The subject was: Howard said that Gary licks a lot of ass so that might be it.
Hmm. Enough to make me read on. it got better- after the bogus Z card Chinese You TV pitch, the SPAM continued with:
Ronnie said that Brent was drunk that night down in Tampa but Brent said it was Thursday night and he hadn't started drinking yet. Howard got Eric on the phone and told him that people really don't want to hear him roasted. He was saying that a woman asked him to take him up to his office to show him around and he ended up taking her back and banged her on his desk. He's heard that Gilbert is miserable about having the kid and getting married now. Howard didn't even know the guy had anything like that going on at home. JD came in a minute later and said that he thinks Eric is an ungrateful douche bag and he would punch him in the face if he had the chance. 6:00am Eric The Midget Still Wants To Be Roasted. Howard said they are looking for their first ever Miss Black Howard Stern. 7:10am More Rubdowns.
I can hardly wait to check tomorrow's junk mailbox.
I celebrate myself. And not in a selfish, stuck up way, but in a way that says we should be glad we're alive and have such good friends to celebrate life with. Besides who else knows the perfect thing to do on my birthday, except me? This is what my friends did with me last weekend.
Sorry, have not had time to put all the pictures in order. Think of it like a puzzle. then ask yourself, why didn't I go to this and whatever is she going to come up next year?
I'm writing a social/personal essay that started when I heard "African American" as a 7 syllable word for black and wondered how I, a white girl from NY could get 6 more syllables, and if Charlize Theron is from South Africa, isn't she African American, too? Because she is as white as my ass, except when she is spray tan orange, so are we talking nationality or skin color? I'd like to hear what you think. BTW I'll have real sources and real truthiness in the essay as well, but mostly it's a he said, she said, I think kind of thing- so don't give me the hate, my people.
Not sure why my links and pix didn't load- some new thing with LJ hating Mac, I fear... but when I right click on the boxed ? symbol I go straight to the video and photo. Can anyone else/ This is where the chat was happening a day later.
We watched with disbelief as Prince stepped onstage to the music of Queen, (King, princess, anyone?) wearing an Aunt Jemina headwrap. Someone called out, “It’s okay, he just got done cleaning his house!” Someone else added, “I think he still has his curlers in.” It was raining, maybe it was a backwards do-rag. Maybe he meant to wear it with his blue suit and yellow shirt.
We liked how he kept changing guitars, wondered about the effect of rain on all those electrical instruments and then figured if Prince had not been able to come up with a way to make sexy girls hold parasols or beach umbrellas over his “do” formerly known as as hair, then who were we to be concerned?
By the time the symbol of his former self emerged in guitar form, we were ready for Prince to reveal himself more than in 1999 and funny thing was, it took a sheet to do it. In a room of 40-somethings, we all knew what we were looking at- a shadow scene from any of the Austin Powers movies. Had Prince called in Mike Myers to choreograph? Who could forget Mini-Me and Austin behind the screen getting their henchmen physical in Goldmember? Apples never looked as unappetizing. Of course, there was the tent shadow scene from Austin Powers 2, Man of Mystery. All we were missing was Felicity and her bag of tricks. We brayed with laughter as Prince maneuvered his guitar into a phallic symbol any man would be proud to play, then giggled to think what Fox network would say about this- how Janet Nipplegate Jackson would be forgotten in the literal shadow of Prince’s symbolic Johnson.
Or was it merely our beer tweaked minds- turning a musical display, a stage performance into something else? It certainly took the focus off the game and let our two warring Midwestern teams cheer together for the first time that night and unlike 2/3 of the commercials, Prince amused us all, especially when the sheet dropped and he was laughing and grinning broader than any of the spectators. We love that little man from Minneso-ter.
My favorite roadside Jesus Freak is back. I’m glad. I thought maybe the skinny black man had given up on Lawrenceville, hopped a missionary plane to warmer parts, but nope, he’s standing on the side of Hwy 316 near the evil WalMart sporting some fancy new colored chalk on his demon exorcising board. Today he’s advising us to “Repent of Idols.” Which I took as a universal nod telling me it was okay to write about what was bugging me… those stupid “bloopers” on American Idol. Do the producers really think that’s what we want to see? Do they know how rare another William Hung will be after all these seasons of reality TV?
