I think this is a fantastic idea.

Ugh, nothing like a summer cold to put the buzzkill on enjoying the summer weather. I've been home the past three days. Luckily my jobshare partner, just back from a week's vacation, was able and willing to fill in for me so I could languish at home, surrounded by piles of used kleenex, clutching the remote, and generally feeling pathetic. I'm actually feeling a bit worse today (and definitely worse in the afternoons) but I've resolved to tough it out at work tomorrow and Friday. Lord help me.

I'm stoked for the Olympics to start. I love watching gymnastics and swimming, but most of all I enjoy the stories behind the athletes they show between events (this probably makes me the odd duck, I realize). Too bad I couldn't wait until next week to be sick, eh?

I keep voxbeth as my home page, and every time I turn on the computer I get a guilty twinge that I've not kept this as up to date as I ought. Ah well, that means I'm out and about living life and all that jazz...rather than glued to the pixellated temple that is my laptop. Anyhoo...

Life goes on, can you believe it's August already? Summer's almost on the downward slope, paving the way for fall, my favorite season. And fall means Vegas, baby! We're planning a trip to the City of Sin in early October, for our one-year anniversary.

There are a couple more weddings coming up, August sees one of Mike's cousins doing the deed down in Tacoma...and in September we'll visit Gig Harbor for Dana and Tom's nuptuals. It's strange...I've not been to a wedding in years, and this year alone I'll be attending five, not to mention the two I was invited to but couldn't attend. And then there's this other one we'll have to put in an appearance at, sometime next spring...details to follow as they become available. ;)

We've been on a John Hughes kick today, watching "Sixteen Candles" (automobeeeeel?) and "Pretty in Pink". Perhaps we ought to go for the Molly Ringwald trifecta and put in "Breakfast Club".

Reality television, oh how I loathe/love thee. Last Comic Standing has been fairly consistently entertaining, but last week we discovered Amish in the City. The name alone is intriguing enough...but the premise is even more so. Plop five Amish in the midst of rumspringa in a house in LA with six city kids and mix well.

I'm jonesing for a popsicle. I had an unfortunate toothbrush incident this morning and there's a gash on my lower gum just begging for icy cold refreshment. Note to self: Wake fully before brushing.

Good thing I just bought popsicles.

Last night was spectacular. Mike and I were lucky enough to be included in our friend Pat's Fourth of July tradition, which meant we spent the evening sitting on his mom's dock at Lake Stevens watching her neighbors try to outdo each other with thousands of dollars' worth of illegal fireworks. There's really nothing like being a dozen yards away from what, under normal circumstances, might comprise any small-town fireworks extravaganza finale; the gentle winds were such that the explosions were directly overhead but the wind carried the smoke and errant sparks out over the water. After the neighbors had spent all their shells, we lay on the beach next to the fire our host had built and warmed ourselves and watched the rest of the lake's inhabitants finish out their displays. I slept all the way home.

I had a whole long entry typed out, and due to some irresponsible clicking, it all disappeared, and I can't be arsed to put it all down again.

The high points:
Happy Fourth.
Crappy week.
Sick kitties, better now.
Brooke Pennock at Pogacha last night, amazing.

Bah.

I wrote this a few Junes ago, I don't think my dad ever got to read it though, so I thought I'd repost it in honor of Father's Day.

I think about the person my dad was when I was born...a 22 year old kid fresh out of college...you can see it in his face in my baby pictures, he was simultaneously terrified and overjoyed by his new daughter. My mother's mother did not particularly like her new son-in-law (I believe no man would have been good enough for her daughter), and I know it hurt and angered him. Many years later, I think it was my mother's leukemia and my father's ceaseless devotion to her care that finally won grandma over. But in the intervening years, he had to put up with her thinly-veiled barbs and insults. I remember the story, oft told, of four year old Beth being scolded by daddy for some trivial offense at a family gathering, and when he told me to "Come here" I ran cowering to grandma's arms wailing "Daddy daddy don't hit me don't hit me." (edit: I talked to him on the phone after posting this, and basically rehashed the high points of this little tribute...he refreshed my shoddy memory...apparently the line was "Daddy daddy don't hit me anymore. Christ.) I cannot remember my father ever hitting me. I don't know what prompted me to say that, but I know it set him back a few years in grandma's eyes. Poor dad.

My father has always been squeamish about all manner of "women things" and tends to embarrass very easily if any sort of sexual, bodily function, or similar topic is brought up. Living in a house with three women has put him on the disadvantage in this area. So much so that we have coined the term "The Look" to describe the expression of pure mortification that comes over his face with the barest mention of any of the above. My sister and I would dissolve into fits of giggles after I would say something like "Hey, dad...hemorrhoid cream." The Look. So wonderful. Hours of amusement, and he never seems to get mad at us teasing him. Watching any movie with a sex scene is always hilarious. Rather than watching the nookie on the screen, we are all peeking at dad, watching him slide down in his chair, his face dissolving into The Look. Heh.

Dad's mechanical tinkering sometimes utilizes Murphy's Law to the fullest extent. But in all endeavours, he tries. His intentions are so good, you just have to love him for it. He has an incredibly corny sense of humour, and loves to get backrubs. He always tells me he loves me. And shows it, too.

Dad has taught me a lot in my 31 years, but when it comes right down to it the three most important things he has taught me are these:

1. Dad has shown me how to love a spouse. He loves my mother to distraction, above all else (even my sister and me). I think he would do just about anything to avoid hurting her. He gives her cards, beautiful meaningful cards I'm sure he spends quite a bit of time finding, on all special occasions. He signs every one, Love, Michael....p.s. love.
2. Dad has taught me how to love a child, unconditionally and without reservation. He's shown me how important it is to let your child know she's loved, even when she is feeling or acting unloveable. I have never for one moment doubted the love of my father.
3. He has shown by example what it is to be a man of honor in all aspects of life. This includes working hard, providing for your family, being honest and truthful in all you do and say, doing the "right thing" even if it's difficult for you, loving God, loving your family...he's just such a good person.

So, happy father's day, daddy. I love you very much.

I saw a van the other day, carrying a load of tropical plants that you can apparently rent to enhance the decor of your home or office, and had to laugh at the name painted on the side of the van. Rentokil is apparently the parent company of the distributor. Rent to kill...now that's a plant service I can get behind 100%. I kill most of the ones I buy, anyway.