Like many of my Thursday entries, this is my column from this week. I sometimes read through it and make some changes for the blog, but because it will be a multi-part installment I have left it alone.
Over the past three years I’ve let my readership know that some column topics must be hunted down during the week and aren’t submitted until just a few hours before the deadline, and then there are some topics that come crashing down on me … literally. This week’s is one of the latter.
You might have heard last week about trucks crashing into two separate Arlington homes. The incidents were unrelated, but it just so happened they took place seven miles apart in less than an hour’s time from one another. If you did hear about these two accidents you most likely remember the one involving an off-duty Duncanville police officer, but what I will be talking about today is the other house-pummeling incident. I choose the other one because it involved my cousin’s house.
I got a call a little after 7 p.m. Tuesday night after eating dinner out from my mom who told me to get over to my cousin Kristyn’s house due to an emergency. I figured the answer to what the emergency could be would be answered when I walked in the door. Either I would arrive with the entire family sitting in a circle in the living room with an open chair in between my mom and another family member ready to start some sort of intervention (not that I’m really sure of a social sickness I am currently suffering through) or I would see bloodshot eyes and puffy faces as somebody was going to drop the cancer bomb on us.
However, when I pulled onto Kristyn’s street a fire engine and dozens of neighbors watching some sort of congested scene down near Kristyn’s house blocked me. I got out of the car and started power walking toward the epicenter of the action.
I passed by a man in handcuffs laying on the trunk of a police car and about six or seven police officers trying to keep the peace. I’m not sure if the officers let me walk by without any sort of reason to be near the scene of whatever had happened or if I completely ignored their orders to stay where I was but I found Kristyn, her two children, my mom and my roommate standing across the street from Kristyn’s house that had a new addition to it.
What we have now learned is a truck was driven through the garage into the living room of her house due to two guys fighting over a woman, but I’ll get into that part of the story next week.
You see, I have several things to talk about that came out of this tragic event. I am not sure how many columns I can get out of this one accident, but I do know there will be multiple parts to it.
Sorry this doesn’t give you much to enjoy, but I needed to set the story up for at least two more columns that couldn’t be done quickly. See you next week.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
17 Things A Grown Man Shouldn't Have (According To Somebody Else)
Getting inspiration from all over helps with a weekly column, such as this week’s little gem.
I was yet again surfing around on the Internet and came across an article on MSN listing 17 things a man should have left behind in his adolescent days (it really was a list of 18 things, but my publisher or editor deleted the one about a penis). I thought the article was somewhat humorous considering I found myself checking off a few of these items still at 27 years old.
This list also comes on the heels of a small tremor on the home front with my girlfriend Joanna about hanging posters in our future home.
Here we go with the list.
1. A black eye. Unless the rim hits your face mid-dunk, your peepers should remain unblemished. You’re smart enough to talk your way out of any fight you're going to lose.
I have somehow avoided any fights since high school, which is a good thing considering my size and lack of muscular strength.
However, that doesn’t mean my mouth hasn’t tried its best to get me in a fight with some heavyweights who would have given me more than just a pair of black eyes.
2. A witty e-mail signature. Quotes and song lyrics should be heard during toasts and karaoke performances, respectively. Don’t let your electronic correspondence become the digital version of a motivational poster.
Not counting a forum among my friends that has since been taken down, I can safely say I have no signatures out there floating in the electronic world.
3. An empty refrigerator. Your larder should be amply stocked, your pantry provisioned. Always aim to be ready to create an on-the-fly, three-course dinner for her ... along with breakfast in bed.
Joanna is a terrific cook and outside of pizza rolls and Rice Krispy Treats, I couldn’t make out the difference between a skillet and a saucer pan. Therefore I feel it is okay that I fall into this category still.
4. PlayStation thumb. When they’re relaxing, grown men can behave like children. But if you devolve long enough to cause calluses or button-shaped bruises, you’re assuredly missing out on life.
Missing out on life I’m not, but spending a couple of hours listening to John Madden tell me how absurd my play calling is and having the cops chase me around Vice City as I carjack people and rob videogame businesses I do partake in. Don’t judge me.
5. A key chain with a bottle opener. This bauble is both a gauche reminder of your college days and proof that you don’t know how to apply leverage using available, impromptu bottle openers: a lighter, the back end of a fork.
I don’t drink so therefore I don’t need to worry about this one.
