Monday, January 30, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Nothing ...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Nothing ...: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Nothing has ever been quite this difficult. : Have you ever been sworn to secrecy regarding a ...
The Original Crank Yankers
Long long ago, eons before LUDs or caller ID, young people in the US and presumably in other industrialized nations as well, used to amuse themselves by making crank phone calls. Some were garden variety repetitions of old standards, and were totally lacking in creativity. You've probab;y heard of the. "Is your refrigerator running?" standard line. Another hackneyed crank was to call a liquor and tobacco store to ask if they had Prince Albert in a can. If the person answering the phone was stupid enough to answer yes, the response would be, "Then let him out before he suffocates!" These were, according to my mom, very lame examples of what was once an art form.
My mom won't tell me her greatest feats as a crank caller because she's afraid I'll try some of them myself. I'm not sure just how vapid she thinks I am. Even if the recipient of a call does not have caller ID service, if a person feels sufficiently harassed, law enforcement can subpoena the phone company for all telephone calls incoming and outgoing. Who needs a police record even if it never makes it to court?
My mom is a little freer about sharing some of her friends' crank calling techniques. The older sister of one of her friends, who happened to be the daughter of one of the local school principals, was blessed or cursed, depending upon how one views it, with a very deep voice for a young girl. She was also blessed with a mother who worled until 5:00 every weekday. This girl, Carolyn, was fond of adding a drawl to her deep voice and calling all sorts of people, claiming to be former U. S. President Lyndon B. Johnson. Her usual speech went something like this: "Is this the lady of the house?" If it wasn't, the lady of the house was summoned and called to to the phone.. "This is LBJ," my friend's older sister would announce. "And I don't mean Lard Butt Jennings or Lover Boy Junio." [These were two men living in their town who shared initials with the former president. Those weren't presumably their given names, but it was all anyone knew them by, so those may as well have been the names on their birth certificates.] "I mean this is former President of the Younited States of America LYNDON BAINES JOHNSON, and I have it on good authority that YOUR HUSBAND has been carrying on with my Lady Bird. And I WILL NOT not have this. YOU HEAR ME? I WILL NOT HAVE THIS! So if I hear of your husband coming around here ONE MORE TIME -- not twice, not thrice, but ONE . . . MORE . . . TIME, I, LBJ, am going to kick your husband right in his keaster with my steel-toed boot so very hard that he will suffer hemorrhoids for the rest of his born days. There WILL NOT be enough Preparation H in the Younited States of America or in Canada, or even in Mexico to fix his problem, and God only knows what in the hell those damn Mexicans put in their Preparation H, if they even have it there; they probably just pray to that La Llorona lady to fix their hemorrhoids. I wouldn't be one constipated pissant surprised if the stuff has cat pee in it. YOU HEAR ME? And by the way, tell that bastard husband of yours to keep his hands and everything else off Lynda Bird and Lucy Baines while he's at it. I'm not sure why anyone would want to be nosin' around Lynda Bird anyway, but tell him to keep his nasty pecker away from her just the same. Now Luci Baines, she's a kinda cute little thing. Keep your damned husband away fom her, too. YOU HEAR ME? And if my steel-toed boots ain't strong enough to do the job, I got Secret Service men and I got J. Edgar Hoover and I got Fidel Castro and Che Guevara and Juan Peron and the Pope himself, whichever one he is right now to take care of the job for me, so keep your man and his fat diseased pecker away from my womenfolk. YOU HEAR ME?"
That particular call was supposedly made enough times that people began calling the police, who eventually called the Secret Service to find out if it was really former President Johnson making the calls.Iit even mad the local weekly newspaper.
My mom's style, according to my Aunt Victoria, was more subtle. She had a friend whose family belonged to what is now the Reformed Church but used to be called the Dutch Reformed Church She used to get her twin brother to call people on the church's roster claiming to be John Calvin , the Protestant reformer responsible for that branch of the Reformation, calling them all to repentance. She used to also call this one lady in the directory, Wilhelmina Katerina Groeneweg, who was a neighbor, claiming that her husband was not necessarily where he claimed he to be. The Groeneweg dairy was just across the field from my mom's house, so she could see Wilhelmina Katerina, red-faced and rushing out the door and across the field to the dairy to find Artie right in the middle of the cows where he always was. I don't know how many times Wilhelmina Katerina fell for this ruse. My grandfather, who certainly should have known better, was quite entertained by this as well, and enjoyed watching it when he was at home between airline flights. He said that Artie and Wilhelmina were such an uptight bitch and SOB, respectively, that they were thoroughly deserving of this small indignity.
My mom also used to call Mormons that she knew and tell them that they were invited to try out for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. She'd give them a time and place to show up for the audition. I don't know how many of them ever showed. She also ordered many pizzas and made a great number of hair appointments for her teachers, usually at the Kut and Kurl, inside of which no one who was less than three-quarters Okie would ever be caught, dead or alive. Speaking of dead or alive, my mom supposedly once called and made complete funeral arrangements for her biology teacher, who did not have as much as one toenail in the grave. (She promised to drop off the check later in the week.) The highly embellished obituary supposedly even appeared in the local weekly newspaper. Once the funeral home and the newspaper staff found that the man's state of death had been greatly exaggerated, it was too late to halt the presses. Things usually went to press at least three days before they appeared in the newsstand. This, according to my Aunt Victoria, was one of my mother's crowning glories.. Her legendary status in her former high school stands to this day, som thirty years later.
my PseudoAunt, who, by the wya, is very ill with scarlet fever and possibly pneumonia at the moment and is in need of prayer and positive thoughts, has admitted to this ancient misdeed, or I would not have included it in my blog. She committed a rather clever set of crank calls just before caller ID became commonplace. At that time, if the phone one was using was blocked from revealing its number, it wouldn't reveal the number to any telephone. Now some phone services can see even blocked numbers, but not back then.
Anyway, to make a long but great story a bit briefer, my PseudoAunt was at her tennis club taking a breather between matches. A roster of the members of the social club affiliated with the public courts on which my mom played had just been mailed out all the members of the social club. A copy was in the office of the puclic courts. This document provided too ripe a source of mischief for my PseudoAunt to pass up. My PseudoAunt looked at the list and saw that one regular player had an address and a phone number in a different city, which was not terribly far away, but contacting her would involve a long distance phne call. This meant that if any tennis appointments were made, others would be less likely to call and confirm them because of the long distance toll charge. People then were slightly more frugal than they are now.
So my pseudoaunt and two of her friends used the telephone from the office of the public courts to call roughly twenty-five people to make tennis playing dates with this lady, who shall be known as Marlene Talbot (not her real name). Nineteen of the people called were able to make the date to play with Marlene at the time. The appointments were all scheduled for Court #3.
Two days later, nineteen people were inexplicably standing around Court #3. Sooner or later they noticed one another and began talking, and Marlene's name seemed to be the common denominator in all of this. Marlene was nowhere to be found, As it turned out, she was actually at a chiropractic appointment, if my PsuedoAunt's memory served her correctly. Those who were stood up eventually paired up and played so they wouldn't waste their time, as there was plenty of court space. According to my PseudoAunt's brother, an aunual event has sprung form this crank call. On the first Sunday in May, they now hold the Marlene Talbot Invitational at the public courts where she originally, unbeknownst to herself, stood up nineteen different tennis players, and supposedly a few racquetball players besides.
