This guy totally busted it riding the wrong way on W. Buena Vista in North Augusta, carrying two cases of Bud Light on his bicycle. If my phone shot video, you'd hear the decidedly family-unfriendly words coming out of his mouth as he gathered the runaway beers up. Oh...and did I mention this was just after 7 in the AM? Probably lots of lessons to be learned here, kids. Not the least of which is always wear a helmet when transporting 48 beers the wrong way in traffic.
Showing posts with label random crap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random crap. Show all posts
Friday, May 9, 2008
Party's over before it began
This guy totally busted it riding the wrong way on W. Buena Vista in North Augusta, carrying two cases of Bud Light on his bicycle. If my phone shot video, you'd hear the decidedly family-unfriendly words coming out of his mouth as he gathered the runaway beers up. Oh...and did I mention this was just after 7 in the AM? Probably lots of lessons to be learned here, kids. Not the least of which is always wear a helmet when transporting 48 beers the wrong way in traffic.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
F*cked up
So, browsing through my triathlon blog I found this jem. It's in there, if I remember, because it predates this one. Guess I'm gonna have to scour it for other gems.
From May 2006:
So Amy sent out an e-mail yesterday to a bunch of people asking how they relieve stress, for some story she's working on. She said be creative. I said does creative = truthful, and she said "of course not." So I started writing, only to later find out she wanted brevity. I'm not so much with the brevity so, long story short (ironically), she's not using it. Which means I can post it here.
(fictional work to follow)
Being a trauma surgeon can be very stressful. I'm presented with emergent cases and many, many times I am the only thing between those critically-injured peoples' lives and deaths. In any given night I may see gaping head injuries, gunshot victims with sucking chest wounds, little kids who've been mauled by pit bulls, impalements, amputations and everything else you can imagine. And some things you can't.
And the thing is, the patients aren't people to me. They are just injuries. I focus on their vital signs and what's bleeding, and that's about it. My only concern is to stabilize them and fix what's broken, torn or severed. It sounds harsh at best and inhuman at worst, but trust me--it's the only way to do my job. If I get caught up in them as people, then I'm distracted. And if I'm distracted, well, game over. So I never hear their stories. Oh sure, I sometimes hear about how they got to be in the condition in which they are presented: the drive-by shooting, the fall from a ladder or the car accident. But I don't hear about their families, their jobs or their problems. I don't get to hear those stories.
Nor do I want to. Those stories, the things that make them who they are simply don't factor into the equation I must solve in order to fix them. But I save their lives regardless. When I do, it's intensely rewarding. I'm the hero, almost Godlike, at least in their eyes.
Sometimes--too many times--however, they don't make it. Their injuries are just too severe, they'd lost too much blood before they got to my OR. For whatever reason, sometimes they just die. And when they die we have the unimaginable task of telling their families.
And that's when it becomes real. That's when, all of a sudden, their lives mean something to me. Gone is the surgical field, replaced by this group of people, pleading with their eyes and their words to give tehm any semblance of good news. BUt when ther eisn't any, there's this pat speech I use, along the lines of "Your son/daughter/wife/husband was critically injured. He was brought to the ER where we did everything we could to stabilize him/her. But his/her heart stopped and despite our best efforts, he/she died. I'm very sorry."
And I've delivered that speech to those shocked, disbelieving family members so many times it has become rote. Inside, I'm distant as I repeat it, dissasociated. I do it with apparent compassion, but in reality it's cold and unfeeling. Because, unlike other doctors, I have no relationship with these people, apart from their now-dead loved ones. I've never met them before this moment, yet I am required to deliver this horrific news. And it's hard. You have no idea how hard.
People in my profession deal with this stress in many different ways. A lot of us play golf, run, paint, play music. Usually to obsessive levels. Some of us find solace in religion. Some of us drink too much, or seek out the companionship of similarly nameless, faceless souls. Just to feel their warmth; to embrace something living.
But not me. I guess you could say I follow a different path. Not often, but once in a while, when all of that stress mounts to the breaking point, I relieve it by going downtown, late at night. And savagely murdering homeless people.
