Transplants. Well here's a topic I actually can say I personally know a little about. No, I've never had a transplant. I would like to think I could donate all the fat I have to someone who needs more fat, but I've never had a transplant. That being said, both my parents have had transplants.
Daddy received a liver on July 1, 1991. Ravaged from Heph B, contracted via a blood transfusion, Daddy was given the gift of life on a summer day in July. U.C.L.A. did one helluva a job. He had been on the list for some time, and even received the famous beeper page, only to be turned around when a little girl, even more critical, was bumped to the top spot of a very long list. Daddy could have been upset, but he was the type of person who would have gladly stepped aside, especially for a sick child. Daddy was no spring chicken when he received his new liver. Well into his 60's at the time and extremely ill, the new liver came just in time. It gave us 5 more years with Daddy. Oh, how I wish we could have been given 20! TIME MAGAZINE - THE GIFT OF LIFE - June 17, 1991. PLEASE take the time to read this article, which mentions the very scenario of my Dad's case, although no names are mentioned, the Dr mentioned from UCLA was my Daddy's surgeon.
Mom received a kidney in April 2008. She was lucky. She did not have to wait long, as my youngest brother donated one of his. If Mom suddenly becomes a world class soccer goalie, we will know why. However, the transplant was a good one. Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN runs a great program, and Mom and baby brother recovered nicely, without complications, and our family is blessed to still have them in our lives. Mom was in her early 70s when she received her kidney. For those of you doing the math, she was OLDER than Dick Cheney is today, with his new ticker.
Age is not a relevant factor in deciding who gets transplants, and who doesn't. News this week was how SOME people thought old Mr. V.P. was simply TOO OLD. I exclaim, "Really? Are you that anti Republican, or anti Dick Cheney, that pointing a finger at a organ recipient is all you have going?"
UNOS - www.unos.org. I recommend that those who have the audacity (ooooh, one of the POTUS' favorite words) to pontificate that Mr. Cheney is far too old to receive a new heart, or in some crazy way, received preferential treatment in order to procure a heart, take the time to click on the UNOS website and educate yourself! Transplants are not that easy. It's definitely not a catalog, like Macy's or Sears. There is no rush on getting a new heart, liver, kidney, skin, corneas, etc. Beside blood matching, there is tissue typing, extensive health exams, compatibility and viability issues surrounding the recipient. And lets not forget that at this time there are well over 100,000+ on the waiting list for transplants; sadly, a number which changes daily. Such numbers change because the patients on the waiting list die, or, on a much more happy note, receive an organ from a friend or family member.
Currently, we live in a country where there seems to be no compassion for the sick and suffering. I find it almost beyond reprehensible that there are dense folks out there that would stoop to claiming that Mr. Cheney in some way received some sort of "schwag" due to the fact that he is a retired V.P. Organ transplantation simply does not work that way. I say speedy recovery to you Mr. Cheney. Tick- tock, tick-tock.
Organ transplant is a way to give the Gift of Life to someone else. A dear friend of mine, Cody St. John was tragically killed in a motor vehicle accident a few years ago. He was a ski patroller with Steamboat Springs Ski Patrol in Colorado. He was a kind and generous human being who thought of everyone, all the time. Cody, vis-a-vis his family, made the difficult choice to donate his organs to UNOS. A heart, lungs, pancreas, kidneys, skin, corneas... and let me tell you something - there are some very, very grateful recipients out there today because Cody made that decision. www.whatwouldcodydo.com - go the website and read about Cody. He was simply awesome!
Families need to sit down and discuss this matter. Make your intentions known to your loved ones. Let them know that you wish to donate your organs. Sadly, when most families are faced with this heart wrenching decision, its in the emergency room of a a hospital, with emotions running high. I thank God that a family made one of the most difficult decisions of their lives and donated their loved one's liver so that my dear Daddy could be with us for 5 additional years.
Yes, I would be on the same thought pattern if Barry Obama needed a new heart. Oh wait, does he have one? Oh yes, its a bleeding heart. Barry needs a brain. Alas, such transplants aren't being performed yet. But Barry would be lucky to receive a new brain. Make that a Republican Brain.
About Me
- anniemac
- My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Passing the Buck
This morning I awoke after a fitful night of rest, and shuffled out to commence the morning ritual of coffee worship. I suppose life has trained me well, since I have this little routine I perform when I get out of bed. I walk down the hall, open the bathroom door to let the biggest annoyance, otherwise known as the cat, out of his night jail cell, then head to the kitchen and the altar of java beans, to pay homage, and then get the two little doggies and out we go to decorate the lawn with brown piles, which I then get to pick up and toss in the garbage. Some women pay big bucks for morning routines, like slathering night cream and/or day cream on their faces, and having their husbands bring them coffee in bed, but my routine is far more domestic goddess than that. It's sheer utopia to know that you can use a nicely marketed product like a "muffin mitt" to pick up dog-poo!
Back into the house I march, like a robot on auto pilot, and then turn on Fox News, and grab the hot cup of 'joe and flip on the computer. This morning's headline on the Drudge Report is a picture of the joker in the White House and the simple sentence..."It's Not My Fault". I am suddenly catapulted back to my childhood years and the famous statement of passing the buck vis-a-vis, passing the buck. Come on, we all did it, we all know what its about, and unless you were an only child, it was always a sure fire, first line of defense, soliloquy you could spit out to the parents in hopes of getting out of some grievous error you may or may not have committed. "Its Not My Fault".
