Yeah, OK, so I'm a Trekkie. So sue me.
No, I'm not hardcore. I can't give you episode names and numbers, nor do I know Dr. McCoy's serial number. I admit I've entered into the Kirk vs Picard debate (Kirk would win the battle, but Picard would win the war); I've read numerous books, and when I was twelve wrote a really horribly embarrassing Mary Sue. I freaked out over the opportunity to meet Nichelle Nichols (remember, Wdnsdyschld?) and gushed all over poor Walter Koenig when I shook his hand. I own a first edition Starship Enterprise collectible Christmas ornament and a Lt. Uhura dress, and am totally pumped that Esmeray is going to enter the Miss Klingon Empire competition this year.
Yeah, I've seen the movie twice, and am planning to see it a third time with Arizonakelly and Suz.
Yeah, the Munchkin and I stopped at Burger King specifically Friday night to get a couple of ST glasses. And took them home and gloated over them and washed them and put them lovingly in the cabinet.
And yes, I made a special trip to Burger King yesterday while my van was getting cleaned to pick up the last two glasses.
And yes, I admit it ... I was so disappointed over them being out of Spock glasses that I girded up my loins, put on my best friendly and flirty face, got nicely pushy, and arranged with the restaurant manager to buy the glass from the display case when the promo is over Monday morning.
I even gave him my phone number.
Okay. Maybe I am hardcore.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day, 2009 Monday, May, 25, 2009
by John Fischer
War is hell.
There's no way around this. It has always been this way. I used to think it was the Vietnam conflict that robbed war of its glory, but it was only the old Hollywood WWII movies that glamorized it. Steven Spielberg changed that forever in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan—a sickeningly real depiction of the Normandy invasion at Omaha Beach that made John Wayne's movies seem like a visit to the Mickey Mouse Club set.
So this Memorial Day, I'm thinking not of the great heroes who accomplished our freedom, but of the young kid in the front row of an amphibious transport vehicle who took the first round of enemy fire in his chest before he ever got to even leave the boat or shoot his rifle. And I'm thinking of the 5,000 other men who died on the beach that day, June 6, 1944, and what they died for. I'm thinking of the senselessness of it all—a young man's noble send-off, his training, his prayers, his shaky fingers around his last smoke after throwing up on the boat (was he seasick or just scared?), the front of the boat falling away, and the first bullet ending his all-too-short story. I'm thinking of his mom and dad sitting home in perhaps another Omaha (not the beach), listening to the news and wondering how their dear Billy is doing over there.
How many times has this played itself out in just the brief history of America? And how many ways do we try and live with this? The ones who come back don't want the attention. They already feel guilty that they came back and their buddies didn't. That's why we honor the buddies today.
But how do you memorialize so many who died such horrible deaths for reasons that often amount to nothing more than the pride and arrogance of a few powerful men? You try and remember why they did it.
I'm thinking of my own peers who died in a war no one understood by reason of the number on their draft card. My name could just as easily be on that granite wall in Washington, but for a student ministerial deferment. They died for their country at a time when many in their country were spitting on their graves.
They didn't deserve that. They were not warmongers. They were just doing their duty. Their number was up. They were high school football players and neighborhood cut-ups that answered the call. They did what a nation asked them to do, even when they didn't know why. They took the bullet for everyone who didn't go, and like Able, their blood cries out from the ground.
Normandy's beaches are quiet now. Children laugh and play in the sand. Warm breezes blow. The sea has swallowed up its dead long ago, and the sands have washed away the memory, except for today. Today we try to remember.
War is hell and has taken way too many young men and women in the prime of their life. We pray that in God's mercy, heaven has them now.
I miss you, Grampa. And I wish I'd had the chance to talk to you about your service in the Pacific. I hope where you've ended up now helps you forget the hell of it all.
by John Fischer
War is hell.
There's no way around this. It has always been this way. I used to think it was the Vietnam conflict that robbed war of its glory, but it was only the old Hollywood WWII movies that glamorized it. Steven Spielberg changed that forever in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan—a sickeningly real depiction of the Normandy invasion at Omaha Beach that made John Wayne's movies seem like a visit to the Mickey Mouse Club set.
So this Memorial Day, I'm thinking not of the great heroes who accomplished our freedom, but of the young kid in the front row of an amphibious transport vehicle who took the first round of enemy fire in his chest before he ever got to even leave the boat or shoot his rifle. And I'm thinking of the 5,000 other men who died on the beach that day, June 6, 1944, and what they died for. I'm thinking of the senselessness of it all—a young man's noble send-off, his training, his prayers, his shaky fingers around his last smoke after throwing up on the boat (was he seasick or just scared?), the front of the boat falling away, and the first bullet ending his all-too-short story. I'm thinking of his mom and dad sitting home in perhaps another Omaha (not the beach), listening to the news and wondering how their dear Billy is doing over there.
How many times has this played itself out in just the brief history of America? And how many ways do we try and live with this? The ones who come back don't want the attention. They already feel guilty that they came back and their buddies didn't. That's why we honor the buddies today.
But how do you memorialize so many who died such horrible deaths for reasons that often amount to nothing more than the pride and arrogance of a few powerful men? You try and remember why they did it.
I'm thinking of my own peers who died in a war no one understood by reason of the number on their draft card. My name could just as easily be on that granite wall in Washington, but for a student ministerial deferment. They died for their country at a time when many in their country were spitting on their graves.
They didn't deserve that. They were not warmongers. They were just doing their duty. Their number was up. They were high school football players and neighborhood cut-ups that answered the call. They did what a nation asked them to do, even when they didn't know why. They took the bullet for everyone who didn't go, and like Able, their blood cries out from the ground.
