Do You Realize?

For those who were wondering...

...Shaun & Stan's memberships were denied, Tori & Dean went on a mini-vacation, SuperCr3w pwned, The Amazing Race is almost here... and Opcon-A Opthalmic eyedrops, when used too liberally in a single eye, can cause one of your pupils to dilate, sending you into a frenzied inventory of your current brain function and motor skills, paranoid that you are suffering a brain aneurysm.

But, luckily, you aren't.

And neither am I.

And that was a totally hypothetical situation.

Maybe...

Sore Sports

Today I was planning to write a post about my first bicycle ride in a year or more. I rode ten miles yesterday, three of them with 27 pounds of groceries. (I now feel as if I've had repeated rough sex with a bull elephant seal.)

However, I was reading the sports news this morning, and started wondering about how Mark Spitz reacted when Michael Phelps broke his single-Olympic record of seven gold medals; Phelps made Olympic history last night, winning his eighth, with the help of three teammates. When I read this article, I decided to change my post. It's still about soreness and sports, just in different terms.

Apparently, Mark Spitz is sore that the International Olympic Committee did not invite him to watch Michael break his record, nor hang Phelps's medals around his neck. Perhaps they did this because, in 2004, when Phelps first attempted to break his record, he was invited, and he made such a big deal about not getting any face time on television, they thought the better of a second invitation. Perhaps they did this because, even in his prime, he was an ass, disliked by his teammates for his detachedness and propensity for playing mind games. Perhaps they did it because Mark Spitz is always determined to make things all about Mark Spitz, and this day should have been (and was, thanks to Spitz's absence) about Michael Phelps.

This woman, Debbie Schlussel, has nothing but glowing praise to lavish upon Mark Spitz; she seems to think he must shit rose petals and purple unicorn dust. She demands from one commenter, who points out that she spoke with a former Olympic alternate who greatly disliked Mark Spitz, to know names, NAMES of people who actually knew Mark Spitz and felt this way, because SURELY no one who knew Mark Spitz could think that he doesn't shit rose petals and purple unicorn dust, yo.

Well, let's see. I'll venture that his former Olympic teammate, Steve Genter, felt that way. Genter, even after suffering a partially collapsed lung and surgery to repair it less than a week prior, and broken stitches in the first leg of the race in question, Genter was leading with 25 meters to go. Spitz only beat him, bleeding wound and all, to the gold medal by less than two meters. Afterward, Genter angrily revealed that Spitz had spent the time before the race trying to convince him not to compete; Debbie Schlussel would no doubt say it was concern, but Genter, knowing Mark Spitz, felt it was more of an attempt to psych him out, knowing Genter was Spitz's main competition.

Spitz also wants the world to know that he probably could have taken eight medals, too, if they'd only had the 50 meter freestyle, as they do now. AND he wants the world to know that Michael Phelps will probably break his record because they are so much alike.

Not on your life, Mark Spitzer. Michael Phelps is loved by his teammates and the world can see his humility and love for the sport, not just someone who is in it for himself and all the fame he can wring out of it. Bottom line: Yes, it would have been nice to have a supportive, humble, quiet Mark Spitz at Beijing when Phelps broke his record. However, knowing Spitz's propensity for self-aggrandizing when he should be there just to bear witness to Olympic history in the making, I'm supportive of the IOC's decision not to bend over backwards to make sure he was specifically singled out and invited. If he wanted to be there for the love of the sport and to support Phelps, he should have called Phelps or his people and asked for tickets, but not on anyone's dime but his own. And don't expect a camera to lovingly caress your face every time you open your mouth.

There are so many more issues I have with the Phelps naysayers that I can't even address them here and stay on-topic. I will, however, say that to minimize Phelps's success based on the argument that increased technology (better suits, pools, strokes, etc.) made it all possible is ridiculous. Perhaps these people missed the part about Phelps being a physiological anomaly perfectly suited to swimming. The man is a phenomenal athlete, and it's time to give him his due.

