A small turtle sits in a plastic basket along with others while being released into the water at the natural reserve “La Flor” in San Juan, 150 km (93 miles) south of Managua, Nicaragua on October 14, 2009. (REUTERS/Stringer)
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Congratulations Katie and Brian!
I have some (pretty lame) pictures that I promise I’ll get up soon. Pinky swear.
Still, congrats!
Congratulations Nicole and Jon!
VIDEOGIOCO on Vimeo
Only through the brilliantly disconnecte…
Only through the brilliantly disconnected web of Wikipedia could I discover one of the most fascinating articles I’ve ever read.
The article, titled The Process Church of The Final Judgment, is about a splinter client cult group that broke from Scientology in 1965. The Process Church (as it was called) came to be identified as a Satanic cult, for their worship of three Gods: Jehovah, Lucifer, and Satan. They were also (more recently) linked to David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer.
The part that fascinates me about this article comes in way of explaining how the group changed throughout the years, eventually resulting in the removal of its founder. It seems that their focus has strayed quite a bit.
To wit:
Further changes in both name and focus followed, and the organization eventually became the Best Friends Animal Society, which is now one of America’s best known animal welfare rescue groups.
That’s right. From Satanic cult to animal welfare rescue group in just over 20 years.
Dan Black “Symphonies” on Vimeo
Another Big Birthday Wrap-Up
I’ve gotta find a way to automate this, but here are another major round of birthdays that I’d missed completely.
Uncle Bill. Being the Godson to a genius is a tall order. And I’m short. (Self-deprecating metaphor pun.) Happy Birthday!
Cousin Aaron. Happy Birthday. I haven’t talked to you in ages, and I doubt you’ll see this. But, if you do see this, kudos for me.
Cousin Molly Brass. Happy Birthday! I hope you find time between Da Vinci codes to see this and know that I thought of you well after you actual birth day.
Cousin Teresa Rausch! Happy Birthday! Now that we’re connected on Facebook, I missed my first opportunity to wish you a “Happy Birthday” in a direct manner. First impressions matter!
Aunt Sue! Happy Birthday! I still think about how you stumped me when you asked why I thought you should get Snow Leopard. I’m still thinking.
Ex-Roommate Jeff! When he’s not Flogging his Molly, then he’s Tumbling his ‘Log. In any case, it was nice to see you at the wedding, short as it was. Hopefully you can stop by Sioux Falls sometime soon and see our house.
Mother-in-Law Carol! I’m sure Holli wished you a “Happy Birthday” from both of us. She did, didn’t she? I’m sure she did. Anyway, Happy Birthday!
Mr. Britain! Since it was your birthday, I’ll share a little confession with everyone. Tony did not write “Circus Time!”. It was me. I hacked his site, after he dared me that I wouldn’t, I posted it, written expertly in his hand. That, my friend, is my gift to you: full disclosure.
odosketch- Oku
Oku on odosketch.
This goes to show just how obvious it is that I’m not the illustrator behind The Suckered.
Congratulations Bobby and Kristine!
Happy Birthday!
This week is a big one for birthdays: Cari Gregg, Aunt Kelly, Lindsey, and Holly Davidson. If I weren’t exhausted, I’d write something specific to each of them. Something like, I’m sure Bryce’s birthday present to Lindsey was a murdered hobo. I’d also imply, without stating outright, that my Aunt Kelly is fifty years old. Then I’d spend the rest of the time trying to come up with clever things to say for the other two, and they probably wouldn’t be as good.
That said, I’d do all that if I weren’t exhausted right now. As it is, I’ll just say, “Happy Birthday,” and go on my way.
Family Relations
A lot of family events have taken place this summer, so I’ll highlight a couple of them here.
