know).

2227. marshame - 5/15/2000 6:08:45 PM

Why I Don't Like Orange

When I was in my mid-twenties, I went through a spate of depression. I was recently divorced, working full-time, also in graduate school, my father had died a couple of years earlier, and my mother had been hit with a stroke that left her paralyzed. Although I generally had a positive and optimistic look on life, events had conspired to knock me down and I found myself drawing the curtains and sitting in the dark.

So being the self-aware and liberated woman that I was, I decided to get some therapy. I was no stranger to various theraputic methods, being a social worker and all, but my all time favorite was Gestalt Therapy Verbatim by Fritz Perls. He was my god. I found a therapist in the yellow pages, picking him for the lyrical sound of his name.

We had a couple of individual sessions, and then he suggested that I join a group which he ran. He told me that it did utilized many of the gestalt practices, along with some other ideas of the time, like rolfing and primal scream (I'm Okay, You're Okay" was already considered passé, but actually it had been totally assimilated into the theraputic community.) The "time" was about 1975. (See "Bob and Ted and Carol and Alice" if you want to get a sense of the milieu.)

2228. marshame - 5/15/2000 6:09:50 PM

I went off to my first group session (fortifying myself with a joint on the way) and was most anxious to appear intelligent, self-aware, and articulate. But most especially, I wanted to appear in touch with my feelings. We began the session in the living of of an old house in a disjointed, undirected way, with people vying to focus group attention on themselves. The leader with the lyrical name (I'll call him John) alternately singled out those who were not participating. Finally attention focused on one man, Charlie. He started crying, and suddenly John announced that we were going into the bedroom so that Charlie could act out his feelings. Everyone filed into the bedroom to surround Charlie as he beat on a pillow, buried his face into it, and screamed bloody murder. I backed out of the room and headed to the coffee pot in the kitchen. My feelings at that moment were acute embarrassment and a distinct desire to get away. John came and retrieved me, making me witness the therapy. Then, when Charlie had not been able to obtain resolution, we all came back into the living room and continued our vicarious participation as John mashed his thumbs into various parts of Charlie's feet. Finally, Charlie's screams convinced John that he had obtained resolution, and the session ended for the evening.

2229. marshame - 5/15/2000 6:11:08 PM

At that meeting, there was one particular fellow who could not bring himself to tell us why he was in the group. He had ordered into therapy by the Court. John urged him to verbalize his problem, but he just couldn't do it. I figured he had murdered someone, and I was sympathetic, having experienced homicidal feelings myself. Finally, John asked him: "If you can't tell the group, do you think you could tell just one person?" He nodded. "Who would you like to tell?" John whispered. He nodded at me.

As we walked toward my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, I was confident I could help this guy. Murder wasn't so bad, after all. We sat on the bed for a while, then he blurted out: "I'm charged with indecent exposure." I was shocked beyond expression. I blurted back, "Did you do it?" as my mind raced for possible defenses. "Well yeah," he admitted, looking at me like he wished he had picked someone else. "Oh," was all I could get out. All I could think was: "How perverse!" Murder I could understand. But exposing yourself? I mean, really!

2230. marshame - 5/15/2000 6:11:23 PM

We re-joined the group and John searched our faces, looking hopefully for signs of catharsis and forgiveness. Instead, he saw regret on him and dismay on me.

I don't remember the rest of the meeting that night, but John stuck around to help me clean up after the group had departed. He told me with a smile that he brews beer at home, and would I like him to bring over a batch so that I could taste it? My mind was still so confused from the previous confession, that I was more dense than usual.
"You mean, just the two of us, or the whole group?" I asked.
"Just the two of us," he beamed.
"Oh, hmm," was my reply.
Gesturing to my sofa and love seat, which was gold and black and orange stripe (remember: it was 1975), he said "You know, orange is the color of sexual liberation."
"Huh?" I said, still thinking about how he could transport bathtub beer to my house.
"Orange," he repeated. "I'll bring some beer, and we can drink it on your orange couch." With that he gave me his most winning smile.

Well, I didn't have any of his homemade beer, and I didn't sit with him on my orange couch, and I never went back to that group, and somehow my depression cleared up. And I have never much cared for the color orange since then.

2231. marshame - 5/15/2000 6:15:07 PM

Drat -

Between 2228 and 2229 a portion was deleted. What's missing is: I went to the next meeting, and we were locked out, so I volunteered to let the group meet at my house, which was nearby....

2232. Adrianne - 5/16/2000 8:30:03 AM

Marshame

With your permission, I'd like to use "Murder I could understand. But exposing yourself? I mean, really!" as my TT tagline for awhile? With credit, of course.

Marjori

There's a nice article on biobay in National Geographic, I believe last month.

On my first New Year's Eve with thehub, we experienced bioluminescence on the FL shoreline. Midnight came and, as we drank champagne and necked, the tops of the waves turned the most brilliant, beautiful green. The water below was filled with phospherous microbs, and looked like it was lit from beneath. Very lovely.

2233. Jenerator - 5/16/2000 9:40:50 AM

Is Marshame cool, or what?!

2234. theDiva - 5/16/2000 9:44:06 AM

The coolest. And so is her girl. Check yer e-mail, you leggy Texan.

2235. CalGal - 5/16/2000 3:19:50 PM

The Philomena Medal

My grandmother gave me a St. Philomena's medal to pin on my pack, presumably so the saint could look after me. Turning it down would be a bad omen; I pin it obediently to the net pocket on my Sideout carryall.

I am no longer phobic about flying; I spent years where the only way I could get on a plane was to steal a page from the Klingon handbook, "It is a good day to die." I can't remember how or why the fear morphed from an obsession that consumed me for a week or two prior to any flight, to one that kicked in a day before, and then a few minutes before--but I do remember the first time that I realized, with a start, that the plane was taking off without my having fussed over it. This instantly kicked off a panic--I hadn't worried! (Like many obsessives, I am convinced that if I don't worry about something, it has a better chance of happening. It will know that I'm not worrying, and catch me off guard and go, "Ha!" And then not only will my worst fear happen, but I'll feel like a moron for not anticipating the possibility.)

But it's gone now. Occasionally I feel the need to concern myself about takeoff--you know, give the plane a helping hand--other times I know that the plane will be fine, so I can obsess on a subject that truly needs my attention.

I'd thought this was going to be a mild worry flight, but when I heard the engines rev up, I looked out the window and saw the wing. Ever seen the wing of a 777? Long, gleaming, strong, graceful. Very reassuring. I decided I could forego the effort of helping the plane out; nothing bad would happen with this wing on the job. Periodically thoughout the flight I would just gaze at the wing--even if I could have taken a picture, it wouldn't have captured it adequately. I was in seat 48A; several rows back from the exit, so I could see the entire span, and it was prettier today than the clouds.

2236. CalGal - 5/16/2000 3:21:21 PM

The flight was full, but no one was on standby. The passenger in 48B apparently cancelled at the last moment. I could feel the envious eyes of those whose seatmates were not as considerate as I curled up for a nice long nap.

The downside of what was otherwise a wonderful seating arrangement became apparent when I arrived at baggage claim, rested and ready to go. The crowds around the carousel were five deep; I couldn't even get close enough to see the luggage circling, much less muscle my way through to actually pick it up. And I had my digital camera and laptop with me, which weren't getting out of my sight.

But I was determined not to stress out this trip, so I just sat back and waited for the crowds to clear. I started mentally mapping out the remaining logistics--get my luggage, pick up the car....gack, that'll be another huge crowd....and I look at the hordes at the carousel. Think for just a moment about the next stop on the cattle call. And remind myself how much fun it is to do things out of order. Carefully, casually, I pick up my laptop and camera and hustle my buns to the rental shuttles, which are busy, but not zooey. Renting my car takes less than half an hour, and no lines. I drive back to the baggage claim area, zip over to the now deserted carousel, where my luggage waits--a tad reproachfully, it seems--and lug it back to my waiting car. Zoom past the steers--er, passengers--now queued up in lines of 50 for the shuttles and cackle like the madwoman I undoubtedly am. Off I go to Honokawai, north of Lahaina.

2237. sakonige - 5/16/2000 3:39:33 PM

I spent years where the only way I could get on a plane was to steal a page from the Klingon handbook, "It is a good day to die."

Just FYI, this is not a page stolen from the Klingon handbook. It is stolen from a living nation of people.

2238. Indiana Jones - 5/16/2000 4:15:27 PM

I thought Conan's girlfriend said it in the second Conan movie.

2239. arkymalarky - 5/16/2000 6:03:51 PM

"(Like many obsessives, I am convinced that if I don't worry about something, it has a better chance of happening. It will know that I'm not worrying, and catch me off guard and go, "Ha!" And then not only will my worst fear happen, but I'll feel like a moron for not anticipating the possibility.)"

Whoa. That sounds like something straight from my head.

2240. marshame - 5/16/2000 6:29:44 PM

Calgal

I can relate to your obsessive logic. What I do now is, I pray "Dear God, if I'm to die in a plane crash, can it please be on the flight home, after the vacation?" It works every time!

2241. CalGal - 5/16/2000 6:34:36 PM

I've always preferred condo properties to hotel rooms, and have always avoided resorts unless I actually want to use the resort's central offering (e.g., DisneyWorld). I dislike crowds, I hate the Freds and Ethels that wander around oohing and ahing at the pretty fountains in the lounge, I hate the annoying "themes" and the crowds and the...well, you get the idea.

No, I like a condo, fully stocked, a store nearby, and local restaurants, and always recommend that approach to anyone who is considering it. The downside is that you have to plan your own days, with very little in the way of resources. But I find it to be a much more relaxing experience--I also tend to like my neighbors more as well. They, like me, are a more retiring sort.

I am a Sunterra "owner". Sunterra properties vary--some were created by Vacation Internationale (the group I originally joined back in 1984). In other locations, they just co-opt a number of condos in a suitable property. Their Maui properties are all of the latter sort; there are two different condominium properties they offer in the Lahaina area--both of them are north, in Honokawai. The area is rather like a suburb of Ka'anapali's "city"--family oriented, relaxed, and while it's certainly not as upscale as Ka'anapali, it's not because it's cheap. Just a different crowd.

Checkin isn't until 4, but usually the units are ready by 1--and lo! my unit is ready. I have to check in twice--once with Sunterra, and once with Aston, who owns the actual property. While at Aston, I notice an activities coordinator, so I stop in and see if it is too late to book something in Hana. I've been toying with the idea of spending the night out in the remote southeastern area, so I could take my time and see everything.

2242. CalGal - 5/16/2000 6:36:13 PM

Dan, the activities guy, had just the place--a neat little studio that was only $80, right by the "Venus pool", which he assures me is fabulous. He called and arranged it immediately, after asking if I minded staying over on a Sunday, rather than using the weekend. I don't mind at all. And now I have to go to Hana--no losing my nerve about the drive. Unless I want to lose the $80.

Well, it has been a happy day thus far. The whole row to myself, the beautiful wing, a smooth flight with no obsessing, a "beat the crowds" post-flight victory, an early checkin, and the Hana issue settled. All that's left to do is lug my two bags and my laptop to the unit, collapse for a while, eat, and do my first day reconnoitering--which means the next question to be answered is, how many stairs will I have to climb, or is there an elevator? My condo is 107, so I'm hoping it's only one flight of stairs--but condo numbers are weird, and you never know.

It's not on the first floor. It's on the ground floor.

No lugging, no stairs, no need for an elevator, and I can step off my patio and be but 25 yards from the beach. Glory hallelujah.

I open the door, drop my luggage willy nilly, and call my grandmother to tell her that the medal seems to doing its job, and to thank Philomena for me.

2243. marshame - 5/16/2000 6:39:28 PM

Did you take the bike ride from the volcano? I notice you mentioned Paia. Were there any wind surfers out?

2244. CalGal - 5/16/2000 6:58:30 PM

I am not interested in the bike ride, this trip. I'm skipping the crater. Yes, the wind surfers were out--I didn't stop to take a picture, because it'd be too hard to capture for an amateur. But it was a lovely sight.

2245. theDiva - 5/17/2000 8:48:49 AM

Cal

It's sounds heavenly....are you flying solo? How relaxing! Gosh, how I envy you!

2246. Jenerator - 5/17/2000 1:37:18 PM

CalGal,

I like your story and am glad that it all is going so smoothly. Just think, had you fretted every step of the way, it still would have gone smoothly, but your stomache would have been in knots. Now, get off of the computer and mingle with the gorgeous Samoan men in low riding bathing suits! I expect pictures of you tan when you return.

2247. KuligintheHooligan - 5/17/2000 2:43:36 PM

Is this Hawaii talk? My wife and I went on our honeymoon in Hawaii (4 days in Maui, 4 days in Kauai) and loved it. I found the Road to Hana to be beautiful, although my wife got sick and tired of it.

"How many pictures of the ocean do you need?!"

"A good photographer takes tons of pictures in order to get ONE good one, honey."

2248. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:00:03 PM

2249. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:02:06 PM test 2250. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:03:07 PM Wow. That's a good one.

2251. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:07:14 PM

Planning

2252. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:11:54 PM

Jeez, that's annoying. It didn't preview like that, obviously.

The first sentence is "I don't like planning and I hate schedules".

2253. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:23:28 PM

These books are extremely informative and a lot of fun to read. They are broken down by location—usually starting at one point and then “travelling” round the island. Spectacular pictures, but more importantly, you get a very good feel for the area—not only what to see, but what to wear, where to eat, and how to get there.

While attention is duly paid to the high traffic areas, the books’ strength is their attention to the offbeat spots, the ones that don’t have signs or many visitors. The directions are a hoot sometimes: “Turn right on the badly rutted dirt road that you’ll come to directly round the bend where the ‘Fresh Banana Bread until 5’ sign is leaned against the two palm trees.

I made that up, but not by much.

2254. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:50:59 PM

I read the Maui book cover to cover once. I then eliminated the areas that I knew I wasn’t interested in for this trip (up country, Io Valley) and read the remaining sections several times. Before I left, I had come up with the perfect combination of activities, with a few left over.

1. I made Hana a sub-trip all on its own, with its own activities. It would be two days long.
2. Another day spent going south and seeing the sights along Makena Road, taking the hike out to Beau Chien beach at the end.
3. Northwest Maui is rarely visited. I am generally attracted to easily accessible spots that no one goes to for no other reason than it never occurred to them to do so. The contrariness of it appeals to me. The coast is also apparently ruggedly beautiful, if I needed any other reason.
4. I wanted to see Molokai, but I wasn’t sure if the logistics would work out. I left this as an open issue.

When I woke up on Saturday, it was raining. I referred to the book—would it be better to go to Makena or the Northwest? The Northwest is a bit like coastal California. Hmm. As for Makena, the book said: “As a rule, if the sun isn’t shining here, it’s not shining anywhere on Maui.”

So Saturday, I went south.

2255. CalGal - 5/18/2000 8:52:03 PM

If you're interested, here is a map of Maui. My resort was right between Kaanapali and Kahana.

2256. Jenerator - 5/19/2000 9:44:06 AM

CalGal,

From the pictures, it looks as though you've had excellent weather. My first trip to Oahu and Kuaui were during a terrible, terrible rainy season. Everything was lusciously green and flowering, but very wet. The next trip was much better. What a difference sunshine makes!

2257. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 10:53:33 AM

The Fight in Hawaii

Since this story is true, I’m not sure if it belongs here. I thought about putting it in The Café, but given the length and surreal nature of my experience, it seems more appropriate in this thread. The following story happened to me in Hawaii, when I was a twenty-five year-old ex-Marine (almost ten years ago!), living by myself in an apartment, and finishing my college education that had been interrupted by my enlistment.

My apartment had what is called, in Hawaii, a lanai, but would be called a deck or patio anywhere else. I rarely used it. While my apartment was a fine place, the view from the lanai looked directly out onto the first story of a two-story parking garage that was the property of the neighboring apartment complex. The only other features between that garage and my lanai were a strip of grass, no more than four feet wide, that ran along the entire length between my apartment complex and the garage, and a short chain-link fence that was between the strip of grass and the garage. The fence was the property line between the two places so the grass strip, for whatever it was worth, was ours.

One Saturday night I went dancing with some friends in Honolulu (I lived in Kailua). Returning home, I picked up a Sunday morning paper, which, conveniently enough, was often available at the 7-11 just after midnight on Saturday. I got home about 2:00 or 2:30, sat down at my kitchen table, and began reading.

Whatever time I began reading, I’m sure it was 3:00 when I stopped because that was when I first heard a woman’s scream. It came from the parking garage. I quickly – but quietly – moved over to the lanai to look through my screen door (the sliding glass door was already open) out on the parking garage. The parking garage was well lit so I saw everything very clearly.

continued...

2258. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 10:58:28 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued:

In the parking lot were two figures, maybe a hundred feet from me. One – the source of the screams (for she had let loose with another bone-piercing scream as I moved to the lanai) – was a willowy blonde. She was tall, close to my height (I’m 5’10”), thin, with shoulder length blonde hair, a real beauty. She was obviously drunk. The second figure was a young Samoan man, shorter than the woman, but thickly built as the Hawaiians often are. He had a ponytail, wore a baseball cap, and a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt. Even from my twenty-five year old perspective, I thought they both looked very young: late teens, probably, but both of them could be no older than twenty-one.

It was obvious to me that they knew each other. As I began to watch, I saw the reason for the young woman’s screams. Left by herself, the young blonde would teeter around the parking lot aimlessly, but quietly – a few steps forward, then a few steps to her right, then maybe a couple steps back. When I watched this motion, there was never any sense she was ever going to get anywhere or even wanted to. But she didn’t seem to mind.

She did mind, though, when the young man tried to lift her. Usually coming up behind her, he would wrap his arms around her waist and try to carry her, or so I guessed. To this day, I’m not sure what he was doing. The best way I can describe this action -– which he did several times as I watched him -- is to say he looked like some guy who in showing off his strength, goes over to an object, picks it up and then sets it down with little or no forward progress. Merely by picking it up, he has demonstrated his point to you. I assumed he was trying to help this wayward lass find her way home, but he botching the job terribly if he was.

continued...

2259. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:11:37 AM

Since the format on this page is screwed up, I'm going to repost before I continue.

2260. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:11:51 AM

post

2261. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:12:08 AM

post

2262. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:12:58 AM

The Fight in Hawaii

Since this story is true, I’m not sure if it belongs here. I thought about putting it in The Café, but given the length and surreal nature of my experience, it seems more appropriate in this thread. The following story happened to me in Hawaii, when I was a twenty-five year-old ex-Marine (almost ten years ago!), living by myself in an apartment, and finishing my college education that had been interrupted by my enlistment.

My apartment had what is called, in Hawaii, a lanai, but would be called a deck or patio anywhere else. I rarely used it. While my apartment was a fine place, the view from the lanai looked directly out onto the first story of a two-story parking garage that was the property of the neighboring apartment complex. The only other features between that garage and my lanai were a strip of grass, no more than four feet wide, that ran along the entire length between my apartment complex and the garage, and a short chain-link fence that was between the strip of grass and the garage. The fence was the property line between the two places so the grass strip, for whatever it was worth, was ours.

One Saturday night I went dancing with some friends in Honolulu (I lived in Kailua). Returning home, I picked up a Sunday morning paper, which, conveniently enough, was often available at the 7-11 just after midnight on Saturday. I got home about 2:00 or 2:30, sat down at my kitchen table, and began reading.

Whatever time I began reading, I’m sure it was 3:00 when I stopped because that was when I first heard a woman’s scream. It came from the parking garage. I quickly – but quietly – moved over to the lanai to look through my screen door (the sliding glass door was already open) out on the parking garage. The parking garage was well lit so I saw everything very clearly.

continued...

2263. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:14:53 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

In the parking lot were two figures, maybe a hundred feet from me. One – the source of the screams (for she had let loose with another bone-piercing scream as I moved to the lanai) – was a willowy blonde. She was tall, close to my height (I’m 5’10”), thin, with shoulder length blonde hair, a real beauty. She was obviously drunk. The second figure was a young Samoan man, shorter than the woman, but thickly built as the Hawaiians often are. He had a ponytail, wore a baseball cap, and a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt. Even from my twenty-five year old perspective, I thought they both looked very young: late teens, probably, but both of them could be no older than twenty-one.

It was obvious to me that they knew each other. As I began to watch, I saw the reason for the young woman’s screams. Left by herself, the young blonde would teeter around the parking lot aimlessly, but quietly – a few steps forward, then a few steps to her right, then maybe a couple steps back. When I watched this motion, there was never any sense she was ever going to get anywhere or even wanted to. But she didn’t seem to mind.

She did mind, though, when the young man tried to lift her. Usually coming up behind her, he would wrap his arms around her waist and try to carry her, or so I guessed. To this day, I’m not sure what he was doing. The best way I can describe this action -– which he did several times as I watched him -- is to say he looked like some guy who in showing off his strength, goes over to an object, picks it up and then sets it down with little or no forward progress. Merely by picking it up, he has demonstrated his point to you. I assumed he was trying to help this wayward lass find her way home, but he botching the job terribly if he was.

continued...

2264. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:21:03 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

Of course, she wasn’t helping him either. Every time he touched her, she let loose with a scream that made my teeth hurt. I often retell this story to friends, and when I do, I find it impossible to recreate the proper verisimilitude without her scream as a prop. You cannot completely understand some of my decisions that night without having heard that scream. Deaf reptiles, hunting for warm-blooded food in the night, would have howled for mercy upon hearing it. When I first heard it as I read the newspaper, my first thought was, a woman is being murdered.

But she wasn’t being murdered, just grabbed and lifted. And it was clear this pair knew each other. I was hesitant to get involved. They could be married (unlikely for a couple so young, but this was Hawaii, so I couldn't be sure), or boyfriend/girlfriend, and I didn’t want to get in the middle of a domestic dispute. Too many times, both people in the dispute will turn on the interloper. So I watched this obscure dance of theirs for what seemed like an hour, but was probably no more than a minute and a half – every fifteen seconds or so the young man would grab the blonde around the waist and lift, whereupon she would scream, he would immediately let go, and she would totter around again. A few moments later, the sequence would repeat.


continued...

2265. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:25:23 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

I could take no more. Had they made some progress towards one of the exits in the parking garage, I probably would have just watched them go, but they were still in the middle of the parking lot at about the same place they were when I first saw them. This was becoming unbearable. What’s more, my mind kept going back to a film I saw in high school, where an entire apartment building in New York City just watched as a young woman was stabbed to death outside of it and none of them bothered to help her. I thought to myself, “You’re a Marine, dammit, do something!”

Finally, the young man came up behind her, grabbed her around the breasts (instead of around the waist, as he had previously) in a way which seemed more like a sexual rub than an attempt at moving her somewhere. Clearly, no husband or boyfriend (at least one who was getting any) would do that.

“Let her go!” I yelled.

Without a moment’s hesitation, as if he had seen me on the lanai watching them the entire time and was ready for my intervention, the young man turned around, pointed towards me, and shouted back, “I know where you live!”

My heart sank.

“Just let her go!” I yelled, a little more weakly this time.

The man ran towards the fence, climbed it, and vaulted over onto the grass strip maybe five yards to the left of my lanai. Then he made his move towards where I stood on the lanai. For a moment I couldn’t see him as he had left the well-lit parking lot and was not yet illuminated by the weaker lights coming from my apartment.

continued...

2266. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:29:44 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

At this point I should probably tell you something about Hawaiian men. They like to fight. I have never come across men so willing to fight as Hawaiian men. I grew up in redneck country (Cartman can verify this, I’m sure, since he grew up very close to my hometown), where men measured each other by the tobacco they chewed, the guns and four-wheelers they owned, and by the men they fought. This same redneck country -- because it was largely ranches and farms -- had a large proportion of Mexicans, who also had their fair share of men who were willing to fight. After I moved to Sacramento for my senior year in high school, I played ball against a lot of tough African-Americans kids who also liked – or at least were willing -- to fight. Yes, I’m exaggerating. Most men in each of these groups probably never were in a serious scrap. But the kind of men who were most respected in each of these subcultures were often the fighters among them.

Despite this experience, I have never been among a group of men who were so quick to fight as Hawaiians. Playing basketball against them, even the tough inner-city blacks (who had joined the military and found themselves in Hawaii) watched their step, careful not to offend. Let your eyes linger too long on one of them, and you could be sure you would hear about it immediately. What’s more, Hawaiian men don’t care for whites (unless you’re a pretty woman) and they care even less for white military men. I was no longer officially in the Marines, but I still had a military look and bearing.

continued...

2267. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:32:25 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

While I had been in plenty of scraps before, I’m not trained as a fighter, and as I had sparred with a couple of trained fighters, I was clear what the difference was between a scrapper who gets by on aggressiveness and athletic ability and a trained fighter (not one of those black belts at the co-ed facilities who trains in forms, but never seriously spars). What’s more, my appearance doesn’t inspire awe. I look something like a Mormon missionary (this is probably part of the reason I have to fight as often as I do). Because I had such an irascible personality on the basketball court that belied my appearance, I was often compared to Danny Ainge – a short Danny Ainge.

As this young Hawaiian hurtled over the fence, I knew I was in for a handful. He was shorter than me, maybe 5’6”, but he looked ten or twenty pounds heavier, and had one of those builds (as best I could make it out under the leather jacket) that you see on a compact wrestler. As he landed on the grass strip and began to make his way towards me, I knew I would have to fight. I moved to the edge of the lanai that was closest to the point on the grass strip where he landed. The lanai had a short gut-level fence between it and the grass strip. He couldn’t grapple me without clearing that short lanai fence. Given his wrestler-like build, I was sure that was what he would try to do, and by moving directly towards him, I cut off any landing spot for him on my side of the lanai.

continued...

2268. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:42:30 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

As he came out of the dark, I hit him in the nose with my right, more a bump or a graze than a solid hit, however (I punched too early). He jumped back with a shocked look. I got a better look at him. He was young. His face was almost adolescent-like in its smoothness. I had the reach on him, and given that the lanai was slightly elevated above the grass strip, he would have to make a good leap to get across onto my side. He tried to move to the other side of the lanai, carefully keeping out of my reach, but I shadowed him. As I followed his movements, I again thought to myself how young he looked. Seventeen, I thought. But seventeen year-olds can be on the high school wrestling team, and given his aggressiveness, he must have felt pretty confident about his chances. Marquis of Queensberry rules are damned for this one.

After shadowing him for a couple moments along the lanai, he stopped and bent over to pick something up. I knew immediately what he was doing even though I couldn’t see it in the dark. Below his feet, there were stones placed over a drain in the grass. I knew they were there because I had seen them during the day. They were the size of stones you would pick up to skip across a lake -- not large stones, but big enough to hurt if thrown at you and big enough to crack glass on, say, a sliding glass door if thrown hard enough. (Since he couldn’t have seen them in the dark, I later guessed that he must have felt them with his feet as he paced along the lanai trying to get at me.) I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline.

continued...

2269. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:44:44 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

Putting one hand on the lanai fence, I vaulted over it onto the grass. As I came over, he stood up, but with a surprisingly defensive – or at least not offensive – posture, as if he was waiting for me to start beating him. I didn’t disappoint him. My first four or five blows were to his face. He then covered up, wrapped his arms around his head to protect his face, and began to go down into a crouch. With my adrenaline pumping, and my fear dissipating -- as it became clear that I now had little to fear from this guy -- I literally pounded him into the ground. I must have hit him twenty times, with almost all of the blows (other than the initial flurry at his face) landing on the top of his head. And the entire time I was beating on him, I was vaguely aware I was screaming obscenities at him like “How do you like that, Bitch!” and “You’re nothing but a fucking faggot!”

Pulling up exhausted, my adrenaline surge shot, I had my first close-up steady look at the conquered. His baseball cap was gone, hidden somewhere on the grass around us in the dark; his black leather jacket was still on, but off his shoulders, exposing a white T-shirt that was now stained with large – and growing – spots of blood; his ponytail was undone and the top of his head was the only part visible to me now since his chin was resting on his T-shirt; his knees were tucked under him as he was slouched on the grass. While there was still movement from his nearly prostate body, he was obviously beaten. I had won.

continued...

2270. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:47:31 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

I had been in numerous fights before, most of them on the basketball court, and three or four of them while serving in the Marines. Once, as a lance corporal, I was almost written up (punished) for going after a corporal who was giving me orders in a tone I didn’t like. But unlike my other fights, this one in Hawaii that night was special. I had actually helped someone, maybe even saved a woman from being raped or, possibly, even murdered. I had done a brave and good deed. Most guys would have kept a low profile and let whatever was going to happen, happen. That night, however, I had fought to protect someone.

But I wasn’t completely satisfied. If I didn’t move him away from that area by my lanai, I feared a recovery by him would be followed by rocks thrown at my windows. I wanted him away from my apartment. I thought about going in to call the cops, but the movement in his body kept me out there and as he began to revive, I yelled at him, “Get the fuck out of here!”

continued...

2271. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:49:42 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

Suddenly, I heard a soft voice say, “Are you okay?”

I looked up to see a young Asian-American girl standing just behind the chain-link fence in the parking lot. She was probably sixteen or seventeen. I hadn’t seen her before. She was addressing the limp – but now stirring – figure in front of me. Something about the way she spoke to the guy made me think she knew him.

“Get your friend out of here!” I said to her, probably a little too loudly.

“Leave her alone,” she replied softly.





Her?





Oh shit.

Had I just beat the crap out of a girl???!!!

continued...

2272. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:55:03 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

Suddenly, a couple of incongruous details made sense – the smoothness of the skin, the ponytail (which of course can be worn on a man but still appears on women more often). This was not some punk I had just beat the shit out of, but a young Samoan woman. My heart sank.

It is hard for me to describe just how deflated I was in that instant when I recognized the magnitude of my error. I can’t ever remember a moment in my life when I felt so oddly at a loss for what had happened, when my feelings between two moments so close in time were so different in emotion. Seconds prior to that moment I had been flushed with victory, as mighty as a Gladiator, cursing like a sailor as I warned my vanquished foe not to repeat his treachery. Two seconds after realizing my mistake, I bent over to ask in a weak voice if she was all right.

Bloodied but not beaten, the aggressive young woman wasn’t going to let me off so easily. No longer in a stupor from my blows, she told her friend to call the cops (lying on the ground, legs akimbo, she still wasn’t going to be making the phone call herself). Standing up, I looked at her face, surveyed the scene around me, and did the first smart thing I had done all night: I went in, dialed 911, and reported an assault. I then walked out my front door to wait for the cops so that I could guide them to the scene.

continued...

2273. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 11:58:00 AM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

Less than half-a-minute later with the cops still not there, I decided to go back out to the lanai. (It had occurred to me that while I was waiting for the cops in the front of my complex she could still be throwing those stones at my sliding glass door in the back, and then make her getaway to God knows where. After all, I had never seen her before. How could I be sure she actually lived at that apartment complex behind me?) What I saw made me literally weak in the knees. There were now five teenage girls on the grass strip behind my lanai, including the girl I had beat up, the willowy blonde that I thought I had saved, and the Asian-American girl who had come out of nowhere after the fight. Where the other two had materialized from I have no idea. But that wasn’t what sent chills down my legs into my knees. All of them were crying. No, not just crying, but wailing. Here were five young women – no, not women, just girls -- shedding hot tears over the assault of their young female friend. I even found myself thinking what fiend could have caused this scene? I tried to picture it from the cops’ perspective. How would they see it? Nothing I came up with helped soothe my expectations.

And as a coup de grace, the young blonde, who I thought I had saved, now wanted a piece of my ass for beating up on her friend. Wildly swinging at me (and cursing me in a most un-ladylike fashion), she might have succeeded had the little lanai fence not kept me out of her reach (I had backed up against the sliding glass door). So as not to provoke another incident, I retreated back into the apartment. Just then, the cops arrived. Opening the door, I was confronted with the worst two types of cops I could have wanted at that moment: a white woman cop and a Samoan cop. Could my night get any better?

continued...

2274. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 12:33:35 PM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

I took the two cops out to the scene of the crime. To my surprise, no one was there. Spying something in the dark down the grass strip which I couldn’t see, the Samoan cop jumped the lanai fence and disappeared into the dark (later, I heard that the girls were apparently as worried about cops as I was and had temporarily retreated down the grass strip with the intent on making a getaway when their assaulted friend was up to it). As I began to explain my story to the female officer, two other cops arrived: an African-American male and a white male. I hoped that these two might be willing to listen to my story before hauling me off, but I still didn't put much stock into it.

But I was lucky. As I had hoped, both the white male cop and the African-American cop were sympathetic listeners, more curious as to what had happened than eager to crucify me. The female cop didn't say a word to me, but it seemed that was more because she was quiet or new to the force than because of any hostility she had towards me. It was the Samoan cop who was a problem. Once he returned from speaking with the girls at the end of the grass strip, I could tell he was keen for taking me on. He asked me four separate times if I really didn't know she was a girl when I was beating on her. The look in his eyes showed me he didn't really care how I answered the question, he had already decided I knew.

continued...

2275. PincherMartin - 5/20/2000 12:47:52 PM

The Fight in Hawaii, continued...

But fortunately, the Samoan cop was the only problem I had that night and other than trying to provoke me, he did nothing else to cause me any trouble. Later, I learned that several factors help keep me out of serious trouble.

1. All of the girls were drunk and underage.
   
   
2. The aggressive young Samoan girl had come over the fence to my property.
   
   
3. The entire apartment complex, awakened by the young blonde's screaming and my ensueing fight, collaborated my story: there was a fight between a man and a woman in the parking lot; I had told the man to leave her alone; the man had come over the fence to confront me; etc.

2276. JudithAtHome - 5/20/2000 1:10:38 PM

Pincher:

Not all Hawaiian men are fighters...some are lovers.

2277. Jenerator - 5/21/2000 9:56:16 AM

Telling story.

2278. PincherMartin - 5/21/2000 10:17:01 AM

Good morning Jenerator,

You're not looking for a fight, are you? Since I've discovered your mom is Marshame, I plan on being much more lenient with you in the future.

2279. Jenerator - 5/21/2000 10:30:50 AM

All I said was that it was a telling story, which it was. I'm glad you like Marshame, she's one great lady.

2280. CalGal - 5/21/2000 12:28:24 PM

You said yourself that there was no way the kids were over 21, so at best you were demolishing a young man, probably a teenager, when you were in your mid-20s. So you're dealing with a young punk who came onto your property to show off. You know he's not armed, because he reaches down to find a stone as a weapon.

Someone with nothing to prove would have gone back into his apartment, called the cops. Or at most, disabled the little punk and then stopped.

In other words, reading the story up to that point, this much is clear:

You overreacted to the danger of some short little shit who on "his" best day wouldn't pose any threat at all. Then, after putting him down, you don't stop there, but instead pummel him into near unconsciousness--someone who, male or female, is a good bit shorter and younger than you are. After destroying him, instead of feeling somewhat ashamed of yourself for letting loose on such easy pickings, you are flushed with pride and victory at your manliness--you have fought the good battle, and you have won! Never mind how well the odds were stacked in your favor, you have been able to righteously pound someone into submission, and in the cause of truth and righteousness besides!!!!! A damsel in distress--a blond damsel in distress--has been rescued from the evil islander, by the brave and noble Pincher Martin, who has finally been able to use his phenomenal powers for the side of truth and justice, and beat a young, probably teenage Samoan with no military experience into a pulp.

Wow.

Whatta man.

2281. CalGal - 5/21/2000 12:51:35 PM

So up to that point, as I said, I'm reading the story, thinking wow. How disgusting.

And then! it's a chick!!!! I start to laugh.

My reaction is unchanged. My filter doesn't make much distinction between you beating the shit out of a young male or young female punk. It was overkill either way, and it is, as Jen says, very telling.

But heavens. Pincher Martin sees a huge difference. What a wonderful way for you to get smacked in the stomach for your behavior--an ooof! as you discover that all that brave manliness was used to protect you and the fair damsel from.....a woman. Pincher was so afraid of someone who turned out to be a chick, felt so threatened by someone who turned out to be a chick, that his only recourse was to beat her up.

A happy ending.

2282. CalGal - 5/21/2000 12:59:14 PM

If you want an explanation of the girls' behavior, here is a guess:

A lot of teenage girls get a kick out of "experimenting", and they often do so when drunk. Presumably, the Samoan girl was truly lesbian, the blonde chick was someone she'd always had a crush on, and the blonde chick was using the cover of drunkenness to see what it would be like. But even drunk, she can't be seen to be completely enjoying the Samoan girl's advances. She allows the pursuit and the mild fondling--but only while giving the occasional "shriek" that ensures everyone knows she's not really gay, not really engaging in this. (The equivalent of a woman saying "No, no, no" as she submits to a guy's pass, obviously.)

So when you shouted to them, "Leave her alone!" there is really only one interpretation that makes sense. The Samoan girl thought you were telling her to leave the blonde chick alone--to let a man do the fondling, thanks so much. Get your disgusting female hands off of her. Samoan girl takes offense at some bigoted asshole interfering with their fun. Again, I figure she really is a lesbian, and is sick to death of fuckers giving her shit over behavior that wouldn't (to her mind) get a second glance if it was a man and a woman. So she's drunk, and probably a punk--besides, there are a hell of a lot of spookily overaggressive alcoholic lesbians out there.

I think she flipped at what she perceived as your prejudice, and picked a fight.

2283. CalGal - 5/21/2000 1:02:42 PM

I feel no sympathy for her, either. Chick or no, you jump someone's fence and pick a fight, you deserve what you get. (See, that's what life is like when you don't start automatically changing your reaction based on the gender of the people involved, Pincher. You might try it some time.)

While I might not think much of an adult Marine who can't handle an unarmed smaller punk without beating him to a pulp, I don't think the cops did the wrong thing. Although I would have loved to see you explain your behavior to a judge.

"So--you were scared? You thought 'he' would hurt you?" judge looks over at the undersized punk. "Hmm. They don't make Marines the way they used to. Oh, well. Mr. Martin, next time you're 'scared', please run inside your house, lock the door, and call the cops. Case dismissed."

2284. CalGal - 5/21/2000 1:13:05 PM

BTW, this discussion is probably suitable for Indy's new thread.

2285. PincherMartin - 5/21/2000 6:55:57 PM

CalGal -- Message # 2280

These posts reads like the opinion of someone who has never been in a fight but thinks they have accurately conceptualized how they should happen.

You said yourself that there was no way the kids were over 21, so at best you were demolishing a young man, probably a teenager, when you were in your mid-20s. So you're dealing with a young punk who came onto your property to show off. You know he's not armed, because he reaches down to find a stone as a weapon.

Young punk or not, someone who comes barreling over a fence in the middle of the night means trouble. I happened to get the one case when it wasn't true. It makes for a funny story. Thoroughly ensconced in your psycho babble jargon, you believe it to be a telling motif in my life. While I should have called the cops when I first heard the scream, from the point the butch-girl came over the fence at me, I don't think my actions were that far out of bounds. It's the middle of the night. I don't know if he's armed or not. He appears capable of violence and is extremely aggressive.

You overreacted to the danger of some short little shit who on "his" best day wouldn't pose any threat at all. Then, after putting him down, you don't stop there, but instead pummel him into near unconsciousness--someone who, male or female, is a good bit shorter and younger than you are.

I'm not so sure how you became so capable of assessing physical threats. Could you fill me in? I've been in a lot of fights and I can say from my experience, you simply can't tell how they will go based on a couple of attributes. Some big guys are like teddy bears and after a bluff, quickly fold. Some short guys have spent a lifetime feeling pissed off about it and consequently can be some of the most dangerous fighters you'll run up against.

2286. PincherMartin - 5/21/2000 7:00:40 PM

I am not a big man so simply bear-hugging a guy who is shorter, but stockier than me and wrestling him to the ground until he wears himself out was never a possibility. I have two advantages over most people: I'm quick and I punch hard for someone my size. That's pretty much it. Call it my comparative advantage, but I'm not going to battle someone who looks like a wrestler on his terms.

Did I overdo it? Yeah, but this person had just reached down to pick up a stone to throw at me. Until that point I had only punched him once (a graze on the nose) and then shadowed him along the lanai -- those are fairly mild actions considering what he had done. After he bent down for the stones, I think I can be forgiven for letting my fear and adrenaline overtake me and then feeling good about the result afterwards. How was I to know? You seem to have a clear idea of how my reactions should have proceeded along each moment of this sequence for someone who has never fought before.

Someone who is short (around 5'6") but about 180 pounds (twenty pounds heavier than I was at the time), appears to be Hawaiian (which as I explained in my introduction has a strong culture of violence where men fight all the time), appears to be physically assaulting a young female, comes barreling over a fence in the middle of the night, and then rushes towards me on my property. You say it should have been clear this person wasn't a threat to me and that I should have used restrained physical measures to counteract him because at that time I thought he looked young. Go figure.

2287. PincherMartin - 5/21/2000 7:01:39 PM

Wow.

Whatta man.

Since the point of posting the story here was to parody my own reactions to the fight, I guess I should allow you to continue in the same vein. But lessons on the use of discretion are harder to take coming from the lady who lets everyone know how she jumped in some waitress's shit for poor service or how she cursed like a Marine at some fool who got in her way. If you were a man, you would be far, far worse than me in your aggressive, in-your-face behavior. But you're a woman so there are limits to how your aggressiveness will manifest itself and how others will respond to it.

But heavens. Pincher Martin sees a huge difference.

You may not think there is a difference between beating up a man and a woman, but most others would (certainly the cops wouldn't have given it a second thought if the girl had turned out to be a guy in those circumstances, even if they still lectured me on calling them first, next time) Men -- even short, young men -- can be dangerous. Women, for the most part (like 99%), cannot. When an aggressive man -- even a short, young man -- gets in my face, I stay alert. I can't remember a woman ever getting in my face threatening physical violence (with the exception of this case), but I'm sure I would either walk away or laugh, depending on the circumstances. They simply aren't the same. To pretend as you do that somehow they are equivalent trivial dangers is ridiculous. Teenage men fight and kill all the time (or haven't you noticed?); young women do not. Plus, I didn't card him before we fought. He looked young, but his actions were of someone who was confident and aggressive.

2288. Jack Vincennes - 5/21/2000 8:03:50 PM

Pinch

Great story. I can verify one aspect of it. The short fuse of Samoans. Unfortunately, my proof is really no more than two experiences with dudes I took to be Samoans (they all had that Hawaii Five-O extra look). First, I'm playing in a foursome at Rock Creek Park with my brother and two big ass, Mark Tuinea-like Samoans who we never met. One of them goes up to address a drive, and the group in front of us is still in the fairway about 220 yards out. Now this Samoan is large and I say, "Hey, you'll definitely hit into them" and he smiles and says "Think so?" Thwack! He puts the ball 250 out right over the heads of two of the group in front of us. So, now the two guys who have been fired upon head back in their cart, and these Samoans start getting juiced and slapping my arm, like I'm supposed to get excited by a fight. Good fortune. When the guys approached and met two big-ass Samoans wielding low irons, they smartly headed back to finish their round.

