Viewers note....Downton Abbey returns to PBS January 8, 2012. This is a really great series. Catch up on last season starting tonight and see what I mean :)
Cheers, nca
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
DEFACED BOOK
What part of the term 'Social Network' makes me think I can ever properly inhabit virtual worlds like 'Facebook' or 'Linkedin'. Let's face it, I have been and always will be socially challenged. Well, sure...here I am posting to the blog sphere. And I have been a member of both 'Facebook' and 'Linkedin', and some other social networks from time to time. But I never truly fit in on those sites.
From early in my youth, living in a large family of 9 in a little three bedroom two batch house I have been awkward in any situations with more then a handful of people. Socially I am more a observer than a partaker. I love people and personality in small group settings and small doses. But at a party I am as awkward as a nun in a strip club. 
The blog works ok because my actual audience is small, and my real audience is even smaller. My audience is the few people that are actually linked to this. The real audience is probably really just myself. Like a diary, writing makes me feel better, it helps me get ideas of my chest, I enjoy it and always have. There is the occasional exhibitionist side of me...but for the most part that gets suppressed by my hermit tendencies.The main problem for me is 'small talk'. My 'small talk' skills are sorry and weak. I never remember jokes. I love puns, because that is really playing with words which is really writing (poetry), and I'm good with that. But the short interesting tidbits and fascinating subjects and intriguing inquiries completely abandon me at parties. And what comes out on my FACEBOOK entries reflects that too. I get a lot of silence and ? and odd replies on my posts... I never get the 20 posts my daughters get when they post some cute saying or request for advice. Nor should I. The things my mind comes up with just do not work in the social setting.
Puns, innuendos, double entendres, and sarcasm don't seem to fit in well socially. They sometime work in smaller groups, but in larger social networks they fizzle.
I guess I still get enough out of the social sites to warrant visiting from time to time. It is fun to learn things about my daughters and friends via these networks. But being a shadow lurking in the background makes me feel a lot like I do at parties and other social gatherings...a wall flower or voyeur, there but not really there. I understand why people love social networks, and more power to them, I wish I was more socially adept.
I am who I am.
Cheers, nca
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
My own Christmas Story
I have Christmas tales worthy of a scene in the movie Christmas Story. One to share occurred in Mesa when my daughters were little. We had purchased a tree off a lot in Mesa, and by the end of Christmas it was as dry as tinder. I wanted to dump it before it became a fire hazard...so I drove it down to the Fry's behind my house and dumped it in the dumpster behind the store. You, know, the one that says 'No Dumping'. Yeah that one. As I was dumping it....the action flipped my glasses into off my head and into the dumpster.
Yeah, I've told crazy glasses stores before. So it might not be new to you, dear reader, that I'm as blind as a bat without my glasses. Since it was night time, I wish I was as blind as a bat, I was as blind as a hearing impaired bat. Trust me, a few of those four letter words from 'Christmas Story' slipped out.
I had to climb into the dumpster and feel around with my hands for the glasses blindly. Did I mention the dumpster was full of whatever the Fry's folks throw in there. I don't know exactly what it all was, but some of it was slimy and gooey and smelly and generally not too appetizing. Since I was climbing around in a Dumpster that clearly stated, No Dumping, I was scared that I was going to be caught. I was also scared that I would not be able to find the glasses and I'd be stranded. Explain that situation to...who?
By some miracle, deep withing the muck and grime of the dumpster, my hands discovered the forlorn glasses and I was able to get home without a major felony rap.
Merry Christmas...nca
Yeah, I've told crazy glasses stores before. So it might not be new to you, dear reader, that I'm as blind as a bat without my glasses. Since it was night time, I wish I was as blind as a bat, I was as blind as a hearing impaired bat. Trust me, a few of those four letter words from 'Christmas Story' slipped out.
I had to climb into the dumpster and feel around with my hands for the glasses blindly. Did I mention the dumpster was full of whatever the Fry's folks throw in there. I don't know exactly what it all was, but some of it was slimy and gooey and smelly and generally not too appetizing. Since I was climbing around in a Dumpster that clearly stated, No Dumping, I was scared that I was going to be caught. I was also scared that I would not be able to find the glasses and I'd be stranded. Explain that situation to...who?
By some miracle, deep withing the muck and grime of the dumpster, my hands discovered the forlorn glasses and I was able to get home without a major felony rap.
Merry Christmas...nca
Monday, December 12, 2011
A New Year
It's late at night on December 12th, I'm feeling a little blue, a little old, wondering if I can conjure up a blog worthy of some seasonal cheer.
So here goes...
My brother John used to get together with his brother-in-laws family on New Years day to watch College Football on two or three TVs all at once...one game after another, over another. Pre-BCS. When ASU actually had the occasional chance to make the Rose Bowl (there's always next year). This particular family was all Irish American and Notre Dame boosters and mainly male...with all the trappings. Beer, and food, and more beer, and plenty of football to go around. One thing always cool about John, he'd get bored after a while and we'd go outside and shoot hoops...and all of this was all right with me, it all worked.