Marissa Smiled Alot
Marissa Gregg, my lil-sil, graduated from high school in May. Thus begins the long, arduous, painful process of learning how much alcohol you can tolerate. I mean, “college”. Holli and I travelled down to help with the celebration by arranging plates of cake in neat, ordered rows. I’ll be honest, helping to run the graduation party felt a little like being part of The West Wing or Studio 60 or Sports Night. You’ll just have to trust me on that one. Still, everything went well, and there was plenty of soda and sub sandwiches for everyone.
Bryce and Lindsey Cut Trees and Changed Diapers
Even with the economy the way it is, and their work schedules, they were able to make it out to our area just before July 4th. It just so happened, that was the weekend we all helped out Grandma, so it was a mini-reunion. While it involved a lot of hauling branches, stacking wood, painting, cleaning, and just general grunt work, we still managed to discuss Bryce’s unique work frustrations and to give our cousin, Tom, some girl advice. Plus, Bryce almost sold a monument.
We didn’t get to see Lindsey nearly as much, seeing as she was spending time with her family, too. When we did get to see her, it also gave us a chance to meet the newest member of her parents’ family, a dachshund. The dog was cute, made cuter by the tiny diaper she was wearing. Why was she wearing a human infant’s diaper? Because she was menstruating. Oh, good. Thankfully, the diaper had a tendency to come off, so we all got a chance to help out with putting a human diaper on a small, struggling wiener dog.
It’s always good to see them, and it’s a shame that we can’t see them more often. If necessary, I could become a world famous serial killer in the Sioux Falls area, allowing Lindsey the chance to crack her first big case as she explores the underworld of The Queen City, Sioux Falls (which would allow them to move closer). The offer’s out there. I’m willing.
Everybody Carried Something
If you were, for whatever reason, in the Sioux Falls area around July 4th, we probably asked you to help us move. The first day of moving was greatly aided by fellow L&Ser, Dave Haan, and his daughter, and uncle Kevin, whose truck was the greatest benefit. We actually managed to get a lot accomplished, just three guys with a truck and a morning to kill. That night was a major second round of packing, using the boxes we’d just unloaded, and saturday the parents came down with a trailer. On Saturday, everything was moved in in time for lunch. Clockwork, people. That’s what it was like.
Molly Watched Baseball
I was pleasantly surprised to get a call from my cousin, Molly Brass. She was in Lennox for only a couple more days, and she wondered if we could get together. It had just so happened that Holli and I were going to be attending a Canaries baseball game and were able to get an extra ticket for her. So, we watched a little baseball. Mostly, we caught up, learning about the inner drama of working at a museum. Apparently, she sees Mark Walberg, like, all the time.
After the game, we came back to the house we were then renting and showed her around. Then we talked again until she had to leave. It was great to see her, especially all the way from Boston. If she didn’t have her parents in Lennox, we probably would only see her at reunions. If Jenny Brass keeps this London stuff up, that’ll be what happens to her. Hint, hint.
David, Houa, and Brenna Rode The Mexican Train
Holli and I decided to have a little house-warming get-together with friends, and, at first, it seemed that we would be hanging out alone. Then we got word that Mike and Sonja could come. Then David and Houa were coming. Then Brenna Proczko was going to be in town. Before we knew it, it was a hopping party once again.
We played board games (barf), gave tours (awesome!), and ended the night with dominos, which Mike and Sonja brought. Â The game of dominos rounded out our night (well beyond when Holli usually goes to bed) as it takes about twelve rounds to finish. However, it was good fun, no one was seriously injured, and the police gave us a warning instead of a second strike. Mike and Sonja left and the rest of us tried to get connected to the Internet.
The next day, Brenna showed and narrated over pictures of her honeymoon to Iceland and England. I believe she has at least a portion of them up on Facebook, so if you’re friends with her, you can check them out. Otherwise, just know that they were awesome, and we saw dragons and waterfalls, they bought really expensive lobster bisque. Holli went to work, then David and Houa headed back, then Brenna and I talked for a while, and then she headed back, and then I was all by myself, and I pictured what it would be like to meet a dragon, and then Holli came home from work.
