Archive for the ‘if you won’t leave me i’ll find somebody who will’ Category

Over at NiT I wrote the story of why I wasn’t allowed to see A Certain Movie until many years after it was popular. I’ve told that story before in other places and always chuckled at the thought of it.

Today as I wrote the post for Nashville Is Talking I decided to go to YouTube to see if anyone had posted the original trailer. Sho’nuff, there it was.

And you know what? I think my dad was right to be upset. Watching the trailer removed from any of my life-experience context I realised exactly why my dad–who was exactly the age I am now, come to think of it–was so angry. There’s a lot to learn from this, I think.

  1. Even when it seems silly, our parents have our best interests at heart.
  2. When taken out of context, it’s easy for something fun and innocent to seem frightening.
  3. If you want your message to be well-received, consider the audience.
  4. You can find absolutely anything on YouTube.

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This is one of those posts where I’d like to be all self-righteous and complain about the nasty people in the world who dump dogs they’re tired of. But I can’t talk too big, since I’m not in a position right now to give either of these kids homes.

A friend of ours found them dumped in Hamilton Creek Park yesterday and asked that we help him in finding them homes. Husband just got back from their photo shoot and says they’re both full chocolate labs, approximately 8months old.

If you know of anyone who would like to give these kids a home, please contact me.

k dot coble at comcast dot net


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I guess the word is out about Lileks being slowly weaned away from a paid writing gig. I’m sad for the guy, because I hate it when anybody gets fired. Even worse are these slow-mo firings from plum gigs. You know what I mean…the kind of “firing” where they never tell you that you’re fired, per se, but they let you languish in some hellish backwater part of the company until you quit. That happens to writers all the time. You’re hired to do, oh, I dunno, catalog copy. Next thing you know they can’t afford to have you just write copy so you get to answer phones and make coffee and file and before you know it your plum writing gig has turned into a secretarial job with a bit of writing on the side. Not that I would know anything about that.

That’s how they fire writers. And that’s why most of us freelance.

My favourite twist on this whole Lileks business is watching the reaction of other writers with good paid writing jobs cackle with glee about this sudden downturn in Lileks’ fortunes. From where I’ve sat as a writer, Lileks and Nall both had really nice niches carved out for themselves. In fact, to my mind they’re often similar people, albeit one is unabashedly a neocon while the other is unapologetically leftist. Still, they’re both okay writers of a similar age who fell into paid column writing. I’m just a few years younger than both, and by the time I came onto the scene those jobs were long gone–snapped up by the Nalls and Lilekses of this world–leaving folks like me to blog for no money and answer phones at publishing companies to keep the wolves from the door. I remember when Nall was downsized from my hometown paper years ago. I felt bad for her in a way, yet like most folks figured the gravy train for paid writing gigs was really more of a boxcar, and she was lucky to have partaken as long as she did.

Now I feel the same for Lileks. I’ve not read him in months because I’m deathly afraid of opening the Bleat to read the increasingly inevitable entry about the increasingly inevitable demise of Jasper (his dog). I’m sorry he’s lost his good job. I hope he can find another one. I’m pretty sure he’ll have luck, because he’s built a good network of friends and he has other readers who aren’t so afraid of losing Jasper. Nevertheless, I can’t help but point out that there is a lot of luck to the equation.

To read Roger’s take on the whole deal, hop on over to Krumm’s.

And this from Done With Mirrors. Their title pretty much says it all.

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Bullseye candyIf I were a candy I’d be that bland, flavourless white gunk in the middle of the Bullseye, while my family and friends were the rich, gooey caramel surrounding me. There’s so much chewy goodness right now with the other people in my life.

  • My sister has been named ‘Teacher Of The Year’ at her school. I’m so proud of her for that. I think it takes real guts and a good heart to go into teaching. She has made it her life, and a lot of kids are blessed by it. She brings both dedication and innovation to her job. I’m so glad she’s received recognition for all she does.

