Gross. NEW YORK (Reuters) -

Gross.

NEW YORK (Reuters) - In the latest act of sanitizing New
York's mean streets, lawmakers want to rid the city of a scourge most
people are not even aware of -- previously worn lingerie being sold as
new merchandise. Council members are mulling the proposed legislation
after watching a local television news broadcast which claimed leading
department stores, including Saks Fifth Avenue and Macy's, had tried to
resell returned undergarments. Under current law, stores do not have to
state whether undergarments on sale, including women's panties and
thongs, have been bought and returned, although certain stores have
developed their own policies. "This is a major consumer and health
issue in that the amount of bacteria that can be transported from one
person to another in just one wearing can be a health hazard," said
council member Tony Avella.

I think I'll stick with Victoria's Secret's online shopping, thank you ever so much.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:47 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 163 words, total size 1 kb.

Gross. NEW YORK (Reuters) -

Gross.

NEW YORK (Reuters) - In the latest act of sanitizing New
York's mean streets, lawmakers want to rid the city of a scourge most
people are not even aware of -- previously worn lingerie being sold as
new merchandise. Council members are mulling the proposed legislation
after watching a local television news broadcast which claimed leading
department stores, including Saks Fifth Avenue and Macy's, had tried to
resell returned undergarments. Under current law, stores do not have to
state whether undergarments on sale, including women's panties and
thongs, have been bought and returned, although certain stores have
developed their own policies. "This is a major consumer and health
issue in that the amount of bacteria that can be transported from one
person to another in just one wearing can be a health hazard," said
council member Tony Avella.

I think I'll stick with Victoria's Secret's online shopping, thank you ever so much.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:47 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 163 words, total size 1 kb.

Obligatory warning to my mother:

Obligatory warning to my mother: DON'T READ THIS ONE (For those
of you who think I'm enforcing some sort of censorship on my mom and
depriving her of the choice to either read or not read and in the
meantime am trying to remain a good little girl in her eyes, well,
you're right. And she appreciates it. She does. And she's thanked me
for it. So there! She's always been of the mindset that sometimes
ignorance is bliss and I'm sure she'd much rather remain ignorant about
some of this stuff and I honestly can't blame her.)
For the rest of you, read this.

Then go and check this out.

Then adopt Stan's voice and say, Dude, that is f@#ked up!

Posted by: Kathy at 12:46 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 132 words, total size 1 kb.

Obligatory warning to my mother:

Obligatory warning to my mother: DON'T READ THIS ONE (For those
of you who think I'm enforcing some sort of censorship on my mom and
depriving her of the choice to either read or not read and in the
meantime am trying to remain a good little girl in her eyes, well,
you're right. And she appreciates it. She does. And she's thanked me
for it. So there! She's always been of the mindset that sometimes
ignorance is bliss and I'm sure she'd much rather remain ignorant about
some of this stuff and I honestly can't blame her.)
For the rest of you, read this.

Then go and check this out.

Then adopt Stan's voice and say, Dude, that is f@#ked up!

Posted by: Kathy at 12:46 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 132 words, total size 1 kb.

And of course you'll need

And of course you'll
need turrets for the archers and the boiling oil.
I'm sure the burglars will start using a trebuchet sooner rather than
later, so you'll also want to make sure you have fire extinguishers
handy when they send a flaming ball of shit over your wall of roses and
holly.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:43 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 63 words, total size 1 kb.

And of course you'll need

And of course you'll
need turrets for the archers and the boiling oil.
I'm sure the burglars will start using a trebuchet sooner rather than
later, so you'll also want to make sure you have fire extinguishers
handy when they send a flaming ball of shit over your wall of roses and
holly.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:43 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 63 words, total size 1 kb.

It's Sunday afternoon. Like Robert

It's Sunday afternoon. Like Robert the Llama Butcher, I don't really feel like reading the paper because it's bound to be full of blah, blah, blah, BushHitler bullshit.

So, we'll do this instead.

