As some of you know, my sister-in-law Karen recently underwent cranial surgery. I first became aware of the surgery when her kids ended up on our doorstep two days before the procedure. Karen had to go to Johns Hopkins for some final tests and we watched her kids. When she came back, she had what appeared to be Cheerios glued to her face. She explained that they were the markers for the surgeon. I can only guess that they try to be precise when they do surgery on people's brains.
When Karen first got back to our house, her youngest son was a bit afraid of Ol' Cheerio Face and did not want to look at her. I must admit, although I wasn't afraid, I too, tried to avoid eye contact. Surgery was forty-eight hours away.
Karen was being treated by a group of doctors led by some guy named Ben Carson. Apparently, he is kind of a big deal. I first became aware of Dr. Carson because a judge who does a lot of juvenile cases made all the kids who appeared in his courtroom read Dr. Carson's book. I always assumed he was a basketball player related to Dr. J. Who knew he was a real doctor.
After the surgery, her surgeon, Dr. Oz, advised her: Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on Earth, or slinks through the seas has a brain. Back where I come from, we have universities, seats of great learning, where women go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts and with no more brains than you have. But they have one thing that you haven't got: a diploma.
I think that is what he said; I could be confused. That could be from a movie. Oh well, this would not be the only time that I was confused by this surgery.
Last night we were out to dinner and I had to take Noah to the bathroom. En route, I ran into some friends from high school. In the course of our conversation, they asked about Karen. I told them that Karen had had surgery and I explained to them the procedure. She had something hitting a nerve in her face and it hurt, so they made a little incision behind her ear and went in and put something between the thing and the nerve and whatever that is, it will prevent the ouchies. It was technical, but I am tired of holding back.
I could tell the girls' heads were spinning, so I let them know that Cheryl was around the corner and they might want to go talk to her before they left. I didn't say anything, but I was thinking this would allow their brains to recover as they discussed some silly girly stuff.
After a few minutes the girls came around to our table and had a nice visit with Cheryl. The topic of conversation eventually got around to Karen and her surgery. I kind of figured that they would ask Cheryl about Karen since they surely did not understand my technical description. I was hopeful that Cheryl could somehow dumb it down for them, but I was ready to jump in and clarify things if need be. I wasn't even sure that Cheryl quite understood the procedure but like every mother bird that pushes her baby birds out of the nest, I decided to let Cheryl try to handle this on her own. What a mistake!
Cheryl mustered up some lame explanation that went something like this: Karen had trigeminal neuralgia. The doctors went in through the back of her skull in order to reach the trigeminal ganglion so they could find the blood vessel pulsing against her trigeminal nerve and causing irritation to her head and face. They then took a piece of Teflon-coated padding and placed it between the nerve and blood vessel. One out of ten patients has more than one blood vessel irritating the nerve. Of course, Karen is an overachiever and was that rare one out of ten case. Her recovery will include prescription meds like tegretol and oxycodone as well as follow up visits with her surgeon. They suspect she will be back to normal activities in six to eight weeks.
Wow, seriously, as you can probably guess, I was a little embarrassed for Cheryl. She did what she could, but there was so much stuff missing. I just decided to keep my mouth shut and talk to her about it later.
When we got back in the car, Cheryl surprised me and asked if I wanted to go see Karen. I thought it might be a good idea for her to see Karen and maybe hear about the surgery right from the horse's mouth. I was on board with a surprise visit.
When we got there, Karen's kids were watching Soul Surfer, the movie about the girl who had her arm torn off by a shark.
The adults went into the kitchen, and that is when I saw it. It was no tiny incision tucked behind her ear! It was a five inch zipper from the side of her head down behind her ear and down her neck. She began to talk about the extent of the surgery and I started to get sick to my stomach. I excused myself and went to watch the shark bite that poor girl's arm off. Anything was better than what Karen was describing.
I asked Karen's husband if he had been able to see her brain. They all giggled and pointed out that he was not in the operating room with her. I pointed out that when Cheryl had her c-section, I was right there, and I saw her uterus so is not far-fetched to assume that he might have been in the operating room and seen Karen's brain.
Anyway, we are all hoping that the surgery is going to relieve the pain and just as important, we are praying that her hair grows back. The half-hawk is cool for a 13 year old, but not as cool on a woman pushing thirty (see Karen, I really do love you).
Please keep Karen in your prayers. The last few months have been a very difficult time for her, but you would never know it. She laughs through the pain and always has a kind word for everyone. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she has taken this opportunity to grow in her faith. She didn't give up a kidney or anything like my other sister-in-law, but she is truly an inspiring woman.
You know what would be even more inspiring? A brain transplant for her favorite brother-in-law. There are times that I think that I may need one.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Shedding light on America's Shadow Party...
About two decades ago, in the wake of the Republican gains of the 1994 midterm elections (when the voters ironically and overwhelmingly rose up against socialized health care), George Soros got an idea. An awful idea. Soros got a wonderful, awful idea.
He began quietly working to convince Congress that Americans were clamouring for campaign finance reform. By 2002, Soros had poured millions of dollars into the passing of McCain-Feingold campaign finance reform, apparently cutting off the vital so-called soft money contributions to the Democrat party. But why would he do that? Hmm.
Soros then set up a vast web of private political action organizations (527 committees) in order to launder money back to the Democrat party without limit, a power allowed under the new law. A law that he knew intimately.
Soros's vision of the Democrat party was more radicalized and leftward lurching than ever before. And Soros controlled the purse strings, of course.
This "privatized" Democrat party is what has become known as the Shadow Democrat Party, or Shadow Party.
Hillary Clinton and Harold Ickes helped found the Shadow Party and are key players as well. At the heart of the Shadow Party is a think tank called the Center for American Progress. They have called the shots on every policy decision coming from this administration.
Some say this Shadow Party is the Clinton White House in exile. Does anybody remember when the newly-elected President Obama set up his cabinet? I remember thinking that for all of the new-tone, fresh, hopey-changey promises, Obama sure was recycling the same old stale Clinton power brokers. By design. But whose exactly?
George Soros.
And make no mistake. Their goal is the ruination of America. The collapse of the free market. Global government. The supremacy of the state over God and over the freedom of individuals.
Other posts of mine about Soros here, here, here, here, and here. My post about the orchestrated devaluing of the dollar is here.
Also, worth another look if you missed it the first time: my post from nearly two years ago, called, "What is a fundamental transformation?"
