Category Archives: disasters

On repeating myself

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I’ve been writing this blog for more than seven years, and it has more than 1,300 entries on different topics. I’m afraid that I might be in danger of repeating myself. I mean, I would love to write more about sugar (and it’s dangers) or cookies or whatever, but I’d be repeating myself. Yet, since human beings are great at not listening, you have to repeat everything fifty times before they hear you. Seriously, take a group of forty people anywhere, and someone will ask where we’re going, when are we meeting to leave, where do we meet, what’s the significance of this place, and so on, even though you have already explained everything ten times, with written instructions, with color glossy photos with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back explaining what the picture is about. I find myself repeating things endlessly. It probably only gets really bad when I start talking to myself, which probably wouldn’t be that bad unless I start answering myself. Some folks, good folks, kind-hearted folks, are just no good at listening. If you asked them about who was buried in Grant’s Tomb, they’d have to think about it–for at least a minute. So I repeat myself: we’re going to Toledo today, the bus will leave the stadium at 9 a.m., so arrive well before that or you might get left. So what’s so important about Toledo? Twenty centuries of art, architecture, history, multiple civilizations, I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.

On repeating myself

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I’ve been writing this blog for more than seven years, and it has more than 1,300 entries on different topics. I’m afraid that I might be in danger of repeating myself. I mean, I would love to write more about sugar (and it’s dangers) or cookies or whatever, but I’d be repeating myself. Yet, since human beings are great at not listening, you have to repeat everything fifty times before they hear you. Seriously, take a group of forty people anywhere, and someone will ask where we’re going, when are we meeting to leave, where do we meet, what’s the significance of this place, and so on, even though you have already explained everything ten times, with written instructions, with color glossy photos with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back explaining what the picture is about. I find myself repeating things endlessly. It probably only gets really bad when I start talking to myself, which probably wouldn’t be that bad unless I start answering myself. Some folks, good folks, kind-hearted folks, are just no good at listening. If you asked them about who was buried in Grant’s Tomb, they’d have to think about it–for at least a minute. So I repeat myself: we’re going to Toledo today, the bus will leave the stadium at 9 a.m., so arrive well before that or you might get left. So what’s so important about Toledo? Twenty centuries of art, architecture, history, multiple civilizations, I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.

On a hot summer night

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Last night I couldn’t get to sleep at all, to coin a phrase. It is summer, course, and this is what summer is about: not sleeping because it’s just too hot–the bed is hot, the room is stifling, and no matter what posture you adopt, it is uncomfortable. Your neck is sweaty and sticky. Your head pounds just enough to keep you awake. You roll onto your side, trying to find that perfect posture that will bring sleep. Nothing. The minutes tick by. Maybe you should get up and read for a bit? Maybe a cold shower? Maybe you should eat something? You ponder all of this and all of a sudden you realize you have been in bed for an hour and you are still awake. The summer insomnia of a hot July night has you in its grasp, and you are helpless to escape. Once you realize what is going on, you not only can’t get to sleep, you now know that you can’t get to sleep. You have become self-aware of the problem, and sleep has sailed away into the night, leaving you on the shore of consciousness with no hope of getting off of that beach anytime soon. You obsess with being awake, which, of course, just aggravates the situation. In the meantime, morning is getting closer and closer, the night is still hot and humid, and now you are the only one still awake except for a few night creatures who wake up after dark. The garbage truck comes by. A few partiers are finally returning home after a long night debauchery and dissidence. You should be asleep. You should be doing your best simulacra of death, but you can’t, and you catch of glimpse of Phoebus nudging up to the horizon.

