Monday, December 3, 2007
I Went To Fresno...
And What I Got Was This Really Great State Championship Coaching Certificate. California Cross Country State Championships, that is. Three of my XC kids made it there, and I was mighty proud. I had very little to do with it, considering they are talented runners with state championship experience already, but they did need a coach. Even if just to drive the van all season. Like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman, I'm an excellent driver. (Way to go Matt, Priya and Poppy!)
RAT'S A**
Frankly, my dear, no one gives one about the colors in my house, which I didn't describe anyway, because I got distracted, which reminds me...did I take my meds this morning?? Holy crap! No! Hey! I just remembered. I also have a website called...www.bipolarexpeditions.com, for the mentally ill and those who love them (also for those who don't give a flying flip about them, but should). It doesn't matter much, since I can never locate that website. I have a hard enough time finding this one. Maybe if I took my meds...(I DO, I REALLY DO!)
THAT. D***. BLOGTHING.
I can't even get the FONT size right. I just read that long, windy blather about nothing and it's not blog material! There were no links! No video! No pictures of me having some post-postmodernly ironic fun on the street somewhere! I suck as a blogger!!
No one will comment on this except to say, "You suck! Go back to writing for a newspaper, so the old people can have a chuckle -- God only knows why -- and then let their little birdies crap on your life's work as it lines their cages."
No one will comment on this except to say, "You suck! Go back to writing for a newspaper, so the old people can have a chuckle -- God only knows why -- and then let their little birdies crap on your life's work as it lines their cages."
MIFFERTSKRFLFT!
which is Finnish, I think, for @#$&!*?+#!!
Seriously, newspapers. What's wrong with newspapers??
Seriously, newspapers. What's wrong with newspapers??
The Missing Link(s)
Oh, for Pete's SAKE! The previous post told you about WWW.OLDHICKORY.ORG. where you could read stuff about my house, the Cumberland. Also what I said about Tuba City and an ancient...DAIRY QUEEN. So I put the link for DQ and OH.org on there, but to no avail. I think I should stick to newspapers. Sigh.
The Real Bernieville
...is Old Hickory Village, Tennessee, where I am RIGHT NOW, at last. It's just a visit, but it's always good to be here. I'm in the very house pictured below, the Mannsion, home of the Manns.
My house down the street is presently occupied by my friends Mark, Jackie, Luke and M.G., who are keeping the dust bunnies under control whilst I am in California. Their house in currently under renovation, as is mine, cosmetically, thanks to the B-stetters. (I think replacing plumbing is a good bit more than cosmetic. Mark, you are a gentleman and a scholar. And a pipe-setter.) Color has come into my life in a bright new way at Cumberland Corners SW. (That's my house, the southwesterliest of the four "Cumberland" homes which are butted up against each other right here, the only place in the Village where this is so. We account for one quarter of all the Cumberlands in the Village (16, for those of you with math impairments). You could read all about the Cumberland and the 1918 house plans at . I think. Seems like something I should be double-dog sure about, since I was on the neighborhood board and all. And since you can read stuff I wrote on that website. Or find links there. If you can read a blog, for cryin' out loud, you can find the dang link.
So, as it turns out, this blog (such as it is) is duller than dry oatmeal, compared to any column I've ever written. See what happens when no real deadline is involved? I can't even come up with a good analogy. There are ten things duller than dry oatmeal. At least ten. By the way, it's 1:20 p.m. on Monday, and I'm freezin' me Irish arse off sitting in this house, something I could be doing in the house in California. Maybe not the freezing part. But alone, at the computer? C'mon!
Old Hickory Village is not the real Bernieville. I'm afraid this is the real Bernieville, inside my head. Don't plan your vacation around it. Tuba City, Arizona is more exciting. It has an ancient to fulfill all your retro ice cream fantasies. And it's not that far off the highway. Not the interstate, mind you, but the highway. I'll look it up. Tuba City is on the Navajo reservation, I think. I wonder if it's warmer there today. The temperature in OHV is about 30. In Bernieville today it's 2 degrees above flatline. Something must be done!
