Sad Memorial Day - 2011

     I put up a new flag for Memorial Day and began reading on the internet about different Memorial Day 'festivities'. I also began thinking of the whole concept of 'Happy Memorial Day', it's kind of an oxymoron. There is nothing happy about Memorial Day.
     Memorial Day, we honor the greatest of our dead, our fallen military heroes.  On Veteran’s day, we are to honor our Veterans. Everyday of the year we should thank God for the brave men and women of our military who keep us safe and make us proud.

      With that thought in mind the kids and I did not go to the parade this year. I failed to find out about the military service up the road until it was too late, so we watched several episodes of, 'America: The Story of Us.'. It's a well done series, that though left out a lot of crucial facts, shows how through blood of soldiers and ingenuity of it's people, America forged itself.

      It is sad to me that we consider this a 'happy' day. Until this year, I never gave it much thought. It had always been a day of hot dogs, hamburgers and the unofficial start of the summer season. Now I realize this should be a day of honor and respect for those who served and gave their lives as well as their families who made the ultimate sacrifice.

      It doesn't matter how old you are. You are never to old to learn or gain understanding. The kids and I talked a lot about the meaning of Memorial Day. I think some of the impact was lost. In a way I'm glad, the last glimmer of innocence has not been smitten by the realities of adulthood. They may be embarrassed when we drive by the local fort and I honk my horn 'in support of our troops', but I hope, when they get older, they will remember and understand that you can hate the war, not the soldier. I also hope they realize the sacrifice and sanctity of dying in the service of your country for the hopes and dreams of your fellow man.

We Honor Those Who Have Fallen For Us and God Bless America!

Happy Blogiversary - Populus Es Bardus

Today is the one year mark for Populous Es Bardus. In some ways it seems like just yesterday I started it, in others it seems like forever ago. I wish I had written more this past year and will be writing on a more frequent schedule going forward. I have also updated my photography equipment (LOVE my lenses!), so look forward to more, or at least better pictures.

The little blog that started as a means to hone my photography; writing skills and relieve me from the boredom of writing technical manuals has blossomed quite nicely. 

 

Some fun facts about the blog...

• It has now been read in 47 states.  Screw you Wyoming, Montana and North Dakota.
• It has been browsed in at least 10 countries

• There have been over 6000 page views.
• The most viewed blog entry is Some Daughter at about 2000 page views.
• The lowest viewed blog entry (ranked) is Sand Destiny under 20 page views.
• Funniest Search Keywords, 'girl belly down on bed' (The runner ups may be a future post).
• 1.2% of my visitors still use dial-up for their internet.
• 10 different OS's and 9 different browsers have been identified using the site.
• Over 20% of my traffic comes from Google. 
• This will be the 180th post.

Thank You Readers!

A lot of the stats aren't very impressive, but they do shock me. I never thought anyone would care about what I posted or even find the blog, as I've told few people about it. It is true that I would have done the blog even if I had thought no one was actually out there but it is nice to see that people found it and hopefully enjoyed it.

Now for another year!

Tick! TIck! TICK! BOOM! (aka. To all You Older Byrds!)

I was on a dating site the other night and was surprised at how many women, older than I, stated that they wanted to have their first child.

Ladies,
If you are my age (or older) are single and are planning on having a baby... that's a clock that makes Big Ben go, “DAMN, that ticking is loud.”.  If you are married and planning for a child in your 40's, God bless but, if you don't have a relationship yet and somehow think you are going to meet a guy, skip all formalities and have a baby, it's like me saying I want to be a baseball player. Even if I was the best player in the universe, no one would draft me, sight unseen, knowing at my age, I only had a good year or two left in me. Do you not understand that there was a time for that and chances are that time is called the past.

Age is a crueler mistress to women than men.  Women have a biological time frame in which they can have a child without medical issue. Men we can have children at whatever age we want. Sadly we don't realize how amazing children are until after we have them. That being said, most men don't want to coach soccer from behind a walker or get a senior discount at Babies 'R' Us.

I'm not saying you 40 something women aren't sexy, or that there is anything wrong with not having a child. I'm also not saying 40+ women can't plan a relationship, a marriage, a baby and get it all in under the wire; it is kind of like saying a dog can't jump from the Empire State Building. We all know it can happen, it just shouldn't and the impact on the dog would probably be detrimental.

So ladies, you've made it past forty without child and relationship. Congratulations, it's not the end of the world. Maybe reproduction is not for you. There are always nieces and nephews and friends with kids that are looking for a babysitter.

Have you ever watched one of those movies where there is a guy disarming a bomb and the digital timer is blurring a countdown at an incredible rate... 3.01, 2.05, 1.09, 0.23. and the guy has to choose the blue or red wire before time runs out and right at the end of the movie he snips one. Ladies you are the credits that roll at the end of those movies.

