So, we have a really funny post to make some point in the not-so-distant future, about the crazy happenings that can happen, should you see fit to go to dinner with Kristine, Crystal, and Allie. I should be making it now, but the truth is, I'm still a little shaken from the events of this morning.
Nobody died, it's nothing serious, everybody's okay. There's my disclaimer.
This morning, my sweetie was outside grilling some chicken, and I was in the bedroom doing laundry, when I heard a dog barking. I went outside to investigate, and it turned out to be Villain, the dog who lives in the house that backs onto us. Villain's a beautiful tan Pitbull, only young. He's having a little ruff-ruff because Barbara's gone over to say hi to the neighbors. So I go over to join her, and he's still barking. Understandably. He's protecting his Mommy.
Anyway, the neighbor decides that, seeing as we're not going anywhere, it might be time to introduce us, so she opens the gate, and lets us into her back yard, where Villain is. He had a sniff around us both, a couple of ruffs, a few more sniffs, and then flung himself at my arm, teeth bared.
I will have quite the interesting bruise, and marks there, but I can honestly say it didn't hurt. Nobody even knew it had happened until Barbara and I came back in the house and I burst into tears. I guess it must have been shock. I've had dogs my entire life, and while I've always rough-and-tumbled with them, I've never been bitten in anger. Wait. I don't think Villain bit me in anger, per se, he was just protecting his Mommy, and I didn't want to get him in trouble. I've always preferred the company of animals over that of humans, and I can completely understand why he felt threatened. The size of his teeth, he could have done a lot more damage, if that had been his intention, and I really think it was just a warning. That doesn't mean I didn't spend half the day crying though. Wimp.
Next time, I shall shower with bacon, then maybe he'll let me in.
Poignant, Opinionated, Feral and Female. Be scared. She Squared.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
First Takes Always Lead to Bloopers
So I'm a big lame-ass recently, and haven't been posting as much as I should have been. I have excuses, but you don't want them. The dog ate my homework. See?
Anyway, I intend to jump back on the bandwagon this week, with my sweetie working all the hours under the sun, but for now I would like to show you a little something. It's been three weeks since She Squared brought you their version of Saving Grace, and I now feel it's time for you to see what went into our efforts. At least, sort of...
Anyway, I promise I promise I promise to update more this week. And, y'know, let me know if y'all need a translation. Yeeee Dawgie!
Anyway, I intend to jump back on the bandwagon this week, with my sweetie working all the hours under the sun, but for now I would like to show you a little something. It's been three weeks since She Squared brought you their version of Saving Grace, and I now feel it's time for you to see what went into our efforts. At least, sort of...
Anyway, I promise I promise I promise to update more this week. And, y'know, let me know if y'all need a translation. Yeeee Dawgie!
CoffeeLand Convos
2 cops walk into a Coffee Bar... (names and places are fake to maintain my employment)
Hulking Police Officer #1: Can I get a Large Vanilla Latte?
(I'm off at the machines, making said coffee drink while a co-worker chats with them)
Hulking Police Officer #2: Hey, don't I know you? (I assume he's speaking to my younger cute co-worker who would be the likely choice to hit on - but no, after a longer pause, I realize he's speaking to me)
Me: (squinting at him) I don't know, do you?
Hulking Officer #2: Yeah! I remember you from the advanced latent fingerprint course at the police academy! Wow!
Me: Oh! John Smith! Yeah! I remember. How're you doing with those latents? That was a great class.
Hulking Officer #1: Oh yeah, the only female in the class. You told me about her. (points at me) You were working at {insert random place here}, right?
Me: Yep. Good memory.
Hulking Officer #2: Long time, right? I switched to municipal police because there's a lot more money in it. How's your... uh...
(uncomfortable silence as they both look at me in my apron and wonder if I'm even employed anymore and prepare to swallow their feet)
Me: Here's your Latte.
Hulking Police Officer #1: Can I get a Large Vanilla Latte?
