So apparently there is a big conversation online about how fans of The Hunger Game trilogy are stunned (read, "shocked, appalled, disappointed") in that the girl chosen to play Rue is African American.
I think the actress is actually bi-racial (just like Obama), although why that is such a HUGE DEAL to so many people is totally beyond me. Especially since the character of Rue is specifically described as being dark-skinned in the book. I guess some people just don't like to read all that closely.
The thing that bugs me about this whole thing is that there is a whole group of people who are just horrified and angry over this blatant racism. Because as wrong as the racism is, and as horrifying as it is to read about people getting all hung up on how Character X is portrayed in a movie, why are these people so angry over the tweets of some really oblivious people? And what are they really angry about? The racism, or the lack of any real reading comprehension?
And why are they so up in arms over the opinions of people who don't know what they're talking about anway?
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Random on a Sunday
1. How well does 5 Hour Energy work?
2. Will it be enough to stave off enough of my jet lag on Tuesday?
3. When do European countries switch over to daylight savings time?
4. I need to pack.
5. I also need to wash dishes.
6. It is uncertain whether both of these will get done before tomorrow.
7. Mansfield Park is almost done.
8. The sleeves are a little tight, though.
9. This may result in unpicking the armhole seems.
10. It doesn't seem right that the guy that practically saves your butt in September should get hit with a pitch the next time you see him.
11. Even if it was accidental.
12. How does one apply the speaker function on a smart phone?
2. Will it be enough to stave off enough of my jet lag on Tuesday?
3. When do European countries switch over to daylight savings time?
4. I need to pack.
5. I also need to wash dishes.
6. It is uncertain whether both of these will get done before tomorrow.
7. Mansfield Park is almost done.
8. The sleeves are a little tight, though.
9. This may result in unpicking the armhole seems.
10. It doesn't seem right that the guy that practically saves your butt in September should get hit with a pitch the next time you see him.
11. Even if it was accidental.
12. How does one apply the speaker function on a smart phone?
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Really??
This morning, I read online an article about the name of the dog belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. The exact headline of the article is "Kate and Will's puppy name revealed!"
Exactly like that. Complete with incorrect capitalization and exclamation point.
I can't believe this is what passes as big news these days. It's not like they're announcing that Kate's pregnant.
Exactly like that. Complete with incorrect capitalization and exclamation point.
I can't believe this is what passes as big news these days. It's not like they're announcing that Kate's pregnant.
Friday, February 03, 2012
It Turns Out that I Was Mistaken
Winter isn't here after all.
It's 43 out right now, which is right along the lines of seasonal, but it's supposed to be in the 50's all next week.
That was after this past week, in which it got up to the high 60s.
If this type of weather continues, I may go certifiably insane.
It's 43 out right now, which is right along the lines of seasonal, but it's supposed to be in the 50's all next week.
That was after this past week, in which it got up to the high 60s.
If this type of weather continues, I may go certifiably insane.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
To Do List
1. Organize the cardboard boxes in my house so I can bring them in for the program on Thursday.
2. Work on the second sleeve of the FMC (do cardigans really need two sleeves? Maybe I could get by with one...)
3. Double check my queue on Rav to make sure all my intended projects are in there.
4. Finish reading Okay for Now.
5. Do dishes.
6. There must be something else there, but I'm too tired to think of it all.
2. Work on the second sleeve of the FMC (do cardigans really need two sleeves? Maybe I could get by with one...)
3. Double check my queue on Rav to make sure all my intended projects are in there.
4. Finish reading Okay for Now.
5. Do dishes.
6. There must be something else there, but I'm too tired to think of it all.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
A Call for Help
Go to the ballgame,
And go to the ballet,
And go see your folks more than just on the holidays.
Kiss all your children,
Dance with your wife,
And tell your husband you love him every night.
Those words are from the song "Turn Up the Music" by the group Point of Grace. It's about living life to its fullest and treating each day like it's magical and special and taking every possible opportunity you have to let others around you know how important they are to you.
On August 24, a good man died who didn't have to. A man I respected and admired, who was kind and good and intelligent and wickedly funny walked into his backyard and shot himself. He left behind a wife and three children. He was 59 years old.
