The Prodigal Returns

Sorry for not providing an update yesterday, buy by the end of the day, I had walked about...five miles, and I could barely move. I still feel like I was rode hard and put away wet.

And before I go any further, props to my company for offering domestic partner benefits.

Now, then, my trip.

My day started at 9:30 Wednesday morning. That was the last time before 11 last night that I slept. I left Baton Rouge around 4:30, which was about a half hour later than I wanted to. It was no big deal, though, because there was no traffic. I parked in a lot and waited by my car for the shuttle to pick me up. The plane was a little late in leaving, but nobody was sitting next to me - bonus. Sitting behind me however was a family on their way to Pittsburgh for vacation. They were having the most ridiculous coversation about nothing that I have ever heard.

The plane was few minutes late getting into Philadelphia, and I was in the back of the plane. I had less than 50 minutes to make my connection, and I had never been in the Philly airport before (it is a pit, by the way). So I sped through the airport, covering about a mile in 15 minutes, including two moving sidewalks (still hate those things).

On the way to Pittsburgh, who should I be sitting by but the inane conversation family. Conversation was still inane, but this time it was about airplane manufacturers. For an hour straight.

We got into Pittsburgh, and I went to baggage claim. It was taking a long time to get there, so I went to the rental car company. Who should be there by inane family. I got my keys, then got my bag, then went to the car. It is a yellow Chevy Cobalt. Strike that one from the list of cars I might buy when I buy a new one. It is really cramped, and the seat is too high and puts my foot in an awkward position when I have to step on the pedals. Plus, I don't know how to work all the bells and whistles. Do they even make cars any more that don't have power anything?

Anyway, by this time I was ravenous (I hadn't eaten all day) so I went to Panera and had chicken salad sandwich. I used to think they made the best chicken salad sandwhiches, and had romanticized it a bit. Now, though, they are down to number three in my mind behind La Madeleine and Bistro Byronz (Byronz would be first if they didn't put cranberries in it).

I had some time to kill before my hotel room was ready, so I drove around my old neighborhood. It was weird. Aside from being more run down, it is pretty much exactly the same. Even the potholes haven't changed. But it felt...small somehow. It never did when I was a kid. And I don't know if I mean that it felt physically small. In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't. I think I mean that...it felt like it represented a part of me that isn't so much there now. Let me see if I can explain.

I was the only one in my neighborhood to go away to college. Everybody else who went stayed local. The other people in my high school to go away mostly went to IUP, which might have been called "Langley East" (of the 50% of my class to go onto higher education (about 100), about 20 people went to IUP.). I went away, and it was good. Every time I came home, it seemed like I had changed and no one else did. It was unsettling.

Now that I have moved beyond the western corner of Pittsburgh on a permanent basis, it feels like that on a city-wide basis. Not that Baton Rouge is some cosmopolitan Mecca, but I've been exposed to a whole lot of other things down there, and I have fundamentally changed. I guess that is reflected in my perception of the city.

I have more thoughts on this, but I need time to formulate them.

Last night, I went to the exhibit at Phipps Conservatory. It was awesome. I took about 140 pictures. I would have taken more, but my batteries started to run out, and I had to wait about 2 minutes between pictures for the batteries to charge.

Today, I hurt, but I'm going sightseeing a little bit this afternoon. I leave you with one of the pictures I took last night. I'm planning to put up a Flickr slide show when I get home, so stay tuned.

All that's left to do is laundry, then sleep for a few hours. I'm leaving for New Orleans around 4 a.m. if things go according to plan. To those of you I'll be seeing this weeked, I'll see you this weekend.

Have to share. Not a Sopranos fan, but still funny. It's funnier if you know what Ritter's Diner is.

Dear World,

I am NOT getting sick two days before my trip. I'm just not. That is all.

Sheryl




There. Now that I announced it to the world, it has to be true.

This is a picture of my purse taken with my new camera and monkeyed around with with the photo software on my computer.

If I weren't too lazy to get up and get my USB cable, I'd post a picture of the kittens that live under the deck of the geese that live at the building where I work. But I am, so I won't.

In other news, the commercial with the Kotex maxipad with wings animated to look like it's driving down a road, and then stops and picks up a red dot which represents...well, I think you know what it represents? Yeah, I hate that commercial.

I've ranted about feminine protection commercials before. I don't remember which ones, but I know I've ranted about them. Basically, I don't believe that it necessary to advertise those products. Speaking as a woman, women are pretty gosh darned brand-loyal when it comes to those particular purchases. There aren't a lot of things that are going to entice a woman to switch types or brands, and a maxipad that is supposed to bring to mind a car isn't one of them. When a woman finds something she likes in that area, she sticks with it. Therefore, it is a waste of airtime and corporate money to advertise those products on TV.

Now I know what you are thinking. You are thinking I'm a prude and just don't want to see that. Wrong. I just think that there isn't much an advertiser could say in a commercial that is going to make me want to change my preferred brand. That is a very personal choice, based on a whole lot of things (fear not, I am not going to share my very personal choice with you, except to say that it not Kotex, and never will be). I found what I liked years ago (like, when I was in college) and have used it ever since and have no intention of changing.

So, multinational conglomerates who happen to have a feminine hygiene division, spend your advertising dollars elsewhere. Like the snackfood division. Especially if you happen to sell something that is simultaneously salty, greasy, chocolatey, and low fat. Then you will really get the attention of women at "that time of the month."

Oh, and just so you don't think I'm picking on Kotex alone, I also hate Always' tag line "Have a happy period. Always." And I hate the the Pamprin commercials about how much better that makes you feel than Advil and your girlfriends won't even believe that you have your period until you announce that you are craving chocolate, and then they say knowingly to each other, "Oh yeah, she's menstrual." And I hate the tampon commercials that make it seem like by using tampons, all of your menstrual symptoms magically go away. Oh, and yeast infection commercials.

Wow. How did this post turn into this?

By the way, go check out the animation's the good folks at Sweet Juniper embedded in this post. They are by the same guy who did a lot of the animation for vintage Sesame Street and Electric Company. They are just wonderful.

Just as a note, it is a well-known fact throughout all of Pennsylvania that Ohio Drivers are the worst in the nation (though most folks from PA have never been to Louisiana, and not many folks drive all that way).

 

So, sorry Tim. I'm just reporting the facts.

 

TG, you're off the hook since you were trained in PA, where if you run a yellow in some of those little towns, you have a ticket coming.

 

Down here, the little towns get you with speedtraps on country roads. The state auditor did a study and found that some of the tiny towns in LA derive over 60% of their revenue from speeding tickets.

First of all, if you are female, you must buy Ryka tennis shoes.

 

They are horribly comfortable, made specifically to fit women's feet, and horribly comfortable. The only downside is that only a few styles come in a wide width. Shoebuy.com carries at least one of those styles; I don't think Zappos.com carries any. I love my new shoes, and I have a week to break them in before I go all over creation in Pittsburgh.

 

Second of all, Dell refunded my account, finally. I wonder if the Dell representative who happened upon my blog had anything to do with it. Regardless, I am not buying my camera from them. I found a better one at Circuit City for less than half the price. As soon as my account is paid off, I am done with Dell.

 

Third, why do two bras in the same size from the same manufacturer made with the same material fit differently? What is up with that? Don't they have some kind of size standardization thingy in their plants?

 

Fourthly, I am looking forward to seeing my hometown as a tourist, even if it only for one full day and two half days. I'm seeing the exhibit at Phipps Conservatory on Thursday night, then perhaps again on Friday morning (it's a cool exhibit, and it's totally different at night and during the day apparently). If not, I'm not sure what I'm going to do on Friday morning. I'm having lunch with a friend then, and Friday night I plan to go to the Warhol Museum and then to see a show downtown (Amish Burlesque - It's a comedy, if you couldn't tell).

 

Saturday, I'm going to visit the cemeteries before I go to Erie. I can only put cut flowers on my parents' grave, but I'm thinking of planting a rose bush at my grandmother's so that she will always have pink roses, even though there is no one to take them year after year (another guilt trip I've laid upon myself that probably merits an entry at some point).  I'd like to go to the Strip District, too, but that seems kind of pointless (although lunch at Benkovitz sounds like a good thing).

 

I am a little leery about driving in PA, though. I've picked up a lot of bad habits living here for five years. Things like accelerating on a yellow (yellow lights are extremely long here, and if you don't accelerate, the person tailgating you will hit you), never using turn signals, and assuming the posted speed limit means minimum speed. Baton Rouge drivers really are the worst I've ever seen. Worse even than Ohio drivers.

 

Oh well, I guess I'll get back to work. Getting my hair cut this afternoon.  Woo hoo!

The high today in Baton Rouge was 96, with a heat index of 107. WTF, weather?

I literallyhave salt on my face from dried sweat. And all I did was go to Target and the grocery store (Super Target has better prices, but the grocery store has better selection).

I found the Holy Grail of apartment dwellers today at Target. I found...a laundry basket with wheels and a pull-up handle. It is beautiful. Thank you Target, for stocking what your customers want.

And Dell, I have to tell you, your customer service sucks. Yes, dear readers, they still haven't refunded my account for the camera I had to cancel because the delayed shipping twice. Not only that, I discovered Friday that they had been lying to me all last week. They guy who told me that it would refund within a few hours on Monday? Lied. The guy on chat who told me it would refund within 24-48 hours? Lied. Apparently, when part of an order ship and the other part is cancelled because Dell (and/or its suppliers) is stupid and can't manage to keep up with demand, it takes longer to process the refund, and it might not credit until the next billing cycle. I feel a little guilty, but I read the customer service rep. I spoke with on Friday the riot act. It wasn't his fault, but I know those calls are recorded and reviewed, and I was going to speak my piece.

