Leslie Nielsen

I never knew his "Police Squad" work, before his passing. These clips make me feel like I really missed out.

R.I.P. Leslie Nielsen

Good night, Olivia. Good night, Rose.

Alaina Reed Hall passed away.

Here's the article.

I watched a ton of Sesame Street, as a kid. "Olivia," "Maria," "oscar," "Bob," "Mr. Hooper," and all the furry and feathered fictional characters kept this latchkey kid company and taught him a good deal.

Alaina Reed Hall, as "Olivia," was a part of that and so her voice and image are strongly tied to some of my fondest childhood memories.

Her transition from "Olivia" to "Rose" moved her from public television to the National Broadcast Corporation (or whatever "NBC" stands for) was surprising, but seemed pretty effortless. I liked the new show, "227."

Not much else to say. I liked the show. I liked "Rose."

I don't know anything about the actress, herself, but I still kinda liked her. So, I'm sorry to see her go.

Good night.

Ironic Buggin' Out

This won't give the best impression of us or our abode, but...

Just yesterday, I was in a chatroom telling some folks about a big-ass mutant cockroach I'd just smashed. We started talking about pests and I mentioned the poest control dynamite in our home.

I'm the one who takes care of any bug or potential bug in our home because my girlfriend gets the freakin' heeby jeebies. I added however, that in the rare instances that a lizard or something gets in, I'm the one who jumps on the table, holding my skirt out, while my girlfriend goes and grabs the little bugger and sets him free outside somewhere.*

Most are mildly amused by that fact, but a fact it is.

Well, fast-forward to today when I had some errands to run. I grabbed what I needed, jumped on my bicycle, and took off. I was gone for two or three hours, then returned, grabbing some McNasty** along the way. When I got home, I noticed something on the floor.

I looked down to see a dead, upside down lizard, with his guts spilling out while the smell of bug spray filled my nostrils. Yuck.

Helluva coincidence innit?*** Also hella gross.

Best I can figure, the pest control spray I put outside disoriented the lizard and, ironically, lead to him entering our place instead of deterring him. I also gather that, I was so anxious to leave that I didn't notice an upside-down lizard in front of the so I promptly, and quite accidentally, stomped the shit out of it.

Over the next couple of minutes, I sports one of those Peanuts-style gross-out faces, as I grabbed a broom n whatnot to kick the poor lil bastard outdoors. Blech.

Just thought I'd share. Have a great weekend.



* - Whenever possible we opt to eject the creature instead of smooshing it. Ain't that nice?
** - Otherwise known as McDonald's.
*** - It's funny that spell-check pointed out "freakin'" and "heeby jeebies," but ignored "helluva" and "innit."