I've struggled mightily over the past four months with the question of Why -- and come to the realization that there is no answer -- at least not one that I have learned. I've also struggled with the What-if-I-had-been-there question, and also come to the unfortunate conclusion that it might not have made much of a difference.
December 16 would have been his birthday. And while I don't know if anyone could have done anything to have made a difference back in August, I do know that there are still people out there who are struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies EVERY DAY. And the good thing is, it's NOT too late for them. So in honor of Flanny's birthday -- and of all the wonderful things he accomplished in his lifetime -- I'm putting out a request for help.
Recently, my friend K participated in an Out of the Darkness Community Walk put on by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I think all the walks have taken place already, but the foundation is still accepting donations through the end of the year. The money raised will be going towards counseling and awareness, and to help remove the "hush hush let's not talk about this" stigma that often accompanies a suicide. Please take a moment to consider donating. It may be too late for Flanny. But it might just make a difference for someone else.
And even if you can't donate?
Kiss all your children.
And dance with your wife.
And tell your husband you love him.
EVERY NIGHT.
And go to the ballet,
And go see your folks more than just on the holidays.
Kiss all your children,
Dance with your wife,
And tell your husband you love him every night.
Those words are from the song "Turn Up the Music" by the group Point of Grace. It's about living life to its fullest and treating each day like it's magical and special and taking every possible opportunity you have to let others around you know how important they are to you.
On August 24, a good man died who didn't have to. A man I respected and admired, who was kind and good and intelligent and wickedly funny walked into his backyard and shot himself. He left behind a wife and three children. He was 59 years old.
I've struggled mightily over the past four months with the question of Why -- and come to the realization that there is no answer -- at least not one that I have learned. I've also struggled with the What-if-I-had-been-there question, and also come to the unfortunate conclusion that it might not have made much of a difference.
December 16 would have been his birthday. And while I don't know if anyone could have done anything to have made a difference back in August, I do know that there are still people out there who are struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies EVERY DAY. And the good thing is, it's NOT too late for them. So in honor of Flanny's birthday -- and of all the wonderful things he accomplished in his lifetime -- I'm putting out a request for help.
Recently, my friend K participated in an Out of the Darkness Community Walk put on by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I think all the walks have taken place already, but the foundation is still accepting donations through the end of the year. The money raised will be going towards counseling and awareness, and to help remove the "hush hush let's not talk about this" stigma that often accompanies a suicide. Please take a moment to consider donating. It may be too late for Flanny. But it might just make a difference for someone else.
And even if you can't donate?
Kiss all your children.
And dance with your wife.
And tell your husband you love him.
EVERY NIGHT.
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
You Ever Wonder...
The storytime room at work looks out onto a cemetery. And every day, during storytime, no matter what age, but it's more prevalent with the younger ones, at least one or two children rush over to look out the window.
At first, maybe, the idea is they're looking at some place where they can't be -- the forbidden outdoors.
Or maybe they're looking out there, because it's someplace different, and not where they are, and they feel like they need to explore it, if only with their eyes.
Or maybe, and this is what's been churning around in my mind the most lately, the kids are seeing something that adults don't. That maybe kids, like in that Kim Cattrall movie, possess some secret knowledge that they lose as they grow older. That there's some sort of romance to the hidden world of babies and toddlers that only they know, and part of that is being able to see and hear things that adults don't. And who's to say that part of that doesn't include being able to see ghosts?
Nah. It can't be that. I mean, there are no such things as ghosts...right?
At first, maybe, the idea is they're looking at some place where they can't be -- the forbidden outdoors.
Or maybe they're looking out there, because it's someplace different, and not where they are, and they feel like they need to explore it, if only with their eyes.
Or maybe, and this is what's been churning around in my mind the most lately, the kids are seeing something that adults don't. That maybe kids, like in that Kim Cattrall movie, possess some secret knowledge that they lose as they grow older. That there's some sort of romance to the hidden world of babies and toddlers that only they know, and part of that is being able to see and hear things that adults don't. And who's to say that part of that doesn't include being able to see ghosts?
Nah. It can't be that. I mean, there are no such things as ghosts...right?
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Give Thanks
Let's all take a moment today and spend it giving thanks for everything we have, and saying a prayer for the ones who have less.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The Mitts
I am addicted to the mitts.