By the end of the call, they guy promised me that my account would be credited by Monday. If I don't see a credit by Tuesday morning (I'll give them the benefit of the doubt when it comes to their systems updating), there will be hell to pay. I was looking forward to having a camera to take on vacation with me, and now that might not happen. I am not a happy camper.

The computer company that rhymes with hell is getting on my nerves.

 

I cancelled the shipment of my camera because it wasn't going to reach me in time for my vacation.  This was on Monday, and they have yet to credit my account so I can order a camera that will reach me on time for my vacation. They keep giving me the run-around about exactly when they are going to do so.

 

Love my computer, hate their customer service.

Aww...Ducks! I love ducks!

This was an interesting article.

When I was starting to look at colleges in earnest, in the spring of my junior year of high school, my parents were totally confused. I was, for all intents and purposes, a first-generation college student (my dad went for two years on the GI Bill, but didn't earn a degree, and, really, didn't have a "normal" college experience. He was one of about 50 male GI's taking classes on the then all-female Carlow College campus.). When literature about various colleges started pouring in after I took the PSAT's, we were overwhelmed.

I knew theoretically that there were thousands of colleges and universities in the United States (thanks to my handy-dandy Reader's Digest Almanac and Book of Facts), but I didn't imagine that any of them would send me mail based only on the fact that I did pretty well on the PSAT's. I got stuff from teeny, tiny liberal arts schools in Minnesota, and from UCLA. Of course, I was interested in every single one of them for a long time. I wanted to visit schools in New England, Texas, Michigan, North Dakota, New Mexico...well, you get the point.

My parents, however, put the kaibosh on that. The said we could go to any college night programs that took place anywhere near Pittsburgh, and maybe visit a few nearby colleges in the summer. I had to narrow my choices on my own.

I have to admit, that my methods were pretty much as arbitrary as the ones in the article. I eliminated one school because they sent me too much junk (that would be Elizabethtown College in Pennsylvania. I hope that they either stopped that practice, or that one of their admission/marketing people happens to find this blog and learns just how irritating all that mail was). I eliminated others because the pictures in their viewbooks scared me. I was pretty sure I couldn't attend a school where students spontaneously formed human pyramids on the quad. I initially eliminated all the Catholic colleges (you'll learn why when I write about the high school phase of my journey sometime this week), but then I put a few back in. I did eliminate all the really conservative Christian colleges on a permanent basis, because they scared me, too.

Finally, at the beginning of the summer before my senior year, I had my list narrowed down to 10 schools. I don't remember all of them, but I do know that they included West Virgina Wesleyan, Dickinson, Mount Holyoke, and of course Gannon, which was really my fall-back school.

That summer, we visited West Virginia Wesleyan in person. I liked, it, but it was really rural, and a little too small. We also went to college nights for Dickinson, Mount Holyoke, and Gannon. The first two were in swank, downtown hotels. Gannon's was at the Green Tree Holiday Inn. That is a key factor later on, which is why I mention it now.

Now, there was no way in creation we could visit Mount Holyoke in person. We just didn't have the money for a trip to New England. But my dad did decide we could see Dickinson in person, and he wanted to go see Gannon (he used to babysit the guy who was the Dean of Enrollment Services back then).

So, the week before school started, we went on a day trip to see Gannon. Honestly, I wasn't that impressed. There was no campus. I wanted a school with green space and old buildings and ivy and stuff like that. I couldn't tell what buildings belonged to Gannon and which ones didn't. It was not an auspicious visit.

My visit to Dickinson in the fall, however, was. It had the old, stone buildings, the ivy, the clearly-defined campus. It had the changing leaves, and the village feel. It was exactly what I was looking for.

In the end, I only applied to Dickinson and Gannon. I knew there was a chance I wouldn't get accepted to Dickinson, so I wanted that fall-back school. I eliminated WVW because it was just too remote, and I eliminated Mt. Holyoke because I realized I could never fit in with the daughters of rich folk.

After I sent in my applications, I put it all out of my mind. I still had to pass Calculus if I wanted to get in anywhere, after all, and I still had to make sure that I finished ahead of SR in class rank (I wrote about her in the elementary school post). I did, by the way. She didn't even make the top ten. Take that, witch with a captial B!

Anyhow, the first acceptance letter I got was from Gannon. They offered me a really good financial aid package. I was happy that at least I knew I'd have some place to go in the fall.

While waiting to hear from Dickinson, I got to thinking, not about how prestegious the two colleges were, or how nice their campuses were, but how the felt. Dickinson felt a little uptight, a little pretentious to me. It felt like they were making too much of an effort to impress, both visitors and students alike.

Gannon, on the other hand, felt like an old friend. They were laid back in their college night. One of the professors even came and presented about his research. Where as Dickinson had fancy hors d'oevers (I think there is a "u" in there somewhere, but I'm too lazy too look it up) for refreshments, Gannon had pop, chips, and cookies. When they visited my school, I couldn't attend the presentation because it was during Calculus (couldn't miss that class for love or money). The admissions person stuck around and talked to me during my lunch period instead. In short, they impressed me by being genuine, and I had a good feel about that.

So, I made the decision to go to Gannon, and asked by dad to send in the deposit without waiting to hear from Dickinson. I'm convinced I made the best choice. I did get accepted at Dickinson, by the way (but couldn't afford to go because they didn't give scholarships to freshmen, and their maximum need-based award wouldn't have covered as much as I needed it to cover.).

So yeah, I guess the college-choosing process really is arbitrary on the part of the students. But sometimes you have to go with your instinct over cold, hard facts.

Leif Garrett has come up twice today. How weird is that?

I saw a kid downstairs who looked exactly like he did circa 1976. And as I'm working on resumes, I'm listening to the podcast of Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me, where they talked about his visit to rehab.

It's a psychedellic kind of day.

I know there are at least a couple clergy-types who stop by and read occasionally. And if preaching a sermon is anything like teaching, you sometimes wonder if anything you are saying is affecting anyone in your congregation in any way.

 

Well, it is. Even if no one tells you that.

 

Heard a great sermon yesterday that just really struck a cord and helped with the whole "getting over myself" thing. The pastor wove together St.Paul, St. Augustine, Luther, and Emily Dickenson in a way that really worked. Rock on, Pastor E!

 

And yes, I did tell him.  I know it helps to hear that sometimes.

First of all, thanks to TG for offering to goad her children into misbehavior so I can save face! Don't think it'll be necessary, though. I'll be over myself by then.

Let me explain why I am so weird about the religion stuff.

As regular readers know, my dad was Catholic, my mom was Lutheran, and they chose to raise me Catholic. Now, when I was little, I didn't really understand the differences, except that they went to different churches, and Daddy's church had the big cross behind the altar and Mummy's church had the big, fascinating, and creepy picture of the Agony in the Garden on one of the walls. Despite that, though, I could tell that my dad's family thought a little less of my mom because she wasn't "part of the fold." even if she was a good woman.

And, I could tell that, despite the fact that my dad loved my mother deeply, there was a little part of him that didn't like the fact that she wasn't willing to consider conversion to Catholicism. That was one of the few things that kep my family growing up from being just about perfect (well, that and my dad's drinking, and my mom's occassional depression, and...you get the picture).

I went to Catholic school for elementary school, so as far as I was concerned, everyone in the world was Catholic (except for Mum, of course). On some level, I believed that, even though I had evidence to the contrary in the form of the Methodist nursery school, the Presbyterian preschool and vacation bible school I attended, and the Baptist neighbors who always wrapped tracts around the candy bars they handed out at Halloween - no one cared because they gave full-sized Hershey Bars. Anyway, I was pretty content in my little Catholic world.

Until fourth grade. I've written before about how incredibly hurt I was that I wasn't allowed to be an altar server because I was a girl. I knew in my head that only boys were allowed to serve in my church, even though girls could serve in my mom's church, but in my heart, I really wanted to be a server. I was fascinated by the ritual of the Mass, and I wanted to know more. I wanted to really understand what was happening, which I wasn't getting out of my religion classes. When Fr. David Kriss (he's dead, and I hated him, so I will use his real name) pretty much told me I was a bad person because I questioned that inequality, I started to question other things too.

I quietly questioned and went on with my life for the next couple years, until 7th grade. That year changed my life in so many ways, some good, some bad. I started in the Pittsburgh Public Schools Middle School Gifted Program that year. I got pulled out of my school once a week to attend special classes with students from all over the city, from both private an public schools. I loved it. I was challenged academically and intellectually, which I wasn't getting at my home school. But more importantly, I discovered that the whole world was not white and Catholic. I went to school with African-American students for the first time, my closest friends and Banksville were a Hispanic Lutheran, and African-American Baptist, a Jewish girl and a Jewish guy. We bonded one day when we realized that the one that everyone at out table in our IEP class had in common was that the KKK hated us all. We talked about religion from an intellectual perspective - well, as intellectual as bunch of sheltered 12 year olds can be. It was awesome.

Back at my home school, I was on our Spelling Bee "team" (I can't think of a better word than that - there were three of us who represented the school in the Pittsburgh Press Spelling Bee, and one alternate). In addition to practicing at home, we were expected to give up recess two days a week to practice at school. Guess who our "coach" was? If you guessed Fr. David Kriss, you are right. At first, it wasn't that bad, but as the Bee got closer, he demanded more of our time. At first, he'd keep us 10 or 15 minutes into our lunch periods, leaving us with 15 or 10 minutes to eat. Then he insisted on more days, so that we were giving up recess all together (he actually was a little bit ticked with D and me for our one day a week at Banksville). He also became more and more harsh in practice. He insisted that we spell words in syllables, and even if we got them correct, we had to respell them.

Well, I had trouble spelling in syllables. My brain just didn't memorize words like that. Instead, I tended to see them in letter groups. It worked for me, but he didn't like that at all. He yelled at me all time. It got to be really, really stressful.