The other Hawaiian I knew was in high school, and he would fight everybody over anything. One day, he got in a fight with a black kid I knew. The black kid just kept ignoring the Hawaiian until he could ignore him no more (face slaps, spitting on his shes, etc . . . ) So, the black kid goes to his gym bag, puts in a mouthpiece and beats the Hawaiian to death with jabs for 20 minutes. The Hawaiian is flat out on the ground, hit to the face 30 to 40 times, we go to class, I have the black kid in my class, and 20 minutes later, the Hawaiian busts in the class, a face like a tumor, picks up a desk, and tries to brain the black kid. He was subdued and was out of school shortly thereafter.

2289. IrvingSnodgrass - 5/21/2000 8:42:56 PM

Contrary to what recent posts in this thread may indicate, the terms "Hawaiian" and "Samoan" are not interchangeable, but refer to two related but distinct ethnic groups. If you want a term for referring to both groups, try "Polynesian" or "Pacific Islander."

2290. Jack Vincennes - 5/21/2000 8:47:14 PM

Irv

Thanks.

Errata.

Polynesians/Pacific Islanders love to fight.

2291. Jack Vincennes - 5/21/2000 8:51:49 PM

But I expect some kudos for spelling Hawaiian correct.

The payoff from spurning Hi-C as a youth.

2292. JudithAtHome - 5/21/2000 9:34:30 PM

Okay guys, enough with picking on the Hawaiians...haoles are pretty feisty, too.

2293. CalGal - 5/22/2000 1:42:15 AM

Irv,

Let it be noted that I didn't confuse the two. I use "Islander" to refer to Tongans and Samoans. I suppose I should use it to describe Hawaiians, too, but I've never had occasion to.

Pincher,

These posts reads like the opinion of someone who has never been in a fight but thinks they have accurately conceptualized how they should happen.

Wrong. I've been in any number of physical confrontations with men--those I know, and those I don't know. I did not speak of psychobabble, but as someone who is reasonably used to dealing with these sorts of situations.

Your response is nothing more than a rationalization. In the end, it does nothing to address what I see as the crux of the issue: you felt "flushed and jubilant" for kicking a young kid's ass, despite all your background and training. And once he was immobilized, you kept on punching.

Please note: I don't see this as any terrible failing. No doubt you've outgrown the need to prove yourself against those who one would think you outclassed. I just thought I'd throw my reaction into the mix of those who would see it your way.

2294. CalGal - 5/22/2000 7:56:42 AM

The Lahaina Coast

I started my day with breakfast at Longhi’s, a popular Lahaina restaurant. Very precious—they have no menus. The line is that the chef can be more spontaneous, but really, people, how much trouble is it to print one out daily? I am the sort who mulls over a menu; this is far too much pressure. I can't remember what the hell they rattled off twenty seconds after they’ve finished, so there’s no point in saying, “Give me a couple minutes, thanks.” No, I have to make the decision right then. Where's the fun in that? The food is fine; this isn’t an overrated tourist trap.

2295. CalGal - 5/22/2000 8:01:32 AM

I am always taken aback when I see surfers flocking to these rocky, uncomfortable beaches. That’s dedication, baby.

2296. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 8:27:27 AM

I find Cal's reaction to PM's story laughable. Such a stretch. So full of intellectuous analysis. But like she said, she really presented it for a bit of spice. It worked, Cal, I got a charge out of it. It was rich.

2297. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 8:55:37 AM

This is just my opinion here... I've never been someone who looks for confrontation. I've still found myself in two fights in my adult life, both times I was defending myself. I've been assaulted a couple of other times, but I was able to utilize the prefered method of just removing myself from the situation. You can't even begin to comprehend the dynamics of a physical fight until someone attacks you.

Never underestimate your opponent. You have no way of knowing how far your opponent is willing to go in their assault on you.

When she bent down to get stones, she could have been getting a boot knife or who knows what. It's not necessarily Pinch's job to evaluate. It happens too fast in a fight... and once cornered you can not be expected to do anything except subdue the threat.

As you can tell from the story, a number of people observed what was going on in the parking lot... doesn't sound like they were making much effort to intervene or call the cops... perhaps they were on their balconies analyzing the sexual orientation of the women... no, I think they just didn't want to get involved.

Pinch spoke out and should be commended for intervening, people just don't get involved these days. I don't think it's right or fair to admonsish him for his actions, not by anyone who wasn't there in the moment.

He didn't kill her, or seem to even hurt her seriously. How can you say his reaction was overkill? He gave her more than ample opportunity to disengage, between his initial punch, and the shadowing on the deck. As the aggressor it was soley her responsibility to break off the attack. If she ran, and he followed, _then_ he may have been out of line.

2298. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 8:55:45 AM

It's seems easy to judge someones behavior with a 20/20 assesment of the situation. In my opinion the aggressor in a fight deserves everything they get. Pinch never took the "offensive" (I use that term lightly, because he was actually taking control of the situation) until the very last moments in the fight.

If you are attacked, you have a right to defend yourself.

2299. PelleNilsson - 5/22/2000 11:10:51 AM

I think Pincher's story is a good one with a nice twist and that's all there is to it. I don't feel compelled to make any moral judgements regarding his behaviour in what was obviously a difficult situation to call.

2300. CalGal - 5/22/2000 11:27:56 AM

If you are attacked, you have a right to defend yourself.

hahahahaha. Tell you what--if you ever manage to compose a thought that wasn't generated by third rate propaganda literature, do make sure you post it here first, will you? It'd be a pleasant change.

Focus hard, o dim and derivative one, and comprehend that I've never denied that anyone has the right to defend oneself. In fact, I've said quite the opposite. Go back and try again.

It's not necessarily Pinch's job to evaluate [what she was picking up].

He said she was picking up a stone. Had he not known what she was picking up, he would have said so. Otherwise, that lack of knowledge would have been a key plot point. Pay attention to the story as written, yes?

As for the character's sexual orientation, I was not blaming Pincher for that at all. I merely offered it as the most likely explanation for the girls' reactions.

You can't even begin to comprehend the dynamics of a physical fight until someone attacks you.

In which case, I've got much more experience than you do. If you are saying that one requires experience to judge, live by your own rules and shut up. If instead everyone is allowed to opine, quit announcing that one needs experience.

It's seems easy to judge someones behavior with a 20/20 assesment of the situation.

It must be very easy indeed, otherwise you would never be capable of it. And yet, your whole post is nothing more than a judgment, a 20/20 assessment. Do be sure to stand up and be counted.

2301. CalGal - 5/22/2000 11:40:38 AM

Now. Pay attention--perhaps the third i is interfering with your vision. Here is what I am saying, by the numbers.

1. Pincher was a 25-year old Marine
2. He sees a beautiful blonde in a situation with another young punk that he himself acknowledges is ambiguous, and finally decides to act (saying exactly the wrong thing, of course.)
3. The young punk comes running into his property.
4. Pincher beats him thoroughly.
5. If, at this point, his reaction had been "Man, that was dirty--but I can't see anything else I could have done to get out of the situation cleanly", I'd figure that for the appropriate emotional reaction--whether or not I agreed there was nothing that could be done. A Marine dealing with a teenager, feeling he probably should have handled it differently, and so on.
6. But instead, Pincher is flush with victory--he has vanquished the bad guy, while protecting a woman! On the side of goodness and light! At which point, I say, oh please. If kicking some much younger kid's ass, a kid without his training and expertise, is all it takes for him to feel like he's accomplished something, he's setting his sights far too low.
7. The happy ending, of course, is that Pincher is deprived of his righteous win by learning that his victim--just as young, just as drunk, just as untrained--is a woman.

2302. DaveM - 5/22/2000 11:44:16 AM

It's too bad neither of the combatants had a gun. That would have made 2,000,001 defensive gun uses that year.

2303. CalGal - 5/22/2000 11:50:09 AM

hahahahahahaha.

If Pincher had shot her, he would also have been within his rights, I think. Hell, it'd worked in New Orleans.

2304. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 12:40:18 PM

intellectuous pontification

2305. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 12:53:16 PM

It was a good story pinch...

hahahahaha. Tell you what--if you ever manage to compose a thought that wasn't generated by third rate propaganda literature, do make sure you post it here first, will you? It'd be a pleasant change.


Whatever... my only consideration here is that in any confrontation it's the aggressors who is ultimately responsible for the outcome. Pinch was the only one in his entire complex who said anything, or even called the cops apparently. I didn't spout anything even remotely propagandistic.


You can't even begin to comprehend the dynamics of a physical fight until someone attacks you.

In which case, I've got much more experience than you do. If you are saying that one requires experience to judge, live by your own rules and shut up. If instead everyone is allowed to opine, quit announcing that one needs experience.

Who are you to judge my experiences? You know only what I share, and I've shared exceedingly little. If you have so much more fight experience than I do... then wouldn't that make you less able to deal with confrontation to begin with.

2306. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 12:53:24 PM

It's seems easy to judge someones behavior with a 20/20 assesment of the situation.

It must be very easy indeed, otherwise you would never be capable of it. And yet, your whole post is nothing more than a judgment, a 20/20 assessment. Do be sure to stand up and be counted.

My whole post was about how impossible it is to judge pinch's actions... what do you mean judge? My only judgement is that aggressor takes responsiblily for outcome. I don't care about age or experience difference... not Pinch's responsibility to decide right then and there because the moment is at hand.

My post wasn't even an attack on yours necessarily Cal? At least I don't call you names or instantly start attacking character, inteligence, or beliefs... people are entitled to express themselves... right? Might offer that maybe that's why you've wound up with so much more "experience" than I apparently have.

2307. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 12:53:37 PM

2302. DaveM - 5/22/00 4:44:16 PM
It's too bad neither of the combatants had a gun. That would have made 2,000,001 defensive gun uses that year.

2303. CalGal - 5/22/00 4:50:09 PM
hahahahahahaha.

If Pincher had shot her, he would also have been within his rights, I think. Hell, it'd worked in New Orleans.

Who said anything about a gun? Did I say shoot her? Just sniping on your part... typical for themote. At least Cal Gal generally gives someting worth talking about. I pretty much enjoy her posts depsite the fact she's defensive and caustic in this case....again, whatever.

However, since you brought it up... My views on gun control in no way suggest that I think guns should be used in every confrontation (not even a majority... not even a lot). My views on gun control don't suggest that I think everyone should have a gun.

My views on gun control are grounded in two beliefs. 1)That people should have a right to decide for themselves, and should be held accountable based on those decisions to do the right thing. 2)The government can't and shouldn't legislate morality or enact legislation which will, in my opinion, do nothing to actually prevent murder or accidents.

2308. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 12:55:59 PM

How presumptuous. I would not presume to judge PM in this case.

2309. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 1:29:54 PM

This is getting close to off thread, but since it's an hypothetical extension of Pinch's story...

So let's add it to his story...what if he did have a gun?...

Using a gun in self defense doesn't mean pulling the trigger. She'd likely to have seen it, backed off and no one would have been punched or any of this happening at all. Assuming we're in a world where his right to have the weapon are being honored, he still would have called the police... still made a report etc etc.

Since when does a proposed gun in this proposed scenario necessarily mean a tragic result?

--------------
If it is, as Cal says Pinch should have realized, a teenage lesbian fooling around with new and confusing emotions requiring alcohol to give her the nerve... does the fact it's a lesbian encounter make it not a rape?

Just curious.

2310. CalGal - 5/22/2000 1:30:10 PM

Might offer that maybe that's why you've wound up with so much more "experience" than I apparently have.


Suppose I were to tell you that some of it was due to being a battered child, and some of it due to having a husband who beat me? Or should any battered woman (or man) reading your post wonder if their greater experience in physical fighting is something they deserve?

No, don't bother backpedaling. I know you didn't mean it. Learn how to insult people without cutting a wider swathe than you intend. But if I were to prioritize your educational objectives, I'd ask you to focus on the slogan quoting first.

My whole post was about how impossible it is to judge pinch's actions... what do you mean judge?

Don't be absurd. You spoke out in approval of his actions several times. What is that, if not judging? You just judged favorably.

I don't care about age or experience difference...

So if a 40 year old man with a black belt in karate demolished a 15-year-old who came onto his lawn to pick up a Frisbee and then clasped his hands above his head and said, "I AM THE GREATEST!", you would think no more or less of him than a man who said, "Kid, I just put down a new rose bed, and if you move a step nearer I'll own your ass for the summer to pay for the damage you'll have done."

That's all we're talking about, here. I'm not saying Pincher didn't have the right to do what he did.

2311. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 1:36:13 PM

Right, what you did, Cal, is tell us what it all means. If it ain't judgement its spin.

2312. CalGal - 5/22/2000 1:37:34 PM

If it is, as Cal says Pinch should have realized, a teenage lesbian fooling around with new and confusing emotions requiring alcohol to give her the nerve... does the fact it's a lesbian encounter make it not a rape?

Not only DIDN'T I say that in my original posts, I patiently corrected you the first time you idiotically attributed that notion to me, here:

As for the character's sexual orientation, I was not blaming Pincher for that at all. I merely offered it as the most likely explanation for the girls' reactions.

Spelling it out again would take more effort than you are worth. If you read my posts again, perhaps the magnitude of your cluelessness will become apparent. Perhaps not. If I see signs of gleaming comprehension, I may re-engage.

But in any case, take your hypothetical to Indy's gender thread, where I should have posted my last few remarks as well.

2313. CalGal - 5/22/2000 1:41:21 PM

Uz,

If it ain't judgement its spin.

I said I judged his actions. Never denied it. Judging him is a different thing entirely.

Generally I ignore your snipes from the sidelines; they're not usually worth acknowledging. Not that you were in this case, either, but it's a distinction that many miss so I thought I'd clarify.

2314. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 1:45:49 PM

Man, the Mote is hot and the internet is slow, certainly cutting down my flow. But I gotta go. Soooo...................TTFN and not again until tomorrow.

2315. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 1:47:07 PM

Cal:

LOL

2316. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 1:52:04 PM

and, Cal, your subjectless pictures are a pain in the ass.

2317. CalGal - 5/22/2000 2:22:49 PM

Gosh, and here I'd thought they had no redeeming value whatsoever.

2318. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 3:14:40 PM

The pain is worth the story they tell, Cal.

2319. Jenerator - 5/22/2000 3:16:25 PM

Okay, everyone just cool off. Let's all have some candy and think happy thoughts.

2320. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 3:34:37 PM

2310. CalGal - 5/22/00 6:30:10 PM
Might offer that maybe that's why you've wound up with so much more "experience" than I apparently have.

Suppose I were to tell you that some of it was due to being a battered child, and some of it due to having a husband who beat me? Or should any battered woman (or man) reading your post wonder if their greater experience in physical fighting is something they deserve?

No, don't bother backpedaling. I know you didn't mean it. Learn how to insult people without cutting a wider swathe than you intend. But if I were to prioritize your educational objectives, I'd ask you to focus on the slogan quoting first.

Suppose I were to offer that you weren't the only person in the world who's on the receiving end of abuse... shit, everyone's got something to be a victim about. I hope you left the bastard, and I hope he got what he deserved, but the truth is you don't know squat about my life, and I'm not going to entertain "my life was shittier than yours" discussions.

All I did was offer another viewpoint that at most was simply contrary to yours. You're the one who started with the caustic tone. Seeing as you're someone who's so quick to jump into that mode, I rightfully offered that's how you got the "experience". You need to chill out.

2321. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 3:34:51 PM

My whole post was about how impossible it is to judge pinch's actions... what do you mean judge?

Don't be absurd. You spoke out in approval of his actions several times. What is that, if not judging? You just judged favorably.

I didn't judge Pinch favorably… I judged the girl unfavorably… because she was the aggressor.
---------------------
I don't care about age or experience difference...

So if a 40 year old man with a black belt in karate demolished a 15-year-old who came onto his lawn to pick up a Frisbee

The scenario we're dealing with here is a 25-year-old, and an unidentifiable aged assailant who initiated the attack.

I'm particularly interested now in how long the whole fight lasted from the initial punch… probably something like 30 seconds… I don't know… That was the sense of timing I got from the story…

2322. iiibbb - 5/22/2000 3:35:02 PM

2312. CalGal - 5/22/00 6:37:34 PM

Not only DIDN'T I say that in my original posts, I patiently corrected you the first time you idiotically attributed that notion to me, here:

Well, I certainly didn't introduce the concept of her being gay... and I don't know how you could expect pinch to make such sweeping analysis while being charged by an unidentified assailant. Pinch isn't even a girl... so for him to draw your interpretation is just too big of a leap.

If you want an explanation of the girls' behavior, here is a guess:

A lot of teenage girls get a kick out of "experimenting", and they often do so when drunk. Presumably, the Samoan girl was truly lesbian, the blonde chick was someone she'd always had a crush on, and the blonde chick was using the cover of drunkenness to see what it would be like. But even drunk, she can't be seen to be completely enjoying the Samoan girl's advances. She allows the pursuit and the mild fondling--but only while giving the occasional "shriek" that ensures everyone knows she's not really gay, not really engaging in this. (The equivalent of a woman saying "No, no, no" as she submits to a guy's pass, obviously.)

2323. CalGal - 5/22/2000 3:43:53 PM

iii,

I'm not sure what syllable of "take it to another thread" you've failed to comprehend.

2324. PincherMartin - 5/22/2000 6:00:53 PM

Thanks, Irv, for correcting my equivalent interchange of the words "Samoan" and "Hawaiian". I should have mentioned it in my story. "Samoan" is often used colloquially -- and ignorantly -- among the military (and probably among many others as well) to describe Hawaiians. Who knows why that is. Perhaps "Samoan" sounds more menacing than "Hawaiian" (or "Pacific Islander" or "Polynesian"), which to most people is more suggestive of hula dances and leis. I played into those connotations with my account.

Jack Vincennes --

Great stories [in the other thread]. You can probably understand my trepidation when a Samoan/Hawaiian/Pacific Islander/Polynesian comes over the fence in the middle of the night to get a piece of me. I thought I was in for the fight of my life.

2325. PincherMartin - 5/22/2000 6:18:27 PM

CalGal --

A couple of points:

When my four year enlistment was over, I was a Sergeant (not a commissioned officer -- not that it would have mattered for this case as officers receive no more hand-to-hand combat training than enlisted men) who had been trained as a Tactical Data repairman for what was called the 3-Alpha (it's now out of service). Responsibilities for this military occupation include setting up communication links with AWACs and tying their information in with our ground radar and, in turn, sending that information out to other sites. I can count on one hand the number of days I received hand-to-hand combat training in the Marines (all of which were in boot camp, a full five years prior to the incident). A couple of those days were with silly things such as Pugil sticks that you would never use in a street encounter. Marines in particular units receive more training in hand-to-hand combat, but I would say it's not a priority for anyone.

Also, perhaps you remember that section in my story where I wrote the following:

While I had been in plenty of scraps before, I’m not trained as a fighter, and as I had sparred with a couple of trained fighters, I was clear what the difference was between a scrapper who gets by on aggressiveness and athletic ability and a trained fighter (not one of those black belts at the co-ed facilities who trains in forms, but never seriously spars).

I'm a scrapper, not a trained fighter. The Marines got me in shape and trained me for what they needed, but they didn't teach me what to do in hand-to-hand combat on the street. What little I learned -- and it is little --was picked up by myself. The rest is juts natural aggressiveness and atheleticism (both of which are quickly dissipating).

2326. PincherMartin - 5/22/2000 6:22:29 PM

#2325 has been copied and moved to the Gender thread.

2327. marshame - 5/22/2000 6:47:52 PM

Picher Martin

Re your story: don't you just hate when that happens?

No seriously, that was quite an intriguing tale. Life takes some strange turns, doesn't it?

Whatever anyone's analysis, I am quite confident that if the scene were to play out today (10 years later) that PM would handle it differently.

2328. PincherMartin - 5/22/2000 6:51:29 PM

Marshame --

Whatever anyone's analysis, I am quite confident that if the scene were to play out today (10 years later) that PM would handle it differently.

Of course! I bet you've already noted how unagressive and thoughtful I am in my demeanor here ;-)

2329. marshame - 5/22/2000 6:53:59 PM

I don't know about that but I do know that most of us have done things at age 25 that we regretted.

2330. uzmakk - 5/22/2000 7:54:03 PM

There was once a Samoan lesbian named Tam who lived with her mother in a small house by the roadside. They were very very poor, but eventually things got so bad that Tam's mother told her to take their last pig to market. On the way to market Tam met a woman called Cal Gal, who offered to trade her magic beans for the pig.............................oh, never mind.

2331. PsychProf - 5/23/2000 1:42:30 PM

I wrote this for my year 2000 high school reunion...

The recent Memorial Service discussion has caused a flood of memories to return to me concerning one of our deceased classmates...David Findlay. David and I were long-time grade school buddies...endlessly chasing the random bounces of every type of ball...basketballs, wiffleballs, baseballs, you name it. We must have seemed to be joined at the hip, as we tripped down stairs of the Boys Club after school, invincible and without horizon. David shared a love of books, and we took fervent interest in the events of life for Alfred E Newman and his bizarre characters at Mad Magazine. He was a bit of a social hub, and many came and went from his house, hanging out and avoiding adults. Vividly I recall that David once hosted a seventh grade "spin-the bottle" party(what do they spin today? A joint? Ecstasy pill?). I prepared assiduously and ardently for the brouhaha, conquering the mechanics and dynamics of the Coca-Cola bottle spin, made difficult by the convoluted glass curvature and the varying friction correlates of floor surfaces.

2332. PsychProf - 5/23/2000 1:42:36 PM

cont...

The night of the party, however, saw me prepared with almost Michael Jordan like confidence, and my intended victim, one Donna Transki, was easily "spun" on my first try. I joined this vision of loveliness and splendor around the corner, where we proceeded to laugh, not kiss, for a minute or two, then friends forever. But, alas, I digress. High School brought diverging trajectories for David and myself, and we left the the thoughts and lives of each other. Upon graduation, I was informed that he had obtained a position with the Post Office, a much respected endeavor within certain sectors of my family. Indeed, cousins and uncles saw college(read my participation in) as reification of Socialism, FDR, and other commie-like ideologies and activities...I think I had an uncle who was convinced that Social Security was the work of Karl Marx. I saw David no more than a few times during the early "college" years...usually at Hill's drug store or a chance street encounter. For a brief moment, we would be friends again, laughing and competing...but the second passed, and stilted conversation and separate lives prevented us from any meaningful discourse. I do recall that he expressed on at least one occasion that he was dissatisfied with his life, but my own shallowness of person precluded any understanding or empathy. It was not long before I was told of his death, possibly through motorcycle injury. It was only then that I realized I had lost more than a friend.

2333. iiibbb - 5/24/2000 11:41:46 AM

Since we're on the topics of pranks and the differences between males and females… here's a good story about something I did when I was in college.

After a number of years in school it turned out that I didn't really fit in very well the people who usually select my major. I also happen to have a maverick streak in me which kind of revels in the fact that I don't really fit molds anyhow.

There was a guy (we'll call him Bill) who I worked alongside for a few months on a work study program. He and I were not particularly compatible. He didn't like me for various reasons, and because he fit in with the other people in our program, I fit in even less.

However, there was one guy I hung out with (Jake) who was also a bit of an outsider and we were pretty good friends… it also so happened that Bill took a dislike to Jake as well, so Jake and I would occasionally lament about what a jerk he was. This went on for several years and things between Bill and I had reached an equilibrium of sorts… a you-don't-bother-me/I-won't-bother-you-arrangement although I remained an outsider amongst my classmates.

2334. iiibbb - 5/24/2000 11:42:22 AM

Anyhow, one day Jake and I were contemplating various pranks we could play on Bill. After thinking about it and having some good laughs about possibilities… we came up with one that was actually plausible, and for the most part, harmless. We decided that what we needed to do was to post a hundred signs around campus (25K students at my school) stating there would be a big party at his house and give directions. What's more, we were going to do this the weekend before exams, and have 4 kegs with only a dollar cover charge. Something most college students would not be able to resist.

So the planning began… but after a while, I started to have second thoughts. If we were to do this prank, there would be no way to find out if it was at all successful. Not only that, any attempt to determine its success would mean risking exposure to Bill that we were responsible. Things between Bill and I had become pretty quiet in the past year, and I didn't want to open fresh wounds. It seemed impractical to follow through with the prank.

However, it was too good of an idea to just throw out… I couldn't do it… then I had a revelation… "Why not do it to someone we don't know?"

2335. iiibbb - 5/24/2000 11:42:47 AM

It just so happened that there was a set of 3 condominiums that were visible from my apartment window. It also just so happened that the guys who lived there were… well... They had on occasion made catcalls at several of our female friends when they walked by on the street. So Jake and I thought, "Why not them?" It was perfect, we could even watch.

So Jake and I made 100 signs that said "WHAT EXAMS??? PARTY!!! Four Kegs/Dollar Cover. PARTY TIL IT'S ALL GONE!!!… set it for Saturday night, and posted them all over campus the weekend before exams.

Let me tell you… it worked better than I could have imagined. That night (I happen to be a big basketball fan) I was watching a favorite college team play a big game on the TV. I was only looking out the windows during commercials, and during those brief moments, over the course of the next 3 hours, I counted somewhere around 60 people. The largest group being a cluster of 30 cup laden freshman males. In fact, I only counted maybe 5 women total, all of them with escorts.

It also so happened, the local police had been trying to crack down on the resale of alcohol to minors. So these keg cover parties were not in favor with the local government. The police showed up several times in the beginning to try to bust it up, but no-one was there.

One participant had parked his Bronco on their lawn with the headlights pointed at windows. I've gotten second hand reports from people that there one group trying to force entry by bashing the doors in.

2336. iiibbb - 5/24/2000 11:43:00 AM

At one point in the evening, I finally walked down to better inspect the carnage. Their condos didn't face my window directly, so I could only see the side of their building. Two condos had completely abandoned ship. The other, had all their lights on, but the curtains drawn, and they would not answer the door for anyone who went up.

After thinking about this for a while… I decided that perhaps it was less of a joke on the people who lived there (although it was a pretty good joke)… but also on the huge numbers of cup laden freshman who tried to attend.

Now… here's the beauty of this prank. If I'd done this to Bill, I would have had to keep my mouth completely shut about this. Now, I could tell almost anyone. It's a huge school… if by some weird happenstance it'd worked it's way around to those guys… and they came over… I'd only be able to look at them blankly and say, "Who are you? Why would I do that to someone I don't know? Do I look that unreasonable?" Nevermind the fact in this case I was that unreasonable.

2337. iiibbb - 5/24/2000 11:44:01 AM

I don't know if there's a moral to this story...

The two main effects were that I had a lot of good laughs over it, and my friends don't play pranks on me.

2338. marjoribanks - 5/24/2000 11:55:22 AM

Infantile prank, iiibbb, I quite like it.

I used to go to Model United nations a lot in high school. Unbelievably boring, but got us out of school for a few days. At one particular session, a friend and I stole the precious gavel from the "Secretary General." She was pissed, they cost mony, the organizers wouldn't give her another one, etc, etc. We then sent several anonymous notes to the "Secretary general" in various hands saying that the United States delegation had stolen it. She (paranoid woman) accused them of it and asked them to "anonymously' hand it over. It became a running gag with all the delegations, we started rferring to the US delegation as "alleged possesors of stolen property" randomly in sesson. They were a bunch of nervous wrecks, and we laughed all the way home. Hey, I know it's even more juvenile, but we were in high-school after all.

2339. iiibbb - 5/24/2000 1:51:06 PM

I wonder a lot about what was going through those guys minds the night people started showing up. That must have been so out of nowhere... so bizzare.

...Many times in my life I've found myself in what seems like such unbridled randomness... it really makes you think about how the course of unrelated events can really converge to create totally bizzare situations.

Maybe they just blamed friends of theirs...

2340. iiibbb - 5/24/2000 1:57:21 PM

majori...

...my little brother was sent by our church to a Presbyterian youth congress of some kind. It was held at Purdue University. They were very strict about where the boys and girls could intermingle...raging hormones and all that.

In protest, he helped form this group called the "Presbyterian Youth Liberation Front" or PYLF. They posted signs all around the conference threatening reprisals if the boys and girls weren't given more liberties to coexist. They began a string of terrorist water balloon bombings always on the dining hall lines. They kept sending notes to the leadership saying the bombings would continue until their demands were met quoting all sorts of obscure passages from the bible.

They were never uncovered. It was quite hillarious.

2341. Webfeet - 5/26/2000 1:42:59 PM

ibib

I find your so-called prank unethical. You created a potentially dangerous situation for no other reason than to take revenge on some harmless guys who threatened your masculinity by whistling at your girlfriends. Poor little you.

Next time why not piss on a fire hydrant instead of endangering the welfare of other people?

And, while Im here, the whole build up with 'bill' was a poor introduction to your pathetic little anecdote which veered off into a pointless story that showcased what a spectacular moron you are.

2342. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 1:52:57 PM

Go Webbie!!!

2343. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 2:00:02 PM

Sorry Web...I am not with you on this one. I offer no judgment on the story...after all this is a "story-telling' page. Kinda chilling to have the thread host take on such a role. Just my thoughts.

2344. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 2:05:47 PM

And, ofcourse, you are absolutely right PP. I mean how can we work up the courage to tell our stories if we know we are going to be judged on them.

2345. rubberducky7 - 5/26/2000 2:09:12 PM

well, if that's the case, uz, i think Pinch has pretty much achieved that

2346. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 2:11:01 PM

Absolutely, ducky. I was rather shocked by what transpired.

2347. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 2:11:10 PM

Uz...was your point sarcastic?

2348. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 2:14:14 PM

Isn't the point of this thread to tell stories?

2349. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 2:14:41 PM

No sarcasm whatsoever, psychprof. Though I am often sarcastic.

2350. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 2:16:15 PM

I wasat least surprised.

2351. PelleNilsson - 5/26/2000 2:26:55 PM

I wasn't surprised at all. The normally hard-boiled Pincher opened up. That CalGal would step in was a foregone conclusion.

2352. CalGal - 5/26/2000 3:33:15 PM

Is it inappropriate to comment on stories if they reveal something about the person involved? Or are we to only comment on the mechanics of the story telling--unless our comment is positive?

For example, PP didn't tell banks he was wrong to comment on the prank--only Web. But both people commented on the prank.

PP, I'm not picking on you--just noting the inconsistency. It is Web's thread, which says to me that she more than anyone can decide whether this is to be a "oh, well done!" thread or not.

It seems to me that anyone who tells a personal anecdote in this thread ought to be prepared for any comments that arise.

2353. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 3:35:39 PM

Cal,

What an exiting prospect.

2354. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 3:37:41 PM

I meant exciting. Hey, can I do an O'Lucky Man thread for the movies this summer? You are doing something like that aren't you?

2355. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 3:38:14 PM

Cal...I thought the attack was personal, in some way unrelated to the story. And I find no critique of the story itself.

2356. CalGal - 5/26/2000 3:39:00 PM

I can't believe anyone would leave over it.

2357. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 3:39:35 PM

Banks did not use a personal attack did he?

2358. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 3:40:41 PM

And Banks is not the thread host...I see a difference there also.

2359. PelleNilsson - 5/26/2000 3:41:33 PM

CalGal

I wasn't criticising you. And, yes, if we publish a story, in particular one with some kind of sense morale, we should certainly be prepared for, and accept, critical comments. On the other hand, we who do comment, should perhaps try to talk about the principles involved and avoid the ad hominem.

2360. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 3:43:24 PM

I guess I just thought of this thread as an outlet for creative writning...we have plenty of thread space for personal invective.

2361. marshame - 5/26/2000 3:45:34 PM

Pincher Martin's story is an absolute classic: protagonist, with certain self concept, sees something unfolding, and takes action. Story twists, and what he thought was going turns out to be the exact opposite. He has acted based on one set of assumptions, only to find that in truth, his actions were not right and noble but wrong, and they suggest some things about himself that cause new self-reflection and re-definition of self-concept.

This revealing story has been fodder for many, many posts, which is exactly what I would assume we want out of good stories. And if the story wasn't enough, CalGal's extensive analysis certainly provoked discussion. So how can we complain? I thought it was brave of Pincher Martin to share, and he did indeed risk that people would have different opinions about it. Similarly, since he laid it out, CalGal is certainly entitled to post her opinions on the subject.

2362. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 3:48:17 PM

Who said she wasn't...Marsh...I am posting about what happened here in THIS THREAD...at least here I want the critique to be focused on the words written not the person writing them.

2363. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 3:54:32 PM

For some reason I am sitting here thinking about Hemmingway.

2364. marshame - 5/26/2000 4:01:51 PM

But if we think about it as a story, i.e. with Pincher Martin as the 25-year old protagonist, then CalGal can say what she wants about the character and it should not be construed as an ad hominen attack. It is when she starts comparing the character to the present day Pincher Martin, from info he has revealed in other threads, that we cross the line, I think.

2365. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 4:05:45 PM

Good lord...Marsh...do you read backposts?...my comment was directed, w/o rancor, to Web, not Cal...see Message # 2341

2366. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 4:07:13 PM

And the Pincher story did not appear in THIS THREAD...

2367. iiibbb - 5/26/2000 4:11:07 PM

Actually it did...and then moved...

2368. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 4:11:48 PM

Why was it moved?

2369. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 4:13:58 PM

In any case, it is no big thing...just a thought on my part. The thread host can and do whatever she wants...

2370. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 4:15:29 PM

^should

2371. marshame - 5/26/2000 4:19:21 PM

Sorry PP, I had read back, but not far enough to read all of ibb's story. I am now up-to-date and I apologize with profuse gushiness for thinking you were talking about something else. I agree with your post Message # 2343, but then, I can understand Webfoot's position. Afterall, she's got a son to raise, and she's entitled to a bit of post partum over-reaction.

2372. PsychProf - 5/26/2000 4:21:31 PM

No problem...have a great weekend all.

2373. iiibbb - 5/26/2000 4:26:01 PM

Message # 2341 in thread 11

Well... I won't try to defend my prank, because that's all it was... and it was ended up far bigger than I would have imagined. I'm not sure what makes a prank ethical or not ethical...

So far, you're the only person who's ever called me a 'spectacular moron' over it.

2374. PelleNilsson - 5/26/2000 4:31:54 PM

Pincher's story appered here starting at Message # 2262. It has not been moved.

2375. iiibbb - 5/26/2000 4:58:10 PM

The discussion for 2262 moved on it's own to the tower/tunnel thread because it became more germain to that heading. Wasn't the host that decided.

2376. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 5:09:46 PM

We have a dispute in the workshop. I(gor) thinks that we shoud use the three south facing windows in the shop as a sort of deer park- petting zoo and I think the same, except I think we should make wired snares and capture the little darling deer and make them into sausages. We cannot agree on anything but the sausage recipe.

Here we satisfiy our blo0odlust by the occasional burning of a nest of tent caterpillars.

You know, I wish some adventuoous cap9itallis5t woutd approach us cohncerning the mass production of theswe christmas ornaments. Igor and I wouldl ofcourse do the Amaericahjn HJewppeto versiohjn.
We could, of course, make them and the money in China.

Its a funny thing. We have and old copy of the Prophecies fo Norsetradamus in the shop which Igor was studying quite intently. There was a quatrain I am not quite sure of but it went something like this--

The crimson blood gives me no pain,
On and on it flows again.

It is a funny thing, but there were Igor and I, laughing joyously over death.

2377. Uzmakk - 5/26/2000 5:34:52 PM

Damn. I forgot to tell you that when I constructed that quatrain Igor had instructed me to use the words "lost party" in the last two lines. I did not. He had a feeling of foreboding while he had his head under the blade of the board cutter, he removed his head into what he thought was saftey, and chopped off two of his fingers. This is after he read the lines in Nostadamus containing the words crimson and pain. I tell you. All sorts of horrible things happen in the workshop.

2378. CalGal - 5/27/2000 10:42:47 AM

Pelle,

I didn't think I made any ad hominem attacks. I was scornful and sarcastic, as is my tendency, but I didn't move beyond the story to criticize him in general. I didn't see your remarks to me as critical, either. No offense taken.

PP,

Banks didn't make a personal attack at all; he commented approvingly on the prank. Web commented disapprovingly on the prank. Either no comments are to be made, or all comments are to be made, it seems to me. As for Web being host, I don't think that precludes her from commenting on stories. Had she commented as a host (e.g. "we don't allow stories like that in this thread") that would be different.

I didn't see your comments as unreasonable or critical; I was just throwing in my 2 cents as well.

2379. joezan - 5/27/2000 11:42:59 AM

Well, I'm coming to this kinda late, I see. But I want to say a couple of things in defense of PM. Not that he needs it, but...

One thing I could identify with immediately upon reading Pincher's very vivid description, was the felt need to continue hitting his opponent even after he (she) was down. This is a reaction I suspect no one who's never been in a real fight would understand, but which seems - at least to me - to be almost instinctual.

The story would be quite different had Pincher been the initial aggressor, but he wasn't. While I've been in quite a few fights, I can't say that I've ever been in quite the position Pincher was - coming to the aid of a damsel in distress. And, btw, PM gets points from me for not rushing right into it, and taking a good long time to determine that what he was witnessing was not merely some stupid, drunken game.

Having done so, he did precisely what I would have done -he yelled for the guy to leave her alone.

2380. joezan - 5/27/2000 12:01:44 PM

And here is where the stage is set for the rest of the incident, and where, as I said, I feel I can relate.

Putting myself in Pincher's place, what I would have expected the aggressor to do - or at least have hoped he would do - is turn-tail and run away. But when someone who's been caught in such a situation chooses, as his first reaction, to make a very explicit threat, and then charge - well, that changes everything.

I've been in many, many fights where the actual fisticuffs is but an anti-climax following many minutes of verbal sparring - where both of us know we're gonna throw down, but know that we've got to finish the dance first. Then, it's man-to-man, and you go till someone cries "uncle".

But when someone is so obviously taking advantage of someone else (and remember -PM's neighbors all had the same exact read of the incident), and you give him the opportunity to do the reasonable thing and run away (he's got nothing to prove at that point - he doesn't know you), but instead he chooses to rush you, you are dealing with a dangerous individual, and you do not go into it with the intention of scoring points - you fight till your opponent stops moving.

I think that Pincher's actions - all the way down the line - were reasonable and admirable.

2381. joezan - 5/27/2000 12:18:10 PM

...uh, I should mention here that my brawling days are a good 20 years behind me.




...not that I couldn't still whup some ass, you understand...

2382. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:02:31 AM

Makena, part II

A note: I am not the most persistent searcher. Generally, I consider my having failed to locate anything as a karmic signal—if I didn’t find it, I wasn’t supposed to. I never turn around, and just make the best of whatever I find. But this week I had decided I was going to reject cosmic will, which meant turning around and going back if I’d missed the mark. This may sound like a fairly obvious decision, but I am very nearly Calvinistic about the cosmos--especially if it enables me to avoid feeling frustrated and inadequate in the face of failure.

2383. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:04:57 AM

2384. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:08:41 AM

It amazes me that this beach is so sparsely populated when the rocky surfing sites right off the highway get such good crowds. But this was something I found all though Hawaii—beauty and comfort don’t matter all that much, when it comes to beaches. Access is everything. Unless you’re a surfer; then difficult access becomes a point of pride.

2385. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:12:27 AM

2386. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:16:51 AM

This flow has been traditionally dated at 1790, based on oral history and old charts. But recently, the USGS announced that radiocarbon testing of Haleakala’s youngest flows indicate that they were made between 1480 and 1600.

2387. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:19:03 AM

Argh. I hate it when that happens.

Missing text: "I had arrived at the 'Ahihi Kina'u Natural Area Reserve..."

2388. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:20:36 AM

The walk wasn’t strenuous at all; but I would have been sorry had I stayed with sandals. By this time it was about 5:00 in the afternoon, and the light softened the colors of the water and the sky. Late afternoon is my favorite time of day; still, if I ever return to Makena I will try and arrange to be there at noon, when I imagine the colors are hard and bright.

There are several lovely coves located on this path; each one had been staked out by a family with a truck or SUV. This isn’t to suggest that the area had much of a crowd—I don’t think I ran into more than 10-12 people in the entire 90 minute hike there and back.

2389. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:22:39 AM

I was exhilarated by my success—I’d actually planned and executed an entire 6 hours worth of activities! (yes, feel free to snicker)—and, rather than trying to find a restaurant, stopped at the local grocery store to pick up fresh shrimp, white wine, mushrooms, garlic, butter, and rice for a decent scampi, given the cook’s limitations.

2390. PelleNilsson - 5/28/2000 5:24:40 AM

Funny you and I making a series of posts at the same time. It's after 2 am at your place isn't it? Insomnia?

2391. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:28:52 AM

A few other pictures from the La Perouse/Beau Chien hike. I am looking forward to going back out there again and I heartily recommend it to anyone visiting Maui. Definitely off the well-beaten tourist path.

2392. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:30:04 AM

Pelle,

Yes, insomnia. I took the redeye home, and hung out with Spawn all day. Plus, I slept quite a bit in Hawaii--often as much as 6 hours a day. So I've got a good reserve in.

2393. CalGal - 5/28/2000 5:33:39 AM

And I see that you've finished your Swedish history!! Congrats, I've alwaysw enjoyed reading it. I'm off to bed right now; Spawn wants some batting practice tomorrow so I'll have to get my sleeping schedule back on track soon.

2394. PelleNilsson - 5/28/2000 5:34:57 AM

I see you call this Makena II. I must have missed the first part. Whereabouts is it? BTW loading this page I wish I had a broadband connection.

2395. CalGal - 5/28/2000 12:16:20 PM

Pelle,

No, that was stupidity on my part--I have one file called "Makena", where I made notes. But when I posted the first part, I called it "The Lahaina Coast" (at Message # 2294), rather than Makena Part I. I forgot I'd done this when I posted part II.

Sorry about the pictures taking so long.

2396. PelleNilsson - 5/28/2000 12:29:31 PM

They were worth it.

2397. CalGal - 5/28/2000 12:40:22 PM

Hey, thanks. I had a wonderful time taking them. Have you been to Hawaii?

2398. PelleNilsson - 5/28/2000 12:55:47 PM

My experience of the US is limited to ten days in Florida fifteen years ago (a technical conference).