I think Amy sort of regrets sending me that e-mail.
From May 2006:
So Amy sent out an e-mail yesterday to a bunch of people asking how they relieve stress, for some story she's working on. She said be creative. I said does creative = truthful, and she said "of course not." So I started writing, only to later find out she wanted brevity. I'm not so much with the brevity so, long story short (ironically), she's not using it. Which means I can post it here.
(fictional work to follow)
Being a trauma surgeon can be very stressful. I'm presented with emergent cases and many, many times I am the only thing between those critically-injured peoples' lives and deaths. In any given night I may see gaping head injuries, gunshot victims with sucking chest wounds, little kids who've been mauled by pit bulls, impalements, amputations and everything else you can imagine. And some things you can't.
And the thing is, the patients aren't people to me. They are just injuries. I focus on their vital signs and what's bleeding, and that's about it. My only concern is to stabilize them and fix what's broken, torn or severed. It sounds harsh at best and inhuman at worst, but trust me--it's the only way to do my job. If I get caught up in them as people, then I'm distracted. And if I'm distracted, well, game over. So I never hear their stories. Oh sure, I sometimes hear about how they got to be in the condition in which they are presented: the drive-by shooting, the fall from a ladder or the car accident. But I don't hear about their families, their jobs or their problems. I don't get to hear those stories.
Nor do I want to. Those stories, the things that make them who they are simply don't factor into the equation I must solve in order to fix them. But I save their lives regardless. When I do, it's intensely rewarding. I'm the hero, almost Godlike, at least in their eyes.
Sometimes--too many times--however, they don't make it. Their injuries are just too severe, they'd lost too much blood before they got to my OR. For whatever reason, sometimes they just die. And when they die we have the unimaginable task of telling their families.
And that's when it becomes real. That's when, all of a sudden, their lives mean something to me. Gone is the surgical field, replaced by this group of people, pleading with their eyes and their words to give tehm any semblance of good news. BUt when ther eisn't any, there's this pat speech I use, along the lines of "Your son/daughter/wife/husband was critically injured. He was brought to the ER where we did everything we could to stabilize him/her. But his/her heart stopped and despite our best efforts, he/she died. I'm very sorry."
And I've delivered that speech to those shocked, disbelieving family members so many times it has become rote. Inside, I'm distant as I repeat it, dissasociated. I do it with apparent compassion, but in reality it's cold and unfeeling. Because, unlike other doctors, I have no relationship with these people, apart from their now-dead loved ones. I've never met them before this moment, yet I am required to deliver this horrific news. And it's hard. You have no idea how hard.
People in my profession deal with this stress in many different ways. A lot of us play golf, run, paint, play music. Usually to obsessive levels. Some of us find solace in religion. Some of us drink too much, or seek out the companionship of similarly nameless, faceless souls. Just to feel their warmth; to embrace something living.
But not me. I guess you could say I follow a different path. Not often, but once in a while, when all of that stress mounts to the breaking point, I relieve it by going downtown, late at night. And savagely murdering homeless people.
I think Amy sort of regrets sending me that e-mail.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Life lessons at the world's greatest mexican restaurant
So yesterday, after the ING marathon my aunt and uncle took Nola, Amy and I to this Mexican restaurant out somewhere west of Roswell (Georgia...not where the aliens crashed). A little blip in a tiny strip mall, smack between a dry cleaners and a Tae Kwon Do studio, Vallarta was totally unremarkable in appearance. I asked Uncle Joe how he found it, in such a random location a pretty good distance (even for Atlanta), from his house. He said it was his poker buddy Grover's favorite place. Joe said Grover could never play poker on Friday nights, because Friday was margarita night. Then, laughing, he said he always thought "margarita night" was a euphemism for Grover getting...and then he stumbled, realizing our 7 year old was along for the ride. I rescued him saying "yeah...we know what you thought Grover was getting."