The blame game. The devil made me do it. Pass the buck. The POTUS, as an only child, or so he says, is a master at this game. Blame everyone, take responsibility for a scant few things, and divert attention elsewhere. As a community organizer, this guy is top notch. But as a President, he is seriously lacking in leading. From Solyndra to gas prices, to unemployment, the POTUS has got the game of blame down to a tee. I'd love to call it March Madness, but alas, we're then talking hoops, and Barry has already picked his brackets for that game. If he comes up a loser on his college teams, I am sure somewhere along the way, he'll figure out a way to cast blame off to George W. Bush.
President Obama has passed the buck to others – mainly George W. Bush – for no less than 13 problems that characterize his presidency, suggesting time and again that his own policies are not to blame for his difficulties and he is simply doing the best that can be done with the cards he was dealt."
If you ever get the opportunity, check this guy out. The White Dossier. Fantastic reading. Fun, smart, witty and always amusing.
So, the POTUS and blame. At what point does an adult abuse the pass the buck defense? It's like Barry is a little talking parrot and the only sentence he has learned from his master is "It's not my fault". Time to learn a new phrase! The economy is still dismal, gas prices are outrageous, and all Barry can do is pass the buck. Well, he can also pick his basketball teams. What I do not understand is how sensible people can sit back and not be concerned that this country is slowing creeping towards socialism. Are we really that dense? Good God - Socialism.
My kids were wonderful when they were younger. As young adults, they are still wonderful. I love them to death. They were each unique in their own way. But one thing that they seemed to follow was the blame game, or perhaps it was more like tattling. I approached this saga with just leveling the playing field and passing out punishment for both the offender and finger pointer. After one or two times of getting punished for ratting out their sibling, my 2 super intelligent kids got the message, and the blame game fell by the wayside. It's not a fun game when you realize that if you rat out your sibling, you are facing the same punishment. I wanted my kids to understand that it takes far more character to own your mistakes, take possession of them, and then rectify the problem. I was raised that way as well. I suppose I was a bit more fortunate in that there were 4 kids in my family, and my kids just had each other. At one point I recall being able to bribe my little brother with minimal amounts of money to take the blame. But hey, we were kids.
As adults, you just can't go through life, casting blame off your own back, and saddling someone else with it. The expression "Man Up" comes to mind. Has the POTUS never heard this expression? What gives Barry? At what point in your Presidency are you going to take the ball, own it, and accept the fact that you are in way over your head, and the clock is ticking?
Back into the house I march, like a robot on auto pilot, and then turn on Fox News, and grab the hot cup of 'joe and flip on the computer. This morning's headline on the Drudge Report is a picture of the joker in the White House and the simple sentence..."It's Not My Fault". I am suddenly catapulted back to my childhood years and the famous statement of passing the buck vis-a-vis, passing the buck. Come on, we all did it, we all know what its about, and unless you were an only child, it was always a sure fire, first line of defense, soliloquy you could spit out to the parents in hopes of getting out of some grievous error you may or may not have committed. "Its Not My Fault".
The blame game. The devil made me do it. Pass the buck. The POTUS, as an only child, or so he says, is a master at this game. Blame everyone, take responsibility for a scant few things, and divert attention elsewhere. As a community organizer, this guy is top notch. But as a President, he is seriously lacking in leading. From Solyndra to gas prices, to unemployment, the POTUS has got the game of blame down to a tee. I'd love to call it March Madness, but alas, we're then talking hoops, and Barry has already picked his brackets for that game. If he comes up a loser on his college teams, I am sure somewhere along the way, he'll figure out a way to cast blame off to George W. Bush.
President Obama has passed the buck to others – mainly George W. Bush – for no less than 13 problems that characterize his presidency, suggesting time and again that his own policies are not to blame for his difficulties and he is simply doing the best that can be done with the cards he was dealt."
If you ever get the opportunity, check this guy out. The White Dossier. Fantastic reading. Fun, smart, witty and always amusing.
So, the POTUS and blame. At what point does an adult abuse the pass the buck defense? It's like Barry is a little talking parrot and the only sentence he has learned from his master is "It's not my fault". Time to learn a new phrase! The economy is still dismal, gas prices are outrageous, and all Barry can do is pass the buck. Well, he can also pick his basketball teams. What I do not understand is how sensible people can sit back and not be concerned that this country is slowing creeping towards socialism. Are we really that dense? Good God - Socialism.
My kids were wonderful when they were younger. As young adults, they are still wonderful. I love them to death. They were each unique in their own way. But one thing that they seemed to follow was the blame game, or perhaps it was more like tattling. I approached this saga with just leveling the playing field and passing out punishment for both the offender and finger pointer. After one or two times of getting punished for ratting out their sibling, my 2 super intelligent kids got the message, and the blame game fell by the wayside. It's not a fun game when you realize that if you rat out your sibling, you are facing the same punishment. I wanted my kids to understand that it takes far more character to own your mistakes, take possession of them, and then rectify the problem. I was raised that way as well. I suppose I was a bit more fortunate in that there were 4 kids in my family, and my kids just had each other. At one point I recall being able to bribe my little brother with minimal amounts of money to take the blame. But hey, we were kids.
