The First Tears (Eskimo) retold by S. E. Schlosser Once long ago, Man went hunting along the water's edge for seals. To Man's delight, many seals were crowded together along the seashore. He would certainly bring home a great feast for Woman and Son. He crept cautiously towards the seals. The seals grew restless. Man slowed down. Suddenly, the seals began to slip into the water. Man was frantic. His feast was getting away. Then Man saw a single seal towards the back of the group. It was not moving as quickly as the others. Ah! Here was his prize. He imagined the pride on Woman's face, the joy in Son's eyes. Their bellies would be filled for many days from such a seal. Man crept towards the last seal. It did not see him, or so Man thought. Suddenly, it sprang away and slipped into the water. Man rose to his feet. He was filled with a strange emotion. He felt salty water begin to drip from his eyes. He touched his eyes and tasted the drops. Yes, they were water. Strange choking sounds were coming from his mouth and chest. Son heard the cries of Man and called Woman. They ran to the seashore to find out what was wrong with Man. Woman and Son were alarmed to see water flowing out of Man's eyes. Man told them about the shore filled with seals. He told how he had hunted them, and how every seal had escaped his knife. As he spoke, water began to flow from the eyes of Woman and Son, and they cried with the Man. In this way, people first learned to weep. Later, Man and Son hunted a seal together. They killed it and used its skin to make snares for more seals.

MISPRONUNCIATIONS As a young girl I wondered why my parents decided to spell my name in an unusual manner. My mother told me it was a French spelling. To me, it only spelled trouble. My name is Annettee, pronounced Annett. The e's at the end are silent. The typical spelling is Annette with one e at the end. But mine was different -- it included two e's at the end. I felt frustrated because people always left off the second e or they told me my name was misspelled. I longed for a more simplistic name like Carol or Amy. But this was what I was given. Over twenty years ago, when I was in nursing school, a good friend of mine started calling me Annettee' -- her emphasis was put on the e's at the end. Now people were not only spelling my name incorrectly but pronouncing it incorrectly. As our graduation day was approaching, she started to tease me that they would announce me as Annettee' just as she did. I would cringe inside each time this was even suggested. Finally graduation was here. It was filled with excitement and activity. In the morning was a pinning ceremony for the nurses and, in the afternoon, were graduation festivities which involved the graduating class for the whole college. The pinning ceremony was so meaningful. It was our first opportunity to dress as an official nurse. No more student uniforms. We were called to the stage dressed like angels of mercy, in white from head to toe -- from our white shoes to our nursing caps. As they called each of our names, we received our nursing pins. To my relief, my name was pronounced correctly. The day would go off without a glitch. So I thought. The graduation ceremony was still ahead. As I entered the auditorium for our graduation, it was filled with a sea of blue caps and gowns, and unfamiliar faces. We sat in alphabetical order until it was our turn to approach the stage. The moment had arrived. My name was next on the list. I heard them call -- "Annettee' Ford". I couldn't believe my ears. My friend cursed me with that name. But I walked on the stage with pride. I knew my friend was sitting in her seat roaring with laughter that they called me her pet name. But at that moment I made a choice. I was not going to let this spoil my day or my life ANYMORE. God tells us we can choose blessings or curses. I chose to see the beauty in my name. I would no longer be embarrassed by its mispronunciations or misspellings. What happened this day was more than my graduation from nursing school or college. I graduated to see, that with my unusual name, I had truly been blessed and not cursed. -- Annettee Budzban .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

LOL TO FUNNY~! > > An open letter to the person about to send me that mass email: > > You did not 'just see my site' and see a great opportunity to raise my > traffic. > > You aren't a young, nubile sixteen year-old girl about to go down on her > sister just for me. > > I am perfectly happy with my penis, but thank you for insisting that you can > help me improve what I have. > > I do not own a home, so you cannot help me unlock my hidden equity. > > I do not need your services or the services of your coding team in India. > Thanks for sending me all the resumes though; it's always fun to see someone > claim to be an expert in WS_FTP and 'DB3 Progroming.' > > I have a college degree so odds are I don't want one of yours even if there > IS a discount when I buy 3 or more. I suppose it's nice of you to offer a > cheaper path to grad school for some though. > > You do not have pictures of Catherine Zeta-Jones that 'show everything' in a > way that I've never thought of before. Trust me, I've thought of at least a > dozen ways you couldn't imagine. I'm surprised Michael Douglas hasn't kicked > my ass already. > > Even if nude pictures of Chelsea Clinton exist I sure as hell don't want to > see them. > > The words 'farm animals' and 'sex' should never be in such close proximity, > hence I won't even crack open the email. > > Your subject header contains