There may be no stopping with the mitts.
The mitts may be the new black.
Over the weekend, I whipped out a pair of simple ribbed mitts just to spice things up, but now I am back to the Short 'n Sweet ones.
This is probably not boding well for my mental state.
There may be no stopping with the mitts.
The mitts may be the new black.
Over the weekend, I whipped out a pair of simple ribbed mitts just to spice things up, but now I am back to the Short 'n Sweet ones.
This is probably not boding well for my mental state.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Rhinebeck
I'm really rather behind on posting this, but I did want to put up my pics from Rhinebeck and show off my new sweater. So even though Rhinebeck was two weeks ago, here's what it's about.
I managed, by not doing virtually anything else the week before, to finish the sweater:
It was finished in the hotel room the night before. Blocking didn't happen for another week, but I WAS WEARING IT AT RHINEBECK.
I took along the Java socks, but since I wasn't quite at a point in the pattern where I could really work on them, didn't really get a chance to work on them at the festival. These were relagated to the hotel and car intead.
I did, however, get some people to hold the sock. Lisa Grossman held my sock, even though it wasn't one of hers:
Miss Babs held my sock.
Joe from Oasis Yarns held my sock (Somehow, I wasn't able to find a website for them).
George? from Skaska Designs held my sock.
Somehow, I never did get this guy's name, but the Female Parental Unit bought a hat from him, and he had a really cool-lookin weasel at his booth, so I asked him to hold the sock too.
The Chilean miners were there:
Not really. But last year, Rhinbeck happened to fall right after all the Chilean miners were rescued, so I started calling this group that. I actually have no idea what this particular group is named.
The FPU discovered this really interesting tea cozy that doubled as a hat:
Once again, I cannot wait until next year.
I managed, by not doing virtually anything else the week before, to finish the sweater:
It was finished in the hotel room the night before. Blocking didn't happen for another week, but I WAS WEARING IT AT RHINEBECK.
I took along the Java socks, but since I wasn't quite at a point in the pattern where I could really work on them, didn't really get a chance to work on them at the festival. These were relagated to the hotel and car intead.
I did, however, get some people to hold the sock. Lisa Grossman held my sock, even though it wasn't one of hers:
Miss Babs held my sock.
Joe from Oasis Yarns held my sock (Somehow, I wasn't able to find a website for them).
George? from Skaska Designs held my sock.
Somehow, I never did get this guy's name, but the Female Parental Unit bought a hat from him, and he had a really cool-lookin weasel at his booth, so I asked him to hold the sock too.
The Chilean miners were there:
Not really. But last year, Rhinbeck happened to fall right after all the Chilean miners were rescued, so I started calling this group that. I actually have no idea what this particular group is named.
The FPU discovered this really interesting tea cozy that doubled as a hat:
Once again, I cannot wait until next year.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Cooperstown
Those of you who know me pretty well (and even those of you who don't know me as well as you would hope but who have happened to have read my last two posts) know that I'm a pretty hard core baseball fan. And this past spring, the Male Parental Unit said to me and Tiger, "The baseball hall of fame is on my bucket list. When can we go?"
Turns out it suited Columbus Day weekend. So we went. The hall of inductees was first, but it turns out that Tiger is only a CASUAL baseball fan and didn't know a good two thirds of the players. So the MPU and I had great fun ribbing him about this.
Me (after about the twelth person he didn't know): Why did we bring him with us again?.
MPU: It certainly wasn't for his baseball knowledge.
Anyway, Tiger took a picture of me with Cal.
After the hall of inductees, we went up to the museum (which is separate from the hall. Which is important, because the museum includes stuff belonging to people who are not in the hall -- like Joe Jackson and Pete Rose)
I was kind of surprised that there was flash photography allowed in both the hall and the museum, since a lot of the stuff there is really old. But anyway, here is a picture of me next to the display about Cal breaking Lou Gehrig's record of consecutive games played:
And here's a display that I discovered in the room about the World Series. The helmet and old-looking bat belonged to Bill Mazeroski when he hit his walk-off home run in 1960, and the resin (rosin?) bag below them belonged to Ralph Terry. The newish bat belonged to Joe Carter.
