I Hate Blogs

Not my story, but its a good one (in response to "how was your Christmas?":

Good and bad.

Still missing some people something awful.

Took SJ's advice and did something for others that really lifted the spirit.

When my mom was at the local cancer center last year she promised the staff she was going to make them fudge for Christmas. Well, she didn't make it that long, so I made a small batch and took it to them the week before Christmas last year.

This year I made about 5 lbs worth. I went this afternoon. The nurses let me give it to the patients who could have it and to the families of those who couldn't. Those little pieces of fudge really brought smiles to faces.

I even made a some new friends. One young lady, Amanda, a 15 year old girl with the same form of Leukemia that took my mom. She is going Monday to U of M for a stem cell transplant that has a high probability of curing her (90%+). When I told her she had the same thing that my 68 yr old mom almost beat so a tough young lady like her should be fine she promised me she would beat this. She made me give her my email so she could give me updates on her progress. Then she said something that floored me. "I'm going to beat this and maybe it's because of something the doctor's learned in trying to help your mom."

When I left I sat in my truck and cried for a full half hour. I was there the night they gave my mom her grim diagnosis. At one point she said "I'm going to fight this, but if this is my destiny and this disease takes me, I hope they at least learn something that saves someone else".

Damn I miss her.

Just watch. I heard the radio pop version, and I was surprised I heard her sing it, sitting at a piano without autotone and a backing track.

I cut pop about 2 weeks ago because I really felt like I was too fat. I have always kinda been fat but I have never really felt fat until fairly recently, I guess.

So I did a little research. My body mass index, or BMI, is about 36.7. This means that I am obese. 180 brings me down to 29.0 (into the overweight range) and 155 is 25, or normal. 140 gives me a good cushion so I can fluctuate a bit and stay in a healthy range.

I provided the other measurements because BMI is well known to be bullshit. The only true test of body fat is a body fat percentage, which can only be calculated by a float test or a skin fold test, neither of which I have access to. Therefore I have to go by BMI as a guide and follow my own instinct from there.

The big thing was when I weighed myself and saw 240... I freaked a little.

My plan of attack for this problem is pretty simple: step 1: fix the diet, loose a little weight first so step 2 is easier. Step 2: increase physical activity, a lot. Yeah I know I will be even MORE tired all the time and I will be permanently sore but I guess a lot of other people live that way.

So the first step was to cut pop as much as possible. That alone is a LOT of calories, and is reasonably obvious.

Next is to reduce the calories I eat for lunch, by eating a lunch with lots of shit that doesn't digest, such as the insoluble fiber found in the lettuce of a salad. I think some lettuce with some onions and carrots, with little low calorie dressing and some blue cheese (because I still need some calories to function) will a good step 2.

Step three is breakfast. I eat it pretty much every day and I will probably continue. I can mitigate this by eating no sugar with breakfast. Replace juice with water, stop drinking coffee with cream and sugar altogether, and switch from frosted mini wheats to a lower calorie per serving cereal. When I eat a bagel I should also get the lower calorie cream cheese or use butter (probably better to skip the bagel all together).

Forth, I will look for some low calorie snack food... the granola bars I sometimes eat are crazy high in calories. A few hunks of beef jerky would be better for me then those things... basically no fat and all protein, but its kinda expensive. It might be feasible, we will see.

I am not going to screw with dinner, except that when I get comfortable with the above (kinda doing one at a time, getting comfortable with it, and moving on) I will entirely stop pop, even at restaurants. I will need to develop a reflex: what do you want to drink? the correct answer every time will be 'just water'. When I get through all of this, then I will need a plan for better physical activity but... well I know nothing about how to do that.

So I have a little freelance work this week maybe. Wewt!

Also, I have lost 15 pounds since I last weighed myself in June some time (240 to 225, goal 180, if I make that then 140). The fattest part of the belly is 45 inches.

I have been trying to eat less, and I recently cut most pop from my diet. My next move will be to replace lunch with salad, I think. Salad isn't really food but you gotta do what you gotta do.

My main concern with following the whole BMI thing is that, although I have a lot of fat, genetically I have a lot of muscles and I am a very wide person. Where I wear my pants is about 36 inches and they sit basically on pure bone, and my shoulders are about 22 inches and my arms have very little fat on the shoulder. I think 200 will be easy to obtain, like by the end of December, and 180 will be tough.

