tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91471022024-03-07T16:34:20.735-08:00health & the pursuit of well-beingfor a minute there, I lost myself.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-15555776916524147542020-01-12T07:36:00.000-08:002020-01-12T07:36:22.454-08:00Look out 'cause here I comeWe are trying to consolidate, clean-up, and generally organize all of our stuff. I came across some boxes that had "memory" things in them, you know, like old letters, cards we saved, etc. Danielle even found the dress she wore in her junior high's production of <i>Little Shop of Horrors</i>. She tried it on and it fit, so she left it on for a while she sorted her stuff.<br />
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Eventually I found a box within a box that had my old writings. I've spent the time since then trying to process some of the things I've found. I have been embarrassed of them, proud of them, nostalgic for a time when I felt creatively productive; I really have run through a lot of feelings in attempts to reconcile the me now with the me then. The same thing happened with this <a href="https://michaelpschoon.blogspot.com/2004/11/thoughts-on-narcissism.html" target="_blank">blog</a>: I feel exposed, but to whom? There is nothing wrong with writing, nothing wrong with putting feelings to paper and expressing oneself. And I would tell everyone to try it. But when I see my own attempts, it's embarrassing! Even more bizarre is that I'm embarrassed for myself, to myself. No one else is judging or likely even reading.</div>
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It's like my ego wants to decide that we shouldn't hang out with that 19 year old kid who was madly in love and questioned God and swore his allegiance to his girlfriend of 15 months if "God allows us to be together." Twenty years later, I am trying to distance myself from that "me" but cannot figure out why. I mean, I know why: the writing is juvenile, the author immature. The writing is earnest but shrouded in metaphor and religious undertones that confuse. It's a journal but clearly meant to be read by an audience. An author seeking an audience is pitiful.</div>
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I wonder if that's part of my current discomfort: I know how those written prayers were/weren't answered. I know how the story finishes. I know that kid doesn't end up with that girl. I know that praying for redemption because "this time I slipped and let Satan win" doesn't work. I have seen how that chapter ends, and how the subsequent chapters end, and though the book <a href="https://youtu.be/b7k0a5hYnSI" target="_blank">is <span id="goog_1400934072"></span>still being written</a><span id="goog_1400934073"></span> some of the conceits that guided that author then eventually fall apart. The scribblings in the margins of the looseleaf notebook that point to the Judeo-Christian God and ask Him questions eventually become just scribblings.</div>
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So maybe the discomfort comes from wondering if the time was wasted or misdirected? What worries me more is that I'm judging me as an artist, as someone who earnestly was trying, and years of trying to be cool has taught me that earnestness isn't cool. People who are earnest are suckers. Unless you can turn and wink at the camera saying, "I know, isn't this all lame!" then you aren't cool. IT'S SUCH A FLAWED MINDSET but I can totally see myself slipping into it.</div>
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One of the smarter instructors I had in nursing school for Human Growth and Development quoted someone as saying "there is nothing more shameful than the phase we've just grown out of." What I do when I judge me, though, is rob myself of the now. If I am projecting how I will interpret myself 5, 10, 20 years in the future, I am taking from the me today the opportunity to be fully human. The experience of consciousness includes earnestness, joy, shame; all of it. And I cannot let myself be dampened by people's perception of me ESPECIALLY IF THAT PERSON IS ME.</div>
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Physiologically every cell in my body has been replaced since I wrote some of those things, seemingly I am a "new" person anyway. Somehow, some way, the undying light that is "me" continues on. The mind that is judging me (past, present, and future) doesn't work, though, and is flawed. It serves to protect itself, advance itself, and exists for itself. And in this instance, it is working against the "me" that wrote those things. The same me that writes these things.<br />
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I don't entirely know how to not be embarrassed by the younger me, but I sure as hell admire his devotion, and passion, and ability to keep creating. I wish I could tell him that the relationship ends but that eventually he'll meet an amazing girl and marry her and have three amazing children and that maybe he'll find out God is dead or maybe God is alive but he shouldn't worry about his emotional response. He should feel those things because earnestness is cool and it's more shameful to have attempted to curate an image based on fear than to have lived and experienced it all.<br />
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The me that wrote was young and naive and immature. So what? It should read as this: "The me that wrote/writes was/is conscious. I am conscious. I am."</div>
Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-65712910003572418552020-01-05T08:20:00.001-08:002020-01-05T08:20:16.863-08:00Get back to where you once belongedI've been meditating every morning before I do anything else. It's an interesting thing. Every session I've done has been guided with the assistance of either Insight Timer or Headspace. If I were just to set a timer and sit I have a suspicion my mind would capitalize on the silence and perseverate. Some times I'm shocked at how quickly the time passes and other times I'm fighting to maintain any sense of focus (or non-focus, depending on how you look at it). But I don't feel like it's taking anything away from my day and it does seem to help set a tone for the day, a tone of intentionality.<div>
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One thing I've been working on this week is viewing my kids as their own creatures. It's stupid to view them as my agents, or as working against me or for me in the flow of life. I'll probably murder this quote, but I heard this week that we don't look at a tree and get angry at it for leaning a certain way or being more green on one side, we just accept it. And yet I can't do that with my children. They are like those trees, leaning or tilting one way and if my reaction is to stifle that growth, it will likely frustrate me and them. I'm not sure how this translates to day-to-day life and the very real fact that "we are running 15 minutes late and why don't you even have your underwear on yet because I know for a fact you were wearing it 30 minutes ago?!?" but directing mindfulness towards that just might result in less of a stress response, less of a panicky feeling, less of an anger response that could damage who we are as a little community. In any case, I feel it's worthy of an attempt.</div>