I’m so proud of these two and their accomplishments, and I just had to brag a little.

Update I’ve added the link to the Tennessean article, which also features another blogger, our buddy Dan Hensley.

Doesn’t my husband look serious in his bike gear?!?

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Look, everyone. I know you think it’s stupid that I’m moving heaven and earth to celebrate the release of a hardback book. I know you’ve got parties and events going on next July that you’d really like to have me attend. Summers are shorter now, and each weekend of July is crammed with experiences we want to live out before school starts again.

To you this is “just another book” or “one of those silly children’s books”. I don’t know how firmly I can express to you ALL that this is my Rachel. I have waited seven years for this day.

I read my first Harry Potter books in July of 2000. Back then there were only four of them, but they were the only bright spot in what proved to be an outright hideous time of my life. When you have a job that literally drives you to the brink of a nervous breakdown and a boss who literally locks you in your office after work hours to verbally AND physically abuse you for more than 45 minutes it is necessary to take joy in simple pleasures. Like the Harry Potter books.

We all knew that there would only be seven written. And we’ve all talked endlessly about that seventh book. We knew once upon a time that the last word of all the stories was going to be “scar”. Long hours of discussion have been had about that one word alone. What does it mean? Does Harry die? Lose his powers? Have his memory wiped and removed from the magical world?

I’ve stood in line for hours on two occasions as I waited for books 5 and 6. I’ve had my face painted and taken quizzes and made a magic wand out of pipecleaners. All of this appealed greatly to my inner nine-year-old. I still have a flat black rock in the shadow boxes in my dining room wall. It was a prize that was meant to be a “sorcerer’s stone” a la the first book. It’s never spewed Elixer of Life, but every time I walk by it I get a bit cheerier. No, I don’t live longer but I live better.

So yeah. My very first priority on July 20, 2007 is going to be standing in line at a bookstore for my copy. My very first priority on July 21, 2007 is going to be reading that book.

It may seem silly to you, but it’s a VERY BIG DEAL to me. Perhaps the biggest deal. It’s every Superbowl ever played, every election ever held. You all will just have to be understanding.

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Some of you may remember Clarence, my budding legal mind of a nephew. Well, Clarence is bracketed by two sisters, one of whom is still a baby of sorts and the other, Aimee, who is now six. This is a brief tale about Aimee’s future as a religious philosopher.

At Aimee’s kindergarten, the children are given plastic eggs around Eastertide. Since this is a Christian school, the eggs contain pictures of Easter-related items instead of the usual candy. Leaving aside the obvious about which any six-year-old would rather have, I need to tell you about Aimee’s reaction to the last picture.

It was a whip.

“A Whip?! What does that have to do with Easter?” Aimee wondered.

Incidentally, I had the same thought as Aimee upon hearing this. A whip? Whattup? Good thing my brother was bright enough to catch on and run with it.

“Well, Jesus was whipped” he explained.

“They whipped the Son of GOD?!?!?” Aimee was quite affronted at the cruelty (and unwiseness) of it all.

“Yes” said her rueful father. He then prepared to bring the Good Friday story into the home stretch. Clearly Aimee was empathetic for Jesus’ pain and suffering. “And then they nailed Him to a cross and killed Him.”

“Well, we’ve all got to die sometime.”

I guess them’s the breaks, Jesus.

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Sometimes things go your way, and sometimes they don’t.

Sometimes the company hires you, and sometimes they don’t.

Sometimes it rains on a day when you needed sunshine.

Sometimes the cheese on the pizza burns.

I’m really frustrated with the continued hitting of brick walls in our life lately. I feel as though I’ve looked up and suddenly here it is, eight years later. We’ve struggled through so much with startup companies, rundown companies and broken promises that I wonder if life ever gets any easier. Ever.

People often mock my faith as a childish relic or unnecessary fantasisation. Magical thinking which solves nothing. I promise you now, though, that were it not for that magical thinking I would be dead three times over. Because this garbage is just too hard otherwise.