Curt Schilling's bloody sock (which totally was the coolest thing ever about the museum)
On the way towards the bookstore, I ran into a BoSox fan and ribbed him about his team losing. He took it graciously. I also asked him how it felt to have to root for the Yankees. He said he might need to go into therapy for it.
Outside of the museum is a statue of James Fenimore Cooper, located on the original place where the Cooper family first lived. He even was gracious enough to hold the sock.
The third really cool thing about Cooperstown is that it's on the banks of Lake Otsego,
which is the headwaters of the Susquehanna.
On Saturday, the three of us went down to the river. We threw some sticks into the water, and guessed whether we would be able to beat them to Harrisburg or not
We're pretty certain we did.
It should be noted here that some of these pictures -- notably the ones with me in my Cal T-shirt -- were taken with Tiger's phone. I'm pretty certain he won't mind me using them, but I want to provide credit for them.
After that it was back to PA before heading to Rhinebeck, where I was furiously racing to finish my sweater.
Turns out it suited Columbus Day weekend. So we went. The hall of inductees was first, but it turns out that Tiger is only a CASUAL baseball fan and didn't know a good two thirds of the players. So the MPU and I had great fun ribbing him about this.
Me (after about the twelth person he didn't know): Why did we bring him with us again?.
MPU: It certainly wasn't for his baseball knowledge.
Anyway, Tiger took a picture of me with Cal.
After the hall of inductees, we went up to the museum (which is separate from the hall. Which is important, because the museum includes stuff belonging to people who are not in the hall -- like Joe Jackson and Pete Rose)
I was kind of surprised that there was flash photography allowed in both the hall and the museum, since a lot of the stuff there is really old. But anyway, here is a picture of me next to the display about Cal breaking Lou Gehrig's record of consecutive games played:
And here's a display that I discovered in the room about the World Series. The helmet and old-looking bat belonged to Bill Mazeroski when he hit his walk-off home run in 1960, and the resin (rosin?) bag below them belonged to Ralph Terry. The newish bat belonged to Joe Carter.
Curt Schilling's bloody sock (which totally was the coolest thing ever about the museum)
On the way towards the bookstore, I ran into a BoSox fan and ribbed him about his team losing. He took it graciously. I also asked him how it felt to have to root for the Yankees. He said he might need to go into therapy for it.
Outside of the museum is a statue of James Fenimore Cooper, located on the original place where the Cooper family first lived. He even was gracious enough to hold the sock.
The third really cool thing about Cooperstown is that it's on the banks of Lake Otsego,
which is the headwaters of the Susquehanna.
On Saturday, the three of us went down to the river. We threw some sticks into the water, and guessed whether we would be able to beat them to Harrisburg or not
We're pretty certain we did.
It should be noted here that some of these pictures -- notably the ones with me in my Cal T-shirt -- were taken with Tiger's phone. I'm pretty certain he won't mind me using them, but I want to provide credit for them.
After that it was back to PA before heading to Rhinebeck, where I was furiously racing to finish my sweater.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Random on a Friday
1. There is a major program here this afternoon.
2. Chaos will reign supreme during said program.
3. I will probably end up with a tick between my eyes.
4. The fact that today is Friday makes the chaos worthwhile.
5. That, and the fact that the Yankees lost last night.
6. And that I'm going on vacation this weekend.
7. Now if I can just find the other sock.
8. And remember my camera.
2. Chaos will reign supreme during said program.
3. I will probably end up with a tick between my eyes.
4. The fact that today is Friday makes the chaos worthwhile.
5. That, and the fact that the Yankees lost last night.
6. And that I'm going on vacation this weekend.
7. Now if I can just find the other sock.
8. And remember my camera.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Where the Wild Things Are
So in a moment of sheer insanity, about two weeks ago I cast on this sweater, with the intention of finishing it for Rhinebeck (which is in two weeks).
Last night, I sat down to finish the two sleeves. I had maybe ten rounds left. Things were going well. This was great, I thought. I'll finish the sleeves and the ribbing on the body of the sweater tonight.
Right. This is how last night went:
7:00. Sit down in front of tv and turn on Orioles/Red Sox game to knit to. Marvel on the fact that this is actually my tv knitting.