Everything came to a head one Thursday. He started giving us words we hadn't studied yet, and at one point, he gave me the word "leukemogen" which, if you are interested, is an agent that causes leukemia. I spelled it wrong the first time, and I didn't spell it in syllables. He completely lost it. He made me, for the rest of our study session, say each syllable and then spell it - of that same word. This went on for about 20 minutes. By the end, I was in tears, and I could tell that M, K, and D were uncomfortable on my behalf. He kept us all the way through lunch that day.

Now our principal, Sr. Paulita (don't mind giving her name either - she was wonderful), insisted that we take as much time as we needed to eat lunch when he kept us late. Unfortunately, I had pre-Algebra right after lunch, and my limited math skills didn't let me miss a minute of class, so I usually just bolted lunch. On that particular day, though, I first of all didn't feel like eating, and second, had no time as class was already starting. So I told Mrs. F (who worked in the lunchroom on Thursdays instead of my mom, who worked the rest of the week), that I was skipping lunch and went back to class.

Sr. Mary Agnes (she was pretty OK, too) had been alerted that we had been kept through lunch, and was surprised to see me in class. I couldn't lie to her and say that I had already eaten since I had my full lunchbag with me. I told her I just wasn't very hungry. It was obvious that I had been crying.

Somehow or another, Sr. Mary Agnes must have gotten word to Sr. Paulita using some special nun-ESP, because a few minutes later, she came and pulled me out of class. She took me into the gym (which was the closest unused room), and asked me what was wrong. I tried to keep it in, and tell her everything was fine, but she was pretty darned perceptive, and she didn't believe me. I finally broke down, and through tears told her what had happened, and about all the other times Fr. Kriss had yelled at me, and that I was sorry I couldn't do things his way. I told her that I'd try to fix things if I just knew why he hated me (this kind of thing had been going on since that day in 4th grade, to one degree or another). She told me it wasn't my fault, and told me she'd call my mom to come get me. I didn't want to miss math, though, so she sent me back to class, and called my mom anyway. I didn't have to have any more classes with Fr. Kriss (I even got to help out in the computer room when he taught our religion class), and he got transferred right after that school year.

I also had other issues at my home school that year. SR, my rival all through school, had gone from being merely a rival to being my arch-nemisis and bully. She was the de facto leader of the popular girls, so where she led, they followed. I got picked on a lot that year. I wasn't pretty, or athletic, or rich. I had "developed" earlier than the other girls who were just starting that. Then, I went to a different school one day a week , which, according to them, made me think I was better than everyone else. I thought nothing of the sort, of course. My self-esteem was low enough then that I pretty much thought that I was inferior to everyone. It made for a miserable year.

That year marked a seminal moment for me in my relationship with the Catholic Church. I didn't understand why this man, who was supposed to represent the Good Shepherd on Earth could be so mean to me, how these girls, who professed to believe what Jesus taught every week at Mass could pick on me to the point where I went home in tears, and the kids I knew at Banksville, who weren't Catholic, or even Christian in some cases, could be so nice. I didn't understand how I could stick out like a sore thumb with people who were supposedly just like me, an fit in perfectly with people who weren't. That was the year I started to question the institutional Church, and organized religion in general.

I'll write about my high school years later today. Right now, I need to go get my laundry out of the dryer and go get something for...whatever meal you eat at 3:30 p.m. when it's the first meal of the day.

Now that the immediate, squealing, excitement of deciding to go north has worn off, I'm left with something of a dilemma.

 

You see, most of the friends I'll be seeing don't know about my departure from the Roman Catholic Church. Now, that might not be a big deal, but I was a hopeless church nerd during my college and young adult days. I was active in Campus Ministry at Gannon, and thus most of my friends were, too. I was active in my parish in Pittsburgh, and most of my friends came from that experience.

 

It still might not be a big deal, but one of the activities planned is a Mass at the ol' alma mater. Questions, I'm afraid, may arise if I go to Mass but don't received communion. I have too much respect for the Eucharist to not respect the RCC's rules for reception. I wouldn't be the only one not receiving as at least one other person who will be there is Protestant, but unless there is something I don't know, I'll be the only one who used to be Roman Catholic. I suppose people could assume that I was in a state of grave sin, and hadn't gone to Confession (not that that is much better).

 

The really hard part is that I was on pace to do this whole...departure thing when I was first starting college. I fully assumed that I would start attending and become involved with either a Lutheran or Episcopal church up there. But, I got pulled into campus ministry, and felt, for the first time ever, that I had a place in the Roman Catholic Church.

 

So if the issue comes up, what do I say?

 

• "I got tired of saying one thing publically in my teaching role within the church and believing something else privately"?
• "I was deeply hurt by politics and hierarchy, and it was enough to send me searching"?
• "I found that pretending to not mind the second-class status that lay women (especially single, lay women) are inflicted with to be very frustrating"?
• "I woke up one morning and realized that those subtle differences in theology really make a buttload of difference when you add them all up, and I wound up on the side of Luther"?
• "Life changed me. I grew, and prayed, and thought, and prayed, and worked, and prayed, and the Big Guy just lead me to where I am now"?

I may be playing the part of the cowardly lion, but I hope the issue doesn't come up. I'm not a different person. I never lost my faith (exactly), and I never lost touch with God. My understanding of the intellectual part of faith has changed, and I choose to practice in a slightly different way in a slightly different community. But I am still fundamentally the same person, if a little more damaged and a lot more spiritually fulfilled (that is, when I don't have to spend my whole blessed life at work),

On my last post, LP asked what Eat'n Park was, and if it was similar to Sonic. The answer to that is no...and yest.

 

In its earliest days, Eat'n Park is exactly what Sonic is today - a drive in, the kind where you order from your car and a carhop brings your food to you (for you Yankees uninitiated to the wonder that is Sonic. If you are ever in the south, you must get a vanilla coke (the kind where the put the syrup in the Coke afterwards) or a strawberry slush, made with real fruit).

 

Today Eat'n Park is a chain of family restaurants across Pennsylvania, Ohio, and West Virginia. It can best described by saying it is a step above IHOP, and a step below Applebee's. They have good, unpretentious food at reasonable prices. And they are famous for the Smiley Cookies they give to kids, which are actually kind of gross, but traditional, nonetheless.

 

Eat'n Park was THE restaurant most of the people I grew up with went to. You could take your family out to eat at a sit-down restaurant without going broke. They have awesome breakfast, too.

 

The closest thing we have here in BR is Picadilly, which has the same kind of food, but is a cafeteria-type place. I'm not even exaggerating when I say that is the biggest thing I miss about home. And I'll be there on a Sunday, when, according to the website, they have Cream of Potato soup, which is the best Cream of Potato soup you will ever, ever, have.

 

I can't wait. Between that and Primanti's (where they put coleslaw and french fries ON the sandwiches)...I don't know what I'm looking forward to more.

And the best thing is...

...I get to eat at Eat 'n' Park!

So I'm heading back to the north the next to last weekend in June. I'll get to see some old friends, so I'm excited. I also get to stay in a Motel 6. Not quite as excited about that!

Oh, did I ever tell you my new computer came? It did and I love it!

Go read this article.

The parochial vicar in the parish I grew up in left the diocese (well, he is still technically attached to the diocese - just on military assignment) to become a military chaplain in the Air Force the summer before I started 3rd grade. He was a great guy. I think about him a lot, and wonder what he is doing now (he isn't near retirement age yet, as he was very young at the time - though I didn't think so when I was 8!).

I'd imagine that would be one of the toughest calls for a clergy person to have, especially in war time. I couldn't imagine having to counsel a person who just had to kill someone in the line of duty, or who saw some of the atrocities that people commit on other people, supposedly in the name of God, in this particualr war (and yes, I know it should more correctly be Allah in this case, but I'm choosing to use the Big Guy's generic name, rather than the one that Islam uses).

I've known a few other military chaplains who have served in the reserves, all of whom have been called to active duty at various times. All of them are Roman Catholic priests, and all are good men. In talking with them, every single one has said that they have been changed by their experiences in ways they just can't describe. At least one had to leave active ministry for a while to recover from PTSD.

I'm not little-miss-flag-waving-patriot-who-thinks-this-country-would-be-better-off-as-a-theocracy-run-by-the-religious-right, but I admire the men and women who take on the mission of a military chaplaincy. To be a confidant, a parental figure, a comforter, and just a human touch to military personnel is a real gift, and a real manifestation of God in the world.

This article was interesting to me only to show how times have changed.

 

My high school yearbook had  a picture that was taken at a "Calculus Party," a gathering where the students in Calculus (there were only 12 of us) got together to supposedly study for an upcoming test. The picture showed a 2-liter bottle of Peps, a fifth of vodka, a fifth of Whiskey, and a case of Coors Lite. I only went to one of these parties. When I saw the alcohol present, I called my dad to come get me. I wasn't taking any chances on anything screwing up my shot at scholarship money. Yeah, I was a goody-twoshoes.

 

The year book also had a picture of a cake the drill team made for the football players. In the corner of the cake, it says, "P.S. Where's the keg?"

 

Now, no parents raised a fuss about that, or about the text in the senior section that talks about running from the police at Sheraden park (or Dunbar, or Crafton - can't remember which now - all three were (and are) heavy teen drinking spots)

 

No parents raised a fuss about any of that. And if they did, it certainly didn't make even the local news, let alone the AP. (Though if you ask nicely, I'll tell you about something my archnemisis SR did to call attention to herself that did make the local news - witch with a captial B that she was).