FIRSTS
First job: Unofficial: babysitting/mowing lawns. Age twelve. Official:
Telemarketing. For my brother's company. Age fourteen. The less said
about this experience, the better. I still feel ashamed about this
deal. First self-purchased CD:Steve Miller Band's Greatest Hits 1974-78.
First piercing/tattoo: I don't have any. Ugh. Ironically enough,
though, I married a man who has both a pierced ear (closed up now) and
a tattoo.
First enemy: Adam Gouttierre. He moved up from jerk to someone I really
hated in the seventh grade. Too bad his parents were really nice
people. He was their demon spawn. I never resorted to violence when
dealing with him because I liked his parents and I just wasn't that
type of person at that point in time. I see now that that was a
mistake. I should have smacked him.
LASTSLast big car ride: Minneapolis to Omaha in January for the
parentals 50th Anniversary part-aay. Last kiss: Five minutes ago. The
husband, of course. Quick smooch before he sat down to play Star Wars
Galaxies for the rest of the day. Although, I did get a nice peck on
the cheek from Mr. H. when I met him for coffee this morning.
Last library book checked out: Does it count if the husband checked it
out and you read it as well? Pattern Recognition by William Gibson. Great book.

Last movie seen: In the theater: Something's Gotta Give. (Yeah, I know. We have to get out more.) On DVD: Gosford Park.
Last beverage consumed: Coffee.
Last food consumed: Tortillas with cheese at one-thirty this morning.
Evil, I know.
Last phone call: Somebody called yesterday. I think.
Last CD played: The husband's got a mix of his going right now. He
named it, "Progression." It progresses from Cheap Trick to seriously
heavy metal. Tool's Learn to Swim
is currently playing so we're near the end of the CD. Last annoyance:
Nellie's having trouble with all the humidity. The condensation is
building up in the gas tank and she kept threatening to die on me this
morning as I was heading into Uptown. She finally settled down as I was
dodging potholes on Calhoun Parkway.
Last pop consumed: I'm consuming one now. A lovely glass of Diet Coke
with a slice of lime. Marvelous.
Last ice cream eaten: Honestly, I can't remember. It's been some time
since we've had some in the house. I think it was Lunds Bavarian
Raspberry. Mmmm.
Last shirt worn: The one I wore yesterday? A gray shortsleeved Nike
v-neck with white banding on the neck. Today, I'm wearing a brown
Banana Republic stretchy t-shirt that does wonders for boob
enhancement.
I....I AM: Clueless. As usual. I HAVE: To sit down and finish
training my dication software.
I WISH: We'd won the Powerball last week.
I HEAR: Traffic. The husband pounding commands into his keyboards that
will ultimately result in dead Storm Troopers. Joan Jett singing that
she doesn't give a damn about her Bad Reputation.
I SEARCH: 1. my fancy lens cleaning cloth 2. chapstick 3. my sunglass
clip for my glasses 4. my Merrells. 5. The car keys 6. The USB cable
for the camera. And that's all that I can remember at the present time.
Heh.
I REGRET: Not kicking the shit out of Adam Gouttierre. Or at least
taking a swing.
I LOVE: The husband. My family. My friends. Diet Coke with lime. Philip
Morris. I ALWAYS: forget to eat until I'm about ready to pass out. Like
right now. FAVORITES

NUMBER: zero. I love that they had to invent it.

COLOR: RED!

DAY: Thursday.

MONTH: No idea. Like any good dyed-in-the-wool pessimist I can tell you what my least
favorite month is and that would be January. It sucks.
SONG(S): Too many to list here. SEASON: Spring.
DRINK: Alcoholic: Sappire and tonic, lime on the bottom. Chardonnay.
The occasional beer sits well on a hot summers day, too. Non-Alcoholic:
Milk, Diet Coke, Water, IBC Root Beer.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:22 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 702 words, total size 5 kb.

It's Sunday afternoon. Like Robert

It's Sunday afternoon. Like Robert the Llama Butcher, I don't really feel like reading the paper because it's bound to be full of blah, blah, blah, BushHitler bullshit.

So, we'll do this instead.

FIRSTS
First job: Unofficial: babysitting/mowing lawns. Age twelve. Official:
Telemarketing. For my brother's company. Age fourteen. The less said
about this experience, the better. I still feel ashamed about this
deal. First self-purchased CD:Steve Miller Band's Greatest Hits 1974-78.
First piercing/tattoo: I don't have any. Ugh. Ironically enough,
though, I married a man who has both a pierced ear (closed up now) and
a tattoo.
First enemy: Adam Gouttierre. He moved up from jerk to someone I really
hated in the seventh grade. Too bad his parents were really nice
people. He was their demon spawn. I never resorted to violence when
dealing with him because I liked his parents and I just wasn't that
type of person at that point in time. I see now that that was a
mistake. I should have smacked him.
LASTSLast big car ride: Minneapolis to Omaha in January for the
parentals 50th Anniversary part-aay. Last kiss: Five minutes ago. The
husband, of course. Quick smooch before he sat down to play Star Wars
Galaxies for the rest of the day. Although, I did get a nice peck on
the cheek from Mr. H. when I met him for coffee this morning.
Last library book checked out: Does it count if the husband checked it
out and you read it as well? Pattern Recognition by William Gibson. Great book.

