The man of flesh and blood; the one who is born, suffers and dies - above all, who dies; the man who eats and drinks and plays and sleeps and thinks and wills; the man who is seen and is heard; the brother, the real brother.~Miguel de Unamuno
Sunday, January 8
The Tragic Sense Of Life
Thursday, December 22
The Snowfall Is So Silent
The snowfall is so silent, so slow, bit by bit, with delicacy it settles down on the earth and covers over the fields. The silent snow comes down white and weightless; snowfall makes no noise, falls as forgetting falls, flake after flake. It covers the fields gently while frost attacks them with its sudden flashes of white; covers everything with its pure and silent covering; not one thing on the ground anywhere escapes it. And wherever it falls it stays, content and gay, for snow does not slip off as rain does, but it stays and sinks in. The flakes are skyflowers, pale lilies from the clouds, that wither on earth. They come down blossoming but then so quickly they are gone; they bloom only on the peak, above the mountains, and make the earth feel heavier when they die inside. Snow, delicate snow, that falls with such lightness on the head, on the feelings, come and cover over the sadness that lies always in my reason.~Miguel de Unamuno
Wednesday, March 10
AVAfuckingTAR
I would like to begin with this... I am riproaringlyfecking thrilled to no end that I (edited for content) this fookin' piece-of-shit revolting movie. It's work like this that exemplifies why no talent hacks should not be allowed to work. Anywhere. Much less in Hollywood. It's directors like this that give all of Hollywood (not to mention all film) a bad name. Fuck JamesFackDorkCameron and the Toruk he wishes he freakin' rode in on. Fuck him hard, shove it all the way up the elbow, break it off and do it again, backwards and sideways. This is only yet another example of a most incredible concept in a fully magnificent story that he could do nothing except wholeheartedly fuck. He ruins everything he has ever touched... True Lies, The Abyss, even Tifuckingtanic. He might have had a chance at going down in history with the masses convinced he had one iota of talent, but no more... no-fookin-more. What a complete and utter ineffectual misuse of millions!
Whom ever thought it was a good idea to give this putrid shallow example of a man money, not once, but repeatedly should be shot. Not just shot. Have them shot, mutilated, ripped limb from limb and eaten, shat out and blown-up. The story hidden deep within this wreck of a farce had the potential to be enlightening, balanced, and perhaps even a pinnacle of what film should be. Instead VapidFuckAssCameron chose to belittle and demoralize the (first Americans, then the world) public by wasting nearly half a BILLION dollars in this, possibly the most offensive embarrassment of the century. Maybe if we learned even one fuckin' ounce of the lesson that the film was screaming through ball gags to convey, the 'aliens' that were sent home might not have to face the unsettling fate that we are all doomed to experience. Maybe this is a possible reality, but the downside is... WE lose. That's the fuckin' message... we have no soul, no green, no connection because we are too consumed WASTING MILLIONS on a useless tritefest like this. Maybe instead of making this shit-flick, he could have donated this money to a useful charity... one that does something viable for the earth, the people, or the intelligence of mankind. For that kind of money I could have made a THOUSAND films each with meanings deeper than the endless-ignoramus-pockets funding yet another TaintCuntMasterCameron repugnant, counterproductive, disadvantageous good-for-nothing fresh turd of a movie.
My first instinct is to erase this festering rotting decomposing pile of dung from my HD and make room for something useful, something that I will actually really use, something that anyone might remotely learn from... but no... I want to watch it again, the next time I am so low that I don't think I can get any lower, so far down in the dumps, so depressed that I am ready to end it all... then this piece of rancid repulsive crapola will be there to remind me: someone has it worse than me. Someone like tired-ass JamesTardTwatCameron is actually so blind as to what real life and value is, he doesn't even deserve to live... and I must live on, so that one day I can prove to the world just how disconcerting directors like him truly are.