There comes Lopt, the treacherous
Lusting for revenge
He leads the legions of the dead
Towards the Aesir's realm

They march in full battle dress
With faces grim and pale
Tattered banners and bloody flags
Rusty spears and blades

Cries ring out, loud and harsh
From cracked and broken horns
Long forgotten battle cries
In strange and foreign tongues

Spear and sword clash rhythmically
Against the broken shields they beat
They bring their hate and anarchy
Onto Vigrid's battlefield

There comes Lopt, the treacherous
He stands against the gods
His army grim and ravenous
Lusting for their blood

Nowhere is longer safe
The earth moves under our feet
The great world tree Yggorasil
Trembles to its roots

Sons of muspel gird the field
Behind them Midgaard burns
Hrym's horde march from Nifelheim
And the Fenris wolf returns

Heimdal grips the Giallarhorn
He sounds that dreaded note
Oden rides to quest the Norns
But their web is torn
The Aesir rides out to war
With armor shining bright
Followed by the Einherjer
See valkyries ride

Nowhere is longer safe
The earth moves under our feet
The great world tree Yggorasil
Trembles to its roots

Sons of muspel gird the field
Behind them Midgaard burns
Hrym's horde march from Nifelheim
And the Fenris wolf returns

Ť̷̔ͬ̊̒ͪͥ͐̂́͏̺̜̖̲̹̤͍͈̻oͭ̄̍̾̓̌̎̓҉̭̤̳͎͖͍̖̭̫̪̥̝͍̣̠ͅͅ ̢̫̠̱̫̞̜͖̝̺͉͕̯̻̹̠͔̥͇̳ͧ͒̎ͦ͌ͥͥ̒͆ͯ͜i̸̷̖̤̮̤̠͉̗̱͗͐̔͋͛͋ͫͬ̽̎̀͛ͨ́̀͜ń̌ͤ̐̓̌̅̆ͪ҉̲͉̜͔̗̜̯̫̤̯͚͙̭̜̭̤̀́͡͠v̷̨͉͓̬̤̜̗̹̰͊̑̋ͨͫͪ̔͆̍̈ͥͯͯ̅͜ͅo̵̵̷̝̪̜͎̼͉̦ͨͤ̒͐͗̔ͬ̅̇͒̒͌ͯ̍k̈́̓̃̃̏̿͗ͤ̀̇̋҉̴̛͚͇̥͉̰̞̜̼̺̩͙̺̭̗̖͜ȩ̸̻̭̤̫̩̰̹̪ͫ͊ͫ̃ͦ͒́͛̔́̚ ̴̢̛̯͍̫̥̩͍͓̣̳̪͎͎͇̞̖̱̠͑ͥͤ͗̇̽͐͑͌̌͒ͨ͑̂͗ͫͬ̄͞ͅt̆ͯ̐ͫͯ͐ͩ͌ͨ̓҉̼͎̤͎͇̙̮̪h̵̢̠̖̠̗̯̻̋͒͒́̅͞͞e̴̖̺̳̯̹͇̜̼̘̙̱̱̘̐ͫ́ͣ̓̒́͘͜ ̧͐̀ͬͯ̑ͫ̓ͧͮ҉̰͉̼̖͈̥̼͓̙̫̮͎̣̖͙͖h̛͍͔̫̫̝̮̝͒̅̿̆̆ͣ̎̄ͨͫ̌͒͞͠i̗͚͈̪̋͛̊̈̋̃ͭͣ̀̈̉ͦ͜͞v̢̞̯̻̳͍̫̬͔̤̥͓̹͉͙ͨ̓̆͌̐ͩ́͜ę̛̻̲͖̙̘̬̞͎̥̌͌̇ͧ́͘ͅ-̧̛͖͕̪̼̝͈͔̙̖̮̬̉̈́͋ͦͭͯ͂̂ͯ̑̍ͮ̄͗ͫ͛͌̌̋̀͜͟m̨̢̡̭͉̦̫̭̠̖̄͑̃̿ͤ̈ͫͭ̀̈ͫͤͧ̚ͅi̷̧̦͇̞͇̬̮̙̬̟̱̞͔̗̟ͩͣͬ͐̍́̐͑̐ͫ͌̔ͬ̚ͅn̟̙̗͇̜̬͍̫̗̔͐ͧ̅̾̅͑̌ͮ͆ͬ̍̋̎ͬ͒̌̊̀͢ͅd̸͓̖̰̹̲̜̘͍͕̲̦͖̤̲̺͙͌̍̽̉ͩ̊̑͘ ̛̛̛̤̘̗̯͎̖̠̪̍̓͌̋̽ͥͦ̂ͣͬͦ͂̀͞͝r̡̛̙̗̟̙̘̺̦̦͉͌ͪ̀ͦ͊̆̀͟ͅe̴͗̌ͪͬ̓̇̆̉̂̿̂ͣͮͦͩ̈҉͖͍̮͔̳̤̻̝̝̥̼̣͍̭̲̟̖̬̪p̸̡̰̜̖͔̲̼̬͍͉̲̳͇̥͔̌͂ͩͮ̌͛ͨͫ̓ͥ̊̍̕ŗ̺̠̝̯̣̯͖̫͓̪͈̱̟̖̖̘̾͌̽̈́͗̊̊ͦ̕͠ę̛̩̳̙̟̗̪̟̖͇̟̣͔́͋͐̇̈́̆̒̂̐̄ͩ͟͝ͅs̴̡̡̬̭̭̯̻̜̘̞̩͔̜̱̣͓ͫͯ̒̏ͮ́͠eͬͦ͑͌̓͛͛͐͒ͩͦͥ̎̋ͩ͏̘̲̞̦͝n͒̉͑̒͊͛̌̏̌͐̽͑̍̾̿́҉̪̟̟̯̠̻̣̫̘̻̝̀͜͜ṯ̡̛͙͚̘͖̻̪̦͂ͯ̑̽ͪ̐ͅi̛͈̭̺̜̬̖͖̼̟̞̣̺̾̈̓͊ͨͦͥ͂͗̋͋ͮ͞n̷̶̴ͮ͐̎ͯͤ̂͊͢͏̙͚͍̭̘̤̦͓̘͍̤ͅgͩ͋͂̾ͣ͐̈́̆ͪͨ̎͌̄̋ͨ͛̾̄̇͢͠҉̩̖͇̹̼͓͖̪͔͕͚̲͜ ̫̦̩̪̣̳͈̖̞̖͓̗͕̱̳̗͓͖͗͊ͭͥͩͧ̓̏̀ͦͮͦ̄̀́cͮ̃̑̋͗̓̊͒͌ͣ̃͆̚̚͏̵̷͔̞͙̻̝͖̯̮̻͎̟̫͈͇̭̲̫̹̯͘͘h̏̍͂ͭͥͭ̏̈ͬ͗͑͆̽͛̊̀̋̎̚҉҉̰̻̳͓͍̫͍̬̪̫̣̠̮̹͉̘͓̱͚̀ā̢̤̹̼̥̫̗͚̙̳͕̠̪̪̥̹͆ͪ̿͌̅̉ͪ͗ͯ͘͡o̷̧͚̰̭̠̮͓͎̣̜͍̳͚̱ͥͥ͑ͥͮ̚s̶̳͓̦̖̲̹̻̻̥̱̱͉̥͚͙͎͒͒̂ͬ̆ͫ̊͑̔ͭ̓͋̉̊̍̂̽́̚ͅ.̜̗͇͓̖ͨ̒̈́̊͗ͪ̅̌ͥ̈́ͣ̾ͦ̐̈́ͯ̒̔̀͢͟͝