Sometimes on New Years day I would stop by Dad's little apartment on Greenfield and pick him up and he'd join us for the festivities. However, this particular time...I could hear the radio on in his apartment, I knew he was home and yet he did not answer. He was a hermit at times. I can relate, I have that gene too. But I was mad, and I went on to the New Years game, and I complained a bit to John when I got there, don't you know. I was vexed just a bit.
Dad had passed. I did not know, did not know until days later, when John called me at work. I was devastated, heart broken. I miss my Dad still.
Where do I find cheer with that? Well heck, all the years I did have Dad, and the years I have been a Dad, and that I learned not to hermit a bit from that, and that now I have daughters and grand kids and Christmas comes each year...and Christmas means a little bit more, and Christmas reminds me of my beliefs that one day I will see my Dad again. And maybe by then ASU will have played in the Rose Bowl again (there is always next year). :)
Cheers, nca
So here goes...
My brother John used to get together with his brother-in-laws family on New Years day to watch College Football on two or three TVs all at once...one game after another, over another. Pre-BCS. When ASU actually had the occasional chance to make the Rose Bowl (there's always next year). This particular family was all Irish American and Notre Dame boosters and mainly male...with all the trappings. Beer, and food, and more beer, and plenty of football to go around. One thing always cool about John, he'd get bored after a while and we'd go outside and shoot hoops...and all of this was all right with me, it all worked.
Sometimes on New Years day I would stop by Dad's little apartment on Greenfield and pick him up and he'd join us for the festivities. However, this particular time...I could hear the radio on in his apartment, I knew he was home and yet he did not answer. He was a hermit at times. I can relate, I have that gene too. But I was mad, and I went on to the New Years game, and I complained a bit to John when I got there, don't you know. I was vexed just a bit.
Dad had passed. I did not know, did not know until days later, when John called me at work. I was devastated, heart broken. I miss my Dad still.
Where do I find cheer with that? Well heck, all the years I did have Dad, and the years I have been a Dad, and that I learned not to hermit a bit from that, and that now I have daughters and grand kids and Christmas comes each year...and Christmas means a little bit more, and Christmas reminds me of my beliefs that one day I will see my Dad again. And maybe by then ASU will have played in the Rose Bowl again (there is always next year). :)
Cheers, nca
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
So Wrong
I was driving and listening to an audio version of 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo" by Steig Larsson on the way home from work and an inspirational critical thought about the series came upon me like a light bulb.
I had read the book once before, and seen the Swedish version of the video series via Netflicks , so I would say I knew the series fairly well. So when the inspiration dawned on me, I thought it would make a great blog. I thought I had suddenly gained a unique and crucial insight into the mind of the deceased author, something blogdom would find interesting enough to read.
I knew, to make the case for the inspirational idea, I'd have to do a little research to back up my suppositions with some supporting facts.
But as I dug into various details about the author, the series, and other related facts...it quickly became apparent that I was....
Yeah, after researching various items, it became very very clear.....
So, I still had the idea, and I could still find enough facts here and there to provide support for my thoughts, but I knew for sure...
Now, my blog audience is very small, so the chance of someone in the audience catching my mistakes and pointing them out to me was astronomical.
But, then again, like I said before, deep down...I knew that I was...
I had to eat my humble pie, discard my 'brilliant' idea as if it were some moldy cheese I'd find at the back of the crisper drawer in my fridge. My idea was shot down like a Hugh Hefner at a GLP parade.
Oh yes, blogee, I have been wrong before, sure. And I will be again, and again...more times then I even want contemplate. I can move on, no problem.
My comment on this is, I think about how easy it is to use a few strategic facts to justify just about anything. Without restraint, without minimal ethics, without self policing, facts can be used with pinpoint precision to back up even the most outrageous claims and beliefs.
Cheers, nca
P.S. "Three Hamlets walked into a bar, and so the bartender asked 'what will it be?'". Salohcin
I had read the book once before, and seen the Swedish version of the video series via Netflicks , so I would say I knew the series fairly well. So when the inspiration dawned on me, I thought it would make a great blog. I thought I had suddenly gained a unique and crucial insight into the mind of the deceased author, something blogdom would find interesting enough to read.
I knew, to make the case for the inspirational idea, I'd have to do a little research to back up my suppositions with some supporting facts.
But as I dug into various details about the author, the series, and other related facts...it quickly became apparent that I was....
WRONG!!!!
Yeah, after researching various items, it became very very clear.....
So, I still had the idea, and I could still find enough facts here and there to provide support for my thoughts, but I knew for sure...
Now, my blog audience is very small, so the chance of someone in the audience catching my mistakes and pointing them out to me was astronomical.
But, then again, like I said before, deep down...I knew that I was...
Oh yes, blogee, I have been wrong before, sure. And I will be again, and again...more times then I even want contemplate. I can move on, no problem.