6. A lucky shirt. Every shirt is lucky when worn by a man who knows that the harder he works the luckier he’ll be.
Apparently MSN and I don’t see eye to eye about what a lucky shirt means to us. I guess they are talking about good fortune befalling a person when wearing a certain clothing article and I’m thinking of the shirt that I wore the first time … Oh, nevermind.
7. An unstamped passport.
My passport, which I lost at some point in the last three years, does have one stamp on it. So take that MSN.
8. Olympic dreams. Exceptions: curling and archery.
I can forget this category altogether. I don’t think sliding through a coat-hanger is ever going to be an Olympic sport.
9. Less than $20 in his wallet. Fiduciary nudity is negligence. A real man should always carry a business card and enough dough to pick up coffee, bagels, and the Sunday paper without whipping out the plastic.
Well aren’t we well off Mister MSN writer. Not every journalist can be so lucky.
10. Any beer that costs less than $20 a case. And no exception for the grand-slam 30-pack that crosses that price threshold.
Again, don’t drink.
11. The need to quote The Big Lebowski/Caddyshack/Super-bad. Reciting someone else's lines reminds people that you haven't the wit to write your own.
Whew! They didn’t include Swingers or The Office. Oh wait. Those were just examples. Ah man! Mark me down for another one then.
12. A futon. Sure, beds are for sleeping. But such a meager, slouchy spread has never, in the history of sex, inspired a woman to say, “Take me on your futon.”
I’m safe here, but I do sport my grandmother’s furniture so I guess I’m not doing too much better.
13. Code words for ugly women. Actually, code words for anything.
Don’t take that away from me MSN. Don’t you dare take that away from me.
14. A Nerf hoop in his living room. Keep the adolescent accoutrements where they belong: in the rec room or above the wastebasket in someone else’s office.
I don’t have one of these in the house, but I do own a foosball table that’s kept in the garage. Does that get me off the hook?
15. A secret handshake.
Not since college have I had one of these when I was kicked out of the Skull and Bones group for taking the title a little too seriously with the members I didn’t like.
16. Drinking glasses with logos. Especially those kitschy McDonald’s Hamburglar ones.
The absence of drinking thing applies here again, but I have never desired a drinking glass with the Hamburglar on it more than I have right now.
17. A recent story with the phrase “So I said to the cop…”
I’ve sat here for 10 minutes trying to think of something clever to say but I just don’t have it in me to mess with my beat at the police department. Sorry for the anti-climactic ending.
I was yet again surfing around on the Internet and came across an article on MSN listing 17 things a man should have left behind in his adolescent days (it really was a list of 18 things, but my publisher or editor deleted the one about a penis). I thought the article was somewhat humorous considering I found myself checking off a few of these items still at 27 years old.
This list also comes on the heels of a small tremor on the home front with my girlfriend Joanna about hanging posters in our future home.
Here we go with the list.
1. A black eye. Unless the rim hits your face mid-dunk, your peepers should remain unblemished. You’re smart enough to talk your way out of any fight you're going to lose.
I have somehow avoided any fights since high school, which is a good thing considering my size and lack of muscular strength.
However, that doesn’t mean my mouth hasn’t tried its best to get me in a fight with some heavyweights who would have given me more than just a pair of black eyes.
2. A witty e-mail signature. Quotes and song lyrics should be heard during toasts and karaoke performances, respectively. Don’t let your electronic correspondence become the digital version of a motivational poster.
Not counting a forum among my friends that has since been taken down, I can safely say I have no signatures out there floating in the electronic world.
3. An empty refrigerator. Your larder should be amply stocked, your pantry provisioned. Always aim to be ready to create an on-the-fly, three-course dinner for her ... along with breakfast in bed.
Joanna is a terrific cook and outside of pizza rolls and Rice Krispy Treats, I couldn’t make out the difference between a skillet and a saucer pan. Therefore I feel it is okay that I fall into this category still.
4. PlayStation thumb. When they’re relaxing, grown men can behave like children. But if you devolve long enough to cause calluses or button-shaped bruises, you’re assuredly missing out on life.
Missing out on life I’m not, but spending a couple of hours listening to John Madden tell me how absurd my play calling is and having the cops chase me around Vice City as I carjack people and rob videogame businesses I do partake in. Don’t judge me.
5. A key chain with a bottle opener. This bauble is both a gauche reminder of your college days and proof that you don’t know how to apply leverage using available, impromptu bottle openers: a lighter, the back end of a fork.
I don’t drink so therefore I don’t need to worry about this one.
