My fear of clowns is not unique. (Don't paint an emotion on your face. Don't paint a big smiling face over your sour one. You're not tricking me!), but I've also always been somewhat afraid of balloons. Not in the 'jump-out-of-the-closet-like-Freddy Krueger' way, but in the 'that-stupid-taut-piece-of-plastic-is-about-to-pop' way. Without fail, people make fun of me everytime I tell them I'm afraid of balloons, but I ask you this, aren't they always just about to pop? Isn't that the nature of a balloon?
No wonder I never enjoyed the circus. (Recently Jen and I drove by a Big Top for Circus Vargas and I couldn't help but shout, "The animal-abusingest place on earth!"
I recently read that Shaquile O'Neal has both his nipples pierced. For some reason that freaks me out. Maybe it's because he's 7'1, 370 pounds...it just seems like I could grab a hold and swing around like a gymnast on the rings. Then again, some thoughts are better left unsaid.
As the Big Lebowski says, life's full of "strikes and gutters."
My office is moving from downtown San Diego to Carlsbad. My commute will jump from less than 15 minutes to almost an hour. Even the name of the city has the word "bad" in it. I couldn't be less excited about the drive. Not sure what road this takes me on...
I have a big anatomy final on Saturday for my massage/bodywork class. I stayed up late studying the origin, insertion and action of many of the muscles. Go ahead quiz me...the origin of the frontalis? That's the Galea Aponeurotica of course. The body is pretty damned interesting (and complex). Then I woke up early to watch the US lose to Germany 1-0 is a great game. Who would've thought I'd alter my sleeping habits to watch soccer.
Change is inevitable, I suppose...
When I was taking a psychology class during college, we were to research one person to write a series of psych papers about. Essentially, we studied different approaches to psychology (Psychotherapy, Phenomenological, Client-Centered, etc.) and relate them to the person we chose. We had to chose someone that there was literature on (at least one book) and didn't have a severe personality disorder (no multiple personality folks).
I was amazed at who people chose. I chose Bob Marley -- it was a great decision and extremely interesting for me. Three (yes three) people in my class of 25 chose Drew Barrymore (this was in 1993, before she married a lunatic like Tom Green) and two chose Princess Diana. With the history of humankind to chose from I was always surprised that Drew Barrymore made the list.
I'm sure people said the same thing about my choice...
Who would you choose?
Yesterday was an emotional day, not necessarily sad, but emotional. Everyone's seems to be doing well.
On a different note, I did something un-American today...I got up at 5am to watch soccer. Of course, it was to watch the US team (who were trounced by Poland 3-1) so I'm not all bad. And, shockingly, the US advances to the second round and plays Mexico on Sunday night/Monday morning. Gooooaaaaalllllll.
My grandma passed away peacefully early this morning.
When I saw Grandpa Caleb he said, "The best part of me has gone off to heaven."
My grandma was tough as nails and knew life was a struggle...but that didn't stop her from truly loving and sharing. She was a benevolent matriarch and oozed empathy. She volunteered at Hospice and was a social worker. A defender of those who didn't always defend themselves.
When she found out that her weekly shots cost $500 per shot she said, "That money can be used to give health care to child." It seemed silly to spend so much on an 86 year-old, I guess.
She was full of grace but not afraid to unclog a sink. She was a strong, strong woman and fought for equality unyieldingly.
Her strong will is what kept her alive during chemotherapy for the Leukemia that had made a home in her body and her strong will is what let her slip away easily and without suffering or fuss.
Have a safe journey grandma. Thank you for the lessons you taught me.
And I apologize that your picture has to be above this muscle-bound freak in my journal, although I don't think you'd mind much.
After my friend Ollie sent me this article about a steroid freak, I can't get this guy's image out of my head. Like watching 'Natural Born Killers' or going to a freak show -- it just kind of sticks in the corner of your mind unable to find the right place to file it in your brain. Undigestable.
Here he is flexing and getting arrested for...ummm...maybe steroids?
Why does "cowboy" sound so cool, but "cowman" sound so lame?