Anyway, apparently Vallarta is the home of the bottomless margarita. They had like five different sizes on the menu, from small to "fishbowl," but apparently, if you're in the know you just order "margarita" and they bring you a glass. And as soon as you half-way empty it, up shows the waiter with a pitcher who refills it. And that repeats until you slur "no mas."
And even then, they give you more. Bueno.
Add to that a free bowl of chicken soup and free desert at the end with perfectly edible food in the middle and I can't believe these guys are still in business. But this wet dream of spice and liquor wasn't without its quirks--both nestled neatly in the menu. No...not the food. The food was pretty standard stuff. What was interesting was the lunch menu (and the lunch special on the board). Both notable for the fact that they are only open from 5pm during the week and 4pm on Saturdays. Maybe there's some secredt lunch cabal at Vallarta. Who knows. It's weird what you think about after your fifth glass of limey-tequilla-y goodness.
Then there were the instructions for eating Mexican food, at the bottom of the menu page describing what tacos, burritos and enchilladas are. I haven't seen that in years, and figured that by now, people just knew. I've also seen before, and also not in years, that sentence saying it's cool to pick a taco up with your hands. I mean, seriously, does anyone go all George Costanza-with-a-Snickers-bar and try to slice into a crunchy taco with a knife and fork? I've never seen it. I'd like to, but I haven't. But what was interesting about this disclaimer was what was apparently lost in translation:
"It is perfectly acceptable and expected to teach tacos with your hands."
Cause, ya know, spare the rod and spoil the meat in a tortilla and all.
Anyway, apparently Vallarta is the home of the bottomless margarita. They had like five different sizes on the menu, from small to "fishbowl," but apparently, if you're in the know you just order "margarita" and they bring you a glass. And as soon as you half-way empty it, up shows the waiter with a pitcher who refills it. And that repeats until you slur "no mas."
And even then, they give you more. Bueno.
Add to that a free bowl of chicken soup and free desert at the end with perfectly edible food in the middle and I can't believe these guys are still in business. But this wet dream of spice and liquor wasn't without its quirks--both nestled neatly in the menu. No...not the food. The food was pretty standard stuff. What was interesting was the lunch menu (and the lunch special on the board). Both notable for the fact that they are only open from 5pm during the week and 4pm on Saturdays. Maybe there's some secredt lunch cabal at Vallarta. Who knows. It's weird what you think about after your fifth glass of limey-tequilla-y goodness.
Then there were the instructions for eating Mexican food, at the bottom of the menu page describing what tacos, burritos and enchilladas are. I haven't seen that in years, and figured that by now, people just knew. I've also seen before, and also not in years, that sentence saying it's cool to pick a taco up with your hands. I mean, seriously, does anyone go all George Costanza-with-a-Snickers-bar and try to slice into a crunchy taco with a knife and fork? I've never seen it. I'd like to, but I haven't. But what was interesting about this disclaimer was what was apparently lost in translation:
"It is perfectly acceptable and expected to teach tacos with your hands."
Cause, ya know, spare the rod and spoil the meat in a tortilla and all.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Cajun skiing
I was born in New Orleans, and until I was about 5 and we moved away, I lived with my family at the Golden Key apartments in Metairie. It's funny thinking back on it now, with a daughter of 7 of my own, how amazing and kind of scary the amount of freedom my brother and I had. I mean, at least from what I remember, we had the run of the place. Me and my 3 year old brother. Like this one time...
I was playing in this vacant lot at the apartments, with my brother...I couldn't have been more than 5 at the time (I know this because that's when we moved to Florida--I'm smart like that). So anyway, I was barefoot, running around that vacant lot with my brother when I stepped on a 2x4 with a nail in it, and it went through and out the top of my foot. I screamed and stepped down with my other foot. Onto another 2x4 with another nail, that went through the top of that foot.
My brother left me screaming and went running for help and came back with the maintenance man who took a look at my predicament and said "you goin' skiin', boy?"
Friday, November 16, 2007
Make that a long-winded pot-stirrer
"Nice column this week, Jim."
"Thanks...kinda short."
"Yeah, that's good, too."