Last movie seen: In the theater: Something's Gotta Give. (Yeah, I know. We have to get out more.) On DVD: Gosford Park.
Last beverage consumed: Coffee.
Last food consumed: Tortillas with cheese at one-thirty this morning.
Evil, I know.
Last phone call: Somebody called yesterday. I think.
Last CD played: The husband's got a mix of his going right now. He
named it, "Progression." It progresses from Cheap Trick to seriously
heavy metal. Tool's Learn to Swim
is currently playing so we're near the end of the CD. Last annoyance:
Nellie's having trouble with all the humidity. The condensation is
building up in the gas tank and she kept threatening to die on me this
morning as I was heading into Uptown. She finally settled down as I was
dodging potholes on Calhoun Parkway.
Last pop consumed: I'm consuming one now. A lovely glass of Diet Coke
with a slice of lime. Marvelous.
Last ice cream eaten: Honestly, I can't remember. It's been some time
since we've had some in the house. I think it was Lunds Bavarian
Raspberry. Mmmm.
Last shirt worn: The one I wore yesterday? A gray shortsleeved Nike
v-neck with white banding on the neck. Today, I'm wearing a brown
Banana Republic stretchy t-shirt that does wonders for boob
enhancement.
I....I AM: Clueless. As usual. I HAVE: To sit down and finish
training my dication software.
I WISH: We'd won the Powerball last week.
I HEAR: Traffic. The husband pounding commands into his keyboards that
will ultimately result in dead Storm Troopers. Joan Jett singing that
she doesn't give a damn about her Bad Reputation.
I SEARCH: 1. my fancy lens cleaning cloth 2. chapstick 3. my sunglass
clip for my glasses 4. my Merrells. 5. The car keys 6. The USB cable
for the camera. And that's all that I can remember at the present time.
Heh.
I REGRET: Not kicking the shit out of Adam Gouttierre. Or at least
taking a swing.
I LOVE: The husband. My family. My friends. Diet Coke with lime. Philip
Morris. I ALWAYS: forget to eat until I'm about ready to pass out. Like
right now. FAVORITES

NUMBER: zero. I love that they had to invent it.

COLOR: RED!

DAY: Thursday.

MONTH: No idea. Like any good dyed-in-the-wool pessimist I can tell you what my least
favorite month is and that would be January. It sucks.
SONG(S): Too many to list here. SEASON: Spring.
DRINK: Alcoholic: Sappire and tonic, lime on the bottom. Chardonnay.
The occasional beer sits well on a hot summers day, too. Non-Alcoholic:
Milk, Diet Coke, Water, IBC Root Beer.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:22 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 702 words, total size 5 kb.

Until about three or thereabouts.

Until about three or thereabouts. I was working on the manuscript.
I don't know what it is about writing---particularly when working on
the manuscript---that makes me lose track of time. I'll settle down to
work, I'll plug away for a while, then I'll look at the clock
and---whammo! I will have lost three or four hours. They're gone.
Whoosh. They've melted away like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz
and the remnants can now be found somewhere near those of Salvador
Dali's brain. It's so damn wierd, but I'm used to it...almost. Anyway,
when I pulled away from the laptop to finally notice the time, all of
my senses that had lain dormant for the preceding few hours suddenly
came alive again. I noticed I was a wee bit cold as the window was
still wide open. I noticed the office stank of cigarette smoke (I don't
pay attention to how much I'm smoking when I'm working.)And the guy on
the classical station---Minnesota Public Radio---was saying in his very
soothing "Music Through the Night" voice that coming up in the next
hour (three to four---am) would be the thoughts of "commentator James
Lileks" on some piece of music that I didn't quite catch in my haze.
I was too tired to stay up and listen for it, but I suppose if all of
you Lileks-lovers go trolling through MPR's site,
you might be able to find what piece of music he was enamored with.
With that, I'm announcing that I'm fairly useless today. Don't have
great expectations for excellent, insightful blogging today.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:17 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 277 words, total size 2 kb.

Until about three or thereabouts.