(I'm off at the machines, making said coffee drink while a co-worker chats with them)
Hulking Police Officer #2: Hey, don't I know you? (I assume he's speaking to my younger cute co-worker who would be the likely choice to hit on - but no, after a longer pause, I realize he's speaking to me)
Me: (squinting at him) I don't know, do you?
Hulking Officer #2: Yeah! I remember you from the advanced latent fingerprint course at the police academy! Wow!
Me: Oh! John Smith! Yeah! I remember. How're you doing with those latents? That was a great class.
Hulking Officer #1: Oh yeah, the only female in the class. You told me about her. (points at me) You were working at {insert random place here}
Me: Yep. Good memory.
Hulking Officer #2: Long time, right? I switched to municipal police because there's a lot more money in it. How's your... uh...
(uncomfortable silence as they both look at me in my apron and wonder if I'm even employed anymore and prepare to swallow their feet)
Me: Here's your Latte.
Can Not Do
I awoke today recovering from yesterday's 20 hour day. Granted, not all 20 were 100% work, but they may as well have been by 1am. The 1.5 hours in between the 2 jobs could have been considered a nice break, but not when you have to drive home from one, change clothes and maybe grab a bite, then drive to the other one.
I couldn't fall asleep when I got in at 1am because I kept thinking to myself "during the week, I'd get home at one and have 4-4,5 hours to sleep before I had to get up and do it again". I'm going to have to reconsider the times of the 2nd job, me thinks.
I couldn't fall asleep when I got in at 1am because I kept thinking to myself "during the week, I'd get home at one and have 4-4,5 hours to sleep before I had to get up and do it again". I'm going to have to reconsider the times of the 2nd job, me thinks.
Friday, August 29, 2008
RNC VP T&A?
In the officer's dining room (ODR) today while eating lunch, the TV was on the totally unbiased and wonderfully independent channel of CNN. As I walked in I saw immediately that something HUGE was going on, as all eyes were on the screen - and not much slows this group down when it comes to food.
Senator "Old Man McStroke" was announcing his new running mate/Rep. Vice Presidential hopeful, Gov. Sarah Palin.
O. M. G. *rolls eyes*
This is my take in the 3.5 minutes I tolerated being in that room.
On Screen:
~ Love Child of Sally Field and Amy Winehouse with the 70's suit and the beehive hairdo.
~ Spoke under the crowd's volume, then clapped into the microphone super loud, cheerleader style. I expected Spirit Fingers at any second
~ Used the term "9/11" within one minute
~ Introduced her big-oil-employed husband (while the ticker under him said "Snowmobile Champion")
~ Ticker kept repeating facts about her, including the snowmobiling hubby, the 5 children (one of whom deploys to Iraq on 9/11, the youngest with Down's Syndrome, and the other three that I suppose don't matter), her long term membership in the NRA, and her strong anti-abortion stance (as demonstrated by her clan of spawn); among other things
In The ODR:
~ A few dozen men drooling at the screen saying "You got my vote baby!" "Look at the DD's on her!" "With the wife and now this chesty broad, I don't care if McCain is a tool, he's got my vote!"
I thought they were all joking, and in some aspects, they were - but overall I fear that when it comes down to election day, perhaps Obama should have considered asking Connie Rice instead of some smart foreign policy guy with no tits and the ability to grow hair on his face. I admit that even I am in a tough spot to sort through the details and facts of all parties and candidates to decide, however I am sure that Palin's rack will not influence my vote.
Senator "Old Man McStroke" was announcing his new running mate/Rep. Vice Presidential hopeful, Gov. Sarah Palin.
O. M. G. *rolls eyes*
This is my take in the 3.5 minutes I tolerated being in that room.
On Screen:
~ Love Child of Sally Field and Amy Winehouse with the 70's suit and the beehive hairdo.