On a hot summer night

Posted on by

Last night I couldn’t get to sleep at all, to coin a phrase. It is summer, course, and this is what summer is about: not sleeping because it’s just too hot–the bed is hot, the room is stifling, and no matter what posture you adopt, it is uncomfortable. Your neck is sweaty and sticky. Your head pounds just enough to keep you awake. You roll onto your side, trying to find that perfect posture that will bring sleep. Nothing. The minutes tick by. Maybe you should get up and read for a bit? Maybe a cold shower? Maybe you should eat something? You ponder all of this and all of a sudden you realize you have been in bed for an hour and you are still awake. The summer insomnia of a hot July night has you in its grasp, and you are helpless to escape. Once you realize what is going on, you not only can’t get to sleep, you now know that you can’t get to sleep. You have become self-aware of the problem, and sleep has sailed away into the night, leaving you on the shore of consciousness with no hope of getting off of that beach anytime soon. You obsess with being awake, which, of course, just aggravates the situation. In the meantime, morning is getting closer and closer, the night is still hot and humid, and now you are the only one still awake except for a few night creatures who wake up after dark. The garbage truck comes by. A few partiers are finally returning home after a long night debauchery and dissidence. You should be asleep. You should be doing your best simulacra of death, but you can’t, and you catch of glimpse of Phoebus nudging up to the horizon.

On stroller blocking as an Olympic sport

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Call them whatever you want–useful, weird, bulky, broken–but baby strollers are going to be a new Olympic sport at the next games in Brazil in 2016. Just like bobsledding, there are different modalities, but all have to do with how well the driver of the stroller can block a sidewalk, a supermarket aisle, a street, an escalator, there will be different landscapes in which the stroller athlete will have to successfully block anyone from getting past them. The Olympic committee hasn’t finalized the rules yet, but some of the different modalities will be mother, baby, and dog, or mother, baby, and grandmother. They are also planning modalities which include other siblings, multiple family members, and fallen toys. Strollers will be categorized by cost, construction, width, and size of tires. All team members will have to be from the same country. There will be a special modality for colapsable strollers, people who eat ice cream, and mothers who cannot stop talking on their cell phones. Crying babies in the rain will occur on the final day of competition, featuring cross mother-in-laws, lost fathers, a dog pooping, the police, and multiple neighbors of varying sizes. There will be a special modality in which the parents carry the child and push an empty stroller while they both talk on their cell phones, the dog pees on grandma, and the older sibling skins her/his knee while rollerskating. Stroller blocking is not for the weak of heart, and all participants must where helmets (and men must wear hard cups). The sport has been criticized in the past for its overt violence.

On stroller blocking as an Olympic sport

Posted on by

Call them whatever you want–useful, weird, bulky, broken–but baby strollers are going to be a new Olympic sport at the next games in Brazil in 2016. Just like bobsledding, there are different modalities, but all have to do with how well the driver of the stroller can block a sidewalk, a supermarket aisle, a street, an escalator, there will be different landscapes in which the stroller athlete will have to successfully block anyone from getting past them. The Olympic committee hasn’t finalized the rules yet, but some of the different modalities will be mother, baby, and dog, or mother, baby, and grandmother. They are also planning modalities which include other siblings, multiple family members, and fallen toys. Strollers will be categorized by cost, construction, width, and size of tires. All team members will have to be from the same country. There will be a special modality for colapsable strollers, people who eat ice cream, and mothers who cannot stop talking on their cell phones. Crying babies in the rain will occur on the final day of competition, featuring cross mother-in-laws, lost fathers, a dog pooping, the police, and multiple neighbors of varying sizes. There will be a special modality in which the parents carry the child and push an empty stroller while they both talk on their cell phones, the dog pees on grandma, and the older sibling skins her/his knee while rollerskating. Stroller blocking is not for the weak of heart, and all participants must where helmets (and men must wear hard cups). The sport has been criticized in the past for its overt violence.

On a sore neck

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You ever get a sore neck that makes turning your head just about impossible? Whenever anyone speaks to you, or you hear a strange noise, or you turn to get a plate out of the cupboard, your neck just stops working–the swivel is broken and you feel about a hundred years old. You have to turn your whole body to see just normal stuff. I pulled a small muscles in my shoulder about two weeks ago, and I’ve been having a lot of fun since. First, driving is impossible. Second, any time you have to turn around, your neck is having second thoughts about the whole operation. Third, no matter what you do for a pillow, sleeping and lying down are new adventures in pain. You have to turn your whole body to see what’s behind you, and it looks so unnatural. Instantly, everyone is asking, “What’s wrong with your neck?” as if you didn’t know there was a problem. It seems, too, that just about the time it starts feeling better, you fall asleep sitting up in some strange position, and it continues to hurt like the devil every time you need to turn your head. You don’t dare look behind you because if you do you risk snapping your head clean off. Yes, you can take some “pain relievers” but they only solve the problem temporarily because it always comes back. A sore neck reduces you from functioning human being to orthopedic nightmare that can barely move, and all the while you feel like the oxidized version of the tin man from the Wizard of Oz. My kingdom for an oilcan.