How many people could we feed for half a billion dollars? How many homeless could we house for HALF a billion dollars? How many acres of wildlife habitats could we preserve for half A billion dollars? Most importantly, how many students could we teach real life lessons for half a BILLION dollars? What are the youth of today supposed to take from this film? What is the moral buried deep within this trite and laughable failed effort at yet another NutBusterCameron attempt at world domination via his ass...? That we, as a film going society have learned less than nothing. In the future we will continue to lie, steal, kill and cheat until our last breath and beyond. What we have not learned, aside from how not to make a movie... is to not trust this man with another dime, not another whim, not another overblown expendable feckless film concept.
I was so disgusted with how this LameShiteIncompetentDirector has repeatedly, consistently thoroughly ruined every film he has ever touched, I swore off Titanic. A film which was like that of Schindler's List, which targeted one of the most embarrassing and painful moments in all of human history and should have had every right to be the most endearing and beautiful re-creation of real life, real world history that man (or woman) has ever seen. (Don't even get me started on the master on no talent formulaic ineptitude that we call Spielberg, btw) When you have the kind of power and influence that is endowed with the ability to make films that not only Americans will see, but the wholefuckingworld, you do not merely have the right to give it the respect that should be due, you have the responsifuckingbility to do it proper basic justice. This platitudinous wreck was beyond sickening, almost as sick as I felt after I finally relented and saw Titanic (more than 10 years after its inception... even though a legally purchased copy was allowed to survive in my presence for the majority of that time) I probably would have been better off if I had trusted my better judgment and turned both of them off the first time it made me say 'I expected that'. The audience should NEVER be able to expect what is about to happen, never ever, ever. The power of a good story-teller is to keep the public guessing, keep them wanting, craving more. If I had paid to see this in a theater, I would have headed to the lobby and demanded my money back immediately, based on the fact that this was no piece of film, this was a piece of notevenproperlyrecycled garbage.
If you remember my fifteen minute guideline from one of my last, far more pitiful attempts at a film review, then I bet you can guess how long this one took to disgust me. Nanoseconds... is that even a real word? If not, it is now... thankfuckingyou JamesFUCKINGCameron. Your filth and waste of societal attention has made the need for new more up-to-date terminology just to be able to explain to what depths your depravity has reached on this, easily your most worthless movie to date. There is no going back. I made the mistake once with Titanic; I should have known better with this one. I will not be fooled again. I hope he dies, painfully, before he his able to complete even one more shitpileload of fucktardedmeaninglesswaste of space, waste of money, waste of time excuses he would have us, the over-paying public, duped into believing to be it a film.
Film is art, preferably fine art. Art is in the eye of the beholder. Art is not regurgitated ick even single-celled organisms know better than to consume. If we are continually shown this rancor, it will be what we come to expect from all film, from all art, from all life. Art imitates life, and thus life returns the favor; and if this is what JamesAssMunchingCameron sees through his unimaginative-close-minded-jaded-rose-colored-pious-glasses he can suck my big black dick and he will like it... 'cause that's how I feel right now, royally fucked without a kiss, raped and most significantly embarrassed for all mankind, film-going and otherwise. This is a prime example of how the world view is shaped, this is how the rest of the world is able to view Americans as a blight on this planet, this is how we deem that some of the world's greatest televisual computer generated images should be harnessed in a manner that JamesMouthBreatingCameron would have as a legacy. IMHO, this film is now the numberfuckingone reason terrorists deserve to want to destroy us and everything for which we stand. Oh, he's Canadian, you say... nofuckingwonder. Go home! - before you get us all killed. Or better yet, go work for Disney... we have come to expect this brand of predictable, conventional one-sided banality from their pedestrian versions of kids' movies. Then, I won't even need to check to see who the director is, that film company will conveniently wrap it all up with a fluffy my-shit-smells-better-than-yours bow.
In spite of the mundane lip service treatment JamesShitMeisterCameron gives the depth of story that this unoriginal shitfest could have, or should have, evoked as potentially one of the most masterful films of all time, the special effects department did well (as well as can be expected, all things considered). Hopefully they made a minor shitload of money and take something useful away from this insipid film. Because I see no other viable option for any good to come from this stale-ass movie. He not only just made Aliens again, but made us pay (more) for it again, but now also he has soiled Sigourney Weaver. Not only does he demonstrate how we will fuck our future, fuck every alien we encounter, but also that we will do it over and over again, with no regret... and not even bother to disguise it as anything other than the uninteresting, uninspired, undeserving flat tripe that it is. It troubles me deeply that we, today's film-goers have not enough cojones to boycott something as weak and irresponsible as this.