WTF?!? Wednesday

Please pardon my recent absence. I've had some terrible unidentified stomach ailment. Yesterday I ate 4 saltines and a key lime soda (Whole Foods version of Sprite, except sweetened with cane juice). The pain and chills came on almost immediately on Sunday night and come and go at will now. Just shoot me.

This morning I was on CNN.com catching up on some news, and I came across something that totally incensed me. Well, I came across a lot of things that incensed me, but since I suspect that enough people will be be blogging about the political crap, I'll take on Hulk Hogan's bratty, entitled, titty-baby son. Because not enough people blog about celebrities nowadays, you know.

For those of you who've been living in a bubble (or who don't give a rat's ass about worthless celebrity chattering), as backstory, in August 2007, Nick Bollea, Hulk Hogan's then-sixteen-year-old son (Terry Bollea is Hogan's real name. "Hulk" is not. Imagine that.), was intoxicated and street racing with his friend John Graziano in the passenger seat. In the interest of full disclosure, Graziano was not wearing his seat belt. (And, lest you think I'm letting John Graziano off the hook as a totally innocent bystander, forget about it. He knew he was getting into a high-powered car with an intoxicated friend to do something dangerous and illegal. He has culpability, too, but he received a life sentence for not wearing his seatbelt. That's hardly justice.) Nick was driving a Dodge Viper, which belonged to his dad, and the other street racer, a friend, was driving a Toyota Supra, which also belonged to Hogan. Nick had already, in less than one year, accumulated three speeding tickets, two of which were given for speeds in excess of 100 mph; Hulk was in the car for one of those. Linda, Nick's other model parent, had appeared in a DVD called "Vehicular Lunatics" teaching street racing. On the night of the crash, Nick lost control of his car and wrapped it around a palm tree (photos here... yeah, that used to look like a car), critically injuring his friend and passenger, Graziano. Doctors have since had to remove a portion of Graziano's brain, and he is in a minimally conscious state, with little hope for any meaningful recovery. Nick was recently sentenced to eight months in jail and five years probation, during which time he cannot drive or drink alcohol (so he can't drink alcohol until he's 21... harsh). During the trial, Nick and his family painted themselves as remorseful and contrite, blathering about how much they loved John, and how they've set up a fund to help pay his medical expenses.

In the last few days, though, several jailhouse recorded phone calls have been released to the press which absolutely appalled me and, I hope, anyone with any modicum of humanity. In the tapes, Nick tells his mother that "all you do is sit there and think, and there's nothing to think about." Ummmmm... perhaps you could think about how your actions have stolen a life from another human being? Just a suggestion.

Also in the tapes, Hulk says, "Well, I don't know what type of person John was, or what he did to get himself in this situation, but I know he was pretty agressive, and used to yell at people, and used to do stuff. But some, some, for some reason, man, God laid some heavy shit on that kid, man, I don't know what he was into." To which Nick replies, "John was a negative person." Yes, Mr. Bollea, let's help your son learn about taking responsibility by implying that John Graziano is completely to blame for his injuries. That is the epitome of good parenting. What did your son do to get himself into his situation? For that matter, what did your son do to get John in this situation?

We also learn from the tapes that Nick is already thinking about his future... in reality television. Yes, his daddy is already laying the groundwork for a "real-ality deal" (Nick pronounces it this way not once, not twice, but three times.) "the minute I walk out of wherever I walk out of." At least he's thinking about his future. Now if we could just get him to contemplate John Graziano's future.

Adding insult to injury, Linda Hogan says in the tapes that Graziano's mother doesn't care about him, and that she, Linda, is the one who is suffering, and seems outraged that no one understands that. "I knew him more than his own mother knew him. She has no other recourse than to be nasty and vindictive now... She's not sad. She's just acting angry like she wants the money. John never meant anything to her or Ed... I miss John and I miss you two. [maybe "miss you, too."?] She's not suffering, I am. She didn't give two shits."