6. A lucky shirt. Every shirt is lucky when worn by a man who knows that the harder he works the luckier he’ll be.
Apparently MSN and I don’t see eye to eye about what a lucky shirt means to us. I guess they are talking about good fortune befalling a person when wearing a certain clothing article and I’m thinking of the shirt that I wore the first time … Oh, nevermind.
7. An unstamped passport.
My passport, which I lost at some point in the last three years, does have one stamp on it. So take that MSN.
8. Olympic dreams. Exceptions: curling and archery.
I can forget this category altogether. I don’t think sliding through a coat-hanger is ever going to be an Olympic sport.
9. Less than $20 in his wallet. Fiduciary nudity is negligence. A real man should always carry a business card and enough dough to pick up coffee, bagels, and the Sunday paper without whipping out the plastic.
Well aren’t we well off Mister MSN writer. Not every journalist can be so lucky.
10. Any beer that costs less than $20 a case. And no exception for the grand-slam 30-pack that crosses that price threshold.
Again, don’t drink.
11. The need to quote The Big Lebowski/Caddyshack/Super-bad. Reciting someone else's lines reminds people that you haven't the wit to write your own.
Whew! They didn’t include Swingers or The Office. Oh wait. Those were just examples. Ah man! Mark me down for another one then.
12. A futon. Sure, beds are for sleeping. But such a meager, slouchy spread has never, in the history of sex, inspired a woman to say, “Take me on your futon.”
I’m safe here, but I do sport my grandmother’s furniture so I guess I’m not doing too much better.
13. Code words for ugly women. Actually, code words for anything.
Don’t take that away from me MSN. Don’t you dare take that away from me.
14. A Nerf hoop in his living room. Keep the adolescent accoutrements where they belong: in the rec room or above the wastebasket in someone else’s office.
I don’t have one of these in the house, but I do own a foosball table that’s kept in the garage. Does that get me off the hook?
15. A secret handshake.
Not since college have I had one of these when I was kicked out of the Skull and Bones group for taking the title a little too seriously with the members I didn’t like.
16. Drinking glasses with logos. Especially those kitschy McDonald’s Hamburglar ones.
The absence of drinking thing applies here again, but I have never desired a drinking glass with the Hamburglar on it more than I have right now.
17. A recent story with the phrase “So I said to the cop…”
I’ve sat here for 10 minutes trying to think of something clever to say but I just don’t have it in me to mess with my beat at the police department. Sorry for the anti-climactic ending.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Ennis Elections: Interesting And A Wee Bit Disappointing
I can’t imagine any person in town was able to avoid talking about the close races Ennis had over the weekend concerning the school district’s $48.985 million bond and the Ward 1 Commissioner’s seat, both decided by the slimmest of margins.
Being I work for the local newspaper it might be more common for our employees to discuss the goings on of the city, but I just refuse to believe these two elections were not the topic of water cooler conversation all across Ennis on Monday.
Plenty has been said regarding the 32-vote differential in the school bond election, including an excellent editorial in Monday’s edition – which for the record was not my work; I am not tooting my own horn. I’m sure the clouds of doubt are forming above the naysayers of the bond, questioning how accurate the vote count was in such a close race.
Those against the bond for whatever reason need to take from this year’s election that advertising and public support for your side is extremely important. The P.A.C. group in support of the bond were extremely active in getting the word out about why citizens should vote in favor of the bond, including signs abundantly placed in front yards and along rights-of-way, a bombardment of advertisements in local media outlets and letters to the editor written on a regular routine. The school district was also busy visiting local service clubs and city entities – like the Chamber of Commerce – to get the word out about the bond and recruit members to their following to get the number of votes required to approve the bond package.
It wasn’t until only a few days before the election that some publicity started picking up in an attempt to convince those tired of more bonds to pay for new buildings to be sure and stop by the polls and let their political voice be heard.
The group in favor of the bond’s passage was rewarded for spending the extra time and money necessary to get the bond approved. They will now reap the benefits of fewer children per classroom, better facilities and newer, updated technology at both new and old campuses.
In the other election between Byron Walker and James N. “Red” Sanders it wasn’t the outcome that was so shocking – although there was a big question mark over my head when asked who would win – but rather the amount of indifference that seemed to be going through the Ward 1 residents regarding who would be their voice at City Hall.
I made some phone calls following the election results being released and discovered there are 1,841 registered voters in Ward 1. This means 1,841 people cared enough about politics at one point in their lives to make their way to the Elections Office in Waxahachie and fill out the proper paperwork in order to do their democratic duty. So why did only 150 people actually cast their vote?