two-dozen garbage characters because you're too > cheap to actually pay for the mass email product you're using, so how good > can your product or service be? > > I don't want to know the facts about anyone, anytime. There's a certain > amount of blissful ignorance that is required to stay sane these days. Your > offer is tempting but the odds are that my personally concocted versions of > 'the truth' are better off for my long-term mental health (whatever that may > actually be.) > > Seriously, I have no desire to do anything to my penis. Why in the world you > think this is a viable email-marketing scheme is beyond me. > > I'm too young to need Viagra, but thanks for offering. > > I don't want to buy prescription medication at bargain prices from you. I > barely trust my HMO, why in the world do you think I'll let you fill my > scrip? > > I also don't need the 'all-natural' alternative to Viagra no matter how much > better it is than the real thing. Besides, isn't the alternative to Viagra > just having loads and loads of money? > > Speaking of which, I don't want your all-natural alternative to cannabis. I > understand the non-alcoholic beer angle but who in the world wants to smoke > weed that doesn't get you high? > > I, like many others, have seen the random photos of Anna Kournikova falling > out of a tennis outfit or two. That's more than I need and your promise of > hundreds of such photos does nothing to me other than make me feel queasy. > > The company you are touting might be real but the press release you've > concocted in an attempt to boost the price is not. Who in the world do you > expect to buy stock from a person using 'sexxymail.com' as their domain > anyway? As much as they try to convince you otherwise there are NO sexy > stockbrokers. It just doesn't work that way. > > Did I mention that no amount of discussions of the benefits of implants, > creams, pumps or the like will ever convince me that I need to purchase > penis-improving aides from an email marketer? > > Let's be honest for a minute. If you are a nubile 16 year-old who is > comfortable with my penis as it is and has a great stock tip you're going to > offer to me while you and your sister go down on Catherine Zeta-Jones I > might just want in. Otherwise you can just forget sending that message. > > Thanks for thinking of me though, > > Boon Sheridan > > .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

THIS IS PRICELESS. Timmy was a little five year old boy that his Mom loved very much and, being a worrier, she was concerned about him walking to school when he started Kindergarten. She walked him to school the couple of days but when he came home one day, he told his mother that he did not want her walking him to school everyday. He wanted to be like the "big boys." He protested loudly, so she had an idea of how to handle it. She asked a neighbor, Mrs. Goodnest, if she would surreptitiously follow her son to school, at a distance behind him that he would not likely notice, but close enough to keep a watch on him. Mrs. Goodnest said that since she was up early with her toddler anyway, it would be a good way for them to get some exercise as well so she agreed. The next school day, Mrs. Goodnest and her little girl, Marcy, set out following behind Timmy as he walked to school with another neighbor boy he knew. She did this for the whole week. As the boys walked and chatted, kicking stones and twigs, the little friend of Timmy noticed that this same lady was following them as she seemed to do every day all week. Finally, he said to Timmy, "Have you noticed that lady following us all week? Do you know her?" Timmy nonchalantly replied, "Yea, I know who she is." The little friend said, "Well who is she?" "That's just Shirley Goodnest" Timmy said. "Shirley Goodnest? Who the heck is she and why is she following us?" "Well," Timmy explained, "every night my Mom makes me say the 23rd Psalm with my prayers cuz she worries about me so much. And in it, the prayer psalm says, "Shirley Goodnest and Marcy shall follow me all the days of my life." so I guess I'll just have to get used to it. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Through the Window Pane By Connie Spittler Riding the crest of a desert arroyo, our property becomes a passageway for wild life. We keep our eyes open for the animals and birds that come to visit. One season, a mother quail nested on the ground of our open atrium, where we could eavesdrop on her developing brood through the windowpanes. When our Midwestern grandchildren came to visit, it was seven year old Hannah, who pressed her nose against the glass, and became resident companion to the mother quail. Hannah sat on the tile floor, guarding the nest from inside the house for long stretches of time. Whenever we wanted to find Hannah, we knew just where to look. I sat there a fair amount, finding the tranquil time often not available when grandkids' visits are brief and energy rides high. Sitting together and watching the quail family cast a special aura around us. We were inches away from the birds, yet we didn't frighten them, because of the glass that separated us. If we were still, if we were quiet, we could see the chicks bob and scratch around their mother, as they learned the ways of nature. Hannah and I were watching together on the day the mother quail began to lead the chicks over the four inch ledge, out into the desert. Hop. Skip. Up and over. Hop. Skip and over. Each little bird did the calisthenics required to leave the protected nest, and proceeded to conquering the unknown. The