 

Don't know if parents getting up in arms about this is a good thing or not. On the one hand, it shows that they are actually taking an interest in their kids and their lives. On the other hand, it shows that parents are holding on to their kids's hands a lot longer than may be healthy, and not letting them have a little bit of a subversive subculture that teens have always had, and that I think helps them to gain their independence

 

Meh. Something to think about.

We have ants in the office. I'm going home. And showering. Like, 50 times, I think. Cause even though they probably aren't, I swear I can feel them crawling on me.

Oh, and I said it before and I'll say it again - my church REALLY needs to move the late service to 11:15. I got there at 11:03 again today, so I didn't go. I have a think about arriving late to church. Yes, I know it is irrational. Yes, I know God doesn't care if I miss the opening announcements. And yes, I know I sit in the back anyway and no one would know if I was late. Doesn't change the fact that I hate walking into a church even a minute late, and will not do it under any circumstances.

So, ah, if anyone wants to call and lobby on my behalf, it's the only Lutheran church in Baton Rouge named after a saint. I'll leave it up to you to do the research.

Three weeks post-op, and I'm in the midst of an all-nighter at work. Probably not a good thing. I may die soon. Just thought all of you nice people should know.

If you are wondering, here is what she looked like at 13.

I found this story really interesting.

I remember when all this happened in 2002. The girl lived in my neighborhood, and it was the first time that a kid in Pittsburgh was kidnapped and abused by someone they met on the internet. I was teaching at the time, and it prompted all kinds of paranoia at the school about whether or how to restrict internet access at the school, how much involvement the school should have with what a kid posts outside of school, and what parents should be doing at home. That semester, we had no fewer than 5 workshosp on internet saftey for parents, and two for us teachers.

I also remember how everyone thought that both the girl and her parents were behaving really inappropriately after she was brought back. They sought out media attention, and the had the girl dressed like...well, not like a 13 year old. We wondered what kind of parent would let their daughter dress and wear the kinds of makeup she had on in the photos she had posted to the internet (she most definitely did not look 13 - hell, she most definitely did not look 18. VERY provocative). We wondered how a 13 year old could sneak out of the house like that - apparently it wasn't even that late - without her parents (who were home) noticing.

I'm glad this girl seems to have grown up well, even if she does apparently still have a yen for the spotlight. I hope things continue to go well for her.

Gyp!

Carnegie-Mellon University gets Bill Cosby as a commencement speaker.

Who did we have when I commenced from my beloved alma mater? An alum who was the former president of the San Diego Sewer Commission.

When I sell the Great American Novel, I am going to direct 50% of my royalties to my alma mater to put into a fund to get better commencement speakers. We may not be able to get Cosby, but I bet we could get...Pauly Shore. Or maybe Carrot Top (who actually performed on campus before he was someone - if he is someone now).

Politics and Religion

But first, two random things.

1. If you don't have a balance ball, you absolutely must get one. They are only about $25, and they are fun. And the workout DVD from Gaiam kicks your butt. I'm thinking of buying one for my desk at work because my chair is horrible and broken (I smashed my finger in it this weekend).

2. My stomach hurts. I was supposed to go into work today, too, but I didn't because who wants to sit at their desk when they have stomach cramps

3. As a bonus, the new Robin Williams movie looks amazingly stupid.

OK. We talk about politics a lot at work. No surprise, considering what we do and who we do it for. Here in south Louisiana, and I suppose in the South in general, that also necessitates discussing religion. And, needless to say, the media has been discussing politics, religion, and politics and religion a lot over this past week, given the death of You Know Who (I like the idea of casting Jerry Falwell as Voldemort. Sorry, God and J.K. Rowling).

All of my immediate co-workers fall somewhere on the left side of the political spectrum, ranging from right next to center to pretty far left. In terms of religion, though it is a whole 'nother ballgame.

My boss grew up Catholic, went to Catholic school, Catholic university, and even considered becoming a priest. Just one hitch - he's gay. Needless to say, the Catholic church wasn't the most hospitable and supporting environment to come to terms with your sexuality. He no longer practices any religion, but would probably describe himself as a Christian Humanist, with overtones of Buhddism.

Another co-worker was raised Southern Baptist, in a family full of preachers. Yeah, he rebelled. A lot. He no longer practices anything either, but would probably agree that he is culturally Christian.

My final co-worker (we are a very small department, but growing by 2 in the next two weeks) was raised by academics who were not involved in any religion at all. She could be considered, at most, agnostic, but still culturally Christian, thanks to being raised in south Louisiana, where the Catholic church is imbued in every aspect of society.

Then there is me. Raised Catholic by a Catholic father (who, interestingly, also considered the priesthood) and a Lutheran mother. I never rebelled as a child, or really, as an adult. I've taken a couple hiatuses from the active practice of my faith for a variety of reasons, but not actually from belief. And in the past couple of years, I've realized that I am more comfortable in the Lutheran Church than in the Catholic Church for a variety of theological reasons (I've written about them briefly in the past, perhaps I'll go into more detail if someone asks nicely).

Now, what does this have to do with politics? Plenty. With very few exceptions (most of them residing in the two Lutheran congregations in town and the UCC congregation), being Christian in this city means being Republican and conservative. Even most of the Catholics I've encountered are Republican, which is a direct contrast to the Northeast. If it comes out, that you are an active Christian, people assume that you love W, support the Iraq War, oppose legalized abortion and stem cell research, and think the death penalty should be applied more frequently.

So at first, I kind of shocked my coworkers when I agreed with their more liberal viewpoints. But the interesting thing to me is that we arrive at those conclusions for different reasons. I believe in some kind of universal healthcare because I take seriously Christ's instruction to care for the least among us. I believe that we should be out of Iraq because there are innocent lives being lost for no reason - there is no justice in this war. I believe in the importance of stem cell research because I believe that knowledge is a gift from God, and if the researchers are able to use their knowledge and embyros that would otherwise be destroyed to save lives, that must be a gift as well. And I believe the death penalty is wrong because it denies the possibility of true repentance, forgiveness, and redemption. (I'm choosing not to discuss abortion here, because my thoughts on this issue would fill pages themselves, and to summarize them in a sentence would be to be misunderstood).

Today, no fewer than three Sunday political shows I watched and/or listened to discussed whether or not there was anyone from the evangelical movement prepared to fill Jerry Falwell's shoes. They discussed the usual suspects, and added in a few "hot" names - Rick Warren, Jim Wallis, some guy in Florida, etc. They said the interesting thing about these new guys is that they believe that as important as the hot-button issues of the Republican Party are (abortion, immigration, same-sex relationships) are, they are so focused on the moral message of the Gospel, that they are ignoring Christ's compassion. These contemporary messangers of the religious right (though I might argue against putting Wallis in there) support AIDS research and assistance for Africa. They are all about environmental issues. While they are against amnesty for illegal immigrants, they believe in providing humanitarian aid.

What does all this mean? I have no idea. I do know that I still firmly believe that politics and religion should not be bedfellows under any circumstances. I believe that separation of church and state exists to protect both entities. And though I support funding faith-based agencies that provide human services, I believe those agencies should not prosletyse or preach, unless their clients specifically request such action.

I suppose all this is just to say that I have a proposal to work on and I don't want to. It was this, or my rant about the education system in the country, and I don't have what I want to say about that fully formed.

I'm going back to my proposal now. If I get bored, expect my thoughts on stained glass windows. They are many and varied.

Here is a question to ponder:

Why do large, multiple bedroom apartments in desireable areas of Pittsburgh rent for less than small, one bedrooms in undesireable areas of Baton Rouge?

I just saw a 2 bedroom, 1300 sq ft apartment, newly renovated, in Shadyside that is renting for only $90 more than my 450 sq ft craphole in Baton Rouge.

In fact, a one bedroom condo in the monstrosity that is going up next to my building, 1100 square feet, is selling for $260K.

What is wrong with people?

Or maybe, what is wrong with the managment company that owns my building and is putting up the condos next door?

Jerry Falwell.

On the one hand, it isn't on to think or speak ill of the dead, especially on who lived his life according to what he thought God was telling him to do (however misguided that may have been).

On the other hand, it is hard not to think ill of someone who said some pretty odius things over the years, like these.

I'm not going to comdemn him, or assume he is in hell like so many of the bloggers I read have done. I don't have that right.

Instead, I am going to say nothing, except to offer prayers of sympathy for his family.

The end.

I Did It!

I was braved and clicked the send button. I am the now the new owner of a brand new laptop, the single most expensive thing I have ever bought (if you don't count the transimission for my car - actually, the two are just about tied). I am also the new owner of a digital camera.

 

Next thing you know, I'll be giving into the evil cable company.

 

I'm going home. I don't feel good today.  I'm sore, my incision hurts, and my stomach isn't quite right. Plus my throat hurts.

 

I hope I'm not coming down with something...

If you ever have to take an antacid on a regular basis as a calcium supplement (as I do for the rest of my life), I strongly recommend Tums Smoothies Cocoa and Creme. They taste wonderful, and aren't at all chalky like most antacids. It really is just like drinking hot chocolate or a malt (in the case of the white, "creme" flavored ones).

May God help me when I get ready to buy a car next year, if I can't even bring myself to buy this computer.

Debt scares me. It just does. Even though I ran the numbers last night, and even with making payments on my hospital bill, I can absolutely, easily, afford it, I can't seem to make myself click the "buy" button.

Now, I know that you can't build better credit without incurring debt. That's the way the system works. That is why I finally gave in on getting a credit card again, and it has improved my credit score over 100 points in less than a year. I need to get into the the "good" range so that I will be able to get a new car next year. As much as I love my 1997 Plymouth Breeze, I have to acknowledge that it isn't going to last forever (and with 150K miles on it, it probably isn't going to last much beyond next year). It's getting to the point where the repairs it will inevitably need within the next year or so are more than it's Blue Book value. If I want to get anything close to a manageable interest rate, I need to have that good credit (the most recent rate I was offered for a car loan was 15%. That's an improvement over being laughed out of the finance office, but crazy high).

