An open comment to whichever ad agency the Discovery Channel recently hired to do their promos:
http://dsc.discovery.com/tv/nasa/video-player/video-player.html?playerId=1550041754&titleId=1573646994
I hope y'all are getting paid big gobs of money ... 'cause you're worth every penny.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
A very happy unbirthday to us!
From the day I purchased Jake, I knew that I’d strive to be careful about his mileage. I wanted to have him for many, many years to come, after all, and in good shape, if at all possible. I’ve achieved my goal, sometimes putting less than 3,000 miles on him annually - as it has turned out average-wise, he sees about 5,000 miles a year.
This is still WELL under the best case scenario for most used cars and, if I were selling him at some point, I’d feel great about that. However I don’t plan on selling him – ever. I’ve even told Tim that if I’m ever in an accident while driving Jake, it would likely be best to just bury the both of us, without bothering to try to extract me. And I’m *almost* kidding about that.
Jake will be 8 years old this August, and I’m still just as protective of him as the day I brought him home with me. He is the single most reliable thing in my life – my health, my family, my job, even my friends, to an extent, aren’t always as dependable as he has been. Knock on wood, we’ve never experienced a tire issue, an engine issue, he’s never gotten me HOPELESSLY lost, and we’ve never had any problems with getting undue police attention, either.
At some point before the end of June, both Jake and I will pass what *I* consider to be a fairly significant milestone. He will turn 40,000 miles … and I will celebrate 40 years on this planet. Jake will be rewarded with a day of pampering, including a full inspection, complete detail, and his leather will get treated. Meanwhile, I will also figure out a specific way to reward myself. I have had several ideas as to how I’d like to recognize MY day … some are absolute pie-in-the-sky ideas, and some WOULD be do-able, though I’d need to draft a friend (Hi Tim!) to lend an assist. Mostly though, I’d actually really like to just spend it like I have most of my birthdays … which involve multiple cups of hot chocolate, a warm fuzzy bathrobe, and my annual watching of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”.
Today I received the first well-intended “lunch to celebrate your day” invite … one that I, for political-reasons, will need to accept. And while I know a LOT of people will say “oh well she’s just bummed because it’s a BIG birthday” or “poor thing – alone again on her day”, the truth of the matter is that I actually find little joys in all my days, especially lately. Laughing at goats, “ooohing: and “aaahing” over fancy cars, enjoying purring cats, helping people with grants so they can do really inspiring work, reaching out to dear friends with silly memories … why would I only celebrate these moments once a year?
For that matter – why would anyone?
This is still WELL under the best case scenario for most used cars and, if I were selling him at some point, I’d feel great about that. However I don’t plan on selling him – ever. I’ve even told Tim that if I’m ever in an accident while driving Jake, it would likely be best to just bury the both of us, without bothering to try to extract me. And I’m *almost* kidding about that.
Jake will be 8 years old this August, and I’m still just as protective of him as the day I brought him home with me. He is the single most reliable thing in my life – my health, my family, my job, even my friends, to an extent, aren’t always as dependable as he has been. Knock on wood, we’ve never experienced a tire issue, an engine issue, he’s never gotten me HOPELESSLY lost, and we’ve never had any problems with getting undue police attention, either.
At some point before the end of June, both Jake and I will pass what *I* consider to be a fairly significant milestone. He will turn 40,000 miles … and I will celebrate 40 years on this planet. Jake will be rewarded with a day of pampering, including a full inspection, complete detail, and his leather will get treated. Meanwhile, I will also figure out a specific way to reward myself. I have had several ideas as to how I’d like to recognize MY day … some are absolute pie-in-the-sky ideas, and some WOULD be do-able, though I’d need to draft a friend (Hi Tim!) to lend an assist. Mostly though, I’d actually really like to just spend it like I have most of my birthdays … which involve multiple cups of hot chocolate, a warm fuzzy bathrobe, and my annual watching of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”.
Today I received the first well-intended “lunch to celebrate your day” invite … one that I, for political-reasons, will need to accept. And while I know a LOT of people will say “oh well she’s just bummed because it’s a BIG birthday” or “poor thing – alone again on her day”, the truth of the matter is that I actually find little joys in all my days, especially lately. Laughing at goats, “ooohing: and “aaahing” over fancy cars, enjoying purring cats, helping people with grants so they can do really inspiring work, reaching out to dear friends with silly memories … why would I only celebrate these moments once a year?
For that matter – why would anyone?
Monday, June 2, 2008
Show Down At The Cry-Baby Corral
One of the strangest byproducts of being diagnosed with something significant has to be the other doors that open up. It’s related to a change of perspective, I suppose – the “big deals” suddenly aren’t. Likewise permission is granted and excuses are made because of one’s “condition”.