Until about three or thereabouts. I was working on the manuscript.
I don't know what it is about writing---particularly when working on
the manuscript---that makes me lose track of time. I'll settle down to
work, I'll plug away for a while, then I'll look at the clock
and---whammo! I will have lost three or four hours. They're gone.
Whoosh. They've melted away like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz
and the remnants can now be found somewhere near those of Salvador
Dali's brain. It's so damn wierd, but I'm used to it...almost. Anyway,
when I pulled away from the laptop to finally notice the time, all of
my senses that had lain dormant for the preceding few hours suddenly
came alive again. I noticed I was a wee bit cold as the window was
still wide open. I noticed the office stank of cigarette smoke (I don't
pay attention to how much I'm smoking when I'm working.)And the guy on
the classical station---Minnesota Public Radio---was saying in his very
soothing "Music Through the Night" voice that coming up in the next
hour (three to four---am) would be the thoughts of "commentator James
Lileks" on some piece of music that I didn't quite catch in my haze.
I was too tired to stay up and listen for it, but I suppose if all of
you Lileks-lovers go trolling through MPR's site,
you might be able to find what piece of music he was enamored with.
With that, I'm announcing that I'm fairly useless today. Don't have
great expectations for excellent, insightful blogging today.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:17 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 277 words, total size 2 kb.

Michele would like your help

Michele would like your help to make some.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:15 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 18 words, total size 1 kb.

Michele would like your help

Michele would like your help to make some.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:15 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 18 words, total size 1 kb.

In Lenexa, Kansas, my nephew

In Lenexa, Kansas, my nephew is hoping that school might be cancelled tomorrow.
I can guarantee it.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:10 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 27 words, total size 1 kb.

In Lenexa, Kansas, my nephew

In Lenexa, Kansas, my nephew is hoping that school might be cancelled tomorrow.
I can guarantee it.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:10 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 27 words, total size 1 kb.

Mr. H. has been busy

Mr. H. has been busy sending out postcards promoting the Illusion's
upcoming production, Vanishing Point, so I thought I'd help out with the marketing of said production to make his life a wee bit easier.

If you're in Minneapolis or will be visiting somewhere between June 11 and July 3, you will want to go and check Vanishing Point out.

It's musical theater with a fascinating theme:

VANISHING POINT returns to Illusion as a full production,
with wit and audacity inspired by author Agatha Christie, aviator
Amelia Earhart, and evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson. These early
20th-century women each disappeared at some time during their lives,
and the remote island setting of the play becomes their common
"vanishing point." Will they each choose to remain a "missing person,"
or will they go back to the normal routines of their lives? The mystery
unfolds through a gorgeous score by Rob Hartmann and soaring
performances by Patty Nieman (Christie), Aimee K. Bryant (Earhart), and
Beth Gilleland (McPherson).

Honestly, I don't know about the other actors in this musical, but
Aimee Bryant is a phenomenal actor whom I seen in productions at the
Illusion before and she will knock your socks off every time. The best
way to describe Aimee's talent is that she's "gifted." And when she
sings---oh, man. She opens her mouth and perfection comes flying out.
If you live in the Twin Cities, you will want to get down to the
theater and see her perform. She will be a big star one day and you
will be able to say you saw her way back when she was performing in
Minneapolis. I guarantee it. She oozes talent.
Go and check it out if you get the chance.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:03 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 297 words, total size 2 kb.

Mr. H. has been busy

Mr. H. has been busy sending out postcards promoting the Illusion's
upcoming production, Vanishing Point, so I thought I'd help out with the marketing of said production to make his life a wee bit easier.

If you're in Minneapolis or will be visiting somewhere between June 11 and July 3, you will want to go and check Vanishing Point out.

It's musical theater with a fascinating theme:

VANISHING POINT returns to Illusion as a full production,
with wit and audacity inspired by author Agatha Christie, aviator
Amelia Earhart, and evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson. These early
20th-century women each disappeared at some time during their lives,
and the remote island setting of the play becomes their common
"vanishing point." Will they each choose to remain a "missing person,"
or will they go back to the normal routines of their lives? The mystery
unfolds through a gorgeous score by Rob Hartmann and soaring
performances by Patty Nieman (Christie), Aimee K. Bryant (Earhart), and
Beth Gilleland (McPherson).

Honestly, I don't know about the other actors in this musical, but
Aimee Bryant is a phenomenal actor whom I seen in productions at the
Illusion before and she will knock your socks off every time. The best
way to describe Aimee's talent is that she's "gifted." And when she
sings---oh, man. She opens her mouth and perfection comes flying out.
If you live in the Twin Cities, you will want to get down to the
theater and see her perform. She will be a big star one day and you
will be able to say you saw her way back when she was performing in
Minneapolis. I guarantee it. She oozes talent.
Go and check it out if you get the chance.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:03 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 297 words, total size 2 kb.