So I need to buy this computer. I figure that with overtime (and there is always overtime), I can pay it off in a year. By then, I'll be ready to take on the debt of a car.

If I'm so afraid of $1500 of debt for a computer, can you imagine how I'll be with $10000 in debt for a used car? I don't want to think about it!

May God help me when I get ready to buy a car next year, if I can't even bring myself to buy this computer.

Debt scares me. It just does. Even though I ran the numbers last night, and even with making payments on my hospital bill, I can absolutely, easily, afford it, I can't seem to make myself click the "buy" button.

Now, I know that you can't build better credit without incurring debt. That's the way the system works. That is why I finally gave in on getting a credit card again, and it has improved my credit score over 100 points in less than a year. I need to get into the the "good" range so that I will be able to get a new car next year. As much as I love my 1997 Plymouth Breeze, I have to acknowledge that it isn't going to last forever (and with 150K miles on it, it probably isn't going to last much beyond next year). It's getting to the point where the repairs it will inevitably need within the next year or so are more than it's Blue Book value. If I want to get anything close to a manageable interest rate, I need to have that good credit (the most recent rate I was offered for a car loan was 15%. That's an improvement over being laughed out of the finance office, but crazy high).

So I need to buy this computer. I figure that with overtime (and there is always overtime), I can pay it off in a year. By then, I'll be ready to take on the debt of a car.

If I'm so afraid of $1500 of debt for a computer, can you imagine how I'll be with $10000 in debt for a used car? I don't want to think about it!

Run Sheryl's Life!

OK, Blogosphere. Time to make decisions for me so I don't have to do so on my own.

I found out today that, thanks to my efforts to improve my credit, I can be approved for financing to buy a new computer (by a real company - the one that rhymes with bell - not some fly-by-night). I can afford a new laptop easily with monthly payments.

So, do I buy one?

Here are the factors to consider:

• My current computer is a Pentium 3 machine with 128 MB of RAM. The highest upgrade it can handle is an additional 128 MB, which isn't much.
• I can only have dial-up in my apartment right now. For some reason, I can't get broadband from the phone company, and I think the cable company is evil.
• I really like the idea of being able to leave my apartment to write (longhand really hurts my wrists, and then I just have to type it again later).
• Debt scares me, even though I am making good money now, and I have been responsible enough to handle my debt over the past year or so.
• With the price I have, I can afford a digital camera, too, and I really would like to have a camera.
• My current computer does not have a USB port (at least not that I can find) which makes transferring files really, really difficult. It also makes it difficult to do anything with a digital camera if you have one.
• I am afraid of being a conspicuous consumer. In other words, I am afraid that I would be buying this computer just because, not because it is a real need in my life.
• My current computer, despite being slower than molasses in January, works just fine. I just need to limit the number of windows I have open at any given time. Oh, and I can't upgrade any of my software to newer versions because I don't have enough RAM to run the most updated versions. And sometimes I have to wait for the computer to catch up to me when I am typing, because if I don't, it will skip letters and words.

So what should I do? Should I go ahead and buy the new machine, or should I wait until I move to an apartment where I can finally get high speed internet (keeping in mind that that may be a ways off - at least 2008)? Or should I do something else entirely?

Just Updated My Campaign Blog...

...Go see what you next President has to say.

I was in the middle of writing a touching, gut-wrenching post when my power went out. I don't have it in me to recreate it, so you'll have to wait for that one.

My birthday has been pretty nice, all things considered. Went to church this morning, saw friends who had moved away. They adopted a little girl from China, and she has grown up so beautiful in just a few short months. We sang this hymn, which we also sing at every baptism (Lutherans are a singing bunch - all the mass parts are sung, the psalm is chanted, and there are about 5 hymns throughout the service). Everytime we sing it, I (along with just about every woman in the congregation - and quite a few men) end up crying. Today was no exception, and I think there may even have been a few more tears than usual, given the day.

After chatting with friends for a few minutes after church, I finally went to see Spiderman 3. It wasn't as good as the first two, but it wasn't bad. There were a few, subtle moments that hinted at the deeper themes that have always been present in the Spiderman saga (and I have read the comics, watched the cartoons in all their incarnations, and even loved Spidey on The Electric Company.), that of masks and identity and knowing your darker side and facing it.

But can I just tell you that there were a whole bunch of parents who brought kids to that movie who had no business being there? I'm not talking about 10-year olds (though I even think it was a little old for them) I'm talking kids under six. That's just irresponsible. There was a lot of violence and scary moments. Even if they were too busy kicking the back of my chair and asking their parents what was going on to absorb what was going on, they shouldn't have been there.

After the movie, I got my oil changed. I really only wanted to get the oil changed so I could get the air conditioning charged at the same time, but the place didn't do air conditioning on the weekend. It didn't really matter, though, because as I was driving home, I discovered that my air conditioning hadn't been working because the button wasn't pushed in. Yeah, I felt stupid. I'm pretty sure my compressor needs to be replaced, still, but at least I won't melt, though.

My tolerance for heat this year is worse than it has been. Don't know if that is related to my thyroid or not. We hit 90 for the first time this weekend. That pretty much means 90% of the days between now and November will be in the 90's. Don't know if I can take that for the whole summer.

Speaking of my thyroid, I discovered at church that singing hurts.

I am still a little concerned. I may just be getting a cold, or I may have overdone things, but I seem to have more congestion, and my cough is worse. Can't decide if I need to do anything about it, and which doctor I should contact. Is it a surgical consequence? Is it just a respiratory infection?

Oh, and when it rains a little bit here on a day like today, when it is hot and humid and miserable, you get the feeling you have entered hell. The sidewalks steam, you can actually see the air, and it feels like walking through glue. I like Baton Rouge, but I hate summer here. I have a feeling I'm going to hate it even more this year.

Sigh

I'm 36 Now

Just thought you should know.

My Saturday didn't go quite as planned. I had planned to see Spiderman 3, but it didn't work out. I woke up feeling really icky this morning, and I just couldn't get going. Guess those two whole days of sitting at my desk instead of sitting on my couch were too much for me. Sigh.

I seem to have some swelling on the right side of mt neck. I'm a little concerned. I see the surgeon again a week from Wednesday, so I guess I'll ask him then.

Speaking of the surgeon, he charged over $12,000 to take out my thyroid. A two hour operation, where he didn't see me before or after. I want a gig where I make $6000 an hour.

Anyhow...Saturday. Instead of the movies, I went to Target. I bought a purse that isn't horrible (it's a little smaller than I would like, but nice), a tote bag that is cute but impractical, a necklace that matches the earrings I bought a couple weeks ago (the necklace was out of stock then) and three headbands. I discovered that I can't wear the wrap-type bands because mt head is too flat in the back and they won't stay on. That makes me sad because the prettiest one was that kind. I also discovered that my head is freakishly short, and the other kind are too long and hurt my ears. Sigh. But they look really cute - and isn't that all that matters?

I tried to buy a bottle of wine, too, but the checker was under 25 and wasn't allowed to ring alcohol. What a stupid law. The manager was taking forever to come scan the wine, and I finally said to forget about it.

Oh, and an awful lot of mothers in Baton Rouge are going to be getting crappy gifts tomorrow. Cheap jewelery, ugly purses, and stuff you can buy in Walgreen's at 10 p.m. seem to be the order of the day.

So today, in honor of the beginning of my 37th year outside my mother's womb. I shall go to the movies after church, then I shall write about why Mother's Day makes me sad-happy.

Oh, and I shall soon be reviving my presidential campaign in earnest. I want to repeat that I was the first candidate to officially declare, exactly one year ago today (Check my archives if you want the link to my campaign blog - I'm too lazy to link). I shall soon be sharing my radical new tax/budget plan, and my plan to fix public schools. I delayed my campaign intentionally, because I realized that 18 months before the election year is really too early to innundate the public with campaign rhetoric. Even now, 7 months before, is a bit much. I wish someone would share that with my fellow candidates. The voting public is going to end up with campaign fatigue, and that's not a good thing.

I don't feel so good today. Returning to work is not such a good thing so soon, I guess. But the doctor gave me the go-ahead, and we are short staffed (still), so I did. It took a lot of me yesterday, though.

Last night I had issues with my throat feeling...tight. Not closed, but slightly swollen, especially when I laid down. Don't know what that's about.

Oh well. Back to the grindstone.

So I realized today just how much better I feel already. I can feel a real difference in my neck (as in I can feel that something is missing in a good way - it is smaller), and I can tell the difference when I swallow. It's even easier to breathe, something I didn't realize was a problem.

Now, I know I'm not 100% yet - my incision still hurts, and I seem to have some congestion in my throat. My wrists are killing me from the failed IV's, and my one hand keeps falling asleep - probably a combination if the bruising and the calcium issues. Still, though, I feel really good.

I've been experimenting a little bit with eating while I've been home. I find that if I eat my major meal of the day around 2, which is my usual lunch time at work, then eat a small breakfast and dinner, and a few tiny snacks in between, I feel much better. I guess it's just a matter of keeping my blood sugar on an even keel. That will be much harder to do at work since I tend to get stuck in 4 hour meetings on a regular basis, but it's worth a try.

I put a whole quilt sandwich together today. Granted, it is only for a wall hanging, but I've never gotten this far before. I'm kind of proud of myself. Now all I have to do is quilt it.

Last night, I watched the Saturday Night Live special about the 90's years, since the results of The Amazing Race allowed me to keep my TV. I determined that no matter when that time was, whenever you personally were in college is when SNL was at it's best. I hear the kids around here talking about how hilarious Horatio Saenz and Jimmy Fallon are, and I just don't get it. They can't deliver a line to save their lives, and the keep cracking up during sketches. They can't hold a candle to Phil Hartman, Dana Carvey, Mike Myers, and even Victoria Jackson. There is just something about being 18-25 taht makes SNL perfect.