~ Spoke under the crowd's volume, then clapped into the microphone super loud, cheerleader style. I expected Spirit Fingers at any second
~ Used the term "9/11" within one minute
~ Introduced her big-oil-employed husband (while the ticker under him said "Snowmobile Champion")
~ Ticker kept repeating facts about her, including the snowmobiling hubby, the 5 children (one of whom deploys to Iraq on 9/11, the youngest with Down's Syndrome, and the other three that I suppose don't matter), her long term membership in the NRA, and her strong anti-abortion stance (as demonstrated by her clan of spawn); among other things
In The ODR:
~ A few dozen men drooling at the screen saying "You got my vote baby!" "Look at the DD's on her!" "With the wife and now this chesty broad, I don't care if McCain is a tool, he's got my vote!"
I thought they were all joking, and in some aspects, they were - but overall I fear that when it comes down to election day, perhaps Obama should have considered asking Connie Rice instead of some smart foreign policy guy with no tits and the ability to grow hair on his face. I admit that even I am in a tough spot to sort through the details and facts of all parties and candidates to decide, however I am sure that Palin's rack will not influence my vote.
Housie Update
I figured calling it a "housie" would make it seem less daunting, maybe even kind of cute. Then I could even bring in rhyming - Housie Mousie, or the Housie Wousie with my Spousie.
Not working. It's still major construction project, and it's still stressful as all blogging hell.
So, we are waiting for the final permits to be, uh, permitted and then it begins. There was a glitch in the permit to give them the plans to get the permits. They called and said the survey was reduced. I was thrilled! Less money!? Nope. They meant the size of the paper that the survey was on had been reduced, and they couldn't accept the plans as they were. OK, to rectify the sitch, I had to come up with the original survey on the original paper. Not so easy when the only survey copy I got was the one in my mortgage packet which is bound and uniform, easy to read, but apparently the survey page was scanned and printed to fit and the town found this unacceptable. Asshats. OK. PANIC. I needed this to be approved yesterday and now there is a glitch.
So I call my mortgage guy. Yep. You heard me. He was the only person I could think of who could a) Tell me what I was looking for b) Tell me where I might find it c) Tell me what I could do if I can't find it. It couldn't be faxed because it would "alter the size in some way". OK, fine, but I can't crap the thing out of thin air and time is running out! Joe (hereafter referred to as Mortgage God; or MG and to be accompanied by the sound of choirs and angels with harps) found my survey info within seconds, scanned and emailed it to me in 3 different formats just in case one didn't work. It was again rejected by the town, because it was a scanned copy, and might not be to scale. OK. Now MG *insert angels and harps* jumps into super mode and finds the original survey company. He calls them himself and has them fax, mail and prepare a copy for me to pick up in person, since the place is semi-local. Luckily Lisa had time and she ran to get them. I handed them over to the contractor who would take them to the inspector himself to bitch about the commotion. When I opened the 'real' survey - it's the same fucking size as the faxed one, the scanned one, and the copies!!! I was seething!!!
So the main point is that we are back on track here, and I expect the call telling me to bring my checkbook and a waiver for my first born to get the permits-then construction begins in a week. All good and well, but none of this would be flowing right now if it weren't for the magnificent Joe Kustra of Quicken Loans. I linked him for a reason. Go visit him. People had told me that mortgages were evil things and buying a home would turn me grey and give me hemorrhoids. I was told I should just razor my wrists instead of dealing with the mortgage people, especially since I had never owned property or bought anything before. So, I looked around a lot, did research on companies, and listened to recommendations from friends and strangers. I went with Quicken, referred by the wonderful Lynn and Joe in NH. Joe actually does software creation or some technical designing thing with applications they use in the company so he must know if it's good, not to mention they use them too. The referral saved me $500 off the bat as a promotion they have if you are referred by someone. That was a bonus, and helped at closing. I can't say enough about how smoothly everything went. Joe Kustra was amazing, and he was there 24/7. He gave me his personal cell for any questions, and he always had the information at his fingertips. He answered all of my insane questions - even ones that had nothing to do with the house. "Boxers or Briefs Joe, I need to know." He had a great sense of humor, put up with my neurosis and made things so much easier. I hardly drugged myself to sleep during the process at all.