There are so many more outrageously egregious statements in these tapes I can hardly contain my contempt for the entire lot of this morally bankrupted family. But the fact is, there will be plenty of people who will watch Nick's "real-ality show" if it ever comes to fruition. And there are plenty of people who, unfortunately, think that The Hulkster and Linda's behavior is normal for any parent whose child is in a tough situation. I happen to not be one of them.

Thirteen Things...

...that I'm thinkin' 'bout on Thursday...

1. ...winners from my Blogiversary Giveaways! Congrats to Jeff at Biking Duluth (Greenies & Pet Promise dog food sample), Caroline in NH at Fiber Arts & Furry Critters (Bush's Last Day keychain), Hootin' Anni (CD of ten of my photographic images), Andree at Meeyau (Feline Greenies & Pet Promise cat food sample), Molly at RedMolly Picayune-Democrat (a copy of Diane MacEachern's book Big Green Purse), and Anonymous Mom at Tenuous at Best (handcrafted journal)! If I don't hear from each of you within 24 hours, I will contact you. I'm asking until next Saturday (hopefully won't need that long) to get everything ready to ship.

2. ...my complete and utter domination at the art of oatmeal. I have mastered my "perfect oats." No extra liquid, but not too dry either. MMMMM.

3. ...philosophical subjects like evil and faith. I've determined that the basis for one's faith in an idea or entity is a positive and memorable event that the person attributes, whether correctly or incorrectly, to that idea or entity. For example, my husband sees, on a regular basis, the healing and saving of lives. He attributes that to the science of medicine; his faith, therefore, lies in the scientific.

4. ...suicide. Not mine, no. The book I'm reading, Jodi Picoult's The Pact, is about a failed teen suicide pact, where the surviving teen is charged with murder.

5. ...how terrible I am at poker. Some friends of ours have bought a table at a local "Casino Night" fundraiser and have graciously asked Hubby & I to go. I know not a damn thing about poker, but I will throw down with the best of them when intoxicated, I'm sure.

6. ...Texas's crazy caucusing. We voted early to avoid voting day crowds, but then had to go out anyway for the caucusing portion of the night.

7. ...how terrifyingly easy it is to imagine Youngest as a drug addict. He has a very addictive personality anyway, and a bipolar individual's risk of addiction to drugs or alcohol is much higher than that of a normally functioning person. At thirteen, his drug of choice is Runescape or the Playstation 3; he will do anything, self-destructive or otherwise, to get his fix. Seeing his desperation while in Austin last weekend with limited Internet availability was truly amazing.

8. ...our freakish weather. It's snowing again. Hard. Remember, I was talking about the weather yesterday?

9. ...how hitting an already-dead, but still fresh, skunk on the highway is very, very bad. Very bad, indeed. I also discovered why so many of them seem to be hit on the road. Nearly impossible to see until the last minute. Poor buggers.

10. ...organ donation. My mom is down in Florida at a post-transplant checkup. She's doing amazingly well!

11. ...photography. I mentioned it's snowing again, right?

12. ...the Project Runway season finale last night. As I fully expected, Christian kicked ass. His clothes, while not designed for the everyday woman, were exquisite concoctions, full of ruffles and feathers. His runway music killed, too (created and arranged by Anonymous Mom's not-so-anonymous talented son). Way to go, Christian! I just want to eat him up like a cookie, he's so freakin' cute.

13. ...how I SO don't want to do the laundry and mop the floors.

Edited to add: I drove for six hours to accomplish what would usually take three.

Love It/Hate It

Just a post to let you inside the convoluted maelstrom that is my mind this week. It's an abbreviated list of things I'm lovin' or hatin'.