As adults, you just can't go through life, casting blame off your own back, and saddling someone else with it. The expression "Man Up" comes to mind. Has the POTUS never heard this expression? What gives Barry? At what point in your Presidency are you going to take the ball, own it, and accept the fact that you are in way over your head, and the clock is ticking?
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Shopping at Target - Michelle Obama Style
So, Michelle had a date with old David Letterman on the boob tube. Ann Curry commented on Mrs. Obama's dress. She loves the color of blues in the dress. And all this is news - why?
Well, in what appears to be an excellent photo op, or a feeble attempt to market herself and the POTUS as regular folk, Mrs. Obama decided to go to Target some months ago.The purpose of the trip? It's not like she absolutely had to have the latest and greatest Zumba work out pants, or Target brand water, or even fabric dryer sheets for the laundry she most likely does not do in the White House. Even regular folk like me have slight disdain for heading to Target.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love Target. I like that I can usually find relatively good deals on laundry detergent, dog food, cat litter, and even jockey's for my husband's bare bottom. But, like any major department store, you must know the times to hit the aisles, otherwise you are caught up in a mess of traffic jams, screaming kids, fresh out of school, and in need of a nap, or tweenies who insist on trying on everything in the store, standing 4 abreast, all asking each other if this or that makes my butt look big. Honey, listen, at age 13 until 18, don't worry about your butt looking big. That critique should be left for those of us who are in menopause, and really should be asking our girlfriends if we look like a beached whale on dirty sand?
So, Michelle Obama headed to Target. Was the White House out of gum? Was she sneaking a copy of People Magazine? And why is it even worth mentioning on David Letterman or any other show for that matter unless you are eager to cast yourself off as just one of the ordinary, every day peeps that live in this country with the sagging economy. Sagging like 2 boobs after one too many kids breastfeeding.
Come on folks...this is the family that loves publicity. Whether its the POTUS wasting his time on the golf course, or looking down his nose on the rest of us, or taking off on yet another vacation, or his daughter now in Mexico for her school break, or even Michelle telling school children to have more fruits and veggies on their school menus, this family loves the camera. Perhaps the day that old Michelle hit Target, there wasn't much going on.
So, here she is, on David Letterman telling a little story about her travels at Target and how she almost thought the gig was up when some lady asked if the enormous Attila the Hun First Lady could reach the laundry soap. If its an opportunity, Michelle can reach tall buildings in a single bound! All that was missing would have been some stiletto heels, and a dress cut up to there, and low enough in the front to show her cleavage. I don't suppose that the U.S. Secret Service around her would have maybe, just maybe given the whole gig away.
According to S.S. Title 18, Crimes and Criminal Procedures, Sec 305(a)(2), the boys in suits, secret microphones and weapons goes everywhere with the First Family. Of course, for all I know, everyone at Target on that particular visit were brain dead and unaware of the surveillance styled RE/CON team guarding code name "Renaissance". If Wal-Mart can attract every cross dresser, men in pink tights, women with fur hats that look like something out of a beaver trap, maybe Target attracts a higher class of dressers, and so men in suits doesn't look too out of the ordinary. I think the debate is still out on that. Wal-Mart vs. Target consumers and their dressing attires.
What I really want to know is what was so important that Mrs. Obama felt the need to head on over to her neighborhood Target, waste the tax payers dollars for the Secret Service protection, and if she really just had to have a pair of Zumba pants?
Well, in what appears to be an excellent photo op, or a feeble attempt to market herself and the POTUS as regular folk, Mrs. Obama decided to go to Target some months ago.The purpose of the trip? It's not like she absolutely had to have the latest and greatest Zumba work out pants, or Target brand water, or even fabric dryer sheets for the laundry she most likely does not do in the White House. Even regular folk like me have slight disdain for heading to Target.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love Target. I like that I can usually find relatively good deals on laundry detergent, dog food, cat litter, and even jockey's for my husband's bare bottom. But, like any major department store, you must know the times to hit the aisles, otherwise you are caught up in a mess of traffic jams, screaming kids, fresh out of school, and in need of a nap, or tweenies who insist on trying on everything in the store, standing 4 abreast, all asking each other if this or that makes my butt look big. Honey, listen, at age 13 until 18, don't worry about your butt looking big. That critique should be left for those of us who are in menopause, and really should be asking our girlfriends if we look like a beached whale on dirty sand?
So, Michelle Obama headed to Target. Was the White House out of gum? Was she sneaking a copy of People Magazine? And why is it even worth mentioning on David Letterman or any other show for that matter unless you are eager to cast yourself off as just one of the ordinary, every day peeps that live in this country with the sagging economy. Sagging like 2 boobs after one too many kids breastfeeding.
Come on folks...this is the family that loves publicity. Whether its the POTUS wasting his time on the golf course, or looking down his nose on the rest of us, or taking off on yet another vacation, or his daughter now in Mexico for her school break, or even Michelle telling school children to have more fruits and veggies on their school menus, this family loves the camera. Perhaps the day that old Michelle hit Target, there wasn't much going on.