I recommend that anyone thinking of refinancing or buying, give him a call. At the very least, he can guide you and introduce himself. I think you'd be very happy with him. If I weren't such a huge queer, I'm sure I would have moved up there and made babies with this man. Now THAT'S a stamp of approval if I ever heard one. Don't forget to tell him that it's a friends and family referral from me to get that great deal.
Not working. It's still major construction project, and it's still stressful as all blogging hell.
So, we are waiting for the final permits to be, uh, permitted and then it begins. There was a glitch in the permit to give them the plans to get the permits. They called and said the survey was reduced. I was thrilled! Less money!? Nope. They meant the size of the paper that the survey was on had been reduced, and they couldn't accept the plans as they were. OK, to rectify the sitch, I had to come up with the original survey on the original paper. Not so easy when the only survey copy I got was the one in my mortgage packet which is bound and uniform, easy to read, but apparently the survey page was scanned and printed to fit and the town found this unacceptable. Asshats. OK. PANIC. I needed this to be approved yesterday and now there is a glitch.
So I call my mortgage guy. Yep. You heard me. He was the only person I could think of who could a) Tell me what I was looking for b) Tell me where I might find it c) Tell me what I could do if I can't find it. It couldn't be faxed because it would "alter the size in some way". OK, fine, but I can't crap the thing out of thin air and time is running out! Joe (hereafter referred to as Mortgage God; or MG and to be accompanied by the sound of choirs and angels with harps) found my survey info within seconds, scanned and emailed it to me in 3 different formats just in case one didn't work. It was again rejected by the town, because it was a scanned copy, and might not be to scale. OK. Now MG *insert angels and harps* jumps into super mode and finds the original survey company. He calls them himself and has them fax, mail and prepare a copy for me to pick up in person, since the place is semi-local. Luckily Lisa had time and she ran to get them. I handed them over to the contractor who would take them to the inspector himself to bitch about the commotion. When I opened the 'real' survey - it's the same fucking size as the faxed one, the scanned one, and the copies!!! I was seething!!!
So the main point is that we are back on track here, and I expect the call telling me to bring my checkbook and a waiver for my first born to get the permits-then construction begins in a week. All good and well, but none of this would be flowing right now if it weren't for the magnificent Joe Kustra of Quicken Loans. I linked him for a reason. Go visit him. People had told me that mortgages were evil things and buying a home would turn me grey and give me hemorrhoids. I was told I should just razor my wrists instead of dealing with the mortgage people, especially since I had never owned property or bought anything before. So, I looked around a lot, did research on companies, and listened to recommendations from friends and strangers. I went with Quicken, referred by the wonderful Lynn and Joe in NH. Joe actually does software creation or some technical designing thing with applications they use in the company so he must know if it's good, not to mention they use them too. The referral saved me $500 off the bat as a promotion they have if you are referred by someone. That was a bonus, and helped at closing. I can't say enough about how smoothly everything went. Joe Kustra was amazing, and he was there 24/7. He gave me his personal cell for any questions, and he always had the information at his fingertips. He answered all of my insane questions - even ones that had nothing to do with the house. "Boxers or Briefs Joe, I need to know." He had a great sense of humor, put up with my neurosis and made things so much easier. I hardly drugged myself to sleep during the process at all.
I recommend that anyone thinking of refinancing or buying, give him a call. At the very least, he can guide you and introduce himself. I think you'd be very happy with him. If I weren't such a huge queer, I'm sure I would have moved up there and made babies with this man. Now THAT'S a stamp of approval if I ever heard one. Don't forget to tell him that it's a friends and family referral from me to get that great deal.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
On Humble Gratitude
Tonight, as Lisa drove me home from my job at "Coffeeland" she informed me that the hit counter for this blog was at 998.