̵̶̣͓̩̤͈͎̼̖̟̺̩̥̘̲͖̮̪͆̒ͧͨͥ̅͑ͮͧ̋̽̂ͪ̆̇͋ͥ̃͞ͅÏ̞̝͓̙̘͕͙͗ͥͬ͊ͭ̎̀̚͠n̵̵̲̯̩̖̖̲̲̬̟̣͚̤͚̓͗̃͐͑͐̽̊̐͑̑͌͘͢͝vͤͤ͛̏ͦͯ͞͞͠͡҉̮̼͚̳͚̦̪̘o̸͗̑̑̄̔̈͆͑̔ͭ̽̎̚͏̡͠͏̥̖͈̰̟͖̦͖̩̭̹̣͓̙ͅk̷̢͎͍̤̬̲̭ͨ͌ͦ̔̔͛̑ͥͭ̿̿̍ͪ̑ͩ͆̄͠͡i̵̢̛̬̠̘͉̔̉̿̓̇ͤͮ̿ͫ̂͊̒̒̿͂́̚͜n̸̄ͫ̓͊̎ͬ̽͠͏̪͇̣͔̜̠̯͍͓̙͔̱̘̝̭̟̙̮g̢̜̙̟͉̲̼͙̱͎̯̲̮͎̩̲͋̆ͪ́ͥ͐ͧ͗͒͛ͫ̌̀ͩ̿͘ ̷̧̢̺̖̟̤̲̱̦̓͋ͧ̉͊ͪ̂̈́ͯ͢͟t̸̸̛̤͈̟̝̼̤͇̯̖̪̑ͥ́̎͂͒̏̃̃̈́̉ͤ͑̚̚ͅh̶̴͕̪̺͉͙͉̯̜̬̟̙̥̟̗̭̪̲͛̅͐̎ͯ̀͜͠ȩ̴̝̻̘̬̺̳̭̰̙̠̻̹̱̳͈̖̻̐͒̌̒ͯ͜ ̡̳̗̬͇̹̠͎̭̗̟͚̰̖̰̭̝̀̽̈̀fͭͫͥ̏ͮ̾̉̾̉ͭ͏̝͎͕͕̫̖̻̖͕̳͡ͅȩ̧̮̞̭̟̔̐̿̂̒͒ͮ̐̈́͌̃ͯ̍ͬ̌́͠ę̨̠͕̬͚͔̞͗̀̿̿̕͠lͬ͒͑ͮ͛̉ͭ̒̊ͨ͑ͩ҉̷̤̮̗̯̘̗͙̗̲͞͠iͧͨͯ̃̿҉̬͉͖̠̹̜̠̘̰̟͈̭n̷̶̨̝͙̺̘ͫ͌̌ͥ͆ͤ̿ͪͫ͋ͬ̀͂̓̈́̚͠g̢ͨͥ̃̄̄̄͏̛̤̪̖̩̹̳̹̞̜͉͎̦̩̮̠͢͜ ̷̟̝̮̰̖̩̱͙̖̮̫̹̭̹̖̹̟͎͊̆ͨ̀̉͋͗̉́ͣ͐̓̅̑̒̋̂͛͝ǫ̷̛̀ͨͦͥ͞͏̞͚͈̲̘̦̼̹͈̹͍͉f̡̭̝͓̪̹̥̳̯̻̥̦̼̬̪̺͚̞̙̱ͦͤ͛̏̎̓̃ͬ͞ ̷̃̓̏̋̈́̊͊ͤ̔̈́ͯ́ͣͦͯ̓͋̚҉̷͖͇͉̞̮͖̘ͅç̛̖̥͖͍̣̗̱̺̖̻͖̥̗̙̺͙͚̃̀ͪ̆͗̒ͨ̉͜ͅḧ̸̨̟̪̥̬́ͪ̍̉ͤ̇̅̽̋̚̕͟àͪͪ̌̽ͮ̂͋͌͌̒ͦ́̆̉͒̎ͫ͌҉̨̨̮͈͓̝̦̠̦͔ͅơ̶̭̥̟͇͖̦̯̘̬̟͉̲̳̬̪̠̍ͥͧ̍̿̍ͮ͋͊̋͂ͩ̏̄ͣͯͧ́s̵̱̣͖̥̲̱͉͖̺̙̗̺̝̭̮ͨ̈́̒̾̒͒̑̄̽ͨ̒ͥ̇̔̑͂̏̚͘.̷̡̢̥͚̱̘̲͖͙̞̥̱͕̠̪̘̯̜ͧ̏͋̅