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Still reading "Power of Now." Ordered Ram Dass' "Be Here Now" which maybe I'm not ready for and will stumble into later. Despite my best attempts to intellectualize this process, I'm trying to just accept it as it is.</div>
Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-32544850380094998672019-12-28T08:39:00.001-08:002019-12-28T08:39:30.757-08:00All we have is nowExposing one's self through writing is not something I'm used to. It's easy to get cerebral about the whole thing and hear my voice changing for an imagined audience or perceived reader when in fact, I want to write for me. For the me that is saying the words in my head and hearing them, not for anyone else. But I am a harsh critic of myself and want to add disclaimers and footnotes that let me know that I'm in on the joke, that "I get what he's doing here" and that that wink and a nod absolves me of any of the trappings that come along with it.<div>
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So, without further ado, Michael's brain, here is your disclaimer: I grant you permission to write freely, to process your words and thoughts in a setting that might or might not be read by other people, but can be a safe place to enjoy the now. The "you" of now needs to do this, feels a compulsion to revisit a 10-year old blog and it's not important why. And also, dear Michael's brain, you will kill the specimen if you dissect it further. Enjoy the process and be here now.</div>
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I've been listening to Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now." It comes on the heels of reading Pete Holmes' "Comedy Sex God" which was unlike any memoir I've read before. I went into it thinking I was going to read a humorous account of an ex-Evangelical comedian and emerged from the other side having an entirely different perspective on the human experience and perception and time and space and it all. It blew my mind. I cried reading it. I laughed at some parts and cringed at others. But his search for understanding resonated with me. And at the end of the book he recommended further titles and "The Power of Now" was one of them. I finished "Comedy Sex God" in a few days; "The Power of Now" requires all of my brain to process and I can only handle a few minutes of listening every so often.</div>
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I can't just hear phrases like "Time is an illusion" and continue on my day.</div>
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I've been ruminating on those words and others like them and every so often I'll have a flashback of the church I grew up in, Pastor Kent speaking from the pulpit and saying things like "Pray without ceasing" and then currently wondering if maybe, just maybe that ties to a guru's mantra. (Pete Holmes made that connection for me; it's not an original thought. It's probably not even his original thought.) Or I'll remember myself crouched over a Bible on the APU campus reading Christ's words to "consider the lilies of the field" to know that they don't worry and wishing and praying that I wouldn't worry about things. Then I'll flash-forward to the present and hear Tolle saying the "ego" is a creature that feeds on the past and projects into the future but causes pain and I'll wonder if maybe just maybe Christ was an enlightened guru who understood these things and was trying to guide people towards something inside themselves, a true spirit that is free of worry and doubt and the trappings of conscious thought.</div>
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And then I hear my thoughts and realize, "My God, I've become a goddamned hippy."</div>
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It's difficult for my analytical mind to understand some of this. The part of me that worships the accuracy of language and logic and reason and thought cannot comprehend how to accept the language (let alone the meaning behind the thought!) that these exercises encourage. The metaphors that abound are repugnant to my erudite sensibilities. People who traffic in these words sound ridiculous. Here is an actual Eckhart Tolle quote: "What a liberation to realize that the 'voice in my head' is not who I am. Who am I then? The one who sees that."</div>
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What a crock of shit! How does that make sense? How can one tease apart that sentence to mean anything?</div>
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And yet...</div>
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And yet, it was those words that made me weep. I cannot hide the visceral reaction that the "me" who saw that sentence had. According to the book of Acts, when Saul was on his way to Damascus he ran into a ghost of Jesus who made him feel real bad about persecuting Christians and he was blinded (Michael Schoon translation of the Bible). After three days, a nice man came along and prayed and "something like scales fell from his eyes" and he could see again. He changed his name to Paul and then did other stuff (still my translation). And now the phrase "scales from fell his eyes" is used to represent a rebirth or a moment of clarity on which one can hinge their life.</div>
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What I mean is, it is entirely human to have a physical response to something as you confront the "truth." In this case, I responded to something I didn't (don't?) understand and am drawn towards it. I can't explain it, I don't have words for it, and the words I do have make me sound stupid. I'm not used to sounding stupid. But I'm willing to now and maybe that is one of the differences.</div>
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The me behind the actions and words and occupations and titles and personality tests is there. And the spark of consciousness (or whatever it's called) is amazing and wonderful and somehow connected to the rest of the universe in ways I can't know/understand/believe right now and maybe I never will. But if I can grasp a fraction of it, if I can appreciate the now and live in the now and begin to drink in the connection I have to stars and trees and people who are all made of the same scienc-y stuff, I will be an active participant in this life. That's what I want to be: an active participant.</div>
Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-11549104143795604232012-02-16T05:26:00.000-08:002012-02-16T05:47:29.116-08:00Do you love me, do you, surfer girl?<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I don't like apologizing for not posting. I'm the real victim, as my thoughts haven't been summarily cataloged since I last said anything in this form Whatever.<div><br /></div><div>So the boy is almost two. That happened. Time is relative, I suppose, and I am beginning to understand that much of parenting is trying to forget the terrible moments and clinging to the good ones. The rest of parenting is realizing that in the long run, the universe fades to black, so this 8 minute car ride home with a screaming 2o-month </div><div>old in the back seat will also end. I suppose I'm not as sentimental as some parents and not as pragmatic as others. It's hard to wax poetic but I feel like a parent who doesn't is selfish or grumpy or just plain depressed. I have great times with The Boy. There, I said it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Work is well. I wish that in nursing school I had learned what the role of nursing was; that is, the patient advocate, the doctor's eyes and ears, the family liaison, etc. But I don't think I could have learned that without doing it. So I'll keep doing it until I figure it out and then make profound speeches at dinners out and such.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I guess there is more to write but there never is. It's all been done. Except <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It's_All_Been_Done">this</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, here is a picture of us now.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWtnMIuMZWrK8bw9MnIVwBeHbefUWbBjM7wQnwtLi17VwUv7dTtaS_1pLJFYMEvibokkF9f0vpRK3bSTl9HsZBnKX2FPYfYrO2bgem7EHqJqgWg0pjAsDH7T9ZacgrEnEgJiuZw/s320/P1100173.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709729526667687346" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-4750499464771359242011-08-15T22:47:00.000-07:002011-08-15T23:04:31.088-07:00All around me are familiar faces, worn out places...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFbOIsVYDEqAKEA1NyS9ZDcpPuZtWBZ5crP4v1DBaXBaeFw7Bvbw7oTIWU5vipesM0XSB7sq-lyaQcqqAMrvmMpIjzUOz7eabuB0rdMLqU9ETkoUXabFFw8c8w_wDBHkU6m8M-A/s1600/IMG_0719.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFbOIsVYDEqAKEA1NyS9ZDcpPuZtWBZ5crP4v1DBaXBaeFw7Bvbw7oTIWU5vipesM0XSB7sq-lyaQcqqAMrvmMpIjzUOz7eabuB0rdMLqU9ETkoUXabFFw8c8w_wDBHkU6m8M-A/s320/IMG_0719.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641330109556898834" /></a>
<br />Okay. So here's what happened: we had a boy and named him Robby. So far, he's been pretty cool. He cried a lot when he tried to sleep for about 6 months, we "trained" him, then he got better. And then we got better. He started sleeping more and so did we. This taught me one thing: parents are as crazy as their child's sleep schedule. The first few months were a blur.<div>
<br /></div><div>But now he's an amazing kid, which is exactly what a parent should say. So how to quantify that? He's pretty much the only thing in this world I would willingly die for. Does that make him or me unique? No. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>So I graduated with a degree in nursing and got a job. And somehow, now, it feels insignificant. I know that for the rest of my life I will be a nurse, but it just doesn't seem as important as being a parent. And if I had read or heard those words before I had a kid, it wouldn't have made sense, because the measurement of how good a parent one is seems to be how good one's child is, which I know isn't fair, but how else to determine it? Results are results. Despite that, I think it's safe to say it's impossible to be the best parent ever. Even good parents have crappy kids. And all of this logic might lead one to follow the writer of Ecclesiastes who said, "<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes+3:19&version=NIV">Everything is meaningless...</a>" Which it might be. One of the major problems about believing in nothing is that you'll fall for nothing.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I know this is getting a bit <a href="http://www.subzin.com/quotes/Con+Air/That+would+be+loquacious,+verbose,+effusive.+How+about">loquacious</a>, but my point is this: even if everything is meaningless in some cosmic sense, it matters to me now. And that is what matters. And I think that if everyone could have that mindset, and respect that everyone else has that mindset, things would be better.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Enclosed please find a picture of my sister and her husband.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Michael</div><div>
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<br /></div>Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-70347451569480896942010-04-20T09:41:00.000-07:002010-04-20T10:25:38.826-07:00Sweet Child of MineDear son:<br /><br />I think it's important for you to have a glimpse into my mind in the days leading up to your delivery, so I've decided to put a few thoughts into 1's and 0's and forever immortalize them on the internet. You can ask yourself: was my dad a narcissist? And the answer is clearly yes. But more than that, I'm curious as to what MY father was like before I knew him and though I can intellectualize that he was probably similar to the man I met in my teens (or how I view him now), there is something about my presence in this life that has changed him.<br /><br />So here is my attempt at what life was like without you as well as little nuggets of advice that will probably be pretentious.<br /><br />1) The world was overall pretty odd, but from what I understand, that's nothing new. Politicians are fighting about <a href="http://www.wtvbam.com/news/articles/2010/apr/20/twenty-four-percent-americans-agree-tea-party/">taxes</a> and Tea Parties and <a href="http://www.whitehouse.gov/blog/2010/03/23/whats-health-care-bill">health care</a> and how they're all corrupt. And again, from what I understand, that's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_scandals_of_the_United_States">old news</a>. So this is where your dad stands on everything related to politics: everyone can be bought, politics IS a popularity contest, and the United States is still one of the greatest nations on Earth. Why? I can vote however I want, swear at whoever I want, and own whatever I can afford. And that's nice.<br /><br />2) Your mom and I haven't been to church since Christmas and before that, we hadn't gone in several years. Maybe we're bitter, maybe we're jaded, maybe we just don't know any better, but we also like sleeping on Sundays. Feel free to choose whatever path you want, just don't compromise who you really are (whatever that means to you). As near as I can tell, the sun comes up every day and it rains on the just and the unjust.<br /><br />3) I love your mom a lot. If it ever seems like I don't, remind me that I do.<br /><br />4) We did a lot of fun stuff before you got here but I don't really resent you for us having to change that. We waited for a long time before having you and the reason we waited was because we were selfish. We wanted to do everything we could before having the additional responsibilities of kids. We've traveled, gone to concerts and plays (ask your mom about the time we tried to go to Lion King twice), played a ton of video games, gardened, fixed the house and broken the house and overall, we lived the life we wanted to. So life before you was just what we wanted and we expect that life with you will be better. Don't let me down.<br /><br />5) We want you here. We wanted you here. This was a wonderful time in our lives to bring a child into the world and so we did. That's how we roll. We've found that if we want something, we have to plan for it, work for it, and then get it. There aren't a lot of shortcuts in life and if you find one, great, but don't count on them.