While I consider the funeral and obituary for the living biology teacher to be her grandest achievemnt of which I'm aware, she may have done even greater things about which no one has ever bothered to tell me. If you know of any of these accomplishments, please respond in the comments section.. I am greatly interested in hearing anything you have to share. Additionally, if you have anything exciting you've done in your young (or not-so-young) days, please share. If laws have been broken, names can be changed to protect the guilty. I most eagerly look forward to hearing from you.
Do Widzenia
My mom won't tell me her greatest feats as a crank caller because she's afraid I'll try some of them myself. I'm not sure just how vapid she thinks I am. Even if the recipient of a call does not have caller ID service, if a person feels sufficiently harassed, law enforcement can subpoena the phone company for all telephone calls incoming and outgoing. Who needs a police record even if it never makes it to court?
My mom is a little freer about sharing some of her friends' crank calling techniques. The older sister of one of her friends, who happened to be the daughter of one of the local school principals, was blessed or cursed, depending upon how one views it, with a very deep voice for a young girl. She was also blessed with a mother who worled until 5:00 every weekday. This girl, Carolyn, was fond of adding a drawl to her deep voice and calling all sorts of people, claiming to be former U. S. President Lyndon B. Johnson. Her usual speech went something like this: "Is this the lady of the house?" If it wasn't, the lady of the house was summoned and called to to the phone.. "This is LBJ," my friend's older sister would announce. "And I don't mean Lard Butt Jennings or Lover Boy Junio." [These were two men living in their town who shared initials with the former president. Those weren't presumably their given names, but it was all anyone knew them by, so those may as well have been the names on their birth certificates.] "I mean this is former President of the Younited States of America LYNDON BAINES JOHNSON, and I have it on good authority that YOUR HUSBAND has been carrying on with my Lady Bird. And I WILL NOT not have this. YOU HEAR ME? I WILL NOT HAVE THIS! So if I hear of your husband coming around here ONE MORE TIME -- not twice, not thrice, but ONE . . . MORE . . . TIME, I, LBJ, am going to kick your husband right in his keaster with my steel-toed boot so very hard that he will suffer hemorrhoids for the rest of his born days. There WILL NOT be enough Preparation H in the Younited States of America or in Canada, or even in Mexico to fix his problem, and God only knows what in the hell those damn Mexicans put in their Preparation H, if they even have it there; they probably just pray to that La Llorona lady to fix their hemorrhoids. I wouldn't be one constipated pissant surprised if the stuff has cat pee in it. YOU HEAR ME? And by the way, tell that bastard husband of yours to keep his hands and everything else off Lynda Bird and Lucy Baines while he's at it. I'm not sure why anyone would want to be nosin' around Lynda Bird anyway, but tell him to keep his nasty pecker away from her just the same. Now Luci Baines, she's a kinda cute little thing. Keep your damned husband away fom her, too. YOU HEAR ME? And if my steel-toed boots ain't strong enough to do the job, I got Secret Service men and I got J. Edgar Hoover and I got Fidel Castro and Che Guevara and Juan Peron and the Pope himself, whichever one he is right now to take care of the job for me, so keep your man and his fat diseased pecker away from my womenfolk. YOU HEAR ME?"
That particular call was supposedly made enough times that people began calling the police, who eventually called the Secret Service to find out if it was really former President Johnson making the calls.Iit even mad the local weekly newspaper.
My mom's style, according to my Aunt Victoria, was more subtle. She had a friend whose family belonged to what is now the Reformed Church but used to be called the Dutch Reformed Church She used to get her twin brother to call people on the church's roster claiming to be John Calvin , the Protestant reformer responsible for that branch of the Reformation, calling them all to repentance. She used to also call this one lady in the directory, Wilhelmina Katerina Groeneweg, who was a neighbor, claiming that her husband was not necessarily where he claimed he to be. The Groeneweg dairy was just across the field from my mom's house, so she could see Wilhelmina Katerina, red-faced and rushing out the door and across the field to the dairy to find Artie right in the middle of the cows where he always was. I don't know how many times Wilhelmina Katerina fell for this ruse. My grandfather, who certainly should have known better, was quite entertained by this as well, and enjoyed watching it when he was at home between airline flights. He said that Artie and Wilhelmina were such an uptight bitch and SOB, respectively, that they were thoroughly deserving of this small indignity.
My mom also used to call Mormons that she knew and tell them that they were invited to try out for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. She'd give them a time and place to show up for the audition. I don't know how many of them ever showed. She also ordered many pizzas and made a great number of hair appointments for her teachers, usually at the Kut and Kurl, inside of which no one who was less than three-quarters Okie would ever be caught, dead or alive. Speaking of dead or alive, my mom supposedly once called and made complete funeral arrangements for her biology teacher, who did not have as much as one toenail in the grave. (She promised to drop off the check later in the week.) The highly embellished obituary supposedly even appeared in the local weekly newspaper. Once the funeral home and the newspaper staff found that the man's state of death had been greatly exaggerated, it was too late to halt the presses. Things usually went to press at least three days before they appeared in the newsstand. This, according to my Aunt Victoria, was one of my mother's crowning glories.. Her legendary status in her former high school stands to this day, som thirty years later.
my PseudoAunt, who, by the wya, is very ill with scarlet fever and possibly pneumonia at the moment and is in need of prayer and positive thoughts, has admitted to this ancient misdeed, or I would not have included it in my blog. She committed a rather clever set of crank calls just before caller ID became commonplace. At that time, if the phone one was using was blocked from revealing its number, it wouldn't reveal the number to any telephone. Now some phone services can see even blocked numbers, but not back then.
Anyway, to make a long but great story a bit briefer, my PseudoAunt was at her tennis club taking a breather between matches. A roster of the members of the social club affiliated with the public courts on which my mom played had just been mailed out all the members of the social club. A copy was in the office of the puclic courts. This document provided too ripe a source of mischief for my PseudoAunt to pass up. My PseudoAunt looked at the list and saw that one regular player had an address and a phone number in a different city, which was not terribly far away, but contacting her would involve a long distance phne call. This meant that if any tennis appointments were made, others would be less likely to call and confirm them because of the long distance toll charge. People then were slightly more frugal than they are now.
So my pseudoaunt and two of her friends used the telephone from the office of the public courts to call roughly twenty-five people to make tennis playing dates with this lady, who shall be known as Marlene Talbot (not her real name). Nineteen of the people called were able to make the date to play with Marlene at the time. The appointments were all scheduled for Court #3.
Two days later, nineteen people were inexplicably standing around Court #3. Sooner or later they noticed one another and began talking, and Marlene's name seemed to be the common denominator in all of this. Marlene was nowhere to be found, As it turned out, she was actually at a chiropractic appointment, if my PsuedoAunt's memory served her correctly. Those who were stood up eventually paired up and played so they wouldn't waste their time, as there was plenty of court space. According to my PseudoAunt's brother, an aunual event has sprung form this crank call. On the first Sunday in May, they now hold the Marlene Talbot Invitational at the public courts where she originally, unbeknownst to herself, stood up nineteen different tennis players, and supposedly a few racquetball players besides.