Tom Grant can talk your ear off, and that's a good thing, I think. I learn a lot from the guy every time I get to sit down with him. But when he's on deadline, the conversations are always to the point. So that's how it went down when I stopped by the office last night. Sometimes, you get the most out of the fewest words.
Yesterday, prior to that conversation, I submitted a grand total of 411 words for LotB, easily my shortest column in the 20 weeks that I've been writing it. Usually, I throw down a good thousand words and have to literally back away from the keyboard to keep it that short. So either there's a lot to write about, I have a lot to say, or I just haven't learned the sentiment expressed above.
And it's funny. Talking to me, at first glance at least, you'd never get that i had a lot to say. My MO, I guess, is to sit back and watch, to take it all in. My thinking is the less time you spend with your mouth open, the more you learn. Listening is a gift I've been blessed with, apparently, although Amy may differ (I'm really am *always* listening, baby).
By being a good listener (at least in my own estimation), I end up having a lot to say, when I get around to saying it. That's why I like blogging, I guess. It's a great chance to take five or 10 minutes and just get it all out. Blogging's kind of like beer to me--the switch for the floodgates of thought, and it comes without the associated hangover and belly, as added bonuses. And in this format, there aren't any editor-imposed limitations or restrictions. I can take my time setting up a punch line or developing a story. I don't feel like I have to strip out all of the adjectives just to make a particular word count.
But I suppose being a bit more concise is a lesson I could learn. I'm lucky in the sense that I write for a weekly, where I definitely get more column inches then I would in different formats. But there's always a limit. If I were to submit the 2000 or more words that I could easily write every week, Tom would quickly find someone else with a lot less to say. It's hard, though. Constantly I find myself feeling stilted by the constraints of the paper. How can anyone possibly get their thoughts down, and more than that, across to readers in so few words? It's learned skill, no doubt, and one I'm working on.
But until then, I'll always have you, my beautiful blog.
"Thanks...kinda short."
"Yeah, that's good, too."
Tom Grant can talk your ear off, and that's a good thing, I think. I learn a lot from the guy every time I get to sit down with him. But when he's on deadline, the conversations are always to the point. So that's how it went down when I stopped by the office last night. Sometimes, you get the most out of the fewest words.
Yesterday, prior to that conversation, I submitted a grand total of 411 words for LotB, easily my shortest column in the 20 weeks that I've been writing it. Usually, I throw down a good thousand words and have to literally back away from the keyboard to keep it that short. So either there's a lot to write about, I have a lot to say, or I just haven't learned the sentiment expressed above.
And it's funny. Talking to me, at first glance at least, you'd never get that i had a lot to say. My MO, I guess, is to sit back and watch, to take it all in. My thinking is the less time you spend with your mouth open, the more you learn. Listening is a gift I've been blessed with, apparently, although Amy may differ (I'm really am *always* listening, baby).
By being a good listener (at least in my own estimation), I end up having a lot to say, when I get around to saying it. That's why I like blogging, I guess. It's a great chance to take five or 10 minutes and just get it all out. Blogging's kind of like beer to me--the switch for the floodgates of thought, and it comes without the associated hangover and belly, as added bonuses. And in this format, there aren't any editor-imposed limitations or restrictions. I can take my time setting up a punch line or developing a story. I don't feel like I have to strip out all of the adjectives just to make a particular word count.
But I suppose being a bit more concise is a lesson I could learn. I'm lucky in the sense that I write for a weekly, where I definitely get more column inches then I would in different formats. But there's always a limit. If I were to submit the 2000 or more words that I could easily write every week, Tom would quickly find someone else with a lot less to say. It's hard, though. Constantly I find myself feeling stilted by the constraints of the paper. How can anyone possibly get their thoughts down, and more than that, across to readers in so few words? It's learned skill, no doubt, and one I'm working on.
But until then, I'll always have you, my beautiful blog.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Spamtastic!
From Ariceli Self:
"Passport now has more than 200 million registered users although many accounts lie fallow because. The Passport service is key to Microsofts ambitions to get users signing up to webbased."
