Son of Fog

nothing more . . .

2006-08-12T21:57:00.000-04:00

with nothing left to say, and to make an attempt at a life free from all the things that held me bound for so long, this is the end of son of fog.

~sof

It's funny what you can find truth in . . .

2006-08-05T23:10:00.000-04:00

"It is amazing how much crisper the general experience of life becomes when your body is given a chance to develop a little strength." -- Frank Duff

i really, really need to start working out . . . this is ridiculous!!!

~sof

Wish

2006-08-04T00:42:00.000-04:00

we were taught to wish
upon stars to make
our dreams come true,

and often i have wondered
how those infinite lights could hear me,
if my request ever reached their sparkling ears.

is there a celestial secretary,
Cassiopeia maybe, writing fervently
every wish with a comet's tail
dipped in the sun?

or Orion, guardian of the night,
grasping the hilt of the Little Dipper
(or the big one for grown ups),
extending his long arm down into the pot
like a bingo caller, announcing
the winning wish for that night --

an old man
at the back of the community center,
winning for the first time.

~sof

Jim and Me

2006-07-24T22:42:00.000-04:00

Jim is (for the three minutes i spent
with him) a genuinely nice guy.

which is why i called him a jerk.
what with all of his smiling "how are yous,"

contemptable contentment, voice beating,
bleeding virtue into my eardrums.

on time. never late. and professionally
polite. correct in every way.

why, Jim, must you do this today? make me
hate you just five minutes before i leave

my cubicaled asylum and step into a summer
that is hotter than hell?

~sof

Humpty Dumpty's Last Thoughts

2006-07-21T00:56:00.000-04:00

what were they, i wonder, as he sat
stoically on top of gravity.

reflections on the simple complexities of eggdom?
"don't get too hot", "take care not to trip as you walk."

or did deeper thoughts swirl in his yolky brain:
his purpose, his childern, his impending

retirement as keeper of the king's horses?
hunched over in the dark night perhaps

defeated, depressed? contemplating a fall
to the bottom of a life long struggle of

being just like every other egg
plain -- white.

i think it was probably more anti-climactic,
like most things in life. arching too far backward,

watching a cloud change from shape to shape:
from tree, to elephant, to castle.

~sof

A piece of my ancestry . . .

2006-07-07T08:42:00.000-04:00

. . . and boy lemme tell 'ya how proud i am!!!!!

click here for the experience.

~sof

Life in a Small Town

2006-06-27T00:42:00.000-04:00

About 2 hours ago I finished repairing the front left tire on my car, and it never ceases to irritate me how inconvenient a half inch piece of metal can be. What I wanted to do but actually didn't (because I still like to tease myself how "sane" I still am) was set this little metallic piece of my night, now responsible for my vexation, and lecture it:

"Now listen. I know that you were just sitting in the road, minding your own business and I drove over you, forcing you to impale yourself through my steel belt and slowly release the air that pressurizes my tire, enabling me to commute to those places I need to go . . . but you've caused me quite an inconvenience. I'm tired and I did not want to go to Wal-Mart tonight at 10:00 to buy super thick puddy so I could fill the gap that you left when I removed you from your current residence. But you left me no choice. And now that you're out again, breathing the humid north Texas air, you do not even thank me. What do you have to say for your self?"
He, of course, sits in silent defiance, crosses his arms and stares into the spaces he'll never get to go because he knows this is the end for him. After the ordeal he is finished. Without a second thought or an ounce of compassion I relegate him to the nether-region . . . the abyss of my municipally provided trash bin. And, as I often do, I take personal the events of my evening and consider myself in light of this object.
I actually didn't mind getting out tonight. My drive to the mecca of consumerism was a peaceful one. I had no traffic issues, there were no riots or exremely long lines at the store, and the quiet night air of the small town where I live was soft and cool on my tired head. I realized on the way back from the store just how peaceful a small town can be at night after a hard worked Monday.
My route takes me through downtown and on this typical small town strip, vacant of blinking traffic lights and all night vagabonds, the street was softly lit. It wasn't glaring and wasn't busy like the downtown streets of bigger cities. One could cross the street here without looking both directions and probably walk up and down the street 20 times without seeing another soul. The tiny shops and offices were empty and recited a long lost credo that we as all day/all night people have forgotten. I'm sure there are old men who sit here in the afternoon and play chess or checkers, get their hair cut at the shop with the candy striped pole and stare at the people rushing on to bigger places with bigger names. I wonder if these men sit here because they can do nothing else or if there is a purpose in their meloncholy. If I were an old man, sitting in my small town with the bigger cities pregnant with industry and commercialism, pushing it's way into my peaceful, quiet existence, I may only be able to watch as it all comes crashing down. New, bigger stores with fancy gadgets and gizmos, all manufactured with me in mind. Assembled with care just for me so I could have what are more commonly known as "modern conveniences." Conveneinces that don't require me to dirty my hands. Conveniences that prolong my days to get more done.

Convenience=no more inconvenience.

No more late night trips to the store for super thick puddy . . . there are 200 different tire shops to do that for me, and in the big city of noise and pollution I might be more apt to do just that, I have in the past. But tonight I'm thankful that I still have my small town inconveniences. Without them I wouldn't have driven to the store. I wouldn't have had a soft summer breeze on my tired, worn out head. I wouldn't have had to cross the tiny, downtown street of my fair town. I would't have smiled at the sight or enjoyed the memory of it tonight. I would have let some other guy who has no relationship with my tiny piece of metal, set it up for a lecture, and ramble on about how he wishes he were somewhere else.

~sof

Clarification . . .

2006-06-02T22:42:00.000-04:00

. . . if the afore mentioned injured horse belongs to you, then you have all freedom and right to mourn over the near death experience of your equine. I can understand and sympathize with an emotional attachment to an animal, especially when that animal has the potential to earn you millions and millions of dollars. But, if you do not own the animal, have a previous relationship with the animal, or have never met the animal then you are hereby banned from all "get well soon we love you and are praying for you" banner making and flower buying and weeping.

let peta cry. WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

~sof

He's a HORSE!!!!!!!

2006-05-27T19:02:00.000-04:00

He's a dad-gum, four legged, glue destined, stay out to pasture just for all the ladies . . . . HORSE!!!!!!!!!!!!

link.

the end.

~sof

"I want my MTV . . . "

2006-05-15T15:25:00.000-04:00

I've pretty much decided that movies and television are heavily responsibile for both making us dumber as a society and keeping us in a cyclical pattern of dumbed downedness (is that a word?). The intellectual "check out" that movies and television are so deft at accomplishing are making us a society of reactive zombies as opposed to one that is pro-active, "think first". My reasoning? Without going too much into it, movies and television are intellectual "observation decks." When we watch a movie we are merely oberving what is going on in a third-party situation and have no direct involvement with the plot (caveat being that some actually do allow you to use your mind, they're just very few and very far between). Literature, on the other hand, engages the mind to think and to be an participant in the action of a plot or an idea. It's a much more personal experience . . . which is maybe the reason why people aren't readers as much as watchers. It's so much easier to watch. And quicker too. Why would you, in a fast paced "give it to me now" society, take a few days or weeks to read what you could watch in an hour or two? I think we like being dumb. Being smart and aware would make us more accountable for our actions, and it would make it less easy to point our fingers at the world around us. The world around us that we are "watching" fall apart.

Moral: READ MORE!

That said, I really REALLY hope I get to watch the baseball game tonight!!!!

~sof

yes . . .

2006-05-04T23:53:00.000-04:00

May the 4th be with you . . . always.

~sof

The Year in Blog

2006-04-27T13:42:00.000-04:00

April 30th marks one year of Son of Fog. My musings and ponderings have found there way into the nuturing biosphere of the world wide web, where it is actually neither nuturing nor a biosphere. However, it seems to be a little place inside a place. A room, albeit a very small room, in a large house with more rooms than we could possibly count. Given a key to the door one would not simply happen upon this room of mine, with my modest bed, a small desk, and a wash basin in the corner. No, upon entrance into the front door of this house we are welcomed into the foyer of search engines and the den of news agencies. Hors d' oeuvres are served in the game rooms and kitchens as anectdotes and media teasers. In the background, a light musical note from the mp3 eppicenter of our culture. It's all here, in this great big house. And somewhere, down one of the longest hallways, a few turns left, then right, and up and up a spiraling staircase you come to a group of smaller rooms . . . attics maybe. And one in millions is the one you're in now. It's one of the smallest ones with only the tiniest of windows to the outside world. And it's here, in this sometimes dusty place there a small votive candle flickers in the breeze of ideas and stories and poems, and illumines a vestibule to hope. Hope that somewhere outside my tiny window there is one person, maybe two, who happen to be looking up at the house on a lightless night and see once, maybe twice, a flicker of their own.
That's all it's here for, an attic room to store the past as it is seen through two broken eyes. Maybe one day a young girl will find her way up here, play dress up in the memoirs of another, or a young boy will explore this deserted island and find his buried treasure. We shall see. But for now it's here, some of the same, perhaps a little more, and a candle burning on the bedside table.

~sof

Refreshing . . . for those like me

2006-04-21T16:21:00.000-04:00

"A poet is someone
who can pour light into a cup
and then raise it to nourish your beautiful
-- perhaps parched -- holy mouth."

~Hafiz

It's getting harder and harder . . .

2006-04-18T11:32:00.000-04:00

. . . to put my 4 year old son to bed at night and bend down to kiss him as he asks me if I'm staying home tomorrow. "No," I tell him, "daddy has to go to work." Telling him isn't the hard part. The hard part is when he looks up at me, hopelessly fighting back his tears and says, "but I don't want you to go to work again."

I love you, buddy . . . daddy's tryin'.

daddy's tryin' . . .

~sof

Immigration

2006-04-01T21:15:00.000-05:00

Ok. I think I've read enough. There are two headlines in the news this week. 1) 11 see George Mason getting to the Final 4 and 2) the immigration issue. Well, sadly, George Mason lost to Florida tonight and Cinderella has officially lost her slipper. And the immigration issue? Still hot. Still very, very hot.
A while back you, the reader, stated that you wanted me to hit on the race topic. Well, this isn't about race, but it's a close second. And since the gauges in my head warn of impending erruption every time I read about this, I figured it was a decent topic to throw out there. My opinion? Make illegal immigration a felony. There. I said it, it's out. I feel better. My reasoning? National Security. I realize that America was founded on immigration, and our very existence, values, and goals as a country revolve around the diverse nationalities that reside in our country. I realize (per my last blog) that I am a descendent of immigration. As are you. As is anyone that lives here save some native Americans who I'll give first rite to. But the rest of us swam over on boats. And the only reason I say all of that is to show that I'm not ignorant to the fact of what America stands for and exists for. I simply don't think it in the best interest of our country to have 11 million undocumented immigrants living here. That's all. Sure, sure . . . legal citizens, immigrants or not, can be a security threat to our country. And if they're caught plotting or attempting or even succeeding in an attack against us it is a crime and it's called treason. They should be strung up by their toes and dipped in caramel then an ant hill. But, the REAL reason I'm writing this . . .
. . . is to say one thing to all the protestors marching in our streets and to all the students who are using it to get out of school . . . "Go home, and go back to school." The reason for my abrupt and over-the-top out cry? I read a quote today made by one of the protestors in Brooklyn, it was as follows: ""We came to say that we're here, we have to speak, legal or illegal. We have to speak about this issue." WRONG! Do you, dear reader, see anything inherently wrong in this statement? Illegal immigrants do not have a right to speak freely in this country. In order to claim the 1st ammendment, one must be a rightful and legal U.S. citizen. If you are not a legal citizen of the United States of America, you have no claim to the 1st ammendment nor any ammendment thereafter. So, to speak as or to speak for an illegal immigrant is to give voice to those who do not have one. The very nature of the protests themselves shows that our citizens do not understand their own constitution and are misusing it here, and elsewhere, for their own agendas . . . and I simply want them to stop.
For your own pleasure and/or education (whichever one you may need more), please click here. And please, as you read, read to understand that these articles are for the rightful and lawful citizens of the United States of America. Think about what that may imply for some other "hot topics" that are getting some air play.

*wipe brow* *exhale* *smile*

Goodnight! :-)

~sof

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Little Rascal!!!!

2006-03-22T17:22:00.000-05:00

I suppose a post is in order, seeing as how I have had so many visitors today with nothing new to read, heck, I even got a hit from Japan!! "Hiya, Mr Roboto!!!" I was gonna post on Friday, something Irish and family heritagish (mom's side, dad really doesn't have a whole lot to do with that part, he's more responsible for the "mutt" part of me) and all, however, I regret to inform you that everything I had written was deleted by a small elf/gnome . . . known more popularly as a "leprechaun." The mischevous little guy was being his normal self, running around from pot of gold to pot of gold, taunting me with his games and laughter. If you do not know the history of the leprechaun, they are ancient to Ireland, centuries old and very, very mischevous. It is told that if one is too be caught, he is sworn by oath to take you to his pot of gold, making you wealthy beyond measure. They taunt with this gold, being extremely wiley and impossible to catch. Well, this one stole my post before I was finished, in an attempt to foil my plans of catching him and requiring of him his pot of gold. Well, he got away and my words with him. I've lost sight of him but have not given up the hunt. If you see him with my post, let me know . . . his name is Eliot.