mother called to each one softly, offering encouragement. All went according to the designated plan, until the turn of the tiniest chick. The little bird hopped again and again, but couldn't make it over the concrete ledge to reach the rest of the family. The height was too great. The mother coaxed and cajoled, than finally abandoned the last bird in the window well, to care for the rest of the youngsters, who foraged for seeds nearby. Hannah and I listened to the heartbreaking cheeping sounds of the forlorn, feathered babe. We were upset too. I'd been told that once quail leave the nest, they do not come back, but I didn't want to share this information with Hannah. I knew she expected me to solve the problem. Her eyes held mine, searching for my answer. Then I did have an idea. I grabbed a sturdy piece of heavy cardboard, and explained the plan to Hannah. We hurried outside with the makeshift material. I let Hannah slip the ramp into place for the last chick, angling it to present an easy slope to the top of the ledge. We quickly retreated back to the inner window. When the little bird scrabbled up the cardboard and scooted out to join the others, we sighed in relief. It was a matter of cardboard and common knowledge, sympathy and simple wisdom. The words of a poem by Emily Dickinson came to mind and we went to the bookshelf and found her words. Now the lines could be understood in a new light, for Hannah and for me. "Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain." On that sunny desert morning, my granddaughter Hannah and I had not lived in vain. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Anything For Love There is a song by the recording artist, "Meatloaf", titled, "I Would Do Anything For Love." It is true that love is a grand thing to pursue, and we are also called by God TO love, but sadly, sometimes in our struggle to give and receive love, we find ourselves on an entirely different path. In the name of "love," marriages in crisis are often destroyed as lust is mistaken for love. Oftentimes, jealousy and possessiveness masquerades as love. In the pursuit of love, sometimes we leap before seeing what is on the other side of the cliff. What would you do to have real love? Climb a mountain? Swim an ocean? Cut off one of your limbs? We may think such drastic measures must be taken to find true love, but right around the corner; in fact, right in front of our very eyes, exists that most precious treasure! Unfortunately, many of us walk right by it because we are expecting it to look and feel the same way love is often presented in made-for-television movies and cheap romantic novels. Certainly, there is something to say for romance and passion, but let us not confuse one for the other. Love is not something you can hold or see, for it is purely internal and outside of the earthly natural realm. It is not blonde or brunette, or possessing certain dimensions, nor is it measured by the size of one's pocketbook or titles of prestige. True love comes from one place, and one place only. God. Unless we seek the Lord first, chances are, we will never fully understand or recognize true love, because the foundation of love is built upon God. By Melanie Schurr «¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤» .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Jelly Hearts By Joyce Mueller I was in my second year of nurse's training at Children's Hospital when I fell in love with Jimmy. His eyes were the purple of a full-moon sky. His golden hair tossed rings of curls onto strawberry blush cheeks. He looked like a cherub in the stained-glass cathedral windows. But he had the wail of a lonely, frightened, orphaned baby, which he was. Jimmy was in the communicable diseases wing, isolated with measles and pneumonia. He had to be enclosed in his oxygen-tent-covered crib most of the time. When he wasn't sleeping, he was crying to get out. But he always stopped crying when I entered his room because he knew I would cuddle, rock and sing to him. The Children's Orphanage had been his only home most of his fifteen months of life. I knew he was well tended there, but no institution care can replace a mother's love. As I hummed a lullaby, I fantasized. "Jimmy, I promise you that as soon as I finish nursing school, I will find a way to become your full-time mommy. You will be my special little angel." My mind eagerly formed wedding plans for right after graduation. The man I married would just have to love this beautiful baby as much as I did. The door opened a crack. My supervisor hissed, "Miss White! Have you completed all of your work and finished charting?" "Almost, Miss Stickleby." "It's nearly time to go off duty. Put the baby down now. Check on your other patients, and then go help Miss Nelson. I believe she had an extra patient today." The door closed before I could answer. Suzie Nelson did not have an extra patient. I did. Suzie was assigned as Jimmy's nurse, but I asked to have him added to my patient load. I wanted the extra time with him since I'd be on vacation the next three days. Deliberately, I dawdled, massaging his thin little legs, playing peek-a-boo with his yellow ducky blanket, urging gurgling giggles between his raspy breaths. He was more responsive and playful than I'd seen him before, and his grasp was stronger. A good sign of improving condition. A loud tap rattled the ward window. Stickleby. Quickly, I gave Jimmy his favorite squeaky bear and an extra farewell backrub. As his eyelids closed over his pansy eyes, I tucked the oxygen tent around his crib and whispered good-bye. Back at the nurse's station, Miss Stickleby glared as I signed off Jimmy's chart. 