So, let's see... to recap... the bottom line: Half a billion dollars translated into non-American speak... that would be about 307 Million British pounds, 344 Million Euros and in South African Rands, it's 3.7 Billion. Does the conversion make it any more disgusting?
And now to the stars (one out of ten) rating. I give it one star for the special effects. I detract half of that single star because although JamesStockFootageClichéCameron has repeatedly shown his exhausted ass - something I have come to expect... but, Sigourney Weaver, she should have known better. Then, I can relent to allow it to have that half star back again... 'cause Neytiri is hot. And no, I am not bothering to link it. This ridiculous dung heap is not even worth all the effort I have already put into this explanation.
Oh wait, did you say James Cameron? I thought you said John Carpenter. My bad. The end.
Whom ever thought it was a good idea to give this putrid shallow example of a man money, not once, but repeatedly should be shot. Not just shot. Have them shot, mutilated, ripped limb from limb and eaten, shat out and blown-up. The story hidden deep within this wreck of a farce had the potential to be enlightening, balanced, and perhaps even a pinnacle of what film should be. Instead VapidFuckAssCameron chose to belittle and demoralize the (first Americans, then the world) public by wasting nearly half a BILLION dollars in this, possibly the most offensive embarrassment of the century. Maybe if we learned even one fuckin' ounce of the lesson that the film was screaming through ball gags to convey, the 'aliens' that were sent home might not have to face the unsettling fate that we are all doomed to experience. Maybe this is a possible reality, but the downside is... WE lose. That's the fuckin' message... we have no soul, no green, no connection because we are too consumed WASTING MILLIONS on a useless tritefest like this. Maybe instead of making this shit-flick, he could have donated this money to a useful charity... one that does something viable for the earth, the people, or the intelligence of mankind. For that kind of money I could have made a THOUSAND films each with meanings deeper than the endless-ignoramus-pockets funding yet another TaintCuntMasterCameron repugnant, counterproductive, disadvantageous good-for-nothing fresh turd of a movie.
My first instinct is to erase this festering rotting decomposing pile of dung from my HD and make room for something useful, something that I will actually really use, something that anyone might remotely learn from... but no... I want to watch it again, the next time I am so low that I don't think I can get any lower, so far down in the dumps, so depressed that I am ready to end it all... then this piece of rancid repulsive crapola will be there to remind me: someone has it worse than me. Someone like tired-ass JamesTardTwatCameron is actually so blind as to what real life and value is, he doesn't even deserve to live... and I must live on, so that one day I can prove to the world just how disconcerting directors like him truly are.
How many people could we feed for half a billion dollars? How many homeless could we house for HALF a billion dollars? How many acres of wildlife habitats could we preserve for half A billion dollars? Most importantly, how many students could we teach real life lessons for half a BILLION dollars? What are the youth of today supposed to take from this film? What is the moral buried deep within this trite and laughable failed effort at yet another NutBusterCameron attempt at world domination via his ass...? That we, as a film going society have learned less than nothing. In the future we will continue to lie, steal, kill and cheat until our last breath and beyond. What we have not learned, aside from how not to make a movie... is to not trust this man with another dime, not another whim, not another overblown expendable feckless film concept.
I was so disgusted with how this LameShiteIncompetentDirector has repeatedly, consistently thoroughly ruined every film he has ever touched, I swore off Titanic. A film which was like that of Schindler's List, which targeted one of the most embarrassing and painful moments in all of human history and should have had every right to be the most endearing and beautiful re-creation of real life, real world history that man (or woman) has ever seen. (Don't even get me started on the master on no talent formulaic ineptitude that we call Spielberg, btw) When you have the kind of power and influence that is endowed with the ability to make films that not only Americans will see, but the wholefuckingworld, you do not merely have the right to give it the respect that should be due, you have the responsifuckingbility to do it proper basic justice. This platitudinous wreck was beyond sickening, almost as sick as I felt after I finally relented and saw Titanic (more than 10 years after its inception... even though a legally purchased copy was allowed to survive in my presence for the majority of that time) I probably would have been better off if I had trusted my better judgment and turned both of them off the first time it made me say 'I expected that'. The audience should NEVER be able to expect what is about to happen, never ever, ever. The power of a good story-teller is to keep the public guessing, keep them wanting, craving more. If I had paid to see this in a theater, I would have headed to the lobby and demanded my money back immediately, based on the fact that this was no piece of film, this was a piece of notevenproperlyrecycled garbage.