<br /><br />6) Being a teenager is hard.<br /><br />7) When I was born, my parents threw out all their old records that they thought weren't for kids. I felt like I missed out on so much good stuff. I mean, Dad tossed Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, the Beatles, and a host of other amazing music that I had to discover on my own. I resented him for it, but now understand: they wanted me as protected as possible. If you ever think we are entirely lame for whatever line in the sand we draw (no dating until 16 or no R-rated movies until you're 9 or no swearing in the house), just know that at one point, we didn't really care about those things and just want to protect you. And while it's true we are lame, we have sacrificed something to make you the coolest kid we know.<br /><br />8) I should have composed a rough draft of this.<br /><br />9) Technology is never a salvation. Make sure you control it, not the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skynet_%28Terminator%29">other way around</a>. And whatever you do, make sure you can sync your calenders with your mobile device.<br /><br />10) When you fall in love, it will seem like no one understands just how much you love this person. But that's because they have probably experienced it too and know that that feeling doesn't last forever. Just enjoy it anyway, but protect your heart and the heart of the other person. As <a href="http://www.outkast.com/">Outkast says</a>, "If what they say is nothing lasts forever, what makes love the exception?"<br /><br />11) Before you got here, we mostly slept in on weekends, went out to eat once a week, watched a lot of TV, walked the dogs, and worked or studied. I played a lot of Modern Warfare 2 and Halo 3, read a little, and messed around with projects (most recently replaced the garbage disposal). Your mom read magazines, worked, and watched tv. I'm sure she did more than that, but all I can remember is the last month of pregnancy, when she was mostly waddling everywhere and exhausted from carrying your chunky butt around.<br /><br />It's odd, but we already love you and can't really explain the bond we have with you. I suppose that's the mystery of humanity and the beautiful enigma of having language to try and describe what we feel. So that's that: We love you.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-38071944730129330852010-04-19T11:22:00.001-07:002010-04-19T11:22:33.498-07:00Recommended reading list<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_A2gHiweosJzFyfmnkDYVOY-cWPIY0AxjgrtLu7UisCPkrjpnPyuKCUqKpPlwZKEGZaatEB7kjl96DegWMa2LlzHuRdOmclZiAUUY8VfEjJZomFtXRZbZuez0r4ZJ6IH0ywYIOg/s1600/0_IMAG0127-753499.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_A2gHiweosJzFyfmnkDYVOY-cWPIY0AxjgrtLu7UisCPkrjpnPyuKCUqKpPlwZKEGZaatEB7kjl96DegWMa2LlzHuRdOmclZiAUUY8VfEjJZomFtXRZbZuez0r4ZJ6IH0ywYIOg/s320/0_IMAG0127-753499.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461915723052648546" /></a></p>I found something that should be read before Robby gets here.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-28545448282380152492010-02-09T14:43:00.001-08:002010-02-09T14:43:43.288-08:00My favorite things<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPcLXLvHDtu8znRRSVY-FUYpovgVPtAWvojBV1k1bb9zohyOsMF22B5r2u3pIvzWP3WT-Tx_9TfUru0CZUoXmZ0Xv3_88vr3ivdktvVPpowTmeiCgdbZFjHGgIu9Ppuz_d6zh6Mw/s1600-h/0_IMAG0104-723289.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPcLXLvHDtu8znRRSVY-FUYpovgVPtAWvojBV1k1bb9zohyOsMF22B5r2u3pIvzWP3WT-Tx_9TfUru0CZUoXmZ0Xv3_88vr3ivdktvVPpowTmeiCgdbZFjHGgIu9Ppuz_d6zh6Mw/s320/0_IMAG0104-723289.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436378147128437586" /></a></p>Found this beauty in my phone during a lunch break at clinicals. Makes me so happy.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-56981370419569488822010-02-05T22:38:00.001-08:002010-02-05T22:57:21.345-08:00All the small things...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVs8h1E0QmCMpDQkMemJFlgtxJBRkpYR9zf7-BzPT3MuPemE9WHoxMh1jCfTQ8UGhYQzpG7yqRDsBlMhaMGoW-w8qYmF7M8svRgtqw8sJ6F_2klfAF5RhygQJ_PBa1-7r0XCepA/s1600-h/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVs8h1E0QmCMpDQkMemJFlgtxJBRkpYR9zf7-BzPT3MuPemE9WHoxMh1jCfTQ8UGhYQzpG7yqRDsBlMhaMGoW-w8qYmF7M8svRgtqw8sJ6F_2klfAF5RhygQJ_PBa1-7r0XCepA/s320/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435016285898111922" border="0" /></a><br />Here is the update. New family portrait (seen at right), baby due in a few months, school is a little bit lighter this semester but somehow I'm busier, and we got a new car.<br /><br />The lighter schedule has given me some time to think about existential things again (finally?), and I still have no clear answer. Which seems to be the answer. Definitives and absolutes really don't seem to jive with the world I see around me, and maybe that's because of my subjectivity within it, or maybe because that's one of the absolutes: the world has no absolutes. And I'm sure there are philological truths (or falses) within everything I've just dismissed, but I just don't see a lot of consistency in the natural realm.<br /><br />For example, entropy. Or earthquakes. Or Everyman. (Not sure about that last one, but I went for it because it started with an "e.") I mean, when scientists and mathematicians and theorists state that even on the infinitesimally small level of quantum mechanics that we can't observe the fundamental building blocks of literally everything in the universe because as soon as we try to look at them, they've already <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncertainty_principle">changed</a>. That means that we can't even know for certain our precise physical location, let alone anything beyond space time (ie deities, demons, et al).<br /><br />One might say, "But I don't care EXACTLY where I am right now; I know enough to function in my day to day life." And practically speaking, I agree with them. My day won't change if I can't map out my every atom. My day will change, however, if you start to tell me that there are things beyond the measurable that I should (or could) KNOW for certain. The measurable and observable are beyond prediction and understanding; how can I believe that the answer(s) to life itself are somehow knowable? I'm just not that certain.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-37630434854271049822009-11-08T07:44:00.000-08:002009-11-08T08:53:44.285-08:00Mother should I build a wall...The following post is a response to a discussion started elsewhere. Granted, starting a fight and walking somewhere else and trying to start it again isn't exactly sporting, but Facebook walls, oddly, aren't the best place for extended conversations.