While I consider the funeral and obituary for the living biology teacher to be her grandest achievemnt of which I'm aware, she may have done even greater things about which no one has ever bothered to tell me. If you know of any of these accomplishments, please respond in the comments section.. I am greatly interested in hearing anything you have to share. Additionally, if you have anything exciting you've done in your young (or not-so-young) days, please share. If laws have been broken, names can be changed to protect the guilty. I most eagerly look forward to hearing from you.
Do Widzenia
Monday, January 23, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Nothing has ever been quite this difficult.
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Nothing has ever been quite this difficult.: Have you ever been sworn to secrecy regarding a matter that is so freaking hilarious that it virtually kills you not to share it with an...
Nothing has ever been quite this difficult.
Have you ever been sworn to secrecy regarding a matter that is so freaking hilarious that it virtually kills you not to share it with anyone? If so, you can feel my pain right now.. All I can do is text my informant with jokes about the matter. I can't even tell my informant's spouse that I know. I would share it with my readers except that, with my luck, one of the people involved would choose this one time to read my blog.
I went to class today. It appears I didn't miss much in the one day of each class that I missed. Since I have no classes on Friday, I didn't actually miss class that day - just one session of each of my Monday/Wednesday classes and one session of each of my Tuesday/Thursday classes.
Aloha!
I went to class today. It appears I didn't miss much in the one day of each class that I missed. Since I have no classes on Friday, I didn't actually miss class that day - just one session of each of my Monday/Wednesday classes and one session of each of my Tuesday/Thursday classes.
Aloha!
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Drugged Out
I'm only semi-coherent because of the effects of the purple sludge cough syrup. i'm taking ot without complaining too much because if I don't, I bark non-stop. Under the influence of the stuff, I only bark 50% of the time. my dad gives me sleep medication as well because I can't sleep through all the coughing without strong drugs. the plan is for me to go back to class on Monday, but if I'm still hacking too much, I'll have to skype. Two classes have assignments due, but I already emailed thm to the professors, so I'm covered there.
The a capella group with which I'm affiliated is on a road trip this weekend, but it's to a place that's too cold for me, and I can barely talk, much less sing. It's OK that i didn't go. I'm not really lucid enough to go anywhere.
Sooner or later the steroids or something will kick in and I will rejoin the human race.
P.S. Maybe it's all the drugs, but I thought President Obama sounded good when he sang.
The a capella group with which I'm affiliated is on a road trip this weekend, but it's to a place that's too cold for me, and I can barely talk, much less sing. It's OK that i didn't go. I'm not really lucid enough to go anywhere.
Sooner or later the steroids or something will kick in and I will rejoin the human race.
P.S. Maybe it's all the drugs, but I thought President Obama sounded good when he sang.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Uncle Michael Is Moving to California
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Uncle Michael Is Moving to California: My dad's youngest brother, Michael., called my dad last night to say that he and his family are moving to California. He, his wife, and thei...
Uncle Michael Is Moving to California
My dad's youngest brother, Michael., called my dad last night to say that he and his family are moving to California. He, his wife, and their two kids are fairly devout Latter-Day Saints as far as I know, but they're finding the environment in Happy Valley a little to toxic to continue raising their children there. Because it's their situation and not mine, I'll say no more about the toxicity and its components.
When I'm thinking of my dad's family, I have a tendency to forget about Uncle Michael because I haven't been around him a great deal. He and his wife are among the few members of my dad's family who have been somewhat nice to me the few times I've been around him.
Uncle Michael is a cardiologist. His wife is an endocrinologist. Being a medical doctor is fairly unusual for a Mormon woman. They probably do not fit in terribly well there . Even the size of their family would've caused them to stand out in Utah.
They're flying out here in about ten days to check out a few job prospects. They've timed their visit so that they'll be here when my Aunt Christelle and Uncle Mendel and their new baby Blitzen Manx are here. Uncle Michael thinks the name is pretty ridiculous, too, but he was less surprised by it than the rest of us because he's only one year older than Aunt Christelle. He grew up with her and has always known just how peculiar her tastes can be. Regardless, he's a new baby, and we'll all enjoy him regardless of his rather silly name.
P.S. I'm still confined to bed. I don't have classes on Fridays anyway, so I'm not missing anything. It's cold out there, so I don't mind staying tucked under blankets while I watch TV or listen to music.
When I'm thinking of my dad's family, I have a tendency to forget about Uncle Michael because I haven't been around him a great deal. He and his wife are among the few members of my dad's family who have been somewhat nice to me the few times I've been around him.
Uncle Michael is a cardiologist. His wife is an endocrinologist. Being a medical doctor is fairly unusual for a Mormon woman. They probably do not fit in terribly well there . Even the size of their family would've caused them to stand out in Utah.
They're flying out here in about ten days to check out a few job prospects. They've timed their visit so that they'll be here when my Aunt Christelle and Uncle Mendel and their new baby Blitzen Manx are here. Uncle Michael thinks the name is pretty ridiculous, too, but he was less surprised by it than the rest of us because he's only one year older than Aunt Christelle. He grew up with her and has always known just how peculiar her tastes can be. Regardless, he's a new baby, and we'll all enjoy him regardless of his rather silly name.
P.S. I'm still confined to bed. I don't have classes on Fridays anyway, so I'm not missing anything. It's cold out there, so I don't mind staying tucked under blankets while I watch TV or listen to music.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men
So much for my spending the day in my toasty bed. My plan had been to stay in my nice, warm, cozy bed all day and let nature work its magic on me while I drank orange juice and ate oatmeal. My mom had a different idea. My Uncle Steve, who is my pediatrician of record, practices in a little town about forty miles from where I live. If my dad is home, he treats me for anything routine, but Dad is out of town until tomorrow night, and my mom did not want my illness to progress unimpeded by anything but chicken soup for an additional thirty-six hours, We made the forty-mile trek up the 101 and up the hill a bit to get to my Uncle Steve's office.
I am often at a disadvantage because I have so many relatives and people who are just like family who are doctors. If you don't see how this can be a disadvantage, come live in my place for just a month. You'll see that you receive more medical care than you ever wanted. I've heard some kids whose fathers are doctors say that they are like the proverbial peddler whose children walk the streets barefoot. Perhaps I would say the same thing if it were just up to my dad -- don't know -- but with having a doctor everywhere I turn, it's impossible to slide a runny nose past them, much less a croupy cough.
Today I was at an advantage. Uncle Steve's waiting room was full, but I was ushered in the back door. My Uncle immediately examined me in his own private office. He gave the medications to my mother because he had them on hand in the form of free samples. My mom says she hates when he does that, because we can afford to pay for our medications, while some of his other patients may struggle more financially, but it's a tremendous benefit not to have to drop prescriptions off at the pharmacy, then wait in line to pick them up again. I received an antibiotic injection as well as a steroid injection while I was there. Injections are among my least favorite things on the planet. I like them more than major earthquakes or flash floods, but only slightly more. Still, I appreciated the nepotism involved in my being seen in my Uncle's private office ahead of other patients who had arrived before I had, so I took the shots without complaining.