8:30. Finish the sleeves. Perform happy dance.
8:45. Cast on stitches for body after measuring gauge on sleeves. Twice. Place stitch markers every 50 stitches in the process.
8:45-9:20. Work on the ribbing of the body of sweater.
9:25. Realize that, in spite of careful placement of stitch markers, I have failed in the most basic of skills that is counting and cast on 40 extra stitches. Rip out.
9:30. Rain delay in Baltimore. I console myself with restarting my ribbing by switching channels to watch the Yankees/Rays game.
9:30-11:00. Work on ribbing, after counting twice to make sure I have the correct number of stitches this time. Swtitch back and forth between the Yankees/Rays and the Phillies/Braves.
11:00. Play resumes in Baltimore. By this point, I have worked approximately 7 rounds of ribbing.
11:00-12:15. I'm not entirely certain what exactly I did during this stretch of time. I thought I was knitting, but by the end I had only worked a little over 2 rounds.
BUT HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT DID YOU SEE THAT GAME IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST GAMES EVER TOTALLY WORTH THE LACK OF KNITTING MY BLOOD PRESSURE IS STILL GOING CRAZY!
12:15-12:45 Finish the tenth round of ribbing while trying to catch my breath and get my heart rate back under control.
12:50 Take a few very deep breaths and realize I need to go to bed, despite the fact that I am still super-adrenaline filled.
Yeah. That was last night. THIS IS TOTALLY WHY BASEBALL IS THE ABSOLUTE BEST GAME EVER!
Bucky Dent and Mookie Wilson? Meet Robert Andino, Dan Johnson, and Evan Longoria.
Where the wild things are. Maurice Sendak truly has never said it so well.
Last night, I sat down to finish the two sleeves. I had maybe ten rounds left. Things were going well. This was great, I thought. I'll finish the sleeves and the ribbing on the body of the sweater tonight.
Right. This is how last night went:
7:00. Sit down in front of tv and turn on Orioles/Red Sox game to knit to. Marvel on the fact that this is actually my tv knitting.
8:30. Finish the sleeves. Perform happy dance.
8:45. Cast on stitches for body after measuring gauge on sleeves. Twice. Place stitch markers every 50 stitches in the process.
8:45-9:20. Work on the ribbing of the body of sweater.
9:25. Realize that, in spite of careful placement of stitch markers, I have failed in the most basic of skills that is counting and cast on 40 extra stitches. Rip out.
9:30. Rain delay in Baltimore. I console myself with restarting my ribbing by switching channels to watch the Yankees/Rays game.
9:30-11:00. Work on ribbing, after counting twice to make sure I have the correct number of stitches this time. Swtitch back and forth between the Yankees/Rays and the Phillies/Braves.
11:00. Play resumes in Baltimore. By this point, I have worked approximately 7 rounds of ribbing.
11:00-12:15. I'm not entirely certain what exactly I did during this stretch of time. I thought I was knitting, but by the end I had only worked a little over 2 rounds.
BUT HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT DID YOU SEE THAT GAME IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST GAMES EVER TOTALLY WORTH THE LACK OF KNITTING MY BLOOD PRESSURE IS STILL GOING CRAZY!
12:15-12:45 Finish the tenth round of ribbing while trying to catch my breath and get my heart rate back under control.
12:50 Take a few very deep breaths and realize I need to go to bed, despite the fact that I am still super-adrenaline filled.
Yeah. That was last night. THIS IS TOTALLY WHY BASEBALL IS THE ABSOLUTE BEST GAME EVER!
Bucky Dent and Mookie Wilson? Meet Robert Andino, Dan Johnson, and Evan Longoria.
Where the wild things are. Maurice Sendak truly has never said it so well.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Best Time of the Year
Today, I woke up, and there was fog outside.
Now, I realize that to many of you, a foggy September morning doesn't seem like much, but to me, it speaks of wonders and miracles and awesome loveliness that comes but once a year.
One of the most wonderful things about the world is that there are four seasons, and what happens between September and December is nothing short of miraculous. Every September, I can count on the maple tree in front of my house beginning to blush red, on whispers of fog curling down the street, and the apple trees becoming heavy laden with red and yellow freckles. And each year, I am struck dumb with the awesomeness of the beauty of it all.