Tuesday Tips For Living Alone – Noise While 'not baking brownies.'

Yes, that is my laundry on the right and office chair on the left..

Most people living alone, like I, live in a multi-family dwelling. Whether it be a condo, apartment, co-op or townhouse, the builders of these homes never planned on humans actually living on these premises. If they had the walls would have been better insulated against noise.

Where am I going with this? I have an exercise machine I bought right before the divorce. It is a knock off of the one Chuck Norris and Christie Brinkley peddle on late night TV. I really like it and it seems to fit my lifestyle; it even folds up and can be pushed under a bed or leaned against a wall. Since moving into the co-op, It's sole purpose has been a place to hang the clothes I will be wearing the next day. This weekend I decided that moving it from one location to another should not be the only exercise I get from it. I put it in the center of my bedroom, fully extended it and decided that I would do reps of different exercises every time I walked by it.

Let's step back for a moment here. Remember how I said noise travels freely through the walls of my co-op to the neighbors? Well, it is a two way situation. My neighbor has a bed that has the propensity to, for lack of better definition, squeak. So once in a while when she has company over, I know they are, 'not baking brownies', if you know what I mean.

So yesterday, every time I walked by the exercise machine I decided to do ten to fifteen reps of one of the various exercises. Around lunch time I decided on doing a little bit more of a workout. After about twenty five minutes of huffing, puffing, grunting and sweating, I went out to my yard feeling pumped and ready to do some yard work.
My next door neighbor was out and the conversation went something like this.
Her : “You have somebody over?”
Me (still puffing) : “No, just taking a lunchtime break.”
Her : “Oh, thought I heard something.”
Me : “Just me upstairs in my room.”
Her : “Oh.... OK, cause it sounded like you had somebody over there.”
Me : “Nope, all alone. I have to pull some weeds from the beds now.”

After pulling some weeds from my two small beds out back, I went in and decided to do a few more reps. I get lulled into the gentle piston-like noise of the exercise machine, “Whirrr...Whump, WHIrrr... WHUmp, WHIRRR... WHUMMP.”, I let out an, “UHHHNNN”, as I butterfly one too many times. It hits me. The utter and sheer feeling of embarrassment that is burning more than the muscles in my shoulders. My neighbor thinks, I was alone, uh, 'not baking brownies.'.

I take a shower and look out the window. My neighbor's car is gone, she has already gone back to work. Ah, just as well. I'm pretty shameless and very rarely get embarrassed, so now, I begin to laugh. I wonder what the neighbor is going to think when she is home and hears the exercise machine go off ten to fifteen times a day.

I digress.

The tips for today. If you are in a multi-family dwelling with noise enhancing walls:
1. Learn to ignore things. There are plenty of professional ways to damper noise, but most are rather costly and aren't as effective as needed.
2. Communicate with your neighbors. The other of my two neighbors goes to bed early and has to be up for work by 4:00a.m.. Since she told me, I've learned to curb my noise level in certain rooms of my co-op later at night.
3. If you are, 'not baking brownies.', God bless, put the TV on a little louder or play some music. If you hear someone, 'not baking brownies.'. Put your TV on or play some music and give them some privacy. A little noise control goes a long way.

No Babies Were Harmed in the Course of This Post.

So my latest Neurosis is Baby oil. I noticed my skin was getting dry so I started to put baby oil on it after I showered. At first I thought, skin lotion, but baby oil sounds so much cooler. Thoughts of magical baby extract or age defying oil squeezed from babies comes to mind. Think about it Corn Oil from corn, Sunflower oil from sunflowers, Baby oil from?

I also figure that the ladies out there will actually dig this concept. What's the latest thing lonely middle aged women are into?  Vampires! What sounds closer to being a vampire then rubbing crushed baby extract on yourself to keep your skin young forever.

You can all laugh at my neuroses(I do), but any of you that have seen a baby being born, know where I'm coming from.  I'm not saying babies aren't cute, just that they aren't initially human. They come out covered in slime and are alive but not breathing. They have scales like reptiles and when their mouths first open, their faces contort and they let out a pterodactyl scream. The nurse takes them out of the room, rubs baby oil on them and BAM! An insanely cute soft skinned human child comes back.

Since starting this regimen, my hair has become noticeably softer. As a dude, the only downside is that my skin has gotten a little too soft. Guess I'll have to go eat some pork rinds and yes, they really are the skin of a pig.

Side note: Since I wrote this last week, I've gotten a zit on my forehead. I haven't changed my diet, so there is only one logical conclusion. The baby oil is working! My face has regressed to my teenage years. Now If I could only find some magical solution like ground kitten or crushed puppy to get the hair on my head to start growing back, I'd be all set.