͖̭̟͇̥̟͖̣̭͚̦̓̐ͨͪ́͢͠W̧̛̠̗̜̺͕̦̼̱͉̫̘̼̙̩ͩ̈͑ͮ̔̔̑́̋̃ͪ͂̿͌͌ͫ̎̕͢i̶ͫ̏ͫ͒̑̓̍̅̑̏ͬ̅͑ͮ̊ͩͥ́͏҉̜͈͔͚̫̞̗͈͓̮ͅͅţ̧͛̔̽͋͒ͩ̔͛̏ͣͣ҉̛̳͕̙̼̫̫̕ͅh̵̶̛͈̼̝̗̥͇̻̮̯̉̔̑̽ͮ́ ̷̵̳̞̯̯̱̥̺͎̙̈́ͥ͂̓ͤ̐́̆͠o̍͛ͩͬ̌̈ͤ̽͗̑̊̍͊ͬͯ̌ͮ̚̕҉̣͈̺͎̣̥̩̱̩̺̩̬̳̠̰̱͈̠̟͜͞u̷̬̳͈̣͔̩͖̭͔͓͚̰̭͇̯̲̲̇́̍ͭ͋̐ͩ͋̔̄ͨ͠ţ͓̤͙̗͍͂ͮͦͭ̓͌́̂̐̚͘͢͢͡ ̷̨͚̫̱̞̼̞͔͖͔̺̫̗̍ͬͩ̐̚̚o̴̷̪̝̙̝̹̥̝̠̭̼̰̺̩͎ͤ̉̄̔͊̈̏̎̋ͨ͛̈́͐̌̉̔͋͝͝ͅͅȓ̶̺̪̳̜͔̦̹͚̞̟ͮͪ̿ͣͥͣͬͯ̓̌̀̚̚͘̕ͅd̶̛͗̂ͭͫ̒̍̅̐ͣͦ̕҉͍̮̺͎̝͓̘̳̖̣͖͍͖̬̭ẻ̵̢̖̼̯͉͈̱̬̗̩͎̯̖̹̘̼̌̿͋̅̊̈́ͥ̏̃́̾ͯͮͩ̋̎̈̈͠r̴̢̧̛̥̮̟̫͚̰̪̝͖̼̯̙͋̑̃͋ͦ̈́ͧͦ̓͌͑̀͊ͪ.̡͇͔̖̞̆́͑̄͗̈́́͜