(I didn’t know how to end that. Just know that it was awesome seeing Brenna and David and Houa.)
The Miles Family Reuned
It has been ages since the last Miles Family Reunion. They used to occur quasi-regularly, but then my great-grandmother died, and things became much more sporadic. Now (hopefully) there is a revival in place. This year’s reunion was held in Maple Grove, Minnesota, which is in the Twin Cities area, Minneapolis-side. Holli and I drove up on Friday and checked into a Venice-themed Holiday Inn. It was one of the nicest Holiday Inns I’ve ever slept within.
The actual reunioning took place at the Acorn Shelter in some national park or whatever in the area. The plan for the day was as broad as “eat and talk”, and that’s exactly what we did. Eventually, food was cooked and then consumed. Holli joined a substantial volleyball game which I helped to coach. “Cyber Fox” made impressive progress against “Cyber Wolf” (the copy cats), until Coach Faletti went in to help his team. How can I compete with that? I can only yell so loud. Holli ended up with a fairly bruised forearm from that game, an injury painful enough that she “couldn’t drive home”.
Eventually the evening came upon us. Holli and I hit up Target and met up with everyone at the hotel. The kids went swimming whilst the adults sat around and talked. Then a tornado was spotted, so Dad and I had one last drink while everyone cowered for their lives in the hallways. When I see bad weather, I say, “Lay your head upon my sweet Crown Royal,” and drink up. Or, at least, I did this one time.
The next day we attended mass at great uncle Dick’s church, which was much more “modern” than I had assumed. Great uncle Dick told me a number of times about how he almost made the trip to our wedding. Afterwards, many enjoyed a chicken dinner, but Holli and I had a long drive home. We stopped a couple of times to kill vagrants, but it’s still a long drive. I think Amber and Jill did a great job getting the family together.
Hopefully we can keep the family reunions going. Just as long as I don’t have to do anything.
YouTube – Social Media Revolution
YouTube – Social Media Revolution.
It’s positively astounding how much social interaction has been changing. Even back to my high school days, instant messenger was the closest we came to online interaction. With things like Facebook, I now know what happened to all my classmates. I don’t have to sit there, wonder, and sign up for a Classmates.com account to find out. It’s amazing.
Class reunions are going to be so boring.
In junior high, we students got our firs…
In junior high, we students got our first taste of performance competition. It’s been called by many names, but we called it “oral interpretation”. I can’t now recall the exact categories; perhaps: dramatic, humorous, and poetry, but I may be wrong.
I remember that the most difficult part was picking a piece to perform. I poured over the works we had to choose from, even asking at one point if we could write our own. I was told you can sort of do that in high school. That category, it would turn out, was called “original oratory”.
I remember practicing a piece with the oral interp instructor. The piece used a regular foot and meter, and it even rhymed. As I began to read the lines, the instructor stopped me. She informed me that, for competition, poetry is not supposed to be read that way. Read it by the sentences; don’t pause at the line endings, and don’t make it obvious that you’re rhyming.
Honestly, I was put off by this. It seemed unnatural and contrary to read poetry that way. It felt like an attempt to read poetry as if it were prose. Wouldn’t this do a disservice to poetry? I asked all these questions of myself, but I did not ask them aloud. Instead, I did what I was told, and I reread the poetry, apparently to her liking.
I mention this because I just read some poetry. I mention this because I still think about how odd it felt to read poetry that way and how it runs across my mind whenever I come upon poetry. I think about that, but then I compare it to my own poetry. When I write poetry, I am very much aware of the line endings. That break, that step, is as much an important part of the poem as the meter and foot. It equal in importance to the words themselves. Why, then, shouldn’t someone read poetry for the lines?
I, deliberately, choose the life of each line. To read poetry ignorant of its physical structure is as graceful as somersaulting down a flight of stairs. The steps are there for a reason.