Dreams of Death

WEST3MAN: the other night, i dreamed i died.
WEST3MAN: not the first time, but this one was particularly scary.
TNunRoy: you know
TNunRoy: i donno why, but dreaming one has died somehow doesn't seem as scarey as dreaming one is Dying/in a Deadly situation . .
TNunRoy: i mean, if yer dead, what's done is done . .
TNunRoy: right AnotherChatter?
WEST3MAN: i've never dreamed that i was already dead.
AnotherChatter: yeah
WEST3MAN: i have dreamt of my death, though.
TNunRoy: ah, i see
AnotherChatter: there are a lot of thngs worse than dying in dreams
WEST3MAN: shitty scary
TNunRoy: AC: like dreaming of being chased by clowns?
TNunRoy: West; So how did you dream of your death this time which was particularly unsettling?
AnotherChatter: troy: exactly
WEST3MAN: i dreamt that, probably due to existing real-life ailments, i experienced spontaneous paralysis,
WEST3MAN: while sitting in a chair in a room my gf had just left.
TNunRoy: West; ahhhh
TNunRoy: i see
WEST3MAN: so i couldn't call out to her, as my arms shook, then i was unable to move
WEST3MAN: and slowly fell out of the chair, KNOWING that i was dying.
WEST3MAN: then resigning myself to that fact and "thinking" my last words.
WEST3MAN: and then dying.
AnotherChatter: so, what were your last words?
TNunRoy: bah
TNunRoy: you ask the obvious question
TNunRoy: the more important question is . .
TNunRoy: what was your girlfriend doing so as that she wasn't there for you?
WEST3MAN: she'd left the room.
TLJohnson0: you're going to have to break up with her, she obviously is not concerned about your well-being . . . dreams don't lie!
WEST3MAN: i couldn't see or hear her.
TNunRoy: West: and you had no impression of why she left? it was just the natural course of things for her to get up and go?
WEST3MAN: yes
WEST3MAN: she left before my symptoms started.
TNunRoy: i think what this means . . deep deep down . . . at the very Root of things is . .
WEST3MAN: why is this of-interest?
TNunRoy: you feel she runs the A/C too much and leaves you frozen
WEST3MAN: A.M.: My last words were telling her that I loved her (by thought).
WEST3MAN: ahh
WEST3MAN: sound reasoning, as always
WEST3MAN: you and TLJ should be couples counselors
WEST3MAN: better yet, you should be a couple!
TLJohnson0: "stop . . . touching . . the damn . . .thermosta. . . ."
TNunRoy: yes, we play Good Counselor/Bad Councelor
TLJohnson0: I don't remember my dreams too often any more . . but some of them are really strange
AnotherChatter: hmmm
WEST3MAN: i think i'm gonna put this in my blog
WEST3MAN: do you guys mind if i use your names?
TNunRoy: West: nah -- not really
AnotherChatter: west: your last thoughts before dying after you got abandoned is "i love you"?
WEST3MAN: i'll assume the rest of you aren't willing. i'll be sure to change the names.
WEST3MAN: A.M. dunno if you're joking or not, but i wasn't abandoned.

The Passing Ritual

Okay. Three funerals in three weeks is enough.

One thing I think I've gained from the experiences, though, is a greater appreciation for practical value of the ritual. While I didn't attend any wakes, I did attend two of the funerals and three of the "repasts"*.

Wakes are almost completely foreign, to me. I don't think I've ever experienced one and I never plan to. Not that anyone's ever excited about attending a wake, but the funeral experience -and its distance from the deceased- seems much more emotionally useful. Maybe I just don't get the true purpose of a wake, though.

I've attended my share of funerals. Even when I didn't know the deceased, the aura of sadness and loss are often enough to make my throat swell and my eyes water a little. Anyone who hadn't had the chance to openly mourn the loved-one's passing can get that extra emotional "push" - the kind that helps you have a "good cry." There are people are to lean on, hold onto, speak for and about the dead, and there's a pastor to slowly bring us back down from the emotional apex of the event. The internment is that last opportunity to say good-bye.

After all that, the repast and procession is like a big, collective hug. A time that may or may not involve much reflection on the life of the deceased, but that can almost be a celebration of life, family, and loved-ones. Seeing those who can't or don't visit often makes us feel good. Eating together makes us feel good. Seeing how our lives are connected and how we affect each other makes us feel good.

It can be hard. In some cases, unfortunately, it can be full of drama. It may even seem to be too much, at times, but I think it helps us all heal from the pain of another's death and grow closer to the living.

I don't think I ever truly "got it," before. Maybe I still don't, now, but I think I'm closer.




* - Apparently, this term has different meanings among different people. I'm generally talking about the after-funeral gathering and consumption of food.

A Looming Heirloom

It's sadly ironic that a person can suffer abuse, recognize that it was a bad thing, then embody the traits of the abuser, and eventually become one. This post is about my cousin.

Apparently, the same thing happens on a smaller scale. I've been absent recently to attend some funerals (yes, "some"). At one of those funerals, a couple of attendees displayed behavior so abhorrent that I'm embarrassed to full detail it, at this time. I mention it, though, because one young attendee's behavior was a direct response to that of an older attendee.

They were young, female cousin and my father.