My Uncle was incredibly pleased with my weight, which is still at 86. I'm eating even when I don't feel like eating, so I hope not to lose any weight with this illness. Tomorrow i really will get to react in my ultra-comfortable bed. My mom will wait on me and bring me food all day like she's a short order cook/ waitress.. My dad will reappear tomorrow night. Only God knows what he might add to my treatment regime. I'll still be glad to see him, though. He'll play his guitar and sing for me if I have trouble sleeping. I could have used him here last night.
So I'm in my bed, bundled against the prognosticated freeze once again.Thank God for comforters and electric blankets, and for professors who don't insist that sick students drag themselves to class.
I am often at a disadvantage because I have so many relatives and people who are just like family who are doctors. If you don't see how this can be a disadvantage, come live in my place for just a month. You'll see that you receive more medical care than you ever wanted. I've heard some kids whose fathers are doctors say that they are like the proverbial peddler whose children walk the streets barefoot. Perhaps I would say the same thing if it were just up to my dad -- don't know -- but with having a doctor everywhere I turn, it's impossible to slide a runny nose past them, much less a croupy cough.
Today I was at an advantage. Uncle Steve's waiting room was full, but I was ushered in the back door. My Uncle immediately examined me in his own private office. He gave the medications to my mother because he had them on hand in the form of free samples. My mom says she hates when he does that, because we can afford to pay for our medications, while some of his other patients may struggle more financially, but it's a tremendous benefit not to have to drop prescriptions off at the pharmacy, then wait in line to pick them up again. I received an antibiotic injection as well as a steroid injection while I was there. Injections are among my least favorite things on the planet. I like them more than major earthquakes or flash floods, but only slightly more. Still, I appreciated the nepotism involved in my being seen in my Uncle's private office ahead of other patients who had arrived before I had, so I took the shots without complaining.
My Uncle was incredibly pleased with my weight, which is still at 86. I'm eating even when I don't feel like eating, so I hope not to lose any weight with this illness. Tomorrow i really will get to react in my ultra-comfortable bed. My mom will wait on me and bring me food all day like she's a short order cook/ waitress.. My dad will reappear tomorrow night. Only God knows what he might add to my treatment regime. I'll still be glad to see him, though. He'll play his guitar and sing for me if I have trouble sleeping. I could have used him here last night.
So I'm in my bed, bundled against the prognosticated freeze once again.Thank God for comforters and electric blankets, and for professors who don't insist that sick students drag themselves to class.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Cold = Bad; Warmish = Good; (Too Hot Also = Bad))
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Cold = Bad; Warmish = Good; (Too Hot Also = Bad)): Our local weather forecaster has predicted that the temperature will reach the not terribly balmy mid-thirties tonight, and a frost adv...
Cold = Bad; Warmish = Good; (Too Hot Also = Bad))
Our local weather forecaster has predicted that the temperature will reach the not terribly balmy mid-thirties tonight, and a frost advisory has been issued. I'm in my bed right now, and I've covered myself with two heavy comforters and an electric blanket. I very nearly gave the electric blanket away when my family moved. At this moment I'm very grateful for my own lack of generosity. I'm feeling slightly yucky, which is causing me to feel the cold more than I otherwise might. I may even skip one or more classes tomorrow. I've already contacted professors, and everyone says it's fine to stay home if necessary. Secretly I suspect they're all afraid they'll catch whatever it is that I have. They don't know that I don't actually have anything other than a recent upper respiratory infection. I'm just small, but they think there is some chronic or serious illness involved. For the moment I won't bother to correct them because their false suspicions are working to my benefit.
People who live anywhere from the Sierra Nevadas to the east coast would suggest that I'm a total and complete wimp for complaining about temperatures in the 30's, but it is not supposed to be this cold here. We're in a central coastal location. We admit that we're spoiled. We have occasional rain, but we don't typically have temperatures in the 30's. I could say this is proof that global warming is not happening, but I'm not that stupid. I'm not a birther either, for that matter.
My weight is at a twenty-two-month high of eighty-six pounds. I really hope this cold or whatever doesn't undo any of the progress I've made in that area. I'm going to try very hard to eat whether or not I feel like it. If I stay home tomorrow I'll have more time to eat.
I've spent relatively little time in my lovely, cozy room. It's decorated in the same white shade with broght pink and white accents and a musical motif. The large portraits of Bach, Mozart, and Billy Joel adorn the walls just as they did in my room in the other house, along with an enlargement of my profile picture. I told my mom it looks as though I'm placing myself on the same level as the musical geniuses. She laughed and agreed, but said when Uncle Ralph pays the bill, he has some say in what goes in the room. Nothing totally makes being sick tolerable, but this room comes close.
Sayonara.
People who live anywhere from the Sierra Nevadas to the east coast would suggest that I'm a total and complete wimp for complaining about temperatures in the 30's, but it is not supposed to be this cold here. We're in a central coastal location. We admit that we're spoiled. We have occasional rain, but we don't typically have temperatures in the 30's. I could say this is proof that global warming is not happening, but I'm not that stupid. I'm not a birther either, for that matter.
My weight is at a twenty-two-month high of eighty-six pounds. I really hope this cold or whatever doesn't undo any of the progress I've made in that area. I'm going to try very hard to eat whether or not I feel like it. If I stay home tomorrow I'll have more time to eat.
I've spent relatively little time in my lovely, cozy room. It's decorated in the same white shade with broght pink and white accents and a musical motif. The large portraits of Bach, Mozart, and Billy Joel adorn the walls just as they did in my room in the other house, along with an enlargement of my profile picture. I told my mom it looks as though I'm placing myself on the same level as the musical geniuses. She laughed and agreed, but said when Uncle Ralph pays the bill, he has some say in what goes in the room. Nothing totally makes being sick tolerable, but this room comes close.
Sayonara.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Kim Jong Il: His Legacy Lives On
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Kim Jong Il: His Legacy Lives On: I read an unconfirmed news report that North Korean intelligence (?) forces have been detaining citizens who did not express sufficient grie...
Kim Jong Il: His Legacy Lives On
I read an unconfirmed news report that North Korean intelligence (?) forces have been detaining citizens who did not express sufficient grief over the death of Kim Jong Il. North Koreans who failed to attend the required memorial services, in addition to those who did attend but either did not cry enough or seemed insincere in their grief, were reportedly were sent to labor camps known as re-education centers. Also on the list of those sent to reeducation centers or camps were individuals who were hospitalized at the time of Kim Jong Il's death who did not immediately check themselves out of the hospitals when they heard the news of The Dear Leader's demise.
While I have said in jest on occasion that if Mitt Romney were to be elected president, I would move to Canada on my eighteenth birthday, realistically, I would probably need to wait until I was twenty-one. Still, Kim Jong Il and both his predecessor and successor serve the purpose of making Mitt Romney seem almost mainstream.