~sof

Americana (part iii)

2006-03-10T10:02:00.000-05:00

III

white sheets match his skin.
the bleep of bed side monitors mock
his rate of life measured out in slow,
painful walks down cold, white-washed hallways.
and his fragile arms, tattooed with contusions of
purple and blue, embrace a portrait of his family,
their warm bodies huddled against him.
his daughter's hair tickling his face.
his son's precision with ball and bat.
his wife's hand; young, sincere,
placed gently on his chest as it rises
and falls.

~sof

Americana (part ii)

2006-03-09T11:23:00.000-05:00

II

emperical evidence of emptiness en masse
resides in cracked open chests, with hearts like broken,
hollowed out stone, sewn together again leaving scars
like the scars of old homes. cracks in the walls telling stories
of yesterday's youth, now all grown up into dust
and unfurnished rooms.
the mystery of the still standing house.
memories disappearing into the fog.
the house secretly hoping for the same.

~sof

Americana (part i)

2006-03-08T11:20:00.000-05:00

I.

headlights break pre-dawn
and announce the hustle, the race,
the drive to make the day worth living.
the day before tucked up under the arm
of a hurried, brief-cased soul:
"shackles and shame if demand goes hungry."
behind him at the door a nightgown stands
with a baby doll in one hand,
her heart in the other, wondering
which one will be fed first.

~sof

Coming Soon to a Blog Near You

2006-03-06T16:26:00.000-05:00

I should have some new stuff up soon . . . poetry that is. It may take a little bit because Elliot has managed to take over for a little while. Just a few issues with form and vocab., the usual stuff (for those who can feel my frustration). I'm using some of my b-day funds for the 2006 edition of Writers Market, it's a "must have" for those who are looking to get published. It lists every publisher, what they publish (very specific), how one submits work to each publisher, the contact person, etc. etc. So, I guess with the purchase of that book my journey into the black hole of publishing will begin. Thousands have entered but only a few emerge alive. We'll see where I land, with feet down? like a stealth and able cat? Or like my retarted ex-cat Punkin, who never landed on his feet and consistently ran head first into walls? I think there may be a cat lesson here somewhere. Perhaps the time has come for me to get a cat for my experience, you know, my journey in cat forms! "Lessons from a Cat." Every poet needs a foil, an alter ego. I could put a hat on him. Perhaps I could name him Elliot!! hmmmm . . . this is getting better and better as I think it out. And to think I just thought of it four lines ago. It was the denoumount of this blog post wasn't it? All is solved . . . I need a cat.

~sof

(and in case anyone is wondering, It'll probably have to go to a household vote next)

Measured Out With Coffee Spoons

2006-02-24T01:00:00.000-05:00

As a disclaimer for the following post, let it be known that I am fully aware of the trouble I’m going to get into for it. I don’t mean “in trouble” like one would get in trouble for making racist comments, nor do I mean “in trouble” such as getting caught with one’s hand in the cookie jar. By “in trouble” I mean that I have been told by numerous people that I’m not to dwell on the topic at hand. Granted, when I usually bring it up it’s laced with sarcasm and attempted wit, but this time I’m actually serious about it. The topic is age, or more precisely, mortality. And because this is my blog and it is the dawn of my birthday, the real issue at hand is my mortality.

My first birthday gift this year was a book from my dear friend Addison. Being so kind and taking into consideration my interests in life, he bought me a copy of collected poems by T.S. Eliot (no relation to my critic). The first poem in the collection is a poem that I have read many times entitled “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Without too much boring analysis for the less interested reader, the poem is the song of a man viewing the seriousness of life and the mortality of it amidst frivolity all around him and taking into consideration his own impending death as he tries to bring his point of view to the forefront of the minds of his listeners. The problem is . . . he doesn’t really have any.

And like Mr. Prufrock, most people who find the seriousness of life and mortality a topic worth discussing (especially our own), it usually falls on deaf ears, and the ears of those who try to convince the Prufrocks of the world to cease the nonsensical topic. “Live your life, it’s too short to dwell on death”, “Don’t be so morbid, think happy thoughts!”, “Focus on life, not death”, “You’re so depressing!”. Prufrock would roll his eyes at them in frustration because he wants so desperately for them to hear what he has to say. The irony for Prufrock? He won’t talk about it either.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled.

Life is always moving forward, with or with out us. I will change and you will change. Our tastes will change. You will learn to deplore loud music and you will wear “granny panties.” Your wardrobe will change from stylish to practical, your hair from there to not there. You will begin to ache, running will not be easy, and dinner will soon be lunch. These are facts we all know, and they're also the facts that we are usually unwilling to accept. Being young, those days seem so far away, but are they? Disease can consume us at any time, usually unexpectedly. How long until that happens? Violent tragedy can take us as well. Quick. Unexpected. Do you have that date penciled on your calendar?

For I have known them all already, known them all –
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I have to keep reminding myself not to get cocky. Life is short. Very short. Too short for me too think that I’ve seen it all or even “measured out my life with coffee spoons.” I can’t know all that’s already happened to me, much less what will happen in the future. Today could be the last measurement I make. The day I came in the day I go out. Morbid? Realistic. And complacency is built on the failure to realize the reality of your short life. Measure out your life in coffee spoons, make it exactly like you want it, get your life coffee tasting perfect and then wake up one day to realize that the sweetness of your coffee really wasn’t that important after all. We all do it, we all tend to spend a little too much time on frivolity . . . Prufrock, Don Quixote, Candide . . . in the end, it actually will matter. We will all find that out as well, the question is, “when will you find it out?”

But if you’re going to be like J. Alfred Prufrock and say you’re going to ask the hard questions, please do it! Prufrock was too concerned with the frivolity that he was allegedly fighting against to actually get to the point where he would ask “the overwhelming question.” Don’t concern yourself with your bald spot, or the fact that you’ll wear the bottom of your trousers rolled. Life’s too short.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

(all quotes from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot)

~sof

Note to self . . .

2006-02-22T10:05:00.000-05:00

. . . . in the attempt to post more, due to the unrelenting rain of criticism falling from the mouths of your dear, dear "fans", make your mind just a bit more active in order that you may over come the mundane malaise that is "work." You can do this by 1) reading more 2) forming opinions about things instead of just the usual cop-out of "eh, whatever" 3) don't be lazy.

. . . . do not get cocky when twice in 3 months you are pulled over by city officers for speeding excessively (15 - 20 over the posted speed limit) and are given a mere warning and are promptly sent on your way and the only viable explanation is that's it's because of where you work (the color green is a miracle color).

. . . . remember, even though it feels right most of the time, violent retaliation against your day time co-workers is not a good thing.

hasta!

~sof

Waiting on Myself

2006-02-13T23:42:00.000-05:00

I found out that you really don't need money to get published. My quetions are being answered and so why am I so dang scared of getting pulled that direction? It's like being pulled too fast in a radio flyer wagon . . . no one has control when they're actually in the wagon, only the person pulling. All you can do is hope to God that you're not being pulled by an idiot toward a downhill slope with a *DANGER* sign at the end. This is supposed to be kind of exciting. A present you can't wait to unwrap. The love letter you've been waiting for all week. But instead I'm in the waiting room in the ICU . . . waiting for the Dr. to walk out of surgery and tell me what I'm not sure I want to hear . . .

~sof

did that make any sense?

To Publish or Not to Publish (an over-used cliche but oh well)

2006-02-10T11:00:00.000-05:00

So, you remember those three poems that I submitted to be published in that small circulation journal? Well, they accepted all of them so I'm going to be in regular print as opposed to just cyber-print. My family is really excited for me and my mom has apparently decided that she is going to research how to get me published in wide circulation. I very much (from the bottom of my heart much) appreciate the sentiments as well as all of my readers who actually really like my stuff and want to see me succeed at it. To all of you, thank you.
Now I'm at an impasse. Is my work, really that good? I'm rhetorically asking, not looking for any response on this. I guess the only way to find out is to actually submit it to a publishing house (or a million for that matter) and see what the response is. I have this nagging feeling in the under-belly of my stomach that my work is actually just "ok" and limited circulation is what it's good for. Which is wonderful, don't get me wrong, even those limited number of people are better than no one at all. And even if it's only them I'm pleased. But it's one of those things that eats and eats and eats at me. I have many people on the right side of me, telling me I need to be published and should seek that out. And then there's Elliot, the name I have just recently given my "critical-self," on my left side telling me just to keep it limited. Elliot is and probably always will be my worst critic, unless I make a nice, life long enemy at some point, but for the time being Elliot will have to do. Listening to Elliot is constant, as he's always there. He has good things to say and drives me to make my work better, so he can't be all bad, but when do I stop listening to him? He could be right, he could be wrong. I guess the only way to really know is to just do it, right? Carpe diem!! Submit my work and see what happens!! Yipee!! . . . BUT! My time is scarce, my resources and my finances are scarce (and yes you need money to get published) and my 'know how' is scarce, so the possibility of publication looks scarce. Here comes my realism, creeping in . . . but I have to be realistic, don't I? Those who read me and love me tell me whole-heartedly that I should be and am good enough to be published, but how much of that is subjective "we love you no matter what" praise? I love that kind of praise and never want it to end, but how realistic is it for future publication? I'm just thinking out loud today. I guess I have a decision I need to make and the longer I wait the less likely I am to do it, sooooooo . . . . I don't know.
So, if you are a literature critic and happen upon this little page, please take the time to read a few of my poems and then either nail me to the wall or give me wings. To the rest of you, my precious and adoring fans, I thank you for all of your praise and and support. It means more to me than my silly words in some book.

~sof

"I'm From Texas, What Country are You From?"

2006-02-08T10:48:00.000-05:00

People from the other “49” as we call them, cannot really understand or fathom this statement. Only those born and bred here can really understand and appreciate the fact that Texas is, indeed, in class all its own. Having traveled to other states I have often encountered the “what is it with you Texans” attitude that is so common. People from elsewhere can’t understand why Texans are so adamantly proud of their state. No one else goes to the extent Texans do to brag on their state. Even those who say that they hate Texas will claim it as their own and go to extreme measures to convince our fellow Americans that Texas is bigger, better, and badder then any other state (and yes, badder is a word). So, if you are from elsewhere, this post will still leave you confounded and all of you Texans will rejoice and raise your arms in the victory of what is simply known as “Texas”.

The reasons why Texas is so much more superior than any other state in America are too numerous to be listed in their entirety and the reasons why it would be inferior (if there are any that are truly legitimate) are far to few to give mention. I shall therefore list a few of the reasons why, and leave it to you to love us or hate us. If you hate Texas you are simply jealous and can’t think of any good reason to legitimately hate it and will therefore spew meaningless rhetoric in an attempt to ease your conscious. Love us and we will welcome you with open arms (albeit for a short time as we will soon tell you end your visit and return to your inferior homes).

We have the Alamo (and don’t forget San Jacinto)
Texas is the only state to have the flags of 6 different nations fly over it. They are: Spain, France, Mexico, Republic of Texas, Confederate States, and the United States.
The King Ranch in Texas is bigger than the state of Rhode Island.
Texas is the only state to enter the United States by treaty instead of territorial annexation.
The state was an independent nation from 1836 to 1845.
Sam Houston, arguably the most famous Texan, was actually born in Virginia. Houston served as governor of Tennessee before coming to Texas.

Davy Crocket, frontiersman and fighter at the Alamo, having become fed up with Tennessee is quoted to have said, "Screw Tennesse . . . I'm going to Texas!"
Austin is considered the live music capital of the world.

Dr Pepper was invented in Waco in 1885. The Dublin Dr Pepper, 85 miles west of Waco, still uses pure imperial cane sugar in its product. There is no period after the Dr in Dr Pepper. (Do NOT underestimate the significance of this)
The first suspension bridge in the United States was the Waco Bridge. Built in 1870 and still in use today as a pedestrian crossing of the Brazos River.
The first word spoken from the moon on July 20, 1969 was Houston.
El Paso is closer to Needles, California than it is to Dallas.
The state's cattle population is estimated to be near 16 million. (steak anyone?)
More species of bats live in Texas than in any other part of the United States. (Batman’s summer home)
Texas is the only state to beat another nation in a war all by itself, people!!!! (“Remember the Alamo”)

“Don’t Mess With Texas”

Peace Ya’ll!

~sof

My fellow Texans, feel free to wax eloquent . . . everyone else please sit down and BE QUIET!!!

GEEEE Wilakers!!!!

2006-01-30T17:20:00.000-05:00

It's been a bit since the last post . . . been a bit lax on the "edible musings". Most things I've had to say lately have been blah at best. So, I refrain. Thank you to all of my loyal readers who keep coming back day after day after day, looking for those little bite size attempts of mine to make you think or reflect just a little bit. I've just had nothin' to offer . . . so why bore you like I'm doing now?

I don't know. Bored myself I guess.

Reflect on these musings from the coffee shop (all from experience . . . frequent experience):

Razors cut skin and cause much bleeding, like soak through a band-aid, all over the dish sink bleeding.
180 degree[ f] water burns . . . especially when your face is too close and it splashes (fyi, water boils at 212 degrees [f])
Vanilla syrup that gets on your arms and dries rips the hair off your arms when you don't think to wash but pull it off instead.
180 degree coffee burns your mouth so you can't taste anything for about 3 days.
Making a connection for the current between a six foot long flourescent light bulb and the socket with your index and pinky fingers hurts really, really bad. But not until about 2 seconds after it happens.

I guess that's all I have for now. Have a good night . . . and be careful when you make coffee!!