He began quietly working to convince Congress that Americans were clamouring for campaign finance reform. By 2002, Soros had poured millions of dollars into the passing of McCain-Feingold campaign finance reform, apparently cutting off the vital so-called soft money contributions to the Democrat party. But why would he do that? Hmm.
Soros then set up a vast web of private political action organizations (527 committees) in order to launder money back to the Democrat party without limit, a power allowed under the new law. A law that he knew intimately.
Soros's vision of the Democrat party was more radicalized and leftward lurching than ever before. And Soros controlled the purse strings, of course.
This "privatized" Democrat party is what has become known as the Shadow Democrat Party, or Shadow Party.
Hillary Clinton and Harold Ickes helped found the Shadow Party and are key players as well. At the heart of the Shadow Party is a think tank called the Center for American Progress. They have called the shots on every policy decision coming from this administration.
Some say this Shadow Party is the Clinton White House in exile. Does anybody remember when the newly-elected President Obama set up his cabinet? I remember thinking that for all of the new-tone, fresh, hopey-changey promises, Obama sure was recycling the same old stale Clinton power brokers. By design. But whose exactly?
George Soros.
When Soros targets a country for "regime change," he begins by creating a shadow government... "a soup-to-nuts government-in-exile, ready to assume power when the opportunity arises." And one will arise. They have come too far, and invested too much. First, manufacture a crisis, and then claim to be the ones who can solve it. (See top down, bottom up, inside out.)
Soros has said that he "could do a lot more about the issues I care about by changing the government than by pushing the issues." Soros also said he wants to “puncture the bubble of American supremacy.” To accomplish this, he has created a political apparatus of extraordinary influence.
Soros's American Shadow Party greatly resembles those he has created in other countries, prior to instigating a coup. In the meantime, Obama, who apparently loves the feel of Soros's hand up his back, will suffice to do Soros's bidding. Click here to see how Obama's and Soros's ideology is the same.
This whole plan has been playing out for the last twenty years or so. Yes, progressives are very patient. They have been busy ramping up their actions, and their web now is vaster than ever.And make no mistake. Their goal is the ruination of America. The collapse of the free market. Global government. The supremacy of the state over God and over the freedom of individuals.
I know this is a lot to read and process, but every American should know what is really going on.
More on the Shadow Party here, here, and here, from Discover the Networks.Other posts of mine about Soros here, here, here, here, and here. My post about the orchestrated devaluing of the dollar is here.
Also, worth another look if you missed it the first time: my post from nearly two years ago, called, "What is a fundamental transformation?"
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Obama's new campaign propaganda film… Now where have I heard this before...
President Obama's new campaign propaganda film, "The Road We Have Traveled," sounds an awful lot like a little book that was written in 1942 by Fabian Socialist and eugenicist Stuart Chase, called, The Road We are Traveling. I blogged about it more than a year ago here and here.
Chase laid out the blueprint decades ago for the fundamental transformation of our republic, and our president and his progressive allies have been seeing it through to completion.
Read about the parallels here, from the Blaze.
Make no mistake: President Obama touts these changes as a good thing for America. Elimination of free enterprise. The rise of the state. All under the noses of a mostly unsuspecting electorate. Anyone who doesn't know history, that is.
Wake up America. Time is running out.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Funny Guy Friday… Don't take me out to the ball game...
About five weeks ago, I took Matthew and Noah out to buy new baseball cleats for Matthew. We went to Modells, and Matthew picked out a very stylish pair of Under Armour cleats. Noah, not wanting to be left out, asked if he could get some cleats. I may have mentioned to him that you don't need cleats to sit in the living room and draw. But Noah insisted that he wanted to play baseball.
I know that nobody believes me when I say this: I could not care less if Noah plays sports. He enjoys drawing and is very good at it. He has played basketball and coach-pitch baseball, but those activities are not his passion. I know a little bit about baseball, and while Noah tries really hard when he plays, right now, let's just say he has a few hitches in his swing. On the other hand, I know nothing about art, but I do know that when Noah draws a dog, it looks very much like a dog. In fact, it looks just like a dog.
While eating out with some friends recently, Noah drew about five or six pictures that were awesome. One of the other dads commented that Noah's drawings were unbelievable. I shrugged and said Yeah, but I am not sure what he does with that talent. It was pointed out that if Noah, at age 7, picked up a basketball and twirled it on his finger and dribbled it between his legs, I would think he was a prodigy. But since I know nothing about art, I don't appreciate his talents.
Whatever! I have crushed him in drawing contests, so how good can he be? Anyway, I bought him some cleats and was pleased that he wanted to play.
About three weeks later, his evaluations were scheduled. It was cold and windy that day. Noah had his new cleats, glove and hat ready to go. He was given the number 45, which happened to be the last number. The kids were all lined up in the dugout, and each got five swings. Noah went last. After the try out, I asked him, what did you think?
I hated it! It was cold and loud!
What do you mean loud? We are outside at a baseball field.
Forty-five kids in a dugout and I was the last one. I had to listen to the other forty-four the whole time. And it was so cold, I didn't want to hit that ball.
Great. We were now committed and he hated it. To make things worse, I volunteered to help coach his team. We were all in!
The teams were selected and we were scheduled for our first practice. On my way home from work on that big day, Cheryl advised that Noah had a tummy ache. Yeah, right, sure he does. Tell him to get ready for practice. He ain't fooling me!
As I turned the corner, I was happy to see my boy all decked out in his baseball gear. I was not happy to see my boy all decked out in his baseball gear throwing up in our front yard. Okay, maybe he wasn't faking it.
I went without him and when I got home, I told him that we had another practice scheduled for Saturday. He was not too thrilled, so I asked him why he told me that he wanted to play if he did not want to play. His reply was predictable, I wanted new cleats!
I explained that he should never do that because now we are both committed to the team and once we commit, we fulfill our commitments. He was not pleased and thought it might be easier if we just returned the cleats. Nope, we are going to make the best of this and you are going to enjoy yourself even if I have to beat you every night!
Saturday rolled around and about an hour before practice, Noah came down with another tummy ache. I told him that he should try to go to the bathroom, but, no matter what, he was going to go to practice. This time, I knew he was faking. But to be sure, I told him that his mommy would come in a separate car and if he felt sick, he could go home. He was still not happy with my compromise so Cheryl called him away to have a little talk. I always know when the kids have told Cheryl something that they don't want me to know; she inserts herself into our conversations and pulls the kids into another room. They think that I don't know what's going on, but I do.