<br /><br />I'll repost the original comment and thread here:<br /><br />Michael Schoon - "I'm not trying to become a demagogue (although maybe I should), but start here before being antivaccine: http://antiantivax.flurf.net/"<br /><br />My friend (who I won't name because there has been no consent to that) - "Not that I'm anti-vaccine, but there are always two sides to every story. Like the CDC constantly proclaiming that over 30,000 people die from the flu every year. More Americans are receiving flu vaccines now than ever, but still every year 30,000 people die? This number hasn't decreased since vaccinations have increased? Seems ineffective to me. In actuality, the CDC's hard data show that the highest recorded flu death rate was 826 people in 2006. The other 29,000 'flu' deaths were more likely caused by pneumonia, but these two afflictions are lumped together for the sake of simplicity...and perhaps number skewing. All that to say that both sides of the argument are suspect. The CDC has an agenda, considering that many if its top people are involved with pharmaceutical companies, and the anti-vaxers are alarmists, so it's not such a simple delineation. Do your own research. And with that, I'm done."<br /><br />And my response, heretofore unpublished:<br /><br />Couple of points: 1) As far as seasonal flu vaccinations go, sure, take it or leave it. The 20-70% efficacy rate (depending on who you ask) isn't the most amazing. And you can attribute the roughly same number of flu deaths to anything (aging population, better diagnosis techniques, differing methods to collect data, the vaccine just doesn't work in the community as well as in the lab, etc). It could also be that the wrong people are getting vaccinated (young, healthy, middle class adults) while the sick, old, poor folks aren't. [As a side note, it would be interesting to see if productivity rates have remained the same as death rates over the years mentioned. If healthy people are getting vaccinated and then not contracting the flu like they might have in previous years (which wouldn't have killed them anyway), they would be taking less time off work, etc.] Ultimately, I'm not a researcher and I'll let them figure out the math. Until then, high risk people (who have upper respiratory diseases) should probably get the vaccine even if it reduces their chances by only 20-70%. The benefits outweigh the risks for that population. <br /><br />Yes, CDC numbers show a lot of people dying and they've chosen to include the complications (pneumonia, et al). If they stuck with just counting those deaths that listed flu as cause of death on the death certificate, the numbers might not be accurate, because (in their words) the "influenza virus infection may not be identified in many instances because influenza virus is only detectable for a short period of time and many people don’t seek medical care until after the first few days of acute illness" (1). So the CDC is in a predicament: use an estimation or use the actual printed numbers. I say use the estimation. Why? Upper respiratory infections are fairly closely related in etiology and the inclusion of flu-related deaths allows for a more accurate picture of the number of people affected by the disease. It's similar to including pneumonia in AIDS deaths. It's not the disease that kills, it's the sequelae. How accurate is the estimation? Pretty close, from what I have read. <br /><br />2) Granted, there is a lot of hype surrounding the flu vaccine. Does the CDC/government/medical profession play on people's fears of dying a horrible death by flu/swine flu? Perhaps. Would most people survive the flu virus? Most certainly. But the claim that the CDC has suspect motives because of links to the pharmaceutical industry is a little unfair. There isn't a lot of money in flu vaccines ($20, once a year at a Mollen Immunization center) and I find it hard to believe that this might encourage the members of the world's most foremost disease research institute to push something on the public that wasn't warranted. Can I prove this? No. It comes down to trust, and when Pink Floyd asks, "Mother, should I trust the government?", I answer with a clear and resounding, "Meh. Why not?"<br /><br />3) You raise an interesting argument that I rarely hear: don't get a particular vaccine because it doesn't work. That argument should be applied to every medical treatment, from herbal medicine to prostate exams to coronary bypass surgery. All that to say, I appreciate critical thinking.<br /><br />4) As mentioned previously, if a person doesn't want the flu vaccine, they shouldn't get it. It's the childhood vaccines that people's children should be getting. Those do work, the benefits outweigh the risks, and they are safe.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.cdc.gov/flu/about/disease/us_flu-related_deaths.htm">1. http://www.cdc.gov/flu/about/disease/us_flu-related_deaths.htm</a>Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-9094743061674755902009-09-30T17:31:00.000-07:002009-09-30T18:12:49.608-07:00Tell 'em that it's human natureYesterday I said to D that "Today was one of those days that made me happy I'm getting into nursing." She said, "Write that down!" I said, "No, you write it down!"<br /><br />But I think that I should. So here goes:<br /><br />In the past two days I've been on my labor and delivery rotation for clinicals. I expected it to be a little odd, but everything I've come across so far has been a little odd. In other words, everything is new. On Monday I was assigned to an expectant mother who had already dilated to 10 cm and was effaced 100%. She was ready to start pushing. So while she was pushing, I was holding one of her legs as the nurse I was assigned to follow coached her through the contractions. After two hours, a little head poked out and the doctor showed up and helped the baby and mom with the last few pushes and then everything was a blur. The baby came out and cried and the nursery nurses swept the baby up to the mom's side and the dad held the baby for what felt like a long time and then the baby got weighed and measured and graded and then the dad held him again while the doctor finished delivering the placenta with the mom. Then the new family clustered around the baby, who was now in the mom's arms, and my nurse showed me the parts of the placenta and I poked at it and examined it and then it was lunch time. (I realize now the timing of this seems odd, but I included the lunch part only to note the extremely fast passage of time, not that playing with a placenta made me hungry.)<br /><br />Emotionally, it was amazing. I almost cried watching this father, who had been stoic for the pushing, break a teary smile as he held his son for the first time and I laughed inside at the sister, who was told to shut up by her pregnant sister while coaching during the pushing. I can't really explain it, but it was the first time I have thought during clinicals, "I could do this for a living."<br /><br />Yesterday I saw a patient (or client, as some people would have them be called) have an emergency c-section and the precise movements and actions by everyone in the room made me proud to be a medical professional. The nurses were prepping and calling and setting aside supplies while the doctors were slicing and sewing while the respiratory techs were standing ready to treat the patient for any respiratory distress and and and. It was like being in the middle of a hive of ants, except instead of carrying food they were intent on saving two lives. Within one minute of slicing through this woman's skin, muscle, and uterus, the baby was delivered and was perfectly healthy. And the mother was fine too, after recovery.