If you remember my fifteen minute guideline from one of my last, far more pitiful attempts at a film review, then I bet you can guess how long this one took to disgust me. Nanoseconds... is that even a real word? If not, it is now... thankfuckingyou JamesFUCKINGCameron. Your filth and waste of societal attention has made the need for new more up-to-date terminology just to be able to explain to what depths your depravity has reached on this, easily your most worthless movie to date. There is no going back. I made the mistake once with Titanic; I should have known better with this one. I will not be fooled again. I hope he dies, painfully, before he his able to complete even one more shitpileload of fucktardedmeaninglesswaste of space, waste of money, waste of time excuses he would have us, the over-paying public, duped into believing to be it a film.
Film is art, preferably fine art. Art is in the eye of the beholder. Art is not regurgitated ick even single-celled organisms know better than to consume. If we are continually shown this rancor, it will be what we come to expect from all film, from all art, from all life. Art imitates life, and thus life returns the favor; and if this is what JamesAssMunchingCameron sees through his unimaginative-close-minded-jaded-rose-colored-pious-glasses he can suck my big black dick and he will like it... 'cause that's how I feel right now, royally fucked without a kiss, raped and most significantly embarrassed for all mankind, film-going and otherwise. This is a prime example of how the world view is shaped, this is how the rest of the world is able to view Americans as a blight on this planet, this is how we deem that some of the world's greatest televisual computer generated images should be harnessed in a manner that JamesMouthBreatingCameron would have as a legacy. IMHO, this film is now the numberfuckingone reason terrorists deserve to want to destroy us and everything for which we stand. Oh, he's Canadian, you say... nofuckingwonder. Go home! - before you get us all killed. Or better yet, go work for Disney... we have come to expect this brand of predictable, conventional one-sided banality from their pedestrian versions of kids' movies. Then, I won't even need to check to see who the director is, that film company will conveniently wrap it all up with a fluffy my-shit-smells-better-than-yours bow.
In spite of the mundane lip service treatment JamesShitMeisterCameron gives the depth of story that this unoriginal shitfest could have, or should have, evoked as potentially one of the most masterful films of all time, the special effects department did well (as well as can be expected, all things considered). Hopefully they made a minor shitload of money and take something useful away from this insipid film. Because I see no other viable option for any good to come from this stale-ass movie. He not only just made Aliens again, but made us pay (more) for it again, but now also he has soiled Sigourney Weaver. Not only does he demonstrate how we will fuck our future, fuck every alien we encounter, but also that we will do it over and over again, with no regret... and not even bother to disguise it as anything other than the uninteresting, uninspired, undeserving flat tripe that it is. It troubles me deeply that we, today's film-goers have not enough cojones to boycott something as weak and irresponsible as this.
So, let's see... to recap... the bottom line: Half a billion dollars translated into non-American speak... that would be about 307 Million British pounds, 344 Million Euros and in South African Rands, it's 3.7 Billion. Does the conversion make it any more disgusting?
And now to the stars (one out of ten) rating. I give it one star for the special effects. I detract half of that single star because although JamesStockFootageClichéCameron has repeatedly shown his exhausted ass - something I have come to expect... but, Sigourney Weaver, she should have known better. Then, I can relent to allow it to have that half star back again... 'cause Neytiri is hot. And no, I am not bothering to link it. This ridiculous dung heap is not even worth all the effort I have already put into this explanation.
Oh wait, did you say James Cameron? I thought you said John Carpenter. My bad. The end.
Wednesday, November 11
In Floatilla Lore, This Explains So Much...
1977: Bootleg Snacks: Swallowed Deep Into The Love: Track #: Lost
Toys:
We'll fade it in at this point, Jack.