After ten minutes, Noah came bouncing out and was full of energy:
What happened to you?
Mom talked to me.
What did she say?
She said to go to the bathroom.
That's it?
Pretty much.
So did I. I told you to go to the bathroom too, you know.
Yeah, mom says stuff better than you! I'm ready to go play baseball.
Get in the car.
I don't know what she said or how she said it, but he was ready.
It was a beautiful 70 degree day. Although Noah struggled at the plate, he was not bad in the field and he throws the ball pretty well. All in all, he had a great practice. He pointed out that this field was much warmer than that other field. I'll say, it was about 40 degrees warmer. The league should invest in a similar heating system at that other field.
But all did not end well as Noah left his glove at practice. When we went back to the field, it was gone. So back to Modells to buy a new glove.
Whenever Matthew and I go to look at gloves, we spend hours trying them on, comparing sizes, leather, and brands. We do everything but spit in them.
Matthew asked me what size I was going to buy Noah, what brand was I going to buy and what kind of webbing was I looking for. I wasn't sure, but I was looking forward to spending some time with Noah picking out a glove. I asked Noah what he was looking for.
Noah told me he wanted a red one!
I fibbed a bit and told him they don't make red gloves and was happy to see that they did not have any red ones. We tried on several types of gloves and he lost interest after, well, uh, er…...after the first one. Can't we just buy one and go home?
OOOOH look Dad... a red one!!!
You have got to be kidding me! No kid of mine is going to wear a red glove. Thank goodness it was a glove for a left-hander, and it was the only red one that they had. Noah didn't care, he still wanted to buy that glove. I explained that he had to have the glove on the other hand, that this red glove would not work. Noah was willing to try.
This could be a long season. The good news is that we need to make a banner for Opening Day. Fortunately, I know this kid who is a five tool artist. He can draw, he can paint, he can color, he is quick from start to finish and he is creative.
What more could you want from a ball player?
I know that nobody believes me when I say this: I could not care less if Noah plays sports. He enjoys drawing and is very good at it. He has played basketball and coach-pitch baseball, but those activities are not his passion. I know a little bit about baseball, and while Noah tries really hard when he plays, right now, let's just say he has a few hitches in his swing. On the other hand, I know nothing about art, but I do know that when Noah draws a dog, it looks very much like a dog. In fact, it looks just like a dog.
While eating out with some friends recently, Noah drew about five or six pictures that were awesome. One of the other dads commented that Noah's drawings were unbelievable. I shrugged and said Yeah, but I am not sure what he does with that talent. It was pointed out that if Noah, at age 7, picked up a basketball and twirled it on his finger and dribbled it between his legs, I would think he was a prodigy. But since I know nothing about art, I don't appreciate his talents.
Whatever! I have crushed him in drawing contests, so how good can he be? Anyway, I bought him some cleats and was pleased that he wanted to play.
About three weeks later, his evaluations were scheduled. It was cold and windy that day. Noah had his new cleats, glove and hat ready to go. He was given the number 45, which happened to be the last number. The kids were all lined up in the dugout, and each got five swings. Noah went last. After the try out, I asked him, what did you think?
I hated it! It was cold and loud!
What do you mean loud? We are outside at a baseball field.
Forty-five kids in a dugout and I was the last one. I had to listen to the other forty-four the whole time. And it was so cold, I didn't want to hit that ball.
Great. We were now committed and he hated it. To make things worse, I volunteered to help coach his team. We were all in!
The teams were selected and we were scheduled for our first practice. On my way home from work on that big day, Cheryl advised that Noah had a tummy ache. Yeah, right, sure he does. Tell him to get ready for practice. He ain't fooling me!
As I turned the corner, I was happy to see my boy all decked out in his baseball gear. I was not happy to see my boy all decked out in his baseball gear throwing up in our front yard. Okay, maybe he wasn't faking it.
I went without him and when I got home, I told him that we had another practice scheduled for Saturday. He was not too thrilled, so I asked him why he told me that he wanted to play if he did not want to play. His reply was predictable, I wanted new cleats!
I explained that he should never do that because now we are both committed to the team and once we commit, we fulfill our commitments. He was not pleased and thought it might be easier if we just returned the cleats. Nope, we are going to make the best of this and you are going to enjoy yourself even if I have to beat you every night!
Saturday rolled around and about an hour before practice, Noah came down with another tummy ache. I told him that he should try to go to the bathroom, but, no matter what, he was going to go to practice. This time, I knew he was faking. But to be sure, I told him that his mommy would come in a separate car and if he felt sick, he could go home. He was still not happy with my compromise so Cheryl called him away to have a little talk. I always know when the kids have told Cheryl something that they don't want me to know; she inserts herself into our conversations and pulls the kids into another room. They think that I don't know what's going on, but I do.
After ten minutes, Noah came bouncing out and was full of energy:
What happened to you?
Mom talked to me.
What did she say?
She said to go to the bathroom.
That's it?
Pretty much.
So did I. I told you to go to the bathroom too, you know.
Yeah, mom says stuff better than you! I'm ready to go play baseball.
Get in the car.
I don't know what she said or how she said it, but he was ready.
It was a beautiful 70 degree day. Although Noah struggled at the plate, he was not bad in the field and he throws the ball pretty well. All in all, he had a great practice. He pointed out that this field was much warmer than that other field. I'll say, it was about 40 degrees warmer. The league should invest in a similar heating system at that other field.
But all did not end well as Noah left his glove at practice. When we went back to the field, it was gone. So back to Modells to buy a new glove.
Whenever Matthew and I go to look at gloves, we spend hours trying them on, comparing sizes, leather, and brands. We do everything but spit in them.
Matthew asked me what size I was going to buy Noah, what brand was I going to buy and what kind of webbing was I looking for. I wasn't sure, but I was looking forward to spending some time with Noah picking out a glove. I asked Noah what he was looking for.
Noah told me he wanted a red one!
I fibbed a bit and told him they don't make red gloves and was happy to see that they did not have any red ones. We tried on several types of gloves and he lost interest after, well, uh, er…...after the first one. Can't we just buy one and go home?
OOOOH look Dad... a red one!!!