'Who was she anyway?' I wondered. We students couldn't fault her as a teacher and supervisor. She saw to it that we were all as conscientious in our duties as she was. But although the hospital policy encouraged staff and students to hold, play with, read and talk to all the children in our care, we never saw her cooing over a baby or reading to a toddler. By the end of the shift, our pink student uniforms were always rumpled and damp. Miss Stickleby's looked as starched and clean as at the start of the day. Unlike my netted unruly locks, no wisps of auburn hair escaped from under her square pillbox nurse cap. She was such a proper, capable nurse. Why did she hide her heart? I waved good-bye to Jimmy's room as I hurried off duty, excited to have a mountain of fun. But at the same time, I was eager to return to my bright-eyed, nearly recovered Jimmy. While on vacation, I bought several silly, washable toys for "my little guy." He had only the disposable ones given by the local children's societies. Before he went back to the orphanage, everything would be burned, of course, to prevent cross-contamination. Holiday over, I rushed back to work and eagerly peeked through Jimmy's window on my way to the ward station. His crib was clean and empty. "Where did you move Jimmy?" I asked the night nurse. "Oh, he died Saturday night. Didn't you know?" Such a casual answer. My body turned to clabbered milk. I fell into the chair, crushing the toy bag. "I'm sorry, Joy. He was such a special little kid." She released a long, exhausted sigh. "Saturday night was a bad night." Beyond consolation, I stumbled into the nurse's lounge where I could release a great wash of tears. "Miss White!" It was Stickleby's clipped, stern voice. "Time for report. Dry your eyes and get on duty. Now, please." All of the emotion I felt for Jimmy poured out like boiling oil over this cold, unfeeling woman. "How can you be so uncaring?" I yelled. "It's bad enough that Jimmy's beautiful little life is snuffed out, but he didn't even have a mama to comfort him or to care that he died. And you? Do you care about him or any other little life? No! Just, 'Miss White, go to work. Pretend everything is the same.' Well, it isn't the same. I care! I loved that little boy!" Tears spattered down the front of my uniform. A handkerchief dropped onto my wet lap. I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. Miss Stickleby stood at my side, teardrops softening her stiff uniform. "Miss White - Joy," her voice was a husky whisper. "There are far too many Jimmys in our profession. They can wreck our hearts if we let them. You and I are jelly hearts. We will always be searching for ways to cope. One thing I know for sure is that we must give equal attention to each child. To single out one child can destroy us and can limit our ability to be an effective nurse." She blotted her face. "It may give you comfort to know that Jimmy did not die alone. Death took him softly from my arms." We sat together for a brief time, the seasoned jelly- hearted teacher and the green jelly-hearted student, crying. Then we put on our fresh nurse faces and went out to love and care for all the little children in our charges. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

How Do We Teach Values, Decency, Honesty? Can you imagine a lawyer today doing the following? * An old woman in extreme poverty was charged $200 for getting her $400 pension. The lawyer sued the pension agent and won the case for the old woman. He didn't charge her for his services and, in fact, paid her hotel bill and gave her fare for a ticket home. * A lawyer and his associate once prevented a con man from gaining possession of a tract of land owned by a mentally ill girl. The case took 15 minutes. The lawyer's associate came to divide up their fee, but the lawyer reprimanded him. His associate argued that the girl's brother had agreed on the fee ahead of time, and he was completely satisfied. "That may be," the lawyer said, "but I am not satisfied. That money comes out of the pocket of a poor, demented girl; and I would rather starve than swindle her in this manner. You return half the money at least, or I'll not take a cent of it as my share." This column is not about lawyer bashing, nor a belated tribute to Abraham Lincoln. But I was intrigued to find these documented stories of why we came to refer to the 16th U.S. president, Abraham Lincoln, as "Honest Abe." It's hard to imagine a lawyer, or a president today, with such scruples. However, the legendary story about Lincoln's character stems from the time he managed a country store. He discovered he had overcharged a customer a few cents, and then walked a long distance to pay the customer back. Where do honesty and decency come from? How do you teach your child not to lie today when everyone from the president or prime minister to the defense department (misinformation campaigns are a common part of war) to large, respected corporations misrepresent the truth? Where do you draw the line and say, for this you have to pay, make some restitution? * Sandra forgot to have her mother sign her reading report one day. So she faked the signature. It didn't look right, and the teacher questioned her about it. She lied, but later, when the teacher said she was going to ask the parents about it, Sandra came clean about the situation to her parents. In this case the parents and the teacher involved decided that since Sandra had lied about the signature and