<br /><br />Two hours later (after lunch, which again seems odd timing), the patient I was originally assigned started pushing. Again, I was bedside as the baby delivered and despite a couple of complications that developed, everyone there on behalf of the hospital quickly reacted and ensured that mother and child both left happy and healthy. It could have been a lot worse, but it wasn't, because everyone did their job. And it was amazing.<br /> <br />I told Rich that I liked it and he said that bordered on being creepy. Apparently I stumbled upon one of the few remaining bastions of prejudice towards males. Usually it is females who are subjected to workplace stereotypes, but after looking at a <a href="http://allnurses.com/ob-gyn-nursing/male-labor-delivery-107918.html">few forums online</a> (and <a href="http://zeldalily.com/index.php/2009/06/male-delivery-nurses-taboo/">here</a>, too), it would appear that male nurses working as labor and delivery nurses have to confront more stereotypes than females in the same position. It's not as though I am infatuated with the anatomy; I have just seen nurses actively changing lives and participating in one of the most profound events in a patient's life and then fade quietly into the background, only to do it again a few hours later. I don't know if I want to be an L&D nurse or it's just a phase (like that time I borrowed a keyboard so I could write and produce music with my laptop), but I do know that yesterday was a good day.<br /><br />So I want to be a nurse.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-29159131060131883162009-09-22T10:51:00.001-07:002009-09-22T11:16:43.310-07:00Morning has broken<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYAY4VROJwUNpYCotZssqhM2PwRYiWFENFgJt_op_tVB0rBLvyFBMQ-dSSIc3C292R4ulyCtM_M_FUs27QYXd2uUicDi7WgKViglodVWWwugSOkD3tl3DG1yTgqBPV1f-xFWsEg/s1600-h/baby.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYAY4VROJwUNpYCotZssqhM2PwRYiWFENFgJt_op_tVB0rBLvyFBMQ-dSSIc3C292R4ulyCtM_M_FUs27QYXd2uUicDi7WgKViglodVWWwugSOkD3tl3DG1yTgqBPV1f-xFWsEg/s320/baby.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357349282841810" /></a><br /><br />I have neglected this task much like Kidde Fire Extinguishers neglected to tell customers that occasionally their products <a href="http://www.cpsc.gov/cpscpub/prerel/prhtml09/09151.html">failed to extinguish fires</a>. But all of that is behind us now, and I'm pleased to announce that I'm in the writing mood.<br /><br />First of all, we're pregnant. Only about 8 weeks now, so included is a gross approximation of what the most recent ultrasound looked like. It has been an odd experience. It was the first month we tried to get pregnant, and the first few days of Danielle peeing on sticks was a little surreal. She marched out of the bathroom one day, while I was still asleep, and said, "Does this look like a line to you? Or is it a shadow?" Being the eternal pessimist, I tried to convince her that not only was it too early to test, she was crazy. (Note to boys: Girls love being told they aren't being rational. They just eat it up!!!) So the next day, a similar thing happened, and after a couple more tests, the lines got more and more definitive. And eventually, the data overwhelmed my skepticism and we believed. A blood test confirmed it. And we tried a few more pee tests just for good measure.<br /><br />How did I react? The revelation came over several days, so any excitement I had waxed and waned. But I am excited now. I spent the first few nights falling asleep thinking, "Well, everything is going to change now. Everything. Everything. Everything." And then I'd spend the daylight hours convincing myself that not everything would change. Repeat for a week and you'll have a rough idea of what it was like. So I for one am grateful that I have nine months to adjust to this.<br /><br />We have a little calendar that tells us exactly on what day what forms in utero. Yesterday the heart was completed. The optic nerve and eyeball have started and I think the arms and legs start wiggling tomorrow. The tail is still present, and though I hope it goes away, I kind of hope it doesn't. There are so many things that can go wrong with fetal formation that that's the new thing that keeps me up at night. It doesn't help that I'm in my OB/GYN/PEDS rotation for clinical (nice segue, self).<br /><br />Nursing school is good. It has been a challenge at some times but not as severe as Danielle's program. I guess that's a key difference between an AD program and an accelerated RN, BSN, FNP program. I really enjoy the clinical setting and the classroom setting has always been good place for me, so I feel good about the future.<br /><br />Not much else is happening. A lot of waiting. Stephen and I are going to play Halo: ODST now.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-70803150760178965642009-06-30T17:45:00.000-07:002009-06-30T18:11:05.143-07:00...to find my mother in a garbage bin...<span style="font-style: italic;">Enclosed please find the actual text of an email my dear mother sent unsolicited to "you kids." Phrases to look out for: "..actually smells better than it did," "Not sure how it will grow out," and "Love, Mom" (Again: No one requested this information.)</span><br /><br />from: Linda Schoon (xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com)<br /><br />to: Michael (xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com), Rebecca Bradley (xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com), Stephen Schoon (xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com), Danielle (xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com), Adam Bradley (xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com)<br /><br />date: Tue, Jun 30 2009 at 5:26 pm<br /><br />subject: thumb injury update - caution graphic materials<br /><br />The nail came off yesterday and this is what was underneath. It actually smells better than it did the day before, but it looks pretty gross as you can see. Not sure how it will grow out.<br />Love,<br />Mom<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPI9M9xatxYtgtlYQi9DhYXDk8qbS5KkRsJLDvgIswtNR3ch0kEWctHB0ChoFiDe83lxuyFMCyyubbeL8yTcFWlQPM0QNQrqPDuvULalSk7FXZlWsTysbNTqjaTZ-CmwY7JCtnKw/s1600-h/mayjune09+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPI9M9xatxYtgtlYQi9DhYXDk8qbS5KkRsJLDvgIswtNR3ch0kEWctHB0ChoFiDe83lxuyFMCyyubbeL8yTcFWlQPM0QNQrqPDuvULalSk7FXZlWsTysbNTqjaTZ-CmwY7JCtnKw/s320/mayjune09+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353288375322599682" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrM8B-QuW4q1UVMgjGonfdvOooaM6sUtM3Lo04wocJ29pVaYMnd_SVGi5FR_SARTSAHxl47wL_v6EvGbXmm19mGbYIU_4v6MA99gVbK8ECQA62oWDLHQjvITMo0i1nqhh9XaTgQ/s1600-h/mayjune09+029.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrM8B-QuW4q1UVMgjGonfdvOooaM6sUtM3Lo04wocJ29pVaYMnd_SVGi5FR_SARTSAHxl47wL_v6EvGbXmm19mGbYIU_4v6MA99gVbK8ECQA62oWDLHQjvITMo0i1nqhh9XaTgQ/s320/mayjune09+029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353288505764380274" border="0" /></a>Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-28025930880954588002009-04-19T21:10:00.001-07:002009-04-20T07:19:13.099-07:00We were merely freshmen...