I often feel lately as though nothing goes my way. That’s why the above picture means so much. It’s a photo of my restless dog peeking up at the front seat on our way home from Christmas vacation. That picture was taken on December 27th, 2006. This is the dog for whom we received a probable death sentence on August 18th, 2006. The vet talked to us about possible choices for ‘making him comfortable’ and ‘easing his pain’. Because the x-rays looked like cancer. And the leg swelled like cancer. And bone cancer is a leading cause of death in that breed.

Yet here he is in that picture, four months past the likely date of his death from the cancer that wasn’t. I swear to you I grieved that dog for weeks. Had he been stricken with cancer he would have most likely been dead by mid-October. I pictured getting through Halloween without him barking at trick-or-treaters. I pictured the long car trip to and from Indiana without him clambering over the presents in the back of the car. I listened to songs like ‘Boulder to Birmingham with tears streaming down my face as I got used to the idea of our inevitable separation.

But there he is, in that picture in the back of the car. Alive and well and bored to tears as we gas up the car in Elizabethtown. And today he ran around my backyard in fits of springtime joy, bouncing all over the grass.

So I guess sometimes things go your way. And sometimes God is kind.

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It’s Wisteria season here at the Cobles’ house. Happy Spring!


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  • Well, I think after reading more in depth about Fred, I’m firmly back on the Ron Paul bandwagon. I just don’t see Fred as my ideological counterpart in this race. Regardless, I think it’s time for me to vote outside the box for once. I’m really tired of picking the lesser-rotting apple out of two. We’ve all seen how well that works.
  • I have to go to church tomorrow and I’ll be honest. I don’t want to. I’m really feeling very introverted and not at all in the mood to fraternise. But that’s not all that’s bothering me. The last Sunday I was there, some man I don’t know stood up in our homeroom session and asked for donations. You see, my Sunday School department is having a marriage retreat, and they apparently want people to donate door prizes. Yes. That’s right. In a world where people are starving and homeless…in our Sunday School department where at least three families (that I know of) are having grave financial and health struggles we are soliciting for door prizes. Something about that seems so fiddle-y while America burns-ish. Then again, it’s probably just my problem.
  • Rachel forwarded me an article yesterday that she (rightfully) thought would make my blood boil. Apparently doctors are prescribing Adderal (a type of speed!) for overweight kids in order to help them shed pounds and be just like the really good and cool thin kids.
    What can be said about this other than ##@%&*#%&? Look, I know I’m all in favour of scaling back the ‘War’ on [some] Drugs, but what insanity has taken hold of us? We’re giving kids speed because they’re overweight? Adderal hasn’t even been approved for use in weight-control. Yet fat is such an evil, such an abomination, such a sign of being from the lower classes that we must do whatever it takes–including using untested and unproven and highly-addictive drugs–to keep our kids skinny.
  • I hate it when my favourite bloggers do things like go and have babies. Their real lives really disrupt all my pajama time.

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As I said last year, we were never allowed to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day. We were, after all, Protestant, and my father felt very strongly about not showing any loyalty to the Terrorists in Northern Ireland. Of course, I was a kid when The Troubles were just a few years old and had no idea about any of those goings-on.

I always planned back then to be cool on St. Patrick’s Day once I was older. In my mind I spent beaucoup dollars on green clothes, green jewelry and green hair dye. Now that I AM older, I realise that the way cool grown-ups honour Padraic is by drinking enough beer to float all the ships at Dunkirk. And once again life conspires against me. I cannot drink beer. Even if I were physically able, I don’t know that I would want to. Because it seems to me like chugging liquid bread dough.

Of course, I do eat raw cookie dough. But would I drink liquid cookie dough? Probably not. That would probably be like chunky Yoo-hoo. Gross.

I will say that my parents are coming to town this afternoon, and I will at long last prove my adulthood by wearing something green to dinner.

Yes, isn’t that sad? My concept of adulthood lingers on being a vindicated third-grader.

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