While I have said in jest on occasion that if Mitt Romney were to be elected president, I would move to Canada on my eighteenth birthday, realistically, I would probably need to wait until I was twenty-one. Still, Kim Jong Il and both his predecessor and successor serve the purpose of making Mitt Romney seem almost mainstream.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
New Quarter, New Courses: The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I've now attended each of my classes for this quarter. I'm taking only sixteen units, which is a light load, but I took heavy loads over the summer and in the fall, so I'm somewhat entitled. I'll take twenty units in spring, and I'll probably take at least one session of summer quarter.
What I've seen so far reaffirms the wisdom of my choice of academic institutions if only for the entertainment value. In the courses in which my classmates haven't provided a source of amusement for the entire time I was confined there, the professors more than picked up the slack. I thought my cat-toting professor from last quarter had to be the strangest professor I would ever encounter. I was dead wrong. She's not even close to two of them that I have this quarter. One of them has a pet cougar. The day she brings the cougar to class or the day she asks the class to meet for a session at her home is the day I'm suddenly and inexplicably sick. The other strange professor is just . . . odd. I'll write about him another time. He deserves his very own blog post.
For all of you who are back in session, you have my sympathy. For those who are still on break, your term will end after mine, so Karmic forces are at work.
What I've seen so far reaffirms the wisdom of my choice of academic institutions if only for the entertainment value. In the courses in which my classmates haven't provided a source of amusement for the entire time I was confined there, the professors more than picked up the slack. I thought my cat-toting professor from last quarter had to be the strangest professor I would ever encounter. I was dead wrong. She's not even close to two of them that I have this quarter. One of them has a pet cougar. The day she brings the cougar to class or the day she asks the class to meet for a session at her home is the day I'm suddenly and inexplicably sick. The other strange professor is just . . . odd. I'll write about him another time. He deserves his very own blog post.
For all of you who are back in session, you have my sympathy. For those who are still on break, your term will end after mine, so Karmic forces are at work.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Public Opinion Poll - I Just Want to Know
How many readers have ever accepted a ride from a member of the opposite sex that they didn't know?
Sunday, January 8, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Immunity, Illness, and University Class Attendance...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Immunity, Illness, and University Class Attendance...: Last night I babysat the children of my surgeon. he did a routine check of the incision site and gnereal area where my spleen used to be. H...
Immunity, Illness, and University Class Attendance
Last night I babysat the children of my surgeon. he did a routine check of the incision site and gnereal area where my spleen used to be. He said that everything has healed very well. Loss of a spleen often results in a weakened immune system. Sometimes other aspucts of one's natural immune powers compensate; sometimes they don't. For now, my surgeon says, the best thing to do is to take a basic multivitamin spllement daily, in addition to a weekly Vitamnin B-12 shot, which I hate, and then just watch and wait. Hitting my system with heavy immunoglobins could impair my body's ability to do what it already knows how to do.
My surgeon reminded me to stay away from sick people n general. If a person in one of my classes is hacking and coughing away, or otherwise looks ill, I should sit as far from the person as possible. My surgeon gave me two notes, to be used only in emergencies, such as any case where I enter a moderate to small classroom and more than three people are obviously polluting it with sick germs. In such cases, I'm to give one of the notes to my professor and to leave. If it's during a test, I'm to ask if I may sit outside the door to take my exam. If it's just a lecture, the hope is that my instructor will give me the missed notes, or I can get them from another student. I take clear and thorough notes and try to be quick to offer them to others when needed so that others will feel obligated to reciprocate if I need their notes.
Fortunately, my university is in an area with a mild climate, so the very worst of the flu season does not hit us in a big way. Still, when exists a large student population, most of whom live either in dorms or in crowded apartments, and many of whom consider alcohol one of the four basic food groups, illness is going to come up and it will be passed around. My goal is to make it through the winter without pneumonia or even croup. I get croup with a bad cold or flu. often pneumonia accompanies it. I live in a mild climate area, but, as we know, being cold does not cause one to get a cold or any other illness for the most part. (A thorough chill can lower resistance, perhaps, but being cold and catching a cold are two different things entirely.)
Some of my fellow students will get sick on occasion. some will come to class sick, because if they use up all the days that it's reasonable to skip class for the days when they're hung over, they're forced to come to school when they have bona fide illnesses. This may be a more pronounced tendency at a recognized party school that's also a somewhat prestigious academic institution, but the same thing happens even at school where relatively few alcohol-related parties happen. In some cases it may be just that students stay up too late watching movies and socializing even without the involvement of alcohol or other mood-altering substances, then feel too tired to go to class the next day. Evidence for this is that there is a higher rate of absenteeism and of sick students in the classroom in classes beginning before 10:00 a.m. than at any other time of day. A student misses the maximum number of class periods he or she can miss by simply rendering himself or herself hungover or otherwise too exhausted to get out of bed. Then when the stuent has a bon fide illness, even if the professor doesn't keep track of attendance, a student with any sense of reality knows when he or she has missed all the class sessions he or she can miss without jeopardizing his or her grade.
Last quarter one of my doctors sent notes to each of my professors informing them that they had an immunosuppressed student or students(no names were given) in one or more of their courses, and that they should refer any student who appeared ill to the health center and require clearance before allowing the ill student back in class. Some teachers followed the policy; when I developed mono, before I knew I was sick, the professor noticed and sent for the health center personnel to take me to their facility. Others ignored it, or maybe they thought unless a person was rolling on the floor in a full-blown tonic-clonic (grand mal)seizure, the illness wasn't serious enough for the policy to apply. In other cases still, the professor read the note aloud to each of his or her classes, causing students to look around at classmates and try to decide if the immunosuppressed student was among them. Even the professors who did this seemed to be looking aaround for the person who was so "special" as to dare to affect the attendance of others. (The professors usually feel that all students, healthy or not, should be in class if they're not barfing at the moment, but should be seated as far from the professor as possible. Their exceptions to this rule would be TB or SARS.) Tthere would be a lot of pointing and a great deal of denying. Then they'd take a look at me and be silent. They probably think I'm a cancer patient; they just can't figure out why I have so much hair.
The surgeon says he's going to send out letters to my professors this quarter because while the doctors are still trying to decide how to effectively deal with my state of immunity, whatever it may be, it's all the more important than ever that obviously sick people not be sharing their germs with me. I think I will give him a fake class schedule, as I'm not certain his plan really accomplishes anything other than making me the object of scrutiny when, at 5' 1" and 84 pounds, I already receive more scrutiny than anyone my age would want. Why subject myself to the scrutiny of my peers for little or no gain? Sick people in classes, teaching classes, cooking our food at restaurants, or taking care of us at hospitals, are a fact of life. Life will not stop while a person with an infectious disease recovers. I can ultimately decide upon a career that exposes me to a minimal numbetr of sick people and can alter my lifestyle to avoid those in theatres, restaurants, and churches if i find it necessary (Monsignor, the reason I haven't been in church for six months is because my doctor told me to stay away. Seriously.)