It caused me to stop and get giddy. Seriously - and not just from the coffee beans I had been freebasing earlier.
While reading this entry, you might have been the one person to tip the number over 1,000. Oh yes, you might have been the one to touch greatness. I think this is great. I love being able to blog you all. I think it's my fave noun/verb combo now. I'm going to try to trademark it as a slang curse.
"I was so pissed at my blogging boss for yelling at me in front of those bikers!"
"Dude! You are the Blog!"
I told you once, so just Blog Off!"
So there you have it. It'll catch on. I'm confident.
On my rare serious note - thanks so much to all of you who have supported and encouraged us in this endeavour. We love and need you all.
If you hate us, go blog yourself.
It caused me to stop and get giddy. Seriously - and not just from the coffee beans I had been freebasing earlier.
While reading this entry, you might have been the one person to tip the number over 1,000. Oh yes, you might have been the one to touch greatness. I think this is great. I love being able to blog you all. I think it's my fave noun/verb combo now. I'm going to try to trademark it as a slang curse.
"I was so pissed at my blogging boss for yelling at me in front of those bikers!"
"Dude! You are the Blog!"
I told you once, so just Blog Off!"
So there you have it. It'll catch on. I'm confident.
On my rare serious note - thanks so much to all of you who have supported and encouraged us in this endeavour. We love and need you all.
If you hate us, go blog yourself.
Like Tin Foil In A Microwave
Ok, so now that we've all had a nice little chuckle at my expense, let's get a few things straight about my MRI experience.
First of all, I'm used to/fine with removing all jewelry and belts and piercings and answering "No" to the "Do you have any surgically implanted metal rods running up your anus to your brain?" questions. This time, the guy said it was fine to leave steel toed boots and my ring. He said since they weren't going near the entrance to the machine, it'd be fine.
Fine my ass. The very second that machine started up (and we'll get back to that later) my hand began to jiggle in some wavy, jerky shaking motion. It totally freaked me out, and I hit the bulb trigger to alert them of the issue. The booming God-Speaker voice asked what the problem was, and I said my hand was funky. One of the techs came in and said "well, why are you wearing a ring?" Um, because you told me I could, Jackass? So he took it off for me and tucked it into my cargo pocket. So, that must be the feeling tin foil gets in the micro. I have learned my lesson. I will be kinder to foil in the future.
So back to the machine itself. I've been through a fair few of these utterly horrible tests in my life. I have gotten pretty good at drugging myself a bit, dealing with it, and then retreating like a whimpering puppy till I feel better. This time, I get on the tiny slider table, position myself accordingly, and then they bring out this thing and begin to put it over my face. Those who know me know that not much throws me for a loop, but my first thought was - I'm the (wo)Man In The Iron Mask, they are going to throw me in a dungeon and my evil twin sister will rule the kingdom.
The second mental image this thing invoked - the olde tyme Scold's Bridle - the gate-like metal helmet that surrounded the head and had a spiked piece that went in the mouth to prevent speaking and to inflict pain. While it's true that this thing wasn't made of metal, and it didn't have a mouth spike, it was all too frighteningly similar.
I guess overall, the addition of this to the process of the MRI itself could seem very small or insignificant until you consider that it's around your head the entire time, keeping you immobile and more penned in that tube, if that were even possible. The last time I was there, I could listen to music on the headphones and there was a tiny mirror so you could see up into the booth where the techs were, and it kind of put you at ease to see something at all while in there. This time, there was nothing.
Less than nothing.
There was a frikking hard plastic band over my head and eyes (maybe more over my eyes because I'm a shorter person) and it caused panic. Utter mental end-of-the-world breakdown in my head. Then add the freaking odd uber loud sounds and you have a party. I could have dealt, but because there is no longer music headphones, they put these yellow sound muffling tings inside your ears, and when you have balance issues and noise issues and now you can't see even with your eyes open, it's insane sounding.