~sof

To My Son

2006-01-20T00:42:00.000-05:00

you, me, the irony
of listening to the crash test dummies
at the auto shop

and the realization that re-do's
don't come in your size shoes
makes me stop

and take stock of this brief moment . . .
that time won't wait for what i meant
to do, fly with you, make you into

the kind of man i was supposed to be
having wisdom, knowing responsibility,
leading you, teaching you, believing you

will grow up, but don't rush, let's pretend
while we can, that super-heroes always win in the end
and chase our shadows where time ticks

away in the darkness of a crocodile's belly,
if it's gonna tick, why not let it go silly
in a land where i can pick

you up and throw you into
the air a thousand feet up, and always catch you,
hitting the ground never in view

because here, where time ticks on the wall,
i cannot bear the weight of letting you fall . . .
re-do's don't come in your size shoes.

~sof

It's Contagious

2006-01-16T21:27:00.000-05:00

(take it to heart)

Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far the best ending for one.
~Oscar Wilde

To My Daughter

2006-01-12T00:26:00.000-05:00

everytime you make me tea
i have to remember to drink your smile
and remember that your tea is always best
with a little sugar.

and i have to remember mondays
and blueberry coffeecake
and being home to hold you
with your arms around my neck.

because i'll need to reach back
when i come home to see you
making tea for someone else,
with smiles and sugar, or

sitting in my chair on friday night,
while you're out getting coffee,
planning your cake,
your arms around his neck.

~sof

Intoxicated

2006-01-11T11:42:00.000-05:00

I found a quote that quite nicely sums up the point of art, and more specifically for my purposes, poetry:

The reward of art is not fame or success but intoxication: that is why so many bad artists are unable to give it up. ~Cyril Connolly

If you read poetry, look at art, listen to music, et.al. then you know how much bad stuff there is out there. Some of it just flat awful. Heck, you may even read this blog and understand my point. But the truth of it is, even the bad ones can't quit writing or singing or painting. Art is like a drug, only you're getting stuff out instead of putting stuff in. It comes in cycles, there are times when you're "clean" and not much is going on, but then you reach that place where you need a hit, you need the sweet intoxication of everything inside of you pouring through your pen into an overflowing cup of word pictures. And like that drink you're trying to get just right, you taste it and re-make it and taste it and re-make it until finally you're able to sit back in your easy chair and drink it with an "ahhhhh" at the end. I only know poetry. And I know that there are times when I write and write and write and it just never works, the satisfaction never comes and it feels like being tied to the bottom of the deep end of a pool, swimming up far enough to stick your arm out of the water but your nose and mouth are still inches away, life just out of reach. But the artist keeps kicking, keeps flailing until he breaks free the chain and rises above the deep, gasping for the breath that has eluded him for so long, filling his lungs with the sweet intoxication of life. It's at that point that the artist knows his work is done (at least for that moment), and whether he's good or bad, he keeps on writing. He doesn't write because he wants to, he doesn't write to find fame or fortune . . . the artist writes because he has too. He'll drown if he doesn't.

~sof

People have been asking . . .

2006-01-07T14:05:00.000-05:00

. . . about the poems and quotes and stuff, with regards to their origins. So, I thought I would clear it up a little bit. Unless I note otherwise, the quotes and poems are original. If I quote anyone or post another's work, I will always give credit where credit is due. I'm not a plagarist, so if you don't see a name by it, insert mine :-)

bueno fin de semana

~sof

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood . . . "

2006-01-06T16:42:00.000-05:00

It really is! Clear skies, mid 60's, slight breeze. It's a great day to go drive with the window down, playin' some tunes and ending up at the dentist!!! WOOHOO!!! Things went well at the dentist, NO CAVITIES (all of my teeth have fillings anyway)!! Nevertheless, the drive was quite nice.
Whilst enjoying my northly sojourn, I thought about those things that I would like to do if/when I'm not working approx. 70 hrs. a week. Well, at least I'm told such a life exists, so dream I do! In no particular order, the things I'd really like to do are:

Go camping - i do miss the outdoors (there is still and outdoors, isn't there?)
Take in some live music - i haven't been to a concert in ages
Go to the theater - as in stage, not movie
Travel - not only need time, need money
Take pictures w/Nikon D50 - because i have one now, and i can, and it's cool, and i want to.
Read, read, read, read read
Write, write, write, write, write
Start running - AAAAAHHHH, did i just say that?
Tennis league - in the mood to kick some serious booty
Sleep - hahahahahaha hoohoohoo hehehehe hahahahahahahaha woooooooo wow heh em
Have a third place - umm, starbucks people get this

I'm sure there are more but that's all I could come up with, I had to proceed into the buzzing, scraping, over-drooling, 80's music, bright light in the eye (bad eyes), latex mouth dentist office. Although I must say that I really do like my dentist . . . it's just the other stuff I'm not all that fond of (new toothbrush though!!). Take it easy peeps!

~sof

(take it to heart)

for a moment i was jacob,

wrestling with the angel of

my nightmare.

i, exhausted

he, tireless in his

relentless pursuit

of me, something inside

unknown to me. the glorious angel

rolled me over, my back pressed

to cold, hard reality,

my mouth gaping,

his arm outstretching

into my throat and

pulling from my stomach

my darkest nights.

in one wretched moment he

raped my soul

and left me gasping,

groping, with a vengeance

i seized his arm and demanded

from him recompence, blessing

for my pain. and with that

same horrible arm he

seized my heart in grace,

his eyes burning my face

as he spoke thunder,

"i just did . . ."

HOOK 'EM!!

2006-01-04T23:53:00.000-05:00

Texas 41 USC 38

The University of Texas Longhorns
2006 National Champions

New Year, New Look

2006-01-04T23:14:00.000-05:00

Felt kinda bored with the other template so I changed it up a bit (ok, re-did the whole thing). I think I still have a few kinks to work out so bear with me. Let me know what you think!

~sof

2005-12-30T15:30:00.000-05:00

Long time, no blog. The holidays seem to do that to people, not necessarily the blogging thing as not all people blog. Even many who have blogs don't blog (*hint*). Rather, it's the busy-ness of if all. "Regular" activities take a back seat to the parties, family, presents . . . all that yule stuff. And sadly, from all the time I've had off from blogging, I really don't have much to say. Now, now . . . it's ok, wipe away your tears. The details of my existence are nothing to leak over. I'll do what I can, no promises.

Christmas was way too fast but good. Being with family at all is great times, even if it's just for 24 hours (and 10 of that sleeping). Watching kids get excited over every single thing they get (shoes, clothes . . . everything) is one of the more fun things of the holidays. Even adults can be quite giddy at times, and that may be more entertaining than the children. My giddyness was aroused a few times this season. My giddyness was at it's height when after a 30 year wait I finally received my first light-saber. It is, of course, a green one, like Luke's in Return of the Jedi. Many of you are now rolling your eyes and roll as you may, my light-saber ROCKS!!!! My son has one too, and I normally only lose a leg or two in our duals because that's the only thing he can reach. If he manages to get me to the ground I will most assuredly have my head cut off!! I'm so proud. I also received numerous gift cards, a couple movies, some clothes, software, an s-bux coffee maker (Addison rocks!), and a signed copy of Jasper Fforde's book "The Big Over Easy." Favorite gift this year is a toss-up between the light-saber and the Fforde book. Both very wonderful gifts. But now upon 2 seconds of reflection, I must say that the book is my favorite gift because I actually bought the light-saber and let someone else give it (sneaky!). The oddest gift I got (I didn't get any bad ones) was a lock for my gun box. "I don't even own a gun, much less many guns which would necessitate an entire rack." (ok, in this case it's a box but you get the idea).

Overall, Christmas was good times. Gone too fast but it always is. A new year is coming up and of course some will be doing new years resolutions. I personally quit those awhile back . . . nothing ever seemed to get resolved. Sooooo here we are, another Christmas and another year waving at us in the rear-view. Most of the past seems to be a bit foggy, I can only see bits and pieces peeking at me from underneath the cover. Small portions of it are vivid, color photographs, yesterday happening again today. I hope your 2005 is that way for you . . . vivid and full of wonderful memories. Here's to 2006. Make it good . . . LIVESTRONG

~sof

(take it to heart)
"in the mirror the reflections of the papers and tv's
painted over the sad faces and the hearts like empty streets"

Merry Christmas EVERYONE

2005-12-25T18:34:00.000-05:00

Afrikaans: Gesëende Kersfees
Afrikander: Een Plesierige Kerfees
African/ Eritrean/ Tigrinja: Rehus-Beal-Ledeats
Albanian:Gezur Krislinjden
Arabic: Milad Majid
Argentine: Feliz Navidad
Armenian: Shenoraavor Nor Dari yev Pari Gaghand
Azeri: Tezze Iliniz Yahsi Olsun
Bahasa Malaysia: Selamat Hari Natal
Basque: Zorionak eta Urte Berri On!
Bengali: Shuvo Naba Barsha
Bohemian: Vesele Vanoce
Brazilian: Boas Festas e Feliz Ano Novo
Breton: Nedeleg laouen na bloavezh mat
Bulgarian: Tchestita Koleda; Tchestito Rojdestvo Hristovo
Catalan: Bon Nadal i un Bon Any Nou!
Chile: Feliz Navidad
Chinese: (Cantonese) Gun Tso Sun Tan'Gung Haw Sun
Chinese: (Mandarin) Kung His Hsin Nien bing Chu Shen Tan
(Catonese) Gun Tso Sun Tan'Gung Haw Sun
Choctaw: Yukpa, Nitak Hollo Chito
Columbia: Feliz Navidad y Próspero Año Nuevo
Cornish: Nadelik looan na looan blethen noweth
Corsian: Pace e salute
Crazanian: Rot Yikji Dol La Roo
Cree: Mitho Makosi Kesikansi
Croatian: Sretan Bozic
Czech: Prejeme Vam Vesele Vanoce a stastny Novy Rok
Danish: Glædelig Jul
Duri: Christmas-e- Shoma Mobarak
Dutch: Vrolijk Kerstfeest en een Gelukkig Nieuwjaar!
or Zalig Kerstfeast
Eskimo: (inupik) Jutdlime pivdluarit ukiortame pivdluaritlo!
Esperanto: Gajan Kristnaskon
Estonian: Ruumsaid juulup|hi
Faeroese: Gledhilig jol og eydnurikt nyggjar!
Farsi: Cristmas-e-shoma mobarak bashad
Finnish: Hyvaa joulua
Flemish: Zalig Kerstfeest en Gelukkig nieuw jaar
French: Joyeux Noel
Frisian: Noflike Krystdagen en in protte Lok en Seine yn it Nije Jier!
Galician: Bo Nada
Gaelic: Nollaig chridheil agus Bliadhna mhath ùr! German: Froehliche Weihnachten
Greek: Kala Christouyenna!
Hausa: Barka da Kirsimatikuma Barka da Sabuwar Shekara!
Hawaiian: Mele Kalikimaka
Hebrew: Mo'adim Lesimkha. Chena tova
Hindi: Shub Naya Baras
Hausa: Barka da Kirsimatikuma Barka da Sabuwar Shekara!
Hawaian: Mele Kalikimaka ame Hauoli Makahiki Hou!
Hungarian: Kellemes Karacsonyi unnepeket
Icelandic: Gledileg Jol
Indonesian: Selamat Hari Natal
Iraqi: Idah Saidan Wa Sanah Jadidah
Irish: Nollaig Shona Dhuit, or Nodlaig mhaith chugnat
Iroquois: Ojenyunyat Sungwiyadeson honungradon nagwutut. Ojenyunyat osrasay.
Italian: Buone Feste Natalizie
Japanese: Shinnen omedeto. Kurisumasu Omedeto
Jiberish: Mithag Crithagsigathmithags
Korean: Sung Tan Chuk Ha
Latin: Natale hilare et Annum Faustum!
Latvian: Prieci'gus Ziemsve'tkus un Laimi'gu Jauno Gadu!
Lausitzian:Wjesole hody a strowe nowe leto
Lettish: Priecigus Ziemassvetkus
Lithuanian: Linksmu Kaledu
Low Saxon: Heughliche Winachten un 'n moi Nijaar
Macedonian: Sreken Bozhik
Maltese: IL-Milied It-tajjeb
Manx: Nollick ghennal as blein vie noa
Maori: Meri Kirihimete
Marathi: Shub Naya Varsh
Navajo: Merry Keshmish
Norwegian: God Jul, or Gledelig Jul
Occitan: Pulit nadal e bona annado
Papiamento: Bon Pasco
Papua New Guinea: Bikpela hamamas blong dispela Krismas na Nupela yia i go long yu
Pennsylvania German: En frehlicher Grischtdaag un en hallich Nei Yaahr!
Peru: Feliz Navidad y un Venturoso Año Nuevo
Philipines: Maligayan Pasko!
Polish: Wesolych Swiat Bozego Narodzenia or Boze Narodzenie
Portuguese:Feliz Natal
Pushto: Christmas Aao Ne-way Kaal Mo Mobarak Sha
Rapa-Nui (Easter Island): Mata-Ki-Te-Rangi. Te-Pito-O-Te-Henua
Rhetian: Bellas festas da nadal e bun onn
Romanche: (sursilvan dialect): Legreivlas fiastas da Nadal e bien niev onn!
Rumanian: Sarbatori vesele
Russian: Pozdrevlyayu s prazdnikom Rozhdestva is Novim Godom
Sami: Buorrit Juovllat
Samoan: La Maunia Le Kilisimasi Ma Le Tausaga Fou
Sardinian: Bonu nadale e prosperu annu nou
Serbian: Hristos se rodi
Slovakian: Sretan Bozic or Vesele vianoce
Sami: Buorrit Juovllat
Samoan: La Maunia Le Kilisimasi Ma Le Tausaga Fou
Scots Gaelic: Nollaig chridheil huibh
Serb-Croatian: Sretam Bozic. Vesela Nova Godina
Serbian: Hristos se rodi. Singhalese: Subha nath thalak Vewa. Subha Aluth Awrudhak Vewa
Slovak: Vesele Vianoce. A stastlivy Novy Rok
Slovene: Vesele Bozicne. Screcno Novo Leto
Spanish: Feliz Navidad
Swedish: God Jul and (Och) Ett Gott Nytt År
Tagalog: Maligayamg Pasko. Masaganang Bagong Taon
Tami: Nathar Puthu Varuda Valthukkal
Trukeese: (Micronesian) Neekiriisimas annim oo iyer seefe feyiyeech!
Thai: Sawadee Pee Mai
Turkish: Noeliniz Ve Yeni Yiliniz Kutlu Olsun
Ukrainian: Srozhdestvom Kristovym
Urdu: Naya Saal Mubarak Ho
Vietnamese: Chung Mung Giang Sinh
Welsh: Nadolig Llawen
Yugoslavian: Cestitamo Bozic
Yoruba: E ku odun, e ku iye'dun!