Finally, happy birthday to TG, who entered the world 359 days before me. Enjoy 37, man (well, woman). I wish I could find a brown and cream linen bag at Target. I was looking for a new purse there today, and I couldn't find anything reasonable. It was all way to trendy without simultaneously being cute. I did, however, buy some glasses that match my dishes (fingers crossed - I've ony broken one so far, and it was just a mug. Granted they spend the first 6 months of their time in my presence in the freezer, but that's a story for another time.). And I ran into my pastor and his wife. I felt a little guilty for not telling them about my surgery, but he was in Germany, and I only got to talk to her for a minute on the Sunday before.

So, here's what is too much to do on day 4 after surgery:

Taking out a really heavy bag of trash (had to be more than 25 pounds), having it break halfway to the car (which is half as far as the dumpster) having to go back to the apartment to get new trash bags, cleaning up the trash, finally getting it thrown away, going to the store, and taking a two-hour drive.

Sigh.

I'm not good at being laid up.

Oh, and the end of my digestive system woke up today! I did not have a pleasant morning and early afternoon! My delicate bits are kinda raw. Sorry for the overshare, but it is my blog.

In other news, today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 81, 45 years and 8 days older than yours truly. He wasn't a perfect man, but he was a good man, and I miss him.

There are a lot of important days for my family in early May. I graduated college on May 8th, the first on my mom's side to do so (and still the only, actually). My mom's brother and closest cousin both have bithdays on May 9th. And my birthday is on the 13th. Plus Mother's Day is stuck in there, too.

My arms hurt. The heavy lifting was just too much for my bruises. I was going to write about geese, but alas, that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Happy...Day.

So just in case you are wondering, three days later is too soon to drive to the store and walk around for awhile after thyroid surgery. But I really wanted waffles for dinner, and I had no better. no syrup. no powdered sugar, and...no waffles. Oh, an I thought a Wildberry Tea Smoothie from CC's would make me feel better, too.

It was fine, but a little too soon. I'm tired now, and a little sore. And it didn't really improve my appetite like I was hoping. The smoothie was good, though.

On the plus side, I can tell a significant difference in how the stuff in my throat is working. My voice doesn't feel like it is straining whenever I talk anymore, I can swallow easier, and I even feel like I'nm breathing easier. Now if I can only get the coughing to stop, and manage to sit up for more than half an hour without my neck and shoulders cramping when they aren't supported...

Ok. The Post-Gazette keeps writing about hoew Pittsburghers eat more Ho-Hos per capita than any other city in the country.

No place in Baton Rouge carries Ho-Hos. Sure they have Blue Bunny Swiss Rolls, but not Hostess Ho-Hos.

I want a Ho Ho now. I'm not even craving chocolate yet. I want a real Ho Ho.

Sigh. I wish I could get comfortable to sleep. Even the good drugs don't seem to be helping.

I just took a shower. All the betadine is out of my hair. I feel human again. It looks like someone tried to slit my throat, bu hey! They did slit my throat. I have an incision that is about 6 inches in the middle of my neck right above the collar bone. I also have a lovely rash from the tape the used to cover the drain incision, and they won't let me put anything on it.

I'm bored. I'd go back to work tomorrow if I could keep my neck up unsupported for more than 15 minutes.

Sigh.

So, I survived my first hospital experience. And in honor of that, I figured I'd share all the icky details with you.

Got to the hospital a little after 10. The admissions person was originally from Latrobe. One of my friends from work waited with me unil they took me back to prep. They did blood pressure, temp, all that stuff, then they had me give a urine sample and change into a gown. You'll be glad to know I'm not pregnant.

The prep nurse asked all the standard questions, I told them I was sensitive to all adhesives except tegaderm, a fact they promptly ignored. he nurse tried twice unsuccessfully to start an IV before she gave up and called the anesthesiologist. The resident tried twice before the attending finally got it started. My arms and wrists are a mass of bruises today.

So, I told the CRNA that I was really nervous about the anesthesia and he tried to reassure me that once he injected the first drugs into the IV, I wouldn't care anymore. He was partially right. Itis just r=that it was so quick between them injecting me. moving me to the OR and sticking the mask over my face. The next thing I remember was being in recovery and asking what time it was (4:10). It seems to me that I did that a few times in a row. I remember asking for ice and water a few times, and the next ting I knew it was after 7. That's when I asked for a blanket. They told me sometime after that that I'd be spending the night in recovery because they didn't have any rooms available. A little while after that, my boss came to see me for a few minutes and brought flowers. I have the best boss ever.

A little while after he left, they moved me into a private room in the recovery room. It was very small, but very comfortable. The nurse was concerned that I hadn't had to pee yet, because I had been drinking water like mad. I think I apologized. She said not to be silly, and said that I was probably one of the easiest patients she had to deal with.

Well, around 2 a.m. they found a room for me, on an oncology unit. I don't want to think about what happened to allow a room to be available at that hour. They got me settled there, and around 3 a.m. I tried to pee and couldn't. I told the nurse that I felt dehydrated (my mouth was soooo dry), so she did a bladder scan, which was inconclusive. So she called the doctor on call, who told her to put in a catheter. She did (not fun at all at 4 a.m.) and they drained about 800 ccs of urine. So yeah, it was my problem. So they told me to keep drinking fluids, and kept the IV going, and told me i wouldn't be able to go home until I peed.

It was right around this time that my oxygen levels dropped a little bit, too, to around 90%. So I got to spend a few hours on oxygen as well.

The also kept moving the PCA thing (the stuff you use to give yourself pain medicine) out of my reach, and then they kept saying how suprised they were at how little pain medicine I was using. I promise that I would have been using more if I could have reached either that or the call button.

Between 8 and 9, everyone on earth was in my room. They brought breakfast, which was eggs and grits. I don't normally eat either, but I ate about half an egg. Just the thought of grits nauseates me. A volunteer brought a paper, another was checking on my satisfaction with the room (which was nicer than my apartment). The chaplain came in, a very nice Baptist minister. I told him I was going home that same day, but that I appreciated his offer to contact my church (even though my pastor is currently in Germany). Then the surgeon's PA came in (I never actually saw the surgeon while I was in the hospital). She asked a bunch of questions, and told me my calcium an potassium levels were a little low, so I would have to take Tums twice a day for a while, and eat bananas and drink orange juice for about a week (no hardship there). After all that, I drifted in and out, and they woke me up twice to take vitals. Then a co-worker came to visit on his lunch around 10:30. He visited for about 15 minutes, then a nursing student and instructor came in to take out a drain. He doesn't do well with icky stuff like that, so he left.

The drain was a whole 'nother adventure. I told her again that I was really sensitive to adhesive, and she ignored me and used big nasty adhesive on the gauze they put over the hole. So now I have a rash on my neck in addition to everything else. The nursing instructor told me it would only have to be there for a few hours, but it is still there. I have to call the surgeon's nurse to see if I can take it off, and she won't be in until 1, so I can't take a shower until then, and I really want to take a shower.

So then they brought lunch, which was a chicken wrap. It was good, but only ate the chicken and lettuce out of half of it. I tried to pee again, but again was unsuccessful.

My boss called a little while later. I told him they wouldn't let me leave until I could pee. Then I apologized for my inhibitions being a little too low. He laughed and said that hospitals have a tendency to do that. He told me to call when I'm able to leave. Not 15 minutes later, I managed to pee. it was a good thing, too, because right after I got back to bed, the nurse came in with another catheter. I just made it over the limit where she would have to cath me. I told my boss that from now on, his name shall be the Pee Whisperer.

So he and another co-worker came to get me and take me to the pharmacy and then home. We got to the pharmacy, dropped off the prescription, and I vomited. Got the door open just in time to not throw up all over his car. Threw up all over my shirt, though. I apologized about 30 times. I hate throwing up.

Instead of taking me to the store then to get juice, bananas and water, they took me home. He went and picked up the stuff last night (he lives less than a mile from me, as do half my coworkers) while I slept, and he called just before he got here. Then I ate some noodle soup (OK, I ate the noodles - the broth was a little too seasoned for me). Then I took a pain killer (I'm not in a lot of pain, but enough that I tend to wake myself up if I move, and I knew I needed to sleep). My bladder is definitesly awake now (I've had to pee a lot). I had a banana for breakfast, and some juice and Cheerios for lunch, and here I am.

So that was my surgery adventure. The staff at Baton Rogue General Bluebonnet is very nice and very professional (even if they forgot to tell me if I can take this dressing off. Even so, I really hope not to repeat this experience any time soon.

I'm alive!

I feel like crap, but I'm alive and home. Details much, much later.

Ok. True Confession Time!

I am scared shitless about this surgery tomorrow. I've never been under general anesthesia, and no matter how many times everybody tells me it will be OK, I'm still terrified.

I'm petrified that my voice is going to end up weaker, not stronger. The vocal nerves are literally right next to the thyroid. The single biggest risk of this surgery is vocal damage. People have always complemented my reading voice. It has been getting progressively weaker, an I'm scared it will be gone all together.

I'm really scared of being alone. I have no family here, and the friend I would normally depend on is 8 1/2 months pregnant. I hate burdening people with my troubles, and I hate being a burden in general.

I have no idea what to expect after this surgery. The surgeon was really abrupt, and his nurse or assistant, or whatever didn't really answer any questions. The internet was no help, either.

I know there are lots of people all over praying for me. I know my parents are joining their own prayers in heaven. I know I just need to put it in God's hands and trust Him. But having that knowledge and doing something with it are two different things.