̴͖̤̦͓̺͙͉̻̊̈́ͪ̆͒̓̋̏̀̀́͟͡T̪͙̜͈̙̱̩̼̥̼̑͂̅̈̐̋͠ḫ̵̩̙̜͚͌ͤͥͣͨ͑̂ͤ̀́̈͆̿̔ͭ͘e̶̬̤̦̩̖͍͎̟̳͎ͮ́̐̿ͦͨ̓ͫͦͯ͑̒ͬ̿̄ͫ̊̚ ̷̨̅̈ͤ̑ͥͧͮ͌̃͘҉̪͔̳̬͕͓̗̗̻͙̼N̵̼̗̞͓̺̬̻̫̭̫̪̫̱̩̤͇̪̅ͩ̄̋̈ͫ͆ͥ̑ͧ͟ͅe̡̛ͪ̂̈͆̍̈͏̡̯̺͖̬̟͉̙̫̮̻̖̟͜ẕ̤͓̭̰̫̥͈̬͎̮͚̗̮͙̈́̈̄̔ͥ̇̾͌͂ͦ̀́ͅp̞̥̱̫̞͚̗̘͌ͫͤ̈́̑ͯ̕͢͞ȩ̶͛͆̅ͯ́̎̾̉̀ͪ̿́͒͋͛͊ͥ̚͏̟͎͙͈͕̜̥͈͖͎̖ͅr̷̡͙̫͙͔̞ͭ̓ͣ̾̃̍ͦ̀̂ͭ̐̉́̕͞d̵̷̀̇ͤ̐ͨͩͮ̚͏̭̳͚͔͈͙͎̞iͮ́͆͛̅̈́̚͟͟͏̡̦̝̮͍̮̖̫̖͠ā̡̩̤̤̩͇̘̩̫̻̰͈̤̲̖̮̙̤̔̓͗̑̃ͪ̉̓̓̊̽́̓̉ͭ̀ṋ̝̱̩̫̼̘̲̩̩̝̼̰̦̉̓̔̉ͫ̈̔ͪ͒̾̾̕͞ͅͅ ͐̄ͬ̃̓̈ͧ͒͂̑ͨ̆͂͜҉͏̸̙̠͈̟̩͓͕͚̪̘̪̱̞̙͚̹̙ĥ͕͙̜̬̠ͦ̿̽̋̅̀͘i̸̴̢̩̖̙̞̹͍͇͂ͨ͐ͫͪ́ͬ͆ͥͮ̒̌͛͘͠v̵̴̊̇̀̍͌ͧ͋͂̓́̾͆͂͏̶̭̼̩̮̗͎̗̬̯̜̞̮̰͇͓̙̕e̢̞̹̝̤̽̈̂ͨ̓̿̀̕-̉̔ͨͦ̏ͧ̆̾͐͋͡͏̜͉̪́͟͞m̡̬̫̻̜̳̲̗̣̹̫̲̙̲̝̻ͫͮ̇̑̈́ͥͣ̀̾̇ͤ͋͋ͩͥ̽͞ͅi̷̡̹͈̦͚̓ͩ͆̈̅ͭ̅ͩ̈͆̀͢ͅͅn̶̾̓̓ͨ̈́͐ͭ͆̊ͪͨͭ̈́̀̊͋͆͋͏͔̥̦͖̙͓̭͓̼d̰̼͔̞͍͇̭̟͈͋͂͒̆ͧ̊̓ͪͧͮͨͪ̌̉̆͒̚̕͘͡ ̧̽́ͥͪͮͪͥ́ͥ̈̈́ͤ҉͍̞̠̰͔̮̦̤̳͖͍͍̹̞͍̟̙͢͡ơ̸̡͖̣̼͈͖͙̗̠̗̝͔̖̪̩̗̞̝͕̈ͬͬͤ̓̔̂̓͑͐ͩͦ͐̄ͤͥ̋ͧ͡f̡͎̱̙͓̰̙̙̬̲̰ͧ̋̽ͭͩ̒̄̾̎͢͠ͅ ̸͙̙͖̖͚͎͔̖̺̃ͥ̀͑̎͂ͧ̔ͨ̋ͨͧ̕͜c̸̨̛̦̱̘̣̱̗̞̗̗̥̻̈́͒̏̉͗͌ͪ́h̴̶̰̟̻͓̪̹̦̣̺͙̳̯̗̦́͆͑ͣ̀̀a̸̴̖̯̲̦͔͉͔͇̠̭̹͓͍͉̜̝̺̝͗̉ͨͥ̑͛ͨ̃̐̂͛̏ͣ̚ͅo̡̳̼͇̜̣̠̻̳̎̿̿̋̒ͧ̎͑͗̍̇̓ͣ͌ͫ͆͆͞ͅş͂̾̀̍̽̅ͣ͋ͯ҉͚̺̬͙͚͈͙̫.͔̠̠̖̠̦͔̠̪̫̜̰͉̞͎͚̫̪͋ͧ̂̃̔̓́ͅ ̵̛͔͖̪̻̞̩̹̣̹̹̝ͩͧ͋̉ͪ̃̊͆̕͟ͅZ̛̰̗̩̞͎̲̙̩̮͈ͬ̄̈́͂͋̑̓ͮ͌̈́͐ͤͥͧ̀́̚͞͡ã̡̤̜͎̻̹̹̮͍͙͚̜͇̫̩̺̝̼̇̄ͥ̊͗̍̔̐ͥ͌̚͡l̸̨̥̻̲̹͓͕͎̳̻̲͖͉̹͖̞̳͉̩̙ͫͩ̏̔ͣͬͤ̚̕͟g̨̫̤̱͚̲̪̗̘̘͖͎̞͔̜̏̆͊̐ͪ̏̆ͩ̈̐͂ͥ́̚̚o̵̶͙͖͔̜̥͚͆̊̃̀̚͢ͅͅ.̷̧̟̬͉̙̏̒͆̂͜ ̸̴̥̦̠̭͔̫̯͍͇̯͓͙̞̐̉̃̀̊͌ͧͩ̑ͨͤ͊̉̐͒̇̐ͅ