2399. PincherMartin - 5/28/2000 1:00:03 PM

For the record, I believe CalGal has the right to attack my character, opinions, posts, fighting style, etc. anytime she likes. In this case, I was surprised she questioned the quality of Marine Corps training and my manhood on the basis of this story and annoyed she continually mixed up details in the story to help her interpretation of it, but that's the breaks. God knows I have given as hard as I've taken from her. I would have given alot more back to her this time if I hadn't been so busy recently.

I think the story is a funny one. It parodies my own sense of honor with a unusual twist. I appreciate those of you who took it for what it was. I spent quite a bit of time writing it.

2400. CalGal - 5/28/2000 1:20:55 PM

Pincher,

I didn't mix up the details. I acknowledged the kid's age several times early on, but you yourself said they were most likely in their teens. By that time, given your insistence that I should expect nothing more of Marines than anyone else, my sarcasm level was very high, which I figured you knew. Still, if you think it sounds better to feel proud of yourself for easily beating a 21, and if you think it makes it sound better to consider your pride over beating up a 21 year old Samoan after the fact, you

2401. CalGal - 5/28/2000 1:23:25 PM

Sorry, this laptop decides to post on its own.

Should read: "Still, if you think it sounds better that you were proud of yourself for easily beating a 21 year old Samoan, go right ahead."

I'm amazed you intended it to be humorous. But then, I undoubtedly find stories that marginalize women to be a bit less funny than you do. (and if you are aghast that I consider you to have marginalized women, take it to Indy's thread).

2402. CalGal - 5/28/2000 1:24:07 PM

Pelle,

Oh, that's right. I don't ever really think of Hawaii as part of the US.

2403. PelleNilsson - 5/28/2000 2:20:45 PM

Pincher

When I read that part of your story where you say the girl took up a "defensive posture" I thought about our run-in in International a while ago when you called me "passive-agressive" and then let blows rain on my head (g).

A technical question.You say that most of your blows landed on top of her head. Wouldn't that have hurt your knuckles quite badly?

2404. PincherMartin - 5/28/2000 6:22:09 PM

CalGal --

I didn't mix up the details.

You said several times that I beat up a drunk, smaller, teenaged, non-threat. "He" was not smaller. I didn't notice that "he" was obviously intoxicated. I said "he" was probably teenaged, but also left it open that might have been in his early twenties. And I made it clear that I thought "he" was a genuine threat. Clearly, then, the story is about beating up a person who I mistakenly thought was a dangerous threat and only later realized was not. A mistake about the antagonist's gender plays the overwhelming role in this, but not the only role. And there is nothing telling about Marine Corps training or my manhood in such a confusion, you nimrod. I thought she was a "he". (So did all of my neighbors.) I thought "he" was dangerous. I thought I had helped the situation. I was wrong on all accounts. But letting my pride, adrenaline and relief influence my feelings in the wake of the fight before I discovered my error means zero about anything. Everyone I know who would have fought in that situation in the first place would have reacted in much the same way.

I acknowledged the kid's age several times early on, but you yourself said they were most likely in their teens. By that time, given your insistence that I should expect nothing more of Marines than anyone else, my sarcasm level was very high, which I figured you knew.

Your idea that there is no potential danger about a eighteen or nineteen year old for a Marine in his mid-twenties is silly. It doesn't just mean being ignorant about Marine training, but ignorant about the physical capabilities of a young man. Some young men are dangerous, and perfectly capable of bashing someone's head in should their opponent leave that way open for them. I wasn't going to let this guy have that chance.

2405. PincherMartin - 5/28/2000 6:30:36 PM

Pelle --

You're not a former scrapper in your youth, are you? If not, then your following question is very sharp.

A technical question.You say that most of your blows landed on top of her head. Wouldn't that have hurt your knuckles quite badly?

I beat the shit out of my fists pounding them on top of her head. The top of the head is one of the hardest parts of the body and the fist, by comparison, is rather brittle. I'm fortunate that I didn't break them. She also fortunate since I did very little damage with most of the blows after my first five or six. As it was, I had a hard time writing out the police report since my right hand was beginning to swell. It took about a week before I could write again without pain.

2406. CalGal - 5/29/2000 12:45:29 AM

Pincher,


Your idea that there is no potential danger about a eighteen or nineteen year old for a Marine in his mid-twenties is silly.

No, no, no. Pick your bitch and stick with it. Your original comment was that you were annoyed that I continually misrepresented the story. I did no such thing. I regularly referred to the kid as 21 or younger until I figured the point was made. So acknowledge that I did so, and that you were wrong in asserting that I continually misrepresented it. I did not. After a number of times of getting it correct, when we were seriously debating it, I then made comments, dripping with sarcasm, in which I described her ACCURATELY as a "drunken teen Samoan", because I was referring to your pride after the fact, when you'd felt victory over the easy win.

As for specifically responding to your point, I'm not sure how many times I have to say this: yes, Pincher. Go right ahead and feel a righteous glory in an easy fight. After the fact. I acknowledge that a Marine, or even an average "scrappy" 25 year old, can feel threatened and terrified by someone younger and shorter, and that after easily beating him to a pulp, long after the kid has given up, it is obvious that, as long as the opponent has a penis, a grown man has every reason to feel it was a righteous win.

BTW--you may want to refer to my notes in Tunnel/Tower. Hitting someone on the head with fists is absurd. It makes much more sense to use the flat of your hand--you can really strike a blow that stuns your opponent, and it does less damage to your own body (although it can still hurt like a motherfucker).

Of course, punching might be the manly thing to do.

2407. CalGal - 5/29/2000 12:49:22 AM

But letting my pride, adrenaline and relief influence my feelings in the wake of the fight before I discovered my error means zero about anything.

This is the meat of the gender issue, which I am not addressing sarcastically, but seriously (as opposed to my mockery at your pride for any reason, which is what I originally responded to).

If you easily beat someone up, someone who it turns out was far less capable than you are, I see no reason why it should matter whether they are male or female. If, after a fight was over, you realize you clearly outmatched your opponent, why should you feel proud just because it was a man? Why would you feel less proud just because the person who you outmatched was female?

2408. PincherMartin - 5/29/2000 12:23:29 PM

No, no, no. Pick your bitch and stick with it. Your original comment was that you were annoyed that I continually misrepresented the story. I did no such thing.

Nope, your selective memory is at work again. Here is what I wrote: "In this case, I was surprised she questioned the quality of Marine Corps training and my manhood on the basis of this story and annoyed she continually mixed up details in the story to help her interpretation of it, but that's the breaks."

Two things: surprise and annoyance.

Go right ahead and feel a righteous glory in an easy fight. After the fact. I acknowledge that a Marine, or even an average "scrappy" 25 year old, can feel threatened and terrified by someone younger and shorter, and that after easily beating him to a pulp, long after the kid has given up, it is obvious that, as long as the opponent has a penis, a grown man has every reason to feel it was a righteous win.

Exactly, now you've got it. Men (young men included) fight to a much greater degree than woman do. Men kill many, many, many more times than woman. There is a huge gender difference on this issue. Having a penis is a big difference in these matters. The bulk of the Samoan hidden under the leather jacket, which was muscle mass when he was a man, becomes much more fat and water when he became a woman. In short, the greater athleticism and strength of men (even when compared to women their size) and the much greater proclivity of men to violence makes a male opponent more worthy than a female one. Almost everyone here recognizes this (even if just implicitly) except you. When I thought I was facing a man, I was pretty sure that they would use those stones against either me or my property. When I discovered that she was a woman, I knew she didn't have the balls for it and had merely been bluffing me.

2409. PincherMartin - 5/29/2000 12:23:49 PM

But even if the Samoan had been a male, once it was pointed out after the fight that he was drunk and teenaged and, most importantly, the person he was with didn't want saving, then, yes, there would have been no reason for pride in the victory. What does this prove? That hind sight gives everyone perfect vision. In the first few seconds none of this had been established; I still didn't know I had just beat up a young woman.

2410. PincherMartin - 5/29/2000 12:43:08 PM

BTW--you may want to refer to my notes in Tunnel/Tower. Hitting someone on the head with fists is absurd. It makes much more sense to use the flat of your hand--you can really strike a blow that stuns your opponent, and it does less damage to your own body (although it can still hurt like a motherfucker).

I'll be generous and take your word that you said such a thing. I wondered when someone would. Pelle's comment was the first one I saw. I'll also pay you the generous compliment that you really put on a good man act with your advice and criticism. But your advice, in this case, is poor. Had I wanted to finsih this person off quickly with little fuss while doing little damage to myself, I would have either kicked him in his soft underbelly or used my elbow. An open handed blow against a covered up opponent, who is sinking to the ground with only the top of his head exposed, is not going to stun him. Even an uppercut might have worked if I had stooped down, although it would have also exposed me to a response.

Of course, punching might be the manly thing to do.

No, it was simply adrenaline and a lack of training, both of which I long ago in my original story acknowledged.

2411. CalGal - 5/29/2000 2:10:02 PM

Pincher,

But even if the Samoan had been a male, once it was pointed out after the fight that he was drunk and teenaged and, most importantly, the person he was with didn't want saving, then, yes, there would have been no reason for pride in the victory.

You still haven't grasped it, and much of your paragraphs missed the point. This is closest. Even before you knew (conclusively) he was drunk and teenaged, you knew that he'd been easily defeated and put up no fight at all. So at that point, what was the purpose of pride? Wow, I kicked the ass of someone who couldn't fight for shit!!!!! If you're proud of that, what difference does it make if the someone is male or female? And as for your question, "what does it prove?", my answer is, "That you consider cheap victories against worthless opponents a cause for celebration."

And remember, you didn't defend anyone except yourself--regardless of what the woman wanted. Your actions to "protect" the woman consisted of one thing: shouting "Leave her alone!" It was a nice instinct, whether she needed it or not. Had the Samoan persisted in "harassing" her, and you'd run out and had the fight, you would have been defending her. (I am not saying you should have done this, only describing the difference).

But as it was, the moment the Samoan came running, the woman had nothing to do with it. Your actions were sheerly self-defense. If you like, you had to defend yourself because you spoke out on a woman's behalf. But you certainly weren't defending her at the time you had your fight.

2412. CalGal - 5/29/2000 2:15:34 PM

Had I wanted to finsih this person off quickly with little fuss while doing little damage to myself, I would have either kicked him in his soft underbelly or used my elbow.

You apparently misunderstood the nature of my "advice" (which was meant sarcastically, anyway). I was assuming that you wanted to hit your opponent on the head. If you note, I say, "hitting someone on the head with your fists is absurd". If you feel strongly about hitting someone on the head, the flat of one's hand makes more sense, for the reasons given. I said nothing about the best way to disable someone period. Just flathanding vs. punching the head.

I am most assuredly not an expert on fighting--I'm not even knowledgeable. In fact, at one time I would never have presumed to even mention something this obvious to an ex-Marine, figuring they knew this. But, as you've informed me, Marines don't know much about fighting either. So I thought I'd pass one of the few bits I know about.

My original comment hadn't been mentioned in regard to your fight at all.

I'll also pay you the generous compliment that you really put on a good man act with your advice and criticism.

Hahahahaha. Really, Pincher, if the best you can do is that hackneyed bit about a "man act", you should take time to think before you post. Yes, all chicks who point out that there are better ways to hit someone on the head than using a fist really just want to be men.

2413. CalGal - 5/29/2000 2:34:31 PM

BTW, I see no purpose to continuing this aspect of the discussion. I've said my piece, you will undoubtedly continue to miss the point. But the part that might be worth a go-round or two is this: that you (and lots of others) think the story is funny.

But even had I really thought your pride was seemly, I would not have found it funny, given that I think stories like this only serve to marginalize women. If you feel like discussing that, feel free to take it to Indy's thread.

2414. CalGal - 5/29/2000 2:36:06 PM

But even had I really thought your pride was seemly,

You will undoubtedly miss that this is irony on my part. Please, spare yourself the effort of a diatribe.

2415. JudithAtHome - 5/29/2000 2:38:41 PM

I can't believe this argument is still going on...it's very interesting but reminds me of Hawaiian talk story: a seemingly endless weaving of detail that goes on and on and on.

2416. CalGal - 5/29/2000 2:42:55 PM

It did end--it only picked up because we started discussing whether or not we should tell these stories, and then Pincher started on that. I am officially Done, though. Shouldn't have even responded the first time, much less the second or third (speaking only of this time round).

Did you read my stuff on Makena? Have you ever been there?

2417. PelleNilsson - 5/29/2000 2:58:56 PM

Pincher

No, I'm not a former scrapper. But I read a book once about bare-fisted boxing in England in the 19th century. The fights were often decided by who could avoid destroying his knuckles by ill-considered punches (this is poorly worded, sorry)

2418. JudithAtHome - 5/29/2000 3:00:56 PM

CalGal:

I've never been there but your pictures are fantastic...you are a more adventuresome tourist than I; I happily would spend the afternoon lazing on my sisters lanai in Ka'anapali and then go out to eat that night and return to the lanai.:-)

2419. CalGal - 5/29/2000 3:05:16 PM

Judith,

When Spawn read my posts, he said, "But when did you sit at the beach?" I told him that you could explore and take pictures, or sit at the beach. Doing both wasn't an option.

But next time, I'm going to schedule three days at a Wailea resort hotel and just lounge shamelessly after travelling about.

2420. PincherMartin - 5/29/2000 9:34:19 PM

So at that point, what was the purpose of pride?

When is there ever a purpose for pride...or relief or adrenaline or fear? (Despite myths to the contrary, I don't think any of them help that much and can hurt a great deal) I didn't think it -- or they -- had to have a purpose. In this story, it (they) was simply a quick reaction to an event. I emphasized it in the story because it's funny when juxtaposed to how I felt moments later. It really didn't play a major role in anything that happened that night, despite your repeated attempts to make it the point of the story.

Wow, I kicked the ass of someone who couldn't fight for shit!!!!! If you're proud of that, what difference does it make if the someone is male or female? And as for your question, "what does it prove?", my answer is, "That you consider cheap victories against worthless opponents a cause for celebration."

Again, you understand as little about fighting as you do about the Marines. The point was that the victory was cheap. Relief flooded in when I realized that I had beaten an opponent who had been harassing his ladyfriend, was extremely aggressive, and just a moment earlier had been looking for a rock to throw at me or my property. And yet, no broken bones (for me), no broken windows, no serious damage for anyone, just a good old fashioned thumping. Given the circumstances I thought I was in, I took it with great satisfaction.

continued...

2421. PincherMartin - 5/29/2000 9:34:30 PM

But more to your point of feeling pride about a one-sided ass-kicking: I've been in several fights where I thought I had a dangerous opponent and had, instead, a one-sided fight. (I also had a run-in with a guy who looked like a wimp, but ended up being a tough fuck who nearly knocked me out and certainly was having his way with me before a group of guys intervened.) In one case, the guy was much larger than me. In another he was a fellow Marine. In both cases, the fight was easily won -- just as easily as the one I described in Hawaii. (And, yes, I was proud of the outcomes.) But if each fight had to be refought, I can't guarantee I'd win them and in one case, I'm pretty sure I'd lose it. Perhaps I got lucky break each time. Many fights are like that. Some fellow gets the advantage and that's the end of it. That's what makes them dangerous, especially if there's no one around to stop it. (It's not a best of seven series, you know. You can't talk about making adjustments after your loss in game one so as to win game two.) I've done it to others and had it done to me. Your flip notion is cinematic. "Tough guy silences the bad guy with a back-hand and then a long stare."

2422. PincherMartin - 5/29/2000 9:44:36 PM

If you feel strongly about hitting someone on the head, the flat of one's hand makes more sense, for the reasons given. I said nothing about the best way to disable someone period. Just flathanding vs. punching the head.

CalGal, sit at your computer and beat yourself on the top of the head with your flat open hand until you're stunned. Tell me when it works. Now, have your son stand over you and beat you on the head with his elbow (or fist). Now, tell me which one you prefer.


But as it was, the moment the Samoan came running, the woman had nothing to do with it. Your actions were sheerly self-defense. If you like, you had to defend yourself because you spoke out on a woman's behalf. But you certainly weren't defending her at the time you had your fight.

You're loopy. The entire situation was caused because I intervened on what I thought was the behalf of someone who couldn't defend herself. The Samoan haressing her wasn't interested in me until I did. I had no interest in the situation other than that (The noise was deafening, but I probably wouldn't have said anything about it for quite a while longer.). Yes, once the Samoan came over the fence, there were more immediate considerations, like saving my own ass and property. So what. That doesn't change what started the whole mess.

Yes, all chicks who point out that there are better ways to hit someone on the head than using a fist really just want to be men.

No, the point was that it was bad advice, obviously a chick's advice. It would have saved my hand from a week's worth of swelling, but had I been battling a man that night, it would have caused other problems. I laugh when I think of you slapping this Samoan chick on the top of the head, while saying "Stay down, Bitch!" and "Don't you know when you should be stunned!"

2423. PincherMartin - 5/29/2000 9:47:51 PM

I am officially Done, though.

Good, that gives me the last word, a rarity when arguing with you. Given your announcement of ceasing all posts on the subject, it's a cheap victory, I know, but then you know how I love cheap victories.

2424. CalGal - 5/29/2000 9:51:12 PM

Well, I do after that story. It's useful to know. Have a nice day; happy to oblige you.

2425. Webfeet - 5/30/2000 11:04:08 AM

Psychprof

I don't understand what is so "chilling" about my response to iibb's post. What I rather find chilling is that someone could play with people in a senseless, self-gratifying way without concern for their welfare. His prank is not funny, but dangerous, and I reserve the right to comment-not a as a moderator of this thread--but as a mother. If any of the kids had been hurt, which was possible under the circumstances--iibb would have been the instigator.

If the story had unfolded differently, and one of the unwitting kids invited to this non-event would have been injured, would it be alrite then if I disapproved of what he did? Of course, then we could all cluck our tongues and say shame on you instead of give him a round of high fives.

I object to his action regardless of the consequences and I don't think, as moderator of this thread, it was inappropriate of me to say as much. Some stories in this thread are real, some imaginary. Either way, the rule of thumb guiding this thread would be like any other--we are free to disagree with what is posted, as well as to pass judgement when what is written is offensive.

2426. ButterfieldSwire - 5/30/2000 1:11:19 PM

Regardless of whatever sins Pinch committed, he has to live with his actions. Frankly, living with the knowledge that he had some interracial, teenage, semi-reluctant lesbian action going on just outside his window and he broke it up is probably punishment enough.

2427. CalGal - 5/30/2000 1:15:13 PM

True.

He pays $10/night to watch it on the Spice channel, and here he could have gotten the live show for free.

2428. PsychProf - 5/30/2000 1:20:35 PM

Web...Ok, then that is what this thread is about. I assumed it was more about creative writing than what you describe...and we disagree fatally on thread host role...frankly, I could care less IN THIS THREAD as to what your, or any other, moral code is. I had hoped we would encourage some imaginary thinking here...sort of "suspend disbelief"...but, I seem to be alone here, so you're in charge. I of course understand that anyone can post opinion...that was not the issue with me.

2429. theDiva - 5/30/2000 1:31:05 PM

interesting comments here....seems to me that ib's story could actually be posted in Ethics and inspire some lively debate. This is the second such story in as many weeks which could be posted here and elsewhere and be debated from many different angles.

fwiw, I was disturbed by the story. I thought 'hm, bet the taxpayers in that jurisdiction were real happy that their public safety dollars were being spent on a collegiate prank.' But that's just the bureaucrat in me.

2430. Webfeet - 5/30/2000 1:56:45 PM

Psychprof
Of course this thread is about creative writing--if you disagree with what I did, fine. But please do not distort what this thread is about, or what Im about. To suggest that I am the enemy of 'imaginative thinking' is a little harsh, isn't it?

And, I partly see your point. I certainly don;t want to give the impression that I am sitting here on my perch with my wig on, gavel before me ready to condemn, but the story was very disturbing and it hit me on a personal level.

Looking at this a little larger, if this sets a precedent and inhibits people from posting candidly, well then perhaps itisn't such a good idea for the moderator to comment or to judge as it were.

2431. PsychProf - 5/30/2000 2:07:19 PM

Web...sometimes stories are just plain disturbing, and this is their value. We can use such conflict to judge or to construct or reconstruct our own lives, if we choose...in any case, it is good to see give and take in this thread.

2432. PincherMartin - 5/30/2000 4:02:08 PM

ButterfieldSwire --

Hahahahahahahahaha!!!

2433. iiibbb - 5/30/2000 4:03:40 PM

The only comment I Web has made that I disagree with are that my anectdote

"...showcased what a spectacular moron you are."

It may showcase what a spectacular moron I was at that particular facet of that particular instant in my life... but it certainly shouldn't be used the basis to judge the rest of my life.

Yes, I'm lucky no one got hurt. Yes, I had no idea it would work that well. And yes, I tend to tell the story in a humorous light by the simple fact no one got hurt... besides, for my fake party, at least one of those types of parties really happen virtually every weekend at virtually every university in the country... so if anything, I killed plans.

I will say that I never tried a prank like that again.

2434. PsychProf - 5/30/2000 4:11:21 PM

Vomit.

2435. iiibbb - 5/30/2000 4:26:00 PM

vomit?

2436. theDiva - 5/30/2000 4:28:10 PM

As a noun, a verb, or as a directive?

2437. JudithAtHome - 5/30/2000 5:42:20 PM

So where is this story by iiibbb that is causing such discomfort? I went back pretty far and couldn't find it. Anyone have a link to it?

2438. iiibbb - 5/30/2000 5:55:31 PM

please don't hate me.

2439. theDiva - 5/30/2000 6:31:41 PM

oh, honey, I don't hate you. It isn't as though you did this yesterday. Call it an episode in your misspent youth.

2440. iiibbb - 5/30/2000 6:33:44 PM

Message # 2333

I thought this thing posted before

2441. JudithAtHome - 5/31/2000 7:52:44 AM

Thanks for the link, iiibbb. I thought the story was funny; those sorts of things happen during formative years. As you said, you've changed from the person you were during the callow days of youth, as have we all...

2442. PsychProf - 5/31/2000 12:33:45 PM

IB...I wrote "vomit" because I have such an aversion to one having to defend a story told in the context of creative writing...

2443. CalGal - 5/31/2000 12:37:14 PM

PP,

But you could look at it another way. If it wasn't a successful story, if people hadn't read it--then they wouldn't have commented.

2444. theDiva - 5/31/2000 12:51:22 PM

Prof

Part of higher level fine arts training is the defense of one's work....you make a film, take a photo, write a script, or stage a scene, and the class and prof critiques it on all levels. It forces you to think about the choices you've made in creating the piece, and what you could do to improve or change it. Sometimes things get a little tense.

This thread sometimes reminds me of that.

2445. CalGal - 5/31/2000 12:54:26 PM

That, too. But if one puts ones ethics, behavior, reactions, or values out on display, one can expect comments--some in agreement, some in disagreement or criticism. I think the writer should be prepared to defend these, as well as the art itself. Besides, if people were moved strongly enough to comment, that is in and of itself a compliment to the work.

2446. PsychProf - 5/31/2000 1:39:30 PM

I guess I am being obtuse...I object to judgment of the charactrer/morals etc of the writer as a result of the story told...as in

"And, while Im here, the whole build up with 'bill' was a
poor introduction to your pathetic little anecdote which
veered off into a pointless story that showcased what a
spectacular moron you are." Post 2341

2447. PsychProf - 5/31/2000 1:44:23 PM

BTW...I know that Web and I, and I guess others, view the task and analysis of creative writing in a different light. I don not plan to change my approach.

2448. theDiva - 5/31/2000 2:13:32 PM

I grok ya, man.

2449. iiibbb - 5/31/2000 5:15:38 PM

A reprint... author unknown
----------------------------
Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The
process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking and anything you wish to say must be written on the paper. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."

The following was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca - last name deleted, and Gary - last name deleted.

2450. iiibbb - 5/31/2000 5:15:58 PM

STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca) At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack quadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

2451. iiibbb - 5/31/2000 5:16:28 PM

He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.

Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"

2452. iiibbb - 5/31/2000 5:16:43 PM

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at
writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh shall I have Chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of FUCKING TEA??? Oh no I'm such a air headed bimbo who reads too many Mills & Boon novels."

Asshole.

Bitch

Jerk

Slut

2453. iiibbb - 5/31/2000 5:16:50 PM

end

2454. Webfeet - 6/1/2000 11:51:31 AM

Why am I starting to feel like Rudy Guiliani?

Okay, so iibb did not sling elephant dung on the Virgin Mary or piss on an image of Jesus Christ but, even if his actions were offensive to me, I didn't have to be so abusive. As someone who is an advocate of artistic freedom and finds it uncomfortable to be in league, on principle, with enemies of artistic freedom, I will apologize to iibb for attacking his 'art' if that's what it is, and his ethics so virulently in a normally friendly creative writing forum. On the other hand, if a post is morally controversial, is it legitimate to question the work in this forum? To be offended?

AS Calgal and Diva pointed out, if we put our ethics and values on display, they will inevitably draw criticism. Perhaps we can do so, but in a more constructive manner.

I'm sorry iiibbb for judging you so harshly in this forum even if I don't share your sense of humour.

2455. theDiva - 6/1/2000 11:57:00 AM

Webby darling

Don't feel like Rudy. For one thing, you've got better hair. And Rudy doesn't have the style necessary to carry off a leopardskin hat and a pair of Helmut Lang jeans.

2456. rubberducky7 - 6/1/2000 12:06:23 PM

great story ibibib.

i laughed, snickered, then laughed again

2457. Webfeet - 6/1/2000 12:07:55 PM

Cherie, you must remember those jeans never made it up to my navel. They were cut for svelte little German boys, not a voluptuous woman with a penchant for creme brulee and frommage du chevre!

Oh, that was the highlife, wasn't it? To be single, babyless and cavalier with a credit card in Paris!

2458. theDiva - 6/1/2000 12:09:41 PM

yes, darling, but had they made it, you'd have worn them with a style utterly lacking in svelte little German boys.

Zest for life and good frommage is essential.

2459. marjoribanks - 6/1/2000 12:16:41 PM

What the hell is "frommage"?

Webbie, are you trying to make your tyke bilingual? If so - how?

2460. PsychProf - 6/1/2000 12:16:43 PM

Web...of course criticism and analysis are part and parcel of writing review...and, indeed, many such pieces are constructed precisely to offend. More power to the author...this causes us to think and consider our own lives...it just seems to me that of late many have resorted to the concept of "personally offended"...as in "stop writing that" or "you are a bad person because you wrote that"...sort of a modern PC version of "literary harassment", i.e., if it offends me you should cease and desist in your story telling. It is a important difference, at least to me, to discuss the "moral" of a story instead of declaring the story "immoral", or worse yet, the author such because he/she wrote it.

2461. theDiva - 6/1/2000 12:17:11 PM

gimme a break, banks, I'm a wretched monolingual.

2462. marjoribanks - 6/1/2000 12:25:49 PM

No biggie, Diva. You got it from Webster herself.

2463. iiibbb - 6/1/2000 12:32:14 PM

Web:

No offense was taken... One of the limitations of the internet is that it's pretty impossible to successfully convey inflection, tone, or demeanor.

Perhaps I have friends who have the same reservations of the story as you do, but they never have brought them up because they know me by the sum of my parts and therefore maybe let this item slide... who knows.

After your comments I was hesitant to defend my actions because really the only defense is that it's not as bad as what I could have done, or what others do... and we both know that is just an excuse. You're basically right that it was probably not a good thing to do... and honestly, my real feelings about the whole matter is a confusing mix of guilt and humor...

It was an experiment I made a long time ago. The embelishments in the story was for context, not to justify my actions. Some might call my experiment , although I wouldn't have known it at the time.

Have a nice day.

2464. iiibbb - 6/1/2000 12:33:15 PM

toys

2465. janjon - 6/1/2000 12:33:38 PM

marjoribanks. My wife is truly bilingual (English and French). We've succeeded (at least in terms of oral skills) in making both kids bilingual by having started out with a lot of French being spoken in the house, including of course heavy doses to them (not when they were babies as young as yours is currently, but starting not too much later than this.) Our daughter started taking French in the third grade and now, six years later, is proficient in written skills as well. The boy starts French this year (in the fourth grade). We go to France a lot and the heavy immersion they get there helps, of course.

2466. iiibbb - 6/1/2000 12:33:38 PM

toys off?

2467. iiibbb - 6/1/2000 12:34:46 PM

re:2463... someone might have called my experiment 'subversive art'

2468. Webfeet - 6/1/2000 12:36:55 PM

Yet another reason why I should still be living in Paris: I not only could spell the french word for cheese, but I could eat some.

2469. iiibbb - 6/1/2000 12:41:12 PM

If I'd really wanted to cause a mess... I could have put on the sign "No Blacks"...

yeesh... now that would have been bad.

2470. JudithAtHome - 6/1/2000 1:03:49 PM

Interesting exercise, iiibbb. We recently attended a playwriting awards ceremony where high school playwrights had their works performed by professional actors. There were 6 plays and 4 of them were about outer space or Mars; sci-fi, in other words. One of the 2 non-sci fi plays was about Jesus and the last one was about a dysfunctional family.

It was very interesting to see how these teenagers thought and reacted to the world around them. I was surprised to see so much science fiction represented but I suppose I'm out of touch with that segment of the population. The teens I know are consumed with being in sports and with getting into college on sports scholarships.

2471. iiibbb - 6/1/2000 5:08:02 PM

The teens who were compelled to write when i was that age, at least those I've associated with... were all into sci-fi/fantasy, or drama to the point of parody.

2472. Webfeet - 6/2/2000 3:54:19 AM

I just thought I might point out something, iiibbb, as to why I reacted to your prank in the way I did. I didn't see a connection before, but now I do.

The night before I read your post, a fire broke out in the middle of the night in my building and I thought my baby, husband and I were going to lose our lives. I was woken from my sleep at 2am to the sound of an ax breaking the glass of the windows on our floor. The sound was horrifying, like awakening to the realization that something unknown you have always dreaded is finally taking place. At first I thought, they've finally come to kill us and I tried to wake my husband. He ignored me and told me to go back to sleep. Terrified out of my mind, I got up, shakily, and then I smelled the smoke.I was in a total panic. I screamed for him to wake up and he said I was being hysterical, that I was overreacting. He was still half-asleep but I was furious at him for lecturing me when it was clear we were in danger. I opened the front door, and the hall was filled with thick, black, impenetrable smoke. I assure you that after this kind of thing happens to you, you will never smirk through another office fire drill again. It is the most unbelievably sickening, horrifying feeling I have ever experienced. A humdrum night in Kosovo or Chechnya to be sure, but for me it was absolutely mortal terror on a level I have never experienced before. The only thing I was concerned with was getting my baby out of the building. I scrambled to get my clothes on and stood over the crib.

2473. Webfeet - 6/2/2000 4:09:30 AM

I remember seeing how peaceful and sweet he looked sleeping, with his little hands thrown over his head in surrender and I remember lifting him up into my arms and walking out with him into the smoke unable to see anything, searching for the stairs. But I could go no farther. I was breathing in what tasted like wet campfire and I could feel it burning in my lungs. By this time, my husband had put his robe on and had come out in the hall and I walked over to him shouting, "What are we going to do?" Even though I knew he had no answer. Our neighbors were standing in their doorway, and motioned for us to come in. We huddled in their apartment until a fireman came up and told us to stay inour apartments, that the fire was out. I was relieved, but overexcited, still unable to really phathom how close I had been to losing my baby. I looked at myself in a mirror shortly after and I didnt even look like myself. I was sheet white. Edward Munch's "The Scream" comes to mind.

The cause of this fire was that someone had left their toaster oven on and I inevitably felt resentment that someone else's carelessness put us through that ordeal, had threatened my baby's life, and almost cost us our lives. And, I thought how human beings are totally powerless to control their surroudnigns, how easily they are ensnared in other people's lives and miseries and can be rubbed out in an instant. (It turns out the man who started the fire was a basket case and was apparently considered dangerously forgetful) We were lucky.

And so it was in this mood that I stumbled upon your little prank. And it was as if it was your toaster over, iiibbb, if you get my drift.

2474. Webfeet - 6/2/2000 4:11:37 AM

that's 'toaster oven'.

2475. theDiva - 6/2/2000 8:16:38 AM

oh God, Webby! You poor sweetie!

(hug hug pat pat)

2476. JudithAtHome - 6/2/2000 8:38:05 AM

Webs:

This is as good a reason as I know to have detached housing even though that isn't entirely safe, either, given the incidence of single family dwelling fires due to faulty wiring, etc.

You are so lucky...I know how that panic can come back on you just thinking back to the event, too. Just look at your baby when it does; that should calm you.

2477. Webfeet - 6/2/2000 9:37:29 AM

Thanks, gals. Just make sure you have a fire safety plan--just in case. Very scary.

2478. stostosto - 6/2/2000 9:41:04 AM

They were doomed from the outset that summer, the men and ships of Torbjørn hin Store. Their departure belated due to ill-health and bad weather, they never managed to join the King’s fleet, too late for the gathering, too clueless to catch up. Belated and astray was to be their fate, and no sacrifice to the gods of Asgård was going to change that, nor to White Christ, or Muhammad for that matter whose powers for mercy were also beseeched, just in case, desperately. It was said that some of the men even experienced fear towards the end, their faith rotting ahead of their flesh, worms of doubt gnawing away at their spirit foretelling the inescapable earthly worms that all too soon were to feast mindlessly on their guts. Oh, yes. Doomed they were. And none lived to tell the tale.

2479. theDiva - 6/2/2000 9:42:07 AM

when Gracie was about 2 1/2 and we were in the process of relocating to this area, we stayed in a high rise hotel in Tyson's Corner on a house hunting trip. We were awakened at 2 AM by the hotel fire alarm. She stood up in her portacrib screaming - my heart leapt out of my chest. Rich jumped out of bed about half a second after I did. I grabbed her and we raced towards the exits but we couldn't see or smell any smoke. People were clogging the stairways...she was still crying....when they saw/heard us, they cleared the way so we could descend ahead of them - someone even called ahead 'baby coming through, let them pass!' (I still find that so touching.) Luckily, it was a kitchen fire, it was contained quickly, and noone was hurt. Still, I will never forget that fear or her cries. It was awful.

2480. Uzmakk - 6/2/2000 11:57:07 AM

Great intro, Sto. More?

2481. PsychProf - 6/2/2000 11:59:00 AM

The silence of such cries is deafening when your children start their own life, incur life's challenges, and are outside your touch.

2482. Uzmakk - 6/2/2000 12:05:48 PM

Sto:
Have been listening to track six on Little Criminals. Sing the thing all the time. Hospital cafeteria chashier asked me why I was so happy. Said she almost never hears people sing any longer. I have a fairly complete interpretation of the song that hangs together pretty well. Shall I post it in the Cafe or Arts and Music?

2483. theDiva - 6/2/2000 12:06:48 PM

Cafe!

2484. Uzmakk - 6/2/2000 12:14:34 PM

Webbie:

A terrible tale well told. May we all suffer as few experiences of this type as possible.--(my prayer to the god of statistics)

2485. CalGal - 6/2/2000 12:36:12 PM

This is not the same type of story, but for some reason I keep thinking of it as I read your posts. (and writing it made me late for work, to boot.) It's very long, apologies.

When my ex and I split up, Spawn was two and a half. My ex moved onto our sailboat, where he lived until just a few months ago. He was extremely angry and unhappy at our divorce, and resented my decision a great deal.

He took Spawn every other weekend and one night a week for dinner--at this time, he returned Spawn on Sunday night. The first or second Sunday after we'd split up, the door opened and Spawn came running in, "Mommy! I got wet!"

Ex came in right after, absolutely rabid. "I don't want to hear about this, you bitch. You got that?"

I said, "What----"

He said, "Shut up. I'm sick of your overreacting, and if you hadn't wanted to split up this wouldn't have happened. Fuck you."

Dealing with my ex-husband is always a balancing act, and he looked like he was going to be violent, so I said, "Fine. I'm not overreacting. What happened?"

Ex had been tired of Spawn running around the confines of the boat, so he let him play outside on the dock. He was watching a football game, and would watch a play, come up and check on Spawn, and then watch another play.

"So I must have been below for an extra play, because all of a sudden the neighbor in 356 was there, holding Spawn. Spawn had fallen in the water and was holding onto the line (rope) when the neighbor came by and found him. Fucking neighbor told me I was irresponsible and I'm really embarrassed. He's fine."

2486. CalGal - 6/2/2000 12:39:26 PM

I said, "It must have been for more than two plays, though. Spawn hadn't just fallen in--the neighbor didn't see him fall, he found him in the water. So you really need to..."

"SHUT UP! FUCK YOU, you cunt. Don't tell me how to raise my son."

I never did learn how to keep my mouth shut, as many of you know, and I said, reasonably (if a tad sarcastically), "But we won't have a son to raise if you don't watch him at the boat. You need to be more careful."

He lifted his hand to hit me, then sneered as I dropped to the ground (body bruises aren't as hard to explain). "Yeah, well if you weren't such a whoring bitch I wouldn't have to," he said, with a contempt that's hard to think about, even now. He gave Spawn a hug and then left.

It's difficult to describe the distortions that occur to people who think abuse is normal. Suffice it to say that I had nightmares about Spawn that night, and obsessed about what my ex said. After due consideration, I decided that no, it wasn't my fault that Spawn had nearly died. That while my ex had always been a responsible and loving parent, the overwhelming rage he felt over the separation was clearly interfering with his feelings of irresponsibility. I needed to figure out a way to discuss this with him without him going beserk.

I was seeing a therapist at the time, and realized that this was probably the sort of thing I could discuss with her, so I mentioned it in my next session. My focus in telling the story was that I didn't know how to broach the subject of Spawn’s safety with my ex in a way that wouldn't get me hit, or at best cause him to go wild and start calling me 80 times a day at work, showing up at the house at all times of the day and night, etc.

2487. CalGal - 6/2/2000 12:42:44 PM

Those of you who know anything about mandated reporting know what happens next. My therapist called Child Protective Services, telling me that we'd have to use a different situation to teach me skills in dealing with my ex.

I was horrified, and begged her not to. I have never liked CPS. They can't seem to save the children really in danger, so they overreact on the cases that do cross their line of fire. I would not have had any problem with someone coming out and lecturing my ex ferociously, but I was terrified that it would end with them taking Spawn away--from me, even, if they decided I was too much of a wuss to stand up to him. And given CPS, that wasn't an unlikely scenario.

Second, of course, I knew that my ex would see this as my fault. First, I split up with him. Second, I was the one who mentioned it to the therapist so naturally, it was all a devious ploy on my part to ruin his reputation and destroy his life.

My brother was getting married at my house that weekend, and I remember that I told my ex about CPS while I was making the special "ring" cookie that was the table centerpiece.

There were too many people were around for him to have a real meltdown. Still, he screamed that he would tell the CPS that I was even more of an irresponsible parent, a whore, a slut, a cunt, a bitch who dumped her husband so she could go around screwing guys for free, and so on. (It is odd that this accusation is so common with male batterers. I've spoken to other women with this history, and you'd think they got their insults out of the Big Book for Batterers, they are all so similar.)

2488. CalGal - 6/2/2000 12:43:51 PM

My mother finally pulled him aside and said, "Look. Don't screw around with CPS. They could take Spawn away from both of you if you convince them that Cal is a lousy parent--which she's not, and you know it. By the way, you're ruining the wedding day, so if you can't cheer up, leave."

I wish I were that lucky, but he stayed around, glaring at me, making remarks under his breath. The cops came later that night for the initial interview--my ex told me smugly that the cops didn't think it was a big problem, that my attempt to ruin his relationship with his son had failed.

The wedding went off beautifully.

After my ex had calmed down a bit, I asked that Spawn wear a lifejacket at all times when he's on the dock--from the moment he is out of the car until he is down below in the cabin. This was agreed to without hesitation (in fact, Spawn wore a life vest like that until he was nearly five, when he protested that none of the other kids had to wear them and he felt like a baby.) We also started Spawn in swimming lessons the next spring. My ex--who had, underneath all his rabid bluster, been shocked and appalled by the near miss, was back to his vigilant self and I didn't feel that Spawn was in any danger.

2489. CalGal - 6/2/2000 12:46:25 PM

A few weeks later, I received a call from CPS. It was a Friday at 5:00. I was not to let my son be unattended with his father. I said, "This is his weekend. I have no authority to prevent him from taking him."

She said, "You must."

I said, "If my son is in so much danger, how come you wait three weeks to 'save' him? If you've waited this long, you can wait a weekend. Besides, why the hell do you have to make me the bad guy? Call him yourself. Here's his number."

She said, "Well, I can just make a note that you protested the need for reasonable safety measures. Clearly, you share your husband's lax notions of safety; perhaps your son needs to be taken to a better environment. Or you can just call him, which means that you're willing to cooperate and I'll make a note of that, instead."

2490. CalGal - 6/2/2000 12:47:05 PM

I bit my tongue so hard it hurt, hung up, and made the call. Originality isn't a strong point with my ex, so just refer to previous paragraphs for a sense of his reaction. I had my mother call him to reinforce the fact that CPS was a dangerous entity, to just go through the motions, act sincere, admit to error, blah blah blah. She reported that he was much calmer, and agreed that I would have Spawn that weekend. He came over a few times to play with him.

I have blocked much of the CPS interview from memory. We were interviewed together and separately. I recall that she held me as responsible as she did him, else why wouldn't I have called social services to report him? She had no suggestions, she approved of the safety measures we'd taken, and she made me promise to call if Spawn were ever left alone for even the slightest bit of time, or she would hold me equally responsible. I had realized early that any reaction on my part could involve me losing Spawn--or at least she had hinted as much--so I made my real self go away, and just nodded obediently.

I do remember the last thing she said to me, "Okay, I'm off to see a baby with a broken arm and find out what happened. Can you imagine the cruelty of some parents?" I choked back a response, but I longed to ask her why she had already decided the parents had been abusive. What was the point of investigating, if she had all the answers?

But it was finally over.

2491. CalGal - 6/2/2000 12:50:39 PM

I don't like thinking of this time. I have learned a great deal about reality distortion, and how to hang on to the facts in the face of someone who wants to distract off topic and make it my fault. I cringe in embarrassment when I remember how worried I was about fussing my ex, and that I needed to be by myself and out of his sight before I could focus on the real issue: Spawn's safety. But at the same time, I feel pretty good--even though I initially worried about his reaction, I did get to the core of the matter immediately. No matter how much I hated the hassle and the abuse, I did instantly know what the core of the problem was, and I started working on it right away. I did implement safety measures that worked, and that allowed Spawn to live safely on the boat with his father during his early childhood.