Everybody lean in real close and listen up real good. It's Auntie Toys, searing sonnets and psalms in your ear.
Once upon a time, far away, years and years ago, screaming out my name as I went down, a young woman entered college on Labor Day evening of her nineteenth year... As pure and true as the driven snow.
Floatilla Men:
(Hey, what the hell!)
Toys:
She had never been kissed, she had never been fondled, she'd... god knows she'd never been wasted. She was a doe-eyed, rainbow-deprived virgin. Nineteen years old and still half-drunken with youth... In this century!
One Fourth of July she was out drinking on a fake ID in one of those tweak and freak disco dance joints...
Floatilla Women:
(Leather Bitch!)
Toys:
The kind of girl you want to know
From her head down to her toenails, yeah...
Super Freak, my ass; Blow daddy!
Floatilla Men:
(Break out the good shit!)
Toys:
Anyway, she was out drinking on a fake I.D. in one of those tweak and freak disco dance joints, underneath a Southeastern coastal city. When under the confusion of the flickering, upright line-of-sight disco ball and storming PA...
Floatilla Women:
(We’re gonna burn this mutha down!)
Toys:
Not to mention... not to mention, all the microdot and schnapps she ate and drank that night...
Floatilla Men:
(Pour yourself another round!)
Toys:
She got separated from her alabaster friends. And she was... stricken with fear.
When suddenly there appeared like a dark angel at her side, a thirty-seven year old sweet-talking suave smooth disco gigolo named Dr. Love.
Floatilla Women:
(He used to be mine!)
Toys:
Now, Love was a striking man, in fact, he struck her several times later on that very same evening, under solemnly obligated patriotic prescription circumstances.
There's some people engaged in flagellation back there.
Floatilla Men:
(Who the hell asked you?)
Toys:
Well, what would any red blooded American nineteen year old virgin female do when confronted with a thirty-seven year old domination-wedding-chapel-leather-bar disco gigolo named Dr. Love?
She went home with him!
Floatilla Women:
(Will you remember me?)
Toys:
It's not even midnight, and in an age old time honored right of passage, Dr. Love made a woman out of her.
Floatilla Men:
(Give it up!)
Toys:
It took three whole days and two whole nights, but he did it, he made a light-socket, bottle rocket woman out of her.
About halfway through the second day, they stopped, and he tried to make a man out of her, but she didn't like that part, so they swap playthings.
Floatilla Women:
(That ought to do you for now!)
Toys:
Don't look at me like you don't know how that could be..! The measure passed with ease.
Floatilla Men:
(Hypocrisy Gestapo!)
Toys:
And don't tell me you haven't thought about it. You haven't?
Is this your first summer in town? Let me show you around.
Floatilla Women:
(WWD Love do!)
Toys:
From there, the house call relationship went, um, downhill, if that's possible. It got really sick. It was one of those twisted night after night after night, all day long, all night long, kinda corkscrewed down the back of the night on two wheels kinda things.
I hear some twisted men out there that like that.
Floatilla Men:
(I’m right here!)
Toys:
There's hope! And that's the start of a sad mysterious story: a story of love... love, love, true performance artist love and full witch doctor regalia.
Floatilla Women:
(The best things in life are we!)
Toys:
Amen!
All Floatilla:
(Sasha!)
Sunday, September 6
Girls' Night
She slides her heels off at the door and in her stocking feet
She glides across the floor while I pretend to be asleep
It's too late to take her makeup off
It's too dark to see
It's girls' night
She made a promise to me
Between the discothèques and lounges and martini bars
They ride in hansom cabs and limousines and new European cars
They pretend that they're still single
They pretend to be stars
When it's girls' night
You're free to be anyone you aren't
CHORUS:
It's girls' night
While all the haunted city sleeps
It's girls' night
And the unwanted spirits weep
It's girls' night
She made a promise I know she'd never keep
Don't fuck with me
Don't fuck with me
I'm not in the mood
Don't fuck with me
Don't fuck with me
I'm not in the mood
Every hair is still in place without a trace of sin
Her kisses don't taste anything like cigarettes or gin
She eases up the blinds to let the moonlight in
It's girls' night
We made a wager I knew I'd win
CHORUS
Wednesday, August 5
lowes
They can have their little feckin' apostrophe ... lowe's
but I am certainly not freakin' capitalizing them... Lowe's
and, I far'gain dare ya to even just ask me to use their proper fuh-reakin' name...