My surgeon reminded me to stay away from sick people n general. If a person in one of my classes is hacking and coughing away, or otherwise looks ill, I should sit as far from the person as possible. My surgeon gave me two notes, to be used only in emergencies, such as any case where I enter a moderate to small classroom and more than three people are obviously polluting it with sick germs. In such cases, I'm to give one of the notes to my professor and to leave. If it's during a test, I'm to ask if I may sit outside the door to take my exam. If it's just a lecture, the hope is that my instructor will give me the missed notes, or I can get them from another student. I take clear and thorough notes and try to be quick to offer them to others when needed so that others will feel obligated to reciprocate if I need their notes.
Fortunately, my university is in an area with a mild climate, so the very worst of the flu season does not hit us in a big way. Still, when exists a large student population, most of whom live either in dorms or in crowded apartments, and many of whom consider alcohol one of the four basic food groups, illness is going to come up and it will be passed around. My goal is to make it through the winter without pneumonia or even croup. I get croup with a bad cold or flu. often pneumonia accompanies it. I live in a mild climate area, but, as we know, being cold does not cause one to get a cold or any other illness for the most part. (A thorough chill can lower resistance, perhaps, but being cold and catching a cold are two different things entirely.)
Some of my fellow students will get sick on occasion. some will come to class sick, because if they use up all the days that it's reasonable to skip class for the days when they're hung over, they're forced to come to school when they have bona fide illnesses. This may be a more pronounced tendency at a recognized party school that's also a somewhat prestigious academic institution, but the same thing happens even at school where relatively few alcohol-related parties happen. In some cases it may be just that students stay up too late watching movies and socializing even without the involvement of alcohol or other mood-altering substances, then feel too tired to go to class the next day. Evidence for this is that there is a higher rate of absenteeism and of sick students in the classroom in classes beginning before 10:00 a.m. than at any other time of day. A student misses the maximum number of class periods he or she can miss by simply rendering himself or herself hungover or otherwise too exhausted to get out of bed. Then when the stuent has a bon fide illness, even if the professor doesn't keep track of attendance, a student with any sense of reality knows when he or she has missed all the class sessions he or she can miss without jeopardizing his or her grade.
Last quarter one of my doctors sent notes to each of my professors informing them that they had an immunosuppressed student or students(no names were given) in one or more of their courses, and that they should refer any student who appeared ill to the health center and require clearance before allowing the ill student back in class. Some teachers followed the policy; when I developed mono, before I knew I was sick, the professor noticed and sent for the health center personnel to take me to their facility. Others ignored it, or maybe they thought unless a person was rolling on the floor in a full-blown tonic-clonic (grand mal)seizure, the illness wasn't serious enough for the policy to apply. In other cases still, the professor read the note aloud to each of his or her classes, causing students to look around at classmates and try to decide if the immunosuppressed student was among them. Even the professors who did this seemed to be looking aaround for the person who was so "special" as to dare to affect the attendance of others. (The professors usually feel that all students, healthy or not, should be in class if they're not barfing at the moment, but should be seated as far from the professor as possible. Their exceptions to this rule would be TB or SARS.) Tthere would be a lot of pointing and a great deal of denying. Then they'd take a look at me and be silent. They probably think I'm a cancer patient; they just can't figure out why I have so much hair.
The surgeon says he's going to send out letters to my professors this quarter because while the doctors are still trying to decide how to effectively deal with my state of immunity, whatever it may be, it's all the more important than ever that obviously sick people not be sharing their germs with me. I think I will give him a fake class schedule, as I'm not certain his plan really accomplishes anything other than making me the object of scrutiny when, at 5' 1" and 84 pounds, I already receive more scrutiny than anyone my age would want. Why subject myself to the scrutiny of my peers for little or no gain? Sick people in classes, teaching classes, cooking our food at restaurants, or taking care of us at hospitals, are a fact of life. Life will not stop while a person with an infectious disease recovers. I can ultimately decide upon a career that exposes me to a minimal numbetr of sick people and can alter my lifestyle to avoid those in theatres, restaurants, and churches if i find it necessary (Monsignor, the reason I haven't been in church for six months is because my doctor told me to stay away. Seriously.)
Babysitting
My mom and I are babysitting the four youngest siblings of my friend who is a boy. The parents went out for a rare night with no children. We had a one-year-old, a two-year-old, a six-year-old, and a nine-year-old. The oldeer two were fairly self-sufficient. The two-year-old boy and the baby were a blast. I could have done this very easily without my mommy's assistance, but the childen's father was afraid the booheyman might get us if there wasn't someone in the house who looks like an adult. Someday I'll look like an adult. In the meantime, I get to bring my mommy along when I babysit.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Home Again
I've been away from my parents and my dog for a week. I enjoy my vacations from my parents, and I'm sure they enjoy the time away from me as well, but it's always nice to return home. I can often have more fun when my parents aren't around because other people who supervise me aren't quite as restrictive, but I do miss Mom and Dad. As for my dog, I'd love to take her everywhere with me, but it's not practical. If Icould, I'd get fake documentation that she's a service dog, but then she, not being a real service dog, would probably pick a fight with someone's real service dog and blow her cover. I have to settle for enjoying her at home and on our runs. My parents let me run with her because i would be difficult to kidnap with her by my side.
School has already started for my university, but I had medical clearance for this week. My mom attended classes for me and took notes, but she won't give me the notes until Monday and says I have nothing dues except a relatively small amount of reading, which she will give me on Saturday. I'm only taking sixteen unit, which is a drop from lat semester. I've already completed fourty-four credits since last summer, and I have thirty-six credits of AP. I'm tehcnically a junior, but I'll spend at least three years at the universtiy I think, unless it starts bugging me as much as it did last semester. In that case, i'll finish as fast as possible and get out of here.
I cnanot do any interscholastic sports because of the surgeries I had last summer and late last fall. If I want, I can either run track or dive next year. I'm keeping my options open. My surgeon wants me to work out on a very limited basis with the track team because my appetite is better when I'm exercising and I build up muscle mass. I'll consider it.
My weight is up to a whopping 84 pounds, which is as high as it's been since before I broke my leg and collarbone in spring of 2010. (The combined weights of my PseudoAunt and I are now only four pounds below my PseudoUncle's weight of 185.) My parents say if I can get my weight up to 90 on a consistent basis, they will alllow me to use my money to buy a car. I'll do what I can, but six pounds is a lot for me to gain. It's not that I don't want to gain it, but I can only eat so much.
Peace
School has already started for my university, but I had medical clearance for this week. My mom attended classes for me and took notes, but she won't give me the notes until Monday and says I have nothing dues except a relatively small amount of reading, which she will give me on Saturday. I'm only taking sixteen unit, which is a drop from lat semester. I've already completed fourty-four credits since last summer, and I have thirty-six credits of AP. I'm tehcnically a junior, but I'll spend at least three years at the universtiy I think, unless it starts bugging me as much as it did last semester. In that case, i'll finish as fast as possible and get out of here.
I cnanot do any interscholastic sports because of the surgeries I had last summer and late last fall. If I want, I can either run track or dive next year. I'm keeping my options open. My surgeon wants me to work out on a very limited basis with the track team because my appetite is better when I'm exercising and I build up muscle mass. I'll consider it.
