The Cat
Why can't the cat puke on say... the bathroom..... or even .....the kitchen floor? Why always the carpet?
2.3.07
1.2.06
8.1.06
By venting here, I hope not to ultimately turn into the kind of blogger I despise
Stolie says blogging "makes it possible to live vicariously through others and/or to get a glimpse of what it’s like to live in someone else’s shoes."
Thank you, Stolie. See, that's the upside to blogging. Some freaks think that it's their own personal space to disparage people and be two faced. They think, "I am absolved of being a sh*t because, hey, this is my space, and if you don't like it, well, you don't have to read it." Well, that's true, we don't have to read, but it doesn't make you any less of a sh*t.
That's the reason I don't trust certain bloggers who pretend that their blog site is a open place that they can share their thoughts and experiences and want you to read it when if fact they don't. And instead of admitting they don't want to be your friend, they pretend they are your friend and then pretty much talk about you behind your back, which in the blog world means password protection or even moving your blog to a whole new site and not telling your "friend" where it is. Yah, know?
This entry works in this blog because it is a classic example of things that I should totally LET GO, not let bother me, write off...etc...but instead it consumes me because it reminds me of punks that I knew in jr high who were downright cruel to so called "friends", yet pretended everything was normal, to their face.
Some people never grow up and some pour suckers like me keep sucking themselves back into these sorts of messes no matter how old we get. Resolution to STOP READING HER BLOG AND replying to e-mail from this person. Ignore her. Cut her out of your life. She consumes too much energy. I haven't done this before because I was trying not to be a jerk...but one of us has to do this or we could, as the Jerry McGuire saying goes, "Waste the next ten years of our life, being polite"
Ususally I detest talking about someone like this on a blog, when in reality, you should just face that person and, as stated before, not be a sh*t. But I'm trying to speak her language. Plus, it's one thing to vent about something that said person will likely never read, and other thing to try to communicate to me through your blog your true feelings by hinting instead of just writing me off if that is what you want. Maybe by trying to speak her language, I can finally let go...
Thank you, Stolie. See, that's the upside to blogging. Some freaks think that it's their own personal space to disparage people and be two faced. They think, "I am absolved of being a sh*t because, hey, this is my space, and if you don't like it, well, you don't have to read it." Well, that's true, we don't have to read, but it doesn't make you any less of a sh*t.
That's the reason I don't trust certain bloggers who pretend that their blog site is a open place that they can share their thoughts and experiences and want you to read it when if fact they don't. And instead of admitting they don't want to be your friend, they pretend they are your friend and then pretty much talk about you behind your back, which in the blog world means password protection or even moving your blog to a whole new site and not telling your "friend" where it is. Yah, know?
This entry works in this blog because it is a classic example of things that I should totally LET GO, not let bother me, write off...etc...but instead it consumes me because it reminds me of punks that I knew in jr high who were downright cruel to so called "friends", yet pretended everything was normal, to their face.
Some people never grow up and some pour suckers like me keep sucking themselves back into these sorts of messes no matter how old we get. Resolution to STOP READING HER BLOG AND replying to e-mail from this person. Ignore her. Cut her out of your life. She consumes too much energy. I haven't done this before because I was trying not to be a jerk...but one of us has to do this or we could, as the Jerry McGuire saying goes, "Waste the next ten years of our life, being polite"
Ususally I detest talking about someone like this on a blog, when in reality, you should just face that person and, as stated before, not be a sh*t. But I'm trying to speak her language. Plus, it's one thing to vent about something that said person will likely never read, and other thing to try to communicate to me through your blog your true feelings by hinting instead of just writing me off if that is what you want. Maybe by trying to speak her language, I can finally let go...
30.12.05
One Man's Take on Islam
Arch on Islam:
"This moderate "challenge" will go nowhere. In order to reform Islam, you must reform the Koran, Hadith, and Sira but all three are immutable texts and changing them calls into question the validity of Islam (everything in the Koran and the Sunnah must be 100% literally true or else it is a false religion, Koran 4:82), hence it cannot be done. And Saint Abdullah is no moderate. He hails from such a moderate country where honor killings are common and where 0% of the population has a favourable opinion of Jews. These so-called Muslim moderates never give any specifics on how they would challenge the so-called radicals. Referring to the "tolerant" side of the Koran doesn't cut it because due to the doctrine of nask or abrogration, most of the so-called tolerant (Meccan) verses are superceded by the more militaristic Medinan verses. The last sura that was revealed to Muhammad was Sura 9, the Verse of the Sword, that enjoins Muslims to wage jihad against the disbelievers. Lack of moderation in Islam is not the problem, Islam itself is the problem."