No More Room Left On The Fridge.

First Choice, 'They'll Never Guess It's Me', by Lizzy

So, I finally did it. I got a tattoo on Monday. 

It wasn't the tattoo I initially planned on getting, but I'm glad I chose the design I did.

To answer everyone's question, "No it didn't hurt".

My plan to go to North Carolina did not come to fruition, so when my friend from North Carolina came up for a long weekend, we decided to get the tattoos in NJ. He has a bunch already, so this was just another one for him. 

Lizzy's 'The Flea'

We went to Freehold Tattoo. They were extremely professional and did excellent work. There were some amazing tattoo designs on the wall, that tempted me, but in the end I went with, 'The Flea'. 'The Flea' was done by Lizzy when she was warming up to draw a tattoo for me. It had always been a consideration, but after seeing all the small lines in my first choice and the lack of color, 'The Flea' seemed like a natural.

Prototype

I copied the design in a paint program and with a friends help smoothed out the edges, added the circle and some flames(hey, gotta have flames!).

Strangely, I was not nervous or anxious about sitting in the chair at the tattoo parlor. It was a little surreal trusting someone to draw a picture on your body that would never come off. In the end though, I love it. I have a piece of art from my daughter that will always be with me. Maybe someday Emily will draw something for my other arm. I'm not rushing her, but would also not be opposed to it.

The only downside to the whole experience is that you need to put A&D ointment on the tattoo three times a day for the first ten days. For those of you who don't know, A&D ointment is normally used for diaper rash and smells like baby ass.

'The Flea' the first time the bandage was taken off.

Mikey's new Tattoo

Creative Thursday - The Last Coffee Mug, A Childrens' Story.

     The little coffee mug lived in the back of the cabinet with his nine other sisters and brothers. They would all excitedly wait to hear the kettle whistle or gurgling of the coffee pot. When the cabinet door opened, they would reach out their handles and scream, “PICK ME!!! PICK ME!!!”. The coffee mugs in the front would always be picked and when they came back to the cabinet, would tell wonderful stories of how they held coffee, tea, or some other exotic beverage. They would spend hours explaining the taste of the sweet honey that was swirled into them or the mint that floated just below their rim. The little coffee mug in the back would particularly like the stories about the soapy bubbles, the soft sponges and the towels that would be used on the others before they were put back into the cabinet.

      One day the cabinet opened and the two front coffee mugs were taken out. The little coffee mug in the back waited patiently for them to return with their stories of the day. But the next time the cabinet opened they were not returned, instead, another two of the coffee mugs were taken out. It was a peaceful night in the cabinet with only six coffee mugs and no stories. The little coffee mug in the back drifted off to sleep with the thoughts of coffee, soap suds and sponges.

      The next morning he was awakened by the gurgle of the coffee pot. When the cabinet opened, the little coffee mug in the back reached out his handle as far as he could. As his handle was grabbed, he beamed with excitement. His hopes were dashed with a, “Hey Watch it!”, from a mug in front of him, as they met with a large CLINK!  The hand released him and yet more of his family left the cabinet.

      The little mug sat with the other two mugs.  They talked about what it would be like if they were chosen next. With a clack, the cabinet opened. The three mugs reached out they were almost never picked, so they tried their hardest to get attention. The cabinet closed and the last little coffee mug was alone in the corner of the cabinet. The fear of being alone was overcome by the thoughts of being the next mug used. He tried to keep his excitement down. Once before all of the other coffee mugs but him left and just as the cabinet had opened for his proud moment, the rest of the mugs filed back in one by one. He was so excited, he would not sleep that night.

      The next morning came and the last little coffee mug shook with delight. This was his morning. He heard the scoops of the coffee rustling against the filter, the water being poured into the maker, the whoosh of the steam and finally the gurgle of the last few drops of coffee.

The cabinet opened.

The hand reached in.

His handle was grabbed.

     This was it, this was his moment. He could hardly contain himself. He was getting closer to the coffee pot. The counter was just in his reach. The smell of the coffee, the light of the sun, the freshness of the air all came together. In his daze, the last little coffee mug did not see the edge of the counter, nor did the hand that was holding him. With a simple tap just inches from the coffee pot, the hand released and he tumbled through the air, down, down. “I'm flying”, he thought, but was rudely interrupted by the hard tile floor. CRASH! As the little mug lie in pieces on the ground he shed a tear. All he ever wanted was to leave the cabinet, and now he would never return.

The moral of the story kids, Wash the damn dishes Reed!

* No Actual coffee mugs were harmed in the writing of this story, but some were dirtied *