Gruesome discovery at home…

I posted this over at my work blog. But I just could not pass up posting it here. It’s not often you find a body part in your driveway…

Yesterday evening when I came home from work, I went outside to take in my garbage bins as I normally do on a Monday. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary other than the fact that the weather seemed to be shifting to the cooler side. First I took in the regular trash bin and then on my way back to get the recycle bin, I noticed something odd in my driveway, just outside of the garage door.

At first it looked to be one of those black sponge rollers. But it seemed moist, like clay or something so I took a stick and picked at it. But the more I moved it around, the more it seemed apparent that this was no sponge roller or piece of felt or mud or even doggie business. No this thing looked to have nostrils. And I was quite sure by the time I had rolled that thing halfway down the alley to get it off my drive that it was certainly a nose. Not sure what to do, I took two sticks like chopsticks and tried to pick it up. That took about 10 minutes as the floppy thing kept falling back on the ground. Finally I was able to move it near the creek by my house and I just stood there. Not sure what to do…

So I went upstairs and took a shower. Being that I’m supposed to be a journalist, my curiosity and need to “do the right thing” overcame me and I figured I should at least take photos of it. Of course by the time I was back in the alley, my neighbors were walking their dogs. I told them of my discovery (because I’m sure I was about to look really funny taking snapshots of mud and grass) and I kept reassuring them I wasn’t nuts. However when I tried to find it, I forgot where I hoisted the thing!

I need no more crosses to bear…

I’m not exactly a religious person though I do believe in a higher power, a creator and all of that. I waver on evolution. That obviously has a place in the grand scheme of things even though I know it’s not a popular belief system. Even with my issues with being raised Christian but leaning more toward agnosticism, I’ve always held on to the saying, “God gives us no cross we cannot bear” or some variation of that. I have always heard that saying from hardcore Christians throughout my life. My mother used to say something along those lines though I believe she had her own way of saying things.

That bit about bearing crosses, maybe  it’s true. However, I’ve had enough crosses from just this year alone. More than I care to recall, more than I care to see again…

I’m sick today, yet again. I just can’t seem to get on the path to good health no matter how hard I try. Which leads me to medical bills upon medical bills. And then there’s all the changes with work: the layoffs, firings, resignations, issues with managing, slowly losing grip once again to a social life and pretty much realizing I’m kind of alone in a way. I have wonderful parents but I can’t lean on them forever. I guess this reads as a pity party. But really I’m trying hard to grasp at the aforementioned saying, “God gives us no cross we cannot bear.”

Through it all, I guess I get to the next day and the next and the next — but at what cost? When do the crosses stop coming? Where do I put them all?

Realizations that travel through Gmail

I’m not really a YouTube watcher. When I get a link or hear about the latest YouTube craze, I look. And then of course there are all of the other videos that pop up on the right side of the screen that taunt you to keep clicking. But I got an email from a great friend that had a link that I took a lot of notice of because it hit home.

I am probably behind in the music scene, I’m a classic rock fan anyway, but the link she sent was this Gnarls Barkley video. The song is called “Who’s Gonna Save My Soul?” It’s enough to actually get me to buy the CD. And I don’t really buy CDs. Who does anymore?

Anyway, here it is.

I feel weird that a music video has made me reflect. I hoped you watched it because here is my tirade:

Why does it work this way? I didn’t really give it much thought. But now that I have on this dark Hurricane Ike day, I can think of one guy who ruined my heart and another who walked away with it. That’s at least the simplisitic version. And both happened at least half a decade ago. Since then I think I don’t really look at men the same. Not that I compare anyone I’ve dated to them, but maybe knowing that I have already gone down that route means that once I try to travel it again, I’m already damaged goods. Yep. I said it. Damaged. Most men will say, “Ah! Told you. Women hold a grudge!” But I’m not bitter. I’m just more aware of what is at stake EVERYTIME I decide to date again. I know how temporary it all is and I’ve yet to be proved wrong. Or feel the need to feel bad about it. It just is.

I’ve grown so much since that first real relationsship. And I’m growing even still, even in this past year. What does it all mean in the end? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s like I said. It just is. Am I supposed to dissect it?

Missed the mark…

Kidd Rock and ‘Lil Wayne. I’m not a huge Lynard Skynard fan obviously (“That Smell”, “Tuesday’s Gone,” “Free Bird”…OK, I like FEW songs) but I’m sure Ronnie Van Zant is turning over in his grave after Kidd and Wayne’s performance a few minutes ago on the VMAs. What a joke.

That’s not MY MTV…

Why isn’t Paris Hilton so 15 minutes ago…?

Lessons to be learned from The Jazz Singer

When I was a very small child, any time I saw Neil Diamond on television or heard him on the radio, I would say, “Daddy! The Jazz Singer!” I think for the longest time I thought Neil Diamond’s name was Jazz Singer. I don’t really remember watching the movie. I mean, it came out in 1980. I’m 30 years old. But I remember that glittery blue shirt and scarf he wore at the end of the movie when he sang, “America.”  And he seemed to mean every word. In my book it’s America’s song. Or should be. I know this movie is a remake, but who knows much about the 1927 version? OK. That’s a lie. Al Jolson in black face…

But if you don’t know the 1980 movie, here is the long and the short of it: Jewish cantor living in New York sets out, against his traditional father’s wishes, to achieve his dream of being a singer. It’s such a basic plot, but something about it rings so true of lessons we should learn of tolerance, acceptance, forgiveness and being true to yourself. Maybe it’s female hormones, but I’ve just finished watching it on this lovely Sunday evening and balled my eyes out. Oh my goodness, when Neil’s character tries to set things right with his father by singing on  Yom Kippur (the day atonement) and hearing the power of those words I don’t even understand and his father’s expression along with his — oye, I’m getting vaclemped. Talk amongst yourselves while I collect myself. Topic: 2008’s choices of vice-president candidates and potential reality shows about them…

OK…I’m alright. If you haven’t seen it, all of this may seem silly. Actually if you have, I may still seem a little odd and blogging about it probably is odd. It’s just that it brought me back to being that silly little kid who ran after her father and spent Saturdays digging in the backyard for “fossils.” Things were not always simple back then, but the complexity of my life in those impressionable years was minimal. And looking at today’s world, the 80s had more than their share of, should I say, hiccups? But the place we are now scares the crap out of me. Maybe at the brink of when The Jazz Singer came out in theaters, words like tolerance and acceptance were still new and truly mattered. But today they can be, at times, stifled. Sure. We are in a new world where a black man or a woman can be president, but I find the fact that these two things are so landmark has exposed to the world how much we are still so behind in our thinking.

If we were ahead, these things maybe wouldn’t matter so much or be so landmark. Ok. Thinking about that after crying over The Jazz Singer might very well be very, very odd. Now all I need is ice-cream, a DVD of the last season of Sex and the City and a fuzzy white robe and I’m all set for estrogen-land.