You have got to be kidding me! No kid of mine is going to wear a red glove. Thank goodness it was a glove for a left-hander, and it was the only red one that they had. Noah didn't care, he still wanted to buy that glove. I explained that he had to have the glove on the other hand, that this red glove would not work. Noah was willing to try.
This could be a long season. The good news is that we need to make a banner for Opening Day. Fortunately, I know this kid who is a five tool artist. He can draw, he can paint, he can color, he is quick from start to finish and he is creative.
What more could you want from a ball player?
 |
| Noah's latest masterpiece… At least he likes to draw about baseball... |
Monday, March 19, 2012
Jesus at Johns Hopkins
Today, my sister, Karen, is undergoing cranial surgery at Johns Hopkins Medical Center to repair her trigeminal nerve that has been causing her severe facial pain. Please keep her in your prayers.
When she went for her pre-op imaging yesterday, she ran into a "dear Friend" in the lobby. Christus Consolator, heal her.
"Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28
Friday, March 16, 2012
Funny Guy Friday… Who do you think you are talking to?
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So… I married a funny guy...
This past weekend marked the one year anniversary of my father's passing. My mother had asked me if she could spend the weekend with us, and then suggested that we try to get our family together to, once again, celebrate my father's life. She was not sure who would want to come, but we opened it up to everyone in the family. We planned to meet at the cemetery and then go out to dinner.
My mother was extremely excited, and grateful, that everyone within a two hour radius showed up at the cemetery where we read scriptures and Cheryl read a beautiful prayer. Thirty-six of us spent about a half-hour at his grave site, and then most of us went to dinner at a nearby restaurant. Once again, my family came together in spectacular fashion to show our love for my father and our love and respect for my mother.
Oh, but what my wife did on the ride home would have made my father roll over in his grave!
The story starts with Noah, having to sit in the way back of our new Honda Pilot with his head down, playing a video game on the way to the restaurant. Cheryl warned him to look up or he would make himself sick. Noah stopped when we arrived at the restaurant. My boy enjoyed a lovely meal of crab soup, mandarin oranges and chicken fingers dipped in a honey mustard sauce.
After dinner, we got back in our new Honda Pilot; Noah took his spot in the way back and resumed his video game. We were discussing whether or not we could go to Coldstone Creamery to spend Noah's gift card on a yummy dessert. Noah was all-in and ready for some cotton candy ice cream with gummy bears. He was in mid-sentence when he interrupted himself to comment that he felt like he might throw up. It went something like this…..Oooh, I want to go to Coldstone's, I want….Hey guys, I think I have to throw up……my usual, cotton candy with gummy bears.
That little interruption in mid-sentence started a series of events that will live in infamy. Cheryl began to yell, He's about to throw up, pull over! I calmly responded , I cannot pull over, I am on a ramp, there is no place to pull over.
Pull over, he is about to blow!!!
Let me get off of the ramp, I cannot stop here.
While this discussion was going on, my mother was sitting in the front seat. At this stage in her life, she has a hard time hearing and began to ask what was going on. There are many great qualities that I have inherited from my mother, and a few bad ones that I wish would have skipped a generation. One of the bad ones is an inability to react calmly when things are going, how can I say this….when things are going down the toilet. Unfortunately, in this case, nothing was going down a toilet, but, instead, was about to go down the back seat of our new vehicle.
My mother was still inquiring as to what was happening. She was in panic-mode because she thought that one of the kids had fallen out of the car while I was on the ramp. Why? You ask? I have no idea. I am willing to chalk it up to a very troubling day for my mother.
Cheryl, who is typically the calm one, was still on a rampage about me not pulling over. In a move reminiscent of a scene from the movie, Fast and the Furious, I jumped a curb and pulled into a vacant parking lot. In the middle of my turn, while my poor sainted mother was trying to come to grips with the fact that her baby boy had failed to stop as one of his own wonderful kids had fallen out of a moving car, continued to holler, What has happened?
The details of what happened next are still kind of fuzzy, but several young, but reliable, eye witnesses have confirmed that my wife yelled at my mother. That is right. Do not adjust your screens. She yelled at my mother. MOM, HE IS THROWING UP! MOM, HE IS THROWING UP!!!!! If they had been sitting next to each other, I would not have been surprised to see Cheryl slap her like General Patton smacked that soldier many many years ago.
As she yelled, I swear that everything stopped moving and every one's head turned and their eyes locked on Cheryl like a laser. Nobody yells at my mother for any reason. Even throw up in our new car does not justify yelling at a little ol' squishy tuft of goodness like my mother.
When confronted with her anger issues, Cheryl swears she did not yell at Grandma. All three of our kids would testify that, yes, indeed, she did yell at Grandma. If Grandma could hear, she would be the fourth witness against her. I know what is good for me, so I will be invoking my marital privilege.
Despite the mountain of evidence against her, Cheryl maintains her innocence. She offers up the excuse that she was not yelling at my mother, she was yelling at me, and my mother just got caught up in the crossfire. She was upset with me because I did not pull over on the ramp, and because I, and I quote, do not drive gently.
I feel compelled to point out a few things at this juncture. First, In twenty years of marriage, Cheryl has rarely yelled at me but when she does, it goes something like this……..Mark! I asked you to hang up your suits, I am not doing it! or Honey, please stop talking about the laundry, it will get done! Never has she referred to me as Mom before she yells at me so I am curious as to why she did on this occasion.
Second, I do not know what driving gently means, but if it means that people don't throw up when you drive, I do drive gently. I would point out that this is only the second time in my life that I had to pull over for a sick passenger. The other time was when I was the designated driver returning home from a bar in College Park. On that occasion, I am pretty sure it was the 12 beers, and not my driving, that caused the problem.
Upon hearing his mother's lame explanation, poor Matthew was heard saying, In all my years, I have never been more afraid of Mom than when she was yelling at Grandma. The poor boy may need therapy to help him deal with his post-traumatic-stress-disorder.
Everyone should rest easy because I was able to pull Noah out of the backseat before he could do any damage to our new vehicle. I got him out just in the nick of time, as he threw up crab soup, mandarin oranges and chicken tenders dipped in a honey mustard sauce all over the parking lot. As we left that poor parking lot, there was an awkward silence as we headed home. I suppose we were all just trying to sort out what had just happened. Noah broke the silence and asked the question that was on all of our minds.
Are we still going to Coldstone's?