Normandy's beaches are quiet now. Children laugh and play in the sand. Warm breezes blow. The sea has swallowed up its dead long ago, and the sands have washed away the memory, except for today. Today we try to remember.
War is hell and has taken way too many young men and women in the prime of their life. We pray that in God's mercy, heaven has them now.
I miss you, Grampa. And I wish I'd had the chance to talk to you about your service in the Pacific. I hope where you've ended up now helps you forget the hell of it all.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Well, today's the day ... yet another check-mark in my bizarre and stressful calendar for the past couple of months. At then end of the night I'll be able to add it to my list of accomplishments for the week, which already include (1)Finish Bible study facilitation for the year, (2)Help Munchkin survive ninth grade, (2)End extra dance practices on Thursday nights and Saturday mornings/afternoons. But does this mean my calendar magically empties? NO. Of course not! Trips, summer camps, riding lessons, visits ... Well, if nothing else, I'm never bored.
Now I'm going to impale marinated chicken and mushrooms on skewers. What a life I lead!
Now I'm going to impale marinated chicken and mushrooms on skewers. What a life I lead!
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The cat is licking the desk.
o_O
On the fire for tonight: NOTHING.
Dress rehearsal went very well! Though I had a moment of panic in between completing Rhythm of the Laila and moving on to Sidi Mansour; I changed into my costume and realized I had FORGOTTEN THE DANCE. But as soon as the music started, I kicked back into gear, thank goodness! Oh, and the Special Guest Dancer is Tribal/Burlesque. This should prove interesting!
I have gotten addicted to Urban Decay makeup. Oops.
My laptop still isn't here. Darn.
The cat is now lounging against the keyboard and keeps JUg;khg,'d()_y6. Stupid cat.
I shall now watch "Whose Line" and contemplate whom I shall marry in my dream tonight. Hopefully not Kathy Kinney; that would be ... no. Just ... no.
o_O
On the fire for tonight: NOTHING.
Dress rehearsal went very well! Though I had a moment of panic in between completing Rhythm of the Laila and moving on to Sidi Mansour; I changed into my costume and realized I had FORGOTTEN THE DANCE. But as soon as the music started, I kicked back into gear, thank goodness! Oh, and the Special Guest Dancer is Tribal/Burlesque. This should prove interesting!
I have gotten addicted to Urban Decay makeup. Oops.
My laptop still isn't here. Darn.
The cat is now lounging against the keyboard and keeps JUg;khg,'d()_y6. Stupid cat.
I shall now watch "Whose Line" and contemplate whom I shall marry in my dream tonight. Hopefully not Kathy Kinney; that would be ... no. Just ... no.
I have very little to say, except that I got up way too early on a Saturday morning when I didn't need to.
I gate-crashed a party last night ... Warnerharmer and Big Joker were bringing the kids out for sushi to meet up with some friends for a birthday, and I hobbled along to help with the Little Miss and Nesterino (long, drawn-out grown-up dinners are not their "scene"). It was very enjoyable - the food and company were good, and it was nice being out and not a "mom" for a change.
Yeah, yeah, I know; in three years she'll be out of the house and I'll be hugging White Bunny and sobbing, "Where did my baby go?!" Maybe by then I'll have picked up a rich sugar daddy who will whisk me off to Italy after her graduation and spend his time lavishing me with gifts and gelato while we stroll down the Spanish Steps. Riiiiiiiight ... if Hypothetical Sugar Daddy only takes me to Rome, he is in so much trouble. And if HSD even suggests Pisa, I'm stealing his vintage 1947 MG TC Roadster and running off with the pool boy.
Has anyone ever heard the band Fair to Midland? The Munchkin got me on to them - kind of remind me of Asia, with a little dark metal thrown in there. Me likees. I also want to gank the new Dashboard Confessional. Oooh, I'm so EMO!!!! (dyes and spikes hair while wearing raccoon eye makeup and skinny jeans that make butt look like an ice cream cone)
I need a bigger iPod ... Barn Hobbit got a purple 8gb. I have iPod envy.
OK, I need to start chopping chicken and veggies for the soulvaki ... and putting more insta-tan on my bod. I hate the way this stuff smells!
I gate-crashed a party last night ... Warnerharmer and Big Joker were bringing the kids out for sushi to meet up with some friends for a birthday, and I hobbled along to help with the Little Miss and Nesterino (long, drawn-out grown-up dinners are not their "scene"). It was very enjoyable - the food and company were good, and it was nice being out and not a "mom" for a change.
Yeah, yeah, I know; in three years she'll be out of the house and I'll be hugging White Bunny and sobbing, "Where did my baby go?!" Maybe by then I'll have picked up a rich sugar daddy who will whisk me off to Italy after her graduation and spend his time lavishing me with gifts and gelato while we stroll down the Spanish Steps. Riiiiiiiight ... if Hypothetical Sugar Daddy only takes me to Rome, he is in so much trouble. And if HSD even suggests Pisa, I'm stealing his vintage 1947 MG TC Roadster and running off with the pool boy.
Has anyone ever heard the band Fair to Midland? The Munchkin got me on to them - kind of remind me of Asia, with a little dark metal thrown in there. Me likees. I also want to gank the new Dashboard Confessional. Oooh, I'm so EMO!!!! (dyes and spikes hair while wearing raccoon eye makeup and skinny jeans that make butt look like an ice cream cone)
I need a bigger iPod ... Barn Hobbit got a purple 8gb. I have iPod envy.
OK, I need to start chopping chicken and veggies for the soulvaki ... and putting more insta-tan on my bod. I hate the way this stuff smells!
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