So, here she is, on David Letterman telling a little story about her travels at Target and how she almost thought the gig was up when some lady asked if the enormous Attila the Hun First Lady could reach the laundry soap. If its an opportunity, Michelle can reach tall buildings in a single bound! All that was missing would have been some stiletto heels, and a dress cut up to there, and low enough in the front to show her cleavage. I don't suppose that the U.S. Secret Service around her would have maybe, just maybe given the whole gig away.
According to S.S. Title 18, Crimes and Criminal Procedures, Sec 305(a)(2), the boys in suits, secret microphones and weapons goes everywhere with the First Family. Of course, for all I know, everyone at Target on that particular visit were brain dead and unaware of the surveillance styled RE/CON team guarding code name "Renaissance". If Wal-Mart can attract every cross dresser, men in pink tights, women with fur hats that look like something out of a beaver trap, maybe Target attracts a higher class of dressers, and so men in suits doesn't look too out of the ordinary. I think the debate is still out on that. Wal-Mart vs. Target consumers and their dressing attires.
What I really want to know is what was so important that Mrs. Obama felt the need to head on over to her neighborhood Target, waste the tax payers dollars for the Secret Service protection, and if she really just had to have a pair of Zumba pants?
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The **C** Word - Class, Compassion & CHIVALRY
The 13th Century had it right. Chivalry meant that men should honor, serve, and do nothing to displease ladies and maidens. Apparently, Bill Maher is not man, and a far cry from a gentleman. He lacks the moral ground to do anything other than sit at HBO and spew toilet words at Sarah Palin. The Left will argue that Rush Limbaugh is also no gentleman. However, given that an apology did come from his mouth, directed towards Ms. Fluke, Mr. Limbaugh is working himself towards redemption.
Being raised by morally conservative, yet politically liberal Democrats, the art of good manners were always at the forefront of most family lessons at my house. Ivory Soap was in high demand at our house, as the archaic lesson of washing one's mouth out with soap, was routinely administered. The **C** word would have probably been a reason for my parents to surgically remove our tongue, but I still vividly recall the soap bar after I referred to my sister as a "P-I-G, Pig". Lord help me, or any one of my siblings if we ever dared to be crass enough to let the profanity slip beyond the occasional J.C, G.D. or SHIT. So, I don't buy any argument that claims that since Bill Maher is a Democrat, he is therefore excused from using disgusting profanity to describe a woman.
Bill Maher also dribbled his rhetoric about Sarah Palin's youngest child, who has Down's Syndrome. Can we even begin to say ..."Whoa dude, beyond the banner of free speech!"? I have said it once, and I will say it again, I am a huge fan of the freedom of speech, and even though I find Bill Maher to be over the top, I will defend his right to say what he wants. As I have blogged before, some folks just might want to sit through a refresher of Thomas Paine's "Common Sense", before they open the vacuous hole of infinity that sits in the region of the chin and nostrils. Alas, if you are on the level of calling a woman the **C** word, I'd venture to presume you are illiterate and not even of the human species.
So, what's the hoopla on this stuff,eh? And why on earth is the POTUS accepting a $1 million donation from the likes of Bill Maher? Wasn't it old Barry O'Bammy that proclaimed back in September 2008 "Let me be a clear as possible: I have said before and I will repeat again, I think people’s families are off limits," Obama said, "and people’s children are especially off limits"... "This shouldn’t be part of our politics," he continued, "It has no relevance to Gov. Palin’s performance as governor, or her potential performance as a vice president." Oh, of course, Bill Maher calling Mrs. Sarah Palin names is acceptable during a campaign year, and really, taking $1 million isn't in any way a nod that the POTUS is kosher with **C** word. Wonder what Barry O'Bammy would say if Bill Maher exercised his free speech in regards to the Obama girls?
The obvious Leftist Organization, more commonly referred to as N.O.W. seems to have their hypocritical thinking caps on upside down, inside out and backwards. According to their own website spin zone, http://www.now.org/press/03-12/03-02.html America should be up in arms over Rush Limbaugh's gaffe over Ms. Fluke. I suppose the internet must be down, or the webmasters at N.O.W. are on holiday, because I have not seen word one over the filth of the **C** word towards Sarah Palin, nor the derogatory remarks relating to Mrs. Palin's special needs child. Does this so called womens' rights group only protect the "rights" of the lefty liberal? "Pot, calling all black pots"! Where are you? If the N.O.W. is supposed to be waving its banner towards the protection of my rights as a woman, I think I will respectfully take a pass.
And what about Ms. Vacation Lady, Michelle Obama? Is she too busy planning her next vacation on taxpayers coffers to stand up for women in America? Is Mrs. Palin unworthy of some defense? Are you just too busy, Michelle Obama, to look your own daughters in the eye and say, "Bill Maher is a bad man. He said a bad word. But, for a million dollars, we can look the other way?
According to Urban Dictionary.com , a "cunth" in addition to rather disturbing definitions, uses this crass slam in order to use the word in a sentence. "I tried having sex with Ann Coulter the other night, but her cunth was maxed out to the extreme!" So, where is the N.O.W. on this matter. Oh, of course, Ann Coulter is a smart, conservative author and pundit, so really, why defend her rights? And where is Michelle Obama's outrage? Joy Behar, are you too busy? For shame!