My weight is up to a whopping 84 pounds, which is as high as it's been since before I broke my leg and collarbone in spring of 2010. (The combined weights of my PseudoAunt and I are now only four pounds below my PseudoUncle's weight of 185.) My parents say if I can get my weight up to 90 on a consistent basis, they will alllow me to use my money to buy a car. I'll do what I can, but six pounds is a lot for me to gain. It's not that I don't want to gain it, but I can only eat so much.
Peace
Thursday, January 5, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Michele Bachman induces Migraines
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Michele Bachman induces Migraines: I had the beginnings of a migraine when i went to sleep. Sometimes, if 'm lucky, I can fall asleep with the early signs of a migraine and be...
Michele Bachman induces Migraines
I had the beginnings of a migraine when i went to sleep. Sometimes, if 'm lucky, I can fall asleep with the early signs of a migraine and beat the dastardly headache through sheer willpower and sleep. Such was not to be the case. Someone left the TV on downstaris. A news channel was replaying parts of Michele bahcman's Iowa campaign speeches and her concession speech. There's somthing about her voice that gives me headaches. in this case, i didn't reach the level of full consciousness, in which case I would have gotten aut of bed and turned the TV off. Instead, the words of Michele Bachman incorporated themselves into my dreasm, and there was no escaoing the grating sound of her voice. suddenly I was back in middle school, and Michelle Bachman was my English teacher. Didn't everyone have at least one middle school teacher who bore an uncanny resemblance to Michele Bachman?
Eventually I reached the stage of semi-consciousness and realized that the content of my stomach were not to remain in my stomach much longer. i made it to the bathroom in time to avoid any messy situations. In my beeline to the porcelain God, I must have made enough noise to awaken most of the household. The three adults were awake and staring at me when I emerged from the bathroom. I tired explaining about Michele Bachman and middle school teachers, but my aunt just guided me to the direction of my sofa bed.
My temp was slightly below normal, blood pressure was a little low, heartrate was a little fast and eyes were normal, All of these were consistent with migraines except that sometimes pupil size can differ from one eye t the next. Had I listened to any more of Michelle Bachman, one pupil would have been the size of a pinpoint, while the other wuld have covered my entire iris. I exited for the bathroom in the nick of time, and when I awoke, someone had mercifully turned off the TV.
The other doctor across the street -- my surgeon -= had my headache medication. He took a quick look at me and concluded what the other doctor had concluded. my aunt whispered to him, "Just don't ask her what brought it on. She''ll start rambling about michelle Bachman." The surgeon rolled his eyes as he filled a syringe.
i'mnot fond of injections, but i'm even less fond of migraines, so I took the shot with not fighting, arguing, or complaining. The adult stood as sentries, watching to ensure that I didn't have an anaphylactic reaction tothe medicine I'd received in the same form and dosage as before. exactly what they planned ot do about it if I di go into shock a a reult of an allergic reaction was a mysetery. I didn't see a breathing tube naywhere near. Maybe one of the doctors was hiding one up his sleeve.
The effects of the medication hit before the waiting period for anaphylaxis expired, so I went to sleep with four adults staring at me. I woke up a few minutes ago. My uncle gave me a pill form of the same drug, which I am allowed to have after an injection. I'm growing sleepy again, so I'll sign off, but not before warning you of the dangers of Michelle Machman's voice. Many years ago there was something in the news about the voice of tY personailty Mary hart inducing seizures in susceptible individuals. I think we've got a similar phenomen going with Michelle bachman's voice and migraines. if anyone gets a migraine after hearing Michelle bachman's voice, please report it to the CDC in Atlanta ASAP.
Please ignore errors. I'll try to fix them in the morning. Right now my vision is distorted and my laptop is being pulled from my grasp.
Whatever is the standard Minnesota term for "good night."
Alexis
Eventually I reached the stage of semi-consciousness and realized that the content of my stomach were not to remain in my stomach much longer. i made it to the bathroom in time to avoid any messy situations. In my beeline to the porcelain God, I must have made enough noise to awaken most of the household. The three adults were awake and staring at me when I emerged from the bathroom. I tired explaining about Michele Bachman and middle school teachers, but my aunt just guided me to the direction of my sofa bed.
My temp was slightly below normal, blood pressure was a little low, heartrate was a little fast and eyes were normal, All of these were consistent with migraines except that sometimes pupil size can differ from one eye t the next. Had I listened to any more of Michelle Bachman, one pupil would have been the size of a pinpoint, while the other wuld have covered my entire iris. I exited for the bathroom in the nick of time, and when I awoke, someone had mercifully turned off the TV.
The other doctor across the street -- my surgeon -= had my headache medication. He took a quick look at me and concluded what the other doctor had concluded. my aunt whispered to him, "Just don't ask her what brought it on. She''ll start rambling about michelle Bachman." The surgeon rolled his eyes as he filled a syringe.
i'mnot fond of injections, but i'm even less fond of migraines, so I took the shot with not fighting, arguing, or complaining. The adult stood as sentries, watching to ensure that I didn't have an anaphylactic reaction tothe medicine I'd received in the same form and dosage as before. exactly what they planned ot do about it if I di go into shock a a reult of an allergic reaction was a mysetery. I didn't see a breathing tube naywhere near. Maybe one of the doctors was hiding one up his sleeve.
The effects of the medication hit before the waiting period for anaphylaxis expired, so I went to sleep with four adults staring at me. I woke up a few minutes ago. My uncle gave me a pill form of the same drug, which I am allowed to have after an injection. I'm growing sleepy again, so I'll sign off, but not before warning you of the dangers of Michelle Machman's voice. Many years ago there was something in the news about the voice of tY personailty Mary hart inducing seizures in susceptible individuals. I think we've got a similar phenomen going with Michelle bachman's voice and migraines. if anyone gets a migraine after hearing Michelle bachman's voice, please report it to the CDC in Atlanta ASAP.
Please ignore errors. I'll try to fix them in the morning. Right now my vision is distorted and my laptop is being pulled from my grasp.
Whatever is the standard Minnesota term for "good night."
Alexis
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: all God's children have but one life the days of w...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: all God's children have but one life the days of w...: The title, which makes no sense, implies that my life has turned into the Mother of All Soap Operas. My friend who is a boy is a member of t...
all God's children have but one life the days of which to live, though, like sands through the hourglass, they search for another world tomorrow as that same world turns past general hospital to Santa Barbara
The title, which makes no sense, implies that my life has turned into the Mother of All Soap Operas. My friend who is a boy is a member of the Church of Jesus christ of Latter-Day Saints. Most worthy males in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints serve missions when they reach the age of nineteen. This is expected but cannot be required. Failure to complete a mission and return with honor puts a definite black mark both on one's church record and on one's social sratum withim the church. since it's all out in the open now, I can say that my friend has not decided for certan that he will go on a mission for the church. I'm not sure how it became common knowldge. Jared spoke of it to me, but I told no one. My PseudoAunt brought it up to me. She said my friend who is a boy had spoken about it with her and her husband. I'm not sure exactly who else he shared this information with, but at least one of his confidantes did non keep this information in confidence. Typically, a boy's consideration concerning whether or not to serve a mission would not be a major source of interest, particuarly among people who are near the age of my friend who is a boy. It's more the parents who are intrigued, since every boy in the history of the family of my freind who is a boy in the past one hundred years has successfully completed a mission. So some kid casually says to another one, "Are you going on a mission?" The other one replies, "I don't know. Jared's not going." A parent overhears it, and POOF! a rumor has begun.