On a sore neck

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You ever get a sore neck that makes turning your head just about impossible? Whenever anyone speaks to you, or you hear a strange noise, or you turn to get a plate out of the cupboard, your neck just stops working–the swivel is broken and you feel about a hundred years old. You have to turn your whole body to see just normal stuff. I pulled a small muscles in my shoulder about two weeks ago, and I’ve been having a lot of fun since. First, driving is impossible. Second, any time you have to turn around, your neck is having second thoughts about the whole operation. Third, no matter what you do for a pillow, sleeping and lying down are new adventures in pain. You have to turn your whole body to see what’s behind you, and it looks so unnatural. Instantly, everyone is asking, “What’s wrong with your neck?” as if you didn’t know there was a problem. It seems, too, that just about the time it starts feeling better, you fall asleep sitting up in some strange position, and it continues to hurt like the devil every time you need to turn your head. You don’t dare look behind you because if you do you risk snapping your head clean off. Yes, you can take some “pain relievers” but they only solve the problem temporarily because it always comes back. A sore neck reduces you from functioning human being to orthopedic nightmare that can barely move, and all the while you feel like the oxidized version of the tin man from the Wizard of Oz. My kingdom for an oilcan.

On soda pop

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I used to drink soda or pop when I was a kid. You know, sugary water with lots of bubbles and some sort of flavor profile–sweet, very sweet. Then my teeth started to get lots of cavities and I gave it up. Even when I got to college, I would limit my intake of sodas to one a month. I lost my taste for lots of sugar and caffeine, and I never went back. I know why people drink soda–sugar and caffeine–but what happens if nobody needs either of those things? Sure, people drink soda as a refreshing experience that slakes their thirst and cools their brow, but water does the same thing. Not that it worries me that people drink soda, but it does seem super unhealthy to drink gallons and gallons of the stuff. Some people will drink a cola or two to start the day, others will have one at lunch or on break, still others will drink a giant litre or two with a couple of burgers and a bunch of fries–tons of carbohydrates, more sugar than a body really needs, and more caffeine than anyone needs. If you look at the actual food value of soda, it’s almost non-existent except for the sugar, and we all get too much of that anyway. Soda is really just a question of good marketing of a sugary food product. Perhaps a splash of cola once in awhile with a bunch of ice and other things to modify the flavor (lemon?) isn’t so bad, but living off of the stuff on a daily basis has got to be bad for a person. Nevertheless, far be it from me to tell anyone else how to live their life.

On soda pop

Posted on by

I used to drink soda or pop when I was a kid. You know, sugary water with lots of bubbles and some sort of flavor profile–sweet, very sweet. Then my teeth started to get lots of cavities and I gave it up. Even when I got to college, I would limit my intake of sodas to one a month. I lost my taste for lots of sugar and caffeine, and I never went back. I know why people drink soda–sugar and caffeine–but what happens if nobody needs either of those things? Sure, people drink soda as a refreshing experience that slakes their thirst and cools their brow, but water does the same thing. Not that it worries me that people drink soda, but it does seem super unhealthy to drink gallons and gallons of the stuff. Some people will drink a cola or two to start the day, others will have one at lunch or on break, still others will drink a giant litre or two with a couple of burgers and a bunch of fries–tons of carbohydrates, more sugar than a body really needs, and more caffeine than anyone needs. If you look at the actual food value of soda, it’s almost non-existent except for the sugar, and we all get too much of that anyway. Soda is really just a question of good marketing of a sugary food product. Perhaps a splash of cola once in awhile with a bunch of ice and other things to modify the flavor (lemon?) isn’t so bad, but living off of the stuff on a daily basis has got to be bad for a person. Nevertheless, far be it from me to tell anyone else how to live their life.