I could say that fall is my favorite time of year because the kids have gone back to school, and the chaotic, oppressive heat of summer is over. And they do, and it is. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's that inbetween time of the year, when you don't have to worry about your heat or your A/C, and you can just lounge around in your jeans and be comfortable. And this is true. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's full of apple dunking and hay rides and corn mazes and all sorts of fun things that I loved to do as a child. And it is. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's the time that kids get to dress up as pirates and princesses and Lost Boys and roam the streets like ghouls, scaring away demons and devils. And they do. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's the time of festivals. Of people bringing the harvest in, of apples and pumpkins polka-dotting the fields, of the celebration of harvest and home, and of food and warmth and love. And this happens, and it is absolutely wonderful. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
Fall is my favorite time of the year, first and foremost, because of its utter beauty. Fall is the time when God reaches out with His paintbrush and covers the earth with a loveliness that is never seen any other time of the year. It is the time of the year when trees burst into flame, when ice faeries dance on the grass in the early morning, when the sky is full of an ocean of blue-ness, and when the smoke of little cat feet fog creeps and curls around the fields. It is my favorite time of the year, because there is nothing, NOTHING more beautiful in the natural world than a maple tree in the fall, and after seeing one you know you could stand before one all day, almost crying at the loveliness of it all.
Happy first few days of fall.
Now, I realize that to many of you, a foggy September morning doesn't seem like much, but to me, it speaks of wonders and miracles and awesome loveliness that comes but once a year.
One of the most wonderful things about the world is that there are four seasons, and what happens between September and December is nothing short of miraculous. Every September, I can count on the maple tree in front of my house beginning to blush red, on whispers of fog curling down the street, and the apple trees becoming heavy laden with red and yellow freckles. And each year, I am struck dumb with the awesomeness of the beauty of it all.
I could say that fall is my favorite time of year because the kids have gone back to school, and the chaotic, oppressive heat of summer is over. And they do, and it is. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's that inbetween time of the year, when you don't have to worry about your heat or your A/C, and you can just lounge around in your jeans and be comfortable. And this is true. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's full of apple dunking and hay rides and corn mazes and all sorts of fun things that I loved to do as a child. And it is. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's the time that kids get to dress up as pirates and princesses and Lost Boys and roam the streets like ghouls, scaring away demons and devils. And they do. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
I could say that fall is my favorite because it's the time of festivals. Of people bringing the harvest in, of apples and pumpkins polka-dotting the fields, of the celebration of harvest and home, and of food and warmth and love. And this happens, and it is absolutely wonderful. But that's not why fall is my favorite.
Fall is my favorite time of the year, first and foremost, because of its utter beauty. Fall is the time when God reaches out with His paintbrush and covers the earth with a loveliness that is never seen any other time of the year. It is the time of the year when trees burst into flame, when ice faeries dance on the grass in the early morning, when the sky is full of an ocean of blue-ness, and when the smoke of little cat feet fog creeps and curls around the fields. It is my favorite time of the year, because there is nothing, NOTHING more beautiful in the natural world than a maple tree in the fall, and after seeing one you know you could stand before one all day, almost crying at the loveliness of it all.
Happy first few days of fall.
Monday, September 12, 2011
What About the Rest?
Yesterday, I was watching the Mets/Cubs game on tv, and the big story during the game was all the ceremonies throughout the game. Yesterday was, of course, a big anniversary, and since the Mets were home, well, it was important for the city to remember.
But...
Ten years ago, I was living in an area that was within broadcast range of all the Boston news stations. And when I was watching all the ceremonial loveliness last night, it got me thinking. New York lost that day. She lost A LOT, and the events of that Tuesday morning will forever be engraved in the hearts and minds of the people of the city. But the two planes were both out of Boston, and they were both headed to Los Angeles. Which means those two cities both lost, too.