Many of my estranged relatives live in close proximity to my friend who is a boy. Eventually the rumors concerning my friend who is a boy and his decision as to whether or not to go on a mission reached the rather nose-like ears of my relatives who are evidence on both sides of the coin that one cannot choose those to whom he or she is related. The red-hot information concerning a seventeen-year-old boy and what he will do with his life when he turns nineteen eventually grew too large to be contained in one county, and expanded northward into the county in which my grandparents reside. My grandparents, apparently the braintrust from whom my brother inherited his mathematical ability (he didn't master his multiplication tables until the final day of third grade) added A to B to reach the sum of C, then concluded C= the intersection of the set of non-negative integers with the set of transcendental numbers divided by the multiplicative inverse of pi . This allowed my grandparents to reach the logical conclusion that my friedn who is a boy was motivated, persuaded, or forced not to go on a mission by . . . me.
My grandparents wrote a letter, the specific contents of which are too embarrassing to share, but basically stating [in so many words at one point] that my iniquity in denying this young man the blessing of serving a mission for The Lord's Church will cause me to burn in Hell. This message was delivered to me by specail courier just as I was coming down from an amazing snowboarding run. Any pleasure I might have gained from that near-perfect downhill run is gone forever. It was replaced by a letter from my very own bilogical grandparents, prophesying that I will Burn in Hell.
I was not the only recipient of a special-delivery letter from my grandparents. The parents of the boy who is my friend also were blessed with a personal, hend-delivered-by-courier message. The crux of the message to them was that the Incubus was residing in their vacation home with them, undermining everything they've ever tried to accomplish as parents, and, of all things, dissuading their elder son from serving a mission. (For all my grandparents know, I way very well be dissuading their younger son from serving a mission as well. at the age of two, he's much more impressionable. All I would have to do is change the words of a few songs and teach them to him. For that matter, why stop with the boys? I'm probably teaching every kid in the family my own evil ways.)
The parents of the boy who is my friend are not totally naive. They heard the same rumors about their some that everyone else heard. They also heard from very reliable sources that his wavering on the topic had absolutely nothing to do with me. When they got around to opening their courier-delivered letter suggesting essentially that they cast me out and burn everything that I touched, they weren't angry with me but with the authors of the letter. Telephone calls resulted in loudly exchanged dialogue on both sides. At one point, my grandfather complained of chest pains. 9-1-1 was called, and my grandfather was transported to the hospital. For the record, nothing of significance was found in my grandfather's EKG or whatever other testing was done. he's resting at home, surrounded by his loved ones, all of who blame me for his near-death experience.
I'm still feeling slightly barfy. but the people in charge of me insisted that I snowboard again today. I'm going out on a double date in a few minutes with the boy who is my friend and my PseudoAunt and Uncle.
This was planned before the letters came. I didn't want to go, but I am being forced. I have to show my detractors that I won't curl up into fetal position annd stay that wayy for a week. The problem is that what i really want to do is curl up into the fetl position for an entire month.
Many of my estranged relatives live in close proximity to my friend who is a boy. Eventually the rumors concerning my friend who is a boy and his decision as to whether or not to go on a mission reached the rather nose-like ears of my relatives who are evidence on both sides of the coin that one cannot choose those to whom he or she is related. The red-hot information concerning a seventeen-year-old boy and what he will do with his life when he turns nineteen eventually grew too large to be contained in one county, and expanded northward into the county in which my grandparents reside. My grandparents, apparently the braintrust from whom my brother inherited his mathematical ability (he didn't master his multiplication tables until the final day of third grade) added A to B to reach the sum of C, then concluded C= the intersection of the set of non-negative integers with the set of transcendental numbers divided by the multiplicative inverse of pi . This allowed my grandparents to reach the logical conclusion that my friedn who is a boy was motivated, persuaded, or forced not to go on a mission by . . . me.
My grandparents wrote a letter, the specific contents of which are too embarrassing to share, but basically stating [in so many words at one point] that my iniquity in denying this young man the blessing of serving a mission for The Lord's Church will cause me to burn in Hell. This message was delivered to me by specail courier just as I was coming down from an amazing snowboarding run. Any pleasure I might have gained from that near-perfect downhill run is gone forever. It was replaced by a letter from my very own bilogical grandparents, prophesying that I will Burn in Hell.
I was not the only recipient of a special-delivery letter from my grandparents. The parents of the boy who is my friend also were blessed with a personal, hend-delivered-by-courier message. The crux of the message to them was that the Incubus was residing in their vacation home with them, undermining everything they've ever tried to accomplish as parents, and, of all things, dissuading their elder son from serving a mission. (For all my grandparents know, I way very well be dissuading their younger son from serving a mission as well. at the age of two, he's much more impressionable. All I would have to do is change the words of a few songs and teach them to him. For that matter, why stop with the boys? I'm probably teaching every kid in the family my own evil ways.)
The parents of the boy who is my friend are not totally naive. They heard the same rumors about their some that everyone else heard. They also heard from very reliable sources that his wavering on the topic had absolutely nothing to do with me. When they got around to opening their courier-delivered letter suggesting essentially that they cast me out and burn everything that I touched, they weren't angry with me but with the authors of the letter. Telephone calls resulted in loudly exchanged dialogue on both sides. At one point, my grandfather complained of chest pains. 9-1-1 was called, and my grandfather was transported to the hospital. For the record, nothing of significance was found in my grandfather's EKG or whatever other testing was done. he's resting at home, surrounded by his loved ones, all of who blame me for his near-death experience.
I'm still feeling slightly barfy. but the people in charge of me insisted that I snowboard again today. I'm going out on a double date in a few minutes with the boy who is my friend and my PseudoAunt and Uncle.
This was planned before the letters came. I didn't want to go, but I am being forced. I have to show my detractors that I won't curl up into fetal position annd stay that wayy for a week. The problem is that what i really want to do is curl up into the fetl position for an entire month.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Freefalling
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Freefalling: Some people like skiing or snowboarding for the sheer speed. while i enjoy that aspect, what makes the experience truly worthwhile to me is ...
Freefalling
Some people like skiing or snowboarding for the sheer speed. while i enjoy that aspect, what makes the experience truly worthwhile to me is the moments in the air, not in contact with anything or anyone. Other than parazailing, snowboarding is the closest that I have come or likely wil ever come to experiencing zero gravity. It happens on the runs with a high degree of difficulty. If I can get my speed up on a brief straight run, then hit a mid-sized mogul, I'm light enough to go airbone for what seems like half an eternity but is probably more like eight seconds. Those eight-second periods of what technically isn't weightlessness but feels like it make up for the suckiness that life tends to dish out on a weekly basis if not more frequently. I can only describe it as freedom from everything. For those eight or so seconds, absolutely no person or thing has any hold whatsoever on me. It's indescribable.