My comment on this is, I think about how easy it is to use a few strategic facts to justify just about anything. Without restraint, without minimal ethics, without self policing, facts can be used with pinpoint precision to back up even the most outrageous claims and beliefs.
Cheers, nca
P.S. "Three Hamlets walked into a bar, and so the bartender asked 'what will it be?'". Salohcin
Friday, November 11, 2011
MAX RELOAD
Today during lunch hour I drove down through Papago Park, past The Hole in the Rock, the National Guard Armory, turning on Oak, then Thomas, finally driving down into my childhood neighborhood.
Everywhere I turned the sights and sounds stirred up memories long forgotten from the weight of 52 years living in this Valley of The Sun, 52 years living.
Landscape is memory and architecture is memory and youth and family and school and church and scouts and baseball all memory crowed together and trapped and freed when needed or when called upon or just seeping forth unbidden.
The blinking radio Towers of South Mountain like the beacons of Gondor calling forth memories like men upon horses. Were those towers always there? In my memories they were and a time when they were not only exists outside my memories and therefore outside of time and outside of being, separated from the me of my existence.
The weight of memory is heavy within my heart this day, weight carried upon my shoulders, of guilt and regret, and mulligans, and do overs. Good memories too, and just plain old memories un-judged, unplugged, swirling around in the synapses waiting to be recalled. The road led me back down to Amelia Street to that place where all my memories first sprung, that wet watering hole, the cradle of my youth.
Back then to work, then home to family, my journey to the past complete, I now contemplate upon the weight of the memories I carry with me now, of memories yet to be, and of memories lost or soon to be. What of these memories? I do not know. I'd say I know something of this place I live, this Valley of the Sun, but I'm not sure I know my place in it or what purpose I have served or if I served my purpose well. Time will tell.
Cheers, nca
Everywhere I turned the sights and sounds stirred up memories long forgotten from the weight of 52 years living in this Valley of The Sun, 52 years living.
Landscape is memory and architecture is memory and youth and family and school and church and scouts and baseball all memory crowed together and trapped and freed when needed or when called upon or just seeping forth unbidden.
The blinking radio Towers of South Mountain like the beacons of Gondor calling forth memories like men upon horses. Were those towers always there? In my memories they were and a time when they were not only exists outside my memories and therefore outside of time and outside of being, separated from the me of my existence.
The weight of memory is heavy within my heart this day, weight carried upon my shoulders, of guilt and regret, and mulligans, and do overs. Good memories too, and just plain old memories un-judged, unplugged, swirling around in the synapses waiting to be recalled. The road led me back down to Amelia Street to that place where all my memories first sprung, that wet watering hole, the cradle of my youth.
Back then to work, then home to family, my journey to the past complete, I now contemplate upon the weight of the memories I carry with me now, of memories yet to be, and of memories lost or soon to be. What of these memories? I do not know. I'd say I know something of this place I live, this Valley of the Sun, but I'm not sure I know my place in it or what purpose I have served or if I served my purpose well. Time will tell.
Cheers, nca
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Page Eight
Masterpiece Contemporary had a good one this week. Page 8 starring Bill Nighy , Michael Gambon, Rachel Weisz, Judy Davis, and Ralph Feinnes. Sort of a Harry Potter reunion cast with Michael Gambon and Ralph Feinnes. Nice plot with a bit of intrigue, and the acting was really swell. I particularly liked Bill Nighy in this one. I had recently seen him in Glorious 39, which I also enjoyed a bit.
Cheers, nca
Cheers, nca
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Two Real Quick Observations
1. I like the dedication at the end of 'Cities of the Plain' by Cormac McCarthy:
I will be your child to hold
And you be me when I am old
The world grows old
The heathens rage
The story's told
Turn The Page.
2. Dream sequences in book annoy me. I like reading a book front to back, no cheating, no skipping forward. But an annoying dream sequence is like a fly buzzing in my ear, I just want to swat it away. I have started a novel of my own (barely started, not making terrific progress) where I actually make fun of dream sequences in novels. Why would that annoy me so? I don't know. Similarly, I don't like dream sequences in movies either, and those Nightmare on Elm Street films annoy me too. Now, I don't know why dreams annoy me so much...do you know there actually is a phobia of dreams...Oneirophobia. Is that what I have?
I do think that it is sometimes a writer's crutch, and even just a space filler in books. Perhaps the author is trying to add the subconscious to a story the lazy way, but I'm just not interested in the wack vapor within a story, I'm about the story itself. Like when someone tells you a good story, great...but who wants to hear about a dream someone had...yawn.
Cheers, nca
I will be your child to hold
And you be me when I am old
The world grows old
The heathens rage
The story's told
Turn The Page.
2. Dream sequences in book annoy me. I like reading a book front to back, no cheating, no skipping forward. But an annoying dream sequence is like a fly buzzing in my ear, I just want to swat it away. I have started a novel of my own (barely started, not making terrific progress) where I actually make fun of dream sequences in novels. Why would that annoy me so? I don't know. Similarly, I don't like dream sequences in movies either, and those Nightmare on Elm Street films annoy me too. Now, I don't know why dreams annoy me so much...do you know there actually is a phobia of dreams...Oneirophobia. Is that what I have?