Is this some cryptic message about Bill Gates' plans for world domination? An invitation to join the heard? Is there Viagra involved somehow?
"Passport now has more than 200 million registered users although many accounts lie fallow because. The Passport service is key to Microsofts ambitions to get users signing up to webbased."
Is this some cryptic message about Bill Gates' plans for world domination? An invitation to join the heard? Is there Viagra involved somehow?
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Just like daddy
So I'm heading downtown to drop Amy off at the Spirit office, and as we're heading down Broad, there's a cop car with his flashers on, and a couple of cops are hassling a homeless guy on the sidewalk. Nola sees it and asks what's going on.
"I dunno, baby."
"Like, maybe he had too many beers or something?"
"(laughing a little) Yeah, baby, maybe so."
"And they're gonna make him walk in a straight line?"
"(more laughing) Probably so, baby, probably so."
"I dunno, baby."
"Like, maybe he had too many beers or something?"
"(laughing a little) Yeah, baby, maybe so."
"And they're gonna make him walk in a straight line?"
"(more laughing) Probably so, baby, probably so."
Monday, October 8, 2007
The answer is 42
Every day (I think) CNN has a reader poll where they ask stuff like "Should Britney get to keep her kids?" or "Does Dick Cheney eat babies for breakfast, or just as an occasional snack?" But today, they ask this:
"Do you think self-doubt limits your ability to live life to its fullest?"
That's some pretty heavy shit. Probably some cnn staffer is contemplating offing themselves, but wanted to do some research first. That's always prudent, I find.
"Do you think self-doubt limits your ability to live life to its fullest?"
That's some pretty heavy shit. Probably some cnn staffer is contemplating offing themselves, but wanted to do some research first. That's always prudent, I find.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Overheard at "Arts in the Heart"
"This is my vacation money I'm spendin'. I'm squeezin' these nickles tighter than a jew."
"What do they have at the African booth?"
"Oh hell. I don't know...fried chicken and watermelon."
What are these people even doing at a cultural festival?
"What do they have at the African booth?"
"Oh hell. I don't know...fried chicken and watermelon."
What are these people even doing at a cultural festival?
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Spamtastic!
From "Diedre Ferguson", to my work mail:
"If you hope to be aware of an expert's advice regarding which way you may amplify another measure in (u know what :P)), buy the right stuff."
I deleted it immediately, cause, ya know, I already have a copy of the Wolfe book.
"If you hope to be aware of an expert's advice regarding which way you may amplify another measure in (u know what :P)), buy the right stuff."
I deleted it immediately, cause, ya know, I already have a copy of the Wolfe book.
If you only knew
From the "whine line" in Metro Spirit last week:
"Jim Christian is one hell of a media critic, except when it comes to commenting on the Metro Spirit. I guess he doesn’t want to bite the hand that feeds him… literally."
Which is funny for a couple of reasons, first since I've commented on the Spirit in three previous colums. But also because I actually get paid in food...literally.
"Jim Christian is one hell of a media critic, except when it comes to commenting on the Metro Spirit. I guess he doesn’t want to bite the hand that feeds him… literally."
Which is funny for a couple of reasons, first since I've commented on the Spirit in three previous colums. But also because I actually get paid in food...literally.
You're welcome
I got a virtual shout-out from a swimming blog run by a couple of Olympians. My giving has no bounds.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I'm dizzy, pt. 2
So here I am, 9 days since my first symptoms and there's no change. I saw my doctor on Monday, but predictably she diagnosed it as "sinus trouble". I swear, you could limp into her office with a broken ankle and two things would happen: she'd give you a tympanogram and tell you to get some Claritin. Now, normally, when she trys to sell me the tympanogram, I tell her to bite me (politely), because it trully is a big ol' scam. Insurance doesn't cover it, so it's a $40 charge, and seriously, if you don't have a bunch of pain in your ear, it's worthless. Kind of like going to the mechanic to get a flat tire fixed and them selling you a radiator fill and flush.