Well, if you happen across my blog, and you think about it tomorrow around 1 p.m. Central, send a few prayers toward the staff at Baton Rouge General Bluebonnet. It can't hurt.

Six Weird Things

So the latest meme I've seen floating around is Six Weird Things About Me. Thought I'd give y'all some levity before my possible demise tomorrow (shut up - being convinced I'm going to die is actually helping me, in a weird and twisted way).

1. I absolutely cannot have fruit touching any other category of food in a meal. This is the last vestige of the "Oh my gosh, my corn juice is touching my mashed potatoes! I can't eat this!" phase of my youth. At one point in time, I wouldn't even eat mixed vegetables. But now, I just object to the use of fruit in salads, with meat, etc. I'll eat them at the same meal, but not mixed together in any way, shape, or form.
2. I cannot seem to have a complete set of dishes last for more than a week. I always break something right off the bat.
3. I don't have cable or satellite TV. Not terribly weird, I guess, but uncommon in this day and age.
4. I tend to get injured in really weird ways. In elementary school, I broke my foot while practicing the Mexican hat dance in a doorway (don't ask). In college, I broke the same foot, same bone even, while walking down the KH men's wing steps after going up to view the quasi-pornographic pictures one of my housemates graced the chalkboard with (the artwork was actually quite good, if you ignored the nudity and all). Later on, while working at a camp, I ran over that same leg with a 15 passenger van. Then, after graduation, I was working night shift at a bank, got up to get a batch work, was returning to my seat, and a module divider fell on the back of my ankle, leaving me with bone chips and a partial tendon tear. And again, same leg.
5. I am the Angel of Death for house plants. One touch from me and the shrivel and die. Seriously. I bought a rose plant for the office. It lasted nicely for a week, then I watered it on Friday and came back on Monday and it was dead. I've decided that it is cruel for me to buy them given that. Still, I do like them.
6. I prefer odd numbers to even. In other words, I can't think of a number six.

Consider yourself tagged if interested.

So, when you are facing the possibility of death in a few days (shut up - it's my blog and I'll be melodramatic if I want to.), you find yourself thinking about a lot of stuff. Here are some of those things.

• If I survive this arduous procedure, I really want to eat at Sammy's Bar and Grill. I drive past it a couple times a week at least, and it is always, always packed. People will wait hours to get in for dinner or Sunday brunch, which always features crab cakes (one of my favorite things). I really want to know what the fuss is about.
• I heard a fantastic sermon this weekend. My pastor is studying in Germany for the next two weeks, and a retired pastor in the congregation is filling in for him. She talked about the environment in which John wrote Revelation (a good intro for some, a good reminder for the rest of us), and talked about how it was aimed at a very specific audience and a very specific situation in the past, and that it isn't meant to be read as some mystical insight into future events. Then she talked about places in the world where religious persecution is still taking place. It was just really interesting.
• I also watched the teenagers in the congregation today, as I was sitting behind a group of the "cool" girls. There is one family that lets their daughters come to church dressed more like they should be hanging out on a street corner in a shady part of town. I'm sorry, but if you have to keep pulling your shorts down to keep your butt cheeks from showing, the are too short in general, and definitely too short for church. Anyway, their oldest was there (she's a freshman in high school) with two friends who don't belong to our church and probably don't go to church on a regular basis anywhere (didn't understand the hymnal, didn't understand the program of worship, and generally had that clueless look). Well, these three girls were absolutely smitten with out cantor who A) is too old for them - he's a senior in college, and B) would probably find their brother far more interesting, if you get my meaning. Meanwhile, one of the acolytes, a young guy who is part of one of the nicest families I've ever met, is making eyes at the three girls. Now, these girls not only didn't notice, they would never notice him because he has a little bit of the geek thing going on, and a lot of the nice guy thing going on. It was really a fascinting anthropological study on adolescent society and heirarchy.
• You know what I miss most about home? Eat 'n' Park. There is nothing like that here at all. For those of you not from the Pennsylvania/Ohio/West Virginia area, Eat 'n' Park is a family restaurant, with good food and pretty good prices. It's basically a step up from IHOP and a step down from Applebees, just to put it on a continuum. The closest thing we have here is Picadilly, which is good, but it is a cafeteria-type place. And I miss Smiley cookies, even though they are actually kind of nasty.
• I'd really like to go on a train trip someday. I know I've romanticized trains far beyond reality in my head, but still.
• I don't know where this compulsive cleaning thing I'm doing is coming from. Generally speaking, mess and clutter doesn't bother me. It drove my parents nuts when I was younger that I could just step over something on the floor instead of picking it up. My principal didn't understand how I could stand to teach in a cluttered classroom. I just had bigger and better things on my mind than cleaning.
• I also would like to see a kangaroo up close and personal.
• My boss's partner is the sweetest guy ever. I'm jealous of him. Why am I always attracted to gay guys?
• I got sunburned for the first time in a long time yesterday. I really need to get my AC in my car fixed. I learned why that is such a big deal here. My car windows are polarized, but that doesn't help if the windows are down.
• Hormones suck. I just recover from having my period, and now I have those mid-cycle hormones to deal with. I had forgotten how miserable that is. (Sorry, gentlemen readers.)
• I found a bra that I love. I had to buy a black bra because the big boss took our group out to lunch at the nicest restaurant in the city, and the sweater I wanted to wear had a fairly open knit. Any other time, I'd deal with the white showing through, but you just don'y do that when having lunch with the founder and CEO of the company at a four-star restaurant. Anyway, I was afraid the one I bought was going to be uncomfortable because the band size was smaller than I uually buy. But it fit perfectly, the cups were cotton-lined, and, if I may say, it made my chestal area look great.
• Mirna, on The Amazing Race, is the single most annoying person I have ever seen on TV.
• I wonder if I'll be able to wear 18-inch chains again now.
• My biggest fear is something going wrong with the anesthesia on Tuesday. That's a lot of control for a closet control freak to give up.
• My second biggest fear is that I won't be unconcious enough, and I'll be able to feel what they are doing.
• My third biggest fear is that the surgeon will slip and accidentally damage my vocal nerves.
• I think it is pretty cool that in the same prayer during the prayers of the people, we pray for the members of the military serving overseas and the suffering people of the countries they are serving in.
• Christians on reality shows are either the worst representatives of the faith, or they get the worst edits possible. I can't decide which.
• I don't think I would want to be on The Amazing Race, but it would be cool to get to do some of those once in a lifetime experiences.
• Louisiana politics suck.
• Sometimes I wonder why US territories like Puerto Rico and Guam and the Virgin Islands don't seem to want to become states. Then I hear things like this week's This American Life and I wonder if I can downgrade myself to territory. If you didn't hear it, download the podcast. It's worth a listen.
• Speaking of which, I find it really funny that I seem to get stuck with all the miltary proposals we work on when I am essentially a pacifist.
• The state of Louisiana legislature is going into session this week, and key on the agenda is how to spend all the unexpeced tax revenue from all the people buying building stuff following the hurricanes. The state has the worst public schools in the country, and there is actual debate about whether to increase funding for the schools.
• OK. I'm going forward to continue my cleaning now. But I just want to say that if Charla and Mirna end up winning The Amazing Race, I may have to give away my TV forever. It makes me sad that the Beauty Queens are the least icky team left. I wish Danny and Oswald hadn't been eliminated this week. And if they aren't dating, then The Donald will be crowning me the next Miss Universe.

So, it's 5 a.m. and I've been up all night doing laundry and cleaning. Why, you ask? It seems that that is how I respond to stress. I think it's because it's something I can control.

I'm calmer now, but I'm still freaked (picked a bad week to go off the anxiety meds, huh?). I know the reason, and I know how my thought processes work, but it doesn't really make it any better.

See, I associate hospitals with declining health. My grandmother was fine and wonderful, then she went into the hospital and got worse and died. Granted, she was 82, but I was only 5, and those early impressions are powerful.

Then my mom was fine and wonderful and healthy until she went into the hospital when I was in high school. From there, she was in a constant decline. Granted, she brought it on herself by being a 2-pack a day smoker. But I know what I observed.

My dad had never been sick a day in my life before he went into the hospital when I was in ninth grade. After that, he seemed somehow smaller, and really declined until he died. Again, granted, he brought it on himself because he was an alcoholic and destroyed his liver. But again, that association was formed.

I hate going to visit people in hospitals. Hell, I hate going to doctor's offices. Really, I hate the whole healthcare industry.

But I really, really hate hospitals. In my mind, that is where people get worse, not better. I know it is completely illogical. I know that hospitals are also where babies are born, and people receive life-saving treatments. I know that people who work in healthcare are not really Satan incarnate. But there is a big difference between what I know intellectually and what I believe emotionally.

Sigh.

I know I said it before, but I really wish my mom were here. I mean, I profess every week (well, when I make it to church), that I believe in the communion of saints, and I do. I know my mom and dad are in the presence of God, and that they are praying for me and with me. And I feel them with me every day in little things. But it's not the same as a physical presence. I want someone to hug me and let me cry on their shoulder and to tell me its going to be OK. But I don't have that. And it sucks.

The fact of the matter is that I am scared, and lonely, and homesick, and worried. I can't sugar coat that or gloss over it. I know this is minor surgery, but it doesn't matter.

Maybe I wouldn't be so scared if I had had my tonsils or appendix out when I was a kid. The surgeon's nurse was shocked when I said I had never had surgery. She didn't seem to believe me at first.

But I haven't, and now I have to.

And I don't wanna.

Guess what I'm doing next Tuesday!

If you guessed something fun like Jazzfest, or getting my hair cut, or sleeping in, you would be wrong.

If you guessed having surgery, you would be right on the money.