I also am glad that I remembered the other side of reality--that in the face of a determined therapist and a control freak CPS social worker, I stuck to my guns. My ex was a good dad who due to anger and self-pity about the divorce had temporarily endangered our son. He was not someone who needed to be punished or educated; his own fear and blame would do perfectly well. We needed to set ground rules for living on the boat, which we hadn’t thought of before. That was the problem. I would not let the CPS worker convince me otherwise, no matter how hard she tried. Nor would I let my therapist do so, and I'm happy to say that a few years later, she agreed with my take on the subject.

My dislike of CPS turned to a loathing that I've never lost. I can't think of them without remembering her readiness to use her power to take our son away, her lack of interest in getting to the truth of the matter, her obsession with finding someone to blame.

2492. theDiva - 6/2/2000 12:52:49 PM

Cal

There are no words. There are just no words.

(hug, squeeze, hug)

2493. rubberducky7 - 6/2/2000 12:57:38 PM

wow, cal, thanks for sharing.

i'm continually amazed at the willingness of posters here to bear their soul for all to see.

very encouraging.

2494. PsychProf - 6/2/2000 12:58:31 PM

Cal...I am glad for the ending. I'm not sure, but I would guess that most parents have failed the vigilance test on more than one occasion. Crap-shoot, that's what life is sometimes...

2495. PsychProf - 6/2/2000 1:00:34 PM

Cal...I am glad for the ending. I'm not sure, but I would guess that most parents have failed the vigilance test on more than one occasion. Crap-shoot, that's what life is sometimes...

2496. CalGal - 6/2/2000 1:11:10 PM

I am never particularly hard on my ex-husband—neither for the moment of neglect or the way he behaved. The neglect is something that all parents risk on occasion. His was worse than usual, but it was also a time of shattering loss in his life, and he has to live with the fact that it was his worst moment ever as a father.

As for his behavior, I look at him and see a broken soul, a person for whom the effort of normal living is four or five times what it is for others. I respect the fact that he has managed to be a good and loving father, and I know that he desperately wants to do the right thing as a father and as a human being. Time has proven me right on this over the years. We have, from that rocky beginning, worked very well together as parents.

However, one thing has always been lost to me, and I still regret it. Even now, when I think of this time, all the blame and anger that got dumped on me (both by my ex and the CPS worker), the stress of trying to put on a wedding, the frustration and fear that I might have my son taken away from me--that's what I remember. The nightmare of all the extraneous circumstances meant that I was never able to just simply react to the near loss of my son. I was never able to just lose it, have a panic attack, cry, hold him so tight he'd squirm and tell mommy not to squeeze so hard. I didn't have a chance to experience the joy and relief that comes in realizing what incredible luck I'd had that my darling boy, the center of my life, hadn't been lost to me forever.

Even worse, I have never been able to see or thank the neighbor who happened to save my son. And that, in the end, is what is so hard to remember in all the tangle that followed. If he hadn't happened by, my son might have drowned. The nightmare and mess I had to deal with for the next three weeks seems very small and insignificant when I think of how close I came to living a life without Spawn.

2497. CalGal - 6/2/2000 1:16:58 PM

So anyway, as I was writing this up, it occurred to me that I could risk the hassle of checking in with my ex about it. I emailed him, and asked him whatever happened to that neighbor. (I'd never even heard who it was.)

The response was brusque and more than a bit rude. But my ex said that some number of years ago, he had gone out of his way to thank the neighbor, Buck, for his help, and to acknowledge how right he had been to lecture him on his carelessness. Buck said that he'd always remembered that night, and had been happy to watch Spawn grow up into such a terrific kid.

And here is the odd thing--I knew who Buck was. A few years ago, Buck had a disaster on his boat that caused it to be at risk of sinking in the dock. The first person on the scene was my ex, who stayed up with both him and his wife all night, helping to keep the boat barely afloat. My ex is not always helpful, and I'd wondered at the time why he'd gone so far out of his way. Now I knew why. He does pay his debts.

2498. marshame - 6/2/2000 3:33:02 PM

Calgal

Your story is proof that reality is more compelling than fiction. As I read it, I couldn't help but wonder how you and your ex got together in the first place. What attracted you to him? And him to you?

iiibbb

I loved, your story by Rebecca and the adolescent! Both of them should have gotten A's for persistance and creativity, but surely they could have come up with a better ending! It reminded me of the book series "It was a Dark and Stormy Night." This is an annual contest for the worst opening line of a novel/story. The best ones are categorized (science fiction, romance, fantasy, detective/crime, etc.) and published, and they are hilarious! The perfect book for the beach, a plane ride, etc. because you can pick it up and put it down easily. The hardest part is trying not to laugh uproariously in public places.

stostosto

Your opener would be a fun one for iiibbb's experiment: someone else could pick up the next paragraph, etc. etc.

2499. marshame - 6/2/2000 3:35:09 PM

"...worms of doubt gnawing away at their spirit foretelling the inescapable earthly worms that all too soon were to feast mindlessly on their guts..."

hmmmm, worms....what a picture!!

2500. Uzmakk - 6/2/2000 3:37:18 PM

Speechless, cal. Well, not actually. Being a guy and all, and knowing that you are over the emotional trauma, I would say that I am very wary of government meddling with the family. It seems that it must be done though. We seem to have so many incompetent human beings, (actually, its those troublesome heterosexuals again) Here I speak statistically and make no personal judgements. Description of the CPS bureaucrat sounds about right. Though I have no personal experience with these people I know an amazing story or two.. Sometimes the bureaucracy's take, more specifically the bureaucrat's, can be so troublingly stupid as to leave one agape. But back to the future -- If I don't agree with Hillary and Harvard and those whacked out Swedish bureaucrats concerning the upbringing of my children what will happen to me and my family?
The egg headed labcoat crowd and their minions of low level government employees bother me. I make it a point to slap an egg head in the back of the head at least once every six months.

2501. theDiva - 6/2/2000 3:37:57 PM

2502. theDiva - 6/2/2000 3:38:08 PM

toys?

2503. marshame - 6/2/2000 3:41:55 PM

oops.

2504. theDiva - 6/2/2000 3:46:01 PM

bad girl.

2505. CalGal - 6/2/2000 3:47:26 PM

Uz,

I don't object to CPS in theory. It is the reality of the people drawn to this kind of work that repels me.

Marshame,

Everyone always asks that.

2506. marshame - 6/2/2000 4:06:19 PM

Okay, Diva, to make it up to you, I will tell you about the time my ex-husband tried to kill me.

John and I had been separated about 18 months, and because we had a young child, we wound up spending some time together. To my surprise, since I had worked myself up into a positive hatred for him during the divorce proceedings, I felt myself attracted to him. He was very handsome, and very charming. After we had had a couple of innocuous outings with little Jenerator in tote, he asked me to go skiing with him at Mammoth Mountain. I had never been skiing before, but he assured me that with one day's lessons I would be fully competant and ready to go.

Jenerator stayed with my brother and sis-in-law and off we drove to Mammoth Mountain. I enrolled in First Timers Ski School, and was ecstatic that at the end of the day I did indeed feel fully competant. I could handle the bunny slope, aptly named Sesami Street, without a problem, and John was very proud of my accomplishment and obvious coordination. The next day, I enrolled in B school for two hours, and felt practically ready to try out for the Olympics. After lunch, John told me that I was ready for "the top" and I skiied eagerly along side him to the lift, confident that my wedge could see me through anything.

2507. marshame - 6/2/2000 4:06:46 PM

We went to the lift, and I looked up to the top of the lift ride and and it looked fine, just fine. We got on the lift, and up we went. When we got to what I thought was the top, we went a distance horizontally, and then we began our true vertical ascent to the top. After 5 or 10 minutes, on our way up, what had been a lightly falling snow on the bottom turned into a storm. The wind and snow were blowing furiously. The lift stopped for what seemed like an eternity. It started up again, then stopped. "People must be falling when they get off," John offered by way of explanation through his ski mask, which he had pulled down over his face to protect himself from what was now a blizzard. I was too cold to speak. All I had on was some jeans sprayed with water repellant and some cheap thin gloves.

I was terrified! And anyone who has been on a ski lift knows, there's only one way off, and that is forward, while the chair is moving. I quickly rehearsed in my mind everything they had told us, but my legs felt like jelly and my poles felt like giant fish in my hands.

Then it hit me.

John had brought me up to the top of this mountain to kill me.

It was his way of getting out of child support. It would appear to be an accident. It was the perfect crime.






Somehow, I made it down from the mountain that day. John's scheme was foiled, and our beginnings of a reconciliation screeched to a halt. I remembered that during the marriage he had also tried to kill me on a motorcycle and a sailboat, but I had survived each of those carefully calibrated plot of his.

From that point on, I avoided providing opportunity to those with a motive.

2508. theDiva - 6/2/2000 4:10:39 PM

Good God, woman, whatever possessed you to don skis in the first place? There are other ways of getting next to a man. Thank God you survived.

2509. marshame - 6/2/2000 4:14:08 PM

Well I thought that by only wearing water-repellant-sprayed jeans and gloves that I would be irrisistable to him.

2510. theDiva - 6/2/2000 4:17:11 PM

hahaha!

Obviously this was before you started taking fashion hints from Shimmy.

2511. OhioSTOPAS - 6/2/2000 4:26:49 PM

But you've got to admit that "only wearing . . . jeans and gloves" is a good look.

2512. janjon - 6/2/2000 4:35:09 PM

marshame. Barbara Cartland couldn't have plotted it better.

2513. marshame - 6/2/2000 5:10:04 PM

Janjon

Yes I agree. Not that I am paranoid, or anything. Just 'cuz you think people are out to get you, doesn't mean they aren't, ya know.

2514. stostosto - 6/2/2000 5:17:32 PM

CalGal

You are such an awesome toughie. I can't believe that guy, your ex, and I can't believe that CPS woman. If it wasn't for the fact that we have such types here as well.

I have never experienced them myself, but there are people in my family who have. One is just made so utterly powerless. Talk about anything you say or do being held against you. Fantastic that you controlled yourself so well.

2515. OhioSTOPAS - 6/2/2000 5:24:43 PM

Cal: I agree with Sto. What a horrible series of events to have to fight through!

2516. OhioSTOPAS - 6/2/2000 5:31:17 PM

One remark of Calgal's in describing Child Protection Services - since they never have an opportunity to save many children who need saving, "they overreact on the cases that do cross their line of fire" - made me think of the news stories about crazy punishments dished out by schools in the name of "zero tolerance" of drugs or weapons. Suspending a girl for months for giving another girl Mydol (this happened in Ohio) is apparently supposed to make up for actual illegal drug users who escape detection and discipline.

2517. stostosto - 6/2/2000 6:21:36 PM

CalGal, your story made me think of a terrible experience I had with my eldest son who was run down by a taxi while I stood watching, powerless.

I held his hand as we were about to cross the street from behind a parked kindergarten bus which was about to take some of the kids on a day trip when suddenly he tore himself loose from me and ran out on the street without watching out. It was a very quiet street, and as I had my view blocked by the bus, I remember just thinking "there is no chance of a car coming by just now" when I realised that that was exactly what was happening! A taxi speeding by, using this little quiet street as a short cut. There was no avoiding it, my son was right in the line, the car was going way too fast, and my son had turned towards the car, then completely frozen in the split second before it hit him, throwing him up in the air onto the front window, then, when it stopped, onto the street where he rolled perhaps 10 meters until he lay still.

I watched all this, registered every movement and instant so that to this day I remember every detail of it with a totally unreal sharpness, and all the while I screamed --- SCREAMED! from the bottom of my soul, with every fiber in my body; all my fear, my unspeakable certainty of witnessing my son's death, seemed to burst out of me in the form of this overpowering inhuman scream of terror.

2518. stostosto - 6/2/2000 6:22:48 PM

I ran towards him, completely focused, strangely composed and ready to take action. And --- he was not hurt! He was up even before I reached him looking most bewildered, but not crying or whining in the least. I couldn't believe it as I held him in my arms, terrified I might squeeze him too tight, crush his supposedly bruised body even more. But... the fact was: He was 100% unharmed, completely intact, not so much as one little bruise.

Someone called an ambulance, and my wife, we went to the hospital, he was examined and x-rayed, and kept there over the night, I stayed there with him. They asked him does this hurt? Or this? and he calmly, earnestly answered no. Nothing on the x-rays, nothing. He had just miraculously escaped any harm whatsoever. Nor did he seem to have suffered any significant trauma from the event - he still doesn't.

I still don't understand how the hell that was. And for a long time afterwards, I sometimes had this feeling when I looked at him that he really wasn't there, he was not for real, that he had been spared by some otherworldly force which could also take him away.

But, I too didn't have any shock trauma or any such reactions. I put it down to the scream which compounded all the shock and terror and powerlessness of the experience in one single mental and physical reaction.

There were many other parents present at the sidewalk waving goodbye to their children in the bus. Strangely, none of them saw the accident. But they heard it, and above all they heard my scream. I think that hearing that sound shocked them at least as much as seeing the actual accident would have. I sensed that when I talked to them about it later; the way they looked at me scrutinisingly made me wonder how it actually sounded. I have no recollection of it myself.

2519. OhioSTOPAS - 6/2/2000 6:24:51 PM

Wow. That is a parent's worst fear. My wife and I have been lucky never to have experienced the death of a child, or the close calls that Sto and CalGal have endured.

2520. CalGal - 6/2/2000 6:39:29 PM

Sto, Ohio:

Ha. I am tough, but it goes something like this:

I am trudging through a dark and muggy jungle, with snakes everywhere, vines snapping in my face, nasty, hairy, multi-legged bugs chittering everywhere, huge animals roaring and howling in the distance, periodically jumping out at me and taking a swipe at my face before I flee. I am jumpy, exhausted, but determined. I then come to a wide river, deep and forbidding, with a rapid current, and boulders protruding everywhere, just waiting for something to smash against them. I can’t even see what’s on the other side, it’s so far away. But I look around and there is no easier way across, and I don’t want to go back into the jungle. Nothing for it but to slide into the water and swim.

It’s a wicked crossing, of course. I end up being swept downstream from boulder to boulder, launching myself off of one and doing my best to arrange a collision that doesn’t involve my head. I see a crocodile sunning on the next rock I’m scheduled to land on, and splash vigorously to angle around it. I am successful, but the crocodile spots me and eases into the water for lunch. I desperately take a huge breath and dive underwater, grabbing onto an underwater root and holding as still as I can watching the reptile swim past. I finally come up for air, gasping and flailing—the crocodile is gone, but now I’m out of control, with no idea where the next rock…. SLAM! Oh, there it is. And Hallelujah, I see the other side! Just two more jumps away.

I finally drag myself out, gasping, bruised, soaked, still exhausted—only to see that there is a small meadow around the river’s edge, but then the jungle starts again. I sag, discouraged and defeated.

2521. CalGal - 6/2/2000 6:40:38 PM

Suddenly I see a woman striding towards me. She is beautifully dressed, coiffed, and her nails have just been manicured. I feel like a skag, but she is full of admiration.

“That was amazing! I’ve been watching you cross—how the hell did you hold your breath that long? I thought you were done for when I saw that crocodile! You are one tough woman, girlfriend!”

I feel so inadequate. How did she get through so easily? I must be hopeless. “Gosh. Thanks. But look at you! You didn’t even break a nail. I guess you….didn’t have to deal with the crocodile?” I can’t see how crossing the river would have been that much easier without the crocodile, but I’m willing to clutch at straws.

A look of horror crosses her face. “Lord, no. I wouldn’t go near the jungle, much less that damn river. I flew in.” She glances at her watch. “And much as I’d love to hear about your journey, the next flight leaves in an hour and I don’t want to be late. Best of luck!”

She disappears before I can muster a word.

So I’m back in the jungle, trudging and exhausted. But at least this time, I’m looking for the airport.

And thus ends CalGal's philosophical musings for the day.

2522. CalGal - 6/2/2000 6:44:59 PM

Sto,

I think you're right. The scream must have been your entire reaction. I'm so glad your son wasn't harmed. I once had a dream that something like that happened to Spawn, and my unconscious was so upset that my dream fixed itself--the paramedics came and told me that he wasn't dead after all.

2523. PincherMartin - 6/2/2000 6:46:16 PM

Sto -- What a horrifying story!

Your scream was well-justified. A car -- even a slow moving car -- can do terrible things to the human body. You were very fortunate. I remember when I was a junior in hiugh school, my brother was hit by a car driving twenty miles an hour down a country road. He suffered a severe concussion and stayed in the hospital a week. It also knocked one of his shoes a hundred yards down the road from where his body lay.

2524. CalGal - 6/2/2000 6:55:31 PM

Ohio--I think that many social workers are frustrated and take it out on the cases that they can find. As a result, the middle class gets a lot more harassment from them than one might expect--and even then, the real problems aren't caught. The families with real problems know better than to go to therapists who are mandated to make reports, and they lie to their doctors.

2525. robertjayb - 6/2/2000 7:13:30 PM

.
a robert's rule: never call on a cop, or anyone like a cop, for assistance unless you are willing to accept a cop's solution.

2526. CalGal - 6/2/2000 7:18:32 PM

Ha. Exactly.

But then, that's why mandated reporting began. Because so many families weren't calling the cops.

2527. stostosto - 6/2/2000 7:27:28 PM

Mandated reporting sounds like a thorougly unworkable idea. Who is going to bring up anything to a shrink that might fall under that heading?! And then, what good is consulting them?

2528. CalGal - 6/2/2000 7:29:20 PM

It's shrinks, doctors, and teachers, I think. Most reporting requirements involve child endangerment.

2529. Webfeet - 6/3/2000 5:13:55 PM

That was an agonizing story, calgal. I read it yesterday and didn't have time to post. It's impressive how self-possessed you were and strong under those circumstances. And, how generous you are to your ex after the fact in that you are able to be objective about his skills as a parent, recognizing that despite some serious flaws, he still has some good qualiies, and can be a good dad.

2530. stostosto - 6/5/2000 5:40:10 AM

CalGal #2520-21:
Sounds like the standard European idea of American society. But I guess you have just been playing with Spawn's computer games again.

2531. stostosto - 6/5/2000 6:03:01 AM

Pincher:

Yes, I was very lucky, inexplicably, wondrously lucky. And my son was. It was in winter, so he was packed in boots, cap, and an overall ski suit, which obviously did something to cushion the blows, but frankly I still think his faring so scot free was highly improbable, to say the least.

It was a chilling experience. It has had the effect of us being extremely careful with letting our children out in the traffic on their own. Possibly excessively careful. But then again. It really isn't something to take lightly to.

Ohio #2519: You are right, it's the ultimate nightmare. And I certainly wouldn't hope for anyone to have it happen to them, so you keep it that way.

2532. arkymalarky - 6/5/2000 1:43:22 PM

I've been lurking in here a lot, but haven't commented, but the stories in here have been great, and the shift to personal stories has been particularly good, but hard to read, especially when you realize how fleeting, not your own life but the lives of those around you, is, especially your children. The idea that a moment could change things for them is a frightening thought.

2533. janjon - 6/5/2000 2:41:42 PM

sto. I will now have one of my occasional nightmares tonight. Our son, now nine, is remarkably oblivious to danger - be it cars, ledges on cliffs, rooftops, deep water, you name it. From toddlerhood on, it has been a constant worry. We always took "comfort" from knowing that when he got older (say, about eight or so), that rationality would take over and that we could relax a bit. Well, eight has come and gone and rationality is still but a concept. Can't be with him all the time. Have no faith in his savvy. Occasional nightmares.

2534. alistairConnor - 6/5/2000 4:44:13 PM

I've got a story that I'm not proud of.

Our daughter was two years old at the time. We must have become better parents since then, because she's nearly seven now.

We were going to take her to the village fair, but she refused to get dressed. She insisted she would go as she was, wearing just a T shirt. No shoes, no pants.

A lot of crying and screaming. My wife and I were both probably sleep-deprived, our daughter was in the habit of waking up repeatedly during the night, crying and screaming (that got sorted out a few months later). Anyway, we were both pretty angry with her, and decided to leave her at home and go to the fair.

No, we didn't leave her alone in the house... there was a friend staying with us, who, it turned out later, was asleep at this time. But we left without telling the friend that we were leaving our daughter.

When we got to the village - about a mile away - we looked at each other guiltily and said - we'd better phone home - no, we'd better go home. We drove back. Halfway home there were a couple of cars and some people milling around, we forced our way through, we were starting to panic.

We got home, the friend was awake, and hadn't seen our daughter... we start hunting around the house and surrounds, calling for her. Perhaps she's hiding to punish us? Surely not... with dread in my heart, I went down to the stream, to look in the deeper holes, and under the bridge. No sign.

Then a car arrives - an elderly neighbour, with our daughter sitting happily on his knee. Some people had found her half way to the village - still dressed only in a T shirt - and flagged down passing cars to find someone who knew her. That was the congregation we had forced through without looking on the way home.

2535. stostosto - 6/5/2000 7:06:11 PM

Mon Dieu!

2536. Webfeet - 6/5/2000 8:26:32 PM

Cruel lesson, alistair, but thankfully nothing more than a hiccup.

stostosto-- your story makes me forgive my dad for always gripping my hand too tightly when i was crossing the street with him, growing up.
If I were the executive producer of 'Touched by an Angel" I would buy that one up for at least thirty grand. What a miracle.

2537. stostosto - 6/6/2000 9:52:52 AM

janjon #2533

How was your sleep? This may not be much of a consolation to you, but my son in question is actually a very sensible kid who isn't generally prone to do anything rash or dangerous. I should add that he was almost six at the time of the accident. He is ten now. And we have let him loose in the traffic to the extent that he goes to school every day by himself by metro train and bus. He started at a new school last summer making this necessary - and it was a major step for us to let him do it, at least as much as it was for him.

2538. janjon - 6/6/2000 11:14:03 AM

Sto. I actually did think about your story when falling asleep but don't remember any dreams about it, let alone any nightmare. Our boys are about the same age, it appears. The most favorable way I can put it about him is that he is dreamy. He doesn't go out of his way looking for dangerous situations (thankfully), he is just oblivious to them. We are moving back to the City shortly and in some ways this will ease our concerns for a while, since he is still too young for even him to think he should be allowed to maneuver around the City on his own. He will be taken to school and then picked up. But, how many years do we have before both he AND we will find that inappropriate? Not many. Maybe by then the long-awaited common sense/rationality will arise from wherever it is currently residing deep within him.

2539. cigarlaw - 6/6/2000 4:40:01 PM

Cal,

I just was wandering about and read your story. If anything like this ever happens again, give me a call. In my first years in practice, my primary practice was fighting cps in court. That is where I learned to lose a lot and not break down over it. Your mother gave you the best advice possible. My advice to my clients (generally people who were coming to court because cps had already taken their kids away) was the same: "don't screw with CPS. If they tell you to do something, no matter how stupid it seems at the time, do it. Always remember the golden rule: he who has the gold makes the rules. They have the gold -- your kid -- and if you ever want see your child again, and not have them adopted out -- particularly if they are blond, blue-eyed and under 5 -- do what they tell you to do.

2540. cigarlaw - 6/6/2000 4:42:09 PM

It is not just their ability to yank your kid at will, but the ability they have to get judges to do they want. In dependency court, the burden is much less than in a criminal trial. The bottom line is the judge, the attorneys (even those who represent you), and the social workers are mandated by law to work for the best interests of the child, no matter who gets stepped on the process. The courts, if there's any question at all, will always side with the social worker. The reason is quite simple. They would rather err on the side of safety then send him home and have him die. Remember, judges stand for reelection every once in while and they are politicians like everyone else.

I had far more success on getting children back by telling my

2541. CalGal - 6/6/2000 4:42:49 PM

Hey, I'm glad to see you. I've been worried.

Thanks for the advice, which I did try to follow at the time. It is spooky what they can do.

And my son at the time was blond, blue-eyed, and under 5.

2542. cigarlaw - 6/6/2000 4:43:22 PM

I had far more success on getting children back by telling my clients to cooperate with social workers than I ever got by doing what they wanted me to do, which was go to trial. This is experience from handling several hundred cases. I had one case I recall specifically, where a teenage girl said her father had molested her. Was pretty clear after talking to the sisters no one liked him and they all wanted him out of the house, but they all were unanimous, it was not because he molested the sister -- in fact they were adamant he had not done it. I recall Cross examining this girl -- she said that one day he fondled her while watching television with the rest of the family sitting around watching. What she described was physically impossible, and I pointed that out to her. Every time I caught her lying, she would put her head down and begin to cry. The judge would immediately call a recess and let her go into his chambers with her "support person". She would come back with a story more unbelievable than the first. By the time I was done with her the judge looked at me and said, "Mr. Maylen , this is cross-examination, not trial by combat." I replied, "I'm not certain what law school you attended your honor, but in my law school I was taught that when you have a lying witness, that is precisely what it is."

2543. cigarlaw - 6/6/2000 4:45:13 PM

By the end of my cross-examination, not even opposing counsel believed the girl. They had enough evidence to prove physical abuse (he swatted them with his belt a couple times) . He admitted this was inappropriate and he stopped it. However, he was adamant that he had not touched any of them in a sexual way. As it turned out, the judge ordered him to attend sex abuse counseling anyway, over the objection of me and of opposing counsel. He read us all the riot act. He apparently believed everything the lying girl said. (No one else did -- not even the social worker.) We worked it out, eventually.

I remember another case where the same Judge, before I became the guys lawyer had ruled that my client (who I referred to as Mr. Greenteeth -- if you ever saw this guy you'd understand why) had molested his daughter. Mr. Greenteeth and his wife (who was low IQ, not all there and extremely ugly to boot-- they deserved each other) were told by CPS she would have to divorce him or she would never see her children again. By the time I came into the case the girl had been in foster placement for a year. After a year, the wife was pregnant again by another man, and they were talking about returning the children to her. Then they found out that she lived in the same hotel as her ex-husband. Within two weeks of his birth, CPS gabbed the new baby, and within a month it had died in placement. For some reason, the issue came up regarding the first time the children were removed. I got a shot at the girl who said she had been molested. It became clear that she wanted to go home (to the foster family -- not her parents --because the foster family had money and could help her out a lot with clothing etc.) Her story became more and more fantastic. By the time the trial was done, my clients penis had grown to 4 feet long, and blood sprayed all over the room in which they were living.

2544. cigarlaw - 6/6/2000 4:48:07 PM

And when her mother came home, she held her down and my client, supposedly placed both his hands in her vagina up to his elbows. At the end of the trial the judge told me that he would not have found her to be a credible witness the first time through, but the other Judge had already ruled. He told me he couldn't tell what had actually happened to her vs. what CPS's tampering had done to her story.

As it turned out, my client, Mr. Greenteeth, never saw his kids again, so far as I know. They were returned to the mother, but beyond that I do not know what happened, except once I saw her court again, so I assume they yanked her kids again.

I could go on and on, but suffice it to say what CPS decides you are a bad parent, if you have an adoptable child, they will do what they have to to insure the child is adopted. I have seen this actually happen. One time, they manipulated my client to the point, that the woman who'd been clean for 10 months in an effort to get the child back, relapsed and began using heroin the day they told her, they were unilaterally canceling the trial visit they had planned (the woman had rented a bigger apartment, set up a room just for the child, with clothing and bed). And then, after she returned to therapy, even though they said she was expected to relapse occasionally, but they said it was to her credit that within three days she checked back into the program and had been clean ever since. This led to the longest cross-examination of my career. I had the social worker on the stand three days -- every time she opened her mouth she gave me something else to hit her with. Her grandfather had been an opium addict and her father was an alcoholic. She told me that she still did not understand why they didn't just stop.

2545. cigarlaw - 6/6/2000 4:48:36 PM

I got her to admit that although she was designated as a reunification worker, no one in her special unit had ever actually reunified with the children. Rather, everyone had ended up being adopted out. She implied that the reason they canceled the trial visit was because the foster parents were of town that weekend and wanted to take the child with them. Then, I asked her why she didn't inform my client of why the visit was canceled. She said, because she's a drug addict. I trotted in a number of experts, doctors, other social workers, you name it I did it, to no avail. The woman lost her kid. Although, she did get back for other three children -- one other had been previously adopted as an infant, which is why they figured she would never reunify with this child and put her with the "special unit."

The bottom line is, they have the power and if they come at your child again, do what they say -- Or they will put in the report that you are in denial and are assisting in the abuse. And say what they want you to say or you are in deep shit

2546. CalGal - 6/6/2000 4:49:45 PM

Cig,

After this incident, I was quite sure of one thing: if they had ever wanted me to do something that I couldn't do, for whatever reason, I wouldn't wait around to tell them. I'd be on the first plane to Egypt and staying with my dad. Forever.

2547. ycmeehan - 6/6/2000 6:16:07 PM

Many years still, Janjon.
Read this: Not long ago, this woman I know was living on University campus with her son, near a large Midwestern city, teaching two evening courses at the University and five High School courses in the city during the day. She was very busy and always tired, but determined to succeed alone in life after a very bitter custody and money battle.

One Saturday night, around 10 PM, making her lessons'plans for the following week in her bedroom, she heard the doorbell and went into the living-room to see who had the nerve to call so late in the evening. There was Justin , her son's best friend, talking quietly with him.

She knew Justin's father well, a professor at the University and was glad of the friendship between the two boys because Justin was older, a top student and seemed so reasonable. Satisfied, she went back to her room. A few minutes later, she returned in the living-room to tell her son to order pizza for them.

The boys were not alone. There were three other boys and a girl. To her horror, there was a girl on the couch, seemingly asleep but actually passed out drunk. The boys had planned to have this girl sleep off whatever she had drunk that evening.

Quick action took place. The professor assumed charge of the situation. The girl's stomach was pumped, two hours later, it would have been too late. I will spare you the gritty details of this nightmarish evening. It took a long time for the professor, his wife, and my friend, not to have horrible dreams about the matter: What if the mother had fallen asleep? The headlines in the paper if this girl had died. Both their careers over. The scandal on the campus, in the city...the pain in their lives.

The professor's son had driven the car and picked up the girl at her house. It seems that she had waited too long for him and had drunk 2/3 of a bottle of vodka while her parents were watching TV.

2548. arkymalarky - 6/10/2000 4:43:27 PM

This is a short story, but I thought of it and didn't really think it fit elsewhere.

We have a number of rural friends who are sort of old-hippie types, that we've kept up with for twenty or more years. Quite a few have been Bob's friends longer than that, some going back to 1st grade in the little school that used to be here. One in particular has always been one of those types that would be the same for the Pope as he would for his next door neighbor. Not because he scorns convention or pomp and circumstance, but because it truly wouldn't occur to him he needed to be different.

Well, he and Bob were rooming in a country house on a dirt road and one Saturday (just like every other day of the week back then) they were sitting on their porch when a carload of Jehovah's Witnesses stopped by. They were all dressed up in their church clothes, and there were a number of women of all ages. Bob and his friend invited them to sit down (there were always a lot of old chairs around the porch because that's where people congregated) and they got out and began visiting.

They talked for quite a little bit, and things moved toward philosophy and religion, so I'm sure the JW's thought they were beginning to get somewhere. The subject of creation and nature came up, and Bob's friend casually pointed toward a huge tree in the yard, and said, "Take that fuckin' pear tree, for instance...."

Bob doesn't remember what else he said. All he remembers was the nervously polite and hasty way those women gathered up their little daughters, made their excuses, and headed for the car. It unintentionally worked to prevent future JW visits at that residence.

2549. cigarlaw - 6/11/2000 2:52:23 PM

I had a dream the other night. I was in that semi conscious state, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. I seldom recall dreams at all, but this one is as vivid right now as it was when I had it.

I saw myself walking down the street, head erect, my battered, fur felt fedora on my head at just the right angle, wearing my favorite attire, a three-piece suit (and I have not had a three-piece suit for years) my gold watch and chain in my vest, a cigar in my mouth, and in my hand I carried, for some reason unknown to me, a walking stick with a gold head. I knew this was a dream, because I have not been able to walk on the street with my head up for at least two years now, and I have trouble walking down the street at all now. And any rate, I walked into a bar.

In this bar I found me of my old friends and began a conversation with them. Fred and Howard were the most visible to me. We were laughing about our criminal cases with our normal gallows humor. Then I realized Fred and Howard had been in several years. " Where was I? " I asked myself just before awakening to full consciousness.

All my life I suspected that would die in my 52nd year. I will be 52 on August 1st. Howard died 52. Marguerite's (an elderly woman who is a very good friend ) husband, who was a very well-known attorney in San Francisco died at 52. Last year I attended the funeral of another attorney who died 52. Napoleon died 52. Then, when attending my grandmother's funeral of couple years ago (she died at 93) I noticed that my grandfather had died at 52. I believe that God is giving me a message.

2550. cigarlaw - 6/11/2000 2:52:42 PM

The question I have is, is He telling me that it will be all right to allay my fears, or that I'm not going to heaven unless I change (after all, who ever heard of a lawyer getting to heaven particularly a criminal defense attorney ? And I was in a bar with two others. What does this mean? After all, I've heard the streets are paved with gold, but whoever of a bar there with leather chairs ?

2551. Uzmakk - 6/11/2000 5:36:44 PM

I have no answers for you, cigarlaw. But your story certainly puts me in mind of a happening just now receding far enough into the past to become a story. Further, your story gives me the courage to speculate on the meaning, on the end, of my story, which I shall tell presently. Very similar in a certain jehy nay say qua to yours. Can't decide on flashback or straight chronology.

2552. CalGal - 6/12/2000 4:21:41 PM

The Road to Hana

It was Mother’s Day, which meant any Lahaina restaurant would be mobbed. I decided to lunch in Paia, a neat little one-road town lined with art galleries and restaurants. It lies at the base of the Halakawea intersection (bikers come flying down the road at the end of their downhill run), and is just north of the premiere windsurfing beach.

2553. CalGal - 6/12/2000 4:32:17 PM

(got the pictures out of synch--the roadside store, below, was meant to be posted in the last paragraph).

2554. CalGal - 6/12/2000 4:35:58 PM

As if a narrow, windy road isn’t enough, the width at times allowed passage for only one car. I’d been prepped for this, and my guidebook warned me that a sure way to irritate the locals was to slow or stop needlessly at a one-lane segment. Only stop, it said, if there was an oncoming car.

2555. glendajean - 6/12/2000 4:40:03 PM

I'm jealous. It looks wonderful. But I'm not sure I'd want to be with you in a car (no offense, just different sensibilities).

2556. CalGal - 6/12/2000 4:51:34 PM

The picture above isn't perfectly in focus, but I took it from the car hanging far out of the window (stationary, I assure you, but ready to accelerate should someone come up behind me) because I loved the spooky vines. The "Yield"/"Sharp curves" double whammy was very common.

2557. CalGal - 6/12/2000 4:52:37 PM

GJ,

Ha! Then I suppose my last post won't have changed your mind.

BTW, Arky and Cig, I liked your stories. Cig, I am not sure how your dream ties in 52, but I'm more likely to believe in prophetic dreams than most.

2558. CalGal - 6/12/2000 5:28:17 PM

I did indeed scramble down hills, turn down unmarked roads, climb up rocks, and dangle my feet over cliffs that wouldn't have been left unguarded if more than 10 tourists a year visited. I think some of my pictures were even worth the effort. But in the end, I don't think I can say that I've seen all the Hana Highway has to offer. Still, I had a hell of a good time trying, and I can't wait to return.

2559. CalGal - 6/12/2000 5:31:12 PM

2560. marshame - 6/13/2000 5:22:23 PM

Cigarlaw

Small world. I myself am 52, about to turn 53 in 8 days. My father died in his sleep at age 53. My mother had a stroke which left her paralyzed on her right side at age 53.

I have often wondered if I will survive 53, and if so, in what shape. So I bought myself a cemetary plot at age 49. And I have written a will (which needs updating ... yikes, I only have 8 days!)

Sometimes when I'm alone, I wonder what if I were to just die right in that very spot. How long would I lay there in the tub before someone would finally break down the door and come looking for me? How shriveled would I be? Would my body absorb the bathwater so that I would like like a huge shriveled blue ballon floating in my tub?

And then there was the time I was eating dinner alone on my sofa while watching TV. I was (ashamed to admit it) gobbling down something or other, and suddenly began choking. As I tried to think of how to recover from this thing that was lodged in my airway, I had this dreadful image of me, sprawled across my hassock, hands around my throat, look of desperation on my face, and a piece of kielbasa sticking out of my mouth. Not to mention being dead four days, or whatever it would take til sometime decided to finally break down the door and come looking for me. I recovered, and have only eaten kielbasa in very small bites since then.

One damper on my self-death-fixation is my older brother. He, at 55, is clearly out of the woods, I figure. But he e-mailed me the other day, reciting the sad history: dad dead at 53, mom with stroke at 53, so he figures his days are numbered. Hey, that's my story!!

2561. Webfeet - 6/14/2000 7:26:39 PM

marshame,

Darling, don't dwell on those macabre things. I get troubled by thoughts like that too. But the truth is that death is completely random, and you can't let yourself become a victim of your anxieties.

Last summer when all the Nostradamus year 2000 hysteria was abuzz, I was convinced I was going to die in a terrorist attack. I had read an article in The New Yorker on how the smallpox virus was easily accessible by global terrorists and I spent like a month ina state of heightened anxiety wondering how the human race could go about life so normally, so unconcerned when I was checking my face for signs of the "flush" waiting for mysterious red blotches to break out everytime I left the subway. Of course, I was pregnant and had other big worries but I basically tortured myself for no reason.

Although my fears were based on some abstract evil, you can't lie in wait as well, counting the days and moments before you.

Don't torture yourself. If you are really so worried, look at it head on and get your heart checked out. You will feel more in control and it will help assuage your fears. Don't let an overactive imagination get the better of you.

2562. marshame - 6/15/2000 5:08:19 PM

Dear Webbie

Don't worry, I am not tortured with anxiety. It is rather, a somewhat macabre but existential excercise with which I amuse myself. Especially as I have gotten a bit older, I have found that thoughts of my own death actually serve as tiny innoculations against the fear of death. For example, when buying my own cemetary plot, I didn't let myself think for one minute about the grave itself(... there I am, lying in the box, maybe I'm dead, maybe I'm just in a real, real, deep sleep, and suddenly, the worms show up...). Nope, I did not let myself think about that for one minute. Instead, I thought how much I appreciated that my mother had bought her own cemetary plot, so there was no question where she wanted to be buried.

Honest, I am a happy, optimistic person. But death is a part of life, and thoughts of mortality are too.

As a new mother, you have no doubt had the same experience of imagining terrible things happening to your baby. (Is he asleep or dead?? Better pinch him, just to make sure.) Allowing yourself to entertain those thoughts, so that you can later laugh them off is a good idea, in my mind. Because it let me recognize that I would have moments of fear and anxiety, and I can entertain them momentarily, , but then I shake them off and thank God that all is well (at least for the moment!)

2563. marshame - 6/15/2000 5:11:14 PM

For example...

One time, when Jenerator was a toddler, I took her to the park. She had just mastered the tiny tot slide. She slid down by herself and then toddled over to the ladder to do it again. But in my young mother's eye, I perceived that she was limping slightly. But the time she made it to the top of that little ladder, I had diagnosed her with mennengitis.

But not to worry, she was fully recovered by the time we got home from the park!

You know the drill - you have a headache and it turns into a brain tumor, but then it's gone by morning...

2564. KuligintheHooligan - 6/15/2000 5:26:03 PM

"Would my body absorb the bathwater so that I would like like a huge shriveled blue ballon floating in my tub?"

From what I understand, you wouldn't need to absorb water for you to be found looking like this.

giggle giggle

2565. Jenerator - 6/15/2000 7:07:46 PM

Not funny, Vic.

2566. Webfeet - 6/15/2000 9:34:43 PM

Marshame, I'm so relieved! I was genuinely upset for you! And, I know you are a happy, optimistic person from your posts. I didnt mean to suggest that you weren't. I just thought the whole thing with your birthday was provoking a bit of an anxiety attack and I didn't like seeing you suffer.

2567. marshame - 6/16/2000 1:35:10 PM

The Jenerator suffers at the Hands of Marshame

Now I don't want to give you the impression that the Jenerator was a hypochondriac when she was a little kid. Let's just say that she was the child of a single mom who took her work very seriously and her child's aches and pains not so seriously. But when the Jenerator was really and truly sick (as validated by fever, visible hives, vomitting, etc.) then I would stay home and mother her back to health and she always considered that a great treat.

So one day, the school nurse called me just as school was getting out and said, "The Jenerator has fallen on the playground."

"Yes?" I inquired.

Silence.

"So," I continued, "Is there any sign of injury?"

""None that I can see," said the nurse, "but she's complaining that her right wrist hurts."

"And what do you think?" I asked.

"I am simply informing you that she fell on the playground and she is complaining of pain."

"Thanks a bunch, just tell her to go home" I concluded, hanging up. I left my office and went home to find the Jenerator sprawled in the middle of the living room floor, with best friend Lisa fanning her face.

I examined her wrist and could see absolutely nothing. No redness, no swelling, no limitation of movement, nothing.

"I think you should take me to the doctor," the Jenerator said.

Here it was, after 5:00PM, and I was not convinced that she had sustained any injury that required immediate medical attention.

"My next door neighbor is a nurse," Lisa offered.

So the three of us trooped up to Lisa's next door neighbor. She was very accomodating to look at the Jenerator's wrist. But like me, she could see no sign of injury. "I'd wait a day or two," she suggested. I agreed completely.

2568. marshame - 6/16/2000 1:36:07 PM

I took the Jenerator home, and gerry-rigged a splint from one of those bamboo-soled flip-flops. It worked perfectly. The next day, the Jenerator wore her home-made splint to school.

When she came home, she had tears of humiliation in her eyes. "The kids made fun of me!" she said, accusingly. Obviously the flip-flop splint had been a bad idea.

So the days passed, and I watched the Jenerator. She complained about her wrist hurting, especially at times when she was supposed to do something like her homework or her chores. I thought she was malingering.

Until the morning of the 8th day.

That morning, I went in to wake her up for school, and before she was awake, she clutched her wrist and moaned in pain.

Oh my god!! With a sinking feeling, I suddenly realized, the kid really did hurt herself! And I, the Master Social Worker mother, had ignored it!