This past weekend marked the one year anniversary of my father's passing. My mother had asked me if she could spend the weekend with us, and then suggested that we try to get our family together to, once again, celebrate my father's life. She was not sure who would want to come, but we opened it up to everyone in the family. We planned to meet at the cemetery and then go out to dinner.
My mother was extremely excited, and grateful, that everyone within a two hour radius showed up at the cemetery where we read scriptures and Cheryl read a beautiful prayer. Thirty-six of us spent about a half-hour at his grave site, and then most of us went to dinner at a nearby restaurant. Once again, my family came together in spectacular fashion to show our love for my father and our love and respect for my mother.
Oh, but what my wife did on the ride home would have made my father roll over in his grave!
The story starts with Noah, having to sit in the way back of our new Honda Pilot with his head down, playing a video game on the way to the restaurant. Cheryl warned him to look up or he would make himself sick. Noah stopped when we arrived at the restaurant. My boy enjoyed a lovely meal of crab soup, mandarin oranges and chicken fingers dipped in a honey mustard sauce.
After dinner, we got back in our new Honda Pilot; Noah took his spot in the way back and resumed his video game. We were discussing whether or not we could go to Coldstone Creamery to spend Noah's gift card on a yummy dessert. Noah was all-in and ready for some cotton candy ice cream with gummy bears. He was in mid-sentence when he interrupted himself to comment that he felt like he might throw up. It went something like this…..Oooh, I want to go to Coldstone's, I want….Hey guys, I think I have to throw up……my usual, cotton candy with gummy bears.
That little interruption in mid-sentence started a series of events that will live in infamy. Cheryl began to yell, He's about to throw up, pull over! I calmly responded , I cannot pull over, I am on a ramp, there is no place to pull over.
Pull over, he is about to blow!!!
Let me get off of the ramp, I cannot stop here.
While this discussion was going on, my mother was sitting in the front seat. At this stage in her life, she has a hard time hearing and began to ask what was going on. There are many great qualities that I have inherited from my mother, and a few bad ones that I wish would have skipped a generation. One of the bad ones is an inability to react calmly when things are going, how can I say this….when things are going down the toilet. Unfortunately, in this case, nothing was going down a toilet, but, instead, was about to go down the back seat of our new vehicle.
My mother was still inquiring as to what was happening. She was in panic-mode because she thought that one of the kids had fallen out of the car while I was on the ramp. Why? You ask? I have no idea. I am willing to chalk it up to a very troubling day for my mother.
Cheryl, who is typically the calm one, was still on a rampage about me not pulling over. In a move reminiscent of a scene from the movie, Fast and the Furious, I jumped a curb and pulled into a vacant parking lot. In the middle of my turn, while my poor sainted mother was trying to come to grips with the fact that her baby boy had failed to stop as one of his own wonderful kids had fallen out of a moving car, continued to holler, What has happened?
The details of what happened next are still kind of fuzzy, but several young, but reliable, eye witnesses have confirmed that my wife yelled at my mother. That is right. Do not adjust your screens. She yelled at my mother. MOM, HE IS THROWING UP! MOM, HE IS THROWING UP!!!!! If they had been sitting next to each other, I would not have been surprised to see Cheryl slap her like General Patton smacked that soldier many many years ago.
As she yelled, I swear that everything stopped moving and every one's head turned and their eyes locked on Cheryl like a laser. Nobody yells at my mother for any reason. Even throw up in our new car does not justify yelling at a little ol' squishy tuft of goodness like my mother.
When confronted with her anger issues, Cheryl swears she did not yell at Grandma. All three of our kids would testify that, yes, indeed, she did yell at Grandma. If Grandma could hear, she would be the fourth witness against her. I know what is good for me, so I will be invoking my marital privilege.
Despite the mountain of evidence against her, Cheryl maintains her innocence. She offers up the excuse that she was not yelling at my mother, she was yelling at me, and my mother just got caught up in the crossfire. She was upset with me because I did not pull over on the ramp, and because I, and I quote, do not drive gently.
I feel compelled to point out a few things at this juncture. First, In twenty years of marriage, Cheryl has rarely yelled at me but when she does, it goes something like this……..Mark! I asked you to hang up your suits, I am not doing it! or Honey, please stop talking about the laundry, it will get done! Never has she referred to me as Mom before she yells at me so I am curious as to why she did on this occasion.
Second, I do not know what driving gently means, but if it means that people don't throw up when you drive, I do drive gently. I would point out that this is only the second time in my life that I had to pull over for a sick passenger. The other time was when I was the designated driver returning home from a bar in College Park. On that occasion, I am pretty sure it was the 12 beers, and not my driving, that caused the problem.
Upon hearing his mother's lame explanation, poor Matthew was heard saying, In all my years, I have never been more afraid of Mom than when she was yelling at Grandma. The poor boy may need therapy to help him deal with his post-traumatic-stress-disorder.
Everyone should rest easy because I was able to pull Noah out of the backseat before he could do any damage to our new vehicle. I got him out just in the nick of time, as he threw up crab soup, mandarin oranges and chicken tenders dipped in a honey mustard sauce all over the parking lot. As we left that poor parking lot, there was an awkward silence as we headed home. I suppose we were all just trying to sort out what had just happened. Noah broke the silence and asked the question that was on all of our minds.
Are we still going to Coldstone's?
Friday, March 9, 2012
Funny Guy Friday… What's your bright idea?
Funny Guy Friday is written by my husband, Mark. So… I married a funny guy...
The other day, Cheryl and I went out to buy paint for our newly refurbished bathroom. I wanted to add a little color and Cheryl wanted to get beige. We discussed it several times and each time, she would finish by explaining that she would find the right color beige. This prompted me to ask why she always ignores my ideas. She calmly explained that she does not ignore my ideas, it's just that her ideas are always better. We got beige….. and it looks great, but that is not the point.
The point is that all of her ideas are not always better than my ideas. For instance, last night she announced that she had come up with a new idea. Every night, we (and by we she really means me as head of the household) will read a classic story to the kids. I find it curious that I am the head of the household when it comes to reading but not when it comes to choosing paint colors.
Anyway, she sprung this on us at 9:00 p.m., in the middle of a silly Disney show that we (and by we I mean everyone but Cheryl) were watching. My idea, on the other hand, was to continue to watch the silly show. Since she thought her idea was better, she stuffed the book in my hands and we plowed ahead with the reading of Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth. I just wanted to sit on the couch and watch TV. I had no desire to journey anywhere.