~sof

Moonshine

2005-12-18T23:19:00.000-05:00

MOONSHINE

the moon is teasing me,
peeking at me through the mini blinds of my dark night
and in such a way that i remember
what it was like to be out under the open sky.

out where cold is a temperature
not a feeling,
where stars are something to be wished upon,
not hope a million miles away.

it's you that i remember remembering me,
staring at me through the cracks
from when i dropped myself into
the basement of this temple.

bent over my silent heart in the darkest corner
of the moonshine he catches me, peeking
through the tiny slits of my tired eyes,
wishing for you to pull them wide open.

~sof

Your own story

2005-12-14T11:18:00.000-05:00

It's a wonder why we're so intrigued with the lives of other people. The office where I work during the day is littered with People and US magazines. If you've looked at either of these magazines for 4 minutes (or any other like them), you know that it is all and only celebrity gossip. Most, if not all, of it is inane, useless, petty, disgusting gossip about the best known people in our country. The people that, sadly, so many of us "normals" want to emulate. How many of us have wondered what it would be like to live that lifestyle? How many of us acutally desire that lifestyle? The glamour, the fame, the money . . . would you also like the hatred, the pain, the legal problems? Why is our discontentment so pervasive? I know for myself that discontentment seems to rule the day most of the time. For me it usually revolves around my "contribution" to the world or, rather, my overwhelming sense of lack, so my thoughts tend to run to those I see making what I would consider to be a significant contribution and I dwell there. I've recently learned (well, am learning, still a work in progress) that it does me little good, if any. No matter the lots cast me in this life, what else can I do but play the hand dealt me? It may not be the hand I wanted, but it's the hand I have . . . it's the hand I'm supposed to have. I suppose this is a little blurp on the cliche of living one's life as best you can, a little carpe diem if you will, play the hand dealt you, let the chips fall as they may, then, use the chips to gamble every now and then to see what you can get from the hand you were dealt. Make life an adventure, take chances, go out on limbs, throw a sleeping bag out in the back yard and sleep out under the stars every now and then. Don't spend your time on other people's lives, that only means that you're a boring person who doesn't do much, but only sits around wishing that somewhere, somehow some star will come streaking through your life and turn your world upside down. It may, it may soon or far, it's just not gonna happen from the pages of a magazine.

"Child, " said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own." ~Aslan to Shasta in The Horse and His Boy

~sof

My eyes (eye, really)

2005-12-10T16:42:00.000-05:00

Per a comment on the last post, I decided I would share the new details regarding the status of my eyes. I have astigmatism in my right eye. Astigmatism is an abnormal curvature of the cornea causing blurred vision (different than regular bad vision). One needs special glasses or contacts in order to change the curvature of the cornea so that the regular bad vision can be helped as well. I've known that I've had astigmatism in my right eye for about 3 years now. So, in my left eye I wear a regular contact lens, but in my right eye I have to wear a toric lens. Now, my astigmatism has gotten progressively worse, which of course means that the vision in that eye has gotten progressively worse. My new optometrist, Dr Shocherer (prounouced Dr. 'Shocker'), asked me at my appointment if any one ever discussed a particular eye disorder with me. That eye disorder is known as keratoconus. Keratoconus is a gradual thinning of the cornea. Nearsightedness and astigmatism accompany keratoconus (both of which I have in that eye) and appears from the teens to twenties in most people. Doc Shock (as he's known) told me that he didn't really see any of the "indicators" that I have keratoconus, but he wants to keep checking on it just in case. I don't know how much I believe the "don't really see any indicators" part of it, he almost seemed hesitant to tell me that part. Anyway, the end result of keratoconus (as there is no treatment for it) is the growth of scar tissue over the cornea and an eventual corneal transplant. Not a very happy prognosis should I have the disease. There are alternatives before it gets that far such as lasik surgery and corneal inserts. Both of these are options are quite expensive. I don't know which one I'd prefer . . . it's just been so long since I've seen clearly at all that I would probably do either.

And now, some pictures of what we just read:

"C" is the cornea

white blur is scarring in the advanced stages
of keratoconus

how keratoconus "bends" the cornea

And this is neat but kinda yucky

Well, there's the update on my eyes. Now you all know the inner workings of what's going on every time I look at something. It makes looking into peoples eyes quite interesting. I hope that you have all enjoyed this educational exercise.

Be good, do good.

~sof

Chilly brrrrrrr

2005-12-09T13:20:00.000-05:00

All this cold weather reminds me of winter! Albeit, this winter will actually bring Christmas (unlike Narnia where the White Witch has cast a spell and it is always winter and never Christmas!! how awfully dreadful!). I know, I know, I live in Texas and so I'm technically not allowed to gripe about the cold. But when it's 90 degrees on Saturday and then 25 on Tuesday . . . well, that's a shock to the system. It was 14 this morning and for a native Texan, that's a bit chilly. And yes, we close down shop when the roads freeze, so all of you "darn" Yankees can laugh at us about that, but I also heard testimony yesterday about northern states who close up shop and cancel school when it's 105 degrees outside when we all know that 105 degrees isn't even hot yet. So, we'll call it even.

I updated my flickr pics, so go over and click on the sidebar flickr to check 'em out.

I finished The Magician's Nephew and should finish The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe soon. It will be for the third time if I remember correctly. I'm a little ancy (sp?) about the movie but have absolutely no idea when I'll have time to see it.

I went to the eye doctor today for the first time in about 2 years. That's not huge news for a lot of people but when your eyes are permanantly broken it's kinda cool to think about being able to see well again. My right eye has apparently gotten a little worse (not unexpected) but still useable with the correct perscription. He dialated my eyes so I have those huge, scarey looking pupils. I'm hoping that maybe if someone makes me mad enough I'll shoot lasers at them through my eyeballs.

I 'spose I'm finished boring you for the day. If you've read this far, congratulations, you're now more bored than you were 10 minutes ago. However, you do get a little taste of Narnia and Aslan. Chow!

"'Then, he isn't safe?' said Lucy.

'Safe?' said Mr. Beaver; 'don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.'"

~sof

A Magical Escape

2005-12-07T10:06:00.000-05:00

It's still amazing to me how a great story can steal you away to the most extraordinary of places. What's even more amazing is how even when you're an adult, a great children's story can have that effect. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe opens this Friday in theaters, so, I started reading the Narnia series again this week. I'm only about half way through The Magician's Nephew and it's just as good as it was the first time. But even more than that, there are times in our lives when we need an escape more than others. The mundane of the everyday just grates on our nerves and stifles the imagination that was so vivid when we were children. Cutting down the evil empires with our tree branch swords or saving stuffed animal civilians from the raging sea on our boat in the bedroom.

It's somewhat silly, really, believing myself to be Digory, along side Polly, sneaking though the connected houses to Uncle Andrews attic study, being swept away to magical lands, and ringing the bell that awakens the Witch Queen from her spell (oh what a dreadful thing I have done). Or is it not so silly? I'm convinced we all need it, the escape I mean. All of us are, at one time or another, trying to find our way out of the cupboard . . . you just need to be daring enough to do it! If you think that maybe I am a bit childish . . . I'm sorry you have to miss out. :-p - - - - - (for those of you who missed that, i'm sticking my tongue out at you!)

"'We musn't make a sound,' said Polly as they climbed in again behind the cistern. Because it was such an important occasion they took a candle each (Polly had a good store of these in her cave).

"It was very dark and dusty and drafty and they stepped from rafter to rafter without a word except when they whispered to one another, 'We're opposite your attic now' or 'this must be halfway through our house.' And neither of them stumbled and the candles didn't go out, and at last they came where they could see a little door in the brick wall on their right. There was no bolt or handle on this side of it, of course, for the door had been made for getting in, not for getting out; but there was a catch (as there often is on the inside of a cupboard door) which they felt sure they would be able to turn.

"'Shall I?' said Digory.

"'I'm game if you are,' said Polly, just as she had said before. Both felt that it was becoming very serious, but neither would draw back. Digory pushed around the catch with some difficulty. The door swung open and the sudden daylight made them blink. Then, with great shock . . . . . ."

All you have to do is unfasten the latch . . . and enter.

~sof

I'm a Geek

2005-12-05T09:42:00.000-05:00

But what's funny is that a lot of you will go do it too . . . have fun.

Numenorean

To which race of Middle Earth do you belong?
brought to you by Quizilla

Let me know how it turns out.

Good days everyone!!!

~sof

Deaf and Dumb

2005-12-02T12:02:00.000-05:00

Who are you? Are your ways the best ways? Are your ways the only ways? Who am I? Does it matter? Do you preach? Must I be who you want me to be? Perhaps I shall be a public politician, a mechanic or musician. Would that be ok? An astronaut, geologist, or a stay at home mom. Would you mind? A working mom, a stay at home dad, a kid 'til I'm 50. What would you say to that? What would you say? Should you say anything at all?

Deaf and Dumb

Hey mister decision
Make up my mind for me
You're like a religion
I could be caged or free
I might be lost at sea

Hey mister judgmental
Show me the way to be
Show me the way to go
You're high on a pedestal
You know what I should know

And I wish I could become
Deaf and dumb

Hey mister perfect choice
Point me the way to look
Sing in your flawless voice
Where's the road I should have took
What page is best in the book

Hey mister heaven bound
Help me to find the way
Get me up off the ground
What more than Christ can be found

And I wish I could become
Deaf and dumb

Hey mister get it right
You saw me fall tonight
Tell the world of my own flight
I'll tell you to take a ride

And I wish I could become
Deaf and dumb

~Michael Knott

~sof

Techno Clicks and the Wilderness

2005-12-01T11:45:00.000-05:00

Check out the little blue and orange button just under the Flickr ---->
You may have seen one of these before, but not mine!!! Now you can see just how few people actually visit here :-)

And on another, totally unrelated front.

The following has always been one of my favorite songs. It speaks to those I like to call the "cotton candy" crowd. Those people who fear the hard and low times so much that they deny they exist or look down the long slope of their nose at those who may find themselves there more often than not, and then preach the "cotton candy" of life or the everything's always "hunky dory" mentality. I've always wondered if people smile as much in their closet as they do in the public eye. I think the truly happy person would. They would love life and it would make them smile, regardless of where they were. But I also think the majority of people aren't truly happy, what we see is a faux emotion based on circumstance and not inner joy. To those I'd like to say, "Stop faking it! The wilderness is ok! Just so long as you realize that you are there, why you're there, and start working on how to find the way out . . . or sit down long enough to let the way out find you."

Wilderness

Everybody drinks the water from the murky pool
Surely as you think you're well
You know your belly aches
Everybody learns religion at the blind man's school
Will you reach for heaven
When the preacher charms the snake

Is your faith so right
Are you so blessed
Everybody wanders in the forest
Is your heart so true

Count the butts and bottles
In the morning when we're gone
Fools agree reality is more than we should bear
How do you gaze into the sun from dusk to dawn
We love the truth enough to die but we won't swear

Is your faith so right
Are you so blessed
Everybody wanders in the forest
Is your heart so true
Are you so good
Everybody wanders in the woods

Everybody begs the juror be more than merciful
For the crime we celebrate, for bigotry we learn
Everybody drinks the water from the murky pool
Surely as it heals your soul you feel your body burn

Is your faith so right
Are you so blessed
Everybody wanders in the forest
Is your heart so true
Are you that good
Everybody wanders in the woods
Everybody wanders in the forest
Everybody wanders in the wilderness

~the Choir

--------------------

a look ahead: Tomorrow -- Deaf and Dumb

~sof

News of Sorts

2005-11-30T09:28:00.000-05:00

I made a phone call to the appropriate persons and found out that I could submit as many poems as wanted and they would choose some (or none) from those. Soooooooooo . . . I submitted all of them. BUT, I'm glad that those of you who participated let me know what you liked because it will be good to see what you chose compared to what they choose, if, in fact, they choose anything at all. We'll have to wait and see. I don't know the time frame on the selections or when the publication is coming out, but when I do then I'll let the world know!