I could contain myself until 8:00 to call the doctor's office for an appointment. We had to wait until that afternoon to get her in, and I worried the whole time that the wrist would turn gangrene from lack of attention, etc. etc. When the doctor finished eyeing the x-ray, he told me, "I think I'd like to have an orthopedic man take a look at this. I don't see anything major, but let's just have a specialist take a look."

Two hours later, the orthopedic surgeon was looking at the x-rays. "See right there" he gestured. "That is a hairline fracture. Extremely common. In fact, I'd hazard a guess that almost every child who falls on a playground or other hard surface experiences a fracture such as this."

2569. marshame - 6/16/2000 1:36:19 PM

"In fact, " he continued, "It used to be that people never sought treatment for these kinds of injuries. As a result, we have a whole generation of people with weak wrists or who suffer arthritis in their wrists from these kinds of injuries."

Both of my wrists immediately started throbbing.

I wish I had a picture of the look of utter vindication on the Jenerator's face, as the doctor started putting the cast on her arm. Needless to say, she could not wait to get to school the next day with the bonafide cast on her arm.

And I learned better safe than sorry in these kinds of injuries. I also learned why my wrists hurt under stress.

2570. CalGal - 6/16/2000 2:06:28 PM

I can just imagine that look of Jenerator's. You sound a lot like me. Spawn isn't a hypochondriac at all, and I love looking after him--but I do generally take the "wait a day and see" approach. So when it turns out it is something serious, I am stricken with guilt.


As an adult, I had a sledding accident with my brother, and he landed on my hand. It hurt like hell, but I just assumed it was a sprain until two weeks later, when I was in a meeting and playing with a pen using that hand. I realized that I couldn't use my pinky finger to apply pressure to the pen flipper thingy to "close" it (what does one call that, there must be an official term).

Anyway, I went to the doctor, who told me it couldn't be broken. I couldn't function with a broken hand for that long, he assured me. He was wrong. My hand was broken right below the pinky finger. Nice neat little fracture, but a bit worse than hairline.

So I can totally believe that you didn't realize it was a broken bone.

2571. arkymalarky - 6/16/2000 2:24:28 PM

Bob and I have a friend who had a similar experience with a broken neck, though it didn't go on for days. He had dived into the ocean and went to the emergency room afterward with bad pain. They were incredulous at the emergency room (this was years,/i> ago) until the x-ray, then wouldn't let him move a peg afterward and put him in traction immediately. He had to have surgery.

2572. CalGal - 6/16/2000 2:26:26 PM

toy check

2573. marshame - 6/16/2000 2:39:58 PM

I am convinced that 99% of people with carpal tunnel syndrome actually have untreated playground falls. We should make their parents pay.

2574. arkymalarky - 6/16/2000 2:40:26 PM

Oops.Sorry

2575. marshame - 6/16/2000 2:47:09 PM

Oh, and Calgal

I'm quite certain (well, mostly certain) that the technical name for that thing is "clicker" as in "Stop clicking that pen before I strangle you."

2576. CalGal - 6/16/2000 2:52:44 PM

Do you know, someone said that to me just the other day. What a coincidence.

2577. marshame - 6/16/2000 2:54:16 PM

Well then, quit clickin' the darn clicker! Rattle the change in your pocket, instead.

2578. Jenerator - 6/16/2000 3:02:29 PM

I don't think any of you know just how embarassing it is to wear a FLIP FLOP as a splint to school.


Vindication was putting it mildly!;-)

2579. theDiva - 6/16/2000 3:10:15 PM

Jen

I think it's astonishing that you survived such a hideous incident unscathed emotionally.

2580. arkymalarky - 6/16/2000 3:16:48 PM

It can't have been worse than home-hair cuts.

2581. theDiva - 6/16/2000 3:17:48 PM

My Great-Aunt Adelaide was the scourge of us kids, and our parents when they were kids, with those haircuts she gave. Slap a bowl on a head, hack with scissors, shove child into shower. Next.

2582. cigarlaw - 6/16/2000 4:29:15 PM

cal, you got it. it is called 'the pen thingy.'

2583. labwabbit - 6/23/2000 1:22:56 AM

Who's the tale's end?

2584. marshame - 6/23/2000 7:14:33 PM

Huh?

2585. Cellar Door - 6/23/2000 8:11:42 PM

Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell
Pinocchio Bore: Guilty as hell

2586. PelleNilsson - 6/24/2000 12:46:36 PM

My favourite of the evening was the coustillant de Roquefort auz poires, salade d'endives aux noix. Brick pastry was filled with a mix of of Roquefort cheese and cubed fresh pears, folded in four like a crepe than panfried. The crisp, warm coustillant accompanied a beutiful, fresh and nicely dressed endive salad tossed with a touch of cubed tomato, tons of finely chopped fresh parsley and plenty of walnuts.

(Patricia Wells, the International Herald Tribune

2587. PelleNilsson - 6/24/2000 12:56:51 PM

The above is an example of prepostrous food writing. I suggest a little competition along these lines. You can write either of a (imaginary) meal you had (or your dog had), Just as Ms Wells or compose a menu item.

Here is my feeble attempt at the latter modelled on countless coffe shops in hotel chains.

Sirloin Steak House Style

A choice cut of best Angus beef broiled to succulent perfection over charcoal made from Provencal oak, served with a fresh country salad tossed at your table by our Salad Chef, and golden brown french fries made from selected Irish potatoes.

2588. Indiana Jones - 6/24/2000 1:24:52 PM

A hand-pounded beef patty fresh from Union Jack's cattle ranch, grilled but a touch so as to preserve the natural juices and healthy pink color. Topped off with vine-ripened, seed-squirting tomatoes, crackling iceberg lettuce,and enclosed in the finest mouth-pleasing bun this side of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Daubing the cracks: butter-creamy mayonnaise and zesty Grey poupon.

Riding in the sidecar, julienne fries, each a culinary masterpiece of symmetry and crispness..as uniform in quality as a stack of gold bricks in Fort Knox.

And to wash it all down, icy liquid pleasure: all the tastebud-refreshing Coca Cola--the real thing--your thirst craves.

2589. iiibbb - 6/24/2000 2:14:24 PM

The John Wayne

One half pound premium-grade, free-range domestic steer and selected from the finest local ranches by broiling chef Andre' "Tex" Butkus. Each portion of succulent beef ground and hand spanked into an inch-thick medalian, grilled to your specifications, and served on freshly baked bread. Garnished to your taste, we highly recommend the chef's own special sauce and our organic tomatos picked fresh daily from the fields surrounding the store. Crisp lettuce and pickle spear are included. On the side, we include a chopped coleslaw with our own delightful mustard seed and lemon pepper mayonase. Hearty hand cut and spiced to perfection, our country fries will complete this mouth watering American classic.

15.95

2590. cmboyce - 6/24/2000 11:58:44 PM

Strange taste roast fuckling, undone rarely with special mushrooms and baby veg table, possible creamed dumpling soups. Xinjiang style. $1.95

2591. theDiva - 6/25/2000 12:05:04 AM

Our premiere dessert is a creme of Mostarda di Cremona, presented under the laciest cage of spun cane sugar, sauced with a chunky lingonberry and pine nut chutney and nestled between flaky, airy sheets of phyllo dough, topped with a toothsome concoction echoing Nesselrode pie and Christmas in Derbyshire.

2592. AytchMan - 6/25/2000 11:15:35 AM

A Sumptious Répast at The Evening Of Julia Chive At Forty-Third By The Statue.

by Prétència von Bülow

A-tingle with anticipatiòne, dahlings, we dare to enter the lair of the establishment oh-so-extraôrdinaire of legendary Sous-Chef Moss Endive. Simply aglitterati, mes enfants. Tossing our wrap with carefree abandon to Raquel, La Filly de CoatCheck, we arrange ourselves... no one sits any longer, my little petites...in the faux nauga Mad King Ludwig ensconces. Quel jolitesse!

Daring the Great One to titilate our palettes [Editor's Note: it's palates, dahling], we simply cahn't, won't be led astray. And the Great One simply cahn't, doesn't disappoint! Quel délicieux! Bypassing the avant-trendy Fromage à Trois, Le Monsieur drives us, savagely we tell you, to the single-course Salade de Lettuce Minimale. Too Nouveau!

Eh la, it is stunning yet lacivious (and you know who you are, dahlings). Nearly swooning, dead-away we tell you, from the suitably precocious presentation, we toy insouciantly with both bites. A hint of arugula? Mais non! Pure Ecstasie della Icebergi! After a brief discussion of Proust avec our companion Lance (de rigeuer, n'est-ce pas?), we playfully danse et pirouette to l'entrance. Quel biceps!

It is to die for, my babies. Ciao, dahlings.
------------------------------------------------
L'Addition: $200-300 per person
Le Rating: ****
------------------------------------------------

2593. AytchMan - 6/25/2000 11:24:09 AM

By the way, very funny stuff, kids.

2594. alistairConnor - 6/25/2000 5:32:51 PM

Funnily enough, Pelle, I can't see the problem with your original post. Sounds like a straightforward description of a rather mouthwatering dish. What are you objecting to? The extravagant use of adjectives, such as "crisp, warm", or "beautiful, fresh and nicely dressed" ? Or the horribly pretentious use of the French name of the dish, in what is presumably a description of a French meal in a French restaurant?

Perhaps you would like to re-write it to your own dour Scandy manner? I am reminded of the film, Babette's feast, where a bunch of tight-arsed Scandy protestants suffer terribly through a delicious meal, convinced that it is sinful to enjoy food.

2595. PelleNilsson - 6/25/2000 5:36:27 PM

Shut up alistair and contribute to the competition. If you find no fault with Patrica Wells you can surely outdo her.

2596. alistairconnor - 6/26/2000 3:55:05 AM

Message # 2586 as sub-edited by Nilsson P.

My starter consisted of a mixture of stewed pears and mouldy cheese, wrapped in a sheet made of flour and water, and fried. It was served with chopped endives and nuts, liberally sprinkled with grass clippings. It tasted odd, and was not nearly as filling as the price had lead me to believe. I complained to the manager, and he had me thrown out.

2597. PelleNilsson - 6/26/2000 4:41:06 AM

Cruel.

2598. labwabbit - 6/26/2000 10:52:23 PM

...um, I'd like just a glass of water please, straight up if you can't spare a chip of ice.

2599. PelleNilsson - 6/27/2000 2:36:47 PM

Time to award the honours

First prize to Aytchman for a truly pretentious piece of reporting and for Fromage à Trois. Droll!

Second prize to theDiva for the breathlessness of her presentation and for toothsome concoction; an evocative phrase.

The Jury's Special Award to cmboyce for going against the stream (as usual).

iiibbb and Indy are Mentioned in Dispatches for honourable efforts, not devoid of merit.

Alistair, the bastard, ain't getting no prize.

2600. CalGal - 6/27/2000 2:37:45 PM

Great reading, folks. Good idea, Pelle.

2601. iiibbb - 6/27/2000 2:50:19 PM

Not surprisingly... it got better as the contest went on... some of that one-upmanship inspiring the next person to take the baton.

2602. theDiva - 6/27/2000 2:52:59 PM

(blowing kisses, bowing graciously, thanking the little people)

2603. PelleNilsson - 6/27/2000 2:55:41 PM

We would need some hosting here to come up with new ideas (no, not me, I'm not inventive enough). There are, as we know, some fine writers around.

2604. Uzmakk - 6/27/2000 3:58:20 PM

for god sakes, you season the little anchovie shaped pieces of chicken breast with 5-ply fish spice.

2605. PelleNilsson - 6/27/2000 4:44:00 PM

Uzmakk

Where were you when we needed you?

2606. AytchMan - 6/28/2000 12:39:53 PM

Thank you, Pelle.

I assume that the awards will be presented in Stockholm again this year. I have already submitted my bid for airfare to Priceline.

Please appoint Ms. Ingelise Andersen as my personal assistant. Does anybody know what movie this character appeared in?

2607. Webfeet - 6/28/2000 8:12:03 PM

What a fantastic idea PelleNilsson--and a round of air kisses to the winners, tres amusant, mes cheries!

I have another idea for a contest which Im going to post later on tonight. Stay tuned.

2608. Webfeet - 6/29/2000 2:04:03 PM

In honor of the Swiss journalist who fabricated celebrity interviews with Hollywood stars in the name of 'conceptual art', I invite you to do the same. Produce an excerpt from the ultimate Hollywood interview a la Vanity Fair, Details magazine, or Vogue. It can be as outrageous, glitzy or as ridiculous as you like.

You can choose either a 24 karat interview with a well-known celeb-- a Gwyneth or Julia or Brad, or "the blossoming ingenue" variety, whichever strikes your fancy. Fictive descriptions of the interviewee
posing in a setting that reflects their persona will count as entries as will transcripts of conversation. A quick example:

Like celebrity-stricken refugees, the tourists in the vaporetto boats snapped photos of Nukii as she sat across from me on the verranda feeding pistachios to a sparrow out of her hand. "I think I'm going to name you Howard," she said to the bird. "Yeah, Howard. He looks like my stepdad, too."

2609. theDiva - 6/29/2000 2:08:14 PM

oooohhhhh.....this oughta be good. Deadline?

2610. Webfeet - 6/29/2000 2:12:20 PM

Hmmmm...tomorrow might be too close. Let's leave it a little 'open' --say by July 4th.

And, there will be a prize. It won't be anything huge along the lines of palmpilot, but it can be a little treat, something delicious.

2611. theDiva - 6/29/2000 2:13:27 PM

naughty panties?

2612. labwabbit - 6/29/2000 2:15:36 PM

Web

Sounds like fun.

Diva

Panties aren't ever naughty...but hopefully the contents are!

2613. Webfeet - 6/29/2000 2:19:56 PM

I was going to say, "No, something edible." Then, of course, I realized how foolish that sounded.

It will be a little goodie, a surprise.

2614. rubberducky - 6/29/2000 2:20:21 PM

gracious

2615. theDiva - 6/29/2000 2:21:34 PM

well, I, for one, am going to dig out all my old copies of Vogue, vintage '84, for inspiration.

2616. Webfeet - 6/29/2000 2:22:58 PM

Alrite, this isn't the tunnel of love/tower of lust. Just to clarify things, I was thinking of something along the lines of these delicious caramel biscuits from Dean & Delucca.

2617. theDiva - 6/29/2000 2:24:27 PM

Fabulous!

2618. labwabbit - 6/29/2000 9:12:43 PM

** THE BUG
Every night, Joe would go down to the liquor store,
get a six-pack, bring it home and drink it while he
watched TV.

One night, as he finished his last beer, the doorbell
rang. He walked to the door and found a six-foot
cockroach standing there. The bug grabbed him by the
collar and threw him across the room, then left.

The next night, after Joe finished his fourth beer,
the doorbell rang. He walked slowly to the door and
found the same six-foot cockroach standing there.
The big bug punched him in the stomach.

The next night, after he finished his first beer, the
doorbell rang again. The same six-foot cockroach was
standing there. This time he was kneed in the groin,
and hit behind the ear as he doubled over in pain.
Then the big bug left.

The fourth night, Joe didn't drink at all. The
doorbell rang. The cockroach was standing there. The
bug beat the tar out of Joe and left him in a heap on
the living room floor.

The following day Joe went to see his doctor and
explained the events of the preceding four nights.

"What can I do?" he pleaded.
"Not much, I'm afraid," the doctor replied. "There's
just a nasty bug going around."

2619. Greystoke - 7/2/2000 11:28:11 AM

Here is a newspaper article sure to bring a tear to your eye.

2620. robertjayb - 7/2/2000 4:32:51 PM

.

gulp...choke..

Thanks, Greystoke.

2621. labwabbit - 7/3/2000 3:33:15 AM

Lonliness...

The most horrible hell in a conscious life.

2622. CalGal - 7/3/2000 6:55:43 AM

So I'm visiting my sister and her family in LA, and I go out tonight to see a friend for dinner. Everyone had been out at the pool when I left, but I posted a note on the door informing Spawn and my sister of my whereabouts, and how to reach me. Had a great time, and was home by 12:30.

The front door was locked. This was not good. The back door was locked. This was worse.

I curse to myself, silently. My sister is a stickler for locking doors. I don't know where she gets it from; she's certainly the only one in the family with this idiosyncracy. I only lock my apartment if I'm going to be gone for more than a day or two, and I'm not sure even now that all my windows are closed. My one brother has no keys to his home--if someone forgets and locks the door he just crawls in one of the windows. My other brother just puts his apartment key on a hook by the front door because he tired of losing it.

But musings on the benefits of a lax security policy are to no avail. The bedrooms are on the second floor. My sister may as well be dead when she's sleeping, and her husband wears earplugs because my sister snores. I don't mean some nice, gentle, delicate ladylike snore, either. No, my sister doesn't waste time with a saw, she rips those damn logs apart with her bare hands, and it strikes me now as incredibly unfair that, after all the sleep deprivation I suffered in childhood due to her affliction (we shared a room for all of fifteen years), her problem is now keeping her husband from being able to hear the doorbell. Or the howling, snarling dogs that have set up a constant chorus--every home on the cul-de-sac apparently has a Rottweiler, who is now doing his best to alert his owner to the existence of a prowler. Do the owners wake up? Hell, no. They buy the dog for security and then they ignore him. Idiots.

2623. CalGal - 7/3/2000 6:58:45 AM

Nonetheless, the agitated howlings of what now feels like all the hounds of Hell isn't going to wake my sister's husband, and even if I felt like driving all the way back down the hill to a gas station to call it wouldn't matter because they turn off the phone in their room.

Now, I realize that the worst thing that could happen is that I'll have to sleep in my car. And maybe I should just do that, but I always pick foolish things to get stubborn about. It occurs to me that my sister and husband are a lost cause, but if I could get close enough to Spawn he would wake up if he heard my voice. I case the house and determine that the window to his room is facing out towards the back yard, directly over the patio. The patio has a pretty wooden awning, supported by a structure of beams running out from the house to the two by eight (I think) that supports the outer end.

So if I can get on the patio awning and cross one of the beams to the window, I can pound on it loudly enough to wake my sleeping child. Can I get to the top of the patio? I'm short (5'4), and I can't even quite reach the bottom of the outer beam. I look around the back yard. There are a few chairs, but the seats are only 18" high, and I need more help than that. I spy the trampoline--it is a good 3' off the ground, but isn't anywhere near the patio. I give it a test tug--yes, I can pull it over into position. Will the beams support me? Unknown. The odds are good, though. Each beam is a two by six. I drag the trampoline over to the edge of the patio, stand on it--no, I will not bounce on it to get more height. But I now can reach the top of the outer beam, so I place my right foot on the "leg" (whatever it is that holds up the roof) for purchase, and hoist myself up far enough to swing my left leg over the same beam and pull myself up so that I'm perched up over the awning, in position to start crawling.

2624. CalGal - 7/3/2000 7:00:30 AM

First try, the only tough part is done in less than a minute. I am one badass chick.

I test the patio for its ability to support my weight. It isn't as sturdy as I'd like, but if I crawl quickly and right over a support beam, it should be okay. Still, maybe I should try calling to Spawn, see if he wakes up. I doubt it, but I should try it. I call out to him fairly loudly, but the window is closed to keep the air conditioning in, and there is no answer. So it's time to crawl over the patio.

I am just about to swing my knee out, when I spot something that looks like a toy on the awning, right on the beam. It looks like--well, it looks like a crab. A toy crab? It can't be. It's not soft, I can tell, it's hard. Like a cooked crab, you know? Hard shell, perfect shape--oh, come on. It can't be a crab. And now I see that there are other of these crabs, different sizes and one is huge--at least a foot long. They can't be toys. And you know, they really can't be crabs. They aren't alive--at least, they aren't moving. No, they can't be crabs. This is the desert.

Tarantulas. When they first moved into this house, they had huge monstrous hairy spiders--but for Chrissakes, these simply can't be spiders. Not even spider carcasses. Really. They can't. My sister wouldn't let spider carcasses sit on her patio roof.

So they can't be crabs and they can't be tarantulas. Or maybe they could. I didn't know what they were.

What I did know was that it didn't matter what they were, that I had finally come across an obstacle that made sleeping in my car the most attractive option available.

2625. CalGal - 7/3/2000 7:03:02 AM

My analysis of the problem had been insufficient. I had not considered the Phobia Factor. I might be one badass chick, but I'm scared of spiders, or unknown things that seem to be dead but might not be and might start to move when I'm on the awning and if they started to move then I would have to have a heart attack, and flail around and move off the beam and the awning would break and I'd fall down to the patio below and break my leg and writhe around in agony and while that might be unpleasant, the really horrifying possibility what was that these terrible unknowns would fall down too and if they were asleep they might wake up and start crawling all over me and my screams would be to no avail because Spawn's window was closed and my sister snores and her husband wears earplugs and the neighbors' dogs were barking and I'd be dying of a heart attack with a broken leg and these awful creatures crawling all over me.

I could sit there and tell myself that there was really no way that these things couldn't be toys. They had to be toys. But no, my imagination had decided they were not toys, and there really isn't much point in arguing with my imagination when it gets hold of an idea.

I sighed, and looked down at the beams to get ready to swing my body over and back onto the trampoline--and there, right next to my thigh, resting neatly on the outer supporting beam, is a key. Which, as it happened, fit very nicely into the front door.

2626. rubberducky - 7/3/2000 8:09:16 AM

great story!

2627. Karl Northman - 7/4/2000 11:50:23 PM

Calgal - okay, that's a great testimonial for Keillor's "The Fearmonger's Shop". Undoubtedly the Fearmonger's shop has some sort of TarantulaRepellor that looks like a flashlight and emits high-beam rays and doo-wa rays in three spectra, and will either identify the fake or terrorize the real.

There is an interesting issue that I haven't seen discussed, though I haven't gone looking for it, of "irrational fears" - I'll bet that if I came out from my bedroom mumbling about Satan and carrying a kitchen knife, I'd be shot dead by the Minneapolis Police (safe bet, they just did it to a PhD community activist with bipolar disorder, after the landlord had told 911 that he'd known her for 10 years, and she was nice, and she wasn't really a danger to anyone, she just was a little out of hand tonight.

Alternate scenarios:

a) Instead of carrying a knife, she carries a large snake, and the police are so frightened that they retreat to the hall and call animal control, who successfully rescue both the snake and the woman.

b) Some cop realizes that a 5-2 woman, even with a knife, can be taken by (and they were there) six six-foot martial-arts-trained cops.

2628. Webfeet - 7/5/2000 10:21:55 AM

Okeeeeee, guess that contest idea went over BIG. Looks like I'll be eating the prize meself.

Nice anecdote, Calgal. What were those things anyway? Frogs? I imagine that ludicrous final scene in Magnolia. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then please don't see it.

Now: I am quitting my job and going to France for six weeks. Am I making this up? No, Im not! As I am bringing my laptop with me, I will continue to monitor this thread and post from the French Alps, Pau, San Sebastian and Aix-en-Provence, giving you a little local color along the way and maybe some photos if my beau pere's scanner is working correctly.

Sadly, Frenchcat is staying in New York. He just started working for Air France and is really put out by the fact that he isn't entitled to 5 weeks vacation. Well, at least our little frenchman, Clement, will be united with his people. He'll never remember this trip, of course, but there will be many others.

2629. theDiva - 7/5/2000 10:24:53 AM

Webs, I wanted to enter, I really did but got swept up in the events of the weekend. Could we revisit the contest maybe when things get hopping around here again? Maybe in September?

And I'm so envious, 5 weeks in France! You lucky girl.

2630. theDiva - 7/5/2000 10:25:07 AM

6 weeks.

2631. PelleNilsson - 7/5/2000 2:19:15 PM

CalGal

Nice story, nicely told.

So do you feel at liberty to reveal what those things really were?

Have you thought about a title? Nocturnal travails?

2632. Webfeet - 7/5/2000 3:34:53 PM

That's alrite, cherie. Besides, you have way more important things on your mind! Are you taking your iron supplements? I hope so. Gosh, it seems like everyone around me is pregnant! It's absolutely fantastic!

I have this little song I made up for Tiger: Dee Doo-dley doo-dley doo, dee doo-dley doo-dley doo, and I picture him as the leader of the Baby Parade, marching in his diaper with a big smile on his face. It's riduclous but I am so in love with that little thing!

2633. theDiva - 7/5/2000 3:37:44 PM

I am faithfully taking my pre-natal multis and eating only good things. Tonight I go to buy maternity clothes as my waist is probably now about 30 inches! Already nothing fits!

And isn't it amazing how madly in love you are? It only grows more intense. I miss Gracie terribly, even more so now that I've found out about the baby. I so want to share this with her!

Do you have any pictures of him you could send? I'll bet he's precious.

2634. PelleNilsson - 7/5/2000 4:26:59 PM

Diva

There can only be two reasons why you feel the need to buy maternity clothes five - or is it six - weeks into your pregnancy:

(a) You are growing fat.

(b) You want to show the world your status.

I suspect (b).

2635. theDiva - 7/5/2000 4:29:34 PM

Pelle darling

I am one of those women who shows almost right away. Most of my clothing is tailored close to the body, so naturally any weight gain or loss in the 5-10 pound range tends to affect the fit. So I need something that's attractive as well as comfortable.

2636. theDiva - 7/5/2000 4:30:17 PM

And it's six weeks.

2637. glendajean - 7/5/2000 6:40:19 PM

Pelle -- I've seen Diva, and she is not fat, but quite slender. And I'm sure she must be lovely in her pregnant glow.

2638. glendajean - 7/5/2000 6:41:06 PM

Cal -- funny story. I am curious, too. Did you find out what the crab-like things were?

2639. theDiva - 7/5/2000 8:23:17 PM

Glendajean

You are entirely too sweet to me.

Cal

Were they scorpions?

2640. CalGal - 7/5/2000 8:39:21 PM

Of course not.

They were TOYS, dammit. Just like my brain told me. And my sister, once she woke up. ("You think I'd leave tarantula skeletons on my patio roof?")

And after I told this story to Spawn and sis, they went running upstairs--followed by a sheepish me--and looked out the window to see.....

AHA!!!!!

I don't know what it was, some piece of a Batman toy, but it looked exactly like a crab, pincers extended up. They were far less ready to mock, at that point, which was a good thing because the second crab I saw, the one that was a foot long turns out to have been er, ha, ahem, a Barbie.

Still, we all trouped out to the trampoline and looked at the roof from that angle, and they both agreed that the protruding doll limbs could look damn scary in the dark. The other things were just toys that only looked ominous to a psyche primed for fear.

But no one teased me after they saw the "crab". Or maybe they were afraid that my awesome upper body strength could be used for smacking just as easily as heavy lifting.

2641. CalGal - 7/5/2000 8:41:14 PM

My sister asked me all to tell you that she had no idea the key was up there--that's her husband's idea.

If she gets locked out of the house, she uses the small bathroom window that she leaves unlocked for just that reason.

I was much cheered when I heard this--she does value the family tradition after all.

2642. theDiva - 7/5/2000 8:46:07 PM

hahahaahahahahahahahahaha

attack of the killer barbies

they scare the shit outta me, too.

2643. PelleNilsson - 7/7/2000 6:10:40 AM

Late entry:

I found this bistro bliss the other night at Wadja, starting with their Salade Simple (oh, a chef who actually offers just greens in their best form, perfectly dressed), and a marvelous seven-hour leg of lamb, part of it cooked long and slow until it melts into a confit, another part cooked oh so quickly so you get the best of both.

2644. Jenerator - 7/10/2000 8:03:43 AM

I wish that I could quit my job and then fly off to France for six weeks!

2645. Uzmakk - 7/10/2000 10:55:55 AM

Cal:

I think I mentioned this on the Mote before(your story brings it to mind) but anyhow--

When I was young I was under a bed as children sometimes are. A spider descended at eye level. It took a spilt second for the brain to put everything in perspective, so that the spider appeared to be about a foot in breadth. In an instant, a reflex shot me up into the mattress from the extremely constrained position of bedundering. The mattress came crashing back down on top of me, and I scurried out from under the bed with the image of a 12" spider an inch from my cheek still hot on my brain.

2646. Webfeet - 7/12/2000 2:17:56 PM

Va va va voom. Man, is it slow in here. First no-one not nobody contributed to my contest, and now all the creative minds seem to be on vacation, stretching out on a hammock somewhere I suppose, nursing gin and tonics.

THe door bell just rings, middle of the day. Hey psychopath, why don't you go away? It's just the exterminator. Sorry pal, got an infant sleeping, some other day. I actually really hate it when the doorbell rings during the day. I always imagine it's some liar dressed up as the con-ed man ready to rob and kill us. I always stand there and shout at the closed door, "Who is it?" as though I can already see the little gun bulging out of a pocket, nervous fingers hooked around a trigger. And, of course, it is inevitably the deaf woman who lives down the hall holding a letter in her hand addressed to us that was put in her box by accident which makes me the biggest idiot on the planet. Another reason why I desperately need a vacation high, high in the french alps, in the most uncommercial, tranquil, little village. Note to Jenerator: remember, I am staying with my in-laws. This is the antidote to my Parisian trip: no Galerie Lafayette, no gourmand experiences, and, above all, no martini blanco's. Oh, and no men. Unless some member of the Confederation Paysanne strikes my fancy.

No, this is going to be a monklike summer as far as pleasures go--Hiking, running, swimming, and, foregoing the after dinner fromage for long uphill walks up mountain paths. This is the vacation where I ditch the last few pounds of my post maternal flab (I have already lost 50 lbs happy to say) and come back to New York a goddess--tanned, fit, peaceful, benign--opening the door up with a smile and an oatmeal cookie to the deaf woman who rings mid-day, radiating good vibes. Well, it sounds good, doesn't it?

2647. theDiva - 7/12/2000 2:19:50 PM

50 lbs! Darling, I must have your secret.

2648. marshame - 7/12/2000 2:23:47 PM

Webbie

You, my dear, have a way with words.

2649. Webfeet - 7/12/2000 4:40:56 PM

Thanks darlings!

It's not really impressive consdiering how very fat I was. I weighed in at 200 pounds before I delivered Clement. I would say 20 lbs was baby, fluids and placenta. The rest was slow-going--lots of turkey, fruits and vegetables but I was hardly the poster child for dieting. I mean, I still had mint chocolate chip ice cream now and then! But now I have really plateaued and I have to start getting ruthless with myself which means exercising more and drastically reducing fat content. I know I can do it only because my belle-mere watches everything I eat and they will think their son is married to a cow if I don't reduce. To add to it, the wife of my brother in law is an anorexic chinese-french philospher and is seriously a size 0 and she has two babies! So am I up to it? Mais oui!

p.s. without my husband who is like the black sheep in the family in that he is spontaneous and has a sense of humour, this could be quite tedious. They are all fonctionnaires--professors or teachers and ultra methodical. Kind of like me, right?


AT the risk of being an egocentric bore, I have to vent on this. Tonight I am taking a dear friend to see Tom Stoppard's The Real Thing for her 30th birthday. My Russian-Armenian nanny arrives an hour early and wants to know where Im going, etc. and so we chat a little in Armenian and then she proceeds to tell me how Im going to lose my husband if I continue to go out with my girlfriends! A woman should only go out with her husband, blah blah blah or else he will learn that he can go out without her, blah blah blah and DIRTY GIRLS WILL GO AFTER HIM!!? Who needs this old country horseshit? This is not Yerevan, lady.

2650. ChuckSezdotcom - 7/12/2000 5:17:39 PM

Tall fish tale

2651. alistairconnor - 7/12/2000 6:02:59 PM

Bibiche, you are instructed to bring a copious supply of sunshine with you. Sorely needed. Cold and wet over here.

2652. marshame - 7/12/2000 6:28:48 PM

Chuck

Wow.

Is that a fish story, or what? I mostly believed it but had to go back and check my eyes: yep, there it was, " a fifty foot cut-bow."

Toxic waste? Fisherman's pride? Vivid imagination?

2653. Webfeet - 7/13/2000 5:46:24 PM

Funny you should say that, alistair, as NYC has been absolutely gorgeous this July. Lots of sunshine, low humidity, lovely breezes blowing through the windows. Barely a need for A/C. I'll do my best!

2654. Jenerator - 7/13/2000 8:12:40 PM

webfeet,

You be Barbie and I'll be Skipper. Can I go to the French Apls with you? I know a pilot itching to go by helicopter from England. I'll even babysit -- for free!!

2655. ChuckSezdotcom - 7/13/2000 9:46:48 PM

Straight In

2656. Webfeet - 7/14/2000 8:56:27 AM

Jenerator

If it were my place, I'd say why not? Since it isn't, I really can't take advantage of their hospitality and invite who I like to their home--if that's what you mean. As it is, we are going to have a full house. Frenchcat's aunt is going to be there as well.

But, if you and James Bond want to meet for an afternoon that would be fun. We are close to the Italian border near Turin.

2657. alistairconnor - 7/16/2000 4:31:58 PM

Hey Skipper, why don't you and Ken pick up Barbie and Son, and fly them to my place? Plenty of beds and breakfasts here. It's only a hundred miles as the helico flys, but about five hours of surface travel.

2658. Webfeet - 7/18/2000 8:49:03 AM

Me thinks it t'isn't likely that I will step foot in a chopper with me cub. Thank yee very merrily, but we will ride on horseback all the same.

2659. alistairconnor - 7/18/2000 12:19:35 PM

... and given your antecedents with that form of transport, I think you'd better stick to hiking boots and a four-wheel-drive baby buggy.

I hope you've got a fancy backpack baby carrier, Bibiche? Clément must be fast approaching the age when he can hold his head up and see the world from over your shoulder. Much more convenient than a pram, especially in off-road situations.

I'm in mourning for mine. Our faithful backpack with all the bells and whistles, the admiration and envy of parents all over the world, which has circumnavigated the globe twice in the last seven years and been home away from home for our two girls successively.

Gone. Lost. Stupidly left behind in a parking space in St Enimie.

2660. Jenerator - 7/18/2000 4:41:09 PM

Barbie always was a sucker for safety. Alistair, perhaps we'll have a French mini-motie union in the fall or early next year. I don't plan on going back to England and France until those times, dammit. Until then I will live vicariously through you and my older (by what eight months?) and glamourous sister...

2661. joezan - 7/19/2000 9:33:18 PM

HOW YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOING SOFT:

Last night following my shower I went to the kitchen for some iced tea.

As I'm reaching for the refrigerator door my 2-year-old daughter runs in from the livingroom, yelling excitedly, HERE, DADDY! LOOK DADDY! I GOT SUMPIN F'YOOOO!

Forgetting my tea for the minute, I turn to meet her with the requisite look of barely concealed anticipation every parent learns to turn on for their toddler at such times.

Whaddayagot for me?, I ask breathlessly as I offer my hand to accept her "pitcha", or clay "meatbaw", or whatever it is she can't wait to present to me.

HERE, DADDY - IT'S A BOOGER!, she says proudly, as she tries to transfer the mess on her finger onto my palm.

Eeeew - NO! You don't give daddy boogers!, I say, trying with all my might (and failing) to conceal my disgust.

She is crestfallen -immediately stops bouncing on her toes, and her eyes lower to the floor. Her lower lip pops out about an inch and trembles, and she says, as the tears begin to flow:

You don't w-w-want m-m-my b-b-boogers?

What do you do? What do you say at such a time?














Well, if you're me, you say

Ok - ok...Give daddy the boogers. Daddy wants the boogers...

2662. Wombat - 7/20/2000 11:31:57 AM

Zan:

You mean that after having a baby you are not inured to the disgusting aspects of every bodily function?

2663. theDiva - 7/20/2000 11:42:28 AM

oh God, Joe. Give the kid a tissue. Fathers are such soft touches for little sobbing girls. Gracie once puked on her dad's head and all he did was laugh.

2664. Wombat - 7/20/2000 11:52:06 AM

Speaking of puking...my bodily function nadir was reached when my daughter (then 8 months old) was sick with some digestive horror. She was crying, so I picked her up and put her over my shoulder in the "burp" position. She proceeded to puke in such quantities that some of it made it all the way down the back of my shirt and into my pants. As I hastily moved her away from my body, she had what we call a "diaper explosion," dripping poop down my front and onto the floor. My wife rushed up to see what was wrong, and cracked up laughing.

2665. theDiva - 7/20/2000 11:58:25 AM

Amazing what you can handle, isn't it?

2666. Jenerator - 7/20/2000 3:22:09 PM

I'm a wimp in that department. If anyone gets sick in my presence, I'm next. In fact, I can barely handle it when my cat coughs up a fur ball. Okay, enough of that.

2667. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:51:23 AM

Dear Moties

Many of you have written to ask how my "vacation" went (quotation marks intended). I was gone for 9 days, after all - surely I
was able to relax, or have stories of a rollicking good time, or....? In the interest of avoiding typer's cramp, I've decided to tell
my story here instead of responding to all you dears individually. Be warned - this is long.

Background:

First, we went to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which is cold as a witch's tit in a brass bra, even in summer (though that
didn't stop everyone I met up there from whining incessantly about the horribly oppressive 70 degree heat). Also understand - I
have no tolerance for cold. None. My favorite place in the world is the Caribbean - the hotter the better.

2668. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:51:33 AM

Second, we went to visit DH's family. DH was, evidently, birthed from a pod. Every member of his immediate family
(except his mother) is an active alcoholic. His mother, however, is addicted to gambling. They all chain smoke. They have no
work ethic (to the point of Bob being raised on welfare for a lot of his childhood - completely unnecessarily - and when they
weren't on the dole they were being supported by his grandparents) but the world owes them, oboyo. MaMaw is currently
receiving fraudulent disability payments (and bitching because they aren't big enough) for her ulcerous leg - she does indeed
have an unhealing ulcerating wound on her leg, but it doesn't in any way incapacitate her. Plus it gives her something to talk
about (and show) at the dinner table. At 55, she's toothless, and doesn't bother with dentures. She also recently got a perm,
which has transformed her previous mental-patient look to pure fright-wig status. Papaw runs a greasy spoon diner that sits 2
yards from the vile A frame that they live in, and seems (for the first time in his 60 years, apparently) to actually be spending
time at what could be called a job. He's also theoretically banging one of his off-the-books employees, a welfare mother of 6
who's husband is missing a leg and smokes crack. Or so we are told.

2669. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:51:54 AM

Anywho, they're racist and homophobic, tho since they live IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE it doesn't come up
much (there aren't ANY African Americans or open gays as far as I can tell so the only available targets of their bile are Native
Americans, who are "stealing" my MIL's ill-gotten disability payments through their "rigged" slot machines). They're miserable
and fight all the time, cursing each other and pulling us off to the side to tell "their side of the story". Their house is a filthy wreck
and smells of sewage - mostly it's the nasty well water they use, but the festering garbage pit in the backyard probably doesn't
help. They hunt and have stuffed animal carcasses everywhere. They smoke incessantly, even around the kids (I'm an exsmoker
and not anti-smoking, but I don't like it around kids or food). Many guns. Many, many guns.

More importantly, they have almost no interest in the kids. When Bob was first divorcing his ex, they didn't have a phone,
so he wrote them about the horrid problems. They didn't write back, and didn't call (there ARE payphones in the town)
FOR TWO YEARS. They didn't speak to their grandson for almost three years, and didn't seem to mind. About a year
ago Bob laid down the law about the kids, and now they perfunctorily ask after them before going off on a litany of woe
about how the world rips them off. They never acknowledged our marriage, and think I'm a "snob" and that I've "ruined"
Bob because he no longer sends them regular checks. His mother came down at Thanksgiving last year with $100 and
stayed for 3 MONTHS - all the while "borrowing" money from us to gamble with, buy cigarettes, etc., of course.

2670. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:52:12 AM

Brother J had a bad divorce and a mental breakdown, and was discovered to be bi-polar. On medication, he's ok - but he
rarely takes it. Oh yes, he's an alcoholic too, and an incontinent one. On the bright side, he's doing pretty well, after a stint of
gathering pine cones in the forest for a living -he's opened a prosperous internet business selling coyote urine and other hunting
supplies, and has recently opened a small shop in the nearest town that is actually kinda cute and has a cabin in the woods
(more about that later). His ex-wife has custody of his daughter, which seems ok with him - he's paying, although ex-wife has
recently started offloading niece on Mamaw, because she's recovering from the birth of her fourth child - each to a different
man. This last one was "fathered" by her sister's husband, who skipped town. No one but DH and I seem to think that's the
slightest bit...off.

Third: Fang! hates car travel. Always has, since birth. We have an hour, maybe hour and a half of travel time before she starts
crying. And she doesn't stop. Or sleep. Seriously. Remember - UP Michigan. Over 18 hours one way.

2672. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:54:43 AM

Fourth: We took along our nephew, who has serious behavior problems, but is SS's only friend.

OK, ENOUGH BACKGROUND. ON TO THE ACTUAL TRIP!

We ended up leaving on Thursday night instead of Friday afternoon -optimists always, we hoped that Fang! would cry for a few hours and then surely she would pass out, right? Wrong. We left at 6:00 pm and stopped at 7:00 the next morning in the little town DH grew up with (on the LP "thumb") and she hadn't slept one single minute of the trip. She had also cried at least 1/2 of every hour of the trip. At this point, I had been up for well over 24 hours and was having periodic hallucinations. We drove around this tiny (pretty) town, waiting for the hotels to open, for three hours. At 10:30, we started begging for a room, any room...but no one would take a dog. We started hiding the dog - but nephew thought that it was funny
to make his uncle mad by making the dog bark (he's big, and has a big bark) - nephew, btw, and SS had slept the entire trip.
Finally, we found a place (with a prominent no pets sign) that said we could check in at noon. We called DH's childhood friend
(who knew we were coming) and begged to leave the dog at their house. Thankfully, they said ok. We drove the dog out and endured two hours of harangueing from his friend about why we were wasting money on a hotel, when hell, they had a house (with 6 kids) right there, which didn't please his (very nice) wife because we were a day earlier than expected and obviously, she had plans. We insisted on not disturbing them (much to her subtle relief and his not-so-subtle annoyance) and finally headed back to the hotel where, hopefully, Fang!, DH, and I could grab some sleep while the boys played in the pool. Except childhood-friend thought it sounded just dandy to bring all 6 of his kids to the hotel with us and hang out for a while catching up with DH and DH is too big a wimp to say no. So on they came.

2673. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:55:24 AM

Fang! and I were able to sleep for almost a full hour before one of the 8 preteens that were in the group came banging on the
hotel door to ask for something. DH slept not at all.

The next day was spent at childhood-friends house, which wasn't too hideous. Sunday, we were off to the U.P.