Lowe's Home Improvement Stores
so, don't even flipping consider fackin' mentioning their official f'ing name in my company...
Lowe's Companies, Inc.
I don't even know where to start.
But, I will say: dogs.
Fuckin' eh, I like daigs.
D-47
but I am certainly not freakin' capitalizing them... Lowe's
and, I far'gain dare ya to even just ask me to use their proper fuh-reakin' name...
Lowe's Home Improvement Stores
so, don't even flipping consider fackin' mentioning their official f'ing name in my company...
Lowe's Companies, Inc.
I don't even know where to start.
But, I will say: dogs.
Fuckin' eh, I like daigs.
D-47
Saturday, August 1
gots mad skillz
So, I have some new skills I can add to my resume, now. Though, I am not sure that these are items I particularly desired to have on my resume in the first place... but, I am sure it will come in handy, sometime, right.
FYI: Thus far, I have successfully avoided all plumbing and cabinetry... I wonder where I'd add that to a resume. It feels like a skill / category: avoidance ... PS?
I think I will leave this last one off the resume, but it has become quite a mastered skill... and in a fairly short time. Experience levels really help with that, with the constant contact... it just becomes like a second nature. Born again nature? Blessed nature. At least that what they always say.
Skill: Crackhead Grounds Maintenance (it sounds only marginally better than calling it yardtrash)
Did I mention? No, t.v. Well, if you don't count NCIS reruns ... and old Fawlty Towers episodes on the laptop... that is, of course, no real, live t.v. atm.
And that, my friends is it...
D day:
D - 51
and counting...
Here goes: Painting (Interior, only, so far), Cement / Mortar (it's like clay - art therapy - without all the Patrick Swayzeick), Various Texture Applications (now that just sounds like a fine sextoy accessory), Electrical (never in the attic...never, I say, never), Bondo (I think I actually like racing the clock with this... I don't know why I was always so intimidated by it before), general Construction / Demolition (is that, really a skill? - demolition, man, that would be fun to list on your taxes, I suppose), and [I may be adding] Ceramic Tile [to that list] (but I hope not)... [among other things].
FYI: Thus far, I have successfully avoided all plumbing and cabinetry... I wonder where I'd add that to a resume. It feels like a skill / category: avoidance ... PS?
I think I will leave this last one off the resume, but it has become quite a mastered skill... and in a fairly short time. Experience levels really help with that, with the constant contact... it just becomes like a second nature. Born again nature? Blessed nature. At least that what they always say.
Skill: Crackhead Grounds Maintenance (it sounds only marginally better than calling it yardtrash)
Did I mention? No, t.v. Well, if you don't count NCIS reruns ... and old Fawlty Towers episodes on the laptop... that is, of course, no real, live t.v. atm.
And that, my friends is it...
D day:
D - 51
and counting...
Monday, July 27
universals
Every once in a while I am reminded that this blog site is still here. And I have yet to update any of the links I lost when I updated the template to the 21st century. I don't know why, but I just don't seem to have even the slightest bit of interest in doing html code any more. I guess it was just a phase. At least it lasted longer than the mo-hawk phase, although no where near at long as the vegetarian phase.
So, now I have this site I never update... a twitter, I almost never use... a myspace, I log in so infrequently I have to request the password every time I sign in... and what is the point, really. Sure, it's nice to re connect with some long lost friends... but must I have a bookmark folder full of these thingies in order to communicate.
So, what I am wondering... when do they create the one service that let's you unite all these varied 'message' services together. When can I sign into gmail and have it link to twitter, flitter, aol, yahoo, myspace, facebook, icq, etc... and all I need do is make one universal entry. Why must modern technology take so damn long to become mildly convenient?
