The Facts, Just The Facts

With all of the bruhaha of the election process going on there are many opportunities to get facts. There are even more opportunities to get non facts. I am reminded of being younger and going to my mother and telling her the latest atrocity any one of my siblings had done to me. She would always ask me, "And what did you do?" Interesting how when you are five you are taught that there are two sides to every story. It seems that a degree in journalism can sometimes erase that lesson from memory. I understand we all have biases. It is natural, we are human. I am much more "Republican" in thinking than not. However, I do not agree with every Republican, I do not disagree with every Democrat. This election year I have looked for truth from many sources. It is not a simple task. I know some people have been spreading rumors. When I hear someone say something that sounds contrived, I say, how do you know that? Many times they are almost offended by the question. As if to say, who cares, isn't it scary, isn't it the most deplorable thing you have ever heard. Well yes, but so are the tales from the cript, but I dont' believe them to be true, just disgusting. I get tired of it all. Let's focus on ideals. Are you for big government or little government? What issues are close to your being? What candidate best mirrors your beliefs and convictions? I am not 100% for any candidate. In the few elections I have been eligible to vote in, I have never once agreed on every single issue. It isn't going to happen. I can't agree with my siblings on nearly anything, how am I going to agree with one person who is suppose to represent millions of people. If I hear one more person tell me I love George Bush because I'm a Republican I may lose my right to vote for being a convicted felon. That makes as much sense as me loving Joel Osteen because he is a "christian". I just get to the point where I don't want to talk to people about politics. The reason being, it is tiresome. Of course, I say that and then the next day you find me talking about it again. Does that make me a waffler, a political opportunist ready to change at the drop of a hat? There goes my future bid for public office. Somehow I believe I will make it through the day. So really the whole point is this. The next time you hear that Barack Obama is really a little person using stilts who is addicted to crystal meth and that John McCain had all of his skin replaced and takes baths in crude oil, look to find a credible source to confirm those things before you repeat them. Please, for the sake of all that is logical, although I did hear that Al Gore is an android that is remotely controlled by Stephen Hawking.

Panera Bread and Barbie Doll Karaoke

My niece Erin turned nine the early part of September. Nine! Nine. I am slowly coming to the realization, so if I have to interject nine every so often, it is only because I need to let reality sink in. I remember like it was yesterday, getting the call at Messiah that she had been born. I came home that weekend and held her and fell in love with her. Now she is into Hannah Montana, gibits for crocks, fashion, attitude, and hilarity. This girl is funniest when she is not even trying. Anyway, I told her I wanted to take her out for lunch. She said she was thinking Friendly's. I had to laugh at her phrase, "I'm thinking". So, Saturday came, I'm gearing myself up for Friendly's, not a big fan of the food. I've been there a few times and it just seems greasy to me. A bunch of fried food chased down with a sundae, yummm. So, I get there and much to my surprise and delight she has changed her mind and would like to go to Panera. I love Panera. She already knows what she is getting too, broccoli cheddar soup in a bread bowl. This girl cracks me up. She has been eating soup and salad since she was three or four. My brother hadn't had a bowl of soup to himself from the time that girl was old enough to have it. We order and then when asked what she wants to drink, she says "Root beer, it's Saturday, it's a root beer day." A girl after my own heart. So, she is sitting at the table, eating her soup and talking about many things. At one point I told her I didn't get the Disney channel anymore and she couldn't watch Hanna Montana at my apartment. She said, "Do you still get American Idol?", I said yes, she says, "Then we're good." What twenty year old has possessed the body of my niece? She is a complex mixture of maturity and lack of coordination. She spilled soda down the front of her shirt, again, my soul sister. I can only hope she grows out of her clumsiness. I am stricken for life. She remarks on the size of the cookies they sell at Panera, and when I ask if she would like one, she declines. She's so healthy. On the way to the restaurant, she had remarked about the thrift store she refers to as Miss Angie's. So, we go in and look for a suitable toy, outfit, whatever. We walk in, I pick up some skirts, some shirts, she feels the fabric and gives it a veto. She looks at the toys on the top shelf and has trouble seeing, so I pick her up. I laugh to myself because though she is nine, I cherish the fact I can still pick her up. She asks if I will still pick her up when she is 15. I say, I don't think so. So, she spies a barbie song machine. Being the wonderful Aunt I am, I buy it for her. In the car she looks for batteries, it has none. She is not worried, they have some at home. So, she sits and takes the headset and puts it on. I turn on the radio. We start singing. We didn't know any of the songs and there was a Patsy Cline CD in the player so I turned it on. I ask to use the little microphone that also came with the barbie machine. So, here we are driving down the road, singing along to Patsy. Erin has a headset and I have a pink little microphone. I got quite a few looks that day as I passed people and made some turns. The best look though was from Erin. She was having a grand old time. She was having fun, and I could tell she was glad I was joining in the fun too, not caring who saw me. That is one of those moments I will remember for a lifetime. Nothing huge or monumental, just a late summer Saturday afternoon with my niece, singing in the car, using play microphones, and being the rock stars that we are.