I do think that it is sometimes a writer's crutch, and even just a space filler in books. Perhaps the author is trying to add the subconscious to a story the lazy way, but I'm just not interested in the wack vapor within a story, I'm about the story itself. Like when someone tells you a good story, great...but who wants to hear about a dream someone had...yawn.
Cheers, nca
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Bleeding The Maroon and Gold
Hey, don't get me wrong, I am a ASU homer through and through. As both student and employee for eight years I bleed Maroon and Gold, it's in my nature. Every August I anticipate the start of another football season with great expectations...hoping for another Rose Bowl excursion for my home team. It has been 18 years since I last worked at ASU, yet I still keep up my friendships and ties.
So it is with great love and respect to my Alma Mater that I make this observation:
ASU architecture, when viewed as a grouped entity...sucks.
Yeah, there are a lot of very wonderful individual buildings, but there does not seem to be any sense of cohesiveness to my untrained eye. Sometimes it seems to me like 50 College of Architecture Freshman got together and came up with the master plan. Or perhaps there was State funding to spend and someone just said..."go crazy". Because when viewed as the sum of it's parts...the architecture does not seem to have any common ground. Whereas many University campuses I have visited seem to have a sense of unification, I just don't feel that at ASU.
For a case in point. My favorite campus building is the Nelson Fine Arts Building. I like it's stark concrete look and sharp angels very much. But it I had to guess a theme for this building, I'd have to say Eastern Germany before the fall of the wall...which is fine, but I'm not sure it fits in with all the other buildings on campus.
Ok, so compare that building to one of the older dorm buildings on the ASU campus.
The surrounding palm trees and the high rise look make it seem like something that should be sitting along a beach in Honolulu. The V shaped windows would be something that could be theorized about in the Da Vinci Code, but what does it have to do with Tempe, or ASU, or Sun Devils...or anything remotely academic?
Now, look at the next building in our odd campus tour. This is the College of Law Library. This is just a weird looking building, like it landed in Tempe from some alien space invasion B movie. But even setting the odd architecture aside, I believe it is the only place at ASU where planners chose desert landscaping. What could have been a strong unifying them for the landscaping at ASU...is reserved for an odd little 'boot' hill leading up to the strangest looking building on campus.
Not too far from the College of Law Building, comes the LDS Institute and the Computing Commons. Both nice looking buildings in their own right...but please tell me the common thread?
ASU architecture, when viewed as a grouped entity...sucks.
Yeah, there are a lot of very wonderful individual buildings, but there does not seem to be any sense of cohesiveness to my untrained eye. Sometimes it seems to me like 50 College of Architecture Freshman got together and came up with the master plan. Or perhaps there was State funding to spend and someone just said..."go crazy". Because when viewed as the sum of it's parts...the architecture does not seem to have any common ground. Whereas many University campuses I have visited seem to have a sense of unification, I just don't feel that at ASU.
For a case in point. My favorite campus building is the Nelson Fine Arts Building. I like it's stark concrete look and sharp angels very much. But it I had to guess a theme for this building, I'd have to say Eastern Germany before the fall of the wall...which is fine, but I'm not sure it fits in with all the other buildings on campus.
Ok, so compare that building to one of the older dorm buildings on the ASU campus.
Not too far from the College of Law Building, comes the LDS Institute and the Computing Commons. Both nice looking buildings in their own right...but please tell me the common thread?
Before we end our campus tour, we can't leave without visiting Grady Gammage Auditorium. I have never been to a play or event in this building that I have not completely loved. The sound and atmosphere produced inside this building is wonderful, and I love attending events there. The building was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, and it a very grand place to see a show. ASU was blessed to have this building, designed by such a renown architect, on campus. Wright had strong Arizona ties, so it would not be a stretch to have a building designed by him on campus. However, the building was originally designed for some Iraqi prince and meant to be sitting in Persia somewhere. It was not designed originally for the ASU campus. And when matched up with all the previous buildings I have shown, I just don't see any unifying theme. If ASU had used this building as the centerpiece of all the predecessor buildings, a theme could have been born that would have carried over. But it just did not happen. The final joke about this building is that when viewed from above, the building has a strong resemblance to a commode. Was Wright trying to tell the Sun Devil alumni (or the Iraqi Prince) something?
One would think that walking around a college campus should be a reflection on great academics, of the power of thought, of teaching, of homecomings and of past victories on athletic fields. I don't think ASU has been successful at establishing that type of identify. The conglomeration of buildings and landscaping does not have any type of unifying theme. I am left with the feeling that the campus was just thrown together.
Again, I have love and respect for ASU. This is just an observation, not meant to be a criticism.