͊͑ͤ̄ͣͦ̚̕͜҉̤̳̯͍̺̖̣̜̟̣͉ͅH̢̛̜̪͖̰ͥ͂̐̐͋̈ͥ̒͊̇̿̓͌̍͡͞ȩ̬̠̟̙̻͙̪̳̝͇̩͕̻̪͚̊̈ͩ̽ͩ͑̒͐͒ͪ͞ ̵͉̝̝̳̭̖͖̞̥̹̂̈́͋͊̓̓ͤ̏͂̿̀͡͞͝w̬̰͈̟̤̞̲͈ͣ̏̂̔̊ͯ͟h̼̯̬̱̹̬͙̻̭̮͚̳͕̞̘̤̑͋̂̀̚͜͟͡ͅơ̽ͨ̊̾ͮ͏̮͓̞̻̼͔̜͕̼̩̜̼̮̤̼̦͡͝ͅ ̨͎̼̻͈̣̫̟̥̗͉ͮͤͥ͗ͤ̓̐ͤ̽͛ͬ͢͝ͅW̶̸̺̹̼̗̲͔͖̭͉̹̙̜̳̪̣̻̏̂̓̅̅̓̋͗̇ͫ̎̔ͩ̍͂̓̏ͣ̚ͅaͥ̑̇̐͐ͦ̄̄̾҉̶̵̶̳̥̙̱̪͔̯͓̠̻͓͉̫ȉ̧̆̉ͧ̆ͬͧ͋ͣͨ҉̧̫͙̯̲̺͚̘͔͖̻̝̭ͅt͊̔ͥ̇̑̀ͮ͐͆͐ͦ̑͞҉̪̗̘͙̰̺̣͙̼̜̪̤̖̣͎̱̭ͅṡ̴͔̫͍͉͇͙̞͈̯̮ͭ̿ͫ̀̚ͅ ̵̷̧̼͖̹̆̅̓́̓͋͗̏̌̒̀͋̀͆͒̐͊̏́̚͜ͅB̸͇̣̦͕̯͇̮̠͓̩͔̞̜̞̠̣̻̹͔̎̔ͮ̈̌̅͗̎ͧ̿̊ͣͦ̎̄͑͢͡͠ē̓͊̆̃ͩ͐̑̑̋͏̨̡̲͔͈̙̙̞͙h̵̙̼̺̣͚̠̯̙͖̗̣͇͕͇͉̱ͧͬ̍̃͒ͦ͋̊͋́͘͟i͆̒ͮ̍̋̂̓̄̐̆͆̀҉̢͓̺̜͕͙̳̰̖̪͎̝̦̟͈͈̪̱̙͞n̢͈̦͓̯͖̙̺͓͔̬̱͎͇̰͑͆̐̅̔̍̽̓ͧ̇ͩ̊̀̇͆̉͡d̷̛͓̪̞̜̥̠̲̭̲̱̙͕̽ͨ͗̏ ̛̼̼͉͙̰̯̲̱̙̙̩̙̮͔̫̪̿̽̈́͐̌̎̀͆ͯ̿ͧ͑͑ͣ̏̿̀͟T̸̶̢̥͍̻̤̦̹̠͙̮̰̟̣̝̐̀̒͑̍ͯ̐̓͑̇ͬ̀̂̔̿̉͘͜h̵̷̞̦̤̘͓̍ͣ́̏ͦͭ̃ͯ͌̆̿̋̌̄̔̾ͮ̚e͛̏̏̈́ͬ̑̆ͮ̎͋̌͏̠͙͇̞̳̪͎͈̬̤̥̪͖̤͚̰͙͠ ̡̹̫͉̼̐͛͊̎ͭ͑͆ͤ͆̊̃̋̋͠W͇̲̟̫͉̪͔̼̐͐͑͒͜͡ȁ̵͔̭͚̣̻̯̟ͣ͑̾̓ͧ͆͛̓ͤ́͢͝l̩̺̯̯̣̬̪͈̯̱͉̻̞͔̺̯̋ͪͮͧ̆̈́ͧ̓͒̿ͯͧ̋̄̒ͬͫ͡ͅl̢̛͕͕̬̯̫͂͗̂̐͒̏ͩ͊ͫ̀̚͘͞.̧̍ͬ̒ͥ̄́͏̶͖̳̱̙̞̦̮̮͎ͅͅ

̵̝̣̫͓̲͚͚͙͙̙͗̽̊ͫ̑̅ͧ̽͒͊̿́̚Z̛̘͙͈͖͕͓͎̗͈̗̠̦̣̮͇͖͇̒̓̊̿̾ͧ̈͋͐̓́͐͢͡A̴̭̞̥̼̙̺̞̲̖̰̝̪͎̱̮̺̰͍̽ͭ͆ͤͤ̑̔̍̇͒͌̎͒͋̽͟͞L̛͉͚̳̦͇͓͔̝͙̫̩͐̓͐ͫ̂̽͛ͮͯ̊ͯ̑̀̚͡G̡̼̱̠̰̘͓̗͖͙͌̀ͪͬ̐ͬ̓ͨ͊͌͊̉͞O̡̫̪̳̲͖͓̣̭͍͎ͯ̓̾̂ͩ̋̿ͩͬ̅̊̽ͥ̐̄͛͆̿͛͝ͅ!͐͑̈́̊̐ͮ̉͛͏̛͏҉̘̝̘̦̬͖͚̱̯͙͘

Buying stuff from China or from overseas is not the end of the world. I am sick of having this discussion when its been had many, many times

Stop worrying so much about where your products were made, base your decisions on quality and cost instead.