When I was growing up

When I was growing up in Omaha, I would walk the mile or so from home
to school twice a day. I know. It sounds odd nowadays, doesn't it? A
kid walking
to a school that was a mile away from her house. But that was the way
it was back then. And no one thought twice about it. In fact, I still
see kids from my school, wearing the same uniforms we wore back then,
making that familiar trek. I hated the walk, though. Particularly on
the way home, as there was a huge hill, sloped at a daunting forty-two
degrees (we measured it one day with a protractor---I make no claims
for the accuracy of that measurement)that looked much like Mount
Everest when your backpack was crammed with heavy text books. But once
you crested that hill, you could breathe a huge sigh of relief as it
was smooth---flat---sailing all the way home. As far as walks go, I've
learned over the years that my walk to school was an interesting one in
an aesthetic sense. It could have been much worse. We could have walked
through slums. Instead, we had beautiful old houses in an old
neighborhood to look at. We could have been scorched by the hot
Nebraska sun. In reality, however, we had ample shade from all of the
established trees. We could have had to dodge five lanes of traffic on
an overly busy street with an exceedingly short light-cycle to get to
the school. Instead, we had an overpass that took us fifty feet above
the street and delivered us to the other side. We could have had vacant
lots to look at, but instead we had Memorial Park
and its famous rose gardens. Now, I never really thought all that much
about the "Memorial" in Memorial Park. It was just one of those places
I saw every day of my life. It was where we went sledding in the
winter. It was where we flew kites in March. It was where my brothers
would go to play a game of pickup soccer or football. It simply a park
that was next-door to my church and my school. It was the last place I
saw before I walked into school, and the first place I saw when I went
home. It wasn't until I was older that I realized that the huge,
gleaming, white colonnade was supposed to represent something. One
Saturday, when I was fourteen or so, I actually read the plaques that
are sparsley placed around the park and it was mildly surprising to
realize that it wasn't just a park after all. That this place I had
seen every day of my life actually had a purpose other than the one I
had assigned to it. I had thought it was just a huge expanse of green
space where people liked to go to play. That's all it meant to me at
that point. It honestly never occurred to me that it was meant to honor
those who had passed before us, giving their lives so that we might be
free. It was then that I stopped taking it for granted and appreciated
it all the more. It has struck me, over the years, how many people
continue to ignore places like Memorial Park. The most memorable
example is from college. At the Union at Iowa State, there is a
vestibule that leads out to the fountains and central campus. The Union
is a glorious old building and it was built in a time when
architectural beauty meant stone, marble and gleaming floors; it meant
sweeping staircases and large archways leading into high-cielinged
rooms replete with gracefully arched, twenty-foot windows. That
beautiful vestibule is meant to be the main entrance into the Union and
to denote its stature as such, it was built out of fine stone, smooth
to the touch, opaque to the eye, and meant to last. The names of those
Iowa State University students who died in WWI, WWII, Korea and Vietnam
are carved into the vestibule walls. Unfortunately, there is also a
small amount of blank space on that curved wall, left for those who
might die in future wars. But no one pays them any attention. Because
that vestibule also happens to be where a large, decorative bronze
relief of the Zodiac
was placed into the granite floor. School legend has it that if you
walk directly over the Zodiac, you will fail your next test. You can
stand there and watch the paranoia at work: every single person---even
the professors---who enters the Union by that door will take pains to
walk around the Zodiac and not over it. After all, you wouldn't
want to flunk your next test, would you? Unsurprisingly, the Zodiac
shows very little wear and tear. In the wintertime, the Union
janitorial staff even places the floor mats around the Zodiac, where
the people walk, and not over it. What would the point be? But this act
of paying heed to superstition brings these people within mere inches
of the names of those who died fighting for our freedom. Do people pay
attention? No. They're more interested in not flunking their next exam.
On this Memorial Day, I would simply ask you to pay attention to all
those things you pass by on a daily basis that were originally meant to
make you remember the sacrifices of those who came before you. Pay
attention and notice them, even if you pass them every day of your
life. Let those monuments to those who died for our freedom serve their
intended purpose: to make you remember how lucky you are that someone
was willing to fight so that you might live in freedom.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:38 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 971 words, total size 5 kb.