After some debate about whether or not I should read the introduction, I started reading Chapter 1 at 9:35 p.m. By 9:36, my girl was fast asleep, drooling on our beautiful leather club chair. By 9:42, I began slurring my words, and by 9:45, I, too, was fast asleep, drooling all over our beautiful leather couch.
When I woke up, the kids had already turned the TV back on and were watching some new mindless Disney show. Now, if she had just listened to my idea, we all could have watched TV without napping through the end of one show and the beginning of another. I somehow found it gratifying that the kids urged me to be quiet so as not to wake the sleeping dragon who would then re-breathe fire on my TV idea.
There are other instances when my ideas have been better than hers. In fact, the very first time that we had to make a big decision, my idea was better than hers.
We got engaged after six weeks of dating. I wanted to get married immediately and start our life together. She insisted that we wait at least six months so her mom could plan a wedding. I explained that my mother could plan a wedding in six days; we needed to get this show on the road. Besides, she went on to explain that by the time we would get married, she would have saved about $10,o00. Wow! I guess I could wait for 10k. I mean, I wanted to start our life together, but we also had to eat. What the heck, we'd wait.
Nine months later we had a beautiful wedding and a great honeymoon in St. Barth's. When we got back from the honeymoon, I inquired about our newly combined savings account, keeping in mind that I just blew a bunch of cash in St. Barth's. I was shocked to learn that she had less than a $600 in the bank. In the nine months that we had waited, I am sure we could have managed to scrape together $600. Not that I keep score or anything but that would be Mark: two good ideas... and Cheryl: zero!
Then there was the infamous front door controversy. We have a bright red front door, very inviting and easy to give directions to guests coming for the first time. It's the the first house on the left with the bright red front door. I loved our red door. One summer day, Cheryl came up with the bright idea of painting the door black. Black is the opposite of inviting, and not noteworthy to would-be guests.
Once again, she ignored my color sense and went ahead with her plan. I must say it was kind of gratifying that after two weeks she wanted to paint it red again. This prompted my son Matthew and me to come up with a song that we like to sing to Cheryl every time we hear a particular Rolling Stones song. Our song goes something like this:
I see a red door and I want to paint it black
I see the black door and I want to paint it back
I should have listened to what my husband said
The black's no good at all, we should have kept it red
I see a red door and I want to paint it black
I see the black door and I want to paint it back
I see the neighbors walk by dressed in their summer clothes
They turn their heads away until that black door goes
(Feel free to strut around like Mick Jagger when you sing this; it adds to the experience)
Then there is this blog. As I wrote in my very first FGF, I thought this was going to be a funny blog about the crazy day-to-day things that happen in our day-to-day life. Instead, Cheryl's idea was to tackle two non-controversial topics like religion and politics. Although we have gained some conservative, Catholic friends, we have lost all of our old liberal Protestant friends. FGF was my idea to help soften the cherylyouaremine blog and win back some of our old friends.
The result is that there are more hits on Friday than any other day of the week. Who cares that I embarrass my wife and kids. Forget about the fact that every time something stupid happens, people suggest that I write about it. Ignore that people I haven't seen for months come up to me and ask, How is the new bathroom coming? or Thank goodness there wasn't a child in the car seat when it fell off of the roof of your car! And my personal favorite, Did you really shoot your son in the rear end?
FGF is just another example of my ideas being better than hers.
To make my point even clearer, I just asked Cheryl if she could recall any other times when we went with her idea instead of mine, and it resulted in catastrophic consequences. Clearly annoyed, she wanted to know how far back she could go; could she go back to the moment right before she agreed to go out with me? It goes without saying that not dating me would have qualified as catastrophic. Besides that, her little joke was not very funny.
She went on to point out that she has had plenty of great ideas that have worked out just fine and none of her ideas end with as I put it….catastrophic consequences. Well, we can agree to disagree.
But the good news for her is that I have come up with yet another great new idea. My new idea is to keep her around and give her the opportunity to redeem herself. Besides, we are getting ready to re-paint the bedroom and we are going to have to select some colors that go with the new bathroom. You never know, she might luck out again.
The other day, Cheryl and I went out to buy paint for our newly refurbished bathroom. I wanted to add a little color and Cheryl wanted to get beige. We discussed it several times and each time, she would finish by explaining that she would find the right color beige. This prompted me to ask why she always ignores my ideas. She calmly explained that she does not ignore my ideas, it's just that her ideas are always better. We got beige….. and it looks great, but that is not the point.
The point is that all of her ideas are not always better than my ideas. For instance, last night she announced that she had come up with a new idea. Every night, we (and by we she really means me as head of the household) will read a classic story to the kids. I find it curious that I am the head of the household when it comes to reading but not when it comes to choosing paint colors.
Anyway, she sprung this on us at 9:00 p.m., in the middle of a silly Disney show that we (and by we I mean everyone but Cheryl) were watching. My idea, on the other hand, was to continue to watch the silly show. Since she thought her idea was better, she stuffed the book in my hands and we plowed ahead with the reading of Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth. I just wanted to sit on the couch and watch TV. I had no desire to journey anywhere.
After some debate about whether or not I should read the introduction, I started reading Chapter 1 at 9:35 p.m. By 9:36, my girl was fast asleep, drooling on our beautiful leather club chair. By 9:42, I began slurring my words, and by 9:45, I, too, was fast asleep, drooling all over our beautiful leather couch.
When I woke up, the kids had already turned the TV back on and were watching some new mindless Disney show. Now, if she had just listened to my idea, we all could have watched TV without napping through the end of one show and the beginning of another. I somehow found it gratifying that the kids urged me to be quiet so as not to wake the sleeping dragon who would then re-breathe fire on my TV idea.
There are other instances when my ideas have been better than hers. In fact, the very first time that we had to make a big decision, my idea was better than hers.
We got engaged after six weeks of dating. I wanted to get married immediately and start our life together. She insisted that we wait at least six months so her mom could plan a wedding. I explained that my mother could plan a wedding in six days; we needed to get this show on the road. Besides, she went on to explain that by the time we would get married, she would have saved about $10,o00. Wow! I guess I could wait for 10k. I mean, I wanted to start our life together, but we also had to eat. What the heck, we'd wait.