Cheers, nca
Friday, October 7, 2011
DBacks in The Playoffs 2011
Ahh, October is here and D-Backs are in the MLB playoffs! I love October and the World Series has a lot to do with that. Memories from my childhood include: Kirk Gibson limping all the way around the diamond during his home-run trot; Rollie Fingers and his wack Handlebar mustache mowing down the opposing batters; Reggie Jackson and his raw power and confidence, even Vin Skully and his big league dreams inducing radio call of the game...not to forget the unbelievable joys of 2001 and the D-Backs championship season. I just love it all!
So, yes, I am enjoying the D-Backs and their early playoff success this year, and I am wondering where it will take us. Game 5 tonight is do or die. Yeah, this is a great time to be an All-American world class couch potato.
But I have to say even with my love for baseball and the fall classic unrepentantly confessed; watching the batters make their stand at home plate as the pitchers hurl their arsenal of pitches toward them I can't help but start wondering...
...What is the deal with the ill-fitting batting gloves out there? The batters keep stepping out of the batter's box after each and every pitch to readjust the Velcro straps on their batting gloves. Are these batting gloves so sensitive as to get out of whack on each and every pitch of the ball? Who makes these gloves, and can't they find a pair that can stay properly adjusted?
As far as occupations go, from my early youth I thought being a baseball player was the ultimate pinnacle of achievement. And frankly, when compared baseball to other glove wielding occupations being a baseball player towers in magnificent domination over all others. For instance, being a baseball player verses a proctologist...no comparison! Hand Model? Please, how much satisfaction do you really get seeing your bare knuckles layered in oily lotion to shill some beauty product? Even being a glove wielding pop start like Michael Jackson can't compare to chewing and spitting before thousands of fans cheering and nervously watching every swing of your bat.
And these denizens of the diamond get paid beaucoup bucks for this boyish game! We are talking serious dough for adjusting their protective cup and glaring up at menacingly at the opposing pitcher. So, with all this mu la and prestige these players can't find somebody to make a batting glove that actually fits the hand? Please!
Now, I know...sometimes I believe this constant adjusting and readjusting of the batting glove is just a stall tactic used to counter the pitcher exercising control of the confrontation between pitcher and batter. And I also know that these players are professionals, and having a loose glove at some critical pitch in the game would be very unprofessional behavior, I understand all that. But do we really have to watch each and every adjustment on National Television? If I want to watch someone repetitively dress and undress on national television...why can't it be one of those bikini clad Beach Volleyball players or one of those grunting Russian Tennis players? Albert Pujol's hairy bare knuckles are not exactly eye candy friends, trust me on this one.
You'd think Nike or somebody would have figured it out by now. Self Adjusting batting gloves, how hard can that be? Or Behr could have invented paint-on batting gloves. But no, we have to watch each and every adjustment of the glove strap swing after swing. I'm surprised they don't show it on replay. Cameramen, could you please cut away to the nasty glaring pitcher, or to some couple smooching in the stands, or even to the guys spitting sunflower seeds in the dugout?
Go D-Backs
Cheers, nca
p.s....unrequited glove fetish, the family of a buddy of mine owns this glove company, check it out...
So, yes, I am enjoying the D-Backs and their early playoff success this year, and I am wondering where it will take us. Game 5 tonight is do or die. Yeah, this is a great time to be an All-American world class couch potato.
But I have to say even with my love for baseball and the fall classic unrepentantly confessed; watching the batters make their stand at home plate as the pitchers hurl their arsenal of pitches toward them I can't help but start wondering...
...What is the deal with the ill-fitting batting gloves out there? The batters keep stepping out of the batter's box after each and every pitch to readjust the Velcro straps on their batting gloves. Are these batting gloves so sensitive as to get out of whack on each and every pitch of the ball? Who makes these gloves, and can't they find a pair that can stay properly adjusted?
As far as occupations go, from my early youth I thought being a baseball player was the ultimate pinnacle of achievement. And frankly, when compared baseball to other glove wielding occupations being a baseball player towers in magnificent domination over all others. For instance, being a baseball player verses a proctologist...no comparison! Hand Model? Please, how much satisfaction do you really get seeing your bare knuckles layered in oily lotion to shill some beauty product? Even being a glove wielding pop start like Michael Jackson can't compare to chewing and spitting before thousands of fans cheering and nervously watching every swing of your bat.
And these denizens of the diamond get paid beaucoup bucks for this boyish game! We are talking serious dough for adjusting their protective cup and glaring up at menacingly at the opposing pitcher. So, with all this mu la and prestige these players can't find somebody to make a batting glove that actually fits the hand? Please!
Now, I know...sometimes I believe this constant adjusting and readjusting of the batting glove is just a stall tactic used to counter the pitcher exercising control of the confrontation between pitcher and batter. And I also know that these players are professionals, and having a loose glove at some critical pitch in the game would be very unprofessional behavior, I understand all that. But do we really have to watch each and every adjustment on National Television? If I want to watch someone repetitively dress and undress on national television...why can't it be one of those bikini clad Beach Volleyball players or one of those grunting Russian Tennis players? Albert Pujol's hairy bare knuckles are not exactly eye candy friends, trust me on this one.