"This moderate "challenge" will go nowhere. In order to reform Islam, you must reform the Koran, Hadith, and Sira but all three are immutable texts and changing them calls into question the validity of Islam (everything in the Koran and the Sunnah must be 100% literally true or else it is a false religion, Koran 4:82), hence it cannot be done. And Saint Abdullah is no moderate. He hails from such a moderate country where honor killings are common and where 0% of the population has a favourable opinion of Jews. These so-called Muslim moderates never give any specifics on how they would challenge the so-called radicals. Referring to the "tolerant" side of the Koran doesn't cut it because due to the doctrine of nask or abrogration, most of the so-called tolerant (Meccan) verses are superceded by the more militaristic Medinan verses. The last sura that was revealed to Muhammad was Sura 9, the Verse of the Sword, that enjoins Muslims to wage jihad against the disbelievers. Lack of moderation in Islam is not the problem, Islam itself is the problem."
28.12.05
Comments about Weight
Why do people make comments about someone's weight ( a third party) to people they don't know?
This happened to me THREE TIMES this week. Three different people, but all about the same THIRD PARTY.
It's bad enough to make the comment, but, what kind of first impression do you make when you offer this comment as your first words to a stranger (i.e. me)?
This happened to me THREE TIMES this week. Three different people, but all about the same THIRD PARTY.
It's bad enough to make the comment, but, what kind of first impression do you make when you offer this comment as your first words to a stranger (i.e. me)?
Bearing Witness
Sheila talks a lot about bearing witness and the importance of seeing when she writes about the events of September 11. (She writes in reference to the near absence of footage of the WTC attack in the media some four plus years later, emphasizing that the best way to remember is to see the footage regularly.)
I agree that bearing witness is critical to understanding. (Sheila would note that understanding doesn't mean accepting.)
But I digress...
I only understood the full extent of my brother-in-law's suffering from AML at the young age of 40 (benzene from the planes that he worked on while in the Navy is probably to blame) when I saw him after his transplant. He was a ghost. Then, all of the time that my husband spent at the hospital and everything our relationship endured as a result of his illness and suffering completely made sense.
From time to time, I would still struggle with all that we endured as a family as a result of his extensive hospitalization, but bearing witness to his suffering, particularly that day when he was at his lowest point, helped me to understand and remember what it was that he was fighting against.
I agree that bearing witness is critical to understanding. (Sheila would note that understanding doesn't mean accepting.)
But I digress...
I only understood the full extent of my brother-in-law's suffering from AML at the young age of 40 (benzene from the planes that he worked on while in the Navy is probably to blame) when I saw him after his transplant. He was a ghost. Then, all of the time that my husband spent at the hospital and everything our relationship endured as a result of his illness and suffering completely made sense.
From time to time, I would still struggle with all that we endured as a family as a result of his extensive hospitalization, but bearing witness to his suffering, particularly that day when he was at his lowest point, helped me to understand and remember what it was that he was fighting against.
Margorie Williams
From: Hit By Lightening: A Cancer Memoir.
My biggest fear was that death would snatch me right away. An oncologist at Sloan-Kettering had mentioned, parenthetically, that the tumor in my vena cava could give birth at any time to a blood clot, causing a fast death by way of pulmonary embolism. The tumor was too close to the heart for them to consider installing a filter that would prevent this. It would be "rational," he said, in answer to our questions, to make it a policy for me not to drive anywhere with the children in the car.
I knew, too, that the disease outside my liver had grown with incredible speed. Only a couple of weeks after diagnosis, I began having symptoms -- including stomach pain bad enough to hospitalize me for two days. After watching my father's five-year battle with cancer, I was aware that a cascade of side effects could begin at any time, some of them fatal.
I wasn't ready, I said to friends. Not in the way I could be ready in, oh, three or four months. Perhaps I was kidding myself in imagining that I could compose myself if only I had a little time. But I think not entirely. I had watched my parents die three years earlier, seven weeks apart -- my mother, ironically, of liver disease, and my father of an invasive cancer of unknown origin. I had a pretty good idea, I thought, of what was coming.