not just faked it, some additional homework in the subject area would be appropriate punishment. * Brad and his friends flashed vulgar signs from the bus window on a school trip. School authorities happened to pass the bus on the highway at the wrong time. The students were identified. The parents felt that punishment should do someone else some good, and asked Brad to do community service hours. These are little things, perhaps. Hundreds of students fake their parents' signature every day, I'm sure, or print vulgar signs. Will her punishment stop Sandra from lying in the future? Will it stop Brad from flaunting suggestive signs? Who knows, but their parents and teachers certainly hope so. It is always a temptation to rationalize one's actions. In the case of the lying student, Sandra said she knew many students who signed their parent's names. Why do teachers request so many signatures, anyway? We're all great at rationalizing: we have reasons for speeding, shaving numbers on tax forms, padding resumes, fluffing reports to stockholders. When students come to do community service hours at our church's clothes closet, I'm encouraged: not because they have messed up somewhere along the way,but because I recognize that here are other parents or authorities who are drawing a line. They care enough about the kid to try and teach a lesson. Perhaps they are raising the next Abraham Lincoln. Or Mother Teresa. By Melodie Davis .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

The Master's Bouquet Oh, the grounds cultivated the clods loosened so fine, It's the richest of soil anywhere you'll find. For the Father prepares His Garden with care, He LOVES every seed that has been planted there. Have you been chosen for the Master's Bouquet, Or do you choose to stand and just wither away? Are your petals of beauty spread far and wide, Does the fragrance of His LOVE in your blooms abide? He LOVES buds of color, every size, every shape, For the mixture of all, a pretty bed they will make. They stand tall together, oh the weeds marvel how, Living in the same garden, where's their beauty now? Have you been chosen for the Master's Bouquet, Or do you choose to stand and just wither away? Are your petals of beauty spread far and wide, Does the fragrance of His LOVE in your blooms abide? Has the dew kissed the petals and the Son made you grow, Have you blossomed in His LOVE, in your leaves it will show? Have you stood straight and tall in His Garden today, Have you assurance, for the gathering, your Master will say... Your beauty will enhance, My Lovely Bouquet, Fear not you are chosen, you'll not wither away. You've held high your petals for all to see, The fragrance of My LOVE indeed lives in thee. Are you ready for the gathering of The Master's Bouquet? Written by Kay Anderson To the CHRISTIAN He is the Son of the Living God, the Savior, the Redeemer and the Lord. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

LOL~! :-) You set me up~! :-) Good one Missi. TY Hey.......? Look~! What's That~?! <pointing over Missi's shoulder> <ssswiped> <G> :-) HUGS, kath THIS IS PRICELESS. >>> "Shirley Goodnest and Marcy shall follow me all the days of my life." so I guess I'll just have to get used to it.

heehee~! :-) TY Richiele :-) HUGS, kath LOL TO FUNNY~! > > An open letter to the person about to send me that mass email: > <<<

Positive Reinforcement By Rich Kornoelje Several years ago I served as an assistant principal in a large public high school of fourteen hundred students. I found many aspects of my responsibilities both enjoyable and rewarding, however, there was little joy or satisfaction in supervising the three lunch periods each day. Making sure students were diligent in picking up their lunch trays, not smearing mashed potatoes on one another, or sticking peas on the ceiling or on their neighbors were not high on my list of "professional" things to do. Days prior to vacation periods were particularly bad times in the cafeteria. It was on one of these days that I observed a student spill his milk. What a mess. It was all down the front of him, on the table, on the bench and on the floor. I quickly diverted my attention elsewhere and watched him out of the corner of my eye with my superior peripheral vision. I knew this guy would try to escape, leaving someone else (like me) to clean up the mess. Well, I had this guy's number and as soon as he stepped one foot outside of the cafeteria, he was going to get his. I would make him clean up everyone else's mess for the day so he could see how much fun it could be. I slyly watched as he began his escape. To my surprise he approached the snack bar upon which I was leaning and gathered several napkins and returned to the scene of the crime. After wiping up the table, he got on his hands and knees and wiped up the bench and then the floor. Making his way to the exit, he deposited the soggy mess in the proper receptacle and left the cafeteria. After regaining my composure, I quickly followed the young man out into the hallway. I asked him his name, thanked him for his consideration and commended him for being so conscientious. He replied, "No problem," and went on his way. The thought crossed my mind to contact his home, and I determined to do it later that day. It was a little after 5:00 P.M. when I opened my car door to go home. It suddenly occurred to me that I had forgotten to contact the parents. My first thought was to call the next day, but then I thought better of it and went back to my office. After pulling his enrollment card, I went to my phone and dialed the