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltwRyTjmQQ-tLtwrRuKzZD7LNN4OvGiY6uIxHzN0IRi0laDkDi-V0tYoTdQu2RpSBQ6OasIQPw6AMHNF_ME9RS3lLaA_wkhLM99HYxNn4Szoih1ZZ7_f0rXcr_aNxEkPY8ctHKA/s1600-h/ducklings_ali_465x349.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 118px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltwRyTjmQQ-tLtwrRuKzZD7LNN4OvGiY6uIxHzN0IRi0laDkDi-V0tYoTdQu2RpSBQ6OasIQPw6AMHNF_ME9RS3lLaA_wkhLM99HYxNn4Szoih1ZZ7_f0rXcr_aNxEkPY8ctHKA/s320/ducklings_ali_465x349.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326625681555753154" /></a><br />The following is true.<br /><br />On Wednesday I was walking the dogs along the canal and noticed a duckling swimming north up the canal. I didn't see any other ducks around and thought that was odd, but what're ya gonna do? About another mile up the canal, I see a group of ducks, including a female duck with six ducklings swimming behind her. I decided I was about done with my walk and walked south back, wondering if the lone duckling was closer now. He wasn't. He was in the same place he was before. I figured that I'd watch him awhile and see what he did. He kept going the direction of his mom and then turn around and go the other way. I determined to get the duck back to his mom, so I tied the dogs to a fence, took off my shirt, and tried to get close to the water. It took me 15 minutes to notice that this was going to be impossible, given the deep sides of the canal and the fact that I have terrible balance.<br /><br />So I took the dogs back and grabbed, what else, a broom.<br /><br />I drove back towards the canal and ran back to the spot I left the duckling. He was still there, and after some coaxing, I worked it towards a group of steps leading to the water. I scooped him up and grabbed him. Then I walked/jogged/looked ridiculous as I carried him the mile to where I had left his mother. Although now she was across the canal and I had no where to cross. Sigh. So I walked slowly, working her (and the six ducklings behind her) towards another one of those step thingies. Eventually, I got her there, placed her wayward duckling on the end of the broom, and flung the duckling toward her. One life saved.<br /><br />Then I went for a walk on Saturday and saw the female duck with only two ducklings behind her. "Well," I reasoned, "it could have been just one."<br /><br />Sunday I went for another walk and saw the female duck with just one duckling around her. "Well," I tried again, "it could have been zero."<br /><br />Here's my point: I know that natural selection weeds out the weak (like the ones who get lost swimming ONE DIRECTION ON A 12 FOOT WIDE CANAL), but it still makes me feel sad. I want to use another word, but sad is all that works. And I also feel like I should have learned this lesson either a) when I was younger or b) when I watched the Andy Griffith episode where Opie kills a bird. But I didn't. And natural processes don't care that a) the ducklings died or b) that I have any feelings at all.<br /><br />So I'll soldier on, but I have decided that I just shouldn't give a duck.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-46982121796974395412009-03-16T23:23:00.000-07:002009-03-16T23:32:56.830-07:00I walk it out, I walk it out...Let me recreate the scene:<br /><br />58 year old male (father-in-law) is recovering from brain surgery he had earlier this morning to remove a tumor from his temporal lobe. Me, my wife, and her brother all decide to hang out with him for a few hours this afternoon. Patient decides that he needs to walk around a little. After much maneuvering (with the IV pole, a gown that is ill-fitting, and his propensity for falling), we get to the end of the hallway that has a big picture window. Patient decides to "stretch a little." With his front to the window, he proceeds to put his left leg onto the hand rail, spreading the back of his gown wide open while he continues to stretch his leg. The nurses at the station shriek in disgust as the patient's open gown, coupled with lack of undergarments, display full anatomical features. I start giggling a little, my dear wife starts trying to pull her father's gown shut, and patient decides to fart. Three times. Loudly and without abandon. I start crying with laughter, the nurses retreat, my wife retreats, the patient continues stretching until he is satisfied, and we all work our way back to his room to continue the recovery process. All in all, a good day.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-26545413246749727782009-02-28T13:20:00.000-08:002009-02-28T13:50:19.326-08:00There'll be no argument, you can take it from me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nUuabFwdR1neztAfv3oAbxJbdzOT0j-DOxL3kBBjhK1s1r_plp4nFIUN41gtjASXhZ6rKHAgv7hCP4JGngSjHV-H2jsxtkO6v0dxoPljtJKNFRNRRquFVtl8DdrsA8wI3ba3LQ/s1600-h/688868455_2289bf4c88.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nUuabFwdR1neztAfv3oAbxJbdzOT0j-DOxL3kBBjhK1s1r_plp4nFIUN41gtjASXhZ6rKHAgv7hCP4JGngSjHV-H2jsxtkO6v0dxoPljtJKNFRNRRquFVtl8DdrsA8wI3ba3LQ/s320/688868455_2289bf4c88.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307965141704377570" /></a><br /><br />It's warm enough I don't have to wear a shirt.<br /><br />Good news and bad news:<br /><br />Bad news first: The garage door opener broke and now I'm stuck trying to figure out if I want to fix it by buying a $25 replacement part or just using it manually. Like <a href="http://www.mitchhedberg.net/">Mr. Hedberg</a> said, "Escalator temporarily stairs. Sorry for the convenience."<br /><br />Additional bad news: I think the weed killer I bought was improperly mixed (by me) so it didn't kill any weeds and instead made them hardier. One of them actually said, "Thanks for the drink, ya pansy" to me when I passed it this morning.<br /><br />More bad news: My house still kind of smells like the turkey bacon I cooked two nights ago.<br /><br />Good news: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoGYx35ypus">This post</a> about the state of things made me smile. And I would have embedded it but the overlords of the internet disabled it.<br /><br />Indifferent news: If you are in the east valley area and are having a yard/garage sale, THINK about your sign placement. Address is nice, directional arrow is better, bright color is assumed, but expecting me to wander around your neighborhood looking for your notecards taped on cacti is a little much. If I can't find your sign, how am I going to spend 50 cents for an additional charger for my laptop? <br /><br />Also, if you are planning a sale, don't just pull out a chair for you to sit on and spill your trash can onto the driveway and call it good. No one wants your "Aloha, 1992" plastic visor set (of two). Or your toothbrush holder that might have been chrome when you bought it. Or a stack of National Geographic magazines. Marketing 101 people: If your old sweatshirt smells like cat pee to you, then it smells like Satan's bladder to the rest of us. Also, it's safe to say that a box full of VHS tapes (Days of Thunder, Star Wars: Episode 1, Jurassic Park, How to Raise a Child, et al), though certainly full of sentimental value, is not going to be a good way to earn back the $450 you spent on it. I know there is that little voice inside of your head that says, "But someone might want it." Ignore that voice. That's the same voice that told you buy them in the first place and look where you are now: pushing them onto the less fortunate.