December 13th is the day we have set for my interview to move up at Starbucks. I had a goal of being promoted by the end of the year and that should happen given that there are no setbacks.
It means moving to a different store and away from the people I've worked with for the last 10 months now . . . kinda sad (no worries Addison, we'll still do noodles . . . does that sound funny?). MAN those are great noodles!! Best noodles this side of the Great Wall . . . and the DUMPLINGS!!!! Ok, now I'm hungry. There's nothing quite like making yourself so full you're sick on Jeng Shi noodles and dumplings. mmmmmmmmmmmm. That was a bit of a tangent, sorry. Anyway, the goal is to go full time at Starbucks so I won't have to work at the Depot any more. I've answered enough phone calls to last me a long, long time.

That's it on the news front, I'll probably have some more poetry up soon for the few of you who enjoy it. But for now, a little Bob Dylan:

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

~sof

Need to decide . . .

2005-11-28T11:30:00.000-05:00

I need to send off the poem pretty soon now. So, if you would, choose which one you think I should. If you choose more than one, that's fine, just none of this "SEND THEM ALL!!" stuff (anonymous mom).

You may notice the flickr to the right . . . I got my camera (see previous post) and I shall now be sharing photos that I take, though not many on the blog so I set up a photo album. There aren't many there now, I haven't taken that many great pictures yet. Just keep checking back if you're interested.

I 'spose that's all for now.

~sof

CIty Streets

2005-11-25T13:06:00.000-05:00

Envious,
we stared at the people
we wanted to be,

as summer breathed
down our necks. Filling
our lungs we smoked

the blue-line,
aristocrates in our underground
lounge. Light

like smoke we spiraled
up and up to t-shirt
carts and steeples

to worship and purchase
downtown jungle paradise.
And pigeons, hundreds

of peck-neck pigeons
dancing to cabbie-jazz
in the streets,

(these crowded city
streets) received our laughter
as applause . . .

and I"m longing
for the Common again,
(where we're the same)

a peck-neck pigeon,
parading this town's
crowded streets

always looking
for my jazz beat
and a place to eat.

~sof

11 September, 2004

2005-11-21T23:30:00.000-05:00

breathing the free air and
walking with liberty the footpaths
of the community zoo,

i happened upon
the dominion of
the magnificent bald eagle.

majestic and proud, perched
with his head and breast above
the ideals he represents,

the poet of our freedom
perched. proud.
keeping freedom holy

in a chicken wire cage.

~sof

Poem #2

2005-11-18T01:00:00.000-05:00

death is a lot like
Christmas morning.
it comes early
but starts slowly. quiet
little feet sneak
up on it, descending
the stairs into the
dark, sunless morning
where they sit and stare
at the cleverly wrapped
boxes as maturity makes
its way into the room,
one by one.
with a sleepy nod they
acknowledge the time
and in a moment when
a blink misses the blizzard,
packaging peanuts float and fly
like snow
disturbed from its peace.

and as the day wears on,
wrapped up in pies
and ham
and hot apple cider,
stories become the centerpiece,
and all the pretty packages
sit empty,
waiting their turn
to be placed
on the curb
in the snow.

~sof

2005-11-16T11:07:00.000-05:00

Alright, alright!!!! The lack of posts is due to many things . . . busy, busy, more busy . . . but mostly, I hadn't really found a poem that I wanted to post at this time. So, I'm posting some original work. Apparently I have and opportunity to be "published" in a small circulation magazine that my alma mater puts out and I have to submit something by December 1st. So, contrary to my nature and historical precedent, I'm going to post some original work for you, my dear and faithful readers (and some not so faithful but just as dear), that you may help me choose 1 or 2 to submit. The works here are all considered "in progress" so I'm not looking for a whole lot of critique. I'm looking more for the overall impressions of the poems and what I'm trying to say. Maybe wait until you've read a few or comment on each one, no worries if I don't have any comments . . . I'm a big boy (kinda).

---------------

they walk sidewalks, streets, malls, parks, and bars --------- they play in fields, on shores, in rivers, lakes, and pools --------- they smile, they frown, they scowl, worry, laugh, and scold --------- adults and children --------- boys and girls --------- men and women --------- faces --------- and to each of us, each face, an entrance and an exit --------- they come, they go --------- and when they go they leave pictures, folded up, that we put into memory's hip-pocket --------- some fold and unfold more often than others --------- happy and familiar, cherished and remembered --------- but others, vapor, whisked away --------- floating --------- nowhere, for no one --------- and these, the unfolded, they float for awhile then land --------- in quiet, shadowed corners --------- living where dark silence lives --------- quietly, gently he picks and folds them up --------- places them slowly in his hip-pocket --------- forgetting --------- until he finds them, folded, faded in the wash

~sof

Simple Things

2005-11-03T13:50:00.000-05:00

Poems don't have to be super deep or extra emotional. Often times the most simple poems are quite good and long lasting in our memories. They do so because they've touched a common heart string. The writer and the reader, for a brief moment, meet, and the poem becomes personal. The subject matter can be simple as well, as it is here in Edward Hirsch's "Fast Break". Hirsch is one of my favorite writers right now, his two books How to Read a Poem and The Demon and the Angel are quite good in their analysis of the art of poetry. I recommend them both, very highly. So, without further ado, in celebration of the start of basketball season . . . "Fast Break".

Fast Break

A hook shot kisses the rim and
hangs there, helplessly, but doesn't drop,

and for once our gangly starting center
boxes out his man and times his jump

perfectly, gathering the orange leather
from the air like a cherished possession

and spinning around to throw a strike
to the outlet who is already shoveling

an underhand pass toward the other guard
scissoring past a flat-footed defender

who looks stunned and nailed to the floor
in the wrong direction, trying to catch sight

of a high, gliding dribble and a man
letting the play develop in front of him

in slow motion, almost exactly
like a coach's drawing the blackboard,

both forwards racing down the court
the way that forwards should, fanning out

and filling the lanes in tandem, moving
together as brothers passing the ball

between them without a dribble, without
a single bounce hitting the hardwood

until the guard finally lunges out
and commits to the wrong man

while the power-forward explodes past them
in a fury, taking the ball into the air

by himself now and laying it gently
against the glass for a lay-up,

but losing his balance in the process,
inexplicably falling, hitting the floor

with a wild, headlong motion
for the game he loved like a country

and swiveling back to see and orange blur
floating perfectly through the net.

~Edward Hirsch

~sof

Rimes and Reasons

2005-10-28T21:42:00.000-04:00

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was one of the first poets I really got in to, and the poem that did it was "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner". It's one of the only longer poems that I love reading over and over again. It moves fast for a long poem and hits home, I think, with anyone in this world who has made a hasty decision that we'd like to take back or perhaps do over (which is of course all of us). I'd love to type out the whole poem here, with hopes and anticiapations that every single one of you would actually take the time to read it. But, I'm realistic, so I'll just type the first part (still a little lengthy) and have simple hope that you'll get intrigued and read the whole thing on your own. Coleridge is still one of my favorites, his poems seek me out, they always have. He's lasting, he endures, and no matter how many times I pick him up we still have great converstations.

(this one, like most poetry, is better when read aloud . . . fyi)

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Part I

It is an ancient mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
"By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye ---
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The Sun came up upon the left,
out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon ---"
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy cliffs
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken---
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners' hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine."

"God save the, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!---
Why look'st thou so?"--- With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross.

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

read the poem in its entirety here
(with notes by Coleridge)

~sof

of people and places

2005-10-25T23:42:00.000-04:00

Poetry has a way of connecting people to people, or people to places. This particular portion of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself does that very thing for me. But not only for me, for others as well. It's much like an inside joke, shared only between a few people . . . but poetry is, of course, deeper than that. It connects meaning and depth of soul. These next few lines take me to numerous places with a handful of people. The places may not be the same for each person, but it doesn't matter. I don't have to mention who they are, because when they read it they'll light up, and the memory will rush to the forefront of their minds and we will, for a brief moment, live it all over again. And if everyone else in the world read it with a question mark over their head . . . that wouldn't matter to us either.

-------------

from Song of Myself

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab
and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

~Walt Whitman

~sof

To begin

2005-10-22T18:23:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure of the exact day I fell in love with poetry. I think it was more that poetry found me. It latched on to me and hasn't let go. Over the years I've read tons and tons of bad poetry, poetry that's really just rambling about nothing. It simply courses through my veins finding nothing to hold on to, nothing to tuck it in to a home, so it exits and is forgotten. But there were, and are, those wonderful poems that reach out and embrace me like a long lost friend, even if we'd never met before. Words do that to me. They talk to me like a next door neighbor, a companion over the backyard fence. We laugh, we cry, we think about the hard times and revel in the good. Sometimes they make me feel like a kid again, running in and through each stanza, up and down each tilled up line of thought and emotion until I finally plunge into the piles of words set out for me in the back yard. The poet's thoughts are thousands of red and yellow leaves, falling all over, and what he does is rake them into a pile for you and for me, so we can jump and play and find ourselves in the middle of his yard and realize that's it's our yard too. Our words. Our thoughts. Our emotions. Below is a poem that I dive into over and over. It's a poem about poetry. It's a poem for students of poetry . . . and those who aren't.

---------

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out.

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

~Billy Collins

~sof

What's to come

2005-10-22T18:05:00.000-04:00

There's lots and lots of poetry on the way. Some of you are going to be bored out of your mind I'm sure, but, this is my blog and I can do whatever the heck I want!! On the other hand, some of you may really enjoy it, and for that I'm glad. I'll be posting my favorite poems, poems that to me are striking and influential, and probably some of my own stuff. I don't really let people read my stuff, but I guess now is as good a time as any. If there is no author recognition with the poem then it's mine, otherwise I'll post the author, along with, perhaps, some of my thoughts.

poeta nascitar non fit

~sof

For a co-worker

2005-10-17T20:53:00.000-04:00

i call this walk "sanity maintained."
made to alleviate the mundane
afternoon with hues of sun and sky and
a sweeping breeze across my forehead.

i have chosen these elements to simply
contrast the usual light and duct work,
the gangrenous greenhouse of artificial life,
the flourescent underground where meaning

meets malaise and dreams don't stand a chance.
and there you are, looking at my work and wondering
out loud about it, as though you can't participate,
crippled and unable to walk.

~sof

A Conversation

2005-10-08T15:42:00.000-04:00

The following is a short conversation between a customer and myself this afternoon at the drive-thru window:

me: What's the score?
cust: Excuse me?
me: What's the score?
cust: The score of what?
me: The OU/UT game?
cust: Oh, I don't know. I don't really keep up with basketball.
me: Oh, ok.

There are too many things that make this funny. For those who understand, enjoy the humor, for those of you who don't and frankly don't care . . . enjoy it any way!!

~sof

aaaaaaaaaaaaand . . .

2005-10-02T16:11:00.000-04:00

we're in!!!

Jon!!! We got some cheerin' to do!!!!!!!

~sof

More rant (although smaller in scale)

2005-09-29T00:03:00.000-04:00

Golly, I can't find the time to do this dad gum thing! I don't even have a whole lot to say (yipee!!!).

I am quite frustrated at the refugee/evacuee debate. Get over it people, you're BOTH!! And no, it's not a racial slur, it doesn't refer only to one specific class or race. The term "refugee" refers to any and all who seek refuge. ie shelter, a home, protection, care . . . we've always called these people refugees, in all countries and in all walks of life. Quit making everything out to be people hatin' on each other. That just ain't it!! If you don't want to be called a refugee by those of us here in Dallas (or elsewhere) . . . then don't seek refuge here.

*breath . . .

That's all . . . I'm done.

~sof

My silly parents . . .

2005-09-23T00:34:00.000-04:00

have decided to stay, and make this their fun-filled weekend . . .

black cloud make big rain!

~sof

Ear Candy

2005-09-17T23:42:00.000-04:00

Now that I'm riding public transit, my mp3 player has become much more used. In the car I found myself, more often than not, listening to talk radio and not music (my FM transmitter ain't that great). Now, however, I get a full 2 hour earful of music a day. In the short time that I have been riding the train/bus, I've found that there is some music suitable for public transit and some that isn't. Below is a list of who I consider to be the top 10 public transit artists/albums, in no particular order . . .

Cold Play ~ any and every album, but especially X&Y
Damien Rice ~ O
Death Cab for Cutie ~ Transatlanticism
Elliot ~ False Cathedrals
Elliot Smith ~ any album, but this week Figure 8
The Killers ~ Hot Fuss
Matt Sharp ~ Matt Sharp
Schatzi ~ Fifty Reasons to Explode
The Postal Service ~ Give Up
The Lost in Translation Soundtrack

~sof

My Night

2005-09-14T01:42:00.000-04:00

catch last bus after work to go to rail station
have nice time listening to Debussy while riding bus
look at sign on bus which indicates where we are
choose to exit bus based on information given
once off, realize it's not at all where i need to be
catch and swallow words that found their way to the tip of my tongue
panicking that i may miss the last train from downtown, i begin to run
debussy isn't at all a help so quickly change to metallica
run run run run walk run run run run walk run run run
3 and 1/2 miles later see train pulling off about 200 yards ahead
realize i'm in massive amounts of pain
(note to self: get back in shape)
walk remainder of way to rail station
check times, one more train (whew!)
meet barry
barry's a cool black guy that likes rap, rock, jazz and raggae
we talked about music for about 30 minutes
find out he used to work at starbucks
talk about starbucks until he exits train
remainder of the way to my stop, finish listening to debussy
walk to car through sprinklers (nice)
write blog using bad grammar and technique because of pain and fatigue
(note to self: don't run 3 and 1/2 miles in Chucks, will cause blisters)

goonight.