Nine months later we had a beautiful wedding and a great honeymoon in St. Barth's. When we got back from the honeymoon, I inquired about our newly combined savings account, keeping in mind that I just blew a bunch of cash in St. Barth's. I was shocked to learn that she had less than a $600 in the bank. In the nine months that we had waited, I am sure we could have managed to scrape together $600. Not that I keep score or anything but that would be Mark: two good ideas... and Cheryl: zero!
Then there was the infamous front door controversy. We have a bright red front door, very inviting and easy to give directions to guests coming for the first time. It's the the first house on the left with the bright red front door. I loved our red door. One summer day, Cheryl came up with the bright idea of painting the door black. Black is the opposite of inviting, and not noteworthy to would-be guests.
Once again, she ignored my color sense and went ahead with her plan. I must say it was kind of gratifying that after two weeks she wanted to paint it red again. This prompted my son Matthew and me to come up with a song that we like to sing to Cheryl every time we hear a particular Rolling Stones song. Our song goes something like this:
I see a red door and I want to paint it black
I see the black door and I want to paint it back
I should have listened to what my husband said
The black's no good at all, we should have kept it red
I see a red door and I want to paint it black
I see the black door and I want to paint it back
I see the neighbors walk by dressed in their summer clothes
They turn their heads away until that black door goes
(Feel free to strut around like Mick Jagger when you sing this; it adds to the experience)
Then there is this blog. As I wrote in my very first FGF, I thought this was going to be a funny blog about the crazy day-to-day things that happen in our day-to-day life. Instead, Cheryl's idea was to tackle two non-controversial topics like religion and politics. Although we have gained some conservative, Catholic friends, we have lost all of our old liberal Protestant friends. FGF was my idea to help soften the cherylyouaremine blog and win back some of our old friends.
The result is that there are more hits on Friday than any other day of the week. Who cares that I embarrass my wife and kids. Forget about the fact that every time something stupid happens, people suggest that I write about it. Ignore that people I haven't seen for months come up to me and ask, How is the new bathroom coming? or Thank goodness there wasn't a child in the car seat when it fell off of the roof of your car! And my personal favorite, Did you really shoot your son in the rear end?
FGF is just another example of my ideas being better than hers.
To make my point even clearer, I just asked Cheryl if she could recall any other times when we went with her idea instead of mine, and it resulted in catastrophic consequences. Clearly annoyed, she wanted to know how far back she could go; could she go back to the moment right before she agreed to go out with me? It goes without saying that not dating me would have qualified as catastrophic. Besides that, her little joke was not very funny.
She went on to point out that she has had plenty of great ideas that have worked out just fine and none of her ideas end with as I put it….catastrophic consequences. Well, we can agree to disagree.
But the good news for her is that I have come up with yet another great new idea. My new idea is to keep her around and give her the opportunity to redeem herself. Besides, we are getting ready to re-paint the bedroom and we are going to have to select some colors that go with the new bathroom. You never know, she might luck out again.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Michelle Malkin's "The War on Conservative Women"...
So true.
Read here. Warning: Graphic and explicit quotes by the indignant left.
What a crock the uproar over any conservative comments is. It just proves what I've been thinking for so very long. This is all just a game. There is no common ground with these leftist activists. Everything is for political gain.
Read here. Warning: Graphic and explicit quotes by the indignant left.
What a crock the uproar over any conservative comments is. It just proves what I've been thinking for so very long. This is all just a game. There is no common ground with these leftist activists. Everything is for political gain.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Funny Guy Friday… It's official---I'm old...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So… I married a funny guy...
Do you remember when you were a kid and you thought that your parents were so clueless about current events? That they were the most out of touch people in the world? They didn't know any of the big actors or actresses of the day. They couldn't name but a handful of popular athletes. They didn't know the words to any of the top songs or anything about the the singers that sang them. And they never saw a good movie. They were sad. They were pathetic. They were, dare I say it…..old.
This past week's events have convinced me that I am now officially like my parents. This did not just happen over night; no, this has been going on for years. I trace my de-evolution back to the day that my first child was born. Before that, I would go to movies, I would watch TV, and I would listen to my stereo.
On a side note, I doubt that my kids even know what a stereo is. I remember getting a stereo for Christmas one year. It was one of the greatest gifts ever. It was like having a huge piece of furniture in your bedroom that played all your albums, 8 tracks and cassettes. That's right: albums, 8 tracks and cassettes. If my kids ever found an album, they would spend fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to get the big black DVD into the DVD player. Which is funny because I take fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to get an actual DVD in to the DVD player. Nowadays, my kids are able to download an infinite number of songs into a tiny machine that is so small that they lose it at least twice a week between the cushions of our couch.
Back to my first born----when she came along, I walked around the house singing The Prettiest Girl in The World song. You have never heard of that song? It goes something like this:
Grace is the prettiest girl!
Grace is the prettiest girl!
The prettiest girl,
The prettiest girl,
The prettiest girl in the wooorld!
That's it! I wrote it, I performed it, and I still love to sing it! Besides that song, Born to Run, and Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, I don't know all the words to any other songs. Shoot, when I saw highlights of Adele on the Grammys (I didn't actually watch the show), I learned for the first time that she is not a large black woman. Who knew?
Then came the Oscars. I have never heard of any of the winners, except Meryl Streep. Personally, I thought she was deserving of it based on her performance in Kramer vs. Kramer. Seems like it is a little overdue, but she finally got it. Good for her. Has she made other movies since that one? Who knew?
I also have never seen any of the best picture nominees. Actually, I had never even heard of most of them. But just for fun, I would like to present my own personal Oscars, based on the movies that I have seen in the past year. The accounting firm of Williams, George, Budinger and Evans have tabulated the votes, and without further ado, here are your nominees and your winners:
Best Actor: Your nominees are... Duane "The Rock" Johnson, from the movie Journey 2 the Mysterious Island; Alvin, from the movie Chipwrecked; Simon, from movie Chipwrecked; and Theodore, from the movie Chipwrecked.
Your winner is… Duane "The Rock" Johnson. Nobody bounces berries off of his pecs like the Rock.
Best Actress: Your nominees are... the girl from High School Musical, I think her name is Vanessa Hudgens, from the movie Journey 2 the Mysterious Island; Brittany from Chipwrecked, Jeannette from Chipwrecked, and Eleanor from Chipwrecked.
Your winner is… Brittany from the movie Chipwrecked. Her moves in the dance-off were ridiculous.
Best Film: Your nominees are... Journey 2 the Mysterious Island and Chipwrecked.