Saw the surgeon today. I expected him to do another ultrasound, maybe a CT scan, and then make a decision. Nope. He can feel the thyroid pressing on my esophagus, and with my voice changes, he said the sooner the better.

Can I just tell you that I'm petrified? I have never had surgery before. Never stayed in the hospital overnight.

I know it is routine, and low risk. That doesn't change the fact that I'm sitting at my desk crying right now, and that I just want...I don't know what I want.

This is one of those times, though, when I really wish my mom were still around. There are certain things that you just need a Mum for.

Just wanted to share this video I happned upon while blog surfing to get away from all the military stuff I've been working on this week.

So, went to the endocrinologist yesterday. Blood sugars are good, hormones are good. Everything is good.

Except my thyroid.

I asked her what I should be concerned about with the thyroid enlargement - because I knew that I have been having symptoms that I am concerned about (my voice gets weaker as the day goes on, it has been getting progressively weaker in general - I no longer would be confident about reading Scripture in church for instance, because I don't think my voice could get through a whole reading, stuff tends to get caught up when I swallow, I have a cough that gets worse after I talk, my neck hurts sometimes). So she told me, and I (foolishly) told her why I asked.

Well, she said that it sounds like the goiter is pressing on my larynx, and maybe my trachea. She said she has learned from experience to be agressive with that kind of thing, because she has seen patients wait to long and suffer from irreparable voice damage.

So, tomorrow I get to see a surgeon. Looks like my non-functional thyroid is coming out.

I've never had surgery before. I don't like that idea.

Who knows? I may get lucky and he'll disagree.

Sigh.

OK. It might be the hormones talking (that time came a little early this month), but this article made me cry.

Of course, I also cried at a picture of a cute puppy, because I a webpage wouldn't load fast enough, and because I couldn't find a parking place at Wal-Mart, so take it how you will.

Still, this guy deserves some recognition.

• This is a test
• to see if the bullets work
• on this template
• since the didn't on the old one.

Libraries

Go. Read. Discuss.

OK. I was going to regale you with tales of my trip to Wal-Mart last night, which I'm sure would have entertained you.

But instead, I'm going to have a little meltdown for the whole internet to see.

Last week, I had a proposal due. It had to be shipped by 7 p.m. on Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon, parts of it were still being written, and I kept getting changes to stuff I already edited. Plus, I was still getting new graphics to insert. Now this wouldn't be a big deal, but the technical lead on the proposal is a non-native English speaker. Now, he is an extremely smart guy, and pretty well-spoken, but his written English is...interesting. He doesn't use articles, for instance. Ever. And he tries to turn every sentence into a compound/complex sentence.

Now, if I had had more time, this wouldn't be a problem. But I literally spent 36 hours straight editing it between Monday morning and Tuesday when we shipped. I worked all day Saturday on it, and I didn't even make it to church on Sunday (Easter) because I was just too tired (I had put in about 50 hours the week prior as well) and I had to go into the office anyway. I poured my heart and soul into that proposal. It isn't my fault that the technical lead didn't agree witht he schedule I proposed for writing and reviews, knowing that there was a holiday in there and knowing that there would be a ton of editing involved on my end. I did everything I could to convince him. After the first review, 5 days before it was due, almost the whole thing had to be rewritten. We got it off in time, though, and it wasn't too horrible.

Well, after sleeping the sleep of the dead for 16 hours, I came into work the next day. I had an e-mail from the technical lead. Some of the cross references to captions on graphics came back with error messages. Now, I had someone double check me the night before to make sure there was nothing like that in the proposal - I was so tired that I didn't trust myself at that point. He didn't find anything, so we printed and shipped. I have no idea where the error messages came from. If I inserted new graphics, the cross reference should have automatically updated. Frankly, it was only two cross references, and it really shouldn't be that big of a deal.

Well, today the boss says to me right before he leaves that sometime when we both have a few minutes tomorrow, he wants to talk to me a little about the proposal. I asked him if I did something wrong, and he said it was no big deal.

Now, I know I should take that at face value, but I am currently in a state of controlled panic. I really wish, even if I had screwed the whole thing up, that he would have just grabbed me tomorrow and reamed me out with no notice. Instead, I have all night to worry about it.

That is a really cruel thing to do to someone with an anxiety disorder, I have to say. Of course, he doesn't know that I have an anxiety disorder, and that the little voice in my head that tells me I'm just a complete screw-up just got activated. He doesn't know that I am currently scared to death that I'm not going to have a job after tomorrow.

Sigh. Maybe going off the anxiety meds is a bad idea.

Oh, and if you love me, you'll send me chocolate!

Yes, I am craving it like mad.

On to happier things.

My favorite show on the radio is Hootenanny Power. What is, Hootenany Power, you ask? And how did they get radio capability into the backwoods to broadcast it?

That second question was on I asked when I first heard of the show. Then I finally heard the show itself, and was impressed.

Hootenany Power (yes, I am enjoying typing that phrase) is a show produced by our local NPR station. It plays...well, their playlist is really hard to describe. In any given week, they might play "classic" folk music, early rockabilly, Gospel, country, Cajun, and something the host found on some coffeehouse musician's website. It is really eclectic, fun, and totally unlike anything you would hear anywhere else.

The link above takes you to the show's website (which is kind of hard to navigate), and near the top is a link that takes you to the WRKF podcast of the show. I highly recommend the show from April 7th. The theme that night was (obviously) Easter, and the host had a lot of really interesting songs that night.

Oh, and I know there are a few clergy members or other full-time church types who read this blog. What would you do if a parishoner brought such a letter to your attention? Just curious...

First, thanks for the well wishes, Tim. It took over an hour, but I eventually did stop bleeding (after staining a t-shirt - the first white thing I could grab - completely red). Now, you can barely see the cut (though the skin does split without being held together with a bandaid).


OK.


I should be working on a proposal that is due tomorrow. And, as this is the Joyful Easter Season (tm) I should be ponficating on the Grace Jesus's death and ressurection bestowed upon all of us. I should at least be telling all of you to download Hootenany Power's podcast from this past week, which was awesome. Or perhaps I should be telling you what Hootenany Power is.

Instead, I shall rant about politics and Church.

You have been warned.

This past week, I received a letter from a parishioner at St. Al's CCC (Church and Country Club, for the unitiated). Now, even though I don't consider myself Roman Catholic any more, I'm still on their rolls. I don't know why I haven't asked to be taken off, but I haven't. But that's a topic for another time.

Anyhow, this parishoner is running for state representative in our district. In the letter, he states something along the lines of "As a fellow parishoner of [insert actual parish name here], I'm sure you must be concerned about the same issues I am." He goes on to talk about things that have been said in sermons in recent weeks, and just generally talk about the fact that we should all vote for him because he is a good Catholic.

This is the second such letter I have gotten in the past few months. The first was from some woman running for judge (and I have a whole 'nother rant in me about why judge should not be an elected office, but I won't inflict that on you tonight).

Now, both of these people are good people. I know them and their families. They would probably be good in the respective positions they desire, despite the fact that they are Republicans. However, I didn't vote for the woman running for judge, and I won't vote for this guy.

I have a real issue with someone sending out election materials based on religious parish rolls (as opposed to civil parish - I live in Louisiana, so I need to make that distinction). Whether they handtyped the data from the parish directory, or received it electronically from the church office, it is wrong.

I am a firm believer in separation of church and state. I believe the state should keep it's nose out of what churches are doing (as long as they are not harming people, animals, etc., or breaking civil law), and churches should keep their noses out of politics.

Now that doesn't mean that religious leaders shouldn't speak out against things like discrimination, poverty, etc. Those are human rights issues, and all people (religious or not) have a moral obligation to speak out agaist them.

But it does mean that I don't want this country turned into a theocracy controlled by the religious right. I read to day that the Bush administration employs over 155 graduates of Regent University School of Law. That is the law school founded by Pat Robertson, with a stated intent of Christianizing the country.

And it does mean that I don't want people to assume they know what I think or that they will have my vote just because we belong to the same church. I know that the guy I just got the letter from is about as far to the right as a Catholic can be. I am pretty darned far to the left. He doesn't know that I agree with him on issues that face the state such as abortion, discrimination based on sexual orientation (which is a big issue in state government here - it is technically still legal), the death penalty, stem cell research (LSU has lots of biomedical research going on), or even taxation.

Now, that doesn't mean that people of faith who serve in public office need to compartmentalize themselves, either. Spirituality (Christian or otherwise) is a vital part of the make up of an individual. Of course your religion is going to impact your views, as is your age, marital status, whether or not you are a parent, your economic bracket, etc.

But tell me what you are going to do to make our state a better place. Tell me what you think we should do to quicken rebuilding in New Orleans, or improve the infrastructure in Baton Rouge, or improve the pitiful state of our public schools statewide.

Don't tell me that I should vote for you simply because we share a religion and a church. That is a surefire way to tick me off and to get me to not vote for you.

There was more to this rant, but my brain is fried from working on this damned proposal all weekend.

So I now return you to your regularly scheduled, boring, non-controversial blog.

Have a nice day.

You know how I said that I usually use scissors when I cook because I can't be trusted with knives?

Sigh.

I was chopping carrots for beef stew tomorrow (odd choice for Easter, I know. But I don't like ham and I have to work tomorrow). My finger got too close to the knife, and I put a nice little slice through it. It isn't bad enough to go to the ER, but bad enough that it won't stop bleeding. The urgent care doesn't open until 9 a.m. tomorrow.

This is why I should never cook.

Oh, Happy Easter!

This is one of the saddest things I have read in a long time.

I have a long and involved rant planned about the state of child welfare and education in the United States. I don't have time to type it now because I'm working on deadline (I'm in the hurry-up-and-wait phase of proposal development right now). But stay tuned, because I will be getting as political and controversial as I am likely to get. You won't want to miss that.