~sof

(i didn't even mention the guy with the switchblade)

9/11 . . . we will never forget

2005-09-11T13:30:00.000-04:00

you'd like to think people would learn . . .

Don't Tread On Me

[HETFIELD/ULRICH]

Liberty or death, what we so proudly hail
Once you provoke her, rattling of her tail
Never begins it, never, but once engaged...
Never surrenders, showing the fangs of rage

Don't tread on me

So be it
Threaten no more
To secure peace is to prepare for war
So be it
Settle the score
Touch me again for the words that you'll hear evermore...

Don't tread on me

Love it or live it, she with the deadly bite
Quick is the blue tongue, forked as lighting strike
Shining with brightness, always on surveillance
The eyes, they never close, emblem of vigilance

Don't tread on me

So be it
Threaten no more
To secure peace is to prepare for war
So be it
Settle the score
Touch me again for the words that you'll hear evermore...

Don't tread on me

So be it
Threaten no more
To secure peace is to prepare for war

Liberty or death, what we so proudly hail
Once you provoke her, rattling on her tail

So be it
Threaten no more
To secure peace is to prepare for war
So be it
Settle the score
Touch me again for the words that you'll hear evermore...

Don't tread on me

~sof

Pessimism & Optimism

2005-09-07T01:05:00.000-04:00

Pessimistic Optimism
Def: the attitude of finding and pointing out all things wrong with everything in order to uncover what one knows to actually be good underneath.
ie: Pointing out all of the weeds so they can be removed to reveal the flowers.
(the problem with this one is that many times the "optimism" is completely left out and the optimist is labeled a strict pessimist erroneously)

Optimistic Pessimism
Def: the attitude of seeing all things as inherently evil and awful but hoping deep down that somehow good will come of it all.
ie: yeah, all these things are pretty much the most awful ever, but hopefully something good will come of it.
(this one is too passive, and inactive people irk me)

ergo ~ although they sound much the same, i prefer the label pessimistic optimist: pessimistic activism!!!!!

i think i'll start a club.

~sof

Too often . . . not often enough

2005-09-02T01:50:00.000-04:00

We all have problems. I know I have mine. They vary of course, like yours. Some small and insignificant, some larger that require time and effort to work through, and some that are trying to grab you by the throat and strangle the life out of you . . . those keep us clueless. Too often you and I are fighting through those, making every effort to sort out our own issues. Too often.

And not often enough do we stop and consider those of others.

To the victims of Katrina . . . my heart goes out to you.

~sof

Another's Thoughts

2005-08-28T16:23:00.000-04:00

I thought I'd let someone else speak today . . .

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

find this poem and more at Favorite Poem Project

~sof

hot . . .

2005-08-23T12:15:00.000-04:00

. . . heat index up to 1 billion degrees today in Dallas with 5,000% humidity.

scroll down to iceberg picture to relieve the heat.

~sof

Fun N' Silly

2005-08-19T12:22:00.000-04:00

I figured that a few lighthearted things couldn't hurt considering the past few blogs. I don't do forwards with emails, if you've ever gotten a forward from me it was either personal or really, REALLY worth it. This is kinda fun for me and that's why I'm doing it here. So, have fun with this if you want to, but if not . . . well then you're no fun.

Music Tag! (I was tagged and I HATE being "it")

THE RULES: List five songs that you are currently loving. It doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the songs in your blog, then "tag" five other bloggers/friends to see what they're listening to.

Nothin' really old school here. Pretty much a bunch of "now" stuff. But hey, when it's in your head it's in your head. Got a bunch of new stuff so it's what I'm groovin' to right now. Groooovin' . . .

1. "We are Nowhere and it's Now" by Bright Eyes
2. "Miss You" by Blink 182
3. "Indie Rock N' Roll" by The Killers
4. "The Sound of Settling" by Death Cab for Cutie
5. "Iowa City Adieu" by The Autumn Defense

. . . and those who have been tagged . . .

1. Daniel, Son of Robert
2. Gracie "lizard-breath" Smitham (haha, I always laugh at that)
3. Mary "I'm going to UT no matter what the heck you say so shut up" Freiberger
4. Eric "nothing interesting to put here" Sowell
5. Daniel's friend Amy. Even though I've never met her and she knows me not because they go to different Starbucks and not mine because he's scared of me, I think I intimidate him, but he says she's pretty cool and she has cool taste in music.

There 'tis.

Have fun for a change!!

~sof

Pretty Picture

2005-08-19T00:23:00.000-04:00

Gripe about global warming all you want . . . this is pretty!!!!

~sof

Dear Woman . . .

2005-08-16T00:05:00.000-04:00

This is from the blog of Cindy Sheehan. Mother of an American soldier killed at war. She is protesting the war in front of President Bush's ranch in Crawford, TX. Italicized are her words, my comments follow.

Cindy Sheehan Mon Aug 15, 4:28 AM ET

The ninth day ended in the most awesome way. We were out at Camp Casey and it was sprinkling a little bit and it really looked like the rain was going to start pouring down anytime. We looked over into the next cow pasture and there was a full rainbow. Rainbows are supposedley God's sign of hope. When Casey was killed on 04/04/04, I thought that all of my hope was killed, too. Being involved in the peaceful occupation of Crawford and meeting hundreds of people from all over the world has given me so much hope for the future.

We had a lovely interfaith prayer service this morning. It was truly beautiful and we were all weeping while we were singing "Amazing Grace." But, during the service, one of our neighbors fired off a shot gun. He said he was shooting at birds, but he is tired of us being there and he wants us to leave. I didn't get to talk to him, but I told the media that if he wanted us to leave so badly, why doesn't he tell his other neighbor, George, to talk to me. We are good neighbors and we are cooperating with everyone. By the way, in case I forgot to blog it last night, the Sheriff has requested that I stay down in Crawford during the night, because he is afraid for my safety after he leaves. He said he would "sleep better" himself at night if I came into town to sleep. Judging from the shooting guns, I guess he was right.

George Bush took a 2 hour bike ride on Saturday, and when he got back, he was asked how he could go for a two hour bike ride when he doesn't have time to meet with me, and he said: "I have to go on with my life." (Austin Statesman, August 14) WHAT!!!!!????? He has to get on with his life!!! I am so offended by that statement. Every person, war fan, or not, who has had a child killed in this mistake of an occupation should be highly offended by that remark. Who does he think he is? I wish I could EVER be able to get on with my life. Getting on with my life means a life without my dear, sweet boy. Getting on with my life means learning to live with a pain that is so intense that sometimes I feel like throwing up, or screaming until I pass out from sorrow. I wish a little bike ride could help me get on with my life.

I need to focus on the positive, though, and there is so much. I had so many amazing things happen today. I couldn't walk through Camp Casey or the Crawford Peace House today without hugging people and getting my picture taken. Now I know how Mickey Mouse feels at Disneyland. I had a soldier from Ft. Hood come out today and he brought me a small stone with a First Cavalry insignia painted on it and the pictures of three of his beautiful buddies who were murdered there by George's reckless policies. It was such an incredible moment for me when he said: "Keep on doing what you are doing. We are so proud of you. Casey would be so proud of you."

I just wish George had as much courage in his entire body as Casey had in his little pinky, then he would meet with me. Crawford, Tx. is beautiful prairie land, but I could think of dozens of other places I would rather be right now. However, if George or anybody else thinks I am leaving before my mission is "accomplished" they have another think coming. I will stay the course. I will finish the mission. I will take no prisoners.

Has it possibly occurred to you, Ma'am, that your son Casey might want you to get on with your life? Does it seem possible at all, that your son died so that you can get on with your life? Do you actually feel that your son is so self centered that he would want you to spend your days and nights in utter torment over the service that he himself volunteered for? Do you actually think that George W. Bush is so insensitive that he merely "gets on with his life?" Has it occurred to you that perhaps he might spend his nights, sleepless, counting the lives that are given every day for the country that he loves? Are you so exhonerated in your current public limelight, that you believe that the death of your son at war is any more atrocious than the death of a son or daughter to cancer or an accident? Is it possible that there are other things you can do with your time rather than divide this country any more than it already is? Your son served in its armed forces. A force he volunteered for and served his country in. The country he died for. Honor him by honoring his country. And YES, Ms. Sheehan, I am implying that you do that by honoring its leadership and its citizens. Everyday, in every town in every country there is a mother who loses her son . . . and do you know what she does, Ms. Sheehan? She walks out of her front door and she gets on her bike, she doesn't get hugs and her picture taken to parade to the world. You are not alone in your sorrow or your grief, but your handling of it dishonors our armed forces to the very core of what they are doing.

~sof

For your pipe

2005-08-15T00:30:00.000-04:00

Affirmative Action is Racism.

smoke that.

~sof

Loss

2005-08-12T00:01:00.000-04:00

Some dear friends lost a loved one to a tragic accident yesterday. A 14 year old girl drowned in an accident out on the lake.

Thoughts and prayers are with you Smitham family.

~sof

"I'm not an American."

2005-08-11T12:01:00.000-04:00

At Starbucks I have a co-worker named Tigist. Tigist is from Ethiopia but she has lived in America for some years now. Enough to speak the language very well, yet not quite long enough to know all of our silly customs and colloquialisms. As a result, our conversations are usually very fruitful and often times very funny. But there is one thing that she's picked up on. I'm not sure if she learned it while she was here or if she knew it before she came, but there is still a point to be made in the following account.

I was in the back of the store washing dishes. Now, it just so happens that I wash dishes with the hottest water I can get. This is for no other purpose other than it makes the process much more efficient. I know that the water is extremely hot because every time I touch it, or it reaches out to touch me, there is an extreme amount of pain that I feel in my flesh. Hence "extremely hot water." Anyway, as I was washing, Tigist came to the back to bring me some dirty dishes. Somewhere in the process she got something on her hands and she reached into the sink for me to spray them with water. I looked at her and said, "it's hot! really, really hot, let me turn it down." She says, "No, just spray my hands, it's fine." I said (jokingly), "But then it will burn you and you will sue me for tons and tons of money." After a little chuckle she says, "No I won't . . . I'm not an American."

THIS is what we've come to here. We all kind of knew it already, but the opinion is that we are willing to do anything for money. Capitalism is not just for the entrepreneur anymore, it's for anyone and everyone to make money in any way they can, including setting up fraudulent scenarios and series of events for the purpose of lawsuit. No wonder we're so hated in so many places. To some we offer the opportunity of a lifetime, to others we offer nothing more than legal robbery and all of the "honest ones" get the raw end of the deal. Kinda makes me sick: the misuse of the freedom my fellow countrymen are dying for all over the world for someone's sick and sordid gain.

If that's you, you're nothing more than a punk. Earn your freedom, don't be mean to get rich. Get your hands dirty, scrape your knees, bang your head against the wall and plant a few seeds. Men died for you! Do you understand that concept at all? DEATH??!

Make your life count, don't write your own elegy: "Preyed his way through life."

Rant fin.

~sof

Long Time No Blog

2005-08-09T23:42:00.000-04:00

Toooooooooo busy. That's about it, I'm out of excuses. I did happen to enjoy hating PETA by catching about 6 bass this weekend, fileting them, and then of course eating them. I still have some in the freezer so the joy will continue into the future. My house was struck by lighting, oh joy . . . but at least a tree didn't fall on it this time . . . that takes a lot more work. I am rediscovering the joy of music (thanks to my bro for the hook-up!) and all of that through the far out coolness of the mp3 player. I love my Zen Micro. I've had it since February (b-day gift to self due to the loving contributions of family and friends) and I only love it more and more. If you don't have an mp3 player then you don't know that they pretty much rock!! My current listening has me repeating The Autumn Defense over and over again . . . I like them a lot. Although, Cold Play has dibs while I'm in gilbert. Driving to X&Y has its perks. That's all for tonight I suppose. More soon . . . maybe.

furnulum pani nolo

~sof

Back to Bosnia

2005-08-03T22:57:00.000-04:00

I work with a girl who was born and raised Bosnia (well, she's a lady, actually, but saying that makes me feel old). She's been in America for 12 years (I think) and tomorrow, 8/4/05, she's going back to visit for the first time since she's been here. Her mother, her sisters, and her brother came over with her, but her father had to stay behind. Her father passed away before she was able to see him again and her country has been torn apart by war. She still wears the emotional scars and as I've watched her these past few weeks, as she's prepared for her trip, I have seen the anxiety that fills her up. She doesn't know what to expect and her fears, I'm afraid, may be getting the better of her. This is the difference between her country here and her country there. In America she is at peace, happy and full of life. She loves family and friends and wants nothing more than to be generous to all. It's because she remembers her country far away, here giving isn't as easy because there's little to give. When bombers fly overhead instead of 747 passenger planes, peace and life seem so far away. We discussed today, my co-workers and I, that we are somewhat afraid of what she might find, what memories will come back and try to haunt. We all hope and pray for a safe journey, full of memory and the life that she loves to give away. We hope for the smiles and laughs that can subside the tears and calm her fears. She will find open arms to welcome her and just as sure as hers will be open as well. She doesn't take freedom for granted, like me. But the more I hear about her country and her past, I have inner wonderings as to if I too will one day see fighter jets patroling my airspace (I think they may actually already do that to an extent), see military personnel patrol my streets, and feel the fear of hometown destruction patroling my freedoms and crushing my dreams...