My Dad Is Tops

My Honda needed some work done, new brake shoes, an oil change, and tire rotation.  I had no idea what brake shoes even were.  I said, Dad, I will get someone to do them.  He said, no, I will do them.  Turns out because of vacations and scheduling we couldn't do them until yesterday.  I say we, I got tools and pieces, but we all know who did the work.  So, I'm sitting there watching my dad change these shoes.  It wasn't going so well at first.  He never changed them on a Honda before and it was a pain in the rear! Never mind the fact that it was hot as a mother yesterday and they had no fan to bring out to the garage! Of course the hottest day in a while and that is the day we need to get this done.  So, he's fiddling, trying this way, trying that way.  I could tell it was getting old.  I tried to suggest things or help pull the springs to the correct spot.  Turns out my help is no help at all at times.  It's okay, I understand.  But, I thought I had to at least offer to help.  So, it takes nearly 45 minutes to get the first one on and I'm thinking, oh, the second is going to be time for cursing.  But, I forgot how mechanical my dad is and the second took 10 minutes.  Turns out, the order is muy importante.  The second one really went by quickly, I was trying to get something out of my eye and the next time I looked up, it was done.  We rotated the tires, I tightened lug nuts.  Woo hoo, watch me go.  We also wanted to do an oil change and I thought he would say let's do this another day.  But no, we jacked up the front of the car and we drained the oil.  Now the oil filter on a Honda is a mystery.  You can reach it, but you cannot see it.  So, that was a bit of a fun time too.  So, two and some hours later, we are both covered in car dirt, sweaty as all get out and tired.  You see, this would all be wonderful regardless, but knowing that my dad has some muscle damage from his motorcycle accident a few years ago makes it humbling.  I am amazed by my Dad's spirit of service to his grown daughter, all to help me save 300 bucks or so.  Some would say it is stubbornness on his part.  I'm not going to say there is none of that, but more than that, I know he was just helping me out.  I often think about all of the things he has done for me over my lifetime.  I cannot possibly repay him for all of his love, encouragement, help, and time spent with him.  Even though I think I'm so independent and grown up, I just couldn't help remember being little and riding big wheels in his basement office while he worked.  Or just playing outside while he was in the garage working on something.  I kind of reverted to that on Sunday, just watching my dad work.  I'm so thankful he could help me and even more thankful he is a man of his word regardless of the heat or level of difficulty for the task.  And that ladies and gentlemen is why my dad is tops!     

In Honor of Marine Captain Jesse Melton III

Yesterday I received the sad news that Jesse Melton, a Captain in the Marine forces was killed in duty on the 9th of September. I was first asked if I remembered him. Immediately I knew who he was. He was in many of my classes at Messiah. Each time I would enter a class for the first time I would look for certain people. He was one of them. If he was in the room, I knew it would be a good class. He was not a showy person or loud, or arrogant in any way. If anything he tried to come to class, learn his stuff, get the good grades, and go on his way. I say he tried because he was one of the most naturally funny people I have ever met. It didn't even have to be a word. A simple expression on his face said a thousand words and every one of them funny. I remember an acting class in which we had to re-enact a pivotal moment in our lives. He chose to re-enact the day he graduated from training and became a Marine. He walked up in his casual way and when he was ready, immediately went into marine stance and transported us all to the field; music playing, people cheering, moms crying, and officers saluting. I watched in amazement as the look of determination and pride overtook his countenance. A single tear streamed down his face. I remember being so impressed by such pride and accomplishment at such a young age. He did it as a re-enactment, but I felt as if I saw the original. He was committed to serving this country then, and he followed that commitment to his death. He is what it truly means to be an American Hero. My heart breaks for his family. Please take a moment to read the report from his local news station. He is why this is still the land of the free and the home of the brave. I will never forget Jesse. I am humbled by his sacrifice.
http://www.abc2news.com/news/local/story.aspx?content_id=0E379FEA-5090-4295-BCFF-2F758E7A8860&gsa=true

Why Ella is Bella

I have been made fun of for nearly my entire life for the type of music I like.  I have always loved oldies and while my brother and sister would ask for the station to be set on contemporary music, I always sided with my parents and asked for oldies.  I love many types of music from the 20's through today, but I love the 40's through 60's.  I think the 70's were for the most part one of the saddest decades for music.  Yes, I know this is hotly debated at family gatherings all over the world and ranks right up there with "Tastes great"/"Less Filling" but I've made my decision.  Once in sixth grade, my oldest sister told me I wasn't normal because I liked oldies.  I don't care, simply, unapologetically, and in all other ways do not care.  I do want to introduce any who may not know the joy of hearing people who can actually sing, to people who do no need hours upon hours of studio time to try and hit the correct note.  Nor do they need sir mix and fix at the board to correct their flaws digitally.  If you do not know her already, I would like to introduce you to Ella Fitzgerald.  She has a beautiful voice and though she performed for huge crowds, you get the feeling she would do this if she wasn't getting paid and you were the only one in the room.  Also, she is the only person I have ever heard scat that I do not want to give an impromtu tracheotomy.  She is just so cool and I hope you like it.  If not though, I don't care.  Check it out at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_rbh1LqCxk&feature.  Enjoy!