As far as I am concerned, Mr. Barry O'Bammy has sunk this country. Ever time he opens his mouth, something that sounds like English falls out, and I proceed to lose my lunch. Wouldn't it be charming to see him, for the sake of his own daughters, say to Mr. Bill Maher, "hey, thanks but no thanks. Keep your $1 million"? But, the POTUS can't do that. He is simply too busy, apologizing to our enemies, pointing blame for gas prices, and everything under the sun towards George Bush, and well, generally making a hypocritical nuisance of himself.
Personally, I think Bill Maher could use a bar of Ivory Soap.
Being raised by morally conservative, yet politically liberal Democrats, the art of good manners were always at the forefront of most family lessons at my house. Ivory Soap was in high demand at our house, as the archaic lesson of washing one's mouth out with soap, was routinely administered. The **C** word would have probably been a reason for my parents to surgically remove our tongue, but I still vividly recall the soap bar after I referred to my sister as a "P-I-G, Pig". Lord help me, or any one of my siblings if we ever dared to be crass enough to let the profanity slip beyond the occasional J.C, G.D. or SHIT. So, I don't buy any argument that claims that since Bill Maher is a Democrat, he is therefore excused from using disgusting profanity to describe a woman.
Bill Maher also dribbled his rhetoric about Sarah Palin's youngest child, who has Down's Syndrome. Can we even begin to say ..."Whoa dude, beyond the banner of free speech!"? I have said it once, and I will say it again, I am a huge fan of the freedom of speech, and even though I find Bill Maher to be over the top, I will defend his right to say what he wants. As I have blogged before, some folks just might want to sit through a refresher of Thomas Paine's "Common Sense", before they open the vacuous hole of infinity that sits in the region of the chin and nostrils. Alas, if you are on the level of calling a woman the **C** word, I'd venture to presume you are illiterate and not even of the human species.
So, what's the hoopla on this stuff,eh? And why on earth is the POTUS accepting a $1 million donation from the likes of Bill Maher? Wasn't it old Barry O'Bammy that proclaimed back in September 2008 "Let me be a clear as possible: I have said before and I will repeat again, I think people’s families are off limits," Obama said, "and people’s children are especially off limits"... "This shouldn’t be part of our politics," he continued, "It has no relevance to Gov. Palin’s performance as governor, or her potential performance as a vice president." Oh, of course, Bill Maher calling Mrs. Sarah Palin names is acceptable during a campaign year, and really, taking $1 million isn't in any way a nod that the POTUS is kosher with **C** word. Wonder what Barry O'Bammy would say if Bill Maher exercised his free speech in regards to the Obama girls?
The obvious Leftist Organization, more commonly referred to as N.O.W. seems to have their hypocritical thinking caps on upside down, inside out and backwards. According to their own website spin zone, http://www.now.org/press/03-12/03-02.html America should be up in arms over Rush Limbaugh's gaffe over Ms. Fluke. I suppose the internet must be down, or the webmasters at N.O.W. are on holiday, because I have not seen word one over the filth of the **C** word towards Sarah Palin, nor the derogatory remarks relating to Mrs. Palin's special needs child. Does this so called womens' rights group only protect the "rights" of the lefty liberal? "Pot, calling all black pots"! Where are you? If the N.O.W. is supposed to be waving its banner towards the protection of my rights as a woman, I think I will respectfully take a pass.
And what about Ms. Vacation Lady, Michelle Obama? Is she too busy planning her next vacation on taxpayers coffers to stand up for women in America? Is Mrs. Palin unworthy of some defense? Are you just too busy, Michelle Obama, to look your own daughters in the eye and say, "Bill Maher is a bad man. He said a bad word. But, for a million dollars, we can look the other way?
According to Urban Dictionary.com , a "cunth" in addition to rather disturbing definitions, uses this crass slam in order to use the word in a sentence. "I tried having sex with Ann Coulter the other night, but her cunth was maxed out to the extreme!" So, where is the N.O.W. on this matter. Oh, of course, Ann Coulter is a smart, conservative author and pundit, so really, why defend her rights? And where is Michelle Obama's outrage? Joy Behar, are you too busy? For shame!
As far as I am concerned, Mr. Barry O'Bammy has sunk this country. Ever time he opens his mouth, something that sounds like English falls out, and I proceed to lose my lunch. Wouldn't it be charming to see him, for the sake of his own daughters, say to Mr. Bill Maher, "hey, thanks but no thanks. Keep your $1 million"? But, the POTUS can't do that. He is simply too busy, apologizing to our enemies, pointing blame for gas prices, and everything under the sun towards George Bush, and well, generally making a hypocritical nuisance of himself.
Personally, I think Bill Maher could use a bar of Ivory Soap.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
THE CRAIC OF THE BAT
CRAIC! No, old Annie Mac has not slipped the grasp of reality, and headed out to the drug infested streets of Any Town, USA. It's that old, wonderful, beautiful English language playing tricks again.
For my readers out there who are Irish, this is the month of all that is IRISH. I love being Irish. My dear daddy, born and raised in Dundalk, County Louth, Ireland knew all about Craic. To have even an ounce of it can make sailing through these troubled times a bit more bearable. Some kiss the Blarney Stone for it, others are born with it, and others seem to become doused with it after dancing through a bottle of booze. Craic is great.