American viewers are like cockroaches or capuchin apes--we learn to adapt to the environment. If you give us a few seasons of American Idol, we’ll begin to understand how to get on the blooper reel with our phony accents, makeup and costumes. We’ll make a sad story sadder with a few tears and a pathetically hopeful outlook on life. Americans love underdogs, we’ll be a shoe-in for the votes. Eventually we’ll understand this show isn’t about who can sing the best, or who deserves a record contract though we’ll argue the merits of one person’s style over another, critique their song choice and pretend that our call in vote really mattered.
Ok. I get the whole drag it out mentality of broadcast TV, the importance of ratings and commercial sponsors, soundbites, facetime and more Paula. But, please, please, give the public some credit. Stop the bad edits and the staging. Show us the people that almost made it, not the ones who never should have shown up in the first place. My stomach starts to ache for the disillusioned. Do they really not understand that they suck? How can they not know? And the people who encourage them? They should be slapped. Listen, I think there is a place for bad karaoke, and that’s in a bar with lots of alcohol, or at my house after even more alcohol, but even when drunk, I think most of us know who can sing and who can’t and if you can’t carry a tune, but are having fun and laughing at yourself, that’s cool—just don’t make me watch you on national TV when I’m sadly sober.
I’m tired of you AI. What would be so wrong if you were honest in your selection process? What would be so wrong if the pre-auditions were handled by genuinely talented “agents” prior to the cattle calls? What would be so wrong to LIMIT the entrants? I for one would rather see a hundred semi-talented people in an audition room than the thousands who tramp through public arenas for a week prior to the 3 auditions you make them go through ( no wonder they lose their jobs). Yes, you peak my interest with the snippet of a pretty girl with a big voice who may appear for 20 seconds on February 6, but why do I have to sit through hours of obvious rejects parading through my living room? Show me the great talents that were passed up, because their story wasn’t good enough- not the losers that I’m already trying to avoid in real life. Show me my America is made of creative, intelligent people, not freaks. Save the shitty performances for America’s Funniest Videos- another riproaring knee-slapping salute to stupidity and fame mongers.
As for me, until the final Idols are selected, I’m going back to the movies, back to commercial free entertainment that I know is fiction, that I understand was staged and rehearsed and edited for my viewing pleasure.
Simon Cowell got it right last night when he questioned the room with his typical hands in the air gesture and this question: “What are we doing here, people?”
I am a stubborn woman- and usually won't give up until I have conquered a problem.. like the month long puzzle I finished last week, even though 3 pieces were missing. So, after much trouble I finally am able to share this small tidbit with the world-- watch out there will be more. Paste this one in your browser:
My 8 year old daughter is singing along with a Christmas CD: Silent night, holy night All is calm, all is bright Round yon Virgin Mother and Child Holy Infant so tender and mild...
She starts laughing and says, "That's funny. Tender and mild, like he's food or something. Are they going to eat him?"
And because we like rocking tradition- we're going to be eating our Christmas chow at Medieval Times, because nothing says Happy Bday Jesus like knights on horseback and fair maidens. Oh and no dishes to wash.
Had a bad day with a loved one? need to make nice nice with the co-worker? Thinking maybe your needs weren't met at a recent gathering? Still obsessing over the parking spot that was stolen out from under you? Try Mark's apology generator and bitch letters. They're easy to use and say it a heck of alot better than Hallmark.
A friend who I used to be closer with until we tried to write a screenplay together, asked me to go to an author lecture/signing with her. I accepted, thinking it would be nice to reconnect, to see if there was a salvageable friendship. To see how she was handling life as a mother of a 2 year old. The night started all wrong for her, after a few frenzied phone calls, a husband who was late, traffic that was forgotten, she actually yelled to me into the phone in front of the kid, “Just go without me, Jesus, I can’t have a fucking life anymore.” As impatient as I am and usually quite melodramatic- ask my husband- I was surprisingly fine with this. After all this was her choice. I was trying to be amiable, trying to not be the one with the problem. We got to the place an hour late- not a surprise- took our seats and I enjoyed an hour of Turow looking right at me and nodding. We spoke to him afterward, got books signed and had our pictures taken with him. When he stood up behind the table I commented on his height, putting my arm around him and saying, “Should I be short too?” I bent my knees so we’d be the same size, (I’m not that tall at 5’8 and had on 2 inch heels.) He squeezed my shoulders and laughed. He’s great. I’m sending him the picture today.