We wanted to take a leisurely drive along Lake Huron, hoping there would be nice places to stop en route. There were, and it
was fine. Except after 9 hours of driving, a started to wonder WHEN THE HELL ARE WE GETTING THERE?
Answer: In about 2 more hours. Of course, I wouldn't have been that anxious to arrive had I known what was ahead of me.

Arrived to find Papaw in the diner, and Mamaw nowhere to be found. Well, she could have been found, if we had
driven to the casino - where she was until midnight. We put our luggage away in the A frame, which, as I mentioned, REEKED
and vowed to check into the plain but clean motel 200 yards down the road the next day, gave up waiting on Mamaw, and
went to bed.

Where we were woken up, off and on all night, by Uncle G - the brain-damaged brother of Papaw who lives with them (his
monthly check from the state has been their biggest source of income for decades) tromping up and down the extremely rickety
stairs outside the tiny room in which we were crammed cheek-by-jowl and muttering a loud, repetitive monologue about
fishing. "Oh" Papaw said the next morning "yeah, he does that all night. Sleeps during the day. Keeps him out of the diner."

Lovely.

2674. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:55:54 AM

Mamaw was there the next morning, loudly proclaiming that she WASN'T in the casino at all - ummm, Mamaw, then where
were you? It's the only thing opened past 7:00 pm for 100 miles. Whatever. We took that opportunity to tell them we were
going to stay in the hotel, since the A frame was so cramped, and went to move our stuff, leaving the boys to have breakfast
with their chainsmoking Mamaw and hungover Papaw.

We were gone about an hour and returned to my SS and nephew hanging around outside the diner.

"Dad! Dad! They're having a big fight and it's all because Papaw says it's Mamaw's fault that you aren't staying with us 'cause
she gambles all the time, and Mamaw says its because Papaw is a lousy fuckaround drunk. Uncle J says their both wrong - it's
cause Ad is such a snob. And they're really, really yelling loud."

Which they surely were - there were a few customers in the diner, all studiously ignoring the banging pans and loud screeching,
none bothered enough by the scene to leave, though. The employee that supposedly Papaw is banging is lurking around the
kitchen (evidently Mamaw had decided to draw her into the fight). At last, Brother J pulled DH aside, and said "I'm gonna save
you. Come stay at my cabin."

So we all trooped out into the woods - deep, deep into the woods - to go check out J's cabin.

Which, shockingly, is beautiful. It's a real log cabin, no drywall or plaster, all rough-log interior and ext (how the hell is that
heated in the winter, I'm thinking?) set in the middle of uninhabited woods - the kind with virtually no underbrush that you can
see through for hundreds of yards, and a canopy of green above.

2675. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:56:26 AM

We were ecstatic - until we walked in. There was no floor - well, there was a cement slab, rough, with large gaping holes that
went all the way from the loft through to the basement. And no furniture - well, there was a recliner, a tv, a mattress and a
couch. All of which, except the television, showed signs of his incontinence problem.

So, that was out.

The fight about the hotel went on until the next day, when we finally gave up and moved back into the A frame for the remaining
two nights.

The other fights continued nonstop, Papaw drank every night and Mamaw was at the casino every night.

During the next few days DH and I went to the beach with Fang! and the boys (muddy, yucky sand, Lake Michigan was pretty
and about 10 degrees). The boys (kids don't care much about hygiene, I find) had a pretty good time - Brother J took them
fishing and SS caught his first fish, we took them horseback riding, they played in the woods and ran in and out of the diner
demanding milkshakes. Fang! was pretty grouchy - she's wary of Mamaw and Papaw and didn't sleep more than a couple of
hours at a stretch because of Uncle G - plus NO naps. On our last night, Mamaw had planned a "family" bday dinner for Fang!
at Brother J's cabin. She left early in the morning with the boys, but returned them with some trumped up story of outrageous
behavior so that she could get in a couple of hours at the Uchre tables.

2676. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 9:58:40 AM

Dinner was roast pork (I don't eat pork and Mamaw knows that, but she chose to be offended anyway - what am I, a Jew?)
and Fang! had a birthday cake. It was a large lump, vaguely in the shape of a pyramid, with a legless used Barbie-type doll
stuck in the top - and two safety matches for candles. The frosting was a puddle on the bottom of the plate - no sin to screw up
the frosting, but Mamaw insisted that it was "glaze" and she meant it to look like dog vomit. Whatever.

We took three days to drive back - and yes, Fang! was miserable, but still better than the trip up. We visited roadside
museums, zoos, waterslides - anything to break up the monotony. We also took the kids to the Pro Football Hall of Fame
while going through Ohio.

But I'm neglecting to tell you so much! Like about how a tree fell on me and the kids at the cabin - mercifully missing all the kids but gashing my back and leg pretty badly - no medical help around for
150+ miles, btw.

Or how Papaw decided to tell DH all about his affair with the welfare
mom.

Or how Mamaw turned off the phone to get at Papaw, and we drove into
town, paid the $200 overdue bill and resoration fee, and got it turned on ourselves because DH was adamant that we shouldn't be in the middle of nowhere without at least telephone access.

Ooh! Ooh! Or about how we infuriated the entire family by refusing
to let the boys shoot guns with Uncle J or Papaw. DH said that if they
wanted to shoot they had to take a safety course, and of course that's
nothing but big-city liberal bullshit to Papaw and Uncle J.

So many touching stories, so little time.

And that's how I spent my summer vacation.

2677. theDiva - 7/21/2000 10:00:02 AM

oh.
my.
God.

2678. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 10:05:45 AM

Hahahahahahahahah!!!!!!!!!

2679. Webfeet - 7/21/2000 10:12:01 AM

You are my hero. I don't know whether or not to scream or scratch myself to death.

2680. theDiva - 7/21/2000 10:20:45 AM

I mean, it would almost be funny if it weren't so awful.

2681. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 10:28:40 AM

Diva

It's ok to laugh!

2682. theDiva - 7/21/2000 10:29:24 AM

But I can't, I just keep thinking how horrid it must have been for you.

2683. theDiva - 7/21/2000 10:30:06 AM

I'm on my third pickle in a row. Do you think this is okay?

2684. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 10:39:55 AM

There's no such thing as too much salt and vinegar. And cucumbers are a vegetable!

2685. theDiva - 7/21/2000 10:41:04 AM

I need another one.

2686. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 10:42:33 AM

(snerk)

2687. marshame - 7/21/2000 10:43:59 AM

Adrienne

You are a saint!



How did Bob manage to escape the family "curse"?
I must say, I too have a "white trash" branch of the family, and visiting them is always a life changing experience.

2688. theDiva - 7/21/2000 10:52:13 AM

Marsha

If you'd ever met Bob, you'd know just how astonishing this is. He is one of the sweetest, most soft-spoken gentlemen I've ever met. An absolute honey.

2689. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 10:54:21 AM

Marshame,

Don't know, truly. Like I said, he's either adopted or a pod person.

2690. marshame - 7/21/2000 11:13:02 AM

Sometimes, the worst parents can produce the most wonderful children, and vicey versy the greatest parents can produce your basic serial killer.

Nature or nurture - who knows?

As for my white-trash family branch, I think a big part of escaping it was that my mother moved out of Mississippi. (Nothing against that state, mind you, but there are some pretty back-water places there! My Bostonian father neutralized her roots.)

2691. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 11:16:47 AM

Marshame

Probably. His family complains all the time that DH was always "weird" and "too big for his britches" (and how! ba-dum-dum)

2692. theDiva - 7/21/2000 11:21:50 AM

ahem.....

2693. marshame - 7/21/2000 11:27:56 AM

Ad

Yeah, he probably had the "nerve" to want to get an education, travel, broaden his horizons, etc. When he coulda stayed there and been the head busboy in the diner! Yeah, some nerve! Is the ex-wife in that part of the country, or did he "escape" before he met her?

2694. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 11:29:20 AM

No, she lives a mile down the road from us, unfortunately.

2695. marshame - 7/21/2000 11:46:23 AM

Does she have "white trash" affinities too?

2696. Adrianne - 7/21/2000 11:50:47 AM

You're kidding, right?

This is the woman who said we were going to turn my ss into a "fag" because we had artichokes one night.

2697. theDiva - 7/21/2000 11:55:42 AM

kinda makes ya wanna bitch slap her, don't it?

2698. marshame - 7/21/2000 12:02:25 PM

Do artichokes cause homosexuality??? I didn't know that! Thanks for the tip!

2699. glendajean - 7/21/2000 5:01:18 PM

I can honestly say that I ate artichokes after I came out of the closet.

2700. marshame - 7/21/2000 5:04:16 PM

Glendajean

Just proves you were latent before you came out!

2701. alistairconnor - 7/21/2000 7:00:36 PM

That's a magnificent story, Adrienne. Thank you for telling it. I laughed a lot. (I laugh when that sort of stuff happens to me. Inside. I find it doesn't always help to laugh out loud.)

2702. arkymalarky - 7/22/2000 8:58:36 AM

Wow, Ad, that story brings the word "dysfunctional" to new levels. For some reason I kept thinking about Flannery O'Connor while I was reading it. Glad you all survived relatively unscathed.

I'm really loving the stories in here. I hope people keep on contributing them, and I hope Poetry picks back up. It's been pretty slow there lately.

2703. labwabbit - 7/22/2000 11:30:01 AM

I beat the living sh** out of someone because they were different and that difference made me uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable because of what that person was caused a hypersensitivity to the lack of confidence about myself I fought sooo hard to keep hidden.


...but now that I am older I am much better able to get along with and accept that someone called,


adolescence.

2704. Jenerator - 7/23/2000 6:05:41 PM

Adrianne,

I have an all new respect for you. You truly have the patience of Job! I loved Michigan, but Baywater (past Charlevoix) was as far north as I got. Was "Christmas Vacation" the movie in your head the entire time? When will you be forced to endure these people again?

2705. Fraaankster - 7/24/2000 1:29:15 AM

Ad,

Wow. What a (gulp!) vacation ? Earnest T. Bass lives on, so it seems. And let me add, that my family also has its share of sap oozing out of my family tree -- big time! Talk about your brown trailer trash !?


Jen,

Christmas Vacation ?! Ha-ha-ha !!! The big difference between Christmas Vacation and Ad's story, is that no Hollywood executive in his/her right mind, would ever buy Ad's vacation script without some major modifications, that is, add some "normalcy" to lessen the dysphunctional part of that family a tad...Poor Adrienne.

Here's a snippet of just one of mine:

"Junior", a second cousin of mine four years my junior who I grew up with during my adolescent/teen days, was for the most, if not all, of his life, a victim, who never really had a chance from the day he was born.
Role models in his life included a jailbird father who he hardly knew, an alcoholic chainsmoking grandfather ( my uncle, who he lived with because Junior's mom didn't want kids interfering with her latest trysts at her place ), and two alcoholic chainsmoking uncles, who saw it fit to blame and beat him for just about anything under the sun first before ascertaining all the facts on whatever it was that 11 year olds were not suppose to do in their twisted little adult minds. I could also never understand how these men could take it upon themselves to strike a child that wasn't their own. I'm still reeling in guilt over tapping one of my nephews once in the keister some 12 years ago for misbehaving. These guys would get angry and violent over the stupidest and trivial of things and beat the crap out of Junior just about everytime we were over my uncle's house visiting -- everytime it seemed.

Con't,

2706. Fraaankster - 7/24/2000 1:31:51 AM

Con't,

The Junior I knew was a good kid, not a great kid mind you, but a good kid. He could hardly ever contain his excitement whenever I was over because he knew that in no time would we be scronging around for baseball mitts to go play at an adjacent lot, digging holes in the backyard, or find ourselves in his room listening to the latest tunes while talking about the good looking girls one of his aunts ( another cousin of mine ) would bring over. I remember certain Sunday nights when we would doze off to the ending credits of the Wonderful World of Disney right before McCloud or Hec Ramsey followed. I think Junior saw me as a big brother he never had. All those good memories are blurred with the heavy poignant ones of him being slapped on the head, pulled by the ear into his room, or whipped with a belt as he lay on the floor. Those memories seem to always trump the good ones whenever I think of him. I'd hate to think that I was possibly one of a few good role models he had back then, because I wasn't such a great kid myself, but I do wonder if he would have strayed that far, if they had not moved away, away from the purview and "influence" I seemed to have had over him at that time ?

Well, to make a long story short, Junior found refuge and acceptance where he could, and before we all knew it, he was out of school, smoking marijuana, and hanging around some Latino gang members of his neighborhood. In time he found himself in trouble with the law, and eventually wound up in state prison just as his father had done.

Con't,

2707. Fraaankster - 7/24/2000 1:34:10 AM

Con't,

Here's where I believe the trash part of my family kicks in: Well, it seems that one of Junior's last run-ins with the law, involved Junior holding up someone with a knife for a paltry few dollars, a day or so before one of Junior's lotto ticket purchases nailed a few numbers and paid him double or triple what his knife assualt had yeilded him. He was eventually identified and caught a week or two later and eventually convicted for the crime.
This story garnered laughter and amusement whenever it was bandied about at family functions, with the exception being myself and a few others, who failed at seeing the humor of it all."That's not funny." I would say. "It's an ongoing tragedy ... It may be to an outsider upon hearing it at first, but should his own relatives also find it fodder for amusement ?" It's a tragedy what Junior went through most of his life. He never had a chance, never, and the trash in my family are the fuckheads who cannot temper their amusement with some semblance of compassion and understanding for what this person went through as a child, because it wasn't pretty...I just can't fuckin'understand it.

Con't,

2708. Fraaankster - 7/24/2000 1:36:06 AM

Con't,

... The last time I saw Junior was at one of his brother's weddings some 15 or 20 years ago. Although we a share a resemblance except for height ( I'm taller ), I initially missed him in the crowd until he called my name, walked over and shook my hand. He basically looked like I remembered him as a kid, with the notable exception of the two tattooed "teardrops" outside his left cheek. We said a few words before parting into different directions and I haven't seen him since. I don't know where he is today, probably still in some prison somewhere in the state of California, and I avoid seeing that part of my father's family as much as possible so I don't know. But if I ever do see Junior again, I don't just want to just shake his hand this time. I want to give him a big long hug -- a hug.

...Sorry for getting carried away there, and yes, count me in as one who does believe that it does take a fuckin'village, and also, if you think like trash, you are fuckin' trash!

2709. Fraaankster - 7/24/2000 1:57:18 AM

After rereading my posts, I've just realized how dated this thing is, so I apologize for not posting something more current. I guess I just got carried away. These events might have occurred some 30 years ago, but the memories of what this kid endured are still somewhat fresh in my mind ... it's just how he would just get hit over basically nothing. I can still see him trying to be a "man" and not cry while his second cousin was there witnessing his situation.

Boy, could I tell you stories about that side ( actually,both sides have their full share ) of the family, but I'm just not a good writer.

2710. Jenerator - 7/24/2000 3:58:10 PM

I need to break out my banjo!

2711. Jenerator - 7/24/2000 4:02:07 PM

Frank,

Try to not feel guilty, it sounds to me like you did what you could! The best thing being that you let him be a kid when he was with you. I wish that more parents would let their children be children -- play with toys, watch age appropriate movies, play with friends, etc. It is a shame that one more person has wasted part of his life, but maybe, just maybe he'll turn around. At least he has YOU who cares about what happens to him!

2712. Fraaankster - 7/24/2000 4:36:13 PM

Jen,

That's just it, Jen. I feel the cycle in this case could have been prevented. I just wasn't old or brave enough to make a stand at the time I would witness this abuse.

...at that time, I thought that was "normal" disciplining at work and not the result of ignorant, stupid and abusive "guardians".

He never had a chance to break the cycle. Never.

2713. Uzmakk - 7/24/2000 5:58:12 PM

Stay tuned for Uzmakk Coaches Soccer

2714. marshame - 7/24/2000 6:33:54 PM

tap tap tap.

2715. Uzmakk - 7/24/2000 6:36:29 PM

this story was inspired by our discussion of the family and its disintegration.

Anyhow, my oldest son is now 15 and has played soccer since he was a wee fellow. A couple years ago I offered my services as an assitant coach. The fellow who organized this team was serious about getting a team together that might serve as a core through Jr. High and Highschool. Serious business as youth soccer goes. I always thought the fellow a poor coach and a pretentious bastard but what the hell.

The story really concerns the young men from which we were to fashion this team. I don't think that more than 10% of them came from stable traditional families. Most were being raised by their mothers and they were not used to discipline or a father. " Oh you're so passe, Uzmakk. oh you're so traditional and that's not where its at, Uzmakk", I can hear Doc Brown, the gay chorus, and 70% of the Mote crying in unison. Lemme tell ya, soccer is a game of fundamentals. Every game is a game of fundamentals. Mathematics is a game of fundamentals(ask slack). Everything starts with fundamentals.

2716. Uzmakk - 7/24/2000 6:37:28 PM

This coach I was working with was into all kinds of strategy without having a team that could control the ball. At any rate, I digress. I was a stickler for fundamentals and these boys could not or would not absorb even the simplest concepts or skills. We had a couple of guys who stood head and shoulders above their peers, but when they came up against almost any team they got their asses kicked. Clearly and indication that the cockyness was uncalled for. I recall telling one kid who was playing half-back to "for God's sake, play your position" He looks at me and says, "my job is to score". Anyway, the point is that as far as I was concerned this team never learned to add two and two for the couple of years that I watched them. Fundamental rule after fundamental rule was broken day after day in rapid sucession with no notice being paid. Ah, to buttress my point of view, they had a German exchange student help with the coaching for a short while and I recall the utter frustration and disgust that I saw on his face from time to time.

2717. Uzmakk - 7/24/2000 6:37:58 PM

Anyhow, I think I had just quit coaching but was still coming to the games because my son was on the team when a cheeze fry comes flying toward me from the stands above. My quick eye caught the offender. I love surprizing children. I turned on my heel and bounded into the stands and sat down next to the kid, who just happened to be the same kid who told me that it was his job to score, and welcomed him with the most affectionate bear hug. I sat down so close to him that you couldn't push a credit card between us, and I engaged him in good natured banter, giving him the occasional "nuggie" and other such signs of affection. He moved. I smiled at his chums and left.

Anyhow, they were a bunch of cocky arrogant little pricks and i think that their inability to learn anything stemmed from the lack of someone who would grab them by the collar and make them learn something, anything. A father.

The End.

2718. marshame - 7/24/2000 6:40:46 PM

Cheese fry radar! A thing to behold!!!




Good story Uz, but sad.

2719. Uzmakk - 7/24/2000 6:44:58 PM

There is not another sport coached in America where an attempt is made to play the game without learning the fundamentals. My son is attending a small prep school and has mentioned to his principle that he would like to start a soccer team. Perhaps I could coach the spoiled sons of Drs. and Lawyers. I don't imagine it would be a much better experience, but it might be. I expect that they will at least be able to add two and two.

2720. marshame - 7/24/2000 6:47:03 PM

I think the key is to b THE coach, and not just the assistant. Then you can do it your way. At least til they lynch you.

2721. Uzmakk - 7/24/2000 6:51:12 PM

A distinct possiblity, Marshame.

2722. Uzmakk - 7/24/2000 6:51:43 PM

the lynching I mean.

2723. rubberducky - 7/25/2000 10:09:05 AM

well, uzzie, this member of "the gay chorus" played soccer for several seasons and i still think you are full of shit.

one doesn't need a father to play soccer. what a moronic concept.

2724. Uzmakk - 7/25/2000 10:17:21 AM

Rubbersnookumdude:

Not the point. You're starting off hostile, laddyboy. Read it again and we will check your comprehension later. Keep in mind the difference between singular experience and statistical phenomena.

2725. marshame - 7/25/2000 10:17:50 AM

Children need to learn to respect authority. Their first authority figures are their parents. Parents need to love their children enough to set standards and expectations for their behavior and then hold them to it. One of the most important and difficult lessons we all must learn is, as Uzzmakk describes, the fundamentals. You can't learn to play the piano without playing scales. You can't learn mathematics without memorizing your tables. And you can't learn to be a team player without learning the fundamentals of the game.

Parents too often abdicate their responsibility to teach their children to someone else. The public school teacher is expected to teach the child to control himself/herself be sitting still and being quiet and listening. The day care center is expected to teach the child what "no" means.

Seems like today's parents just want their kids to love them but make no demands on them that money can't buy. The hard stuff, like time, attention and discipline is in short supply.

2726. rubberducky - 7/25/2000 10:20:51 AM

your words, uzzie, were:

Most were being raised by their mothers and they were not used to discipline or a father. " Oh you're so passe, Uzmakk. oh you're so traditional and that's not where its at, Uzmakk", I can hear Doc Brown, the gay chorus, and 70% of the Mote crying in unison.

so, if you can't type and think at the same time, then do one then other - preferably thinking first.

and, btw, i'm not hostile. you really haven't seen hostile. hahaha

2727. rubberducky - 7/25/2000 10:23:45 AM

marsha:

One of the most important and difficult lessons we all must learn is, as Uzzmakk describes, the fundamentals.

yes, obviously. that isn't what i had issue with. it was his concept of the father being the main, if not only, conduit for this learning.

2728. Uzmakk - 7/25/2000 10:26:55 AM

And I stand by them, Duck. This particular group of boys had certain characteristics. I do not say that a single mother cannot successfully raise a boy, but that this group was special in that almost the entire group shared the same situation. Further, I think single mothers do have problems with boys.

As for not having seen hostility, bite my ass.

2729. Uzmakk - 7/25/2000 10:28:17 AM

In duckys future state, boys will be raised by manly lesbians.

2730. marshame - 7/25/2000 10:28:55 AM

RD
The father is the first source of this learning, the preferred source of learning along with the mother, for children. That is the ideal. For a long time, it was the standard. Now, unfortunately, it is increasingly the exception. When the single mother can't do it alone, for whatever reason, it gets shoved off to someone else, if it's done at all.

2731. rubberducky - 7/25/2000 10:29:01 AM

whatever uzzie-boy

as for your ass, i'll pass. trying to cut back on my fat intake.

2732. Uzmakk - 7/25/2000 10:31:16 AM

That's more like it, Duck.

2733. Jenerator - 7/25/2000 7:32:09 PM

MY FIRST CAR ACCIDENT

I was sent to Water Valley, Mississippi in the summer of 1986. I was 15 at the time and from the big city of Plano, Texas (pop. 80,000). I was a typical teenager wanting to meet boys, spending hours on the phone, and wanting as much independence as possible. So, when I was sent to grandma's house for the summer, I immediately explored the social scene. Since there were only approximately 543 people living in the town, my options were limited. Thankfully I met a cute boy named Roy who was cool because he had a haircut like John Taylor of Duran Duran. He was one year older than me and could drive. In Mississippi, you get your permit at 14 and your license at 15. He would take me out in my grandmother's dirt brown Mercury Comet and we'd cruise Main St, every night. I was crushed when he told me that he had to go to his dad's place in Memphis for three weeks. After all, we had been going together for five days and it was love. He left and I was very bored. My grandmother arranged it so that my deep backwoods cousin Jessica would come down and stay with me for two weeks, thus providing company for me. Too bad she was only ten years old! Jessica followed me where ever I went which I both liked and disliked. I was grateful for some company, but it was so "uncool" to have a ten-year-old with you wherever you went. One day, she and I talked about getting out of the house. Because Roy was gone, we were stuck with walking, which was also very uncool.

Cont.

2734. Jenerator - 7/25/2000 7:35:11 PM

pt.2

So, I decided that I would teach myself how to drive on the backroads. For hours I drove through the small town and became a pretty good driver. I became confident enough to cruise the Sonic one night and the police didn't even catch me. About a week passed by and on one hot day, my cousin announced to me that if I didn't let her drive, she would go back home to Tennessee. Her threat made me nervous and I didn't want to be left alone with my grandmother, so I caved in.

I drove up to the cemetery, which I felt was the safest and least trafficked area in the town, and switched seats with my cousin. She swore up and down that she knew how to drive because her dad had taught her how. She started slowly and we were carefully driving through the pre-Civil War burial ground. Eventually she made it up to the peak of one of the small hills and as she was turning the corner, she hit the gas instead of the brake. In an instant we had slammed up into a family plot with a tombstone crashing down onto the hood of the car. I screamed and jumped out to look at the damage. Jessica had knocked down one tombstone, popping the tire and scraping the front side panel. The worst damage was the giant crevasse that was in the hood. Giant pieces of marble were scattered about. I was terrified. Out of nowhere appeared two men who changed the tire and drove us home. I didn't know what to do or how to explain what had happened to my grandmother.

Cont.

2735. Jenerator - 7/25/2000 7:37:22 PM

pt.3

After debating what to say for over an hour, I went inside the house and told my grandmother, "Grandma, Jessica and I were driving around in the cemetery and I don't know what happened, but somehow I accidentally hit a couple of tombstones." (Yes, I took the blame for it!) I started to cry, feeling guilty for smashing up my grandma's car and for desecrating some family's burial plot. My grandmother gently patted me on my back as I continued to cry and apologize. When I looked up, she was smiling at me and said, "Now honey, don't you worry about it, you just get in that car and practice some more!"

2736. Jenerator - 7/25/2000 7:37:27 PM

pt.3

After debating what to say for over an hour, I went inside the house and told my grandmother, "Grandma, Jessica and I were driving around in the cemetery and I don't know what happened, but somehow I accidentally hit a couple of tombstones." (Yes, I took the blame for it!) I started to cry, feeling guilty for smashing up my grandma's car and for desecrating some family's burial plot. My grandmother gently patted me on my back as I continued to cry and apologize. When I looked up, she was smiling at me and said, "Now honey, don't you worry about it, you just get in that car and practice some more!"

2737. Fraaankster - 7/25/2000 7:47:06 PM

Jen,

The worst part of it all, is that you went out with a guy because of his haircut. He-he-he! ;-)

Okay, since you said first, I assume there are other car accident stories you will provide us with ???

2738. Jenerator - 7/25/2000 8:23:01 PM

Frank,

I owe you another e-mail!;-)

Yes, I have been in two other crashes, both of which were not ny fault, but I wouldn't want to bore you with the details. If we ever swap injury stories I'll share.

2739. Fraaankster - 7/26/2000 12:46:02 AM

Jenny,

I'm sorry about putting you on the spot like that, young lady, but when you started with MY FIRST..., I thought we would surely be in store for a mini-series of car accident short stories from you --all predicated on cute guys and their respective haircuts...No ?

Su-u-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-e they weren't your fault ... He-he-he ! ;-)

2740. joezan - 7/27/2000 7:23:43 AM

Adrianne:

I'm peeing my pants!

What ever possessed your husband to subject you to that?

About 5 years ago a friend of mine -tool-and-dye-maker by trade, pig farmer by destiny - took me on a trout fishing trip up to the Upper Penninsula - "Fishing license?! We don't need no stinking fishing license!"

I loved the UP - it's truly the most beautiful place I've ever been to. Biggest muskie and pike I've ever seen, too.

But it seemed as though everyone up there was exactly as you described your in-laws.

In fact, Pa-Paw could easily have been the mayor of many towns we passed through.

My friend, Del (short for Delbert...I swear - Delbert The Pig Farmer), called these folks Jack-pine Savages.

My scariest moment was when we stopped to eat at a place with no name, but with a huge, hand-painted sign propped up against a rusted-out old pickup out in the dirt parking lot, which said

hahahahaha!

Joe, how did you resist the temptation to swipe that sign?!?! My fingers would have been positively itching.

2743. CalGal - 7/27/2000 9:29:36 AM

I don't think that more than 10% of them came from stable traditional families. Most were being raised by their mothers and they were not used to discipline or a father.

This is an idiotic statement, and not because it's traditional or passe--just because it's foolish, on two different counts.

Single mothers have been raising their children since the beginning of time. Fathers were absentee for a good deal of the time earlier in our history. And yet, civilization managed to survive with married--but single--moms dishing out discipline.

But more importantly, you confuse the difference between single moms and women who shouldn't have children in the first place. Are you really foolish enough to think that the mothers of these children would have been radically different had they married? Do you think they would all have married Robert Youngs, who wisely laid down the laws to these kids and taught them soccer strategies?

Me, I'm thinking not. Had they married, with all other factors the same, the kids would be fathered by bums, addicts, lowlifes, and men of the same ilk as the mothers.

Why the hell don't more people realize that marriage isn't a solution, it's just an example of selection bias?

2744. theDiva - 7/27/2000 9:38:02 AM

"marriage isn't a solution, it's just an example of selection bias?"

ever the madcap, foolish romantic. (g)

2745. CalGal - 7/27/2000 9:45:16 AM

hahaha.

You know, that's not true, really. I'm extremely romantic. (don't tell.)

2746. Uzmakk - 7/27/2000 12:09:06 PM

Now now now Cal. Everything you say is true. And you make the point that I have made elsewhere, that the distinctions that we commonly make are not adequate. But you seem to imply that the term "single mother" refers to a competent woman raising her children by herself, and that the fat pig whose belly protrudes over her polyester shorts while she smokes and watches TV while her children roam about covered in feces is not to be termed a "single mother". Sorry, kiddo, she is. I agree with everything you said, but we will have to agree on a new terminology. I believe the term "scum" might be a start in the right direction. I think you have used terms along these lines before.

Also, there is nothing idiotic about my statement. This is a very Robert Youngian area. Now, I will agree that family dynamics have probably changed, the strong but reasonable father may be rare, and was largely a myth, and that he has been changed into a pussy of one sort or another by listening to his wife and what she heard on Oprah or learned at college. wrt the dynamics in my own family, my wife and I certainly moderate eachother.

As for marriage not being a solution, absolutely correct. As for my descrption of the behavior of these particular boys, I may or I may not have it right, but you sure as hell don't know.

2747. DaveM - 7/27/2000 12:13:55 PM

Uzmakk -

I will agree that family dynamics have probably changed, the strong but reasonable father may be rare, and was largely a myth, and that he has been changed into a pussy of one sort or another by listening to his wife and what she heard on Oprah or learned at college.

You sound like Christina Hoff Summers. If men weren't pussies until they started listening to their wives, why did they listen in the first place?

2748. Uzmakk - 7/27/2000 12:25:32 PM

I don't know, I think it has to do with evolution and PMS. That Christina Hoff Summers must be one hell of a smart chick. We pretend we listen to our wives because we are nice guys and it makes them happy.

2749. CalGal - 7/27/2000 12:55:49 PM

But you seem to imply that the term "single mother" refers to a competent woman raising her children by herself, and that the fat pig whose belly protrudes over her polyester shorts while she smokes and watches TV while her children roam about covered in feces is not to be termed a "single mother".

No. What I am saying is that it is absurd to say that "single mother" means anything at all. The fact that those kids were the products of single mothers is irrelevant. They were the products of lousy mothers who happened to be single.

In your case, however, you go beyond that and you say that the kids are lousy because they didn't have a father--that only fathers can provide discipline, and that these kids are in trouble because they didn't have fathers.

No. These kids are in trouble because they have incompetent parents. One way in which these women demonstrate their incompetence is that they choose god-awful fathers to produce irresponsible kids with.

So it's not your description of them as single mothers that I mind. It's your association of their single status with their lousy parenting. And I mind it not because I take it personally, but because that sort of thinking is very aggravating. All these people who seem to assume that women would instantly become better parents if they'd just marry the oaf that deposited sperm in them.

2750. Uzmakk - 7/27/2000 1:37:43 PM

You know, Cal, what you are itching for is a societal Maxwell's Demon, and I don't see one coming down the pike any time too soon. There are, ofcourse, the oafs who deposit the sperm and then there are the stupid chicks who let them deposit it. However, assuming the competence of both partners, it is a very simple and practical matter that a household with 2 people at the head should be easier to run than one in which the same responsibilites placed on the shoulders of one person. The wisdom of the ages.

2751. Uzmakk - 7/27/2000 1:47:03 PM

The Wisdom of the Ages vs The Wisdom of CalGal

2752. CalGal - 7/27/2000 2:10:47 PM

However, assuming the competence of both partners, it is a very simple and practical matter that a household with 2 people at the head should be easier to run than one in which the same responsibilites placed on the shoulders of one person.

But we aren't assuming the competence of both partners. If they were competent, their kids wouldn't have the problems you speak of.

And "running a household" has absolutely nothing to do with parenting. I agree without reservation that having two people around to run errands, do laundry, get the kids to doctor's appointments, and so on. Being a single parent has more stress involved in the day to day mechanisms of keeping the house organized.

But is it easier to parent as a couple than as a single? I don't think there is any one answer. Speaking for myself, I find it much easier--while there are some areas where two people make things logistically easier, I think life is much easier without having someone around to second guess me. I wouldn't claim that I'm the norm, of course. But I think you need to be very careful about making any assumptions about the quality of parenting as opposed to the logistics of running a household.

I wish to be clear--I don't think being a single parent is easy. But the parts that are difficult aren't the ones that involve being a good parent. If you are a good parent, it is no easier or more difficult to be a good parent by yourself than with a partner. And if you are a bad parent, your kids are going to suffer whether you're single or married.

It is for this reason that I object when people associate badly behaved kids with the marital status of their parents.

Oh, and the Wisdom of the Ages has nothing to do with it. It is only relatively recently that women have had the freedom to work and men have had the freedom to be parents. And far too many people make easy assumptions.

2753. janjon - 7/27/2000 3:23:13 PM

Adrianne -

Tell us, please, that none of those people vote.

You can carry democracy too far.

2754. joezan - 7/27/2000 10:19:42 PM

Diva:

Joe, how did you resist the temptation to swipe that sign?!?!

Swipe the sign???!!!

Man, I didn't even want to speak in that place, for fear of betraying my eye-talian accent!

I'd probably end up stiff and stuffed, my cheeks pinned back to display my ferocious teeth, with people's ratty-assed coats draped over me in the entry-way of that store.

BTW - I mentioned the place to a friend of mine in the Sheriff's Dept. and he said it's all but impossible anywhere else in MI to get a liquor license in a place that sells guns.

But the UP is.....different.

2755. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 7:11:06 AM

OK Cal, it was only a story about cheese fries, but here is the qualification that you may be looking for though you may not like it.
"These boys were being raised by apparently incompetent divorced mothers."

This is a simple observation. I don't like it. I changed it just for you. I don't know that they were incompetent. I expect that they may have been over burdened. I expect that the dynamics of divorce may effect the way they discipline their sons. Its all very complicated.

2756. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 7:13:41 AM

" And far too many people make easy assumptions."

2757. CalGal - 7/28/2000 9:45:36 AM

Uz,

Most were being raised by their mothers and they were not used to discipline or a father.

That's what you said. You implied a causal relationship. There is none in the first case, and it's not a given in the second. This is what I objected to. You could have just said that these kids were very badly discliplined by parents who appeared to be incompetent. You didn't, and the rason you didn't was, apparently, because you do think that the relationship is causal. So all I'm pointing out is that the incompetence is at the root of the problem, not the single status.

2758. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 10:24:15 AM

In this case the effect may be causal. These women do not appear incompetent(no polyester shorts). And I give the mother's the benefit of the doubt, that perhaps is a matter of being overburdened, or the sometimes perverse dynamics of divorce, rather than incompetence. But you insist that the hammer must fall squarely on the heads of the mothers. So be it.

2759. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 10:27:12 AM

"You could have just said that these kids were very badly discliplined by parents who appeared to be incompetent."

This is a politically correct and inaccurate statement.

2760. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 10:36:46 AM

Forget any analysis on my part -- I state what is observable. The team is composed of boys being raised by single mothers, they are unimpressive as raw material for a soccer team . I state the visible, there may or may not be a causal effect.

2761. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 10:37:55 AM

That is my last word on this.

2762. CalGal - 7/28/2000 10:50:03 AM

But you insist that the hammer must fall squarely on the heads of the mothers.

Exactly. Blaming divorce or singledom seems extremely silly. The notion that someone suddenly becomes an incompetent parent when they get divorced, or solely because they chose not to marry the father--well, it just doesn't seem even slightly logical.

This is a politically correct and inaccurate statement.

Not at all. It is entirely accurate, and avoids any causal connections that you can't back up.

The team is composed of boys being raised by single mothers, they are unimpressive as raw material for a soccer team .

Fair enough. My point is that "single mothers" is far too easy a discriminator, and that unless you want to contend that every child of a two-parent household makes ideal soccer team fodder, there is nothing about single-parenthood that creates this problem. If you wish to contend that the odds are more likely that a single parent is also an incompetent parent because the root cause of incompetency in parents can also lead to incompetency in forming relationships, you wouldn't get any argument from me.

2763. joezan - 7/28/2000 11:01:09 AM

Kids of single mothers, in my experience, are no less disciplined than kids of single fathers.

It is causal only to the extent that in divorced families the tables are turned: where in a healthy, intact family it is two-against-one (mom and dad tag-teaming the kid), in divorce the case too often is that the kid manipulates things (that's their job, after all) so that, in nearly every situation, it is kid and parent against parent.

This is how kids make parents pay for divorce.

2764. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 1:08:49 PM

No comment, Xena.

2765. CalGal - 7/28/2000 1:17:49 PM

That is my last word on this.


Apparently not. I took you at your word; there was no need to announce that you wouldn't respond.

Joe,

It would be a mistake to assume that the majority of single parent kids are problems because they are annoyed about a divorce. I think that divorce trauma is a real issue, but any parent that allows it to get out of hand is also failing as a parent--you can't blame the trauma. A kid who has the luxury of acting out solely against the divorce is hardly going to be a problem kid. A kid who is acting out because his mother is angry and bitter and his father ignores him is not suffering from divorce trauma, but bad parents.

2766. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 1:32:10 PM

Yah, but Cal, you weren't supposed to respond with high volume post peppered with a good amount of silliness. I shall say no more, regardless of what you post. I am a gentleman, after all.

2767. CalGal - 7/28/2000 2:11:32 PM

Uz,

Well, you should anticipate all possibilities, shouldn't you, before you make foolish assertions you have no intention of holding to?

Example:

THAT IS MY LAST WORD ON THIS (unless you say something that aggravates me, in which case all bets are off).

2768. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 3:43:41 PM

Grimace.

2769. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 6:43:59 PM

Discriminator. What an excellent Mote handle. Fuzzy Discriminator is good too. Too bad I'm Uzmakk of the Steppe.

2770. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 7:08:44 PM

Fuzzy Discriminator.

2771. Uzmakk - 7/28/2000 7:13:47 PM

(In the voice of Henny Youngman) Somebody, take my handle, please.

2772. joezan - 7/30/2000 9:37:44 PM

Cal:

It would be a mistake to assume that the majority of single parent kids are problems because they are annoyed about a divorce. I think that divorce trauma is a real issue, but any parent that allows it to get out of hand is also failing as a parent--you can't blame the trauma. A kid who has the luxury of acting out solely against the divorce is hardly going to be a problem kid. A kid who is acting out because his mother is angry and bitter and his father ignores him is not suffering from divorce trauma, but bad parents.

Yea, but I'm talking about divorce in the real world, Cal -the kinds of families in which 90% of divorces take place. The families that, when whole, could afford the occasional screw-up. But now, with mom working two jobs (and dad, too), the kids are neglected out of "necessity". The families that don't take vacations with their kids because they can't afford to - and don't go to the soccer matches because they can't get off work, so the kids end up losing interest and just quit - the latter stages of Uzmakk's dilemma.

So, no - it's not the actual divorce which is bugging them. It's the attendant neglect, and deprivation of those things which were normal and comforting in the former lives of the children.

Which is a reality in most divorces.

You need to realize a couple of things:

1) You take these things way too personally, because, I think, you are oblivious to the fact that you are in a very, very unique situation.

2) There are relatively extremely few kids out there who have the "luxury" of acting out solely against the divorce.

2773. CalGal - 7/30/2000 10:08:36 PM

Actually, I don't take it personally at all. What irks me is the lousy reasoning.

Yea, but I'm talking about divorce in the real world, Cal - the kinds of families in which 90% of divorces take place.

So am I. As a mild btw, you're dreaming if you think the majority of divorced women are working two jobs. But even if so, the kids who have a mom working two jobs to provide for their family are generally not the kids acting out. Why? Because they have responsible mothers, for heavens sake, and unless the mother is badmouthing an absent father (both signs of lousy parenting, not single parenting), then the kids are doing fine. Let's face it, kids who have both parents working and unavailable for soccer games has diddly to do with whether the parents are married or not. And, generally, it isn't the kids of middleclass divorce that are causing problems--in fact, middle and upper class divorce is a relatively small percentage fo the real issues with single parents, no matter what the bitching of the angry ex-wives and societal handwringers.

You seem to overlook one basic fact--the "problem children" that have single parents are those who never married at all, or married and divorced quickly and live off welfare, or have boyfriend after boyfriend and run their kids while not being utterly absorbed with their personal lives--and those whose parents fight like mad or whose fathers just flat out leave. Statistically speaking, this is where the problems are--again, the lousy parents, not the single parents.

What bugs me about assigning the bad results to single parenting rather than poor parenting is that it results in lousy social solutions--hence you have people saying that a teen single mother who has never worked a day in her life and can barely read should be getting married. Like that's going to magically make her a competent mother--or the oaf that she marries a decent dad.

2774. Uzmakk - 7/30/2000 10:18:04 PM

"What irks me is the lousy reasoning."

Idiot.

2775. CalGal - 7/30/2000 10:24:53 PM

That is my last word on this.


Apparently not.

2776. amax - 7/30/2000 10:36:48 PM

Feels like coming home. Hey all. As may you remember, I'm something of a libertarian wing-nut, but I thought you might appreciate an article at one of my favorite partisan rags: The Mommy Wars

2777. joezan - 7/30/2000 10:45:01 PM

No - the flawed assumption here is that whatever the predicament parents find themselves in post-divorce, good parenting will make up for it.

...the "problem children" that have single parents are those who never married at all, or married and divorced quickly and live off welfare, or have boyfriend after boyfriend and run their kids while not being utterly absorbed with their personal lives...

No. The majority are. But, as you said, these were bound to become problems anyway.

Over 95% of the kids we see come from broken homes. Once every few months (at a rate of approximately 120 kids per month) we see a kid from a home like Spawn's -financially. So I can see where your misconception comes from.

But do you honestly believe this to be an indication that parents in the top 5% earning bracket are better parents?

Do you not realize that many of the things you are capable of providing for Spawn because of your financial situation are just as necessary or beneficial to the children of other divorceés who are not so financially blessed, but who could manage fine when there were two parents?

Perfectly nice, able parents get divorced all the time, Cal. Very few can afford the things that soften the blow, which you seem to take for granted.

2778. joezan - 7/30/2000 10:58:13 PM

amax:

I don't remember the name - did you post under another?