number listed. After a few rings a lady answered. "Hi. This Rich Kornoelje calling from the high school." I heard a hard swallow (or maybe it was a gulp) on the other end and realized that the only time I ever contacted parents was when there was trouble or bad news. I quickly said, "Your son showed me something today that really demonstrated some good upbringing..." I then went on to relay the story. At first there was silence. Then I could hear a few sniffles, followed by some sobs. After gaining her composure, the mom said, "You will never in your entire lifetime realize what your phone call has meant to me. My husband left me several years ago and I have had to raise this young man by myself, and it is so hard. I know how he behaves at home with me, but I always wonder about his behavior away from home. You will never know how much your phone call has done for me." That phone call was a life-changing experience for me. Since that time many years ago, I have purposed to make at least one positive contact with parents per week and urge - not require - my teachers to do the same. We strive to make contact with the parents of a student who is not often praised for his or her actions. The parents are happy, the student does well with positive reinforcement, the teacher is blessed and everybody wins. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Worst Songs of the 80's By The Headbunny I spent some time going through a bunch of music from the 80's (CD's, tapes and such) and I wondered about what I considered to be the worst tracks of the decade. The 80's spawned some pretty bad stuff but it was hard to pick a song that really turned my stomach. It's easy to come up with stuff in a genre you can't stand (anything by Lynyrd Skynyrd or the Allman Brothers, Michael Jackson's 80's output.) It would also be too easy to go after Toto, Air Supply or REO Speedwagon, as tempting as it is. The trick is to come up with songs that really bother you because you either liked the genre or the artist per se. Some of the worst songs of the 80's: Get Down Tonight - Shriekback This is the classic example of a good band doing the wrong thing in every way possible. Shriekback had been suffering declining record sales and had lost Dave Allen around the time the album Go Bang was put together. Go Bang has some good moments on it but this horrible cover of KC & The Sunshine band's party anthem obliterates them. The felony is compounded with a rap breakdown in the middle. Ugh. Girls With Guns - Tommy Shaw I've always been a fan of 'power pop' so this fits the genre category for me. Tommy Shaw was reeling from a Styx power struggle that had seen the rockin' party boy reduced to a bit player in Dennis DeYoung's vision for the band. He decided to go off on his own and create some of the worst music ever heard. until he joined Ted Nugent's Damn Yankees of course. I'm completely unaware of how the title has any meaning at all to the song - is it a metaphor? Who the hell cares?! It also features a classic 80's style keyboard lick that should be enough to curdle your blood in seconds. We Didn't Start The Fire - Billy Joel This one comes under 'greatest violation of the listening public' category. Michael Stipe and the rest of REM should have been able to sue the hell out of Joel for this blatant Baby Boomer styled rip-off of "It's The End Of The World As We Know It." It has elements of one of Joel's better songs ("Pressure") but it fails utterly on every level - an accomplishment in and of itself. We Are The World - Various Artists What the hell were they thinking? The UK track "Do They Know It's Christmas" was at least a catchy song. This was Johnny-come-lately crap of the highest order that radio stations played over and over as a 'feel good' track. May the Cube Be With You - Thomas Dolby It's worth noting that if you type in the phrase "worst songs of the 80's" into Google you get a link right at the top for Dolby's page on the web. Somewhere in that addled brain of his he decided to venture into P-Funk styled bump and grind for his album Aliens Ate My Buick. Luckily, not many people ever heard the disturbing results. However, one of my college roommates decided that this was his favorite album for some period and I was forced to listen to it repeatedly. While I could deal with the not so subtle innuendo of "Hot Sauce" it was impossible to listen to the aforementioned track. Even the name still starts a shudder down my spine. Theme from Dragnet - The Art of Noise This is a perfect choice because I love almost everything these folks have ever done, from their earliest work to their (slightly questionable) recent album. However this little slice of hell is the pea under the mattress of their catalogue. I'm sure the money was too good to pass up but something in their collective thought process should have flagged this as a bad idea. (Especially if they saw the early reels of the movie - oy gevalt!) Finally, one that technically is from 1991 but it sticks out worse than any other I can think of. Radio Song - REM I've always had a problem with post-Green era REM but this one takes the cake. Out of Time saw the band give up the ghost of Southern Gothic music and move into pop nirvana. It would take a long time to catalog the sins of Out of Time but Radio Song paired sappy strings, a preachy Stipe and. KRS-One?!?!? This one got more play than it ever should have due to the fact that it made music directors look 'hip' to play a song that was critical of them. ©2001 Fluffybunny.com. All Rights Reserved. Don't make us come after you.