The friend and I went off to a brewpub to chat. We spoke about life in general, about Christmas purchases, about being socially oblivious- she and her husband aren’t part of my newer inner group of friends- she didn’t know some of the “scoop” and I have the journalist gene. I thought all was swell, I felt good about moving past our past- had even made exception and invited her to a “closed” party. The next day I sent her this email:
-----Original Message----- From: Linda Sent: Tuesday, November 21, 2006 10:17 AM To: Friend Subject: Since we were talking about this
A place I read about techo stuff had this article about TVS http://www.hdtvsolutions.com/big_picture_flatscreens.htm also, if cost is a factor for you and you are going to continue to use your existing entertainment center, you may want to consider only buying a large LCD monitor, not a TV set. You would use your stereo components and your cable box for the mechanics. And save hundreds. just a thought.
HER REPLY
11/21/06 10:47 AM, "M" < > wrote: Definitely don't have a problem saving money on this...thanks for the advice. See, I'm not so socially oblivious that I know if you put an idea in Linda's head, it twirls around in there and she comes up with ideas and tries to solve your problems in a most efficient way! ;D (I mean that in the best way, it's cute - and what makes you, you!) I will forward this to the computer guru man in whom I place my trust (on this subject only...and sometimes, with trepidation)
Then I asked a few days later for the me and Scott Turow picture- no hurry, just when they get a chance- it comes, almost immediately from the husband.
I send this:
-----Original Message----- From: Linda Sandes Sent: Friday, November 24, 2006 6:05 AM To: friendSubject: Re: Since we were talking about this
Thanks for having ****send the picture.
Yeah, yeah, I am a solver. Unfortunately, I always think things are much simpler than they are, that everything is repairable and worthy and that nothing is unobtainable or should take forever. I am a handyman’s worst nightmare. Michael and I have a deal where he says, “I don’t want you to fix this, just hear me out.” I usually end up with a bloody tongue.
Hope your Thanksgiving was calm and turkey filled. Back to the grindstone today. A few end of the year contests caught my eye, and my writing pal Lisa and I are challenging each other with monthly submissions- though I warned her not many replies or reads will happen during the holidays. I did get one hit this month from an editor I met in Decatur, so who knows? Linda
HER REPLY
On 11/24/06 6:59 PM, "friend < > wrote:
Wow. Talk about self-awareness! You should teach seminars! But it's good to know who you are, that's a scary place to enter...truth! I was thinking about some of what we talked about, too - and thinking it must be God's way of forcing us to be tolerant b/c as annoying as some people are to us, we may be to them. (How many people could actually admit that?) - remember that insecure people have to make themselves feel better by bragging about what they have. Yes, it's annoying, but it's also a huge character flaw and one you should be glad you don't have. I think everyone's had those kinds of moments...of course,****never has moments like that with me - I'm perfect...subdued, sweet, forgiving...why, I'm the perfect wife and mother. Just like you. Uh-huh. Good luck on your submissions...and kudos for always working so hard and never giving up! ;D
Then I follow that with this:
-----Original Message----- From: Linda Sands Sent: Saturday, November 25, 2006 8:52 AM To: Friend Subject: Re: Since we were talking about this
I also know I am an impatient, unsympathetic big mouth, a gossip who’s incredibly vain and can’t keep a secret forever. I hate liars and cheaters, though I have cheated on sudoku and the NYT crossword. I am a taker, not a giver, a person who hates being proven wrong and can hardly admit it. I am, of course, bothered by other people who share my shortcomings as it makes them all the more apparent to me and I am a competitive Faith Hill-like brat. God. I am so self aware, even I like myself. I respect someone who can stand there in her underwear and say, this is me. God loves me as flawed and as stained as I am. I became this and am doing my best with the good stuff I own, trying my hardest to beat down the bad, mulch it with kindness and humor, hoping for a sunny Spring, for a patch of land to call my own.