I imagine she was responding not only to what he did, at that time, but what he's done over the years. The problem, though, was that her response to his behavior was so loudly inappropriate that all eyes were on her and almost no one knew what my father had done.

Despite the fact that she and I aren't close and barely recognize each other, I stepped to her when she was alone (except for her best friend, who'd witnessed the whole thing, anyway). We'd just finished eating, after the funeral, and people were preparing to go their separate ways.

I began, "So, how old are you, now?"

"I'll be 23 in a month or so."

"Ahh. Well, I know it's about 23 years too late for me to be trying to offer up some "cousinly" advice, but I did want to mention something to you. Please don't let the traits you dislike in others upset you so much that you adopt them and become the person you hate so much. I wouldn't want him to have that affect on you."

She responded to this pretty well, at first, but it was clear by her later comments that more than one person had whispered in her ear about the day's events... and she didn't appreciate it.

I'd already apologized to my cousin and several others for my father's behavior (which I'm sure would've pissed him off to NO END if he'd heard me do so), but I still felt the need to tell her, "Now, I'm not saying he was right - by ANY stretch of the imagination. Please know that. It's just something I thought was worth saying. I hope you understand and aren't offended."

She said she wasn't offended by my words, but, she continued, "I don't let ANYbody disrespect me or my grandmother, so if they do I'll get with them, WHEREVER they are!"

I tried to gently express to her how her own behavior, at our grandmother's funeral, six feet from her casket, might be considered disrespectful, but to no apparent avail.

All I can hope is the seeds I (and whomever else spoke with her) planted in her mind and her heart will bear fruit, someday. She's young, so there's still time.

I can't help thinking, though, that twenty years from now, her own children might be apologizing for her the way I've repeatedly had to apologize for my father. I hope not.

I also hope this terrible cycle doesn't get passed down from one generation to the next like some kind of family heirloom.

Indignity of Persistence - Part II

I'm not trying to overwhelm you with negativity, but recent events made a "part 2" almost a necessity.

Indignities Defined
First, I'd like to explain what I meant by "Indignity of Persistence." I think there are often a lot of similarities between infants and the elderly. In many cases, both are bald or balding, incomprehensible, toothless, need constant care to survive, and have trouble managing their excretory imperatives.

Among the difference between them is the fact that babies have no sense of dignity. This is why we can them up in cute little costumes and laugh hysterically when they do really silly things. We interpret the things they do as signs of who and how htey will be, but their overall future identities aren't strongly defined by how much they drool, crawl backwards, or babble. They have no concept of embarrassment and would probably have no time for it if they did - there's too much drooling, crawling, and babbling to get done.

Elderly adults, on the other hand, have already established a sense of self and broadcast an identity to those around them. Dignity and pride are usually well-established and deeply-ingrained. Wetting themselves, cursing out loved-ones for no reason, and forgetting who and where they are, can encroach on that dignity - especially for Alzheimer's patients.

Getting sick is a part of life. Surviving it is seen as a triumph. But advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease can be seen like flipping the identity switch. And, even if the patient him- or herself has already lost or forgotten what it was to be embarrassed by soiling oneself or forgetfulness, their loved-ones still remember. Living in Alzheimer's can be seen, by one's loved ones, as an indignity upon the patient and, I'd imagine, many of them feel that death would be a far more merciful fate the persistence of life.

My Own Crazy
There have been a number of events, over the years, that have left me very concerned about the chances that I'll be (or that I am) facing my own flavors of crazy. Diagnosed mental illness in blood relatives, my own interaction with other human-beings, and undiagnosed, but somewhat apparent, mental and emotional issues that plague my father's life.

I've not researched the topic in some times, but I think one can be genetically predisposed to developing Alzheimer's. So my family history concerns me. There are Alzheimer's sufferers on both sides of my family, but the only ones related by blood are on the paternal side.