LOVE IT:  Whole Foods is getting rid of plastic bags! Their paper bags are both recyclable and recycled, but their focus is education and trying to convince people to bring their own. They were giving away a free bag with your purchase a couple of days ago. They are the cutest reusable bags ever, and they are roomy, strong, and made from 80% post-consumer waste (recycled water bottles and such).

HATE IT:  My shampoo, which is natural & plant-based, smells like pink SweeTarts. Two of the last four or five bottles of it, though, have developed a funky, soured smell. I don't know if it's the sunlight from the window in the shower or variations in crops or just what it is, but I'm ready to switch. Sad. I like pink SweeTarts.

LOVE IT:  My morning radio show, Lex & Terry, has moved to a new home radio station here in Dallas. I like the new station. They play a widely varying collection of rock and metal from many years and eras. The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Ozzy Osbourne, 80's hair bands, Kid Rock. I like variey; it keeps me from getting bored.

HATE IT:  These seriously psychotic hatemongers. One simply cannot wrap a logically-thinking brain around such poignant tidbits of batshittery. For those who don't follow links, don't read the newspapers, or have somehow missed these lovely citizens, they are the "church" that believes that America is being punished by God for our wicked acceptance of "fags," picketing dead soldiers' funerals with signs that say, "Thank God for dead soldiers" (because the military are "fag-enablers," dontcha know?). (It's a scary situation when radical evangelical Christians say you're crazy.)

LOVE IT:  This season's Project Runway. Go Christian! (Oh, the irony, Fred Phelps! I think my Christian may be a homosexual... he'd better hope he wins the whole damn thing before the apocolypse, because my other faves are also gay, and my first non-condemned choice, Gillian, would be a poor substitute for my fierce little Christian.)

HATE IT:  Being such a Master Procrastinator. There is such an overwhelming list of home repairs/improvements we need to make, and had we fixed them when they actually happened, I would not feel so damned suffocated right now. But, because we suffer from Scarlett O'Hara Syndrome, we figured we'd put it off. Now a dozen little things have become a dozen more problematic things that all seem to be developing a domino-effect relationship and all seem to have their own separate contractor, to boot.

Have a great weekend, all!

A Tuesday Ten

One of the things I hate about having whichever of my emotional conditions that this is a symptom of, is that on rainy, gray, overcast, forlorn, or otherwise Eeyore-esque days, I feel like doing nothing. I feel no happiness, no inspiration, no... nothing. Nada. My soul and my personality feel just as blank as the day.

So, today, instead of writing something inspirational, I'll post up another Tuesday Ten list. What shall our subject be?  How about... Ten Things You Didn't Know About Me (Unless You Live With Me)? Without further ado:

1.  I find androgynous and slightly effeminate men incredibly sexy (i.e. Davey Havok, Criss Angel).

2.  I love to take naps. But, often, I can't, no matter how hard I try.

3.  I love board games. They totally rule. My favorites? Scrabble, Monopoly and Wise & Otherwise.

4.  I have extremely diverse taste in music. All found on my iTunes: Enya; Arlo Guthrie; Butthole Surfers; Billy Joel; Dave Matthews Band; Britney Spears; The Flaming Lips; Harry Connick, Jr.;  Marilyn Manson; Sheryl Crow; Red Hot Chili Peppers; Prokofiev.

5.  I've never attended more than 1 year of college.

6.  I am a Reality TV junkie. There's nothing like the occasional episode of "Flavor of Love" or "The Bachelor" to make you feel like your life is deep and meaningful.

7.  I am not at all a social or gregorious person. A social event at which I know no one is akin to listening to William Hung sing "She Bangs" inside my head for hours.

8.  I am very high-strung.

9.  I absolutely love random bits of mostly useless knowledge. I read the Harper's Index religiously and devour Mental Floss magazine like candy.

10.  Oftentimes, when reading a good book, if I can't stand the suspense any longer, I will read the end of the book, then flip back to where I was and continue reading. It's like a great big literary orgasm.