You'd think Nike or somebody would have figured it out by now. Self Adjusting batting gloves, how hard can that be? Or Behr could have invented paint-on batting gloves. But no, we have to watch each and every adjustment of the glove strap swing after swing. I'm surprised they don't show it on replay. Cameramen, could you please cut away to the nasty glaring pitcher, or to some couple smooching in the stands, or even to the guys spitting sunflower seeds in the dugout?
Go D-Backs
Cheers, nca
p.s....unrequited glove fetish, the family of a buddy of mine owns this glove company, check it out...
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Oscar Stops By For A Visit
The day I found out I needed Open Heart surgery, I had gone into the hospital about 6AM for a procedure called a Heart Catheter. They put a camera in an artery in my thigh, and it snaked up to my heart to take a peek. They put me under, and I woke up after an hour or less with a pain in my punctured thigh and some pretty pics of my heart. They were looking for signs of heart disease, but they found my little problem instead. They decided they needed a second opinion via a MRI, right there in the hospital. The earliest they could get me in for the MRI was about 5:30 PM that night. So I was stuck in the hospital all day and into the night.
When I finally got in for the MRI, it turned out I was going to be in the machine for 90 minutes. I was laying flat on my back inside a small tube of a machine, with the machine making loud grinding and bumping noises and every few minutes the tech would tell me to hold my breath for 30 or 60 seconds. I was not allowed to move even a tiny bit for all 90 minutes. I was very tired, still a little drugged from the first procedure, very claustrophobic, and also a little scared about facing surgery.
Pretty long into the MRI, fighting to stay awake and not move, I had this weird vision. I saw my long deceased Dad, and he told me 'Everything will be all right Son'. I know, weird, probably drug induced, and surely all in my imagination. But still, it actually helped me get through the dang crazy procedure.
Cheers, Nicholas
2014 - Post Script
I came across this picture of my Dad at his work from years and years ago. On the back, it mentions that he worked in the Imaging Lab at the V.A. hospital at one time. Interesting, in light of the story I just told, no?
2014 - Post Script
I came across this picture of my Dad at his work from years and years ago. On the back, it mentions that he worked in the Imaging Lab at the V.A. hospital at one time. Interesting, in light of the story I just told, no?
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Boyz will be Boyz
Recently, my daughter drove me down to the local library. I waited for her in the car while she went in to pick up a couple books on hold. While waiting, I put on a CD and started listening to 'Battle Of New Orleans'. Right as the line 'We fired our guns but the British kept a coming' warbled out of the speakers I looked in the mirror and I saw a man holding a pistol pointed in my general direction.
It took me a minute to realize he was actually pointing his weapon at a teenage boy in a car directly to the left. The man had a blue shirt on with a police logo. On the other side of the car, a second teenage boy was being handcuffed by a second officer. The first cop was trying to convince the first boy to step our of the car, with his gun drawn. Drugs? Stolen car? I'm not really sure what the crime was.
This true event made me think back on my boyhood. There but for the grace of God...and all that. I was a bit of a rowdy and miscreant in my day. Nothing too criminal, but risky, stupid, and at times even life threatening. I wonder at the miracle of teen age boys ever making it out of adolescence.
One time, some firecrackers placed in the right (wrong?) spot caused an old tree to burn down. That brought police and fire personnel, and we ran and hid like thieves. We used to lob water balloons from atop buildings along Indian School road at passing motorists, and China Berry's were thrown at cars on 16th Street...in some cases we were chased by the drivers wielding baseball bats.
One time we built what we called a 'Goosegun' It was made of three tennis ball cans taped together will intermediate bottoms removed. The near end had a small hole poked through the bottom. We would drip lighter fluid through the little hole and drop a tennis ball down the muzzle. When we lit a match to the hole, the tennis ball would shoot off like a cannon ball. We took the gun out to a nearby empty field, and shot it off. Only the tennis ball caught on fire, and everywhere it bounced, it lit a dry bush on fire. We were running around throwing dirt on all the burning bushes in a frantic hurry...we were very lucky we did not start a brush fire.
At another moment in my youth, I was in a shoplifting phase. One particular day, I had lifted a pair of leather gloves...stuffing it into my jacket pocket. As I was leaving the store, something deep down told me to 86 the gloves, and so I did. As I exited the store, I was grabbed by store security. They searched me, and found nothing. They made me take them back in the store and show them where I dropped the gloves. Who knows what trouble I avoided with that lucky moment.
Probably the most dangerous moment occurred cruising Central Avenue with my brother in his truck. We had offended a car load of boys in a parallel vehicle...I think I had thrown a racket-ball at them. They chased us down. We had almost got away on side streets when my brother's truck ran out of gas. We were attached by the boys, and several of them were wielding racket-ball rackets. We really did not even fight back, we were seriously in trouble. They beat the heck out of was with the rackets, and we had to go to E.R. and get stitches. It was one thing to get my own face messed up, but why was I always dragging my brothers into my trouble? I always seemed to be the instigator.