My house down the street is presently occupied by my friends Mark, Jackie, Luke and M.G., who are keeping the dust bunnies under control whilst I am in California. Their house in currently under renovation, as is mine, cosmetically, thanks to the B-stetters. (I think replacing plumbing is a good bit more than cosmetic. Mark, you are a gentleman and a scholar. And a pipe-setter.) Color has come into my life in a bright new way at Cumberland Corners SW. (That's my house, the southwesterliest of the four "Cumberland" homes which are butted up against each other right here, the only place in the Village where this is so. We account for one quarter of all the Cumberlands in the Village (16, for those of you with math impairments). You could read all about the Cumberland and the 1918 house plans at . I think. Seems like something I should be double-dog sure about, since I was on the neighborhood board and all. And since you can read stuff I wrote on that website. Or find links there. If you can read a blog, for cryin' out loud, you can find the dang link.
So, as it turns out, this blog (such as it is) is duller than dry oatmeal, compared to any column I've ever written. See what happens when no real deadline is involved? I can't even come up with a good analogy. There are ten things duller than dry oatmeal. At least ten. By the way, it's 1:20 p.m. on Monday, and I'm freezin' me Irish arse off sitting in this house, something I could be doing in the house in California. Maybe not the freezing part. But alone, at the computer? C'mon!
Old Hickory Village is not the real Bernieville. I'm afraid this is the real Bernieville, inside my head. Don't plan your vacation around it. Tuba City, Arizona is more exciting. It has an ancient to fulfill all your retro ice cream fantasies. And it's not that far off the highway. Not the interstate, mind you, but the highway. I'll look it up. Tuba City is on the Navajo reservation, I think. I wonder if it's warmer there today. The temperature in OHV is about 30. In Bernieville today it's 2 degrees above flatline. Something must be done!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Writer Swears
Two things:
The @#%&! meant nothing terrible, just "d***". OK, d*mn. Now, I see something else to swear about, down there. Not just grammar, but spelling: "lost THAN" not "THEN". I DO know the difference. D*** it.
The @#%&! meant nothing terrible, just "d***". OK, d*mn. Now, I see something else to swear about, down there. Not just grammar, but spelling: "lost THAN" not "THEN". I DO know the difference. D*** it.
Knights In White Satin
About the Knights: That's my team, the Knights of The King's Academy in Sunnyvale. I is indeed their coach now. A full 10 of the 27 on the roster seem to like me fine. (The new kids.) The 18 returning veterans ain't so sure. None of these kids would have any idea why my headline is so clever. "We don't wear white satin, Coach." Never mind.
Why I So Rarely Post
Because I can never find the *!@&#! thing. It's awful to have a blog and lose it. But then...'tis better to have blogged and lost then to never have blogged at all. (Make that "to never have" ... wait... "then never to have" ... maybe that's why I can't ever find this thing. It's God's mercy, saving me from the certain shame of grammatical error.) I swear it took me AND my friend Geralyn both 19 minutes to locate this thing. I have no problem with the other one, which is bipolarexpeditions, on blogger.com. Now, you'd think maybe I'd give you a link to that. Fat chance. I'm low-tech, baby. This Valley weren't all Silicon-ed upside its Valley head like it is now. But show me a ripe prune and I can hit Steve Jobs square between the eyes at 50 paces.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Knights and Hummingbirds
Must Be Fred. I mean Fed...So I got the job, and I fed the hummingbirds, too. They're back, Dad. At 7:30 p.m., September 11, the first bird came back for a slurp, one part sugar, four parts water. I cried, of course. I just picked that up where I'd left off, pulling into the driveway this evening, after seeing Mr. Bohlke down the street, mowing his yard. It just got to me. A day goes by without a sob, and I think maybe it's getting better, but...it's OK. Grief has no calendar.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Call Me Coach
- Me and Dad, Sept. '05I sure miss my sweet Daddy. I wish I could ask him about this next thing: As if it weren't wacky enough that I was the oldest collegiate runner in California last year (San Jose City College, Cross-Country 2006), now I'm interviewing for the COACH position at The King's Academy in Sunnyvale, California. Coaching the XC team, men's and women's. Boys and girls, I guess. Odd as it seems, this may be just the right thing for all concerned. We shall see. The fact that I was not a high school or college athlete (well, until SJCC), combined with my complete lack of coaching experience, does not seem to bother them at TKA. Yikes.
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