Archive for July, 2006

Kimsop’s Fable – Updated!

UPDATE: Okay, so I should’ve put a little more detail about when this whole contest thing might end so that you would stop putting off posting your hilarity. The official Kimsop Contest (you have no idea how badly I wanted to write Kontest just to make you cringe) will end on Tuesday at 5:00pm. Also, multiple entries will be accepted. Entries must be posted to the site by then, so hurry up kiddos!

Here’s how this will work. I will share a fable and then you will submit your moral of the story in the comments section. Whoever provides my favorite moral will win a prize. A prize that I will purchase and send in the mail (or perhaps just buy on the interwebs and send it directly to you, because you know how I like to promise about putting things in the mail, right?)

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Six fig trees were in charge of handing out special seeds, called umes, as the blades of grass came and asked for them. Umes produced amazing golden colored bushes and everybody wanted to enjoy the sweetness under their leaves.

Sometimes the fig trees would give out many umes and sometimes just a few, depending on why the grass needed them and what they were planning to do in the future. Some of the fig trees were very good at knowing just the right amount of umes and some struggled to figure out the proper way to do it, but they were never very bad about handing them out. Never enough for the sun to get mad and make them stop handing out the umes. And so the grass came, everyday to the fig trees.

There was also one olive tree who didn’t spend too much time with the grass, but worked more with the soil. She was peaceable and calm and she was almost always right. When the soil came and asked for umes she was careful to make sure that the grass and the soil were not working to plant too many umes too close together. It made the sun beat down in anger and the water angrily dry up when they had to work so hard to keep the golden bushes alive when they were so close together. To avoid the anger of the sun and the water, and instead of trying to talk to all of the blades of grass, the olive tree would talk to the six fig trees.

This worked very well, most of the time.

One fig tree, Figal, had great difficulty getting back to the olive tree. She would forget or she would ignore the olive tree all together, making the soil wait and wonder why they did not know how to properly plan their garden yet. It was quite a problem and finally, the olive tree was forced to talk loud enough so that the old oak tree could over hear. The oak tree liked things done properly and usually made sure that harmony was ruling among the trees and the grass. Though he didn’t care much about the soil, he did care about the umes and he knew the sun and water cared a lot about the umes too, which is why he would listen when the olive tree spoke loudly.

Whenever Figal realized that the oak tree was listening, she would get back to the olive tree, right away, but not necessarily with very much accuracy. Figal had been working in the ume world for much longer than the olive tree, but she somehow still could not understand how it all worked. Instead of admitting that she was confused, she would get angry and demand that her arbitrary rules of ume giving be followed, which made the grass, the olive tree and even the other fig trees put little seeds of bitterness all around them. If they questioned why Figal’s decision was so, her anger would rise high enough, that sometimes, she would leave actually the garden during the heat of the day or sometimes she would just play solitaire and ignore everyone all together.

One day, when the olive tree was speaking very loudly Figal said to not give out any umes to the soil that was asking. Not one ume. Her anger had already begun to rise about how loud the olive tree was talking because she hated that the oak tree could hear. Glad that she at least wasn’t being ignored, the olive tree accepted the answer.

“Sorry, soil, but you’ll have to do without,” said the olive tree, her branch extended anyway.

“But the grass in our garden didn’t get any umes from Figal at all! Can’t we have some cool shade under a beautiful golden bush?” the soil asked, exasperated.

The olive tree sighed heavily and said she would see why Figal had said ‘no.’ Sometimes, the soil was not very honest about how their garden was coming along and they already had a few umes tucked away in the earth, just waiting to blossom. Maybe Figal knew something of that.

“Figal, did you give any of the grass some umes for this soil?” the olive tree inquired.

“That doesn’t sound familiar to me. I don’t think I have.” Figal was being sheepish and the olive tree’s branches were not extended. She was wondering why the oak tree did not believe this to be a reason to release Figal from ume giving, why the sun couldn’t not see that the umes were not kept orderly in her baskets, why the grass didn’t complain more and why Figal didn’t find another garden she liked better in which to spend her days. “I guess I just forgot the rules,” she finally shrugged.

The olive tree recoiled her boughs and, at first, let off a few leaves, but then, realizing the futility of it all, extended her branches to Figal. The olive tree went back to the soil and explained that there had been some confusion and a mistake. Then, she handed out the exact number of umes the soil wanted.

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No Flavor, No Chewy…..No Problem?

Can anyone tell me why Trident gum goes so far south so quickly?