I was SO unhappy this time.
I swear, just find the problem areas and chop them out with a hacksaw so that I don't have to go through this anymore. That's what I want. Roto-Rooter it all out. have the guys from Ghost Hunters come and do the Roto-Rooter thing, then hunt for ghosts in my skull. It'll be a party.
First of all, I'm used to/fine with removing all jewelry and belts and piercings and answering "No" to the "Do you have any surgically implanted metal rods running up your anus to your brain?" questions. This time, the guy said it was fine to leave steel toed boots and my ring. He said since they weren't going near the entrance to the machine, it'd be fine.
Fine my ass. The very second that machine started up (and we'll get back to that later) my hand began to jiggle in some wavy, jerky shaking motion. It totally freaked me out, and I hit the bulb trigger to alert them of the issue. The booming God-Speaker voice asked what the problem was, and I said my hand was funky. One of the techs came in and said "well, why are you wearing a ring?" Um, because you told me I could, Jackass? So he took it off for me and tucked it into my cargo pocket. So, that must be the feeling tin foil gets in the micro. I have learned my lesson. I will be kinder to foil in the future.
So back to the machine itself. I've been through a fair few of these utterly horrible tests in my life. I have gotten pretty good at drugging myself a bit, dealing with it, and then retreating like a whimpering puppy till I feel better. This time, I get on the tiny slider table, position myself accordingly, and then they bring out this thing and begin to put it over my face. Those who know me know that not much throws me for a loop, but my first thought was - I'm the (wo)Man In The Iron Mask, they are going to throw me in a dungeon and my evil twin sister will rule the kingdom.
The second mental image this thing invoked - the olde tyme Scold's Bridle - the gate-like metal helmet that surrounded the head and had a spiked piece that went in the mouth to prevent speaking and to inflict pain. While it's true that this thing wasn't made of metal, and it didn't have a mouth spike, it was all too frighteningly similar.
I guess overall, the addition of this to the process of the MRI itself could seem very small or insignificant until you consider that it's around your head the entire time, keeping you immobile and more penned in that tube, if that were even possible. The last time I was there, I could listen to music on the headphones and there was a tiny mirror so you could see up into the booth where the techs were, and it kind of put you at ease to see something at all while in there. This time, there was nothing.
Less than nothing.
There was a frikking hard plastic band over my head and eyes (maybe more over my eyes because I'm a shorter person) and it caused panic. Utter mental end-of-the-world breakdown in my head. Then add the freaking odd uber loud sounds and you have a party. I could have dealt, but because there is no longer music headphones, they put these yellow sound muffling tings inside your ears, and when you have balance issues and noise issues and now you can't see even with your eyes open, it's insane sounding.
I was SO unhappy this time.
I swear, just find the problem areas and chop them out with a hacksaw so that I don't have to go through this anymore. That's what I want. Roto-Rooter it all out. have the guys from Ghost Hunters come and do the Roto-Rooter thing, then hunt for ghosts in my skull. It'll be a party.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Don't Drug-Text me
Today, my beloved Ligie had to go have an MRI. My sweetie has a little anxiety over closed spaces (such as airplanes...), so about three Xanax made their way into her system before she had to go into the cage. Her appointment was at 3:30, so by the time I got out of class at 5pm, they had firmly begun to knock her unconscious.
As is my usual plan of action, I was going to stop by Starbucks on the way home, so I called her to see if she wanted anything. The first phone call went unanswered, the second was answered by silence, and the third went to voicemail. At this point I just wanted to cover my butt in case she was awake when I got home with one coffee in hand, so I sent her a text. No answer, so one coffee it was.
When I finally arrived, my sweetie was laying on top of the bed, completely out cold. I'll leave out the part about the drool-covered pillow, so that we can all pretend that never happened.
Oops.