But I bit this time, since I figured the dizziness was from an inner ear infection (even though tympanograms only diagnose middle ear infections. But whatever. As usual, my ears were fine, so of course--sinuses. So of course, I left with about 10 prescriptions for Claritin, nasal spray, promethazone (for nausea) and meclazine (for vertigo).
I've been on the meds for about a week, and no change. The meclazine knocked me on my ass at first, but I'm dealing. And actually it doesn't really even seem to work much. I'm off the promethazone now, since the nausea is much better (guess I'm getting used to the dizziness). But I still get dizzy. Every time I lie down, every time I get up. And, when I'm lying down, every time I change my head position. But not when I'm upright. So clearly there's something going on with my inner ear.
Monday, I see an ENT. Stay tuned.
But I bit this time, since I figured the dizziness was from an inner ear infection (even though tympanograms only diagnose middle ear infections. But whatever. As usual, my ears were fine, so of course--sinuses. So of course, I left with about 10 prescriptions for Claritin, nasal spray, promethazone (for nausea) and meclazine (for vertigo).
I've been on the meds for about a week, and no change. The meclazine knocked me on my ass at first, but I'm dealing. And actually it doesn't really even seem to work much. I'm off the promethazone now, since the nausea is much better (guess I'm getting used to the dizziness). But I still get dizzy. Every time I lie down, every time I get up. And, when I'm lying down, every time I change my head position. But not when I'm upright. So clearly there's something going on with my inner ear.
Monday, I see an ENT. Stay tuned.
Monday, August 6, 2007
I'm dizzy
And no, not from lack of posting, smartass.
OK...here's the situation. We went camping at the beach this weekend. I felt great up until Sunday morning, when I got up to pee. The mosquitoes were bad so I bug sprayed up and went back into the tent. After about 5 minutes, I started getting dizzy--I figured it was from the bug spray fumes in the tent. So I got out of the tent and felt better, still a bit nauseous, but better. An hour later I was fine.
A couple of hours later, we were at the beach. I spent about an hour in the water, then came up on the beach, plopped down on the blanket and instantly everything was spinning. It lasted about 30 seconds, but returned as soon as I sat up. But once the spinning stopped, I was fine. Back out into the water. Felt fine again until I lay down, and then wham--instantly dizzy again. After one more episode, I thought I was going to hurl, so we packed everything up and headed home.
So since then, every time I lie down (or lay down...f-you, grammar Nazis, I'll never learn that rule and you can't make me!), I get dizzy. Every time I sit up, I get dizzy. When I'm not doing one of those things, I feel better, but still off. Sort of fuzzy-headed, like I've been taking decongestants. When I'm walking around, I'm a little wobbly.
No drinking involved, no drugs involved (OTC, Rx or illicit).
So what the hell's going on? Brain tumor? Burst aneurysm? My politics finally catching up with me?
OK...here's the situation. We went camping at the beach this weekend. I felt great up until Sunday morning, when I got up to pee. The mosquitoes were bad so I bug sprayed up and went back into the tent. After about 5 minutes, I started getting dizzy--I figured it was from the bug spray fumes in the tent. So I got out of the tent and felt better, still a bit nauseous, but better. An hour later I was fine.
A couple of hours later, we were at the beach. I spent about an hour in the water, then came up on the beach, plopped down on the blanket and instantly everything was spinning. It lasted about 30 seconds, but returned as soon as I sat up. But once the spinning stopped, I was fine. Back out into the water. Felt fine again until I lay down, and then wham--instantly dizzy again. After one more episode, I thought I was going to hurl, so we packed everything up and headed home.
So since then, every time I lie down (or lay down...f-you, grammar Nazis, I'll never learn that rule and you can't make me!), I get dizzy. Every time I sit up, I get dizzy. When I'm not doing one of those things, I feel better, but still off. Sort of fuzzy-headed, like I've been taking decongestants. When I'm walking around, I'm a little wobbly.
No drinking involved, no drugs involved (OTC, Rx or illicit).
So what the hell's going on? Brain tumor? Burst aneurysm? My politics finally catching up with me?
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Overheard at work
"He had gotten a quote on a 600-pound ball valve..."