BTW, from your link:

In a 1999 column in the Canadian daily The National Post, (Danielle) Crittenden winces at the unmanliness of fathers she watches at a playground fussing over young children and cooing at them in "unnaturally high" voices; she laments that she cannot imagine these New Dads in the role of warrior and suggests that their wives must be secretly yearning for real men.

...I resent this. I really do.

I wish this Crittenden chick would come to the playground I take my kids to, which always has a large gaggle of dads (myself included) who are perfectly content to sit and talk sports on the bench while the kids have a blast killing each other.

2779. CalGal - 7/30/2000 11:16:21 PM

Amax,

I generally like Cathy Young a great deal--I haven't yet seen anything I disagree with her on, although I suppose it could happen.

Joe,

You've got everything almost exactly wrong vis a vis my position and are inventing arguments to match your rebuttals. That tends to make any discussion a waste of time.

But in a nutshell--financial problems don't create emotional problems. Emotional problems aren't created by single parenting, but by lousy parenting. (in fact, financial problems suffered by a single parent are their own responsibility, too.)

And I am not saying that rich parents are good parents. What I am saying is that every single social ill that is laid on the door of single parenting is the result of bad parenting, and too many people use single parenting as a short-hand for bad parenting--or, as Uzzzzzz did, equate lack of discipline with lack of a father.

2780. joezan - 7/31/2000 1:13:41 AM

Cal:

No - you said:

"the "problem children" that have single parents are those who never married at all, or married and divorced quickly and live off welfare, or have boyfriend after boyfriend and run their kids while not being utterly absorbed with their personal lives..."

...and I'm saying you are dead wrong. Many good kids from perfectly good homes go bad after divorce because their parents, who are now financially drained, cannot afford good day-care, or to take vacations with the kid, or to enroll their kid in some constructive activity, etc.

You simply do not realize how much "good parenting" your income buys you - from things as mundane as access to community activities (which many divorced people give up after they sell the house and move to more affordable digs), to the quality of the schools and day-care in higher income areas, to vacations.

Does any one of the above mean the difference between a good and a bad kid? No. But add them all up, then add the increased hours of work (and yes, Cal, that's what the divorced parents who are not on welfare do), and pretty soon you have a neglected kid.

2781. Uzmakk - 7/31/2000 6:52:06 AM

"But in a nutshell--financial problems don't create emotional problems."

Woa, babe, come back into the solar system.

2782. CalGal - 7/31/2000 8:23:13 AM

Uz

Repeated snipings after you've said you were done is bad form Grow up and admit your "pronouncement" about being done was immature and premature--until then, you don't warrant any response other than reminders about your inability to follow through.

Joe,

From a societal sense, I am exactly right. The social problems of the world aren't caused by upper and middle class kids who are fussed about their parents' divorce--and if you read my posts, that is precisely who and what I was talking about. That is not an equivalent statement to saying that they don't have problems with their parents' divorce. As I said, they have the luxury of being annoyed about the divorce and acting accordingly.

We could go on at some length about the fact that any parent who can't afford to raise their child singly had no business having that child, but that's a different issue. Well, maybe it's not. One thing's for sure--you really must stop using me and my experience as some sort of debate point. I'm not using it--but if I were, I would point out that I made a third as much money as I do now when I got divorced and that my opinion back then was unchanged from what it is now. I raised a child and built a career at the same time--by myself. It's certainly possible to do--and it doesn't require neglecting your child.

Now, while most single parents aren't going to be as successful as I was in the career front, the good ones--regardless of their income--manage to work and take care of their children without the wearisome excuse that things are harder after a divorce. Divorce doesn't cause bad parenting. Period. It undoubtedly exposes bad parenting, since it gives people like you and Uz a hook to hang blame on. But it doesn't cause it.

2783. Uzmakk - 7/31/2000 9:23:13 AM

Cal:
Its not sniping. Well, maybe it is. But it is also pointing out specifically how silly some of your statements are. There are others, but it would require that I sit at the computer and spend my time spelling out fairly simple things to you in great detail. In anticipation of all your future posts on this topic I would advise all who read them to keep on the alert for silliness.

2784. CalGal - 7/31/2000 9:25:58 AM

But it is also pointing out specifically how silly some of your statements are.

Ah, but you announced that you were done with the conversation, remember? And then you kept on pointing. Show some integrity, admit you said you were done but don't want to be, and dive right in. Of course, then you actually be called upon to explain your little nasties. But as it is, you make the nasties but say, "Oh, I'm done with this conversation" simultaneously.

Quite cowardly. Step up and play or do what you said you would do and back out completely.

2785. PelleNilsson - 7/31/2000 10:22:47 AM

Mucho macho around here.

2786. CalGal - 7/31/2000 10:24:17 AM

Actually, it's in the wrong thread, too. Joe, if you respond, howzabout we move it to the Slow Thread?

2787. Uzmakk - 7/31/2000 11:02:07 AM

All right, Cal. Pusher. Supplier of addictive phenomena.

2788. Uzmakk - 7/31/2000 11:05:45 AM

Slow Thread much later this evening. I have to watch my internet addiction.

2789. Jenerator - 7/31/2000 8:17:36 PM

Uzzmakk, darling,

Why don't you share with me your first car accident!

2790. Uzmakk - 8/1/2000 10:44:40 AM

How can I resist, my pony riding Amazon?

2791. Jenerator - 8/1/2000 11:21:58 AM

Take the Internet Addiction Quiz in the Internet Thread!!

2792. marshame - 8/1/2000 11:53:19 AM

toys

2793. Uzmakk - 8/4/2000 1:23:03 PM

My Pony Riding Amazon:

Had been driving for quite a while without incident. But.....a light drizzle is falling, I am driving Daddy's Cutlass and following a brand new Vet onto the south bound entrance to the Palisades Parkway. I am maintaining what seems to be a reasonable distance. I take a glance down the highway -- not a car on the road. This is uncanny. This is the Palisades Parkway headed for NYC. Not a car. I turn forward and the Vet has stopped dead in front of me, on a entrance ramp, on a highway that is, for all intents and purposes, deserted. Jammed on the breaks but that road was slick. Seemed like I coasted into the back of that car for about five seconds. Bam.

Girl driving her boyfriend's new Vet, solo. Figures. Stupid bitch.

2794. Jenerator - 8/4/2000 1:50:40 PM

How much did it cost you and your dad, my yak herding adonis?

2795. PelleNilsson - 8/4/2000 2:07:38 PM

Psst, Uzmakk. The talk of the town is that Jenerator may soon be ..... available.

2796. Uzmakk - 8/4/2000 2:49:26 PM

Does the town talk, Pelle? Why am I never in on it?

Jenerator:
Don't recall. Not bad. A little front end work.

2797. Uzmakk - 8/4/2000 2:50:41 PM

And please capitalize Adonis in the future.

2798. PelleNilsson - 8/4/2000 2:57:58 PM

Because you don't follow the Cafe where these things are talked about. A recent post there hinted at a certain lowering of temperature if you get my drift. Decisive action now could tip the balance. But then there is The Ring. I'll fear you'll have to do better than the usual seven camels and a gourd of curdled yak's milk.

2799. Uzmakk - 8/4/2000 3:08:38 PM

Hahhh. It occurs to me that I have not been into that Cafe for quite a while, and it is my favorite cafe in the world. As for the rumors-- they are rumors.

2800. PelleNilsson - 8/4/2000 3:22:50 PM

Yes. But you know the old saying of the steppe:

The wispers from afar can soon become the thunder of horses

2801. Jonesatlaw - 8/7/2000 1:34:10 AM

Stupider things I have done in my life-
Case 1,125-
Mom and Dad have just bought a brand new Ford Grenada with a 302 V-8. It is summer, 1977 and I am 17 years old. We travel 150 miles to visit my great aunt, and several of her sibblings who have taken up residence in the ancestral farm now that their spouses have died. My great aunt is more like my grandmother, because she raised my father from the age of seven, when his alcoholic abusive step father abandoned him and my grandmother in a squatters camp in California, ala the Grapes of Wrath.
Being 17, I tire of the family stories, and go looking for something to do. I am given permission to go for a drive, which I happily accept. I drive out of town to a blacktop road leading to the local brickworks which paralells the UP line to Denver. I decide that this is the perfect opportunity to see if this thing will acutally do 120 mph. I turn around, and after insuring that there is no traffic for miles, I mash the throtle on the little Ford, and soon am flying down this back road in the triple digits. 120 remains elusive, and so I stay on the pedal a bit too long before slowing for the hard left turn at the end of the road. I mash on the brakes, pumping furiously to keep from going into a full skid. I get it down to about 35, and think I may make it when I hit sand from the lane that leads to the cornfields on either side of the road and beyound the curve. The Ford goes straight off the road, over a small bump and into the cornfield. I stop about 10 yards from the road. I have the amazing experience of seeing corn, fender high, disappear like a breaker over the bow of a ship.
After I come to a stop, and still amidst the surge of adrenalin, I put an emergency call into God, promising that if He would get me out of this, I would NEVER do anything remotely like it again, and thank him for the continued connection of my major body parts and their normal operation.

2802. Jonesatlaw - 8/7/2000 1:34:32 AM

continued-
I get out, anxiously surveying for the damage I know will mean the end of a teenage social life as I know it for the foreseeable future. I hear a hissing sound, which I fear is the radiator, and see that I am in a soft loam field which has been traditionally prepared for corn. That is to say, ploughed at least a foot deep prior to planting, and cultivated into rows of 4-6 inches above the level. I resolve to remove myself and the Ford from the field, before some poor farmer sees what I have done to his crop. I muster all the restraint I have to keep from flooring the thing in order to get out of the ruts I have created. Through further divine intervention, or survival instinct, I ease the Ford back up the small hill I flew over scant moments ago, with screams of fear, and Aerosmith wailing on the radio. Once on the road I survey the damage. Aside from a slight cooked vegtable odor from the stalks which had been pressed up against the catalytic converter, several stalks dragging off the small chin spoiler up front, and three small stalks of grass which have inserted themselves between the rim of the right front wheel and tire, all is fine.
Once again I offer heartfelt thanks to God, and drive slowly, carefully and ever so legally back to the homestead. I spend the rest of the afternoon greatfully listening to old jokes and family stories I have heard a hundred times before, and they have never sounded so sweet then or since.

2803. CalGal - 8/7/2000 4:48:16 PM

Jones,

Great story. Never mash the brakes.

2804. dnortons - 8/11/2000 2:02:45 AM

Tall stories
Unintelligent Acts

In the late 1980's I found myself at Entebbe airport, Uganda and still showing the effects of the famous Israel raid under Idi Amin's regime. At that time, the National Resistance Army had made history by deposing the old government. At one end of the tarmac was the sad remnants of Uganda's air force..Mig 19 & Mig 23 jet fighters. Having an interest in aviation I climbed into the cockpit of one, and forgetting important things like..hey the ejection seat might be armed, I began removing some instruments from the panel. At one stage, a curious rebel soldier climbed up and observed the process. Finally he made himself useful by holding the pliers etc.

A week later I was home with several prized flight control instruments. The door bell rang, it was a Polish friend of my Father's who I knew only by name. Suddenly he spotted the Mig instruments. He named them all correctly which really surprised me....turned out he had been an instructor in the Polish air force. He then warned me that some of the Russian built instruments with luminous dials were radio active....and he was one of only 2 people who had been charged with disposing of tons of these. Looking at the serial nos he recognised the batch numbers. A visit to the nearest university revealed that out of the 7, six were hot. The recommendation? Drop them in the deepest water I could find. Sounds irresponsible, however the dosage levels were quite low....would have to sit on them for a few years to register any problems. I sailed my little yacht out to the open sea and dropped them in a deep trench. Russian pilots weren't so lucky....they were copping radiation in comparatively large doses. The ‘G' force instrument (not hot) was kept by the old university professor who did the tests...it's now resides in his Morris Minor.

2805. DaveM - 8/11/2000 2:06:19 AM

That's an interesting story. Any idea why they were radioactive?

2806. PelleNilsson - 8/11/2000 2:13:31 AM

dnortons

Welcome! Good story. A question: are you always armed with screwdrivers, pliers and whatnot when you "find yourself at airports"?

2807. dnortons - 8/11/2000 2:21:37 AM

Thanks Dave. I understand the luminous paint that was used to make the instruments glow at night had the radio-active substance.....some watches made after WW2 had luminous dials of dubious safety. The Polish instructor told me that some Russians actually suffered ‘burns' on the their upper thighs from wearing the watches. As a footnote, Palle, the instructor, is having a ball skippering a charter yacht in the Med.

Pelle: Good question! I was there with a TV crew...always carry a tool kit in difficult countries.

2808. PelleNilsson - 8/11/2000 2:41:18 AM

That explains it.

2809. Uzmakk - 8/11/2000 12:13:43 PM

Speaking of good stories, do you remember the one about the lad who built a breeder reactor in his mother's potting shed in Michigan?

2810. marjoribanks - 8/11/2000 12:16:18 PM

Dnortons,

That is a fascinating souvenir-retrieval story. Do you have more?

2811. iiibbb - 8/11/2000 12:22:04 PM

I do Uzmakk...

... I had a physics professor once who loved to tell us stories about things that would be 'buildable' in our garage but that we probably wouldn't want to.

2812. PelleNilsson - 8/11/2000 12:22:12 PM

Dnortons

I save many of the stories published here in the Mote Stories collection (see link near the top right of this page. I hope you don't mind.

2813. Uzmakk - 8/11/2000 12:24:00 PM

The reason that the breeder reactor story came to mind was that the lad got the necessary radium from just such sources as dnortons mentions. More mundane sources, in fact.

2814. marjoribanks - 8/11/2000 12:26:59 PM

On the other hand, I wonder whether anyone on this planet still drives a Morris Minor. So maybe Dnortons' anecdote requires an *.

2815. PelleNilsson - 8/11/2000 12:29:02 PM

Pelle's Encounters with PLO Top Brass - The Saga Continues

Earlier, much earlier, I told the tale about how I met with Yassir Arafat. Now we shall examine my meeting with Abu Musa, PLO head of security in Beirut, how I got his business card, and why I threw it away. A couple of years later Mossad arranged for Abu Musa to be blown up in his own car.

Silly Western journalists often call names like Abu Musa 'code names'. They are not. Imagine a man called Ahmed Khoury whose eldest son is called Jamil. He can be addressed in three ways. 'Sayyed Khoury' is formal and respectful, 'Abu Jamil' is neutral,' 'Ahmed' is familiar. You will never ever meet a person called Ahmed Khoury, but I leave it to you to figure out why.

This took place in the autumn of 1975. The civil war had been on and off for six months, lately mostly on. My colleague and I were teaching a course in telecom but there were problems. Most days either the Muslims or the Christians, or both, could not attend because of fighting and road blocks. We could as well have gone home to Sweden. But we were contracted by the UN and they asked us, and everybody else, to stay on as long as we could not to give the impression that the UN was pulling out. My wife was working at the American University Hospital (staff nurse) and so I had a lot of boring free time, much of which I spent playing squash at a small health club near where we lived. They had a good coach there, the nice young Egyptian Mohsen, who had been junior world champion, and whose real reason for being in Beirut was to study Arabic literature at university.

2816. iiibbb - 8/11/2000 12:29:36 PM

I beleive he got it from antique clock parts.

2817. PelleNilsson - 8/11/2000 12:30:30 PM

The manager of the club was a stocky, muscular karate black-belter in his 50's. He had some Special Rules, one of which was banning guns from the training facilities. There was a bit of Wild West atmosphere as patrons deposited their guns, which Ahmed, the manager/bartender, kept under the counter. This was a good rule. I used to play a lot with an incredibly hot-tempered Lebanese and I'm sure he would have used the gun had he had it on court. Not on me, mind you, but on himself after missing an easy play at a critical juncture. Instead he used to reduce his racket to splinters, go out and buy a new one, then restart the game completely calm and relaxed.

Abu Musa was also a member of the club. He didn't do squash but karate and a bit of weight-lifting. He did also not carry a gun, but his two bodyguards did. They too had to give them up, reluctantly, and then they sat around drinking tea and sulking, waiting for their Master and answering the phone. When Abu Musa was in the club, a body guard always answered the phone, handing it over to the manager if it was for him.

As I said, it was a small club and we regulars used to nod to each other and exchange a few banalities. One day when I came out of the court, having been thoroughly grilled by Mohsen, Abu Musa was sitting alone at a table having a beer. So I asked for a beer too and pulled out a chair (to have selected another table would have been terribly impolite). We talked for a while about this and that, and then I thought I'd ask him about security in an area I would have to pass in the afternoon if I took the nearest road to the place I was going. The security of streets and neighbourhoods was a favourite topic of conversation at the time. The kidnappings had not started but being caught in cross-fire is no fun either.

2818. PelleNilsson - 8/11/2000 12:31:50 PM

So I asked Abu Musa. "Well I don't really know", he said, "but there have been some movements there ('movements' said in a conspiratorial voice) so it's possible the boys will put up a couple of check points." "But tell you what", he continued, pulling out a business card, writing something on it "if so, show them this and you won't have any trouble."

Needless to say I took a wide detour around that area. Suppose I drove into a checkpoint. How was I to know that it was manned by PLO guys? To brandish that business card in the face of fighters from some other faction would no doubt have landed me in deep shit. So I threw it away. One never knows. And in the Middle East, more than elsewhere, only the paranoid survive.

2819. marjoribanks - 8/11/2000 12:36:44 PM

Pelle,

Lovely story. If I were you I'd not only have kept that card but cherished it for those, um, awkward moments when you need it.

2820. Uzmakk - 8/11/2000 12:44:16 PM

btw, I don't mean that a Mig jet on the runway at Entebbe airport is a mundane source. I was refering to illuminated dials and such as iiibbb has mentioned.

2821. Uzmakk - 8/11/2000 12:58:30 PM

Cool, Pelle.

2822. PelleNilsson - 8/11/2000 1:35:02 PM

marj

To show the depth of my paranoia at the time. The writing on the card was in Arabic. Who knows what it said?

2823. dnortons - 8/11/2000 6:30:36 PM

Marjori, thanks....and Morris Minors still have quite a cult following. No more souvenir stories...what about one on being in Kinsha the night the rebel army took the city? Quite a scene at the Sheraton Hotel...at one stage there were so many AK-47 assault rifles in the foyer the concierge asked to have them stored.

2824. dnortons - 8/11/2000 6:33:43 PM

Pelle...loved your Arrafat/PLO story. I've had occasion to meet him too...very unpleasant..still remember the wimpy wet fish hand shake.

2825. Uzmakk - 8/11/2000 6:42:09 PM

dnortons:

I meant to ask you about Morris Minors. Can you explain?

Also, does "dnortons" indicate a husband and wife team?

2826. Uzmakk - 8/11/2000 6:43:09 PM

i.e., the Nortons

2827. dnortons - 8/11/2000 9:41:30 PM

Uzmakk No...dnortons is definitely not husband & wife!
Morris Minor is an English designed car, the predecessor to the famous Mini. A collectors item now..very cute & slow...perhaps reaching 80 mph.... but only down a mine shaft.

2828. PelleNilsson - 8/12/2000 3:28:10 AM

This is the Morris Minor Series II model (1952-56) with "considerably increased performance" (0-50 mph in 25.7 seconds)



dnortons

We don't normally speculate about online names here but mentioning Morris Minor led me to think about the classic English motorcycle brand Norton.

2829. PelleNilsson - 8/12/2000 3:33:34 AM

And by all means tell us about the night at the Kinsha (Kinshasa?) Sheraton.

2830. Fraaankster - 8/14/2000 3:53:04 PM

Interesting weekend...

On Friday I go over to my parent's house to mow their lawn and just as I'm about to start I look up and see this tall blonde shirtless kid coming toward me drenched in blood. His pants were partly tore as he struggled to walk and also keep them from falling while also trying to hold one hand to his head where the blood was flowing from.
Incoherent, he tells me that he was just jumped and robbed for all the money he had. He said he never saw the punk pick up the rock which the thug used to bash him in the head with. I scream to my mom to get me the cell phone and call 911.
The next few minutes that ensued were an exercise in futility, as the operator ignored the suggestions I gave him as to which direction the cops should come from -- the trolley tracks would not permit a car through the area where the assualt had occurred. There was only a pedestrian tunnel, so I suggested they cut them off from another street entrance into the area. It fell on mute ears -- instead, I was asked some three times who I was, where I was, althought the operator had already verified my address, or some nonsense as to whether the kid had been hit with either a rock or a brick. The next phase of questioning was a bit more pertinent as the questioning involved how many were there, their descriptions, and what area they were last seen heading in. It was difficult trying to get answers out of this poor kid who was obviously in great pain.
The cops (two cars) finally get there some 10 minutes after it all started and the look on their faces tell one all one needs to know on the blood this kid had lost. They tell him to lie down with the paramedics finally showing up a minute or two later. One pair of officers start taking statements from the victim, with the other two starting a foot patrol.The police helicopter (ABLE) shows up a few minutes later.
... I read yesterday's paper and find out they broke his jaw also.

2831. Fraaankster - 8/14/2000 3:53:42 PM

Con't,

Only a few hours earlier two blocks away, my best friend's newphew's girlfriend -- with baby in hand -- was assualted and beaten as she entered my best friend's mother's home for no reason other than trying to make something of her life.
I won't go into that one, but let's just say that it ended in a mini street riot with the streets having to be closed off as the cops tried to sort things out. My best friend is like a brother to me and knowing his family, cousins, aunts, and uncles like the back of my hand, it pains me to see them having to go through all this. They are decent, loving people who never bother anyone and I just hate hearing about them going through all this.
The things that started it, along with others who sided with them, were arrested and now my friend, as I am, are worried about retribution once they get out.

I tell you, no matter how hard one tries to distance oneself from that place, one frequently finds it isn't easy because of all the ties one has there. I just can't describe the anger I feel when these things happen, and they happen too often .

I just had to vent.Sorry.

2832. sincerity454 - 8/22/2000 9:02:38 PM

Calgal -

I just finished reading Nocturnal Travails, and I think you are an excellent writer. Very funny! I particularly enjoyed the way the narrative becomes very rapid, rife with run-on sentences, to reflect your sudden onslaught of fear.

2833. CalGal - 8/23/2000 2:22:30 PM

Sincerity,

Gosh, thanks. I enjoyed writing it. Not as much as I enjoyed not sleeping in my car, but it was still fun.

2834. Cellar Door - 8/24/2000 12:26:36 AM

GAYS RULE!

2835. CalGal - 8/25/2000 9:28:21 PM

So I'm trying to get my son to his hair appointment on time, which is damn near impossible ever since the dealer's service section COULDN'T FIND MY FUCKING CAR, which added insult to injury because they couldn't do what I asked them to do (not that I'm bitter) and I have been stuck at what seems like twenty seven consecutive lights for ever increasing delays and I've have missed a huge number of left turn lights, which means you have to wait through the goddamn cycle again, which I hate hate hate and so here I am, sitting at the left turn lane on the last light before I get there, and I have been at that light for four minutes being so goddamn good, haven't blown up once, when all of a sudden I can't take it ONE MINUTE MORE and I explode:

"What the fuck is this, a stop light or a rest home!!!??????""

and the light hears me and changes immediately in terror.

"That's better, you bastard," I snarl, and make the turn, hurtling down the quiet Palo Alto street and phew, there's the salon. Only ten minutes late, nothing horrible.

So as I am sedately waiting to turn into the parking lot, much calmer, when all of a sudden my words come back to me. I turn to Spawn, who has been staring out the window.

"Did I say 'rest home'?"

He says, mildly, "Yes, you did. Can I laugh hysterically now, or do you need more time to recover?"

"Naw, go ahead. I'm over it," I say generously, and we both cackle like maniacs.

2836. sincerity454 - 8/25/2000 10:10:23 PM

Calgal -

Isn't Spawn a dog?

My father went to pick his car up at a dealership once and they couldn't find it, either. He waited and waited and waited. He asked them when it was coming. Oh, they'd have it there soon. He waited some more. Asked again. Finally he demanded to see someone.

Guess what they did? They DELIVERED it to someone else, who kept it over night, claiming they thought it was a LOANER. When he got it back, it had 175 additional miles on the odometer.

Spawn is a GREAT dog's name. My dog is Ivan the Terrible, a mini schnauzer.

Guess I'll throw out the beginnings of one of my stories.

2837. sincerity454 - 8/25/2000 10:20:19 PM

The Visitors

The day was dazzling yellow and cicadas screeched, the little banshee hellions,clinging to branches and shedding their little ugly leavings the way they always do. ( I rather like the sound they make in full summer, their cadence rising and falling rhythmically in the roiling heat.)

It was that do-nothing time of day that occurs during
visits with rural grandparents in Central Texas. Restless for something to pass the time, I wandered about aimlessly outside. A weary little fig tree out back had demonstrated its fertility with fruit-laden branches once again, so I grabbed a bucket and began to pick them one by one, listening to their reassuring thuds as they dropped, one by one. And so I provided a tatoo of sorts to the song of the cicadas.

A 1978 Caprice Classic crunched up the gravel driveway and rolled to a stop, and from it emerged three exceedingly wiry, determined-looking individuals. They were my father’s cousins, Mildred and Fattie, and Aunt Lila, a venerable matron with a tightly curled
hairstyle that had gone out of fashion three decades ago. Mildred’s was no less current,and the three of them bore facial similarites that made it evident they had emerged from the same gene pool: thin lips, fierce eyebrows, and a slightly startled mien. Both women
carried large black patent leather purses on their arms, and the elder of the two, my Great-Aunt Lila Bedletter, greeted me with an animated if confused expression.

2838. sincerity454 - 8/25/2000 10:21:03 PM

“Why, Ida Lou, you have grown up to be a beautiful girl, honey!” she cried, moving forward with little jagged steps.
“That’s Betty Lynn, Aunt Lila,” said Mildred, eyebrows twitching nervously up and down as she spoke.
The old woman looked confused, then recovered. “Betty Lynn, how are you,honey?” she asked in a smoke-husky voice.
I reached out with one hand, still holding my bucket in the other, to partially embrace my elderly great-aunt with feigned enthusiasm.
D.L. “Fattie” Ledbetter, a stringbean of a man who had been kicked in the head by a mule as a child and consequently wore a hearing aid that did him little good, pointed at my bucket and asked, “Whatcha got there?”
“Oh,” I said, laughing. “I’ve been picking figs for Granny.”
Fattie touched his ear quizzically and tilted his head to one side.
“Picking figs for Granny,” I said, this time with greater volume.
Again, he touched his ear and tilted his head. Irma leaned forward shouted,“PICKING FIGS, FATTIE!” He nodded happily, understanding now.

continued...

2839. sincerity454 - 8/25/2000 10:22:23 PM

We walked toward the house, and my grandmother greeted them warmly, as though she
hadn’t seen them in weeks.
“Why, I declare, Mildred, your hair just looks lovely,” she said.
Mildred’s fierce black eyebrows worked up and down as she patted her
tightly-curled locks self-consciously. “Imogene’s House of Hair,” she said. “Imogene
was having a grand opening special yesterday, and I got myself a permanent.”
“Well, it looks right nice,” said Granny.
“Laura, honey, I have something for you,” said Aunt Lila, rummaging through her
purse and pulling out a small, plastic packet. It was a little clear plastic rainbonnet,
folded into accordion pleats and inserted into a handy carrying case, that she had picked
up at the Garlin Savings and Loan earlier that week.
My grandmother, always the gracious soul, acted as though she had just been
handed a precious jewel. “Why, Lila!” she said, delighted. “How thoughtful of you. I’ve
been needing one of these for the longest time!”
We proceded into my grandmother’s living room, where we sat down as my
grandmother said, “Chet has been feeling real poorly today, and he just fell asleep a little
while ago. He hasn’t been resting well, so I hate to wake him up.”
“Well, don’t bother him, then,” said Aunt Totsie. “He’ll probably wake up of his
own accord soon.”

2840. CalGal - 8/25/2000 11:00:23 PM

Sincerity,

Very Eudora Welty. Thanks for sharing. Is it a short story?

Spawn is my son. Age 12.

2841. sincerity454 - 8/25/2000 11:16:09 PM

Yes, it's a story, but I never finished it.

Hey, I'm sorry. I thought I remembered a dog named Spawn in your story I read the other night. A labrador retriever, barking at the door. Anyway, it's a pretty cool name for a kid, too.

Eudora Welty? Geez, I'm flattered.

I'm a Southerner. I know you probably couldn't tell...;)

2842. CalGal - 8/25/2000 11:18:56 PM

No, I was talking about all the neighborhood dogs barking away. Spawn was the son I was trying to reach by crawling over the wooden awning covered with crabs/tarantulas/Barbies.

2843. PelleNilsson - 8/28/2000 4:21:59 PM

It's been a while since I posted a story.

The Canary Bird Calamity

Thursday evening in Amman. I'm peacefully sipping my gin & tonic, doing absolutely nothing, except watching our canary bird, Birdy, flitting from place to place. We used to let it out from its cage, sometimes, to give it the illusion of freedom. I'm alone because my wife has gone back to Sweden for vacation , and I will follow in a few days. I'm looking forward to the evening : I'm invited by the Scottish colony in Amman to celebrate Burn's night with them. So after a while, I laboriously raise from the armchair to shower and dress.

When I turn on the hot water tap absolutely nothing happens. This is not unusual and I know how to deal with it. I deftly execute the Abdullah Manoeuvre to force the air out of the system (named after Abdullah, the friendly plumber). When I return to the living room dressed up in dinner jacket, Birdy is nowhere to be seen. This too, is not unusual. It often hides behind a curtain or something. The living room is huge, I'm running late because of the Abdullah Manoeuvre, a perfunctory search yields nothing. Oh, well, I think, I'll have to deal with the droppings tomorrow.

2844. PelleNilsson - 8/28/2000 4:24:52 PM

Coming home later, much later, satiated on haggis and whisky (God, that haggis is really filling) there is still no sign of Birdy, so I to bed. Next morning I institute a thorough search. Behind a curtain I find not Birdy but a sliding window slightly ajar, just enough for a canary bird to squeeze through. Illusory freedom had become real freedom. I now have an emergency on my hands. Not because of Birdy, but because of the English lady who has promised to babysit the bird during our vacation. She is - how shall I say - excessively sentimental about these things. If I tell her Birdy has flown the coop she will insist on having posters in Arabic put up all over the neighbourhood, and an advertisement in the leading newspapers. And if I would say, as I normally would: "Never mind it's only a bird", I would be marked for ever as an insensitive, cold-blooded, monster of a man. So there is only one thing to do. After breakfast (egg and bacon, can of beer, coffee, five cigarettes) , I take the empty cage and head for the canary bird shop.

2845. PelleNilsson - 8/28/2000 4:26:51 PM

Now, you may think that a canary bird is a canary bird is a canary bird, all yellow, indistinguishable from each other. Not so. Ours was brownish-grey with yellow speckles. So the priority was to find a look-alike, which I did, but it was somewhat smaller than the original. I hoped the English lady wouldn't notice. Home with the bird. It doesn't sing but that's expected with the change of environment. Come Saturday, the damned bird still doesn't sing. On Sunday psedo-Birdy brings out some, squeaks but it's nothing like good old Birdy and today is the Handover. So it takes place and the English lady immediately says: "How small he looks!". "It's been moulting, I say, "so it's probably feeling a bit under the weather. It doesn't sing much either right now." (Do canary birds moult? Damned if I know.) With that I fly off to Sweden.

Four weeks later we return and meet the English lady. "I'm soo worried", she says, "he hasn't gained any weight and he doesn't sing much at all". "Maybe it's getting old", we say, "who knows how old it was when we bought it, and small birds like that probably don't live very long." "Oh, dear, oh dear", says the lady, "how sad if true". So we home with the bird. But to be frank: who wants a canary bird that doesn't sing? So after a decent interval we take the cage up on the roof and open the door. The official line is that Birdy died peacefully in its sleep and is now buried in the shade of the fig tree.

Then we went out and bought a new, fat lusty bird.

2846. Uzmakk - 8/30/2000 8:29:59 PM

As I have mentioned elsewhere Igor has returned to me from his summer in New Mexico. He was looking down the bench at me removing glue from his fingers via the olde finger thumb rub, when he said to me, "Master, look, I can make mouse turds with my fingers". The clear implication here was that he was making them as if by magic, without effort; and indeed, they simply dropped on the table from his fingers as if by magic. I congratulated him on his discovery and we continued working. He is coming along nicely.

2847. sincerity454 - 8/30/2000 8:43:40 PM

Uzmakk -

Igor sounds like just my type. Do you think you could arrange an introduction?

2848. Uzmakk - 8/30/2000 8:46:05 PM

Sincerity:

Do you have a hunch on your back. Igor is very picky.

2849. sincerity454 - 8/30/2000 11:24:43 PM

No, unfortunately, I don't, although I'm working on the beginnings of a dowager's hump? Is he so superficial that he can't just love me for the person I am inside?

2850. Uzmakk - 8/31/2000 11:11:57 AM

He wouldn't think of loving you for the person you are inside. It is not the way of the hunchback.

2851. Jenerator - 8/31/2000 1:01:33 PM

Uzmakk says he loves me, warts, dowagers hump, and all.

2852. Uzmakk - 8/31/2000 2:13:41 PM

Its true, Big Bird, its true.

2853. sincerity454 - 8/31/2000 10:25:47 PM

It is not the way of the hunchback.

Ah, The Way of the Hunchback. How I wish I could learn more.

2854. PelleNilsson - 9/1/2000 2:53:02 AM

Here is Igor all dressed up:

2855. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 3:09:53 PM

A rather good shot, Pelle. I don't know how you got it; but, the bowler hat hides the fact that he is completely bald.

Sincerity:

Its a new experience for me too. Igor has been with me for less than a year and I myself am learning the way of the hunchback. He often comes up with clever little things like the "mouse turds", which amuse me. He has also expressed an interest in bells and I am seriously considering installing a bell tower.

2856. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 3:22:51 PM

The more I think of it, Sincerity, if I install a bell tower he will be my prisoner forever. He seems to work on a different value system than we do and certain things seem to be very important to him; bells, for instance.

2857. stostosto - 9/1/2000 3:37:59 PM

Uttzschmackkkk

How to pronounce "Igor"? So it rhymes with "Buy-more" or "bee-roar"?

2858. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 3:44:21 PM

bee-roar

2859. stostosto - 9/1/2000 3:46:03 PM

I thought so.

2860. theDiva - 9/1/2000 3:47:28 PM

But only if you aren't Marty Feldman.

2861. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 3:49:20 PM

Marty's dead.

2862. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 3:50:10 PM

or is that -- Martys dead?

2863. stostosto - 9/1/2000 3:50:29 PM

So he ain't gonna try more.

2864. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 3:53:02 PM

The fact is, my dear Diva, that the picture that Pelle has posted is a very good likeness of Igor with the modification that I have mentioned.

2865. theDiva - 9/1/2000 3:58:35 PM

but my dear SteppeLord, did he not pronounce it EYE-gor? Or does my pregnancy-addled memory fail me?

2866. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:00:38 PM

He did indeed, my dear Diva, but Igor pronounces it "bee-roar".

2867. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:01:15 PM

I mean we're not talking about Marty Feldman here.

2868. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:02:18 PM

I mean, get real.

2869. theDiva - 9/1/2000 4:02:35 PM

I thought we were.

2870. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:08:09 PM

Shuffled on the CDplayer today--
Bad Love-Randy Newman
Moondance-Van Morrison
The McGarrigle Hour with L.Wainwright and the whole family

2871. theDiva - 9/1/2000 4:11:32 PM

mmmmmm......very nice. I've been listening to Horace Silver, Oscar Peterson, and the BV Social Club.

2872. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:13:28 PM

I had O Peterson and Social Club on yesterday.

2873. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:15:19 PM

I kid you not.

2874. PelleNilsson - 9/1/2000 4:17:11 PM

vanMorrisson was in Stockholm recently. Very bad reviews. "Uninspired and boring."

2875. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:19:20 PM

I have no trouble believing that, Pelle. He was a bit preachy there for a while as I understand it -- born again.

2876. Uzmakk - 9/1/2000 4:20:58 PM

I wish you or sto had checked out that young Canadian (Sexsmith) who was over in Sweden and Denmark this past spring.

2877. stostosto - 9/1/2000 7:52:32 PM

Uz

Did you know that for a couple of years Van Morrisson lived in the very same part of Copenhagen that I do? It's - somewhat contradictory - called Vanløse, literally Van-less. He even wrote a song called Vanlose Stairways, attributed to the stairs in our local metro station here.

Other than that I don't know much about him. I have never been led down his path, don't ask me why.

2878. Uzmakk - 9/2/2000 10:38:38 AM

Sto, I have never been a fanatic about music of any kind the way some are. What I know about V. Morrison I know in passing, but I think that he made some excellent music for a good long time. I am familiar with only three or four of his albums. Interesting about Vanlose. I know that he spent a segment of his career in the states centered on the same artery that I travelled NYC-Adirondacks-Montreal. Several songs refer to this region. It occurs to me that this is probably why I like him -- writing songs about stairways, wells, specific highway, specific sites. Just like an Irishman. I believe that a Motie commented that Morrision did an excellent Yeats.

2879. alistairconnor - 9/5/2000 11:47:03 AM

Morrision did an excellent Yeats.
That's an interesting comment... Has Morrison done anything in the last... 25 years that wasn't "Uninspired and boring"? It makes me sad, remembering his former greatness.

On the other hand, Yeats also had an "Uninspired and boring" period of two or three decades, and then produced some more great poetry towards the end of his life. So I suppose there's hope.

2880. Indiana Jones - 9/7/2000 10:33:15 PM

DocBrown mentioned that Webfeet has run a couple of contests here in the past, and I know Pelle did one recently about writing for a restaurant or menu. There's a well-known contest called "Bad Hemingway," or something like that, and another one for Faulkner. Recently, I was on an airplane and read the two winners for this year and the Faulkner was a stitch.

So anyway, I'd like to propose a writing parody contest: choose any writer of fiction and do a parody. It might make it more interesting for lurkers to leave off the author's name and see if it can be guessed.

2881. arkymalarky - 9/9/2000 2:03:10 AM

The town where Mose goes to school and where we do our business and where my parents live has only about 10,000 people in it, and we live 15 miles away. Well, we were going on our country road to the high school to get her after a football game (she's a majorette) and this pickup sped past us like we were sitting still. I made a remark about it and Bob made a vague response, then we drove on to town. When we got there we had to get gas, and as Bob was pumping gas we saw a helicopter coming up from where the hospital is. It was dark, but I told Bob I bet it was the med-flight. Well, we went on to the high school and there's an auto mechanic shop right up from it and a wrecker was pulling into the lot with a brand-new-looking red sports car, of which about all that was left was the wheels and the hood. We went on to the school and waited and the buses came and Mose and the other kids got off and she went back to talk to one of the other majorettes who was crying. Sure enough, her boyfriend had been in a wreck and severely injured. We asked the names of the people in the car and one of them, who was dead, was one we recognized but didn't know--Bob knows his uncle pretty well, though.

cont

2882. arkymalarky - 9/9/2000 2:06:33 AM

After finding out that info, Bob told me he knew who was in the truck that passed us flying--it was the boy's uncle. When we got home we called our neighbor and the guy's best friend and got no answer. Bob called the hospital and found that our friend, the uncle, was speeding past us because it was his son whose car was wrecked, and his son had died, too, along with his nephew.

What adds to the senselessness of the tragedy was that this kid had just graduated high school and had a good job and was going to some kind of training school or something, when his grandfather died and gave each of the grandkids $100,000 a piece. This son of our friend instantly quit his job and bought a red Corvette, which is what we saw the remains of on our way to pick up Mose. It is a strange feeling to know that we saw each piece of the process of the tragedy on the way to town and back...Steve speeding by, the med-flight helicopter, the wrecker carrying the remains of the car, the crying majorette, and finally the call to the hospital.

2883. joezan - 9/9/2000 7:49:37 AM

...kind of like you had a bit-part in the whole drama.

That's sad, Arky.

On a lighter note...

Our 8 y.o. daughter has put on a little weight - she's very tall, so she carries it well. But still...

We haven't said anything, as she's in good health and eats all the right stuff. And her ped says she's fine. We do suspect, though, that my mom has (very gently and lovingly, of course) said something to her, because she has been eating very little, especially at dinner.

A few nights ago I made her favorite -frozen chicken patties (baked) on hamburger buns (which she always tops with pickle and tomato slices and lettuce), with french fries and a tossed salad. By the time the rest of us were finished, though, she had eaten only some fries and salad, and hadn't touched her chicken-burger.

So I asked her,

"What's up - this is your favorite meal?"

She looked up at me and, with a very serious, half-disgusted look on her face, said,

"But dad - I think I knew this chicken!"

2884. Lucky - 9/9/2000 10:51:56 PM

The southern Appalachian mountains are a fairly curious place. Within a mile of my house live computer programmers, bulldozer operators, gay activists, musicians, artists, and hillbillies. Two or three miles over in the next "holler" (colloquial for hollow, a small valley) the land is mostly owned by an extended family by the name of Rich. The Riches all live down there, grow gardens, hunt deer and bear for their freezers, and are a fierce and self-sufficient breed. The Rich men all work as city employees of the closest town (garbagemen and street workers). Their silent wives do not drive and are only seen occasionally at the local grocery store accompanied by their huge bearded, muscled, and potbellied men. It is best to be mildly friendly when speaking to one of the Riches.

Last year a young lawyer and his wife moved here from Alexandria, Virginia and bought 100 acres adjoining the Rich land. They had a large "rustic" house built and planned on setting up a local law practice. The trouble began when the young professional warned the Riches that their hunting dogs were running across his land. It escalated dramatically when he took out a warrant on three of the Rich men because they were tresspassing in his woods, hunting and killing deer. The local sheriff hesitated, shook his head, but did his duty. The Riches lost their hunting licences for 6 months and were fined $500 each.

After talk at the local cofee shop and restaurant, a delegation of semi-locals (including me) deemed "eddicated" enough to talk to the young lawyer were sent to his house to discuss reality with him. We politely tried to explain that both their lives were in serious danger. The Rich men had already stated that they were going to kill both of them... getting their hunting licenses revoked was a deadly serious matter.

2885. Lucky - 9/9/2000 10:52:27 PM

The lawyer and his wife didn't believe us and were fairly bellicose. He kept repeating that he was a LAWYER, and that those men would be handled in proper legal fashion. I finally said "Look. By the time the Sheriff gets any kind of call and makes his way down here, both of you will be long gone and never found. I'm not saying that it's right. I'm just giving you a serious warning. You should leave immediately." The man told me to get f*cked and slammed the door in my face.