But from almost the first instant, my terror and grief were tinged with an odd relief. I was so lucky, I thought, that this was happening to me as late as forty-three, not in my thirties or my twenties. If I died soon there would be some things I'd regret not having done, and I would feel fathomless anguish at leaving my children so young. But I had a powerful sense that, for my own part, I had had every chance to flourish. I had a loving marriage. I'd known the sweet, rock-breaking, irreplaceable labor of parenthood, and would leave two marvelous beings in my place. I had known rapture, and adventure, and rest. I knew what it was to love my work. I had deep, hard-won friendships, and diverse, widespread friendships of less intensity. I was surrounded by love.
All this knowledge brought a certain calm. I knew, intuitively, that I would have felt more panicked, more frantic, in the years when I was still growing into my adulthood. For I had had the chance to become the person it was in me to be. Nor did I waste any time wondering why. Why me?
It was obvious that this was no more or less than a piece of horrible bad luck. Until then my life had been, in the big ways, one long run of good luck. Only a moral idiot could feel entitled, in the midst of such a life, to a complete exemption from bad fortune.
My biggest fear was that death would snatch me right away. An oncologist at Sloan-Kettering had mentioned, parenthetically, that the tumor in my vena cava could give birth at any time to a blood clot, causing a fast death by way of pulmonary embolism. The tumor was too close to the heart for them to consider installing a filter that would prevent this. It would be "rational," he said, in answer to our questions, to make it a policy for me not to drive anywhere with the children in the car.
I knew, too, that the disease outside my liver had grown with incredible speed. Only a couple of weeks after diagnosis, I began having symptoms -- including stomach pain bad enough to hospitalize me for two days. After watching my father's five-year battle with cancer, I was aware that a cascade of side effects could begin at any time, some of them fatal.
I wasn't ready, I said to friends. Not in the way I could be ready in, oh, three or four months. Perhaps I was kidding myself in imagining that I could compose myself if only I had a little time. But I think not entirely. I had watched my parents die three years earlier, seven weeks apart -- my mother, ironically, of liver disease, and my father of an invasive cancer of unknown origin. I had a pretty good idea, I thought, of what was coming.
But from almost the first instant, my terror and grief were tinged with an odd relief. I was so lucky, I thought, that this was happening to me as late as forty-three, not in my thirties or my twenties. If I died soon there would be some things I'd regret not having done, and I would feel fathomless anguish at leaving my children so young. But I had a powerful sense that, for my own part, I had had every chance to flourish. I had a loving marriage. I'd known the sweet, rock-breaking, irreplaceable labor of parenthood, and would leave two marvelous beings in my place. I had known rapture, and adventure, and rest. I knew what it was to love my work. I had deep, hard-won friendships, and diverse, widespread friendships of less intensity. I was surrounded by love.
All this knowledge brought a certain calm. I knew, intuitively, that I would have felt more panicked, more frantic, in the years when I was still growing into my adulthood. For I had had the chance to become the person it was in me to be. Nor did I waste any time wondering why. Why me?
It was obvious that this was no more or less than a piece of horrible bad luck. Until then my life had been, in the big ways, one long run of good luck. Only a moral idiot could feel entitled, in the midst of such a life, to a complete exemption from bad fortune.
Averros on Blogs
First, what Hubris said:
"....Atrios is a good example of what's wrong with political blogging on both the left and the right. I'm not saying that this applies to everyone with a popular site, but political blogging generally tends to be an assholocracy of sorts. People flock to the people who will stridently reinforce their point of view to the exclusion of all else. And even when you point out blatant inconsistency or dishonesty, and manage to break through their "loyalty factor," it usually comes down to tu quoque: "What about X on your side?"
So you end up with Malkin digging up stories of a white kid who didn't get to play third base in Little League because of an illegal immigrant kid playing while he's receiving free school lunches from the government, and Atrios posting stories about some cracker raping his entire family because he went to church, and their respective fans nod their heads while thanking goodness that they know what's going down in the real America, and that they aren't part of the demonized hordes on the other side.
Hey, fierce writing is appealing. I understand why people don't want to go read stuff that's extraordinarily civil in tone (my post wasn't civil, actually). I just think there could be more takedowns that don't stop at self-serving ideological lines.
Maybe I'll try to do a better job of it myself, for the sake of my three readers. "
Then, what Avveros said:
"Well, Hubris, i wish i'd said that, especially your own long comment (long by blog standards [which aren't too high {and don't support analysis in depth}]). Nested analysis is not necessary when all one wants is confirmiation of his own dogma.
I say i wish i'd said that, but, of course, i have. But not nearly as well, as concisely, nor as clearly as you have.