...freedom is here today, but there are those who want to rip it away from me, from us. I'm through believing that it can't happen here . . . that it won't happen here. That belief died in NYC. Rome was mighty . . . and Rome fell.

nemo me impune lacessit - (motto of the kings of Scotland)

~sof

An overwhelming heartfelt thanks . . .

2005-08-01T00:24:00.000-04:00

. . . to all of you, for being so thought provoking and out-spoken regarding my most recent blog. If it weren't for you, the reader/responder, we would get absolutely no where in dealing with these questions.

oh, wait . . . WE DIDN'T GET ANYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But I'm not mad. I don't get mad really, so you have nothing to fear.

I only blog tonight (nothing deep, I'm mentally spent) because my Houston Astros are on the way up again. Yes yes, I know . . . you all wish you could cheer for them, seeing as how they are the hottest team in baseball right now. But you cannot because you are stuck with the hometown team of your upbringing. So, the best thing for most of you to do is stick with soccer. FC Dallas is performing quite nicely this year, and should do well to take your mind of the "lesser" teams of Texas lore.

Fear not dear reader . . . fear not.

quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur

~sof

2005-07-28T12:15:00.000-04:00

With the anniversary of the bombing of Japan to end the second world war fast approaching, I can't help but feel a tinge of "what next" during this time. Granted, the current war pales significantly in the shadow of the casualties, means, and absolute horror of the second world war. What we are seeing and experiencing hardly deserves the label "war" when comparing the two. Nonetheless, we are at war. And that raises questions. Questions that either I only have semi-answered or have no answers for at all. Questions of war, justice, and the things that get us into it and out of it (war that is). So, I thought I'd post them here and entertain your thoughts on the matter. Please take the questions as they are presented . . . as QUESTIONS. I'm not trying to push an agenda, only dialogue with the issues. Help me out, we're all in this together.

Is there ever a "right time" to fight violence with violence and if there is, to what degree? i.e. Can mass destruction be used to prevent mass destruction? Were the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki necessary?
What do we (America) do if the use of nuclear arms is eminent or actually used on our own soil, in order to either prevent the act or bring to justice the perpetrators? Which leads into my next question . . .
When does the gov't have to step in on "Freedom of Religion" when extremists from one religion resort to violence and mass death in "the name of religion/God"?
Is a military state the only way to protect a nation? Can we safely secure our country from within without the use of the military?

That's all for now. I think this may end up getting into the race thing. The war on terrorism is one that has race as its foundation, it's not economics or politics or power . . . it's race. Interesting.

until next time . . .

~sof

A Conversation

2005-07-25T21:42:00.000-04:00

This is an actual conversation between me (a High Risk Automobile Insurance Customer Service Representative) and one of our customers. Names are being kept annonymous and all events actually occured:

ME: "Customer Service, how may I help you?"
CUST: "Yeah, I have a question about insurance."
ME: "Ok, how may I help you?"
CUST: "When I pay my bill, how many days am I paying for?"
ME: "Your monthly payments provide you with 30 days of coverage, provided you pay on time."
CUST: "Ok, well here, listen, I got my policy on the 25th of June and it says here on my bill that my next paymnt is due by the 25 of July!!"
ME: "Yes, that would be correct."
CUST: "Well??!!"
ME: "I'm not sure what you're asking ma'am."
CUST: "Well that's only 25 days!"
ME: "No ma'am, the 25th of June until the 25 of July is 30 days."
CUST: "No it's not!!"
ME: "Yes ma'am, it is."
CUST: "No, it's not. The 25th to the 25th is 25 days."
ME: "No ma'am, it's 30 days. If you pull out a calandar and count, it would be 30 days."
CUST: "No, that's not right! Now, from the 1st to the 30th, now that's 30 days!! But the 25th to the 25th, that's 25! It's not right, you're stealing my money! I don't think that's right or fair!"
ME: "Ma'am, I promise . . . it's 30 days. If you'd like to count it out on the calandar we can do that."
CUST: "Well, I don't think it's right, and you're taking my money. I'm gonna get my calandar later and see. I'll be calling you back."
ME: "Ok ma'am. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
CUST: "No, that's all. I'm gonna check on my calandar!!"
ME: "Ok ma'am, you have a good day."
CUST: "You too."
(call ends)

You see? DO YOU SEE??!!! I was laughing for most of the conversation. These calls are a dime a dozen and I think that's the sad/funny thing. If you've never worked in a call center, perhaps you should. It builds character. And do you realize what this means?? You don't have to wait as long for your birthday next month!! YIPPEE!!!

Sorry I was so deep tonight . . . I hope I changed the world.

~sof

You know . . .

2005-07-24T15:30:00.000-04:00

. . . he's just plain freaky phenomenal.

New Camera

2005-07-23T01:05:00.000-04:00

I would really like to own this camera so that I may take many beautiful pictures. $$ Donors?

42

2005-07-22T01:05:00.000-04:00

Eureka!
With all told -- 42!
Ergo, comments to capture
The nature and intent of our
Travels through the fog.
Motif and content: faint shimmers
Among the lightless, fog heavy
Blanket that covers
All of us, one time or
Another, the other
Face we wear, to hide.
Meager our hopes we seek
To pull back or push forward.
Yearning we strain the pulp from the fog,
Keeping the rinds to remind
Ourselves that we hold on to
Everywhere we've been,
While slowly marching forward.

~sof

Things nobody (not even me) cares about

2005-07-21T00:50:00.000-04:00

1. Jack in the Box tacos get really, REALLY soggy in just 2 hours (thanks Addison for the hook up), so if you like soft tacos just wait a bit.
2. The beef chow mein I had today wasn't very good, but since I eat everything it's really quite anti-climactic . . . I'd eat it again.
3 The weather of Piedmont, AL.
4. Whoa!
5. Mood rings don't really work.
6. Why are you still reading this?
7. My arm itches.
8. It feels better now.
9. Fun!
10.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

~sof

Naming Rights and Violent Girls

2005-07-18T00:30:00.000-04:00

Two days of final voting didn't produce much, but I gave you those two and the results have been counted . . . gilbert (little g) is the now the name of my car. For all of you who didn't get out to vote, now you understand what a difference one vote can make! Many thanks to Ginger (she who named my car) who spent countless hours pulling her hair out in anxious anticipation of the final count.

and in world news . . .

Men, this is why we stay away from girls: They are known to inflict sudden and intense pain upon us whilst unsuspecting and then take our money so they can go buy hair ribbons and such. Be afraid . . . be very, very afraid. If you don't believe me, click here and see for yourself.

and on a personal note . . .

Arrrrrggggnnnnnaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhnnnnnnnnaaaaaarrrrgnnnnnaaaaaggggffffttsshhh!!!!!!!
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!
. . . it was just one of those nights (not you Aisha)

anulos qui animum ostendunt omnes gestemus!

~sof

Executive Decision

2005-07-16T23:00:00.000-04:00

People should be fired for whining on the job.

fin

~sof

voting results

2005-07-15T17:00:00.000-04:00

As for the next blog topic (maybe not next next, but next as in future), more people have mentioned the racism thing more than any other, so I think I'll do that. However, it will take a little more time to gather my thoughts as I intend to be at least somewhat intentional with my remarks, not "willy-nilly" and offend when I don't intend to: ie, all offense, if any, will be intentional, but hopefully for the greater good (I used "intend" 4 times there, fyi).

And the name of my car vote is going to go into a final round. I have chosen 2 that I like (I can't decide), 1 with a slight modification. I liked Eric's, but perhaps a little nuanced. He put "FogFocus X" . . . what I'd like to do is abreviate it to "the Fox". A little fog, a little X . . . you know. And I like gilbert (lower case, that's the way the vote was cast), it's along the lines of Norman and Freddie, simple and unassuming, but I don't know anyone named gilbert, so it's a little more original for me. So, the final 2 are:

the Fox
gilbert (gil for short)

Go ahead and vote if you like, and to make it a little more interesting, perhaps give reasons for your vote . . . simple voting is boring. We should do that during elections I think, make people give reasons for their vote. All stupid reasons will be thrown out. Subjectivism . . . it's the American way!!!

adversus solem ne loquitor

~sof

What's in a name?

2005-07-12T22:55:00.000-04:00

While I decide what to spend actual brain power on (because when I use it it'll be gone), I decided today that my car should have a name. I don't really know why, but it occurred to me so I'm running with it. If you do not know already, I drive a black '05 Ford Focus ZX3. However, due to the overwhelming respect I possess for my fellow bloggers (and those a little more anonymous) I'd like for you to name my car. I will therefore be taking suggestions until I see one that I like. I know I know . . . I'm incredibly generous for allowing all of you such a priviledge. Consider it a cyber-gift, and one that will win you a place in my automotive experiences for years to come.

~sof

Blog Topic Roulette

2005-07-11T00:10:00.000-04:00

I've had many things on my mind recently, but I can't really decide which or if I should blog or any at all. I, therefore, would like to enlist the help of you, my dear reader. Below is a list of possible topics that I've been thinking about and I'd like for you to vote. You can vote by number or by topic. Please, no mixing of topics, that would require an undeveloped level of intelligence to figure out. So, here they are . . . exercise your American right and privilege.

Racism and its effects on the American social climate. This post would probably be a bit controversial. I'd be dealing with issues of "reverse racism" and theological racism, both of which being a little touchy right now.
Iraq War stuff. This would be more of a honor ceremony for the soldiers than any type of real discussion about views on what's going on or if we should even be there.
What's after post-modernism? Something I need to think about way more but intriguing to me none-the-less.
A little of each. This is the one you pick if you want to mix and mingle the topics. More of a "food for though" than a lengthy thesis on any one topic.
This one isn't a blog topic, but something that everyone needs to see. It gives perspective on where we might be in the food chain. Lower than we thought perhaps. Careful though, this isn't for the weak of stomach. Click here.

ad astra,
~sof

Finding a Way Through the Fog

2005-07-09T00:10:00.000-04:00

Why fog?

Because of images like this picture. Beautiful, isn't it? Can you hear the crickets, maybe a gentle breeze from left to right? There's water in the brook under the bridge and it too moves from left to right. No animals move yet, it's too early for that, or too late. But they're there, just like you, staring at what might be . . . and hiding from it too.

Fog draws us in, fog is intriguing. We can look at mountains and seascapes and find all kinds of beauty and majesty. Art in the gallery is the same way, stared upon for hours and hours for all of the detail and "what it says to me". Fog, I think, is different. We stare at fog because we don't know what's there. Because it's cloaked by the fog we find ourselves staring at nothing and loving every minute of it. We want to know what's there, what it's hiding. Like little children we want to lift the corner of the cloth to see what's hidden under the table.

And at the same time we don't. Because while the fog hides what's on the other side . . . fog hides us, too. And fog becomes our friend, our comfort. In fog we're alone, yet not. We hate it, but we also love it. That's why life is so often a fog. It's not transparent, it's not opaque. It has no definitive answer for any of our questions. No yes or no, fog is one big "maybe."

still standing on this side of the bridge,
~sof

in case you missed it the first time:

Son of Fog

by Dean Young

When the fog burns off and the air's pulverized
diamonds and you can see beyond the islands
of forever!—far too dramatic for me. It hurts
something behind my eyes near the sphenoid,
not good. I prefer fog with fog behind it,
uninflammable fog. Then there's no competition
for brightness, no Byron for your Shelley,
no Juno eclisping your Athena, no big bridge
statement about bringing unity to landmasses.
All the thought balloons are blank. The marching
band can't practice, even a bird's got to get
within five feet before it can start an argument.
Like dead flies on the sill of an abandoned
nursery, we too are seeds in the rattle
of mortality. A foglike baby god
picks it up, shakes it, laughs insanely
then goes back to playing with her feet.
I have felt awful cold and lonely and fog
has been blotting paper to my tears.
My dog is fog and I don't have to scoop
its poop with my hand in a plastic bag.
There are sensations that begin in the world,
the mind responding with ideas but then
those ideas cause other sensations.
What a mess. We stand at the edge
of a drop that doesn't answer back,
fog our only friend although it's hell
on shrimpboats. There, there, says the fog.
Where, where? You can't see a thing.

(Insert catchy title here)

2005-07-07T00:42:00.000-04:00

A brief "in the news" update for all 4 interested persons in the world.

I kicked Johnny's tail: 6-2, 6-0 . . . however, if you ask him it was 6-5 (no win by two) and 6-3 because he spotted himself 3 games in each set. Although, all is not lost for him. I apparently broke USTA rules by arriving at the match ill-equipped as both of my rackets had broken strings. I, therefore, must default the match to Johnny and we are as we were, undecided. This gives him plenty of time to heal his entire body (which is mostly broken) and practice up over there in the desert. I also assume they don't have grass courts in Las Vegas.

Addison has yet again challenged me to an unmentioned duel, although I would not fight him (he's a kung fu master, he was born with it along with his katana sword). Instead, I'll just direct you to his blog so you can form your own opinions of my little asian friend (haha, he hates that).

My friend Mary has a new blog too. This one will probably contain much poetry (as she is very fond of it) but will also have some very insightful thoughts and ramblings as she is a very insightful rambler (once you get her going! ;)

I have found a website that I find incredibly funny. If you enjoy laughing (you have to like my kind of humor) and you have not seen it (I am often well behind the times) then you should very soon learn to speak Engrish.