When I was growing up

When I was growing up in Omaha, I would walk the mile or so from home
to school twice a day. I know. It sounds odd nowadays, doesn't it? A
kid walking
to a school that was a mile away from her house. But that was the way
it was back then. And no one thought twice about it. In fact, I still
see kids from my school, wearing the same uniforms we wore back then,
making that familiar trek. I hated the walk, though. Particularly on
the way home, as there was a huge hill, sloped at a daunting forty-two
degrees (we measured it one day with a protractor---I make no claims
for the accuracy of that measurement)that looked much like Mount
Everest when your backpack was crammed with heavy text books. But once
you crested that hill, you could breathe a huge sigh of relief as it
was smooth---flat---sailing all the way home. As far as walks go, I've
learned over the years that my walk to school was an interesting one in
an aesthetic sense. It could have been much worse. We could have walked
through slums. Instead, we had beautiful old houses in an old
neighborhood to look at. We could have been scorched by the hot
Nebraska sun. In reality, however, we had ample shade from all of the
established trees. We could have had to dodge five lanes of traffic on
an overly busy street with an exceedingly short light-cycle to get to
the school. Instead, we had an overpass that took us fifty feet above
the street and delivered us to the other side. We could have had vacant
lots to look at, but instead we had Memorial Park
and its famous rose gardens. Now, I never really thought all that much
about the "Memorial" in Memorial Park. It was just one of those places
I saw every day of my life. It was where we went sledding in the
winter. It was where we flew kites in March. It was where my brothers
would go to play a game of pickup soccer or football. It simply a park
that was next-door to my church and my school. It was the last place I
saw before I walked into school, and the first place I saw when I went
home. It wasn't until I was older that I realized that the huge,
gleaming, white colonnade was supposed to represent something. One
Saturday, when I was fourteen or so, I actually read the plaques that
are sparsley placed around the park and it was mildly surprising to
realize that it wasn't just a park after all. That this place I had
seen every day of my life actually had a purpose other than the one I
had assigned to it. I had thought it was just a huge expanse of green
space where people liked to go to play. That's all it meant to me at
that point. It honestly never occurred to me that it was meant to honor
those who had passed before us, giving their lives so that we might be
free. It was then that I stopped taking it for granted and appreciated
it all the more. It has struck me, over the years, how many people
continue to ignore places like Memorial Park. The most memorable
example is from college. At the Union at Iowa State, there is a
vestibule that leads out to the fountains and central campus. The Union
is a glorious old building and it was built in a time when
architectural beauty meant stone, marble and gleaming floors; it meant
sweeping staircases and large archways leading into high-cielinged
rooms replete with gracefully arched, twenty-foot windows. That
beautiful vestibule is meant to be the main entrance into the Union and
to denote its stature as such, it was built out of fine stone, smooth
to the touch, opaque to the eye, and meant to last. The names of those
Iowa State University students who died in WWI, WWII, Korea and Vietnam
are carved into the vestibule walls. Unfortunately, there is also a
small amount of blank space on that curved wall, left for those who
might die in future wars. But no one pays them any attention. Because
that vestibule also happens to be where a large, decorative bronze
relief of the Zodiac
was placed into the granite floor. School legend has it that if you
walk directly over the Zodiac, you will fail your next test. You can
stand there and watch the paranoia at work: every single person---even
the professors---who enters the Union by that door will take pains to
walk around the Zodiac and not over it. After all, you wouldn't
want to flunk your next test, would you? Unsurprisingly, the Zodiac
shows very little wear and tear. In the wintertime, the Union
janitorial staff even places the floor mats around the Zodiac, where
the people walk, and not over it. What would the point be? But this act
of paying heed to superstition brings these people within mere inches
of the names of those who died fighting for our freedom. Do people pay
attention? No. They're more interested in not flunking their next exam.
On this Memorial Day, I would simply ask you to pay attention to all
those things you pass by on a daily basis that were originally meant to
make you remember the sacrifices of those who came before you. Pay
attention and notice them, even if you pass them every day of your
life. Let those monuments to those who died for our freedom serve their
intended purpose: to make you remember how lucky you are that someone
was willing to fight so that you might live in freedom.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:38 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 971 words, total size 5 kb.

Courtesy of Michele and Garrulitis

Courtesy of Michele and Garrulitis in response to this article.