Insert Gum.
Chew 5 times.
Wish flavor would return.
Chew for three more hours.
Remind self to wear night guard.
Chew harder.
Remind self not to buy Trident.
Keep c.h.e.w.i.n.g.
Spit gum out in gas receipt that will remain in the console of the car until the Hubs finally breaks down and details the whole thing.

The Old Switch-A-Roo

Revelation: I may be wasting my life.

Meat Behind the Revelation: My Work Week Everyday

[Monday – Thursday]
5:00 am – Get Ready for Work, Quiet Time
6:00 am – Driving Time
6:30 am – Working Time
3:00 pm – Quitting Time
3:30 pm – Workout Time
4:45 pm – Driving Time
5:00 pm – Shower, Supper Making Time
6:00 pm – Eating Time
7:00 pm – Reading Time
8:00 pm – TV Time
9:00 pm – Bedtime (well, at least The Ritual begins)

Admission: Okay, so not every day is quite this patterned, but it’s pretty close and I’ve just been going round and round in my head about the purpose of my life and asking questions like “Why wait until Jud is done with seminary to do something that I love, something with purpose, something that could one day possibly be all I do?” “Why not use these days too?”

And then lots of answers scream at me like “Because the things you love to do don’t earn money and money ensures you can live, Stupid!” “Hello, McFly!”

But then from somewhere in the corner, a little voice says, “Why not do both…work somewhere that pays you well and use your spare time to do more important and fulfilling things?”

[Angry Biff-Kim doesn’t care for the corner speaker, but doesn’t really have much of a counterpoint]

So, in honor of my ambition and also my need to have a ‘space to work’, we are moving our bedroom from the big nice room with the French doors to the smaller room with the outside light that shines eternal (guess we’ll break down and buy some curtains now).

Thus, the decree has gone out; “From this day forward, the old bedroom shall be the new office and the old office shall be the new bedroom and henceforth ye shall use spare time for good!”

The Other Iraq

I stumbled upon this and felt it was very valuable to share with others…especially in light of the war we’re “losing” in Iraq.

Check this out.

Tennis Elbow, Thighs and Toes, Thighs and Toes

The heat finally broke on Friday night and we woke up to the nice Texas weather that does not kill people, so we went outside.

First we went to the UPS place and mailed things to Nebraska, but then we drove over to the tennis courts that are very very close to where we live, later making it seem strange that we’d driven there.

Newly racketed and with bright green tennis balls, we made our way onto the court. I couldn’t even recall the basics at first but Jud reminded me. We decided just to practice hitting the ball at (that’s the correct preposition, trust me) each other and it was a little crazy for a while. Lots of running quickly and totally missing the dang thing or completely smashing it so hard that there’s no way the other person could get it or lobbing it into the air like a grenade. It wasn’t pretty.

While we made fools of ourselves on one side of the court, a doubles match of over 60s kept making really nice swings and very little grunting. They looked like pros. Old pros, but pros none the less.

On the playground next to us, two teenagers were up to no good on their Saturday morning at the slides. I’ll spare you the details, but it was a good reminder that adolescent minds don’t know how to properly discern social behaviors.

We were out for about an hour and called it quits. Though the sun was barely out and the temperature was cool, we were both pretty sweaty. Before we’d gone out, I’d thought about how awesome it was going to be to have so many gym hours logged prior to beginning The Great Tennis Adventure. I was wrong.

Using the mouse today has seemed like a feat. I suppose I’d better attempt a few more dips and pull ups at the gym today. Cheryl suggested buying a lighter racket, but I was already commenting about the lightness of the one we bought and then thinking that I would not have much pain at all. Oh, the vanity! Oh the naivety!

Game Paused.

Friday Night at the Rock Show

Venue: The Cavern
The place sort of reminded Jud of Knickerbockers and the stage was in front of the windows when you first walked in, but that’s probably the end of the comparison. Long and narrow, we never fully ventured into the back although a dj was supposedly spinning upstairs, my companion for the evening was not much into dancing and thus we stayed below to listen to the tunes of the night. The bar was kind of small and most people gathered around it without any real reason other than the fact that the place was so narrow. Through a small partition, the merch table blocked some standing room, but the fish tank looked bright against the darkness. Band paraphernalia was stacked against the incoming wall, forcing the patrons’ calves and shins to push against cases and rubbermaid bins. The sound dude was off to the left side of the stage, in a small alcove that was very visible. If he were to stand at the mixer board properly he would not be able to see anything but wall and perhaps one guitarist from his extreme right peripheral vision. An odd set up, but I understood that space was at a premium. In spite of the smallness, it had very notable ventilation.