Lastly, and on a more serious note, there is a good friend of mine who is trying to help people out of their fog. His name is John Goldberg and he has Cystic Fibrosis. He has developed a website to help educate and encourage those with CF. A worthwhile venture for an amazing guy with more courage and life than I could ever try to replicate. Click on the link to visit John's House and see how you can help support him and others with CF.

Muchos Gracias y Buenos Noches!

~sof

The Last Showdown

2005-07-04T00:13:00.000-04:00

After much pestering, a certain Asian friend has guilted me into updating. ahem.

Actually, I've been meaning to blog this for several days but have been busy so I haven't. Tomorrow morning, America's Independence Day (I should differentiate for our global brothers and sisters), I will embark on an excursion (albeit 25 minutes) to Los Rios Country Club. Once there, I shall take issue with one Johnny Lanoue. Standing opposite him, with green and white outlined asphalt separating both our pride and our rackets, we will war for sole possession of the coveted "Once and For All Best Amateur Tennis Player Between the Two of Us Trophy." You see, Johnny is moving to Las Vegas, Nevada where there is less grass (the kind in your yard) and more money (the kind not in your bank account) than here in dang hot and humid Dallas, TX. Therefore, it must be decided: Who is the best? Will Johnny over power me, hitting cross court forehands and killer fast serves that I can never reach and burn me before I even get started? Or will I set the pace early, making him chase after my nasty and inconvenient drop shots (nasty and inconvenient only because he has bad knees) and kick serves that kick the wrong way and totally mess with his eyeballs? Only time will tell. But as for me, regardless of how bad he loses or how lucky he gets . . .

"You're a great man, tennis player, and friend Johnny . . . you'll be missed."

~sof

Nostrildomus

2005-06-29T12:20:00.000-04:00

Just a few things to consider:

Look for Roger Federer to beat Andy Roddick and Maria Sharapova to upset Lindsay Davenport at Wimbledon.
Be ready for a "not so happy Iran" in the near future given the new "president." I see a possible rebellion in the making.
Expect it to rain soon (Dallas), despite what forecasters say. I give it 6 days.
[**fans only**] Watch for the Dallas Mavericks to actually make a decent deal in the off season (I hate that I said that).
Expect summer to be hot.
Expect winter to be not as hot.
Expect autumn and spring to be somewhere in the middle.

Yeah, I think I'll change professions. Fortune telling suits me I think. Too bad I think IT'S A LOAD OF CROCK AND ANYONE THAT BUYS INTO IT IS A LOAD OF CROCK TOO!!! FEAR ME, CROCK POTS!!!!!!

~ sof

Warhol vs. the monkey

2005-06-28T12:15:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure which intrigues me more: that a monkey painted 3 works actually considered "abstract" tempera paintings, as though the monkey chose both medium and form for the ideas he wished to convey . . . or that there is a self proclaimed "'enthusiast of modern and contemporary painting" that paid more than $26,000 dollars for them!!! Congo (as he was surely named by his birth mother) had paintings on auction with both Andy Warhol and impressionist Renoir, funny thing being that neither of their paintings sold. Instead, all attention was lavished upon the paintings of Congo, a chimpanzee who did them between the ages of 2 and 4 (child prodigy for sure) during the mid 1950's. I'd like to say something about how crazy this is but . . . hmmm. Click on the blog title to see for yourself.

~sof

now a word from our sponsor

2005-06-26T01:50:00.000-04:00

from CITY ELEGIES
by Robert Pinsky

I. The Day Dreamers

All day all over the city every person
Wanders a different city, sealed intact
And haunted as the abondoned subway stations
Under the city. Where is my alley doorway?

Stone gable, brick escarpment, cliffs of crystal.
Where is my terraced street above the harbor,
Cafe and hidden workshop, house of love?
Webbed vault, tile blackness. Where is my park, the path

Through conifers, my iron bench, a shiver
Of ivy and margin birch above the traffic?
A voice. There is a mountain and a wood
Between us -- one wrote, lovesick -- Where the late

Hunter and the bird have seen us. Aimless at dusk,
Heart muttering like any derelict,
Or working all morning, violent with will,
Where is my garland of lights? My silver rail?

------

aaaaaahhhh . . . that's nice.

------

Perhaps you passed right over, not caring what the stanzas had to say. Or perhaps you read them, giving no thought as to why it's there or how it has any significance for you whatsoever . . . the painting at the museum that everyone keeps staring at, but you just stare at them wondering, "what are you looking at?" If so, I recommend to you a book: How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry by Edward Hirsch.

For everyone else . . . good poem, eh?

~sof

Thanks a lot Robert Pinsky

2005-06-24T02:42:00.000-04:00

Although possessing a Bachelor's Degree in English Literature, my working vocabulary is quite limited. It's embarrassing actually. I consistently find myself using the common, slang vernacular of our culture, therefore making myself sound pathetic and unfit to sound the charge of the fight for a resurgence of literature in this our great country. To test myself I used a dictionary for every word that I read today that I could not readily define. I used it some 35 times (give or take a few)! Problem is, I only read about 7 or 8 poems today. Granted, they were by Robert Pinsky who I think might pride himself on writing just for me, that he may expose my ignorance and lack of eloquence. So if you could, dear reader, respond to this particular blog in large and lofty words, that I may learn the ways of you, the facund (not to sound magniloquent) cyber-stenographers.

~sof

"I love animals . . . they taste great!"

2005-06-21T15:19:00.000-04:00

PETA has rubbed me wrong . . . again. I'm ok with treating animals with dignity. In fact, I don't beat dogs or burn cats. I don't raise horses for glue or bears for a rug. I do think, however, that if I am hungry I can eat them. And if I was running through the African desert I would not think it unethical for a cheetah to run me down and have me over for dinner. He is hungry, has a family to feed, and must do what is necessary to sustain life. In our culture, some animals are fit for eating and some are not, for both health and socioethical reasons. And those that are . . . well, they taste good. There is a billboard in east Dallas that has a picture of a dog with a fishing lure stuck through its lip, being pulled or "reeled" as though it has been caught as food. The billboard caption reads, "You wouldn't do this to a dog, why would you do it to a fish?" The logical fallacies of this are too great to begin, a list longer than averse acronyms for PETA, but on the surface, "heck no I wouldn't do that to a dog!!!! you don't use fishing lures for dogs!!!" No really, in today's world it is probably somewhat unhealthy, but even more, it's socially abhored!! That's why we don't eat dogs. Second, and lastly so that I may move into why I really wanted to write this blog, fish are stupid. The reason we have a "relationship" with dogs is because they are capable of relationship on our intelligance and emotional level. I'm in a hurry so I need to get going. I would like to put up a billboard with a dog being crush under a foot. Preferably a booted foot as we are in Texas. With legs sprawled out, eyes popping out, tongue and ears forced outward from the force of death in the form of a giant stomp! on his now broken back. The caption would read, "You wouldn't do this to a dog, why would you do it to a cockroach?" After all, shouldn't we at least be consistent in our logical fallacies?

~sof

ps

P - People
E - Eating
T - Tons of
A - Animals

(to be averse)

"I'm Batman!"

2005-06-19T17:42:00.000-04:00

Yeah, the new Batman movie pretty much just re-set the standard for super-hero movies. Some of you (a-hem) mock me for my interest in and appreciation for super-hero movies. I loved both X-Men movies as well as both Spider-Man movies. I haven't yet seen Hulk (sorry Ragan, Eric) or Cat Woman. I feel bad about Hulk, but why in the world would I want to see what was called "worst movie of the year"? The first 2 X-Men were phenomenal, setting a movie precedent that others had to keep up with. Both Spider-Man movies were great, although in both of them I found a little bit of the "cheese" unnecessary and therefore found just a tad bit of taint in otherwise wonderful films. But Batman . . . oh goodness gracious. This movie was just downright awesome! It is a great super-hero action flick, of course, but the plot, storyline, acting, effects . . . it is an overall, well done film! Dark, violent, SCAREY!, and even quite emotional at times. It's a beginnings movie, hence Batman Begins, so the first half doesn't even have Batman in it. Rather, it's the story of how Bruce Wayne became Batman, a story that makes everything else fall into place and helps you appreciate the story and creativity of the original creators of the super-hero. Great movie, go see it, even if you don't like super-heroes. But if you don't like super-heroes, perhaps you should consider Aunt May's insight, "Everyone needs a super-hero."
That's all for now, if you've seen it, let me know how you liked it. Addison liked it, and he's terrified of super-heroes. He has superherophobia, but now that he hangs around me he's starting to warm up to us, er um, I mean them.

~ sof

Art Jump

2005-06-18T01:20:00.000-04:00

In Mary Poppins, the characters jumped into sidewalk chalk drawings and entered new worlds (sorry about the childhood flashback). Today I wondered which piece of art I would like to jump into and live in for a little while. I decided that I'd be a mood jumper and would have to pick and choose as my days or weeks vary. For example, while I'm working at "the Depot", I almost always want to jump into Edvard Munch's Scream. But if i'm late night'n it outside with a cup of coffee, my pipe and a good book, I'd be jumping into van Gogh's Starry Night, just so I can swirl around with the trail of my pipe with the stars in his night. There are more, but I'd rather know where other people would like to go, you in particular! Perhaps at the moment, or at this time in your life. Leave me a link if you can.

~ sof

and as a tribute to Jasper Fforde, you may jump into a book as well.

Bloggaphobia

2005-06-16T01:20:00.000-04:00

Two things on the day: First off, having (very) briefly reviewed the theory of Pangaea, I have decided that although I can have no definitive say in the matter, I find the theory both convenient and likely. Convenience not being a logical defense on scientific matters and such, the likelyhood of earth's land masses at one point being a whole is quite believable seeing as how they fit so dang well as a puzzle. Check it out if you haven't, it's quite interesting. But if it isn't true, oh well, it's still fun. Second, a friend and I delved into the realm of "phobias" today, and had quite a time reading all the different phobias that people can "have." For example:

Some of the more common ones . . .

Nyctophobia ~ Fear of Darkness
Arachnophobia ~ Fear of Spiders
Hypsiphobia ~ Fear of Heights
Aviophobia ~ Fear of Flying
Nebulaphobia ~ Fear of fog

and so on and so forth, we know these people.
But do you know these people? . . .

Ablutophobia ~ Fear of bathing
Alektorophobia ~ Fear of chickens
Automatonophobia ~ Fear of ventriloquist's dummies, animatronic creatures, wax statues - anything that falsly represents a sentient being (think about this guy in the hall of presidents at Disney World)
Blennophobia ~ Fear of slime
Bromidrosiphobia ~ Fear of body smells
Euphobia ~ Fear of hearing good news
Geniophobia ~ Fear of chins
Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia ~ Fear of long words (no, really)
Kathisophobia ~ Fear of sitting down
Linonophobia ~ Fear of string
Lutraphobia ~ Fear of otters
Nomatophobia ~ Fear of names
Octophobia ~ Fear of the figure 8 (must have been the worst birthday EVER!)
Pteronophobia ~ Fear of being tickled by feathers
Sinistrophobia ~ Fear of things to the left or left-handed (my personal opinion of what ailed Zoolander)
Vestiphobia ~ Fear of clothing (bummer for the rest of us)
Zemmiphobia ~ Fear of the great mole rat (WHO ISN'T??)

Just a few. If you would like to inquire further or to see if perhaps you have a phobia, please click here. If you're scared of clicking, have someone click for you then proceed to read (hey, a rhyme). If you fear reading, have the clicker read it to you. If you fear being read to, have the clicker click the X in the top right corner.

Now, to read myself to sleep.

~sof

It's summer time in Dallas . . .

2005-06-15T03:19:00.000-04:00

. . . and therefore a decision must be made:

"to shave or not to shave"

Let's face it, shaving my head is the easiest, coolest (temperaturewise), and most practical way to style my hair for these upcoming summer months. The problem is I look rather silly when I do. Do I go to a hairstylist and have her do up my hair in the latest style when just a few weeks later it will turn from a head of hair into a nice, light brown mop? Or do I simply shave it off, have built in air conditioning and easy cranial-hygene while bearing a few smirks and giggles along the way? This is my conundrum of the day. Whatever shall I do? These life decisions are so difficult for me.

~sof

Life with poor eyesight

2005-06-14T15:08:00.000-04:00

Recently I've noticed more than ever that I'm losing my eyesight. I've worn glasses or contacts since I was in the second grade and have needed them more and more as the years have gone on. Lately, I've noticed drastic changes in shorter periods of time. Some days I can actually tell that I see worse than the day before. It's not all that great, but it got me thinking. Would I rather lose my sight or my hearing? It's a question that I can't answer right now, maybe never, but for now I'm hearing better than I'm seeing so I may not have a choice. And say one was to know the day or moment before he/she lost their sight or hearing completely, what would be their last request to see or to hear? It's made me value what sight I do have and with what flippance I look at things everyday. Hearing is no different. I (we) should take more stock in those things that cross our paths, taking mental pictures of the things we see and hear, especially those things that mean the most. Pictures are worth a thousand words, but what if you can't see pictures? Take mental photographs (and phonographs if you can), hone your memory so you will never forget. We see a lot, and it's not very easy to pick and choose those things that mean enough to store in our memory's attic. But who knows when you may never see or hear it, or him, or her, or that song, or that sunset again. I loved watching the lightning tonight, and wondered if I should store it away. I don't know. Do you?

~sof