I watch and listen to them, wondering if the different varieties and flavors o' crazy are the diluted version of whatever their parents had. I smell a little blueberry crazy over here - maybe some obsessive-compulsive tendencies. There's some crunchy pistachio over in the form of anger management issues. Lime-flavored crazy tastes a lot like persistent paranoia.

I don't now which flavor I'll end up with, if any, or whether I'll "luck out" and get a triple-scoop - the terrible trifecta. I look back and see a far-reaching path of burned bridges and I wonder how many were lit by own tendency to flame versus those that sparked from other people's hot heads.

My saving grace, right now, is the fact that there are still SOME positive elements left in my life and that those who think the most of me are the people I respect the most. The rest are often those whose traits are... less than enviable. Still, it's not like I can honestly say all people who dislike me are bad. I've raged against quite a few machines and I don't know that I was always right - even in how I went about expressing it.

What I don't want is to find out, decades from now, that I've been wearing my pop's brand of people repellent and that the failed relationships in my life aren't just due to natural selection, but are in fact due to my bull-headedness, stupidity, or assholery. My own crazy.

Persistent Ends
Just last night, I got a call from my aunt, C. She said that my paternal grandmother, who suffers from Alzheimer's, began having seizures and other strange symptoms. They took her to the hospital for tests, but she seemed mostly okay except for having trouble breathing.

While they were trying to make it easier for her to breathe, she apparently had a massive stroke - a fatal one. She died some time yesterday afternoon.

This the second Alzheimer's sufferer in my family to die in as many weeks.

I didn't have a relationship with my paternal grandparents for most of my life. When my grandfather passed a couple of years, ago, I wasn't sure how to feel. Now that my grandmother has died, it was a similar experience - although she always seemed to be a sweeter person, to me, anyway.

In her later years, she'd reached the point where she didn't know who some of her children and grandchildren were. She'd be introduced to me, think I was my father (since we have the same name), have it explained to her, embrace me, then forget me and start the whole thing all over, again.

So, I have a fondness for her, but there was no relationship to be had over the past few years. Despite that, I think I was on the edge of SOME kind of emotional reaction, but I never go the chance for that to fully develop. I was too busy trying to contact my father, who wouldn't return anyone's calls, to give him the news that his mother had died... then trying to get him to stop yelling at me because of his frustrations with... damn-near the entire world. This post is long enough with getting into the multiple layers of erraticism my dad displayed in that 25-minute phone call. At least I can say that he apologized for taking his frustrations with the rest of his family out on me. He even said I'm a very good son, which touched my heart, despite the seething anger I was suppressing, at that moment.

"I figured it was going to go down like that. I knew she was gon' die. Y'all didn't have to tell me that! I ain't stupid!"

I had to (ironically) yell, "Stop yelling at me! This is not an indictment of you or your intellect. We're not calling you stupid. We just thought you should know that your mother died!"

That's just a taste.

Anyway, by the time I got off the phone, I was a wreck... for a few reasons. I'm feeling bad for my family members who were closer to my grandmother, dealing with my own, undefined feelings about her passing, pissed-off at my father for yelling at me while repeating the same things over and over and over, again, and afraid that my grandmother's fate and my father's future might be my own.

And if it is, I may never know... but the people around me will.

Indignity of Persistence

My aunt was diagnosed with diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease some years, ago. At first she just seemed really sweet and kinda silly. Later, she became more easily confused by things, although she was still fairly aware. She had a regular caregiver who helped my uncle take care of her since things like bathing herself became too much for her.

By the time my grandmother's 80th birthday celebration came around a year and a half, ago, my aunt was still mobile, but unexpressive. Making eye-contact with her caused her to turn away.

In her eyes I thought I could see ... something like what you feel when you experience deja vue. Everything about your surroundings in that moment, seem very, very familiar, but you don't know how or why. Being confronted with one of those familiar faces, in an up-close and personal way, was uncomfortable, I guess.

The next time I saw her, about a year later, she was bed-ridden and unresponsive, needing others to take care of her every need. My uncle took months off from work, to take care of her and make arrangements for others to help.