Quoted from a forum I read:



I hate thinking about the actual day itself. So I always feel compelled to tell the story because in the end something incredible came of it, (incredible to me but probably not to anyone else). It's also a kind of selfish joy that I take in it, but it also speaks well of the folks I worked for. So here goes.

I was working as the deputy for a community of about 1100 people, very rural, very anti-social and anti-government. Lots of dope, mots of kids in trouble, a few suicides and 6 homicides in a 4 year period. Along with the drunk, stoned, tweeked and mentally ill were quite a few very quiet, hard working people that to my knowledge, never did anything harmful to another. Just kept their nose to the grindstone and tried not to get in the way of the weirdness. During that time I was also the fire chief for the small volunteer fire department that served the area.

So September 11, 2001 was the first day of a week long vacation. I had planned to sleep in, staying up late the night before playing EQ1 with my step daughter, foster daughter, son and wife. The step daughter was around 19 at the time and staying with my wife and I. I love her, but at that age I wasn't sure she would have been able to find her own ass with either hand and a flashlight. She just never got information right.

So it was a bit odd to be awakened early by my step daughter bursting in to our room, actually yelling and in tears, saying the US was under attack. She said she was watching CNN and one of the trade towers had been hit and also the Pentagon. I remember saying, "Bullshit, no one is attacking us, what the hell are you watching?!" The wife and I went to the living room and I was thinking that what ever horror flick she had found on TV would be easily explained, I would grumble and cuss and go back to bed.

I came round the corner just in time to see the second plane hit, live on CNN. I remember the announcer saying something to the effect that this could be no accident, not a second time. I grabbed the remote and started scrolling through news channels, I turned on my portable police radio. We watched for hours, horrified.

For the next five days we watched it all, 24 hours a day, keeping tabs. I couldn't watch when the crowds were cheering the police, firefighters, construction crews and volunteers. I knew those people were working straight through, barely sleeping. And I knew they were being cheered on and thanked for the effort, and it was hard to watch. I wanted to go and I couldn't. It had been a week and those that had been trapped were dying.

So then I had to go back to work at the little sub-station in Wolf Creek. Back to the daily grind in the meth fueled, self-invovled and angry little community. Back to being the town cop and living with my guard up and cooberating every tiny bit of information given to me. I drove to the sub-station and put on a pot of coffee, sat down and started logging my voice mail, checking emails, and calls waiting for service. Since I had been on vacation, I knew there would also be a slew of complaints about how my replacements had handled complaints.

I was at the desk for about 30 minutes when two guys walked in. I knew one of them, he lived about 1/4 mile from the sub but the older guy that came in with him was a new face. They were both smiles, which in itself is unusual, but generally means they wanted something from me. The familiar man introduced the older guy as his father, and they took seats after getting a cup of coffee.

The younger guy explained they had just come down from the father's house in Eugene, and that dad was going to spend a few days around town, helping the son out with building a fence and visiting family. They talked about changes that had taken place in town since there was now a full time officer assigned to it, and complimented me on the work. They talked about who was doing what to whom, and where they would look next for the big dope deal going down. They talked about who was going to buy the general store and what was going on at the Wolf Creek Inn and the coming Octoberfest.

It went on like that for about an hour. As the minutes ticked by I waited for the shoe to drop, waited for them to get to the point of the visit. See, for the years that I had been there, and all the years before that when I worked in other areas of the county, no one came to see the cop to just shoot the shit. It just never happened.

And then, after an hour or so, the younger one thanked me for the coffee and announced it was time to get busy with work. We all shook hands and they left. I had to get to calls, but the encounter stayed with me all day. It was wierd. They never said what they wanted.

I told the wife about it when I got home that night, noting that I was confused about it. She asked about the details of the conversation and I answered each question. After a while she said, "You know, they could just be letting you know that they do think about you and appreciate what you do here". She added that they too, had watched the towers go down, that they too felt the grief and mortality of it. She offered that they might have just wanted to subtly let me know that I was part of the community, and that they cared.

The very fucking idea of it couldn't sit with me. I wrestled with it. I couldn't reconcile what I knew of people and the way they had behaved in the past, with that. It stayed with me for weeks. In the end though, it turns out that my wife was right. I had to make an adjustment in the way I looked at the job and the folks I worked for. Looking back on it now, it was the best memory I have of that time and perhaps evern the best memory I have of being American.