This accounts for merely 8.15 percent of the registered voters in that area of Ennis.
I’m not sure what to make of that statistic. Does it mean less than 10 percent of those willing to have a say about what goes on in Ward 1 cared enough to vote or is it more of a reflection on what they were voting on?
In a way this year’s elections were more interesting with less to choose from than last year’s City Marshal race when six candidates were campaigning for the top spot. Whatever your opinion regarding the outcomes of the city and school elections, it was most certainly a much-talked about and anticipated event.
Being I work for the local newspaper it might be more common for our employees to discuss the goings on of the city, but I just refuse to believe these two elections were not the topic of water cooler conversation all across Ennis on Monday.
Plenty has been said regarding the 32-vote differential in the school bond election, including an excellent editorial in Monday’s edition – which for the record was not my work; I am not tooting my own horn. I’m sure the clouds of doubt are forming above the naysayers of the bond, questioning how accurate the vote count was in such a close race.
Those against the bond for whatever reason need to take from this year’s election that advertising and public support for your side is extremely important. The P.A.C. group in support of the bond were extremely active in getting the word out about why citizens should vote in favor of the bond, including signs abundantly placed in front yards and along rights-of-way, a bombardment of advertisements in local media outlets and letters to the editor written on a regular routine. The school district was also busy visiting local service clubs and city entities – like the Chamber of Commerce – to get the word out about the bond and recruit members to their following to get the number of votes required to approve the bond package.
It wasn’t until only a few days before the election that some publicity started picking up in an attempt to convince those tired of more bonds to pay for new buildings to be sure and stop by the polls and let their political voice be heard.
The group in favor of the bond’s passage was rewarded for spending the extra time and money necessary to get the bond approved. They will now reap the benefits of fewer children per classroom, better facilities and newer, updated technology at both new and old campuses.
In the other election between Byron Walker and James N. “Red” Sanders it wasn’t the outcome that was so shocking – although there was a big question mark over my head when asked who would win – but rather the amount of indifference that seemed to be going through the Ward 1 residents regarding who would be their voice at City Hall.
I made some phone calls following the election results being released and discovered there are 1,841 registered voters in Ward 1. This means 1,841 people cared enough about politics at one point in their lives to make their way to the Elections Office in Waxahachie and fill out the proper paperwork in order to do their democratic duty. So why did only 150 people actually cast their vote?
This accounts for merely 8.15 percent of the registered voters in that area of Ennis.
I’m not sure what to make of that statistic. Does it mean less than 10 percent of those willing to have a say about what goes on in Ward 1 cared enough to vote or is it more of a reflection on what they were voting on?
In a way this year’s elections were more interesting with less to choose from than last year’s City Marshal race when six candidates were campaigning for the top spot. Whatever your opinion regarding the outcomes of the city and school elections, it was most certainly a much-talked about and anticipated event.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Restaurant’s Handling Of Situation Leaves Customers With A Bad Taste
A minor altercation that recently took place at a large chain restaurant in Mesquite has turned me off to the eatery, which is upsetting since I really liked one of their sandwiches.
A friend of mine who was visiting the restaurant after a day of shopping at a nearby mall left her credit card at the restaurant. We’ve all come close to doing it before. We start chatting with our friends after writing in the tip and signing the little piece of paper and the next thing you know you are 10 steps away from the table and you starting thinking, “Did I put the card back in my wallet?”
My friend was telling me the story while at work about having to completely rearrange her schedule and drive back up to the restaurant to pick up the lost card. I felt bad for her and decided to help out a little bit. I just so happened to be going to Dallas that night and I told my friend I would swing by the restaurant and pick up the card for her. She was thrilled and called the restaurant to verify an authorized person could retrieve the lost card, which a manager told her was okay as long as I showed some identification proving who I was. Everything was set.
I arrived at the location and after explaining who I was to the door-holding/name-calling 16-year-old girl at the front and what my business was she fetched a manager and I was informed of some distressing news.
Apparently the business’ policy is to only allow the cardholder permission to recover the lost item with corresponding identification. So therefore I was not able to retrieve the card and my friend was back in her original predicament.
I exchanged a few unpleasant words with the manager and exited the building knowing nothing would be done on their end to rectify the situation because the reality in today’s world is the customer is no longer right. To our face they may let us feel in control but when our backs are turned or once the waiter is behind closed doors revenge takes place and we do not want to know about it.