If you’re pregnant, for instance, moodiness is immediately excused, as are nasty eating habits and not caring that your socks don’t match. (I suppose if one cannot SEE ones socks, it makes little difference if they match or not.)
Today, for absolutely no reason at all, I was in a funk. It was nice outside (‘tho a bit breezy for my taste) and the cats were doing their best to keep me entertained, but I sat on my butt all day watching Soprano’s DVDs, eating just horridly-bad-for-me food and avoiding the things I should have been doing … like balancing my checkbook, or cleaning up the kitchen.
Also, I noticed that part of the funk came with a rather big chip on my shoulder. For what it is worth, I am very good about noticing moods in myself and, if there were anyone around to warn “look out – I’m not a happy person today. You’d do best to lay low all day”, I would. Ok, well I did tell the cats that – but they’re cats – laying low all day is kinda their job, after all.
I was reading some various items and continued to find myself thinking “really? That's your biggest problem? Do you know what I’d give to have that be my biggest problem?” I’m not at all proud to admit this, but after the fifth time of finding myself doing this, I realized that I was feeling sorry for myself.
Since “all this” began, I have actively avoided riding on the pity pony around the cry-baby corral. My task, as I’ve laid it out for myself, is to do everything in my power to be sure that my Aunt and my Cousin get through their battles, and then (and *only* then) will I selfishly focus on me (she said, with irony … and pity). Now I have a whole squad of doctors, caregivers, nurses, and medical professionals that have given me the green light to go into full-on breakdown mode whenever I’d like. But I don’t understand what that would solve really. I mean – it wouldn’t change anything … save for making the cats even more clingy to me. (They’re very sensitive to my moods, and seem to know when I “need” to be treated to extra purrs and when it is best to just to get lost.)
At least once a week, I draw a very long, very hot bubble bath, grab a good book, and soak for a few chapters – or until I fall asleep. But today, the only thing leakier than the bath faucet was me. And it came without warning – and with some pretty significant anger … dare I say “rage?” … that I didn’t expect. It scared me and as some may tell you, I don’t scare easily.
I’m writing this at 5:45pm – and I’m still vaguely livid. I’m unsure as to what triggered this “attack”, and yes, it’s possible that it was just time for me to randomly let all this out of my system. Whatever it is, I sure hope I get it together before I try to sleep tonight. I like falling asleep to the purrs.
If you’re pregnant, for instance, moodiness is immediately excused, as are nasty eating habits and not caring that your socks don’t match. (I suppose if one cannot SEE ones socks, it makes little difference if they match or not.)
Today, for absolutely no reason at all, I was in a funk. It was nice outside (‘tho a bit breezy for my taste) and the cats were doing their best to keep me entertained, but I sat on my butt all day watching Soprano’s DVDs, eating just horridly-bad-for-me food and avoiding the things I should have been doing … like balancing my checkbook, or cleaning up the kitchen.
Also, I noticed that part of the funk came with a rather big chip on my shoulder. For what it is worth, I am very good about noticing moods in myself and, if there were anyone around to warn “look out – I’m not a happy person today. You’d do best to lay low all day”, I would. Ok, well I did tell the cats that – but they’re cats – laying low all day is kinda their job, after all.
I was reading some various items and continued to find myself thinking “really? That's your biggest problem? Do you know what I’d give to have that be my biggest problem?” I’m not at all proud to admit this, but after the fifth time of finding myself doing this, I realized that I was feeling sorry for myself.
Since “all this” began, I have actively avoided riding on the pity pony around the cry-baby corral. My task, as I’ve laid it out for myself, is to do everything in my power to be sure that my Aunt and my Cousin get through their battles, and then (and *only* then) will I selfishly focus on me (she said, with irony … and pity). Now I have a whole squad of doctors, caregivers, nurses, and medical professionals that have given me the green light to go into full-on breakdown mode whenever I’d like. But I don’t understand what that would solve really. I mean – it wouldn’t change anything … save for making the cats even more clingy to me. (They’re very sensitive to my moods, and seem to know when I “need” to be treated to extra purrs and when it is best to just to get lost.)
At least once a week, I draw a very long, very hot bubble bath, grab a good book, and soak for a few chapters – or until I fall asleep. But today, the only thing leakier than the bath faucet was me. And it came without warning – and with some pretty significant anger … dare I say “rage?” … that I didn’t expect. It scared me and as some may tell you, I don’t scare easily.
I’m writing this at 5:45pm – and I’m still vaguely livid. I’m unsure as to what triggered this “attack”, and yes, it’s possible that it was just time for me to randomly let all this out of my system. Whatever it is, I sure hope I get it together before I try to sleep tonight. I like falling asleep to the purrs.
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