NEW YORK — American athletes have been warned not to wave
the U.S. flag during their medal celebrations at this summer's Olympic
Games in Athens, for fear of provoking crowd hostility and harming the
country's already-battered public image. The spectacle of victorious
athletes grabbing a national flag and parading it around the stadium is
a familiar part of international sporting competition, but U.S. Olympic
officials have ordered their 550-strong team to exercise restraint and
avoid any jingoistic behavior.
The plan is part of a charm offensive aimed at repairing the country's
international reputation after the deepening crisis in Iraq and
damaging revelations of the mistreatment of Iraqi prisoners by U.S.
forces at the Abu Ghraib prison. "American athletes find themselves in
extraordinary circumstances in Athens in relation to the world as we
know it right now," said Mike Moran, a veteran former spokesman for the
United States Olympic Committee who has been retained as a consultant
to advise athletes how to behave. "Regardless of whether there is
anti-American sentiment in Athens or not, the world watches Americans a
lot now in terms of how they behave and our culture. What I am trying
to do with the athletes and coaches is to suggest to them that they
consider how the normal things they do at an event, including the
Olympics, might be viewed as confrontational or insulting or cause
embarrassment."

Forgive me for sounding like a jingo, but who in the name of God cares
what the rest of the world thinks about us. God, it's so effing
juvenile. Why on earth should we mount a "charm offensive" for people
who are never going to be impressed with us, no matter what we do or
what we say?
Are we, as a country, really so damn needy that it's essential for
everyone to like us?
Apparently, the USOC thinks so. Hence "the charm offensive." Don't wave
the flag around, don't jump up and down and hoot and holler and be
obnoxious about your victory. Don't piss anyone off, and then maybe
people will like you. Working under the Dennis Miller's theorem that
"life is just tall grade school," let's apply the lessons of grade
school to this problem. Grade school lesson #1: people will never like
you because you want them to like you. They will either like you or they won't. Simple fact o' life.

I was not a popular kid. Shocking, I know. I spent years
trying to get people to like me. I cried. I bent over backwards to
please the Gods of popularity. I wondered and wondered what I could do
to get people to like me. I worked at it and nothing ever came of it.
You know what finally worked? Just being myself and the attitude that
anyone who didn't like it could go hang. It's a brutal lesson to learn,
because you think it's your fault that people despise you and snicker
about you behind your back. You think that you should be able to change
people's impressions. The hard truth says otherwise: most of the time
it's not your fault. Yes, there are the moments when you are an ass and
you deserve the ridicule that you recieve, but those are far and few in
between when you're an unpopular kid. Trust me on this one. The amount
of ridicule I received never equalled the times I was an ass. Although,
it sure as hell didn't feel like it at the time. It always felt like I
deserved it.
What the situation essentially boils down to is that you are trying to
leap the insurmountable wall of other people's incorrect assumptions
and you will never get there. Not even if you're the school pole
vaulting champion. You will always knock down the bar and you will hit
the mat...hard. You eventually learn that you have absolute absolutely
no control over what anyone thinks of you. You just don't. Does this
give you license to act like an ass? No. But it doesn't mean that
you're automatically an idiot because someone says you are, either. I
am not a needy individual, nor do I think my fellow citizens on the
USOC should be so damn needy as to hire a consultant to teach athletes
not to flaunt their patriotism because they just want people to like
Americans.
Commenters over at Michele's place and on other blogs have said that we
should just boycott the Olympics altogether. No. This is the wrong
thing to do. We should go. Why? Because, like the UN, the idea behind
the Olympics is worthy of paying homage to.

According to the Olympic Charter,
established by Pierre de Coubertin, the goal of the Olympic Movement is
to contribute to building a peaceful and better world by educating
youth through sport practised without discrimination of any kind and in
the Olympic spirit, which requires mutual understanding with a spirit
of friendship, solidarity and fair play.

Never mind the practicalities, the ideals
are what has made humanity so damn good, and are also what has made the
Olympics something to watch and wonder about for reasons other than the
sporting events. It's one of those "big ideas" that changed the world.
Noting that discrimination and mutual understanding, solidarity and
fair play should be a part of international sport is a big idea.
America is a part of the Western world. We are a democracy. The ideals
of the Olympic games are modeled in democracy, not totalitarianism. Not
fascism. Not communism. Democracy. Our values are a part of
what makes the Olympic ideal something to be aspired to. If American
athletes should attend the games with bowed heads, apologetic hearts,
while whispering a prayer that they don't offend someone with their
ideals, what does that say about how highly we value ourselves and by
that right, our ideals? It says, in essence, that our ideals suck. That
we're sorry for having them. That, to me, is just wrong.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:37 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1016 words, total size 6 kb.

Courtesy of Michele and Garrulitis

Courtesy of Michele and Garrulitis in response to this article.