Now I know, every boy does not get into the trouble I managed to get into as a youth. But I think a lot do. There is so much trouble to get into...and during those high school years...if you are not a serious student and if you are not working, there is a lot of extra time on your hands. In my case, that time was not always used wisely. I am thankful that I had a angel on my shoulder keeping me out of jail, and out of more serious crimes or danger. I wish every youth has that angel on his shoulder too....now that I have grown up daughters...I see the fragile aspects of life and that deep seated love a father has for his children.
Cheers - NCA
This true event made me think back on my boyhood. There but for the grace of God...and all that. I was a bit of a rowdy and miscreant in my day. Nothing too criminal, but risky, stupid, and at times even life threatening. I wonder at the miracle of teen age boys ever making it out of adolescence.
One time, some firecrackers placed in the right (wrong?) spot caused an old tree to burn down. That brought police and fire personnel, and we ran and hid like thieves. We used to lob water balloons from atop buildings along Indian School road at passing motorists, and China Berry's were thrown at cars on 16th Street...in some cases we were chased by the drivers wielding baseball bats.
One time we built what we called a 'Goosegun' It was made of three tennis ball cans taped together will intermediate bottoms removed. The near end had a small hole poked through the bottom. We would drip lighter fluid through the little hole and drop a tennis ball down the muzzle. When we lit a match to the hole, the tennis ball would shoot off like a cannon ball. We took the gun out to a nearby empty field, and shot it off. Only the tennis ball caught on fire, and everywhere it bounced, it lit a dry bush on fire. We were running around throwing dirt on all the burning bushes in a frantic hurry...we were very lucky we did not start a brush fire.
Probably the most dangerous moment occurred cruising Central Avenue with my brother in his truck. We had offended a car load of boys in a parallel vehicle...I think I had thrown a racket-ball at them. They chased us down. We had almost got away on side streets when my brother's truck ran out of gas. We were attached by the boys, and several of them were wielding racket-ball rackets. We really did not even fight back, we were seriously in trouble. They beat the heck out of was with the rackets, and we had to go to E.R. and get stitches. It was one thing to get my own face messed up, but why was I always dragging my brothers into my trouble? I always seemed to be the instigator.
Now I know, every boy does not get into the trouble I managed to get into as a youth. But I think a lot do. There is so much trouble to get into...and during those high school years...if you are not a serious student and if you are not working, there is a lot of extra time on your hands. In my case, that time was not always used wisely. I am thankful that I had a angel on my shoulder keeping me out of jail, and out of more serious crimes or danger. I wish every youth has that angel on his shoulder too....now that I have grown up daughters...I see the fragile aspects of life and that deep seated love a father has for his children.
Cheers - NCA
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Mr. Fiesta
After my Open Heart Surgery, while in recovery, the Chandler Regional Hospital Staff gave me this 'Heart Pillow' to aid in my recovery. They teach you sort of how to use it to sit up and move around etc. It turns out to be quite comforting in that process, and I became quite attached to mine.
As I understand it, at Chandler Reqional they are made by volunteers, and some are more plain then this one. I sort of like the whimsy of mine though. When my daughter was able to come in and visit me, she named it 'Mr. Fiesta'. I still find myself reaching for 'Mr. Fiesta' when I am unsure about my recovery. :)
To all the volunteers out there who pay back a little love to society, I salute you.
Cheers, nca
To all the volunteers out there who pay back a little love to society, I salute you.
Cheers, nca
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Sealing Video
My Wife's Aunt made this video of our Sealing...thought I would add this one to the mix. My wife is and always has been the love of my life.
Cheers nca
Cheers nca
Thursday, March 10, 2011
There Should Be A Word For This Emotion
What do you call the feeling you get when...you are feeling like you own the world, happy as a clam, sitting on a natural high...and suddenly someone or something drags you down with a single word or a short one line phrase?
Example: There was this stone drinking fountain in the very center of the YMCA camp I worked as a young man. The drain had stopped working years before I came around, so it was always a couple of inches full of water, which would run off the side. Occasionally, when I was feeling full of vim and vigor, ornery to a fault, feeling my testosterone and adrenalin pumping, on top of the world - I would seek out a pretty girl in the crowd, run her down, and carry her to dunk her bum first into the drink. Harmless, yes. Perhaps politically incorrect a bit in this day and age, true. But fun, exciting, sure to get a laugh from the crowd, and a release of my pent up excitement and adrenalin.
So one time, I did this exact thing. Full of all this energy and vigor. The girl I can't remember, but someone I had known for years, for sure. Dunked her in...and she turned to me and said 'That is the third time you have done this to me over the years and I just don't appreciate it'. Ouch. Talking about Slamming a Door, cutting off the adrenalin, nipping the testosterone in the bud :)
Just an example. But not all that rare of an experience, this emotion....whatever you want to name it. The sudden plunge, the deflation, the dip, dive, dump, the dire droop.