Story Time

I just remembered this snapshot of life from my Los Angeles days.  I thought I would share.  

I was helping one of my friends do an independent film shoot.  We needed a grocery store for one of the locations.  I called around and asked a few stores and they all said we could use the lot, but not shoot the building.  So, we improvised.  The church I attended was a fairly nondescript building, so we shot there.  Only problem was, we needed a shopping cart.  So my plan was, I go to the church, park my car, walk to the store, walk back with the cart and then walk it back after the shoot.   Now when you walk in LA people look at you weird.  I don't exactly know what the deal is, all I can tell you is that people just don't walk around in LA and if you do, you are most likely homeless.  So I'm walking... I'm walking...I'm walking down to the store, and I'm surprised to see a family sitting on their porch.  Again for some reason, this isn't done in LA.  So, I smile, no response really and continue on.  Once I got to the store and picked up the shopping cart I started to feel like a thief.  Here I come walking to the store, don't even go in, take a cart, and leave.  So, I'm walking back and I'm thinking, I hope those people are not on the front porch.  I walk past and sure enough, they are there.  So now I'm thinking how funny it must look to see me walk down and return with an empty cart.  Not a huge deal, but kind of funny.  The shoot happens, it is super hot and finally we wrap it up and it is time to go.  Everyone is gone except me and the cart.  So, now I have to walk it back.  So I start my walk back, walking... walking.... would you believe there is another empty shopping cart! What are the odds, so random.  So, I convince myself that I should take it back to the store.  So, now I am pushing two carts back to the store, pushed together, but still awkward at best to push and steer.  And who do I see, yes, the porch people.  By this time they must be worried.  I continue on my way feeling crazy for pushing two empty carts.  Finally back to the store.  Now by this time, I am hungry, hot, and tired.  I knew that if I didn't eat something soon, I would start to feel sick.  Not a problem since I was in a grocery store.  Praise the Lord I remembered to grab my money.  I saw the most delicious looking chicken tenders there ever were and bought them.  Then I realized my hands were disgustingly dirty from touching who knows what on those carts.  So, I get brilliant.  I would buy a corn dog, eat it and then use the stick to eat my chicken strips.  I don't normally eat corn dogs, but this was an emergency.  So, feeling like a pig I go and stand in line to pay.  My eye wonders to the devils playground and I see a nutrageous bar.  I was missing my friend Jill and I knew that was her favorite candy bar, so I bought it.  I don't know why i do it, I miss people and eat something they like.  It is so bazaar.  So, I start walking back with my plastic grocery bag full of junk.  I'm eating the corn dog, finished that and now I have to use the bag to cover my hand as I spear the chicken with the stick.  Mission accomplished, so now I am eating chicken on a stick walking back from stealing and returning two empty carts.  I finish the chicken and think, yummm nutrageous, so I open it and take a bite.  It had already started to melt a bit, but I wrapped it back up and put it back in the bag.  Only, it was so good, I wanted some more, so I get it out again.  Before I know it, I'm totally just eating the whole thing.  Melting all over as it was, I managed to keep it pretty civil until the last bite.  I got the wrapper all over my mouth.  So, now I'm walking back with chocolate on my face.  I cannot use my hands they are disgusting and I would have eaten a corn dog for nothing if I touch my face now.  So, I think, the plastic bag is pretty clean on the inside.  So, I turn it inside out making sure my trash doesn't spill out and I proceed to remove melted chocolate from my mouth with a crumpled plastic bag while walking the streets of LA.  The whole situation struck me funny and I started to giggle... which turned into louder giggles... which turned into laughter as yes, you guessed it, I walked right past the porch dwellers.  No doubt, by this time they had been convinced that I was a raging psychopath.  I think I even saw one of them wrangle the children and start to move inside.  I felt so dumb, I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing I could do, the same as I had done all day.  I smiled hello and kept walking, laughing all the way. 

I am a wretched beast of a girl.

Tonight I watched the Republican Convention.  It is a bit different from the Democratic Convention, not worse really just different.  That is not the point.  The point is that I am the devil.  From the beginning of all this brouhaha of primaries and speeches and all, I have made fun of John McCain's mannerisms.  "He looks like one of those tin monkeys banging a drum.  All mechanical and everything." I am a jerk.  You see, I watched the speech given by Fred Thompson tonight.  He did a great job painting the picture of the war hero that served this country, was captured, and then tortured.  I didn't realize that his shoulders were so badly broken that he cannot raise his arms above his shoulders.  I didn't realize he cannot salute the flag of the country he chose to defend.  The country I live in that gives me the right to say whatever I want, even things about those who defended my right.  It is so easy to find an odd thing about someone and exploit it.  To take it to the most ridiculous extreme as if it has any merit whatsoever.  It was for all of us that he is like that today, and I rewarded him with hateful words.  I am a spoiled American brat and I should smack my face for it.