You may be thinking I don’t appreciate the company’s policy to verify the cardholder so that identity theft doesn’t take place. That is just not true. My problem wasn’t the policy, it was that the policy isn’t understood and acted upon by all employees.
If you are going to have a rule you want your company to follow, make sure all of your employees are aware of it and also make sure they follow it. Don’t let misinformation get out that your business will allow something when a different manager tells the consumer something completely different.
Although this time it only cost me some extra gas to drive 20 minutes out of my way for what ultimately turned out to be no good reason, in the future this same restaurant could hoodwink a customer into buying a high-priced gift card that isn’t accepted later on down the road.
So here is my advice as an eating-out aficionado to all of you self-employed business owners or anyone planning to open their own business, make sure all your employees know what to tell a shopper when asked a question. And if an employee tells us they don’t know, that is okay. We’d rather not have a clear answer than be given a false one.
A friend of mine who was visiting the restaurant after a day of shopping at a nearby mall left her credit card at the restaurant. We’ve all come close to doing it before. We start chatting with our friends after writing in the tip and signing the little piece of paper and the next thing you know you are 10 steps away from the table and you starting thinking, “Did I put the card back in my wallet?”
My friend was telling me the story while at work about having to completely rearrange her schedule and drive back up to the restaurant to pick up the lost card. I felt bad for her and decided to help out a little bit. I just so happened to be going to Dallas that night and I told my friend I would swing by the restaurant and pick up the card for her. She was thrilled and called the restaurant to verify an authorized person could retrieve the lost card, which a manager told her was okay as long as I showed some identification proving who I was. Everything was set.
I arrived at the location and after explaining who I was to the door-holding/name-calling 16-year-old girl at the front and what my business was she fetched a manager and I was informed of some distressing news.
Apparently the business’ policy is to only allow the cardholder permission to recover the lost item with corresponding identification. So therefore I was not able to retrieve the card and my friend was back in her original predicament.
I exchanged a few unpleasant words with the manager and exited the building knowing nothing would be done on their end to rectify the situation because the reality in today’s world is the customer is no longer right. To our face they may let us feel in control but when our backs are turned or once the waiter is behind closed doors revenge takes place and we do not want to know about it.
You may be thinking I don’t appreciate the company’s policy to verify the cardholder so that identity theft doesn’t take place. That is just not true. My problem wasn’t the policy, it was that the policy isn’t understood and acted upon by all employees.
If you are going to have a rule you want your company to follow, make sure all of your employees are aware of it and also make sure they follow it. Don’t let misinformation get out that your business will allow something when a different manager tells the consumer something completely different.
Although this time it only cost me some extra gas to drive 20 minutes out of my way for what ultimately turned out to be no good reason, in the future this same restaurant could hoodwink a customer into buying a high-priced gift card that isn’t accepted later on down the road.
So here is my advice as an eating-out aficionado to all of you self-employed business owners or anyone planning to open their own business, make sure all your employees know what to tell a shopper when asked a question. And if an employee tells us they don’t know, that is okay. We’d rather not have a clear answer than be given a false one.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Ready To Take My Order? Oh Really!?
I have started to notice a new trend in the fast food drive-thru line. I don’t know when it began, but it has made my grease-laden food ordering experience a little more difficult. What I’m talking about is the message that greets you as your vehicle comes to a stop next to the intercom and menu. It usually sounds something like, “Welcome! How can I help you?” or maybe like, “Howdy! Can I take your order?”
It’s not the greeting I have a problem with. The welcome really isn’t all that bad, except for certain food industry execs who think every person in Texas says “Howdy” to one anther. What bothers me is the fact that it is an electronic message greeting me, and now I’m not sure if the person on the other side of the electronic box is really ready to take my order.
I never worked the fast food drive-thru window and haven’t had to fight through the headset with a customer so I don’t know what it’s like on the other side, but as the customer I don’t want to do anything to make employees mad for fear they might alter my specially made burger with some homemade sauce. If I begin rattling off my order because Computerized Chatty Cathy just welcomed me to your establishment, asked how she could help me and the real order-taker isn’t ready yet, then I have to be reprimanded when he or she comes on the intercom and says, “One moment, SIR!” It’s not that I’m in a rush or want to make the order-taker’s life harder. It’s just that the greeting asked what I wanted, so I began giving my order.
