Diary of a LAN Manager

Today they held the parade for the 2007 World's Biggest Fish Fry in my hometown of Paris, TN. It's a significant "floating" date for me, because on Fish Fry Friday eighteen years ago, I was in an accident while on the way to take Stephen to ride on a float in the parade. I had stayed up until past 1:00am putting the finishing touches on his sailor outfit that I had made, and maybe lack of sleep clouded my judgement just a bit. We were late. Anyone who knows me knows that's one of my trademarks. I'm always late - time management escapes me, which is why I'd been up late working on the suit. It was a beautiful, clear, April morning, and we were just about halfway between Greenfield and McKenzie, going through a wide spot in the road known as Pillowville . A truck had pulled out in front of me, going about 30 in a 55. Ahead was a passing zone, and nothing was coming. So I did what people do when they're running late and don't want to do 30 all the wa

When I first heard about blogging, I thought it was cool. I had friends at work with LiveJournal, and I found reading their thoughts, looking at the things they found funny, and listening to their favorite songs to be more entertaining than anything else I could do on the web. I seldom find funny things on the web by myself. I find them because someone else saw them first. Sooooo.... since my childhood aspiration was to become an author, I thought it would be a perfect fit. I could finally put what I was thinking down on paper, and pretend I was a real writer. Sadly, I realize what a hack I am. Because music is such an integral part of how I communicate, I find myself quoting song lyrics to express a feeling, rather than coming up with any original thoughts of my own. I find myself quoting poetry for the same reason. I'm afraid to put down what I really think or really feel because no doubt I'd step on someone's toes. It's very constricting. Creativity is stifled under

We joined a minority a couple of weeks ago - we gave up satellite TV and didn't replace it with cable. Instead, we bought a low-profile antenna and the 5 or so channels it brings. It's not that DirecTV is a bad thing - it's just that after thinking about it, and calculating how much the latest rate hike would actually cost on an annual basis, we couldn't justify the expense. Yes, I love Mythbusters and How It's Made as much as the next person, not to mention anything on Food Network as long as it doesn't include Emeril, but really - how much is that worth? Is it worth $60 a month? Really? Network TV still sucks, don't get me wrong, but considering that Numbers and CSI-Miami are about all I watch on a regular basis anyway, why would I pay for it?

I've never been a girlie girl. I believe I've established that. But this week I've been thinking of my friend Sara, and how she once rolled her eyes at my poor chapped lips and handed me a Revlon lipstick. "Use this - it's better than Chapstick." I was in my thirties and it was the only lipstick I had in my makeup bag for the longest. I don't remember how long I kept it, but I finally tossed it and replaced it with something from Avon, or Covergirl. Needless to say I never really learned the fine art of makeup, nor do I still grasp the need for lipstick. I've never even used up an entire lipstick - I usually toss them after a year or so. But I keep one in my desk drawer - a lovely, rich gingerspice color - which I occasionally put on before a meeting, or when my lips are chapped and I can't find my Chapstick, or when I think of Sara.

Yesterday was my daughter's seventeenth birthday. I had planned on posting something, but the news got in the way. How do we protect ourselves and our loved ones when someone goes over some edge mentally? Can we? I know it comes as a surprise to my friends who think I'm a raving Democrat that I do, in fact, believe in the right to bear arms (and while I joke that I'm a card carrying member of the NRA, I'm not). Would gun control really have helped, or would this young man still have found a way to get his hands on a weapon? I don't have any answers. My heart goes out to the families of the victims of this tragedy - including the family of this poor, disturbed young man.

I don't like funerals. I'm not sure that they're truly helpful to the family, but it is an expected part of the process. It just seems to me that their only true purpose is to serve as a vivid reminder that life is short, and that we never get enough days to do the things we want. I also don't like arguing with people. I think discussion is good, as long as its productive and doesn't devolve into namecalling, but I've always considered myself a peacemaker. I thought that was my job, to mediate and try to keep the peace between warring parties; it was a by-product of my parent's divorce. Perhaps that's the root of the passive-agressive tendency - I don't feel I can say what I really think, so I try to find a diplomatic way to say it without hurting anyone's feelings. Apparently I'm not as good at it as I think, so perhaps I should consider a more direct approach. The funeral was moving, and I'm glad that I went. But it does make me wonder

Yesterday a close family friend of ours lost his battle with leukemia. Without his assistance we would never have started our own business; without him we might not have succeeded in many things. He would not want us to sit and cry, but he's not here to tell me that. Funeral services are Wednedsday at 2:00.

Today is Good Friday. It doesn't feel much like a holiday, and I'm sitting at work. It feels strange still to work on a religious holiday, but here I am. I have no plans for Easter this year. Unlike most feast days, I've not been notified that I'm hosting some kind of dinner, which is why no one has received any invitations. I'm not really planning on driving to West Tennessee to see my mother or my mother-in-law, so I guess we'll sit at home and eat TV dinners. I might buy a small ham. I just don't know yet. Heather's just about too old for Easter baskets, and I can't even remember if I got her one last year. Another in a long line of parental shortcomings and failures. Mothers are supposed to be superhuman creatures, and I just keep falling short.

I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.