From what I understand, my uncle was told that the care he could provide her was insufficient so he was forced to put her in a home... where they could take better care of her.

Within a year, she was dead. Some type of infection set in her body. From what we're being told, the city, state, county or whomever is saying that this infection shouldn't be been fatal - the facility should've caught it.

So, my uncle was forced to send his wife away for better care and signs indicate that she received the exact opposite.

I believe an autopsy has been ordered, so we'll see. Either way, the people who loved my aunt have to deal with the mixed-emotions of being sad that she's passed but maybe embarrassed by some sense that the indignity of her persistence has come to an end.

Happy Valentine's Day, Unc.

R.I.P. Aunt Ethel

On Friday, I had to choose between going to my aunt's funeral and attending class.

I decided to attend class (the last one before our exam) then drive out-of-town to see the family for the post-funeral gathering.

My aunt's funeral really drew a lot of family members. She was my family by-marriage, but all of my uncles siblings (except one frequent exception) traveled from around the country to attend. Cousins I've not seen in twenty years showed up. Even my uncle's co-workers came to town to support him.

It was really a sight to see.

I wasn't able to stay for long - not even 24-hours - but it was good to see the family, despite the circumstances. I noticed that various uncles, cousins, etc. went out of their way to reach out to the rest of the family on this occasion. Maybe it reminded them (and me) of how lucky we are to still have each other. Maybe it'll inspire us to do what we think about doing after holidays and other special events - take the time and make the effort to stay in-contact and in each others' lives.

I guess, if you've got to go, it might be nice to know that your passing brought your family even closer.

Rest in-peace, Aunt Ethel.





More on the circumstances of her passing, later.

Captain America - Killer?

Captain America #125

BAD GUY: "So, why don'tcha just shoot us in the head, Flagface?"
CAP: "I don't use guns."
BAD GUY: "Not what I heard."

That's not what I heard, either.

I was talking with a friend about this, recently, and I've certainly seen takes on Cap that acknowledged the fact that, as a soldier during war-time, he has killed. Apparently, he even used guns. ("Bucky/Winter Soldier" sure does.)

In Captain America #125, Marvel was sticking with the "There's always a way to stop the bad guy without killing him," version of Captain America. Sounds a lot like DC's Superman philosophy - even down to both characters having broken their own rule once, then crying about it for some time afterward.

These days, I think Superman still has the same worldview, while Captain America (pre-mortem), I believe, was depicted a tiny bit more like any other war-time soldier with no super-powers. It's war. Warriors kill.

That said, I really liked the "boy scout" Captain America who valued all life - even that of bad guys - so much that he'd give his own to protect it. He was a source of inspiration to good guys and bad ones - not because he could fly faster than the speed of light and create new powers by staring into the sun, enabling him to stop anyone without killing them.

Broken bones notwithstanding.

So, which Captain America (or other superheroes, if you like) do you prefer in your comics?

The Verdict is In

Have you heard of the case of Martin Lee Anderson?

I just heard about verdict and I just can't get the words of lawyer, Benjamin Crump, out of my head:

"You kill a dog, you go to jail. You kill a little black boy and nothing happens."

That's all I have to say about that, right now.

R.I.P. Mike Wieringo

Kelson says and CBR confirms that comic book artist and creator, Mike Wieringo, passed away, recently. He was 44-years-old.
I never met him personally and never conversed with him online, but I've a strong appreciation for and positive association with his work. Some of my absolute favorite comics in this world are his and Mark Waid's issues of the Flash.

My heart goes out to his family.

R.I.P.

Dead End

This picture of an upside-down, hanging by a thread, DEAD END sign symbolizes a number of elements in my life - as they are or as they soon will be.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing," you might ask.

The best answer I can give you is, "Yes."

The Light's Lie

See the light at the end of the tunnel? Me, too.

But the light lies.