When I first started noticing the computerized greeting in the drive-thru lane I thought it was just two people working the headset. No big deal. However, then I started noticing that the first person was saying the same thing every time. The words and delivery never changed. At this point I started wondering when it was appropriate to start giving my order. Again, we go back to what if the employee taking my order isn’t ready. I don’t want to rush them.
Here’s another question. Why is the computerized greeter always a woman? How come we never hear men’s voices greet us in the drive-thru? Is this a coincidence among all food establishments or did the Women’s Association of Electronic Greeters go on strike until a deal was made to monopolize the drive-thru lanes?
All this may seem trivial to you and your response to me might sound something like “Why don’t you just stop eating those fatty foods and try a more healthy diet?” Well, here’s my answer to you. When you have the figure of a 10-year-old girl and everything you eat has no effect on you in the short term, then you take advantage of it for as long as possible. As soon as my clogged arteries begin to give me a shortness of breath and pain in my left arm then I will stop pumping my body full of the seventh – and lesser known – food group: grease.
Besides, I get a very healthy and delicious meal each week at the Odd Fellow and Rebekah Retirement Center in Ennis when I attend Kiwanis Club. I know what you might think, “An old folks home? Yuk!” No way. It is delicious. Trust me.
It’s not the greeting I have a problem with. The welcome really isn’t all that bad, except for certain food industry execs who think every person in Texas says “Howdy” to one anther. What bothers me is the fact that it is an electronic message greeting me, and now I’m not sure if the person on the other side of the electronic box is really ready to take my order.
I never worked the fast food drive-thru window and haven’t had to fight through the headset with a customer so I don’t know what it’s like on the other side, but as the customer I don’t want to do anything to make employees mad for fear they might alter my specially made burger with some homemade sauce. If I begin rattling off my order because Computerized Chatty Cathy just welcomed me to your establishment, asked how she could help me and the real order-taker isn’t ready yet, then I have to be reprimanded when he or she comes on the intercom and says, “One moment, SIR!” It’s not that I’m in a rush or want to make the order-taker’s life harder. It’s just that the greeting asked what I wanted, so I began giving my order.
When I first started noticing the computerized greeting in the drive-thru lane I thought it was just two people working the headset. No big deal. However, then I started noticing that the first person was saying the same thing every time. The words and delivery never changed. At this point I started wondering when it was appropriate to start giving my order. Again, we go back to what if the employee taking my order isn’t ready. I don’t want to rush them.
Here’s another question. Why is the computerized greeter always a woman? How come we never hear men’s voices greet us in the drive-thru? Is this a coincidence among all food establishments or did the Women’s Association of Electronic Greeters go on strike until a deal was made to monopolize the drive-thru lanes?
All this may seem trivial to you and your response to me might sound something like “Why don’t you just stop eating those fatty foods and try a more healthy diet?” Well, here’s my answer to you. When you have the figure of a 10-year-old girl and everything you eat has no effect on you in the short term, then you take advantage of it for as long as possible. As soon as my clogged arteries begin to give me a shortness of breath and pain in my left arm then I will stop pumping my body full of the seventh – and lesser known – food group: grease.
Besides, I get a very healthy and delicious meal each week at the Odd Fellow and Rebekah Retirement Center in Ennis when I attend Kiwanis Club. I know what you might think, “An old folks home? Yuk!” No way. It is delicious. Trust me.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Kids and dogs: Same thing?
To those young couples or you ladies who want nothing more than to be parents but don’t yet have the children needed to test whether or not you would have the patience, time or proper nurturing characteristics required of such a person, I suggest getting a pet to use as a litmus test of your parenting skills.
I suppose any pet will do but to get a true assessment of yourself I recommend a dog as the animal of choice, and for a true test of your parenting abilities I think picking out a puppy would give some real results of how good a parent you could be.
Although I am already the parent of a beautiful baby girl I still consider how I handle certain situations involving Joanna's dog (named Mona) as a nice analysis of how I will react to my daughter’s potentially destructive ways as she grows up.
In recent months I have had to cope with the perils of dog ownership that resulted in some vehicle and home maintenance repairs.
The first incident took place during a fundraiser auction in Ennis. A friend’s sister was hospitalized and ended up dying that weekend and Joanna was at the hospital with our friend while I covered the event. Because we had left Mona alone all day I decided to bring her with me. That was a big mistake.
After being left in the car a little too long I came outside and from a distance saw in the moonlight Mona’s head peeping above the back seat and what looked to be hanging jungle vines dangling from the ceiling of my car.