You've certainly voiced my depression, my sadness of finding everywhere on this should-be-oh-so-fine new communication medium little but the bleating of sheepy flocks and phoney shocks, everywhere the Cult of Moral Outrage.
I miss most of all the Shakespearean imperative to "strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends." Instead we have a new imperative to separate by dogma, by the motet of the choir, so to speak, and to treat those who differ as moral reprobates.
We might have thought that blogs would have become the new and more general philosophy seminars. but they have become ad hoc tiny offices of propaganda. All we have seemed to gain since the middle ages is the formation of micelles of the oil and water of our opinions, ever walled off from one another by an instinctive revulsion for any but our own opinion. The blohgoisphere has become a great foamy emulsion, a tale told by minor idiots, signifying nothing.
Hubris, you are a great joy in the midst of this."
"....Atrios is a good example of what's wrong with political blogging on both the left and the right. I'm not saying that this applies to everyone with a popular site, but political blogging generally tends to be an assholocracy of sorts. People flock to the people who will stridently reinforce their point of view to the exclusion of all else. And even when you point out blatant inconsistency or dishonesty, and manage to break through their "loyalty factor," it usually comes down to tu quoque: "What about X on your side?"
So you end up with Malkin digging up stories of a white kid who didn't get to play third base in Little League because of an illegal immigrant kid playing while he's receiving free school lunches from the government, and Atrios posting stories about some cracker raping his entire family because he went to church, and their respective fans nod their heads while thanking goodness that they know what's going down in the real America, and that they aren't part of the demonized hordes on the other side.
Hey, fierce writing is appealing. I understand why people don't want to go read stuff that's extraordinarily civil in tone (my post wasn't civil, actually). I just think there could be more takedowns that don't stop at self-serving ideological lines.
Maybe I'll try to do a better job of it myself, for the sake of my three readers. "
Then, what Avveros said:
"Well, Hubris, i wish i'd said that, especially your own long comment (long by blog standards [which aren't too high {and don't support analysis in depth}]). Nested analysis is not necessary when all one wants is confirmiation of his own dogma.
I say i wish i'd said that, but, of course, i have. But not nearly as well, as concisely, nor as clearly as you have.
You've certainly voiced my depression, my sadness of finding everywhere on this should-be-oh-so-fine new communication medium little but the bleating of sheepy flocks and phoney shocks, everywhere the Cult of Moral Outrage.
I miss most of all the Shakespearean imperative to "strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends." Instead we have a new imperative to separate by dogma, by the motet of the choir, so to speak, and to treat those who differ as moral reprobates.
We might have thought that blogs would have become the new and more general philosophy seminars. but they have become ad hoc tiny offices of propaganda. All we have seemed to gain since the middle ages is the formation of micelles of the oil and water of our opinions, ever walled off from one another by an instinctive revulsion for any but our own opinion. The blohgoisphere has become a great foamy emulsion, a tale told by minor idiots, signifying nothing.
Hubris, you are a great joy in the midst of this."
27.12.05
The Hijackers
I had just one powerful thought on September 11, the rest of my thoughts were muted by the horror of the day. Those people; that's about all I could muster as I watched the second plane hit and later the towers fall. It was of less a thought, actually, and more of a horrible sinking feeling as it suddenly occured to me that those who committed this act of murder seemed to have created a whole new level of hate and determination, given that they were willing to kill themselves in order to kill us. Historically this was not a first (i.e. Kamikaze pilots during WWII.) . Yet, 19 people were convinced to kill themselves, I thought, until later a report came out that onle a few were actually informed as to the entire extent of the plan. Nevertheless, I just can't get my mind around the idea of how anyone on earth could be convinced to fly a plane into a building. All I could think was, who are these people? Not brainwashed by an emperor, just completely maniacal. Evil.
It's pronounced 'shä-d&n-"froi-d&
It means taking pleasure in other people's problems. Do you know anyone who has schadenfreude in their heart?
Dan on Blogs
"Well, I normally don't care to read other peoples ramblings as I find them either to self important or just plain boring. "--Dan
Gee, I hate to admit it, but this is totally the case for most blogs. Mine probably is among them...just hope it's not too boring.
Regardless, at least I am on the green side of the grass, right, Dan?
Gee, I hate to admit it, but this is totally the case for most blogs. Mine probably is among them...just hope it's not too boring.
Regardless, at least I am on the green side of the grass, right, Dan?
24.12.05
O mnie
- Nazwa: KJ
- Lokalizacja: Florida, United States
My primary job is "mom" but I am a trained musician and teacher.