So, what's the craic of the bat? Spring! Here we are, on what appears to be another blue bird, sunny day in Steamboat. Yesterday was warm, by snow standards, clear skied, blue as the human eye could see, and I found myself dreaming about baseball. Ah, spring and the ritual of baseball.
Of course, I am a Yankee fan, so any time there is the slightest mention of baseball, I see myself sitting in the bleachers, kosher hot dog in hand, and day dreaming of the baseball diamond. Having never been to New York, one might think it peculiar that I am a Yankee fan. Maybe its some genetic fluke that I got the fever for the pinstripe. After all, I was raised in Southern California, where the L.A. Dodgers were the home team. I do hold the memories of Farmer John hot dogs, Carnation Malted Milk Shakes with wooden spoons, paper airplane programs and popcorn in high esteem. The drive to the stadium was not the best of drives. A slow, meandering drive from I-5, starting in Porter Ranch, through Burbank, past the L.A. Zoo, and finally to Elysian Park. Funny how you can feel safe when the L.A. Police Academy is in the same parking lot. Alas, the thugs are more radical now, and as most will recall, last spring saw a San Francisco fan get the tar beaten out of him by some low life gang bangers in the stadium parking lot. But, back in the 70's, you could feel safe at Dodger Stadium.
The baseball bat is a marvelous invention. Long, lean and solid. The pin point precision of ball making a connection with the bat, the sound of wood on ball, and then the almost ballet like movement of casting the bat aside to run the bases - ah, it's like a Broadway show. Well choreographed, with music being provided from the fans, and the maestro of sorts, the umpire calling the shots. Green grass, well manicured, red dirt and clean, crisp lines of chalk can make a fan feel like they are almost in heaven. Perhaps, the baseball diamond is actually heaven. Who knows. One thing for sure - GOD is a baseball fan.
How many kids today can say they dream of baseball? A well oiled glove, where high flying hits can come to settle in? Where an outfielder can dash the hopes of a home run hitter, or a batter can swing to his heart's content, falling prey to a left handed pitcher. Baseball and dreams might as well be the same definition.
Barry O'Bummer has pretty much managed to, in 3 short years, change the entire dynamic of the country. We, as Americans, are now watching a president who apologizes for other people's speak, offers remorse to countries who would be just as happy to blow us out of earthly rotation, and wants to have diplomacy with countries like Iran, who are hell bent to go to war with Israel. How do you reach diplomacy with the devil? America looks to November, and hopes that this time we can see the fox in the hen house, and rid ourselves of the parasitic nuisance of a president who apparently thinks nothing of demoralizing our great nation.
Thank God that at this time of the year, dreams can fly swiftly to the baseball diamond, and once again our minds can fall softly upon merrion blue grass, watch the players run the bases and listen to the fine tuned CRAIC OF THE BAT.
For my readers out there who are Irish, this is the month of all that is IRISH. I love being Irish. My dear daddy, born and raised in Dundalk, County Louth, Ireland knew all about Craic. To have even an ounce of it can make sailing through these troubled times a bit more bearable. Some kiss the Blarney Stone for it, others are born with it, and others seem to become doused with it after dancing through a bottle of booze. Craic is great.
So, what's the craic of the bat? Spring! Here we are, on what appears to be another blue bird, sunny day in Steamboat. Yesterday was warm, by snow standards, clear skied, blue as the human eye could see, and I found myself dreaming about baseball. Ah, spring and the ritual of baseball.
Of course, I am a Yankee fan, so any time there is the slightest mention of baseball, I see myself sitting in the bleachers, kosher hot dog in hand, and day dreaming of the baseball diamond. Having never been to New York, one might think it peculiar that I am a Yankee fan. Maybe its some genetic fluke that I got the fever for the pinstripe. After all, I was raised in Southern California, where the L.A. Dodgers were the home team. I do hold the memories of Farmer John hot dogs, Carnation Malted Milk Shakes with wooden spoons, paper airplane programs and popcorn in high esteem. The drive to the stadium was not the best of drives. A slow, meandering drive from I-5, starting in Porter Ranch, through Burbank, past the L.A. Zoo, and finally to Elysian Park. Funny how you can feel safe when the L.A. Police Academy is in the same parking lot. Alas, the thugs are more radical now, and as most will recall, last spring saw a San Francisco fan get the tar beaten out of him by some low life gang bangers in the stadium parking lot. But, back in the 70's, you could feel safe at Dodger Stadium.
The baseball bat is a marvelous invention. Long, lean and solid. The pin point precision of ball making a connection with the bat, the sound of wood on ball, and then the almost ballet like movement of casting the bat aside to run the bases - ah, it's like a Broadway show. Well choreographed, with music being provided from the fans, and the maestro of sorts, the umpire calling the shots. Green grass, well manicured, red dirt and clean, crisp lines of chalk can make a fan feel like they are almost in heaven. Perhaps, the baseball diamond is actually heaven. Who knows. One thing for sure - GOD is a baseball fan.
How many kids today can say they dream of baseball? A well oiled glove, where high flying hits can come to settle in? Where an outfielder can dash the hopes of a home run hitter, or a batter can swing to his heart's content, falling prey to a left handed pitcher. Baseball and dreams might as well be the same definition.