But last night, there was no mention of the victims from Boston or L.A. In fact, it feels like the passengers on those two planes have become the forgotten ones, the ones no one really remembers, or even cares about. Whenever anyone mentions 9/11, most people focus on the police and firefighters who lost their lives when the towers fell. Or the passengers of Flight 93, who gave their lives so more would not be lost. But that doesn't mean that we should forget the people who were on the two planes who crashed in New York. But we have. We have forgotten them, and last night was a perfect example of the fact. And I find that horrifically sad, not just because, during the original aftermath, I saw the local news put faces to some of those people, but also, because every passenger and crew member on those two planes was a loved one to somebody. And they deserve every bit of remembrance as anybody else who died that day.
So, to all the people of Boston and L.A. who did lose a loved one ten years ago --
Here's to you.
But...
Ten years ago, I was living in an area that was within broadcast range of all the Boston news stations. And when I was watching all the ceremonial loveliness last night, it got me thinking. New York lost that day. She lost A LOT, and the events of that Tuesday morning will forever be engraved in the hearts and minds of the people of the city. But the two planes were both out of Boston, and they were both headed to Los Angeles. Which means those two cities both lost, too.
But last night, there was no mention of the victims from Boston or L.A. In fact, it feels like the passengers on those two planes have become the forgotten ones, the ones no one really remembers, or even cares about. Whenever anyone mentions 9/11, most people focus on the police and firefighters who lost their lives when the towers fell. Or the passengers of Flight 93, who gave their lives so more would not be lost. But that doesn't mean that we should forget the people who were on the two planes who crashed in New York. But we have. We have forgotten them, and last night was a perfect example of the fact. And I find that horrifically sad, not just because, during the original aftermath, I saw the local news put faces to some of those people, but also, because every passenger and crew member on those two planes was a loved one to somebody. And they deserve every bit of remembrance as anybody else who died that day.
So, to all the people of Boston and L.A. who did lose a loved one ten years ago --
Here's to you.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
Fabulousness
This is just about the awesomest thing I've seen in a long while. Enjoy and share with everybody!
Thursday, September 01, 2011
The Wind Blows Backwards All Night Long
And rain makes applesauce. (With apologies to Julian Scheer)
So Hurricane Irene came through this past weekend. It gave us about sixteen hours of steady rain, and tropical force wind on Saturday night.
So on Saturday night, I came home from work, and promptly sat down on my couch with my crock pot, my paring knife, and a peck of apples, and began to cut them up. They simmered in the pot all night long, and on Sunday morning, I not only had a well-drenched lawn, but a yummy bowl of applesauce.
Homemade applesauce is, to me, the epitome of comfort food. Not the Motts stuff you buy in a jar at the store. But the kind where you actually cut and peel and season the apples yourself. Where you put everything in the pot and drift off to sleep and wake up in the morning with the whole house smelling of cinnamon. Applesauce was something my mom would make in the fall when I wee, and on cold, rainy days, I would enjoy coming home from school to a bowl of warm, yummy sauce. Mmmmmmmm. Comfort food.
The world needs a little comfort these days. With everything that happened last week, the earthquake on Tuesday, the suicide on Wednesday, and the hurricane on Saturday, homemade applesauce seemed just the ticket.
And what better time than on a night when a hurricane is blowing outside? The wind blows backwards all night long...and rain makes applesauce.
Next stop: steeking the vest
So Hurricane Irene came through this past weekend. It gave us about sixteen hours of steady rain, and tropical force wind on Saturday night.
So on Saturday night, I came home from work, and promptly sat down on my couch with my crock pot, my paring knife, and a peck of apples, and began to cut them up. They simmered in the pot all night long, and on Sunday morning, I not only had a well-drenched lawn, but a yummy bowl of applesauce.
Homemade applesauce is, to me, the epitome of comfort food. Not the Motts stuff you buy in a jar at the store. But the kind where you actually cut and peel and season the apples yourself. Where you put everything in the pot and drift off to sleep and wake up in the morning with the whole house smelling of cinnamon. Applesauce was something my mom would make in the fall when I wee, and on cold, rainy days, I would enjoy coming home from school to a bowl of warm, yummy sauce. Mmmmmmmm. Comfort food.
The world needs a little comfort these days. With everything that happened last week, the earthquake on Tuesday, the suicide on Wednesday, and the hurricane on Saturday, homemade applesauce seemed just the ticket.
And what better time than on a night when a hurricane is blowing outside? The wind blows backwards all night long...and rain makes applesauce.
Next stop: steeking the vest
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