Hopefully to have it excised. Maybe I'm a freak, but I prefer much smaller ball valves. Once you get past a couple of pounds, they just become unwieldy. Not to mention the chaffing issue.
Hopefully to have it excised. Maybe I'm a freak, but I prefer much smaller ball valves. Once you get past a couple of pounds, they just become unwieldy. Not to mention the chaffing issue.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
"Discontinue use...
...if you have urges to gamble or f*ck compulsively" the drug commercial might as well have said last night. "Wha?" I thought as I looked up from my magazine last night to see an ad for a drug called "Mirapex". So I thought I must have misheard, so I googled "drug side effects" and "gambling" this morning, seriously thinking I'd find nothing but "Jim is crazy", but sure enough, I heard correctly:
"One of the side effects of Mirapex has been the development of compulsive gambling in people who have not had a problem with gambling before taking the drug. For example, a retired government intelligence worker lost thousands of dollars in slot machines before he discovered that gambling was a Mirapex side effect and stopped taking the drug. A 68-year-old man lost more than $200,000 before his medication was adjusted. A 41-year-old lost more than $5,000 in Internet gambling.
Gambling is only one of the pleasure/reward-seeking activities that can increase in patients taking Mirapex. Other obsessive behaviors include:
- Excessive shopping
- Overeating
- Hypersexuality "
Sounds like a party. I wonder how hard it is to fake Parkinson's.
Monday, July 9, 2007
I do some of my best thinking in bed
Jim: You know what I'm tired of?
Amy: I have no idea.
J: Panini.
A: What?
J: Not the sandwich so much as the word.
A: Why?
J: It sounds too much like punani.
A: (snerk)
J: I mean, it doesn't sound like something you should eat.
(thinks for a second)
Well, at least not at a restaurant or out of a damn microwave.
Friday, June 29, 2007
I'm going to change the world
Over in my triathlon website, an Ann Coulter discussion eventually devolved into a discussion of spanking, spurred on by a mention of the despicable Rev. James Dobson (lord how i despise that man). I'm no fan of spanking. I think that inflicting pain upon a defenseless child just so you can lord over them is lazy parenting at best, and out-and-out abusive at worst.
But in the discussion, a poster said the following:
"Listen, I make my v(olleyball) ball players who I coach do push ups as a penalty. They HATE it. It is painful for them. But they learn quickly to avoid those mistakes which are punishable by push ups."
And it got me thinking. What if parents, instead of spanking or even time-outing, used push-ups as punishment instead? How would the world be different? If your views of spanking are similar to mine, there'd arguably be a whole lot more happy, well-adjusted kids running around. But even if spanking really isn't harmful per se, you could easily make the argument that it does kids no inherent good.
So, what if, every time Nola did something she wasn't supposed to, she was made to do something that was actually good for her? Look around--kids today are fat and lazy. If you spank them, they more than likely can barely feel it because the blows are cushioned by their fat asses. And time out? Please. They're already doing nothing but sit on the couch playing Xbox. You really think more nothing is going to teach them anything?
But push ups. Push ups suck. They hurt like crazy, they make you strain, breathe hard and sweat. Nobody likes to do them. And...they're actually good for you! They strengthen your core, work a whole host of muscles including your chest, biceps and triceps, lats and traps.
Johnny hits his sister? 50 push ups! Susie's late getting home from school? 10! Didn't finish your homework? Give me 20, young man! If your kids are really bad, think of what great shape they'll be in, at least. And seriously, I think that after a few hundred push ups, the kid is going to think twice about taking that $20 out of mom's wallet.
Of course, as with anything, there could be a downside. There's the risk in using exercise as punishment that kids could form an aversion to it (after all, isn't that what I'm talking about?). But that's why I like the idea of push ups. If you instead had Sheniqua run a mile, she would probably associate running with bad. And I don't like that. Running should be something kids love to do. But push ups on the other hand are *supposed* to be despised, and it's OK if they are. After all, no one gets a college scholarship for calisthenics.
So who's with me? Who wants to change the world, 20 push ups at a time?
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