Alice was laying on top of her, cleaning her hair, so I grabbed Barb's cell phone to take a video of it, to show her later. It was open, and on it was the following message, mid-composition:
"Ohhkthcmds ilwj"
That was her response to me. My beloved passed out as she was writing it. In hindsight, I should be grateful, because while I speak drugged-Ligie, drugged-texting-Ligie is a little bit of a stretch. I have a feeling that had I given that to a barista, Barb would have got a half-caf-double-shot-three-pump-sugar-free-mocha-chip-latte. Hold the whip.
As is my usual plan of action, I was going to stop by Starbucks on the way home, so I called her to see if she wanted anything. The first phone call went unanswered, the second was answered by silence, and the third went to voicemail. At this point I just wanted to cover my butt in case she was awake when I got home with one coffee in hand, so I sent her a text. No answer, so one coffee it was.
When I finally arrived, my sweetie was laying on top of the bed, completely out cold. I'll leave out the part about the drool-covered pillow, so that we can all pretend that never happened.
Oops.
Alice was laying on top of her, cleaning her hair, so I grabbed Barb's cell phone to take a video of it, to show her later. It was open, and on it was the following message, mid-composition:
"Ohhkthcmds ilwj"
That was her response to me. My beloved passed out as she was writing it. In hindsight, I should be grateful, because while I speak drugged-Ligie, drugged-texting-Ligie is a little bit of a stretch. I have a feeling that had I given that to a barista, Barb would have got a half-caf-double-shot-three-pump-sugar-free-mocha-chip-latte. Hold the whip.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Having the Most Amusing Friends
The below is an excerpt from my poetry course, a little something I wrote concerning Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain!"
"You'll need to color me a little green, as far as American history goes, I'm afraid, but I wonder if there's any importance to the fact that Whitman wrote this just after Lincoln died. Is it possible he's using the ship as a metaphor for all the good that Lincoln managed to bring to the country (remember, please, I don't know what I'm talking about!), and commenting on Lincoln now not being here to enjoy it? Perhaps it was related to slavery?
Actually, I just looked up a basic Abraham Lincoln biography, and it seems his grandfather was a Captain in the revolutionary militia, and shared the same name. I would imagine that's just a coincidence, but it still struck me as interesting. Under that biography, however, I noticed that the Civil War ended just 6 days before Lincoln was shot, and that definitely seems like it could be the subject of O Captain! My Captain."
A few moments later, in a conversation with my buddy Kris, the following transpired:
Me: i'm totally about to cheat...and post one of my old poems to the main threaded discussion
Kris: lol nice
Me: :D Cheater cheater purple people eater
Kris: LMFAO wow Lisa... making reference to Abe Lincoln and learning the purple people eater song all in ONE day, you might as well be a fucking American citizen.
Me: Well done, hon, you just made the blog!
"You'll need to color me a little green, as far as American history goes, I'm afraid, but I wonder if there's any importance to the fact that Whitman wrote this just after Lincoln died. Is it possible he's using the ship as a metaphor for all the good that Lincoln managed to bring to the country (remember, please, I don't know what I'm talking about!), and commenting on Lincoln now not being here to enjoy it? Perhaps it was related to slavery?
Actually, I just looked up a basic Abraham Lincoln biography, and it seems his grandfather was a Captain in the revolutionary militia, and shared the same name. I would imagine that's just a coincidence, but it still struck me as interesting. Under that biography, however, I noticed that the Civil War ended just 6 days before Lincoln was shot, and that definitely seems like it could be the subject of O Captain! My Captain."
A few moments later, in a conversation with my buddy Kris, the following transpired:
Me: i'm totally about to cheat...and post one of my old poems to the main threaded discussion
Kris: lol nice
Me: :D Cheater cheater purple people eater
Kris: LMFAO wow Lisa... making reference to Abe Lincoln and learning the purple people eater song all in ONE day, you might as well be a fucking American citizen.
Me: Well done, hon, you just made the blog!
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