NEW YORK — American athletes have been warned not to wave
the U.S. flag during their medal celebrations at this summer's Olympic
Games in Athens, for fear of provoking crowd hostility and harming the
country's already-battered public image. The spectacle of victorious
athletes grabbing a national flag and parading it around the stadium is
a familiar part of international sporting competition, but U.S. Olympic
officials have ordered their 550-strong team to exercise restraint and
avoid any jingoistic behavior.
The plan is part of a charm offensive aimed at repairing the country's
international reputation after the deepening crisis in Iraq and
damaging revelations of the mistreatment of Iraqi prisoners by U.S.
forces at the Abu Ghraib prison. "American athletes find themselves in
extraordinary circumstances in Athens in relation to the world as we
know it right now," said Mike Moran, a veteran former spokesman for the
United States Olympic Committee who has been retained as a consultant
to advise athletes how to behave. "Regardless of whether there is
anti-American sentiment in Athens or not, the world watches Americans a
lot now in terms of how they behave and our culture. What I am trying
to do with the athletes and coaches is to suggest to them that they
consider how the normal things they do at an event, including the
Olympics, might be viewed as confrontational or insulting or cause
embarrassment."

Forgive me for sounding like a jingo, but who in the name of God cares
what the rest of the world thinks about us. God, it's so effing
juvenile. Why on earth should we mount a "charm offensive" for people
who are never going to be impressed with us, no matter what we do or
what we say?
Are we, as a country, really so damn needy that it's essential for
everyone to like us?
Apparently, the USOC thinks so. Hence "the charm offensive." Don't wave
the flag around, don't jump up and down and hoot and holler and be
obnoxious about your victory. Don't piss anyone off, and then maybe
people will like you. Working under the Dennis Miller's theorem that
"life is just tall grade school," let's apply the lessons of grade
school to this problem. Grade school lesson #1: people will never like
you because you want them to like you. They will either like you or they won't. Simple fact o' life.

I was not a popular kid. Shocking, I know. I spent years
trying to get people to like me. I cried. I bent over backwards to
please the Gods of popularity. I wondered and wondered what I could do
to get people to like me. I worked at it and nothing ever came of it.
You know what finally worked? Just being myself and the attitude that
anyone who didn't like it could go hang. It's a brutal lesson to learn,
because you think it's your fault that people despise you and snicker
about you behind your back. You think that you should be able to change
people's impressions. The hard truth says otherwise: most of the time
it's not your fault. Yes, there are the moments when you are an ass and
you deserve the ridicule that you recieve, but those are far and few in
between when you're an unpopular kid. Trust me on this one. The amount
of ridicule I received never equalled the times I was an ass. Although,
it sure as hell didn't feel like it at the time. It always felt like I
deserved it.
What the situation essentially boils down to is that you are trying to
leap the insurmountable wall of other people's incorrect assumptions
and you will never get there. Not even if you're the school pole
vaulting champion. You will always knock down the bar and you will hit
the mat...hard. You eventually learn that you have absolute absolutely
no control over what anyone thinks of you. You just don't. Does this
give you license to act like an ass? No. But it doesn't mean that
you're automatically an idiot because someone says you are, either. I
am not a needy individual, nor do I think my fellow citizens on the
USOC should be so damn needy as to hire a consultant to teach athletes
not to flaunt their patriotism because they just want people to like
Americans.
Commenters over at Michele's place and on other blogs have said that we
should just boycott the Olympics altogether. No. This is the wrong
thing to do. We should go. Why? Because, like the UN, the idea behind
the Olympics is worthy of paying homage to.

According to the Olympic Charter,
established by Pierre de Coubertin, the goal of the Olympic Movement is
to contribute to building a peaceful and better world by educating
youth through sport practised without discrimination of any kind and in
the Olympic spirit, which requires mutual understanding with a spirit
of friendship, solidarity and fair play.

Never mind the practicalities, the ideals
are what has made humanity so damn good, and are also what has made the
Olympics something to watch and wonder about for reasons other than the
sporting events. It's one of those "big ideas" that changed the world.
Noting that discrimination and mutual understanding, solidarity and
fair play should be a part of international sport is a big idea.
America is a part of the Western world. We are a democracy. The ideals
of the Olympic games are modeled in democracy, not totalitarianism. Not
fascism. Not communism. Democracy. Our values are a part of
what makes the Olympic ideal something to be aspired to. If American
athletes should attend the games with bowed heads, apologetic hearts,
while whispering a prayer that they don't offend someone with their
ideals, what does that say about how highly we value ourselves and by
that right, our ideals? It says, in essence, that our ideals suck. That
we're sorry for having them. That, to me, is just wrong.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:37 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1016 words, total size 6 kb.