Cheers, nca
Example: There was this stone drinking fountain in the very center of the YMCA camp I worked as a young man. The drain had stopped working years before I came around, so it was always a couple of inches full of water, which would run off the side. Occasionally, when I was feeling full of vim and vigor, ornery to a fault, feeling my testosterone and adrenalin pumping, on top of the world - I would seek out a pretty girl in the crowd, run her down, and carry her to dunk her bum first into the drink. Harmless, yes. Perhaps politically incorrect a bit in this day and age, true. But fun, exciting, sure to get a laugh from the crowd, and a release of my pent up excitement and adrenalin.
So one time, I did this exact thing. Full of all this energy and vigor. The girl I can't remember, but someone I had known for years, for sure. Dunked her in...and she turned to me and said 'That is the third time you have done this to me over the years and I just don't appreciate it'. Ouch. Talking about Slamming a Door, cutting off the adrenalin, nipping the testosterone in the bud :)
Just an example. But not all that rare of an experience, this emotion....whatever you want to name it. The sudden plunge, the deflation, the dip, dive, dump, the dire droop.
Cheers, nca
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Glasses or Bad Dates
Do you follow up two stories about glasses with another one? I have plenty :) Or do you follow up a bad date story with another? Have a few of those too :) I just don't know what transitional ethics would say.
One year the YMCA Camp staff asked me to join up with the Adventure Camp kids. Among other things, the trip that summer was Havasupai. That could be a story all in itself, but I have no way to transition into that one yet. The staff included me, Mark *, and Marilynn *. Mark was an old friend and the leader of the group. Marilynn had the girls cabin, and I had the boys cabin. Marilynn was a college track jock, very athletic and a great hiker.
Marilynn and I became pretty good friends on the various trips we took the kids on. At the end of the summer, Marilynn, Mark, and I all joined the regular Summer Camp to help at the final week of Family Camp. My good friend Neville was there, and we were a pretty fun group. After family camp, Neville and I were going to set out on our trip up to Alaska, across Canada and on to New York. Mark invited us all down to his house in Tempe before we were to start off on that trip. Neville's girl friend of the time was to join us.
It was kind of natural to pair off into couples. Mark with his wife, Neville and his girlfriend. It left Marilynn and I. I think there were some other camp staff staying there that week too, long forgotten in my memory now. But one night as Neville slipped off with his lady friend for a romantic walk to the park, Marilynn and I found ourselves alone in the Living room. One thing led to another, we found ourselves kissing and embracing on the big square couch.
Oooh...Romantic huh?
Well, sure, except remember...this is in "Nick Romance" land. If you read the previous blog, you know what strange territories that can lead to....
Oh yeah....deep in what would be passionate kisses, my nose started to bleed profusely. I guess the move to the dry Valley left my nose veins unprotected, and the crimson faucets started flowing. I quickly had blood on Marilynn's coller and neck. End of Kiss, End Of Romance.
Cheers ... nca
P.S. Not so dire really. We were still friends after that. She was a very sweet person. But an interesting side to that story is that Neville and I also stayed at her house for one night before our trip started. She lived with her parents in West Phoenix, and they were quite hospitable to two homeless travelers. She had a cute lab named "Buttons" too. Up in Western Canada Neville remembered to send a Post-Card to Buttons thanking him for putting us up for the night. Neville was always a gracious guest, particularly to his animal hosts.
So Nick as bad date story II...
One year the YMCA Camp staff asked me to join up with the Adventure Camp kids. Among other things, the trip that summer was Havasupai. That could be a story all in itself, but I have no way to transition into that one yet. The staff included me, Mark *, and Marilynn *. Mark was an old friend and the leader of the group. Marilynn had the girls cabin, and I had the boys cabin. Marilynn was a college track jock, very athletic and a great hiker.
It was kind of natural to pair off into couples. Mark with his wife, Neville and his girlfriend. It left Marilynn and I. I think there were some other camp staff staying there that week too, long forgotten in my memory now. But one night as Neville slipped off with his lady friend for a romantic walk to the park, Marilynn and I found ourselves alone in the Living room. One thing led to another, we found ourselves kissing and embracing on the big square couch.
Oooh...Romantic huh?
Well, sure, except remember...this is in "Nick Romance" land. If you read the previous blog, you know what strange territories that can lead to....
Oh yeah....deep in what would be passionate kisses, my nose started to bleed profusely. I guess the move to the dry Valley left my nose veins unprotected, and the crimson faucets started flowing. I quickly had blood on Marilynn's coller and neck. End of Kiss, End Of Romance.
Cheers ... nca
P.S. Not so dire really. We were still friends after that. She was a very sweet person. But an interesting side to that story is that Neville and I also stayed at her house for one night before our trip started. She lived with her parents in West Phoenix, and they were quite hospitable to two homeless travelers. She had a cute lab named "Buttons" too. Up in Western Canada Neville remembered to send a Post-Card to Buttons thanking him for putting us up for the night. Neville was always a gracious guest, particularly to his animal hosts.
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