Yes, you are perfect. See, this is why I missed your company— you’re smart, creative, have a wonderful sense of humor, and you tolerate me. The perfect friend. Gotta finish the wine haikus and fax the short story contract. Need to update my website and post a new blog— but hey- I got all the laundry done, and the hubby too. Priorities baby L
HER REPLY:
I think that first paragraph is your blog for today...! That was great, though now you've got me thinking I need to write my own list. Oh, it could take hours....and that wonderful sense of humor...yeah, you can cover up a lot with that. Like a shield.
Yeah, tolerance, baby. We all need more of it. I was thinking yesterday, geez, you could even find fault with Christ himself if you wanted to - "Did you see that smug look on his face when he walked across water? Who does he think he is - God or something?"
Later that day at a football party at a friend’s house after a few beers:
My best friend Karen’s 12 year old daughter is standing next to Friend’s husband. Me: Wow. Aren’t you all grown up? Look, She’s taller than you. And she’s 12! Crowd: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH Him: Yah, funny. He walks across the room where his wife is having another conversation, interrupts, tattles and points. (um, who’s 12?) He: Your friend is a c- “the c word.” Crowd: OOOHHH. Me: hahahahaha That’s right. I am. My 8 year old daughter: What is that word, Mommy? Me to other friends: Well, he’s off the invite list. They: You got that right. Friend and husband grab kid and run. They: Geez, I guess he’s kinda sensitive about his height. Man: How does he not know he’s short? Me: You’d think he’d have a least one good comeback. Hell, I have loads of things he could have picked on.
Later that night, unknown to me, this email is sent from friend- not husband:
11:27pm
Just wondering if that self-awareness pill you took has a side effect that shields you from realizing when you act like a...well, what ******said and I now agree with. Jesus, Linda. You compromise our friendship when you say things like that, you really do. Would Karen forgive you if you made fun of Will's eye? Of course, you would never do that because it would be totally uncouth and despicable.
The next morning after I read this, I IM Karen, who is always truthful with me- tells me when I am being pushy, a jerk, all those things real friends can say to each other and get over. I ask her and Will about the eye thing. Will says he wouldn’t get mad at me- in fact we have talked about this- he has a dying eye that is blue and partially closed. He can’t see out of it. He is a great pirate. He is tall. They laugh. They love me. They think I should apologize if I care about the friendship, if I want to be the bigger man. But really, he should be apologizing right back to me—for The C WORD!
So, I send him an apology.
From: Linda Sent: Sunday, November 26, 2006 1:15 PM To: friend’s husband Subject: Apparently you didn't read the newsflash
Just hours before the party yesterday, I admitted to your wife many of my shortcomings--big mouthed and unsympathetic on the top of the list. Obviously. I am sorry if I hurt your feelings. I had no idea you were so sensitive...
HIS REPLY: I didn’t need the newsflash to know that.
He forwards my note to her, but not his reply.
HER REPLY TO ME:
-----Original Message----- From: husband Sent: Sunday, November 26, 2006 2:22 PM To: friend Subject: FW: Apparently you didn't read the newsflash
Linda, this is how *****works: you insult him and he blows it off to "that's Linda for you." I pressed him for details and I'm the one who got pissed. There's joking around and there's humiliating. You've managed to master them both.
Years ago at the Turner's, I had to pull you aside and ask you to cut the comments about *****'s height. Knowing your shortcomings - and announcing them - doesn't preclude you from trying to overcome them. Thanks for the apology and the pink paper. You are wrong about one thing - I am not the perfect friend because I no longer tolerate unsympathetic and big-mouthed people.
MY REPLY Nothing. Because sometimes not saying a word says more. And I can’t help dwelling on the classy way Scott Turow handled my same short comment on Monday night. Wow.
Here's the photo of me making the famous author and attorney, Scott Turow laugh when I called him short, and then my face when a few days later I called another guy short and he called me a c**t.
Comments welcome, and your stories where something was blown out of proportion due to underlying issues. How did you handle it?
But I've been busy writing elsewhere. Just thinking about...
Things that are better dirty. a wok cast iron frying pans bio-wheel in fish tank love letters some movies
That there might be some true zen in what Ben the raft guide on the Nantahala said: "You can read water like you read a book, just look and it will tell you where to go."
Somebody at some time has picked up my lost to do list and wondered the same thing about me as I wondered about the woman whose list was left in the Kroger cart last week.
bread milk tampons birthday card onions
call Daddy
This is a notice my writer pal and I saw when we took the wrong door into a college building and ended up in the back of the kitchen, when all we wanted to do was meet C. Michael Curtis, who I still owe a printer.