Barry O'Bummer has pretty much managed to, in 3 short years, change the entire dynamic of the country. We, as Americans, are now watching a president who apologizes for other people's speak, offers remorse to countries who would be just as happy to blow us out of earthly rotation, and wants to have diplomacy with countries like Iran, who are hell bent to go to war with Israel. How do you reach diplomacy with the devil? America looks to November, and hopes that this time we can see the fox in the hen house, and rid ourselves of the parasitic nuisance of a president who apparently thinks nothing of demoralizing our great nation.
Thank God that at this time of the year, dreams can fly swiftly to the baseball diamond, and once again our minds can fall softly upon merrion blue grass, watch the players run the bases and listen to the fine tuned CRAIC OF THE BAT.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Passwords - My Funny Elbow
For the past few weeks I have been completing applications on line for health care jobs in my target area of Southern California. This is no easy task as there are multiple websites I visit; numerous hospitals throughout the southland, and each one seems to have its own unique way to apply, send links for resumes, and attach files. Some want PDF, JPG, Arcobat on a Tight Rope, type keystrokes, etc etc.
You'd think that since I am able to administer appropriate medications, start an IV on a baby or elderly patient with dismal veins, or even clean poop off a bottom of a drunk ding-a-ling, the ease of remembering a password would not find me in a constant state of annoyance. Every website has a different way of going about it. Some want capital letters, followed by smaller case, and maybe a number of two, and even a #(*^*%(%, and then a slight bellowing from the computer user when they realize that somehow the caps lock was left on somewhere through the timed execution.
I applied for a college course last summer, in hopes of getting into phlebotomy course at Ventura Community College. The initial application took me well over 1.5 hours, and that was just so I could then apply for the only course I wished to take. I think next time I venture out into the modern technology arena, I should probably sit through a computer class for dummies, just in case I have any questions. And after all the wasted effort on the college application, I found out that I actually had to be present to stand in a line on registration day, and may or may not actually get into the course I needed. I suppose if I lived only a short drive from Ventura, CA, the line standing might not have been so bad. But, no course is worth an 1,116 mile drive, one way, and with sky high gas prices, and two days travel. Shit, after all that time, I could take the darn course in my sleep.
George Constanza had it right when he thought about his password and what it should be.( BOSCO CODE)
Of course, BOSCO, is easy to remember and there are probably fools like me who have a hard time forgetting the one liners from Seinfeld yet search our foggy brains in vain for our own silly password. I have every thing written down on tiny scraps of paper. Half the time I forget what user name and password go for what social media. One for health stuff, one for jobs, one for banking, email, yada, yada, yada. Birthdays, anniversary, backwards spelling, question marks, asterisks, and the list just goes on forever. Why can't everything be easier?
Identity theft is big business. On any given day, there are some dishonest blokes sitting in front of their computer screens making a mockery of the rest of us, who think we are, oh so clever, in our imaginations and ability to think of silly words like "Bad Dog", "Good Dog", and 1234*(&*%. and then somehow link them to our personal information on a computer screen. The other day I must have re-set my twitter account access three times. Sure enough, I would then go to comment on something and realize I had forgotten the bloody word again. Just how many demerit points does someone earn if they can't remember a password? I started taking Omega 3 vitamins, and even B12 in hopes of energizing my brain. Hell, half the time I can't even remember to take my estrogen, let alone the vitamins that claim to be brain charger. Hm, well that explains why I am in a constant state of menopause.
What I really need is a vacation, a shovel and a good book. A shovel you ask? Well, this way I can plop myself down in my beach chair, prop up my book, and then simply dig a hole for all my treasures, and there is no need for an ATM and that password.
Crap, I have already lost my shovel!
You'd think that since I am able to administer appropriate medications, start an IV on a baby or elderly patient with dismal veins, or even clean poop off a bottom of a drunk ding-a-ling, the ease of remembering a password would not find me in a constant state of annoyance. Every website has a different way of going about it. Some want capital letters, followed by smaller case, and maybe a number of two, and even a #(*^*%(%, and then a slight bellowing from the computer user when they realize that somehow the caps lock was left on somewhere through the timed execution.
I applied for a college course last summer, in hopes of getting into phlebotomy course at Ventura Community College. The initial application took me well over 1.5 hours, and that was just so I could then apply for the only course I wished to take. I think next time I venture out into the modern technology arena, I should probably sit through a computer class for dummies, just in case I have any questions. And after all the wasted effort on the college application, I found out that I actually had to be present to stand in a line on registration day, and may or may not actually get into the course I needed. I suppose if I lived only a short drive from Ventura, CA, the line standing might not have been so bad. But, no course is worth an 1,116 mile drive, one way, and with sky high gas prices, and two days travel. Shit, after all that time, I could take the darn course in my sleep.
George Constanza had it right when he thought about his password and what it should be.( BOSCO CODE)
Of course, BOSCO, is easy to remember and there are probably fools like me who have a hard time forgetting the one liners from Seinfeld yet search our foggy brains in vain for our own silly password. I have every thing written down on tiny scraps of paper. Half the time I forget what user name and password go for what social media. One for health stuff, one for jobs, one for banking, email, yada, yada, yada. Birthdays, anniversary, backwards spelling, question marks, asterisks, and the list just goes on forever. Why can't everything be easier?