What? Me? Hacker? By The Headbunny Wow. I stumble home after a night of cheap Dixie beer and catfish with some friends and come home to find out I'm a very popular guy. I found a few messages on my phone (which is odd for late night since most of my pals know better than to drink and dial) - nothing odd about that. I then sit down to check email before I crash and see that I have 50 or so messages waiting for me - a little out of the ordinary. I notice I have a note from my service provider that says I passed a major bandwidth mark while I was out - very unusual. I start reading the mail and the general tone seems to be: "What the (varying degree of frustration) happened to (insert random website)!!!!!" People are claiming that I've hijacked everything from atomic-rooster.com to some sextoy shop. Very, very unusual. Buried in the email queue was a very nice note from a gentleman in the UK who said he worked for an ISP and he was one of the only people to actually have an explanation. It appeared that there had been a hack of Netnames and at least one other registrar. All the records in their possession were now pointing to Fluffybunny.com, essentially hijacking them en masse to my site. Very, very, very, unusual. A check of my referral log revealed everything from Motorcycleworld.com to Candycream.com pointing to me. Research companies, media sites, porn sites galore and even the Afghani government's site were all pumping traffic to Fluffybunny for a chunk of last night/this morning. Very, very, very, very cool. How else could I feel? For a little while my site was one of the most popular on the Internet! All this attention, just to little old me? (I am going to get such a big head over this). Needless to say my traffic counts went through the roof. It would appear that at least 100,000 people were diverted my way. Too bad I don't have a banner ad running, I could have cashed in! Ah well, no harm done (at least to me.) Now, why would someone want to point to my crappy little site? I'm glad you asked. Let me backfill the story a bit here. There is a very well known hacker out there by the name of Fluffi Bunni. He (or she) has been pretty active, especially after the WTC bombings. That's the only real connection I can draw here, but one has to admit that it makes a lot of sense given the situation. It's not as if they were astrological hackers and pointed to the scopes. Fluffi Bunni had hacked Netnames a week ago or so and they may have decided to go back and prove they could do it again even after they had 'shored up their defenses.' I have no idea who was responsible and I frankly don't really want to know. I appreciate that the person didn't hack ME. The damage seems pretty minimal so I'm not too worried about anyone coming after me. The best part of this whole situation has got to be the flood of email from people trying to figure out what the hell happened. The camps were actually pretty well divided: Site owners who had been hijacked - These were easy to spot because they contained the most threats, promises of violence and abusive language. I can't really blame them for being upset, but I can dope slap them for not thinking the situation through (and for some really bad grammar.) People looking for their favorite sites who were upset - This was the most interesting group by far, in that most of them were all related to porn sites. A lot of people's porn habits were thrown off for the night, and they were not happy. I don't even want to get into some of the stuff I was sent. People looking for favorite sites that were confused - A few people were miffed that the Ducati site was down, Gramophone magazine and the like were missing. Some people were asking why they couldn't order (I wish I knew what they were trying to order) or some other question that made it clear they didn't quite get what had happened. People looking for favorite sites that were amused - At least a good handful of people had the sense and humor to see something was wrong and get a chuckle out of it. One guy even checked a dozen sites and came back to tell me. These were the emails I appreciated the most. Some were downright 'fall off the chair' funny, which is always a good thing. Sadly, it may have happened so quickly that the news outlets may not pick up the story. I was kind of hoping for a Fluffi Bunni/Fluffybunny headline somewhere but that may be just as well. Ah well, another chance for fame (infamy?) passes me by. Looking back it's been a hell of a lot of fun. I don't want to officially endorse or condone the actions of any hackers but I really can't say anything bad either. How else could you honestly jack you traffic up by a 100,000 people with no effort? ©2001 Fluffybunny.com. All Rights Reserved. Don't make us come after you.

Put THAT on your waffle, baby. By The Headbunny Back to the Essays As we get closer to the release of the new and improved version of "Ocean's Eleven" I decided to fire [up] pay-per-view and watch the original the other night. I generally have no faith in remakes but I've taken an important step in learning how to critically view such films. Rather than just dismissing the new version out of hand I make sure to watch the original so I can base my small-minded criticism solely on the original and almost never have to bother with the pain of watching the new. Actually, I think that's how Roger Ebert does it too. at least it sure seems that way sometimes. Motivation aside, I rented the movie and enjoyed thoroughly. I had seen parts of it over the years on cable but I never watched the whole thing straight through. Usually I'd watch a bit then flip to ESPN for a few at-bats of a baseball game, an episode of "The Simpsons" or just plain channel surfing. More often than not I'd skip it because the film quality was so bad it often looked like one of the old, worn films they showed you in high school for defensive driving. I was quite impressed with the quality of the print that pay-per-view had. The film was crisp, clean and so sharp you could actually tell which scenes Dean Martin was sober in! There are dozens upon dozens of reviews out there detailing the movie and the plot (the movie is only forty years old) so I'll focus on things you probably haven't read elsewhere. The two things that stood out most in watching the movie: the casting choices and the language. I had no idea how many people popped up in that movie. Sure, everyone knows the Rat Pack is in it. How many people remember that Norman Fell has a decent sized part? Anyone who has seen the movie will remember the great Cesar Romero strolling through his scenes with all the subtlety of a jackhammer but what about Shirley MacLaine's cameo as a little piece of hood ornament at a crucial plot moment? (For the record. wow. Shirley MacLaine actually looked good before she became the new-age laughingstock of