At one point during my journey back from Maryland, last week, I had to cross the Chesapeake Bay. The bridge I crossed connected to the tunnel in the picture, which was under the Chesapeake.

But once I emerged from the tunnel, I realized there was a five-mile series of three bridges and two tunnels to traverse before I'd make it beyond the Bay.

Below is as much of it a I could capture in a photograph.

Click to enlarge.

I'm not at my best under water or in the air, so making my way beyond the Chesapeake a week, ago, was mildly analogous to my journey through this illness. I made beyond a very rough period, but recent events, combined with my weak limbs and dizzy head, tell me that it's still not over, yet... even after seeing the light, at the end of the tunnel.

I guess the best I can do is be aware of the light's lie, while using its promise as motivation and inspiration, to get me closer to my short-term and ultimate goals.

Anna's Passing

I've gotta say, I'm getting pretty disgusted by the things people are saying about Anna Nicole Smith's passing.

I have little doubt that drugs and poor judgement were involved in her death, just as they were in his life, but statements like "good riddance" seem to cross a certain line.

Saying her child will be better off with her DEAD is not only cold-blooded, it's also a waste of these people's precognitive abilities; go to Vegas.

Finally, the hate toward people who achieve fame through strange or largely insubstantial means seems more like jealousy than anything else. I can understand being tired of seeing and hearing about certain people for no reason other than the fact that they went to THIS party instead of THAT club. But to take that annoyance or disdain and channel it into seething hatred is just as extreme as taking a mild attraction for a tv personality into a full-blown obsession. Both cases lead to more news coverage for these people.

And they are still people, despite the fact that their screw-ups are more likely to make the news than yours or mine. Let's try to remember that the next time we're celebrating someone's death just because "too many" others celebrating his or her life.

"I want to get away. I wanna fly away."

I've never been one who was particularly obsessed with the idea of traveling abroad. I've some curiosity about other cultures, languages, and locations, but I had only marginal interest in getting on anyone's boat or plane for international travel - especially for a long-term stay.

That has changed.

I would love it if, within the next two years, I could move to some other English-speaking country. I've thought about England, which would be so very close to other countries of-interest. I'm all but in-love with the accents of Australia and New Zealand (mmm, Rachel Hunterrrrrr), so that's definitely a consideration. I'm still deciding on a location, though.

Why am I so interested in leaving the U.S., now, despite my strong aversion to the current state of air travel and security, as well as my strong family ties?

It's simple: stupidity.

This country is unique in a lot of ways - many of them good. Unfortunately, there's also an atmosphere of arrogance, entitlement, and mental lethargy.

We don't just breed stupidity. We embrace it. We root in it and we celebrate it.

I'll be the first to admit, though, that we don't have a patent on it. We just happen to excel at it.

Maybe I'll go to these other countries and find so much ignorant shit (and high prices) that I'll long for American shores. After all, no place is perfect.

But that's a chance that, at the moment, I'm willing to take. Even the illusion of betterment is welcome.

There are a ton of examples of the kind of ridiculous behavior and statements that have brought me to this state of disgust - so many that I hardly know where to begin.

The fact is, though, these persistent encounters with people who embrace and embody the worst elements of our society have eaten away at my patience and tolerance to the point that my personal/familial relationships may suffer.

I need a change and I need it soon. For now, I'll be happy with the smaller steps I'll be making in the coming months, then I'll take bigger strides from that point on.

I've always joked about how I'm gonna be a hermit, "when I grow up," to get away from it all. The truth is that I crave contact from my fellow human-beings.

Hopefully, this move would serve as a good compromise.

NEWS - Smells like Snatch

In the Guy Ritchie movie "Snatch," a group of three men found themselves with the unenviable task of having to dispose of a dead body - one which, incidentally, they did not kill.

While struggling with the preliminary task of moving the corpse to a more convenient location, these men were surprised by the appearance of a white-haired, bespectacled older character named "Brick Top." Brick Top, instead of introducing himself, immediately proceeded to explain to these strangers how the challenge of disposing of a human body can be alleviated with the use of a bunch of hungry pigs.