Identity theft is big business. On any given day, there are some dishonest blokes sitting in front of their computer screens making a mockery of the rest of us, who think we are, oh so clever, in our imaginations and ability to think of silly words like "Bad Dog", "Good Dog", and 1234*(&*%. and then somehow link them to our personal information on a computer screen. The other day I must have re-set my twitter account access three times. Sure enough, I would then go to comment on something and realize I had forgotten the bloody word again. Just how many demerit points does someone earn if they can't remember a password? I started taking Omega 3 vitamins, and even B12 in hopes of energizing my brain. Hell, half the time I can't even remember to take my estrogen, let alone the vitamins that claim to be brain charger. Hm, well that explains why I am in a constant state of menopause.
What I really need is a vacation, a shovel and a good book. A shovel you ask? Well, this way I can plop myself down in my beach chair, prop up my book, and then simply dig a hole for all my treasures, and there is no need for an ATM and that password.
Crap, I have already lost my shovel!
Friday, March 2, 2012
Vitriol, Garbage and Hate - The Mantra of the Far Left. Rest Easy Mr. Breitbart
So, conservative mind speaker Andrew Breitbart died suddenly at the age of 43. This is tragic. Anyone, and I do mean, anyone who dies suddenly at the young age (younger than me) of 43, leaving behind family is tragic.
However, when death befalls such a polarizing, public figure, I do find it disgusting to read the comments from the alleged "peace loving" party of the Left. I was surfing the net the other day, and came upon the L.A. Times story about the passing of Mr. Breitbart. I was stunned, sickened and sad.
"Goodbye and good riddance, the b@stard got what he deserved an early exit from the human race of which he was barely a member anyway!" says Scott Rooney of Temecula, CA. "he was a republican scumbag i;m glad ges dead! all he ever did was destroy peoples lives and their futures so good riddance to the perverted creep! john george columbus ohio." says John George from Columbus, Ohio. and one of my favorites, "Damon Eric Harrell Sr.
However, when death befalls such a polarizing, public figure, I do find it disgusting to read the comments from the alleged "peace loving" party of the Left. I was surfing the net the other day, and came upon the L.A. Times story about the passing of Mr. Breitbart. I was stunned, sickened and sad.
"Goodbye and good riddance, the b@stard got what he deserved an early exit from the human race of which he was barely a member anyway!" says Scott Rooney of Temecula, CA. "he was a republican scumbag i;m glad ges dead! all he ever did was destroy peoples lives and their futures so good riddance to the perverted creep! john george columbus ohio." says John George from Columbus, Ohio. and one of my favorites, "Damon Eric Harrell Sr.
"...the death of Andrew Breitbart simply proves that God, if he does exist, is a Democrat..."
Really, I mean seriously...God is a Democrat? I thought SHE had more sense than that!
Bloggers, such as myself, like to write. We choose subjects that fascinate us. Some blog about dirty baby diapers, or how to find the best deal in a faltering economy. I like to pick on several topics; menopause and the humor of it, as well as the complete absurdities in life. For those that know me on a personal level, I believe that most would say I am a fairly decent person. Yes, they would say I am opinionated. Yes, they would say I like to push buttons. But, I believe that most would say I am a decent human being. We can share absolutely different points of view, and yet in the middle of that chaos, find common ground and mutual respect. Truth be told, its the common ground and respect that will get anyone further in this life. Common ground and common sense
What I do find reprehensible is someone spewing hate. Wishing death upon someone, and then putting it out there on facebook or commenting about it through a public forum, goes beyond anything I know about, or can begin to comprehend. One any given day, if you were to ask me my opinion about Arianna Huffington, I would most likely tell you I think she is off her rocker, when it comes to her opinions and points of view. Yet, I read her comments in regard to the sudden death of Andrew Breitbart, and I was happy to read her fitting tribute to her friend. Where one was Left, the other was Right. Yet, they were past that. Once you start with the hate speech, you are no better than the piece of dog shit under my shoe. In fact, I'd say the dog shit is better.
The other day I blogged about free speech. I love free speech. But, like all great things, you need to look out for those who take something great, twist it out of its original intent, and make it ugly. Such are my opinions based upon my personal experiences with the Left and how they morph free speech into something that our fore fathers would be retching about. I conducted a personal, social experiment vis-a-vis my car's rear window. I wrote in loud, bold letters, "Vote Republican", and then left my car in a underground parking lot where key access was required. I was gone from my car a mere 3 hours, yet in that time, someone had smeared the Republican part of my free speech and thus defaced my car. I may be blond, but I'd bet my life savings, meager as it is, that someone who enjoys a Leftist perception of free speech felt the need to touch my personal property and deface my proclamation. Isn't it amusing to watch those who are self proclaimed representatives of the peaceful way of life divert from respect, manners and freedom, and destroy it?
I'd rather have the trots then listen to our POTUS. I think he's far off base when it comes to leading this country. Truth be told, I can not wait to see him voted out of office. Watching Rachel Maddow on MSNBC gives me gastrointestinal discomfort. Nancy Pelosi - wow, I can't even begin to take that one at this early hour, prior to a full cup of coffee. However, with all my disdain towards those pinheads, I will go to my grave to defend their rights to speak freely. I may not agree with them, I might even think them to be nuts, but as soon as we, as a free society start to pick and choose who should be able to voice opinion, we might as well pack our bags and let the Taliban run this country.
The Left sided haters might be wise to consider that.
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