Music: Denison Witmer and Saxon Shore (others played that night, but we did not listen)
Both were very good, though I believe the first was a bit off his game in the beginning and then at the end of his set too. The bar goers in the back were noisy and chatty is not always welcome in a bar, at least when the person on stage is playing tribute to Nick Drake and his twenty six years on this earth, ahead of his time in all of them and perhaps leaving early because of it. The Witmer started off with the boys of Saxon Shore onstage and all of that was a bit choppy, in my estimation. He doesn’t usually do the ‘full band’ scene and he didn’t quite seem himself (written as if I’ve had a drink or dinner with him, both of which I have not, unless you count after the show when we were perusing the merch table and he was swilling a large drink, which I would not count, but you know, whatever). So the SS boys (not the fascist kind) added pretty dissonance to the just-this-side-of-country folksy-ness and it was good, though wrote. Denison Witmer made a few half hearted jokes about Nick Lachey that evoked a good amount of smiles and amused laughter, though his claim to not find Jessica Simpson attractive was not fully believed, at least by this concert-goer. Once the SS boys descended and he was left alone to make his music, he seemed to relax a bit and find his groove. It was beautiful, except for the chatter that rose up in the silences which I was mostly overlooking until he made mention of it right before his two Drake covers. Saxon Shore was good too. There are five of them: three guitarists, sometimes the keyboard/organ dude picked up one too, making four, and the drummer. Best guitarist goes to athletic shorts wearing velcro shoe guy with the headband. He was jumping and strumming and just became a blur of movement and music that was thrilling to watch.

Scene: Bizarre
We sort of figured that the music would draw a range of people from those like us to the much more band following crowd (think boys in girl’s jeans and girls with funky hairdos, odd outfits and big purses), but we weren’t quite right. The band kids were there, choppy haircuts and all, but the bar drew in a bunch of people from lots of different crowds: late-twenty something former frat boys still hanging out in herds to keep from feeling sad about moving out of ‘the house’ and into jobs that lack much party, a woman and her husband wearing yoga get ups complete with tie-dyed shirts and tevas (socks with his), girls in tube tops who’ve obviously had some work done, gap kids, people who all knew each other from high school and, our personal favorite, a late-50s/early 60s man wearing a beret, Hawaiian shirt, olive shorts, and penny loafers. He had a strange obsession with buying the SS drummer beers, which is why we initially made note of him. After lining up the second one for him before the first had even been consumed, Beret Man lit up a cigarette, moved directly in front of us and began “moving to the music”, however the music he was moving to was only in his head. The dissonance and swelling power that is Saxon Shore never amounts to hip swaying and little foot jimmies. It was so out of place and odd that lots of people were distracted by it. Then the smell of patchouli hit me and it made just a tad more sense. The drummer fascination will never fall in line, but the swaying and the pretending like he was dancing with a woman in Margaritaville can’t be smashed into any category of normal.

Overall Experience: Good
It wasn’t the best concert I’ve been to and it wasn’t disappointing. It was a little surreal. It was a good way to spend a Friday night. Thank you DW and SS and the Cavern and Beret Man!

We sure do wish we could attend a show here. I hear those shows totally rock.

Love – Love

I work out sometimes. It’s fun because I feel better about myself and less jiggly in places I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t jiggle. Also, it makes my emotions more ——– instead of /\/\/\/\/\ which is helpful mostly to the people who would otherwise be forced to orbit around Kim’s Planet Crazy and hope that they weren’t close to entering my atmosphere. Additionally, I love hanging out in places that smell like feet and armpits.

Jud doesn’t really care for big monochromatic machines that whir and beep. He doesn’t like the idea of running for a long time and going nowhere. He wants achievement and progress and scoring – proof that something happened. Measurement other than the ones the red lines on the machine interface lie about. He misses Monday night basketball.

But five foot two and a prayer Kim refuses to throw a ball at a basket against six foot four and not even trying Jud (If you’ve ever seen her attempt the shooting, you would know that it is poor even without a man who’s wing span is greater than his height blocking her).

Jud’s smart though. He thought of something else that would provide countless hours of entertainment, agility increasement and opportunities to totally rock.

Tennis.

We bought the rackets last night and a few balls too.

Game on.