If you have a knife in one hand, you must have a cutting glove on the other. Your safety is important to us. Love The Glove.
Is it wrong for me to open mail that comes to my address without my name on it? is it even worse to reply to it?
I dreamed of a man who had a large bush in his yard that he had named Solly Bushwhacker. the next night i dreamed of a flood, dog doo and a purple rabbit. In the morning ther was a dead rabbit on the lawn.
Halloween is perfect for those of us that need more than one life, but accept our limits.
I need 10 memorable movie scenes-- they could be action sequences, monologues, fist fights, bitch fests, speeches to an audience, the recitation of a great poem.. I already have a NEO and Trinity scene , the When Harry met Sallly orgasm scene, Are you feeling lucky punk from Dirty Harry. Give me some more. I need scenes that show a character in a debate or dilemna, an admission/confession and at least one great love scene.
If you can name the film, the actor who spoke the line, or better yet, if you can post or email me the scripted lines.. you will be a life saver, and I will definitely owe you one.
Send this on to your pals if nothing is .. oh, I just though of the Blair Witch snot running crying in fear scene-- that was great!
Lately, I've begun to believe that less is more. This isn't the starry-eyed belief I had in my twenties of leaving it all behind and going gypsy in Provence, thinking all I needed was a bar of soap and a bathing suit. This is a conscious choice--something my cleaning lady whole-heartedly agrees with. I guess somewhere along the way I've grown out of the "Let's buy cute little dust catchers to line the shelves of my office" phase into, "I don't need shelves." My decorating style has changed so much that my mother was surprised to see me put a modern kitchen with empty counters in a few months ago and tell her "It is finished. I like it like this." So it should be no surprise to the hubby that I tossed out three pieces of furniture in my son's room this weekend to condense all his stuff into one sleek unit. As much as I'm envious of my highschool pal back home whose mother has a barn to store her childhood furniture and memories, I get high off that feeling of "newness", bare space and emptiness, like the way you feel when you wake up- before you eat anything and all the choices are there. You can put crap into your clean, empty body- or fill it with fresh fruit and yogurt and grains. One will have you napping by noon, the other will have you running circles around your toddler. I want my rooms to be like that. Full of possibilities, not crap.
Honestly, I redecorate because it calms me. I subscribe to the altered adage: Change a room, change your life. I do it at night when I can't sleep. I have redesigned my sister's house six different ways, one including a huge add-on with a bar and pool table. I redecorate to avoid writing the novel some days. I redecorate so I never have to clean curtains-- just buy new and donate the old ones to Goodwill. I used to move more, so I got to play in new rooms all the time, now that we've been here 4 1/2 years, I'm getting bored, and there's only so much weeding and pruning I can stand. For the record we have made over every room in the house at least once, changed all the flooring, except in one bedroom and my office (next project) put in new doorknobs, flushers, faucets, outlets, switch plates, dimmer switches and fan blades. The people who lived here would never recognize this house. When we walked through there was a gym in the dining room and furniture, big dark furniture on every single wall. Now there is more wall, more white space, more usable square footage - and this is our smallest house ever.
I must admit, I don't throw everything out. Books are especially hard for me to cull. I may have to start re-selling on Amazon, like a friend does, because I am running out of bookcases. But I have a dream room with wall to wall bookcases and one of those rolling library ladders rests beside a high backed cordovan leather settee near a stacked stone fireplace. But books don't go bad, and no one ever accused a little old lady of being crazy for collecting signed first editions. So the books can stay. And before you think me a heartless mother, there's a large, labeled bin in the attic with school items that I add to once a month, and another bin of club, team and vacation t-shirts and a few pairs of cool blue jeans that I want to transform into college quilts. Sentimentality doesn't have to mean clutter.
On the decorating side, I beg my friends to let me help them move furniture, throw stuff out, reorganize. I have almost convinced my husband we need a second home, so I can stop changing this one. And because I plant the seed early, I have begun a stack in the attic of "things for the beach house," with the reasoning you can't buy the new item for the price you paid seven years ago, and frankly the hand-painted coffee table is much too cool to give away. It will be perfect in the cottage by the sea.
