One of my favorite toolbars is StumpleUpon. I love it. Here are a few quick links to things I found interesting while using it.
Message to my friend, Paul. Notice the purple text. That just may link to something, wanker.
I'm wondering if somebody legitimately thinks that Americans think this way. Too funny.
Now people are going to think I'm a dork, but I look at this blog every now and then. The food looks yummy, and the pictures always seem to come out perfect.
The power of Photoshop.
An amazing picture.
These pictures of prepping the shuttle for launch are amazing. Don't drop it!!!!
Think you have insurmountable troubles in your life? Check out the pale blue dot to put things in perspective. It will leave you with more questions than answers.
Never heard of StumbleUpon?
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Her First Broken Arm
When you have children, you know they are going to get hurt sooner or later regardless of your best efforts to keep them from harm. On her way to the bus stop, Jenna broke her arm. How she fell is still a mystery that may never be solved. Did she have a Jenna moment (read klutz)? Did she hit an invisible line? I didn't think this was possible until I was IM'ing a co-worker. When I mentioned the invisible line theory, he meekly replied, "I hit one of those as a kid with the same result."
Regardless of how she did it, the result was the same. Down she went. There were some parents at the bus stop who rushed to her aid. Jenna was in tears. She had, after all, torn her favorite pair of capris!! The growing bump on her arm was of no significance to her. There were more important worries to concentrate on. Blood. A small amount of it was oozing out of the scrape on her knee. A boy raced home to get her a life saving band-aid. Once applied, and all traces of the red substance were wiped away, all was good in life.
When she got to the school she went straight to the nurse's station. She did what any school nurse would do that is of a century in age. She sprung into action (as fast as an old stalwart like herself could). She made a sling out of bandage wrapping, and provided copious amounts of tender loving care. Dad was called to medi-vac her out. I brought along my co-pilot, Ainsley, who already had an appointment with the doc.
After trips down many halls, covering many floors, we received the diagnosis. A fractured arm. The doctor said we had to go see an orthopedic surgeon. That word, surgeon, registered instantly on the face of my eight year old. The doctor, immediately knowing her error, tried to stifle the surely coming cries of a little girl. "You don't need surgery, honey. That's just what they call them." Crisis adverted.
Why can't this doctor apply a cast? That is a rant for later.
The doctor provided me with a list of five orthopedic surgeons, none of which were covered by my insurance. Although the urge to go off on a rant is almost unbeatable, I will save that for later, too.
After a quick lunch, it was off to another doctor in another town to get a cast put on. Unfortunately, the break needed to be set. With big eyes, Jenna asked, "What does that mean." Well, the doctor said, it means I can take you to surgery (there's that word again) and put you to sleep and set it, or I can do it right here after I make your arm numb. After satisfactorily answering Jenna's questions, she decided to do it right there. She was a trooper, and did not cry. That is a miracle, because Jenna can be a wee bit of a drama queen.
Sir Zipadelli was the first to sign her cast, with Dad second. By the end of the night, her new pink cast (is there any other color for an eight year old girl) was covered with signatures.
Here's the proud owner of that cast for the next six weeks.
May it be the worst injury she ever endures.
Regardless of how she did it, the result was the same. Down she went. There were some parents at the bus stop who rushed to her aid. Jenna was in tears. She had, after all, torn her favorite pair of capris!! The growing bump on her arm was of no significance to her. There were more important worries to concentrate on. Blood. A small amount of it was oozing out of the scrape on her knee. A boy raced home to get her a life saving band-aid. Once applied, and all traces of the red substance were wiped away, all was good in life.
When she got to the school she went straight to the nurse's station. She did what any school nurse would do that is of a century in age. She sprung into action (as fast as an old stalwart like herself could). She made a sling out of bandage wrapping, and provided copious amounts of tender loving care. Dad was called to medi-vac her out. I brought along my co-pilot, Ainsley, who already had an appointment with the doc.
After trips down many halls, covering many floors, we received the diagnosis. A fractured arm. The doctor said we had to go see an orthopedic surgeon. That word, surgeon, registered instantly on the face of my eight year old. The doctor, immediately knowing her error, tried to stifle the surely coming cries of a little girl. "You don't need surgery, honey. That's just what they call them." Crisis adverted.
Why can't this doctor apply a cast? That is a rant for later.
The doctor provided me with a list of five orthopedic surgeons, none of which were covered by my insurance. Although the urge to go off on a rant is almost unbeatable, I will save that for later, too.
After a quick lunch, it was off to another doctor in another town to get a cast put on. Unfortunately, the break needed to be set. With big eyes, Jenna asked, "What does that mean." Well, the doctor said, it means I can take you to surgery (there's that word again) and put you to sleep and set it, or I can do it right here after I make your arm numb. After satisfactorily answering Jenna's questions, she decided to do it right there. She was a trooper, and did not cry. That is a miracle, because Jenna can be a wee bit of a drama queen.
Sir Zipadelli was the first to sign her cast, with Dad second. By the end of the night, her new pink cast (is there any other color for an eight year old girl) was covered with signatures.
Here's the proud owner of that cast for the next six weeks.
May it be the worst injury she ever endures.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
She Is Going To Kill Me
She didn't kill me, but she did strongly encourage me to remove this video that shows her snoring loudly. Very loudly.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Need Wood
We decided to have a fire while my brother and sister-in-law were here. The tree in the background was dead, so I decided to use some of it for the fire. I'm sure my neighbors are proud of me! No worries. I took it out the next day and threw it in the tree line behind us. Unfortunately, the chair I was sitting in suffered a similar fate. While sitting in it, it broke. Rumor has it that it said, "Get off me you fat bastard" before it gave way.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
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