So, now I have this site I never update... a twitter, I almost never use... a myspace, I log in so infrequently I have to request the password every time I sign in... and what is the point, really. Sure, it's nice to re connect with some long lost friends... but must I have a bookmark folder full of these thingies in order to communicate.
So, what I am wondering... when do they create the one service that let's you unite all these varied 'message' services together. When can I sign into gmail and have it link to twitter, flitter, aol, yahoo, myspace, facebook, icq, etc... and all I need do is make one universal entry. Why must modern technology take so damn long to become mildly convenient?
Sunday, August 17
Need I say more...?
Although I had more than my fair share of childhood drama, there were only a few memories that really stuck with me... most of the others I have done very well to repress very deeply.
{begin: storytime}
When I was maybe 12 years old, I was swimming in the pool with my dad and brother. My brother didn't take to water quite as well as I did (unlike me he could walk before he could swim), but it seemed enjoyable none-the-less (as long as he didn't go underwater - that was end game). So, there we were enjoying a nice hot afternoon swim... when I hear my mother yelling from outside. She comes rushing into the greenhouse (where the pool was) and relays the bad news. She has just driven over her cat.... an 18+ year old, the most brilliant cat I have ever met, Venus. As he was as much a part of the family as any human to me, I immediately and semi-completely lost it: I screamed, I cried, I wailed... it hurt so much, I let it all out. The details she gave didn't help much either... as she graphically explained exactly how it's eyes and brain had literally popped out .... and asked my dad to come out an check on it (as if there was anything left to save). The more I cried, the more it began to insight my brother to do the same (even though at age 2ish, he probably didn't have too much of a clue as to exactly what was happening).
And, no, the death of a lifelong feline family member wasn't the most traumatic part of this glorious story... this is: So, now I am balling my eyes out, and so is my lil brother. Then my mother decides to yell at me... for upsetting my brother (like this whole thing is my fault). How am I supposed to not cry!?!
I am sure not I ever fully recovered from that situation... of all the great parenting adventures I experience thanks to mom, this one may have been a personal best (imho).
And what do you do when someone tells you not to cry? - of course, cry more, louder... my apparently, sometimes, eventually, personal favorite: hyperventilate.
I was just recently reminded of this tale, again... as she drove over yet another family pet with her car. And again, it doesn't bother me as much that Moira has passed (I am confident she is in a better place now), rather I am bothered by the response of the supposed adult in the situation.
"It was like she just ready to kill herself."
{/end: storytime}
{begin: storytime}
When I was maybe 12 years old, I was swimming in the pool with my dad and brother. My brother didn't take to water quite as well as I did (unlike me he could walk before he could swim), but it seemed enjoyable none-the-less (as long as he didn't go underwater - that was end game). So, there we were enjoying a nice hot afternoon swim... when I hear my mother yelling from outside. She comes rushing into the greenhouse (where the pool was) and relays the bad news. She has just driven over her cat.... an 18+ year old, the most brilliant cat I have ever met, Venus. As he was as much a part of the family as any human to me, I immediately and semi-completely lost it: I screamed, I cried, I wailed... it hurt so much, I let it all out. The details she gave didn't help much either... as she graphically explained exactly how it's eyes and brain had literally popped out .... and asked my dad to come out an check on it (as if there was anything left to save). The more I cried, the more it began to insight my brother to do the same (even though at age 2ish, he probably didn't have too much of a clue as to exactly what was happening).
And, no, the death of a lifelong feline family member wasn't the most traumatic part of this glorious story... this is: So, now I am balling my eyes out, and so is my lil brother. Then my mother decides to yell at me... for upsetting my brother (like this whole thing is my fault). How am I supposed to not cry!?!
I am sure not I ever fully recovered from that situation... of all the great parenting adventures I experience thanks to mom, this one may have been a personal best (imho).
And what do you do when someone tells you not to cry? - of course, cry more, louder... my apparently, sometimes, eventually, personal favorite: hyperventilate.
I was just recently reminded of this tale, again... as she drove over yet another family pet with her car. And again, it doesn't bother me as much that Moira has passed (I am confident she is in a better place now), rather I am bothered by the response of the supposed adult in the situation.
"It was like she just ready to kill herself."
{/end: storytime}
Friday, June 6
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