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-15230929910326124012009-02-11T07:37:00.001-08:002009-02-11T07:41:53.978-08:00'Scuse me while I kiss this guyThe following three videos made my week. The first one is potty-mouthed Christian Bale getting angry at a DP on the set of Terminator Salvation. It's a little long and laden with naughty language. The second one is David after the dentist. And the third one is the two becoming one.<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/f9G-BAYjIHE&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/f9G-BAYjIHE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/txqiwrbYGrs&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/txqiwrbYGrs&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/70r-Ca8wcVg&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/70r-Ca8wcVg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />America!Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-68040949964298797312009-02-07T09:44:00.000-08:002009-02-07T09:45:26.393-08:00Let's talk about the passion...<a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VM8CbVRa8-5oeTvpfGIXPGgQyVYFxhRYI099ykAz_1k56PrxzVJtvOZUEZCjQzAC1b5tx0DWhfAttA7Wy0YEZqdPEXJ2fVQztJSGopPwtJpEIGsTOmSEfAMzg50VUgg9_0FiDg/s1600-h/IMG_9276.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VM8CbVRa8-5oeTvpfGIXPGgQyVYFxhRYI099ykAz_1k56PrxzVJtvOZUEZCjQzAC1b5tx0DWhfAttA7Wy0YEZqdPEXJ2fVQztJSGopPwtJpEIGsTOmSEfAMzg50VUgg9_0FiDg/s320/IMG_9276.JPG' border='0' alt=''style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;' /></a> <br />Toby several hours post surgery. He's got a pain patch stapled to his stomach (green bandage), a white bandage around his neck to strap the cone to, a brown bandage on his leg to keep it straight, a yellow bandage to protect the IV site, is and horribly drugged up. But he is saying some incredibly profound things.<div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-77219880563925766192009-02-01T13:22:00.000-08:002009-02-01T13:24:34.946-08:00A family of trees...Two things.<br />1)<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lnCnRuoYMxE&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lnCnRuoYMxE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />2) My new favorite <a href="http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/">blog</a> to check. Cakes are the new black!Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-90434817439446494112009-01-28T18:01:00.000-08:002009-01-28T18:04:10.292-08:00This is the end, my only friend, the endI told you all that it didn't matter whether or not I turned the lights off or not. Now scientists say that global warming can't be stopped.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=99888903">Global warming is irreversible, study says</a><br /><br />So long polar bears!Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-61860732173911100202009-01-27T23:47:00.000-08:002009-01-27T23:53:37.957-08:00Everything is changing and I still feel the sameSo my dog blew out his knee. Like the equivalent of what would be an ACL in a human. So we probably have to get surgery on it. Which is silly, because he's just a dog but then again, maybe <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26706278/">he'll call 911 when we're having seizures and save our lives</a>. You never can tell what man's best friend is going to do.<br /><br />Also, I'm in nursing school now. I quit my job in December and have decided to pursue a career in the medical field. It was a huge step and I'm glad I did it but of course, it's a distinct difference from working full time. I started January 5th. So far, it's been good. Tomorrow I have to read a bazillion pages and then take notes on them and then memorize a buttload of terms. In case it was unknown, a buttload is the medical term for approximately 35.<br /><br />Honestly, life is good. I feel like things are coming together and I have some kind of direction in my life and also, all my dark colored clothes are clean so what else do I need?<br /><br />More later, if the pen is willing.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-44733929499293751702009-01-18T08:21:00.001-08:002009-01-18T08:21:05.670-08:00Cuz it's 187 on a ...<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLOtdx74etENYXasVGWmEyRg6be02lYkDg6dBVdxKeab1jX0xHOglHb5PE6IwLo_UFXs3Cc3trwON6tMuHKhkXEjC3vkkW9WjCWRPFBoQa15ENYwSPZKGMX1Fy9TslYgecPBm6Aw/s1600-h/0_01-18-09_0317-765671.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLOtdx74etENYXasVGWmEyRg6be02lYkDg6dBVdxKeab1jX0xHOglHb5PE6IwLo_UFXs3Cc3trwON6tMuHKhkXEjC3vkkW9WjCWRPFBoQa15ENYwSPZKGMX1Fy9TslYgecPBm6Aw/s320/0_01-18-09_0317-765671.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292669583907214210" /></a></p>A math problem: SJS versus 6 ft, 200 lb, 30 year old PCP user = 8 stitches and one tazed suspectMichael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-35069516095289314662009-01-17T12:44:00.001-08:002009-01-17T12:44:48.784-08:00That hunger is a lack of cat food<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3RuZhR26AkYYp-AEM26HGTredRgE6k7kqOOGWN99J7uAoJoTyaBTxV1ZM4imxNWbjJhw5-LauJoumemQI_F2IuUVBpA7QA52RFptOr3QchnDfosI5Pj2gYCRo_ZR4F56c2WNdA/s1600-h/0_IMAG0070-788787.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3RuZhR26AkYYp-AEM26HGTredRgE6k7kqOOGWN99J7uAoJoTyaBTxV1ZM4imxNWbjJhw5-LauJoumemQI_F2IuUVBpA7QA52RFptOr3QchnDfosI5Pj2gYCRo_ZR4F56c2WNdA/s320/0_IMAG0070-788787.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292366455160147010" /></a></p>Forget the homeless, save Gilbert's cats.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-74343352196998324272008-12-27T19:10:00.000-08:002008-12-27T19:11:42.032-08:00Hey girl, how you doing?I tried to tell everyone but no one is listening anymore. <a href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/chi-black-women-shrinkingdec25,0,2562107.story">BLACK WOMEN IN THE U.S. ARE SHRINKING!!!</a><br /><br />And here you thought you were just getting taller.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9147102.post-67669159206494839362008-12-07T12:14:00.001-08:002008-12-07T12:16:07.147-08:00Too rich too poorSo I was perusing the interwebs and found <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/michaelbenjamin/sets/72157602652072917/">this</a> entirely sublime gallery of pictures taken by a cat named Cooper with a special camera. I don't know why I enjoyed it so much, except that some of the pictures are so peaceful that it makes me think that this cat was somehow finding bliss in just sitting and looking that the world around him. I think this cat can teach us something. Like how to clean ourselves with our tongues.Michael Schoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13585590430245633962noreply@blogger.com0