I don't know what happened after that, but the couple left the area three weeks later without a word. Their land and dream house are still for sale. The Riches will probably eventually buy it since it adjoins their slice of this world, or just continue to use it as their own. This is the year 2000, but some things never change around here. If society implodes and the cities go up in flames, the Riches will be basically unaffected. They have food, wives, meat, water, moonshine, and weapons. It's hard to believe that people like this still exist, but I tend to keep a somewhat nervous and fixed smile when talking to the Rich boys.

2886. ScottLoar - 9/9/2000 11:11:50 PM

A clan that bulldozes its way to the top in an agricultural society. Seems so quaint and dated that people living in the present tense just don't see the danger until it's upon them.

2887. joezan - 9/9/2000 11:32:46 PM

Hey, Loar, you old dog!

Good to see you around.

Lucky:

I like that story - good ol' American justice.

The perfect capper would be for one of the Rich's to learn to read, and run for mayor (or whatever the head honcho of a "holler" is called).

Save themselves a lot of trouble...

2888. ScottLoar - 9/10/2000 9:02:07 AM

Old dog?! Why just the other day a young lady was commenting on my person and phsyique and my manhood was slowly rising to anticipate a warmer welcome.

Which, unfortunately, never came.

2889. stostosto - 9/10/2000 9:36:49 AM

Congratulations on your virile "phsyique", Loar.

I can relate, btw. I trust though, that you didn't pursue the 'warmer welcome' very aggressively. If I am not mistaken there is a Mrs. Loar to consider also, isn't there? Or was she in fact identical with the said young lady?

2890. ScottLoar - 9/10/2000 1:16:47 PM

Sto3, thank you for pointing out my typographical errors, or perhaps you're dismayed to know I can spell "physique"?

If it were my wife I'd say so and the young lady was not, and now what points and with whom would I gain by fibbing here to puff up myself bigger than I am?

2891. ScottLoar - 9/10/2000 1:22:09 PM

You can "relate" can you not?

2892. stostosto - 9/10/2000 1:51:01 PM

Loar, I almost forgot how singularly pompous you can be. I like it.

2893. arkymalarky - 9/10/2000 4:08:24 PM

Not that anyone knows these people, but to clarify--stuff is always really sketchy on those types of things until the next day when people begin to get together and share the facts--only Bob's friend's son was killed and his one passenger is in very critical condition. According to the boy's father, who Bob talked to for quite a while last night, the report said he was going 120 mph and hit a tree, wrapping the entire frame of the car around it.

2894. ScottLoar - 9/10/2000 4:28:18 PM

I am a valley of humility among the mountains of conceit here, Sto3.

2895. labwabbit - 9/14/2000 7:40:40 PM

ScottL Message # 2894

Then you must be the "short" portion of this thread.

...Long time O indigenous one of the low-lands. Valley sounds so much better though.

Hope summer treated you well in any event.

2896. ScottLoar - 9/15/2000 12:51:10 PM

Labwabbit,

I remain gainfully employed, fit and in fine fettle, and am taking deep breathing excercises to control my temper...

Ah, passed out there and just recovered. Yes! I'm just fine, and appreciate your salutations.

Sa'alam and hosannahs,
ScottLoar

2897. joezan - 9/18/2000 3:16:24 AM

A short one before bed...

Friday evening I was in the mood for fish. I haven't been Catholic for a long time, but my wife hates fish, so we never have it at home.

It was just a craving that happened to catch up with me on a Friday.

But my wife was not in a mood to go out for dinner, so off I went with our 8-year-old daughter, in search of fish.

"What do you think - Snug Harbor?"

"Is that a seafood place? You know I hate fish."

"You can order something else - they have pork chops, hamburgers..."

"You think they have egg drop soup? That's what I'm in the mood for."

"Have you ever heard of a restaurant that served egg drop soup that wasn't a Chinese restaurant? Get a grip..."

"Well...that's what I'm saying. I wanna go to the Chinese buffet. You like their crab legs, and those mussel things."

(I'd forgotten all about that - Friday is fish night at the Dragon Buffet - king crab legs, Happy Family, king crab legs, mussels in ginger sauce, king crab legs, shrimp - battered or boiled, king crab legs...).

"Uhh - sure. Let's go there."

Oddly, the place was fairly empty for 6:00 of a Friday night, and as we proceeded past the counter to be seated, I stole a quick glance at the buffet - still plenty of crab legs there in the steamer.

We were quickly seated and watered, and off we headed to the buffet. A little of this and a little of that for me, topped with 4 or 5 crab legs. And egg drop soup - just egg drop soup - for my daughter.

"I just hope you eat your 5 bucks worth", I kidded her.

Everything was delicious, as usual. But as we ate, I noticed the place was quickly filling up. And after about 10 or 15 minutes it was packed, with groups of people now waiting on the benches by the door for their numbers to be called.

2898. joezan - 9/18/2000 3:18:04 AM

[continued...]

And now, seated at the table behind me was a very large, extra-wide guy of about 30 - an obvious veteran of the buffet scene. He had obviously not even waited to be seated before hitting the buffet, as there was no place setting or glass of water at the table as he sat down with his plate piled so high with crab legs, he had to keep one hand on top to prevent the pile from toppling.

A few seconds later, a waitress walks up and asks what he'll have to drink.

"Coke - and do you think you can find me a nut cracker - how the hell do you expect people to eat these things when you only put out 6 friggin' nut crackers for 30 tables?"

The waitress, taking stock of this enormous blob, but obviously with no earthly idea what he was talking about, replied in very broken English:

"Awkay - wi' dat be diet Coke?"

A few minutes later, it was time for round two. I was thinking I was probably good for at least 3 helpings of crab legs, and thanking God that fatso was taking a good long time trying to crack open his crab legs with his fork instead of refilling every 5 minutes, as was no doubt his habit.

But when we returned to our table - me with my crab legs and my daughter with more egg drop soup, I immediately noticed something was wrong.

Something was missing.

My nut cracker!

And there sat El Blobbo, happily squirting crab juice all over the place with his new-found power tool (for that's what it was, in his paws), and literally sucking the meat from its thorny tubes.

"Uhhh...'scuse me", I said. "Is that my nut cracker?"

2899. joezan - 9/18/2000 3:19:25 AM

[continued...]

"Nope - not no more. You snooze, you lose.", he snorted back at me, not bothering to even stop cracking shells as he snorfed down the previous load.

A few minutes later the waitress came back with our check, and I made her get me a bag for my remaining crablegs. And while my daughter was occupied putting her coat on, I leaned back, turned my head slightly, and said, just loud enough for him to hear,

"If my daughter wasn't here, I'd kick your fat, pathetic ass all over this place", to which he just snorfed out a chuckle.

Back in the car, my daughter said,

"Dad, you shoulda kicked that guy's butt."

2900. Webfeet - 9/18/2000 4:33:05 PM

Classy place. Does anyone else have any buffet horror stories they'd like to share?

2901. rubberducky - 9/18/2000 4:37:25 PM

no, webs

i tend to shy away from buffets ever since i saw some redneck haul her 5 freaking kids up to one. one kid in particular (with a snotty, unwiped nose) began to hack and cough, mouth uncovered, all over everything. the beauty, of course, was that he was a little over 4 foot, so his head was right between the counter of the buffet and the sneeze guard. i was finished eating at that point.

glad you asked, eh?

2902. glendajean - 9/18/2000 4:40:50 PM

On a visit to NYC, I saw a homeless woman put her hand into a couple of dishes at one of the deli/buffet islands popular in some small markets.

2903. Webfeet - 9/18/2000 4:44:49 PM

Actually, I had a cheap boyfriend in college who loved buffets. The only problem was that he had what is clinically diagnosed as 'buffet anxiety'--a state of nervous exhileration in which the prospect of devouring enormous quantities of food is underminded by the pressure of having to eat triple your normal intake in order to get your money's worth (and then some). He would leave the place engorged, like a boa constrictor, skipping meals for a day or so after.

2904. Webfeet - 9/18/2000 4:50:51 PM

yeah, the sanitary issue alone, i hadnt thought of that--is too raunchy to contemplate. I mean, everyone's heard of the mint dish story, right? If you haven't, mints in an ordinary restaurant were analysed, and what they discovered would make your skin crawl. Scary.

2905. Webfeet - 9/18/2000 4:52:54 PM

Wet-n-wild types like El Bobbo hovering over a plate of crab legs would send me out the door screaming.

2906. ScottLoar - 9/18/2000 5:41:01 PM

Not a buffet story but an instance similar to joezan's about those who merit an ass-kicking.

I'm in the YMCA pool doing morning laps. It is understood that if the pool is filled and a third must join we circle in our lane to accomodate three. So, I make my turn and I'm signalled there's a third. Whoa! I look over, and there's a lane on the far side - empty! I tell the added swimmer, "There's a lane open over there. No need to circle". And as I speak another lane opens. "There's two lanes open now". To which this loud-ass says to the lifeguard, "This guy (meaning me) is giving me a hard time." And he continues swimming. So I go over on to the far lane and do my laps. 1 lap . 2 laps. 3 laps. No, now I'm pissed and I can't work the anger out. I get out, throw a towel around me, through the door and into the hallway to the front desk looking for the Manager. No, she won't be in for a few hours yet, but you can leave a complaint.

The result is the Manager (Manageress?) can't do a damned thing because it's not her responsibility or practice, the lifeguard shrugged her shoulders with the comment "maybe he doesn't like that lane" and I get up ever earlier because if I see this guy and hear his loud voice - most particularly if he makes any reference to the affair other than an apology - I'm gonna' lose my morning swims because I cannot control my actions.

2907. joezan - 9/18/2000 5:41:06 PM

I don't even think about it any more (unless I see my waitress popping her zits in the mirror of the sitting room, as once happened to a girlfriend and I in an upscale Long Island restaurant - during dessert, unfortunately).

Because what happens to the food before it makes it out of the kitchen alone is enough to make anyone's skin crawl.

2908. ScottLoar - 9/18/2000 5:44:28 PM

Do I take pride in surrendering my lane? No. Do I take pride in accomodating him? No. Do I want a repeat? No. Can he be reasoned with? Obviously not.

I'm genuinely concerned I'm gonna' lose it over this guy. I smack the jerk and I'm kicked out for sure.I'm trying to be patient, practicing for the moment to be calm and even no matter what the next time I run into him.

2909. ScottLoar - 9/18/2000 5:46:01 PM

I fear to speculate over El Blobbo in the restaurant. I'd lose it for sure.

2910. joezan - 9/19/2000 6:08:59 AM

Scott:

Had this been just a few years ago...

But now, in my old age, I've acquired this annoying habit of making excuses for people -especially those who anger me.

Like this fella. I swear, Scott - when he told me "...you snooze, you lose", the first thing I thought (and the reason I did not immediately grab that nutcracker and extract a few of his teeth) was this:

There must be some rule here of which I am not aware...some "buffet etiquette" in which, somehow, my mom neglected to train me.

I mean, I'm no food snob. I've left the line at a perfectly respectable, jacket-required restaurant on more than one occasion, and simply headed off to Denny's because dammit!, I was hungry and there was no line there. Why torture oneself? But buffets hold no particular allure for me.

So anyway, I'm thinking, Hmmm - nobody is this rude. Perhaps there is a whole buffet-frequenters' subculture, with its own rules - its own pecking order. And perhaps the initiated naturally defer to the fattest guy in the place. Perhaps it is actually *I* - the interloper - who am acting rudely.

I'm still not sure that this is not the case.

2911. Webfeet - 9/19/2000 9:30:10 AM

It was a buffet on Long Island, Joe? That makes it exponentially worse. Although, as a native of Northport, L.I., I've discovered that there are NO GOOD restaurants, not nowheres--it is much wiser, in fact, to go to a buffet because you will spend less amount of money for roughly the same ambiance give or take a few tacky flower displays, the same obnoxious clientele, and food that is just as mediocre.

Scottsy, just some advice. DOn't lose your cool. It will give the jerk the satisfaction of having gotten under your skin and you will come out the aggressor and the aggressor usually loses.

2912. ScottLoar - 9/19/2000 10:24:21 AM

I too have the same reaction as joezan: It must be me. There is some logic here, some reason, some practice of which I must be ignorant. The person is so transparently selfish and rude, the situation so self-evident that...no, there must be something here I can't see. Why can't I see it?

Webfeet, yes the aggressor loses in overly-civilized society as the boor wins through persistence. Cunning ambition is rewarded more highly than competence. Anything is excused as long as we all get along.

I gotta' stop now.

2913. Wombat - 9/19/2000 11:05:07 AM

Wait until he goes back to the buffet for another round and take it back.

2914. theDiva - 9/19/2000 11:10:56 AM

oh yeah, wouldn't it be appetizing to eat after HIM.

2915. CalGal - 9/19/2000 11:12:39 AM

It must be me. There is some logic here, some reason, some practice of which I must be ignorant.

That's often what I do, particularly when it's way out of whack.

Just the other day a ticket agent gave away my first class seat at least 20 minutes before flight departure. (if not more). They filled up the plane with airline employees and bumped the four people who hadn't shown up by that time (even though protocol usually gives you fifteen minutes, and never for employees).

That was bad enough, as was the gate agent's lecture.

But the next day I called up customer service and tried to complain about it and was told in no uncertain terms that people like me were the problem, that we were all supposed to show up an hour before and that it was our own damn fault if we lost our seats. She then refused to give me her name and refused to transfer me to a manager and then hung up on me.

At a certain point the cognitive dissonance becomes unmanageable.

2916. Wombat - 9/19/2000 11:18:56 AM

A few days ago, I did something that I am not terribly proud of, but still feel in the right about.

My house--in a pleasant suburban neighborhood--has a chestnut tree next to it, which drops its bounty in our front yard. The neighborhood also has a substantial Asian population, some of whom come into our yard in the early morning or when we are out at work and help themselves. As it happens, my family loves chestnuts as well, and we harvest some, roast and or boil some for use in the Thanksgiving turkey, and freeze the rest. We are not happy with people taking them off our lawn, but there is usually enough for all, and if we don't see it...well there's not much we can do.

Last week, I came home early, and found an old Chinese lady on our lawn, helping herself. I went up to her and polititely asked her if she would stop and take what she had. She didn't speak English. Several more attempts to ask her to leave were met with nods and smiles, as she continued to help herself.

I ended up taking the bag of chestnuts that she had collected--and left on the lawn--inside the house. Hopefully she now knows to stay off my lawn, and I hope that no one throws a brick through my window.

2917. CalGal - 9/19/2000 11:30:52 AM

hahahahaha. I like that. Taking chestnuts from an old Chinese lady!

Now that's a mean I can live with.

2918. Wombat - 9/19/2000 11:33:33 AM

Cal:

Note that I didn't take them from her--as in grabbing the bag from her hands. She left the bag on the ground.

2919. ScottLoar - 9/19/2000 11:33:36 AM

Of course you are right, and the old lady knew perfectly well you are right. Frankly, the Asian harvesters probably think you are dumb or indifferent to the chestnuts and will continue scooping them from your lawn until you tell them to stop. And will continue as well if you're not around regardless of what you've said.

2920. CalGal - 9/19/2000 11:34:57 AM

Wombat,

Oh, I figured you didn't get into a tug of war. But it's still funny.

2921. Wombat - 9/19/2000 11:36:17 AM

Scott:

That's what I figure, too. The least they can do is have the sense to leave when confronted. (If they would take the damn spikey casings with them as well...)

2922. theDiva - 9/19/2000 11:38:50 AM

takin food from an old lady

(shaking head sadly)

2923. ScottLoar - 9/19/2000 11:41:54 AM

I had a friend who while with the Peace Corps living in Sabah rented a house from a local family. A large fruit tree (I forget the fruit) grew in the front yard, and just before the fruit ripened the family would come as a group and pick every one leaving nothing but the tree and leaves, offering none to their tenant. He would sit on the front porch in plain view watching them as they went about their work, even asked that perhaps they could leave some on the tree for him, and was met with empty smiles.

The mussels that grew in abundance along the piers and bridge supports in and around the Perth waterfront are mostly gone. It was a local tradition that you only took the mussels of a certain size, and if one area had been harvested you'd look elsewhere. A quaint tradition gone to hell as Asian immigrants scooped it all to the outrage of the local residents.

2924. glendajean - 9/19/2000 11:49:54 AM

Right out of college, I rented a small house with a friend. Our little house had giant pecan trees in the yard, and the tree dropped an incredible amount of pecans.

The owner of the house assumed he had first pick of the pecans and came by often to gather them. One day a friend (not roommate) was visiting and saw this stranger picking the pecans. She yelled at our landlord and the poor man almost had a heart attack -- he was so angry and being challenged about his pecans. I think we ended up apologizing.

2925. glendajean - 9/19/2000 11:50:35 AM

about being challenged...

2926. ScottLoar - 9/19/2000 12:00:48 PM

Common courtesy in any culture dictates that, yes, although the landlord has right and access to the property and the fruits growing there (unless contracted out)some be left or given to the renters of the house which sits on the property.

And no, I wouldn't have apologized. I would have broadly lied that my friend didn't cotton to the idea of strangers coming into the yard and taking the pecans. Then I'd wait to see if the owner could grasp the subtle hint.

2927. Wombat - 9/19/2000 12:13:20 PM

To show that I am not a complete bastard.... On weekends, I tend to ignore things like shaving, washing my hair, and dressing well. As it happened, a few weeks ago, I was helping out at a homeless shelter (my Temple takes a turn at providing dinner at a local shelter), and had just finished preparing a plate of food for a wheelchair-bound lady. I was sitting in the dining hall, chatting with some of the shelterees, when this guy walks in, takes in my unshaven visage, greasy hair, and shabby clothes, and says "I haven't seen you before. When did you move in?"

In the future, I will at least wash my hair. (And no, I did not take food off of the whellchair-bound lady's plate.)

2928. theDiva - 9/19/2000 12:15:28 PM

well, that's a relief.

2929. RickNelson - 9/19/2000 12:30:31 PM

Adding to the immigrant asian assimilation stories the Twin Cities have had it's share.

The quickest change came with inner city fishing. The lakes were literally fished out. Everything panfish of any size was harvested. I personally watched with disdain as one family of 8-10 filled buckets and coolers with their catch. Oblivious to local or common sense etiquette. Fishing the Minneapolis chain of lakes, once considered a fine past time, where 6-10 OK sized crappie or sunfish could be had, is now nearly a waste of time.

Our Hmong neighbors did most of the harvesting. Some Vietnamese and Lao overdid it as well. I wonder if it crossed their minds that the locals enjoyed catching and eating these fish as much as they do/did. It's all history for now. The populations of fish have been making a very slow comeback during the decade of the 90's. By that time the asians had moved on, finding that they had nothing to catch.

It apparently didn't occur to them that their ideas of fish harvesting was not sustainable.

2930. RickNelson - 9/19/2000 12:47:13 PM

Now I remember that time up river Baram, Borneo, Malaysia. I was fishing with my friend Ding. We had a fine catch of fish. The weather was not to hot and all seemed perfect. We paddled mostly, taking it slow.

Well wouldn't yah know a challenge would come from the water. There it was, a herd of those damnable, ornery hippos. What the heck were these hippos doing up river Baram? My eyes bugged out with the sight. Ding didn't know what to do, so I sure a heck didn't.

So, I say to him, "back home we feed the animals so let's feed these hippos". Well what a good idea. These ornery beasts turn into babes in toyland when they start getting feed our catch. What big teeth you have I think to myself. Then, what happened next I'll never forget.

Up comes this mid sized hippo and stops right beside our canoe. He just waits there as if wanting something. I consider what to do and ask Ding if we shouldn't lasso it and see what happens. So we lasso it.

Sure enough that's what this beast wanted. So it pulls us along while we sit in the canoe and wonder where it'll take us. Eventually it passes through an hidden river channel well covered with vegitation. Without knowing about the channel it would have stayed hidden from humans for sure. What a suprise for us.

When the hippos showed us this channel, seeming to reward us for the feeding earlier, it bent its head back and snapped our lasso with one bite. No big deal it seemed, for it left us at that point. We now had the freedom to explore.

2931. RickNelson - 9/19/2000 1:00:08 PM

Well that day we discovered the mother load of fishing spots. Ding and I paddled there every day for a week and caught plenty of fish. Each time we came back, we made sure to stop and share some with the suprisingly friendly hippos. Who'ld a guessed.

My guess is this could still be going on today. That new channel with its canopy of trees is so well hidden. I wouldn't be suprised if Ding kept this secret to himself. It's cool to show-off fishing prowess.

2932. ScottLoar - 9/19/2000 2:15:34 PM

A good story Rick, though I suspect the callow kids who roped that hippo for fun passed to adults who would never do it now knowing the danger.

And yes, lakes and beds all fished out are a common story, as are the beaches devoid of clams. No, the Asian immigrants usually have no sense of the loss and little care for local custom. They suppose the fish, clams and mussels are there because the locals don't care or don't know how to gather them up by the bucketfuls. That the locals practice restraint and consideration is beyond understanding.

2933. ranheim - 9/19/2000 6:06:59 PM

Some of you may enjoy this; I didn't spot a thread for jokes.

The line at the Pearly Gates leading to Heaven was long and St. Peter was taking his time so as not to make an error. By chance, in the line were two physicians and an HMO manager.

When it came time for physician #1, St. Peter asked him "Why do you deserve a place in Heaven?" The physician replied "I was a Pediatric Orthopedic Surgeon. I operated on many children with congenital defects and other severe problems. Therefore, their adult lives were more productive and pain free". St. Peter opened the Pearly Gates and ushered him in.

To the same question, the second physician replied "I was a Psychiatrist. By enabling my patients to handle their mental problems more successfully, they were able to lead happier and more productive lives".

To the same question, the manager of the HMO answered "I was able to help patients obtain cost effective medicine". St. Peter again opened the Pearly Gates; but as the HMO manager passed Peter told him "You may stay only three days, then you can go to Hell."

2934. arkymalarky - 9/19/2000 9:11:57 PM

What's this three days business? I think he should be an out-patient.

2935. joezan - 9/19/2000 9:37:10 PM

Web:

It was a buffet on Long Island, Joe?

No...the buffet was here in Michigan. It was the restaurant with the zit-popping waitress that was on LI.

And being from Northport, I'll bet you know the place -Crooked Hill. A very good restaurant. At the time I was going there (from about '86 - '87) it was specializing in Nouveau American, with each season given to a different region - usually only 5 or six dishes on the menu, each a triumph.

It is (or was) at the corner of Commack Rd. and Vanderbilt Parkway.

2936. labwabbit - 9/19/2000 9:39:42 PM

ranheim - 2933

Three days huh?

I guess God does have the best HMO plan.

2937. Webfeet - 9/23/2000 7:06:00 PM

Actually, Joe, I've never heard of Crooked Hill. And, I didn't know there were any good restaurants in Commack, ha ha.

Location has nothing to do with it, though. Im more familiar with the Huntington/Northport restaurants and I can assure you they are all très mediocre. Dreary entrées served in pretty, fishing village surroudnings with lines of clueless diners lined up outside the door.

It's always been a mystery among my family and I why this area, so rich in obnoxious affluence yet short in taste, can't produce a good-- let's not even go so far as to say great--restaurant. We've had stunningly bad meals at outrageous prices. So how did you happen to be in Long Island? If you were born there, I consider you lucky to have gotten away.

2938. joezan - 9/23/2000 7:57:22 PM

Webbie:

Crooked Hill shook the LI Dining Establishment to its roots.

It received excellent reviews in the NYT (which normally would not make the trek out to the LI boonies - not past Manhasset, anyway), after which it was impossible to get a table. It was a very tiny place anyway, and after its first year or so the lines were way too long for me.

Like I said, I'm no food snob. I've eaten at places you probably wouldn't bring your fancy butt inside to pee. But at the time I did have a very high-maintenance girlfriend, and she used to drag me around to these places like I was her poodle.

But even with my, ahem...diverse palate, I know good food. And Crooked Hill was indeed very good.

I don't know whether you were around for my first restaurant story, back about a year ago, but at that time I posted about another excellent LI restaurant, out in Centereach, of all the Godforsaken towns on LI - Two Sisters, a Northern Italian place headed up by a Yugo named Bruno.

I believe Crooked Hill has closed, but I'd bet Two Sisters is still there. You ought to check it out - on your way out to the Hamptons or whatever.

2939. joezan - 9/23/2000 8:20:46 PM

So how did you happen to be in Long Island? If you were born there, I consider you lucky to have gotten away.

My family immigrated to LI from Brooklyn when I was very young. After we and the other 4 million Brooklynites who moved east ruined the place, I figgered it was time to get outta Dodge.

Northport...

I remember a dinner theatre...singularly bad food, even for a dinner theatre, the one time I went (with above mentioned gf). However, it was not for the food that we went. Don McLean, one of my all-time favs, was playing there. His performance was so incredibly perfect, it made the Chicken Kiev positively....


...digestible. Which is saying a lot. He even spared us American Pie.

Or was that Port Washington?

2940. Webfeet - 9/23/2000 8:33:49 PM

Joe, dearest, Im not a Hamptons girl. In fact, now I even live in that jetsetting little community over the bridge called Queens!

As far as restaurants go in L.I. though, I think it's the 'fancy' places that you have to watch out for, not the corner restaurants in middle class neighborhoods. For example, there was one in Northport called the Mariner's Inn, which overlooked Northport Harbor and was the place for weddings, grandma's come-to-visit Sundays and other Occasions. The myth was that it was a fine restaurant, the reality was that it stunk like low tide.

It closed a few years ago and was like this eerie, marooned, boarded up little ghost island and just recently they've started to turn it into a mansion of some kind. Nevertheless, all the prime I-wanna-eat by-the-watuh- restaurants in Northport are completely horrible, stunningly bad. A frozen fishstick and deli coleslaw would be preferable to what they offer.

Yet, who knew Centerreach and Commack were the way to go?

2941. Webfeet - 9/23/2000 8:41:15 PM

That was Port Washington. So you ditched the chick and got the hell out.

It's funny, but my sister, who now lives in Boston, and I have always enjoyed making fun of long island, and to this day she leaves messages in a thick L.I. accent on my machine with some bizarre message that belongs to someone else, to Other People's Lives on Long Island, people whose cars we've looked into at stoplights And yes, France, was like a little like F-U Long Island for me, that's true. But the funny thing is, we have this weepy, soft spot for the place and all its mall and chicken fingers culture that won't go away. I guess the saying is true: You can take the girl out of L.I. and put her in Queens, (no, France!) and she will still force her French husband to take her to TCBY!

2942. joezan - 9/23/2000 10:15:09 PM

Webbie:

As far as restaurants go in L.I. though, I think it's the 'fancy' places that you have to watch out for, not the corner restaurants in middle class neighborhoods.

Absolutely true, although Crooked Hill was born and bred with a silver spoon. They opened to much fanfare, and actually managed to live up to their own pr, and surpass everyone else's dubious expectations. In their first season, during which they featured Cajun cuisine, I had my first blackened catfish. It was perfect, and remains the only time I've ever had it that it didn't taste like burnt fish.

There was, however, this entirely ordinary place in Port Jefferson, with entirely ordinary food, the name of which will no doubt come to me in the middle of the night.

Anyway, in the early 80's PJ underwent a spectacular renovation - the whole town was restored to its pre-revolutionary glory.

Tourist Heaven.

This restaurant was not exempt, and actually was rebuilt with the back half of an 18th century schooner sticking out of its front, in whose hold were 4 or 5 tables. The food went from ordinary to absolutely terrible, the portions were halved, and the price of an entreé was doubled.

Needless to say, its owners became millionaires.

2943. Webfeet - 9/23/2000 10:48:44 PM

I've been there! I've been there! Port Jeff, last stop on the LIRR. UGGGGHHHH!!!

This Crooked Hill, which is now starting to sound like some enchanted, mysterious place down the rabbit hole of L.I. is really, then, a rarity. The norm, unfortunately is the place in Port Jeff and the Mariner's Inn.

Well, it's been a hoot trading L.I. restaurant stories. Im off to bed, but if you want to reminisce about L.I. Im available anytime.

2944. Webfeet - 9/23/2000 10:51:44 PM

It's coming back to me, we took all my father's old Irish relatives to that place in PJ for a family dinner kind of thing. They were fun, but the food was horrendous. Classic L.I. mediocre fare with a big bill tacked on at the end.

2945. joezan - 9/24/2000 12:04:58 AM

Webbie:

Now that I think of it, there was this very, very good place - I'm thinking German...Bavarian...somethingHaus, maybe?, out in Montauk.

Famous place - been around for a century or so, in an old storefront. Very tavern-ish. Retained its original nautical furnishings -3-inch-thick black-oak tables and matching chairs and bar (which is itself a work of art), kerosene hurricane lamps (probably whale oil in their day), etc.

The best place south of Maine for simple, unadorned seafood - big, fat scallops, broiled lobster, cherry-stones on the half-shell - raw with horseradish sauce, etc.

Man, do I miss that place!

2946. altitude /w attitude - 9/25/2000 10:44:01 PM

The Lobster Inn in Southampton has some of the best seafood ever. The salad bar is forgettable. Alas Popei's Clam bar in Coram is now just a memory. But Pizza..... ahhhhhh

2947. Webfeet - 9/26/2000 10:18:57 AM

I don't count restaurants in Montauk and the Hamptons in the same L.I. local eatery category.

I don't know the restaurant you described, but it reminds me of a few places out there. I've been to that seafood institution on the water, Grossner's or something, which is generally good but you have to wait like 1 hour and 25 minutes to be served. It closes shortly after Labor Day, I think, when the summer hordes go home. My husband and I tried to go back last October, but it was deserted. I forgot the name of the restaurant we ended up going to, but it was close by. It was a small place down by the docksthat offered a simple menu--they ran out of nearly everything by the time we arrived--but very fresh. Its equivalent in Northport, the Sea Shanty, is pretty bad by comparison. What we need is Bruce Willis or Britney Spears to buy a waterfront condo. Until then, it's Uncle Ben's and frozen fishsticks.

2948. Jenerator - 9/26/2000 10:21:23 AM

She lives!!!







Thank goodness!;-)

2949. altitude /w attitude - 9/26/2000 8:47:11 PM

Did Wetson's have the best french fries?

2950. altitude /w attitude - 9/27/2000 9:56:44 AM

It is way too quiet in here. This guy (34, engaged, 6'8", African-American, with 2 children) takes a 15 year old with him to the mall. He has the 8 month old with him in a buggy. They ride the elevator, he asks to kiss her, she declines, he kisses her anyway. Is this a chargeable offense? He is also a teacher at her high school and offers to take care of her sexual needs as she is a teenager and surely has urges that need an experienced man to deal with.

2951. Webfeet - 9/27/2000 11:28:30 AM

I'm thinking of renaming this the non-sequitur thread.

Altitude, do I look like Sally Jesse Raphael? If you're looking to liven things up around here, maybe you had better get in touch with Jerry Springer.

2952. Webfeet - 9/27/2000 11:42:36 AM

Jenerator

I was thinking about you in the alpes, wishing we had you as a houseguest instead of frenchcat's twittering virginal auntie who scrutinized me to pass the time. I was a nugget of never-ending fasciation to her interested, squirrel-like self. Frenchcat told me she used to nibble on his ears when he was little. To this day he is so tormented by that memory that I am never even allowed to kiss them.
His ears are strictly off-limits.

Anyhoo, Im sure your summer was far more exciting than being devoured by a nanny goat. Did you manage to go for a ride in the chopper with Ken?

2953. altitude /w attitude - 9/27/2000 12:37:54 PM

mea culpa, thought this was "stories, tall and short. Does Jerry Springer post here as well? You could change this to the rich and famous.

2954. Webfeet - 9/27/2000 4:44:41 PM

Im confused. Did I hurt your feelings? Do you want to play Jerry Springer ?

2955. altitude /w attitude - 9/27/2000 5:16:11 PM

Do you want to play Jery Springer?
I look nothing like him. I'd be cast differently.

Did I hurt your feelings?
No, you didn't hurt my feelings if that is a sincere question. If it is not sincere, it doesn't matter.

2956. glendajean - 9/27/2000 5:43:51 PM

Hey, Webbie -- I feel the need to write some short fiction. Any upcoming contests?

2957. Jenerator - 9/27/2000 5:47:16 PM

Webfeet,

I've thought about you too and wondered how your summer was. Not that I'm jealous of you going to the Alpes to spend two months in a quaint French town with family and excellent food, or anything. I mean, spending June through September in 105+ temperatures in Texas is preferred over going to Europe. Really, I'm not jealous.

Ken/Bond (his actual name is Mark) lives in France, England, and Morocco, is gorgeous, and is educated and financially secure, BUT, I'm a taken woman, and Mark is not in the picture. I'm smitten with my cowboy who went to France with me in the spring.

In fact, he is so much of a cowboy that he brought with him (in his luggage) "Old Smokey" and a ten pound bag of hickory chips to have a real barbecue in England for me. There we were, setting up camp in my back garden, barbecueing steaks and chickens in brisk Canterbury. My neighbor, who was a professor at my university came out into his garden and peered over the four foot divider and asked, "What are you two doing?" My cowboy replied, "We're barbecueing." To which the professor exclaimed, "WHY?" To a true Texan, this was somewhat of an offense, I mean, isn't anytime barbecue time? To ask why is akin to asking "why are you cooking that meat?" So, my boyfriend smiled and said, "Well sir, let me cook something for you and you can tell me what you think." We brought some shish-kebobs to him and his wife. For the next three months, everytime I saw either one of them they'd say, "When's your boyfriend coming back and where can we get an Old Smokey?"

2958. Webfeet - 9/28/2000 9:45:40 PM

Peace, altitude. I was being sincerely obnoxious. Sorry. Bad day. Very little sleep.

Jenerator
Wise choice. The cowboy next door instead of the international playboy. That's an adorable anecdote. Any man who would travel 6,000 miles across the Atlantic to barbecue old smokey's for you is a true romantic and is obviously nuts for you. Maybe this is more appropriate for Home and Garden, but what is an Old Smokey? Im practically salivating at the thought of it, but don't tell me it's like fried squirrel brains or something, okay?

Glenda
You're right, sugar. I owe this thread a contest. I had a few 'creative' ideas I was playing around with, BUT THE LAST ONE DIDN"T GO VERY WELL NOW, DID IT?

ahem.

With the exception of my loyal pal Diva, who humoured me very nicely, no-one was very interested in recreating the post modern celebrity interview.
THus,
We can either nix that one entirely and do The Mote's Second Annual Bodice Rippers or, Im open to suggestion. Calling all creative minds! What'll it be?

2959. altitude /w attitude - 9/28/2000 9:59:16 PM

Accepted. I speak bad day, very little sleep. Be well.

2960. CalGal - 9/28/2000 10:00:48 PM

Webfeet, have you ever heard of the Bulwar Lytton contest?

2961. DanDillon - 9/28/2000 10:03:23 PM

Jen,

Why don't you fling with Mark the jet-setter, and just hold hands with Tex? Mark would be much better in bed, I'm sure. Don't guys from Texas scream yee-haw! and all that? Better yet, have a threesome. (That's a ménage-à-trois in Mark's parlance, and a Penthouse Forum letter in ol' Cowboy Bob's.)

2962. robertjayb - 9/28/2000 11:08:01 PM

Old Smokey....a barbecue grill/smoker, very popular.

2963. alistairconnor - 9/29/2000 3:49:38 AM

I had an idea for a fake celebrity interview... Any other starters?

2964. Jenerator - 9/29/2000 7:53:13 PM

How about "personal ads"?


Dan,

Um. You're obviously a guy.

Jay,

Great gif!

Webfeet,

He brought Old Smokey because it was light, portable, and assembled easily. The hickory he brought because a real barbecue calls for hickory wood (or mesquite, etc.) If you're ever in Texas, we will fix you and Clement the best steak you ever had. Okay, Frenchcat can come too!

2965. DanDillon - 9/30/2000 11:32:14 PM

People talk too much. I should know. I write it all down. That's right. You might say I'm a playwright. And if you were to say that, I'd write it down.

People speak. It's their job. It's what they're ordained to do. Built. Programmed. Compelled. And I write down every last phoneme of it. Of course, I edit quite a bit. So what you hear on the other end is an adulterated, retouched, manipulated version of what you actually say. It's sneaky, I know. But entirely necessary. You talk too much, you see. But don't worry. You always come off sounding good. The playwright never fails to stuff your mouth with just the right words and, usually, in just the right order. The playwright takes your excrutiatingly long but meaningful utterances and whittles them down to manageable bite-sized pieces.

The person you're speaking to (who most likely thinks you talk too much) will also sound great. Once it's their turn to speak, that is. And when they do get their shot, rest assured they'll talk too much. You'll definitely think so. Until the words they speak are sorted through--some discarded, the rest left to fend for themselves. You see, the playwright is more concerned about you than he or she is about the listener. Until the listener speaks. Or unless the listener is in a packed house on opening night (comprised of people who, no doubt, talk too much).

[cont.]

2966. DanDillon - 9/30/2000 11:33:17 PM

Everything you've ever said in your entire life has been written down. It may no longer exist; it may not have survived the editor's pen (mightier than the sword, indeed), but it's out there. Oh yes, it's out there. It's down. The saying goes, "It's all been said and done." What it ought to be is, "It's all been said and written." You see, you talk way too much. You simply say too many words. Don't feel bad about it, though. There are people taking it all down. In longhand. Don't resent them recording your words. They don't have it all that easy. You might think it's pretty lousy having everything you say written down, sort of Big Brotherish, but think about those who're doing the transcribing. There's nothing original out there. They're writing down the same crap somebody else wrote down right before them. How do you thing that makes them feel? At least you're operating under the illusion that you're original. Ignorance is bliss. But the playwright has to deal with those two famous stories-those same two-that are dying to be told over and over again.

Whatever you decide to say after you finish reading this will be written down as well. There's no escaping your role in this whole big production. (You should be thrilled you have a speaking part.) The words you articulate the next time you open your mouth will have already been recorded. In fact, somebody else is rehearsing them right now. Somebody else is practicing your lines as you read this. You're being upstaged. Someone, right now, out there somewhere, is delivering your lines. And they're doing a brilliant job. Of course, this all means that you, yourself, are managing pretty well with somebody else's lines. Not bad for never even having seen the script.

[cont.]

2967. DanDillon - 9/30/2000 11:33:37 PM

So you see where all of this leads us. The likelihood that you'll say something original and unique and unusual and novel and enlightening and imaginative is non-existent. But you're certain to be grammatical. That's a sure thing. Everyone sticks to the basic rules.

I'm just doing my job. I'm the playwright. I'm just reorganizing, reshuffling, rearranging and retooling. Accept your lack of originality. Be happy about it. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. So the next time you hear an echo, you can be sure it's not your voice. You might say you've heard it all before. And if you do, I'll be sure to write it down.

2968. Webfeet - 10/3/2000 2:52:15 PM

Sorry, I went away for 3 days without the laptop. Tonite I am going to post the description of the new contest, come what may.

Jenerator
We will take you up on that. Sounds divine.Don't you love a man who can cook? Frenchcat is the chef in this family, the artiste. after he hangs up his apron, the entire kitchen looks like a jackson pollack canvas. But guess who cleans it up?

2969. angel-five - 10/3/2000 4:07:48 PM

Well, that's more or less how it should be. One person operates in the spirit, the other with the dishcloth.

I more or less make it a standing rule that if I cook for someone they clean. And they pretty much keep the hell out of the kitchen unless I call them in. There used to be a rule Three -- while he is cooking, the Angel's music is not to be turned down or disparaged -- but now I just jack in a wandering deejay headset with a forty foot cord on a floating mount, find what I have to work with, and work with it. I got the idea hanging out in a rave cave. It works very well.

The other two rules are set in stone, and only broken for dinner dates. But that's not a problem anyway because I've usually though out ahead of time what I'll make to a much more precise degree, and I'm much less likely to just screw around and try new things even though they usually turn out quite well, 'cos, you know, if you cook for someone and it's only okay, that's bad. Hence on these dinner dates (at least the first one or two) there is much less of a need for the Muse to be present.

2970. angel-five - 10/3/2000 4:20:20 PM

Fresh brandywines sliced into wedges, basil, thyme, oregano, and parsley all out of the garden, about a cup total for each brandywine. Cooked briefly in olive oil with a bit of sea salt and fresh lemon, just long enough for the lemon to penetrate a bit. Served over homemade egg noodles rolled out on an atlas press and cut assymetrically with a knife, with brined cucumber slices on the side.

And a spinach salad with homemade dressing -- two cups chopped cilantro, a tablespoon cumin seed, half cup walnuts, two cloves garlic, a jalapeno, three spoons dijon, salt, 1/3 cup white vinegar, cup salad oil. And Alice Deejay, and Liquid Child, and Clannad, and the Thrillseekers, Coil, and a little Ferry Corsten with a dash of Juno Reactor. Didn't have much else on hand but that headset and a garden at hand and a profound desire to shift on the fly. One Cuisinart, one Kitchenaid mixer for the noodle dough, two chopping boards, a steel butcher's knife that you could shave with, fresh lemonade.

I wonder if Bach felt like this.

2971. PelleNilsson - 10/3/2000 4:36:42 PM

Sissy food. Not manly.

2972. angel-five - 10/3/2000 4:43:13 PM

Oh, yes, lemme go chop off a sheep's head and soak it in lye and mustard or some vile Skandie concoction involving small fish and gravy. And eat it with my hands. In no time I'll be ripping the arms off monsters and whatnot.

2973. msgreer - 10/4/2000 2:27:23 PM

800-973-2211.Curious? Go to Health Thread.

2974. Webfeet - 10/4/2000 3:39:52 PM

Frankly, msgreer, I'm not in the least bit curious and I don't appreciate you spamming this thread.

2975. Webfeet - 10/4/2000 7:24:48 PM

You have just returned from a moonlight walk with the dark longing of an autumn night draped around you like the arms of a knowing stranger. You walk up the stairs to a quiet place to sit and compose your delicate thoughts, without someone looking over your shoulder ready to judge you. Whether you are seeking your Baudelarean tempest, a rich suburban dentist, or a charming stranger decked out in Gucci leather for a fling in your Manhattan pied-à-terre, you are yearning to find that special someone who exists only for you. Rules: compose a personal ad that will make the lover of your dreams come crawling on all fours through a dark forest to find you. There you will fall upon each other with wild, canine passion, fucking like coyotes under a harvest moon.


First prize: Linda Goodman’s “Sex Signs”

Second prize: mystery