As I walked closer, I could see what had happened. Despite having plenty of air with the windows cracked, Mona apparently thought she was trapped and tried to claw and chew her way out of the roof, resulting in the fabric of my ceiling, the headliner and my passenger-side visor being destroyed.
Now I’m not one of those people who think their vehicle is an extension of their anatomy, but my car has been very good to me for the past seven years and I felt like I had let her down as an owner.
Since catching Mona in the act of her disobedience I justifiably punished her and it was one of the longest and quietest drives home I have ever had. It took me several minutes just to even turn the radio on because I was too mad to want to hear music. I just festered and kept questioning Mona about why she would do such a thing to my car, hoping she would suddenly learn to communicate with me and explain her actions.
I spent the following week visiting salvage yards to get replacement items for the car before the ceiling’s fabric is replaced, but the second accident involved repairs that were needed on a much faster timetable.
Joanna came home on a Saturday night to find Mona with blood on her face. She searched the apartment to figure out the cause of Mona’s cut and found her bedroom window shattered. I was phoned and upon arriving we cleaned Mona up and checked to see whether she needed to make a visit to the veterinarian. It was decided she wasn’t in such bad shape that we couldn’t wait for my sister-in-law, who works for the SPCA, to look at her the next day. Following that, I inspected the damage and determined some sort of event on the outside caused this damage and Mona stuck her face against the broken glass.
For me, Sunday afternoon was spent purchasing glass and materials needed to repair the window while Joanna and my sister-in-law patched up Mona’s cuts and gave her some antibiotics.
As you can see this is not exactly how I had imagined spending my weekend but when you have a pet sometimes these sorts of things happen and you have to deal with the consequences. If you can’t imagine altering your schedule for your pet or having the patience required to get through the destructive times then it is completely unfathomable to think you are ready to raise a child. I’m not saying dogs and babies are the same thing, but the analogy in raising them is not that ridiculous.
I suppose any pet will do but to get a true assessment of yourself I recommend a dog as the animal of choice, and for a true test of your parenting abilities I think picking out a puppy would give some real results of how good a parent you could be.
Although I am already the parent of a beautiful baby girl I still consider how I handle certain situations involving Joanna's dog (named Mona) as a nice analysis of how I will react to my daughter’s potentially destructive ways as she grows up.
In recent months I have had to cope with the perils of dog ownership that resulted in some vehicle and home maintenance repairs.
The first incident took place during a fundraiser auction in Ennis. A friend’s sister was hospitalized and ended up dying that weekend and Joanna was at the hospital with our friend while I covered the event. Because we had left Mona alone all day I decided to bring her with me. That was a big mistake.
After being left in the car a little too long I came outside and from a distance saw in the moonlight Mona’s head peeping above the back seat and what looked to be hanging jungle vines dangling from the ceiling of my car.
As I walked closer, I could see what had happened. Despite having plenty of air with the windows cracked, Mona apparently thought she was trapped and tried to claw and chew her way out of the roof, resulting in the fabric of my ceiling, the headliner and my passenger-side visor being destroyed.
Now I’m not one of those people who think their vehicle is an extension of their anatomy, but my car has been very good to me for the past seven years and I felt like I had let her down as an owner.
Since catching Mona in the act of her disobedience I justifiably punished her and it was one of the longest and quietest drives home I have ever had. It took me several minutes just to even turn the radio on because I was too mad to want to hear music. I just festered and kept questioning Mona about why she would do such a thing to my car, hoping she would suddenly learn to communicate with me and explain her actions.
I spent the following week visiting salvage yards to get replacement items for the car before the ceiling’s fabric is replaced, but the second accident involved repairs that were needed on a much faster timetable.
Joanna came home on a Saturday night to find Mona with blood on her face. She searched the apartment to figure out the cause of Mona’s cut and found her bedroom window shattered. I was phoned and upon arriving we cleaned Mona up and checked to see whether she needed to make a visit to the veterinarian. It was decided she wasn’t in such bad shape that we couldn’t wait for my sister-in-law, who works for the SPCA, to look at her the next day. Following that, I inspected the damage and determined some sort of event on the outside caused this damage and Mona stuck her face against the broken glass.
For me, Sunday afternoon was spent purchasing glass and materials needed to repair the window while Joanna and my sister-in-law patched up Mona’s cuts and gave her some antibiotics.