He finishes this uninvited, mildly-perplexing, but admittedly engrossing monologue with the following warning about avoiding murderous individuals:

"...so be wary of any man who keeps a pig farm."

Having read all that, I'm sure you can understand why this AOL News story about a pig-farmer accused of murdering dozens of people, reminded me of good ol' "Snatch":

'After Pickton was arrested and the first traces of DNA from some missing women were allegedly found on the farm, the buildings were razed and the province spent an estimated $61 million to sift through soil there.
[...]
When police first visited the farm in 2002 to investigate, they found two skulls in a bucket inside a freezer in Pickton's mobile home. DNA testing identified the skulls as belonging to Abotsway and Joesbury, two missing sex workers from an impoverished Vancouver neighborhood.
[...]
Prevett said one of Joesbury's earrings was found in the slaughterhouse. He said human bones were found mixed with manure and that part of Wolfe's jaw, with five teeth still attached, was found in a pig trough.'

I'm not sure if art is imitating life or if life is imitating art, but I'll damn-sure look at pig farms differently, from now on.



For those that may be interested, here's the dialogue from that "Snatch" scene, I mentioned earlier (provided, again, by imdb.com):

"Brick Top: You're always gonna have problems lifting a body in one piece. Apparently the best thing to do is cut up a corpse into six pieces and pile it all together.
Sol: Would someone mind telling me, who are you?
Brick Top: And when you got your six pieces, you gotta get rid of them, because it's no good leaving it in the deep freeze for your mum to discover, now is it? Then I hear the best thing to do is feed them to pigs. You got to starve the pigs for a few days, then the sight of a chopped-up body will look like curry to a pisshead. You gotta shave the heads of your victims, and pull the teeth out for the sake of the piggies' digestion. You could do this afterwards, of course, but you don't want to go sievin' through pig shit, now do you? They will go through bone like butter. You need at least sixteen pigs to finish the job in one sitting, so be wary of any man who keeps a pig farm. They will go through a body that weighs 200 pounds in about eight minutes. That means that a single pig can consume two pounds of uncooked flesh every minute. Hence the expression, "as greedy as a pig"."

It's not quite the same without the visuals and British accents, so I guess you'll just have to buy your own "Snatch," now won't you?

Doing the Dufresne

I'm going to ruin The Shawshank Redemption, for you. Continue reading, at your own risk.

In the movie, the main character, Andy Dufresne (pronounced "Doo FRANE"), was convicted of a crime he did not commit. If memory serves, he spent about 20 hard* years of his life in Shawshank Penitentiary for this crime.

One day, the prison guards and officials discovered that Andy's cell was empty. Oh, the furniture, chess pieces, and posters were still up, but Mr. Dufresne was nowhere to be found, despite having been present and accounted-for at "lights-out."

To those that witnessed this confounding event, it seemed to be a work of magic.

The truth, though, was that Andy spent twenty years picking at the wall of his cell, using a device the size of your hand, making a tunnel just large enough for his escape.

There's a lesson in there, somewhere, but it's one that can be hard to internalize - for me, anyway. I've heard it related like this in other stories, but it's the same message, either way:

"Slow and steady wins the race."

In other words, small efforts over a large period of time can reap big rewards, despite how impossible the task may seem at the start.

It's determination and discipline, not magic, that makes the impossible possible.

Andy Dufresne knew that. From her recent posts about finances, chele knows that.

In fact, I think a lot of people KNOW this, but there's a big difference between the knowing and the doing.

When it comes to concerns, both fiscal and physical (health, retirement, etc.), working smart can be just as important as working hard - maybe moreso. Yet many of us seem to lack whatever it takes to apply this lesson over time.

Like I said, there's the knowing and then there's the doing.

Maybe, when it comes to life and love, health and happiness, relationships with family and friends, and so much more,... we all could spend more of this new year Doing the Dufresne.




* - Trust me. "Hard" is an understatement.