I can pitch almost anything without a pang of regret, except footwear. Shoes are my kryptonite. Today's shoe count is just over 100. Better than years ago when they were in the 200's, some never worn. Now they all get used, sometimes I'll change into three different pairs a day, and with the 15 year old across the street sharing my shoe size, it's not unusual for my shoes to go places without me.
My kids understand my rule for them: "If a new clothing item comes in, one has to go out." They enjoy being able to open and close their drawers with minimal effort. They make comments after visiting a friend's house that their room was messy, that there was stuff everywhere, and a few times, much to a mother's mortification( had she known they told), there were plates of dried food on the floor! Maybe we are too clutter-free for some folks. Maybe my husband's habit of washing the pots and pans before he serves the meal, is a bit over the top, but it seems to have instilled a respect for material possessions in our children who understand that less, when well-organized and clean can be more.
I have caught barf in my hands, told a sick snotty nosed kid with a bruised face she was beautiful and sat through tortuous hours of dance recitals all for love. This weekend I spent 3 ½ hours at a reggae concert because love usually requires sacrifice.
See the thing with reggae is you should be in the mood for it- if you know what I mean.
Picture yourself on the beach in Jamaica, spleef in one hand, rum in the other. Young Jamaican rubbing your feet. The sun is warm, the surf pounds the clean white sandy beach, the music starts and you can imagine nothing else more perfect.
But say you have been up since 4am, experiencing back and shoulder pain, of which the doctor has given you meds, of which you can’t take because you want to drink beer at a pool party later, and they make you tired. So you tough it out, get up and do household things, go to the pool party, get somewhat smashed, then change clothes and drive to the city hours early. You drink more beer and stare at faux Jamaicans--a few white ones, even, and wonder if you’re the oldest palest non dreadlocked one there. The concert starts with an opening band that pretty much sucks. They have a weird set, which like a Thomas Wolfe novel, goes on too long and has like three false endings, as if someone back stage is telling them—no, we’re not ready yet.
The only saving grace is that there is beer for sale in the theater, but you are so full now you can’t drink anymore beer, and the bathrooms seem really far away and god you’d give anything for a cup of coffee, but that would make everyone realize how old you really are.
And when the lights finally dim again after the set change and you realize you’ve been up 17 hours and could pretty much take a nap right now, you stand up to wake up and think, “Hey, these guys are pretty good.” You even recognize one or two songs from an old CD deep in your dresser drawer. And you stay standing and rocking and shouting and clapping because your spouse has memories with this band and it’s important to him and love is making sacrifices and those small pinch bruises you gave yourself to stay awake will fade in due time.
I think we should bring back the CB radio. How many times have you wanted to tell the guy in front of you that he’s driving like a moron? If you all had CB’s and your call number/name was on your license plate or car, you could. You could also warn those poor SOBs in the north bound lane about the sneaky cop with the radar gun under the overpass.
I used to love our CB. I’d sit in my Mom’s Chrysler and talk to truckers all night. My handle was “Jellybean.” CB radios were the chatroom of the seventies.
What if there were automated penalties built into the road?
Example:
You are driving in the HOV lane with your passengers, one of them says, “Hey, that lane is moving faster, let’s go over there.” The driver changes lanes –crossing the double white line to exit the HOV—cuts off two cars in the right hand lanes and never signals. Each of these moves is noted by the highly technologically advanced computer chips embedded in the highway. A signal is sent to the law enforcement agency and a fine and penalty is issued to the vehicle VIN number. By the time you get home, your bill is waiting.
Or, as soon as a you break a road rule, your car blows up.
Have you ever noticed how many cars are in America? In your town? There are always cars for sale, cars in driveways and streets, cars covered with canvases in garages?
We have too many cars.
What if:
There was a law that when you buy a new car you get paid to recycle your old car at a junk yard, if there is no buyer in 30 days.
There was a limit of 2 per household.
Only a certain number of models can be made by each manufacturer.Say 5. One sport, one truck, one multi-passenger, one luxury and one economy.
And they can only be black, white or silver. You want another color, bring it to a paint shop.
Driving was more expensive- not just high priced gas, but the cost of drivers licenses and registering your car.
People had to take on the road real time driving tests EVERY YEAR at their cost.