As you can see this is not exactly how I had imagined spending my weekend but when you have a pet sometimes these sorts of things happen and you have to deal with the consequences. If you can’t imagine altering your schedule for your pet or having the patience required to get through the destructive times then it is completely unfathomable to think you are ready to raise a child. I’m not saying dogs and babies are the same thing, but the analogy in raising them is not that ridiculous.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
The Woes Of Working Out
As I type this, I am huffing and puffing after a heated battle on the tennis court with my brother, knowing tomorrow I will pay for it all with cramps in my legs, a shoulder that feels as if it is on fire every time I take a breath and a blister that wraps all the way around my thumb. As terrible as that sounds you might think I am wasting my time playing tennis if I feel so terrible the days following.
I am okay with these aches and pains because I know I earned them by being active and not sitting around the house being lazy on a beautiful evening like it was Tuesday.
In my opinion, working out, playing a little too hard with your friends or taking part in some sort of activity that gives you a sense of accomplishment is worth a bit of soreness in the end.
While not near as much fun, it is kind of like working in the yard or painting a room. They are dreaded chores that hardly anyone looks forward to, but those who do enjoy these tasks do so because they can look at their work in the end and realize what a good job they did, despite some throbbing in their back or pain in their knees.
Since I’m sure to be nursing some small tenderness throughout my body from my sporting fun I began to think about a few of the other pains I’ve recently acquired in my life that I didn’t receive through hard work or fun activities.
I am 27 years old and by no means do I think of myself as old. In fact, in today’s day and age a person can be in their golden years and still be as lively as – if not more than – teenagers who play video games all day and live through their computers.
Recently I have noticed my body telling me I did something to hurt it when I don’t recall any such injury. My ankle will feel as if I rolled it and I can hardly walk when all I did for the previous few hours was sit on my couch watching television or working at my desk. When I wake up in the morning, sleeping in the same positions I have slept all my life, my back and neck will crackle as I stretch and move, which is a fresh addition to my list of soreness.
I can never seem to remember doing anything to make my body resent me so much, but I guess I have to expect these sorts of occurrences as I age.
I figured to have at least until my mid-30s before I would have to worry about changing my diet due to high cholesterol or exercising more because of excess pounds gained – not that anybody would ever guess that could happen to my small frame.
Although these aren’t necessarily the problems I’m currently facing, I feel as if I can’t stop the inevitable from occurring, which is that someday I will be using a walker or eventually need one of those motorized chairs to get up and down staircases.
I guess playing tennis, Frisbee, golf or recreational softball is a step in the right direction to keeping my body in tip-top shape, but it would be nice to not have to deal with living in temporary pain now to know I won’t live in constant pain in the future.
I am okay with these aches and pains because I know I earned them by being active and not sitting around the house being lazy on a beautiful evening like it was Tuesday.
In my opinion, working out, playing a little too hard with your friends or taking part in some sort of activity that gives you a sense of accomplishment is worth a bit of soreness in the end.
While not near as much fun, it is kind of like working in the yard or painting a room. They are dreaded chores that hardly anyone looks forward to, but those who do enjoy these tasks do so because they can look at their work in the end and realize what a good job they did, despite some throbbing in their back or pain in their knees.
Since I’m sure to be nursing some small tenderness throughout my body from my sporting fun I began to think about a few of the other pains I’ve recently acquired in my life that I didn’t receive through hard work or fun activities.
I am 27 years old and by no means do I think of myself as old. In fact, in today’s day and age a person can be in their golden years and still be as lively as – if not more than – teenagers who play video games all day and live through their computers.
Recently I have noticed my body telling me I did something to hurt it when I don’t recall any such injury. My ankle will feel as if I rolled it and I can hardly walk when all I did for the previous few hours was sit on my couch watching television or working at my desk. When I wake up in the morning, sleeping in the same positions I have slept all my life, my back and neck will crackle as I stretch and move, which is a fresh addition to my list of soreness.
I can never seem to remember doing anything to make my body resent me so much, but I guess I have to expect these sorts of occurrences as I age.
I figured to have at least until my mid-30s before I would have to worry about changing my diet due to high cholesterol or exercising more because of excess pounds gained – not that anybody would ever guess that could happen to my small frame.
Although these aren’t necessarily the problems I’m currently facing, I feel as if I can’t stop the inevitable from occurring, which is that someday I will be using a walker or eventually need one of those motorized chairs to get up and down staircases.
I guess playing tennis, Frisbee, golf or recreational softball is a step in the right direction to keeping my body in tip-top shape, but it would be nice to not have to deal with living in temporary pain now to know I won’t live in constant pain in the future.
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