And your winner is Journey 2 the Mysterious Island. I am tired of the Chipmunk series. What's that? Journey 2 is a sequel? I never saw the first one, so it is all new to me.
On to the NBA All Star game. Finally, this was in my wheel house; I love sports. There I would know some stuff. The first event had me thinking… if you have a celebrity basketball game and nobody knows any of the celebrities, isn't it just like any old pick up game down at the local community center? Seriously, I had no idea who any of these guys were.
The next event was the three point shooting contest. I was proud of the fact that I knew the two finalists. I was on a cool roll. But that was small potatoes as the next event was the Dunk Contest. This event is the crown jewel of All Star weekend. Legends like Jordan, Dominique, and Dr. J have all thrilled us with high flying action. I could not wait.
Wait a second. Who are Derrick Williams, Paul George, Chase Budinger, and Jeremy Evans. If you guessed that they are the four names I made up as my accounting firm, you would be right. If you guessed the four guys in the slam dunk contest, you would also be right. Who are these guys? You know it is bad when you recognize the guys they are jumping over more than the guys who are doing the jumping. I mean, I have heard of P-Diddy---I have no idea what he is famous for, but I have heard of him.
Anyway, I will admit that the dunks were exciting to watch, and I would have tweeted my vote for my favorite dunker, but I have no idea how to tweet.
So the long and the short of it is that I am sad... I am pathetic... and I am... dare I say it? I am old. This was driven home by my daughter when she asked me to guess whom she thought was good looking, for an older actor. I suggested Paul Newman, but she had no idea whom I was talking about. The person she was talking about was… Tom Cruise.
Funny, I think I saw Derrick Williams jump over him during the dunk contest.
Do you remember when you were a kid and you thought that your parents were so clueless about current events? That they were the most out of touch people in the world? They didn't know any of the big actors or actresses of the day. They couldn't name but a handful of popular athletes. They didn't know the words to any of the top songs or anything about the the singers that sang them. And they never saw a good movie. They were sad. They were pathetic. They were, dare I say it…..old.
This past week's events have convinced me that I am now officially like my parents. This did not just happen over night; no, this has been going on for years. I trace my de-evolution back to the day that my first child was born. Before that, I would go to movies, I would watch TV, and I would listen to my stereo.
On a side note, I doubt that my kids even know what a stereo is. I remember getting a stereo for Christmas one year. It was one of the greatest gifts ever. It was like having a huge piece of furniture in your bedroom that played all your albums, 8 tracks and cassettes. That's right: albums, 8 tracks and cassettes. If my kids ever found an album, they would spend fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to get the big black DVD into the DVD player. Which is funny because I take fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to get an actual DVD in to the DVD player. Nowadays, my kids are able to download an infinite number of songs into a tiny machine that is so small that they lose it at least twice a week between the cushions of our couch.
Back to my first born----when she came along, I walked around the house singing The Prettiest Girl in The World song. You have never heard of that song? It goes something like this:
Grace is the prettiest girl!
Grace is the prettiest girl!
The prettiest girl,
The prettiest girl,
The prettiest girl in the wooorld!
That's it! I wrote it, I performed it, and I still love to sing it! Besides that song, Born to Run, and Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, I don't know all the words to any other songs. Shoot, when I saw highlights of Adele on the Grammys (I didn't actually watch the show), I learned for the first time that she is not a large black woman. Who knew?
Then came the Oscars. I have never heard of any of the winners, except Meryl Streep. Personally, I thought she was deserving of it based on her performance in Kramer vs. Kramer. Seems like it is a little overdue, but she finally got it. Good for her. Has she made other movies since that one? Who knew?
I also have never seen any of the best picture nominees. Actually, I had never even heard of most of them. But just for fun, I would like to present my own personal Oscars, based on the movies that I have seen in the past year. The accounting firm of Williams, George, Budinger and Evans have tabulated the votes, and without further ado, here are your nominees and your winners:
Best Actor: Your nominees are... Duane "The Rock" Johnson, from the movie Journey 2 the Mysterious Island; Alvin, from the movie Chipwrecked; Simon, from movie Chipwrecked; and Theodore, from the movie Chipwrecked.
Your winner is… Duane "The Rock" Johnson. Nobody bounces berries off of his pecs like the Rock.
Best Actress: Your nominees are... the girl from High School Musical, I think her name is Vanessa Hudgens, from the movie Journey 2 the Mysterious Island; Brittany from Chipwrecked, Jeannette from Chipwrecked, and Eleanor from Chipwrecked.
Your winner is… Brittany from the movie Chipwrecked. Her moves in the dance-off were ridiculous.
Best Film: Your nominees are... Journey 2 the Mysterious Island and Chipwrecked.
And your winner is Journey 2 the Mysterious Island. I am tired of the Chipmunk series. What's that? Journey 2 is a sequel? I never saw the first one, so it is all new to me.
On to the NBA All Star game. Finally, this was in my wheel house; I love sports. There I would know some stuff. The first event had me thinking… if you have a celebrity basketball game and nobody knows any of the celebrities, isn't it just like any old pick up game down at the local community center? Seriously, I had no idea who any of these guys were.
The next event was the three point shooting contest. I was proud of the fact that I knew the two finalists. I was on a cool roll. But that was small potatoes as the next event was the Dunk Contest. This event is the crown jewel of All Star weekend. Legends like Jordan, Dominique, and Dr. J have all thrilled us with high flying action. I could not wait.
Wait a second. Who are Derrick Williams, Paul George, Chase Budinger, and Jeremy Evans. If you guessed that they are the four names I made up as my accounting firm, you would be right. If you guessed the four guys in the slam dunk contest, you would also be right. Who are these guys? You know it is bad when you recognize the guys they are jumping over more than the guys who are doing the jumping. I mean, I have heard of P-Diddy---I have no idea what he is famous for, but I have heard of him.
Anyway, I will admit that the dunks were exciting to watch, and I would have tweeted my vote for my favorite dunker, but I have no idea how to tweet.
So the long and the short of it is that I am sad... I am pathetic... and I am... dare I say it? I am old. This was driven home by my daughter when she asked me to guess whom she thought was good looking, for an older actor. I suggested Paul Newman, but she had no idea whom I was talking about. The person she was talking about was… Tom Cruise.
Funny, I think I saw Derrick Williams jump over him during the dunk contest.
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