There was not only an annual emissions test but also a test for the inspection of your vehicle—working headlamps and doors and locks and gauges and brakes—your car fails, it’s pulled from the road.
There was a three strikes rule for bad drivers.
Large companies had employee shuttle buses to work.
KANSAS CITY, KS—With spring in full swing and millions of potential organ donors entering the peak season for boating, hiking, and drowning accidents, the nation's transplanters are predicting a bumper crop in the upcoming harvest, which is welcome news to ailing patients in dire need of organs across America's liver-, lung-, and heartlands.
Transplanters harvest a big organ from 1997's record-setting crop.
Having made it through another long winter on transplant waiting lists, Americans at risk of organ failure are looking forward to the start of summer, which traditionally provides the most ideal conditions for yielding ripe, tender, life-sustaining organs.
Early estimates from the United Organ Farmers Of America project a 12,000-ton yield from Ohio alone, the nation's Pancreas State, which leads the rest of the country in production of the digestive organ. Likewise, after a prolonged and crippling drought, the area of the nation's midsection nicknamed "America's Spleenbasket" appears poised to have a record season of alcohol-related deaths.
"All signs seem to indicate this will be a truly bountiful year for hearts and small intestines," said third-generation heart surgeon Dr. Thomas Menard, who presides over a five-acre hospital outside Lawrence, KS. "If these intermittent rain showers are sustained through the high-school prom and graduation months, we're likely to see a windfall of perennial car crashes."
"I've already got a large number of vegetables in the intensive-care unit that could be ready for harvesting in as little as two weeks," Menard added. "It's a really good yield this year."
In the Southeast, one of the nation's least productive regions in terms of organ yield, the hot summer months promise truckloads of hearty new organs.
"The recent heat wave here in Texas will really boost our already bursting reservoir," said Amarillo resident Edward Carey, a hepatitis C sufferer awaiting a new liver. "Usually we don't get too many livers in these parts, but with the high-school football preseason starting up, the number of vibrant young athletes dying of sunstroke should really turn our luck around."
A groundskeeper who fell under his riding mower provides one of the season's earliest sets of lungs.
"I plan to stock up on enough kidneys to last me through the winter," said Mandan, ND resident Grace Boylan, who suffers from lupus nephritis, an autoimmune disorder that causes antibodies to collect in the kidneys and cause inflammation.
"Sometimes you can find a kidney or two in October, or even November, but they're nowhere near as large, firm, and red as the summer variety," Boylan said.
Some ailing Americans, like David Braschi, a Los Angeles resident who suffers from urethral stricture disease, have been hoping for an abundant organ harvest for months. "It's been a long time since I've had a good bladder," Braschi said. "But if what I hear about seasonal spikes in gang violence is true, I should be able to get one I'm happy with by July."
Besides drought, many previous organ-harvests were also affected by disease and chemical contamination. Imported foreign organs are often found tainted with pesticides, particularly livers from Mexico and Central America.
Even in the organ-rich U.S., many lungs are contaminated with toxins such as tar, lead, hydrogen cyanide, and ammonia, and one out of eight livers tests positive for nickel and mercury deposits. Over the last decade, as much as one-third of the aggregate heart yield was rendered unusable by an atherosclerosis blight that permeated the organs with unsightly yellowish plaque.
"These days, you never can tell where you're getting your organs from," said Cleveland resident Howard Sullivan, whose body has rejected two transplanted hearts. "Apparently they're trying to develop organs from genetically modified and cloned pigs. In the future, they could even get them from stem cells."
Added Sullivan: "Maybe I'm just old-fashioned, but for me, there's no substitute for an organic, family-grown heart."
The big stuff is done. The worst part of the remod was having to eat out. I am dead serious. All that's left is decor. The black Z swivel stools should arrive tomorrow, the black fabric cordless roman shades should follow a few days later and I'm still looking for the replacement easy chair that fills the space on the back wall. There are 4 black hole-back rolling chairs for the round table- and those were the only things I had to paint. For the first time a room was done in this house without me getting my hands dirty. I felt like a cheater writing the checks, but I love how it came out, and my bargain deals.
I had to keep the blue that I loved. The first time I walked into this kitchen, it was white and green ivy wallpaper, plastic plants and clutter. What would they think of it now?
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curious