the 80's.) The casting doesn't have the ensemble quality of "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World" but there are some interesting choices. The good old Rat Pack jive patios the movie used also left a positive impression. It could have turned into an incredibly overblown, coo-coo affair but they kept it light and it never descended into the in-joke riffing that I expected. A few of the phrases took a moment to decipher but nothing was too out of the norm. Save for one. An early scene in a burlesque house (which dated things pretty much simply by the use of the word 'burlesque') threw a phrase at me that I have not been able to decipher, decode or otherwise break down with any certainty whatsoever. I also can't get it out of my head so I'll foist it off on you, fine reader, and see what you get from it. A rather attractive young thing is doing her work on the stage while the characters talk at the bar. We only get a glimpse of the gal on stage but as the gents talk we pan and see a few long, tall Texans sitting at a table watching the show and getting visibly. agitated. The characters at the bar keep talking and one reveals that the woman doing the shimmying on stage is, in fact, his wife. (I gather in those days that was enough to make a character questionable. Now if a character in a movie needs to be shameful he's married to a coke-whore addict who only sleeps with high school boys. I guess on-screen morality has taken a turn for the worse in some ways.) Moments after this revelation we see one of the Texans jump from his table and bellow to the girl on stage the most memorable line of the film: "Oh Missy, I want to take you home and spread you on my waffle!" I've searched high and low for any other references to this phrase in the days since viewing and cannot find any trace of it. As the time has passed I'm pretty sure that the scriptwriters put the phrase in to fit with the PG approach of the film. (It's worth noting for a film about ex-soldiers who are going to rob a casino while drinking heavily and having run-ins with lovers and ex-wives. it's pretty tame stuff. That's not a bad thing though, everyone now knows what a bad-ass Sinatra was so you don't really need to hear it from the horse's mouth.) I think anyone with a few spare brain cells to rub together can figure out what the lusty (and possibly hungry) Texan is thinking but doesn't the phrase drive your mind out of joint for just a few seconds? Right after I heard the phrase I had to run through all the possible meanings and I don't mind telling you I came up with some images that took a while to get out of my head. Maybe the fact that it's so easy to come up with the image of someone spread on a waffle that makes it so maddening. Go ahead - take a second and just go with it. Scary, huh? Then I thought that maybe the waffle was the metaphor here. I thought perhaps that the 'waffle' might be a euphemism for a bed. That didn't work out too well either. Besides, the writers probably could have had the character say that without too much trouble. No, 'waffle' here means something deeper. I'm just not willing to go on with this train of thought or the next time I go to an International House of Pancakes there'll be an incident that will probably get me arrested. So those of you out there getting all excited for the remake of "Ocean's Eleven" can get all misty-eyed at the thought of George Clooney and Brad Pitt getting all the screen time but it won't be anywhere near as cool watching Sinatra, Martin, Norman Fell and the rest of the Pack making their moves. You can bet your waffle on it. ©2001 Fluffybunny.com. All Rights Reserved. Don't make us come after you.

An open letter to the person about to send me that mass email: You did not 'just see my site' and see a great opportunity to raise my traffic. You aren't a young, nubile sixteen year-old girl about to go down on her sister just for me. I am perfectly happy with my penis, but thank you for insisting that you can help me improve what I have. I do not own a home, so you cannot help me unlock my hidden equity. I do not need your services or the services of your coding team in India. Thanks for sending me all the resumes though; it's always fun to see someone claim to be an expert in WS_FTP and 'DB3 Progroming.' I have a college degree so odds are I don't want one of yours even if there IS a discount when I buy 3 or more. I suppose it's nice of you to offer a cheaper path to grad school for some though. You do not have pictures of Catherine Zeta-Jones that 'show everything' in a way that I've never thought of before. Trust me, I've thought of at least a dozen ways you couldn't imagine. I'm surprised Michael Douglas hasn't kicked my ass already. Even if nude pictures of Chelsea Clinton exist I sure as hell don't want to see them. The words 'farm animals' and 'sex' should never be in such close proximity, hence I won't even crack open the email. Your subject header contains two-dozen garbage characters because you're too cheap to actually pay for the mass email product you're using, so how good can your product or service be? I don't want to know the facts about anyone, anytime. There's a certain amount of blissful ignorance that is required to stay sane these days. Your offer is tempting but the odds are that my personally concocted versions of 'the truth' are better off for my long-term mental health (whatever that may actually be.) Seriously, I have no desire to do anything to my penis. Why in the world you think this is a viable email-marketing scheme is beyond me. I'm too young to need Viagra, but thanks for offering. I don't want to buy prescription medication at bargain prices from you. I barely trust my HMO, why in the world do you think I'll let you fill my scrip? I also don't need the 'all-natural' alternative to Viagra no matter how much better it is than the real thing. Besides, isn't the alternative to Viagra just having loads and loads of money? Speaking of which, I don't want your all-natural alternative to cannabis. I understand the non-alcoholic beer angle but who in the world wants to smoke weed that doesn't get you high? I, like many others, have seen the random photos of Anna Kournikova falling out of a tennis outfit or two. That's more than I need and your promise of hundreds of such photos does nothing to me other than make me feel queasy. The company you are touting might be real but the press release you've concocted in an attempt to boost the price is not. Who in the world do you expect to buy stock from a person using 'sexxymail.com' as their domain anyway? As much as they try to convince you otherwise there are NO sexy stockbrokers. It just doesn't work that way. Did I mention that no amount of discussions of the benefits of implants, creams, pumps or the like will ever convince me that I need to purchase penis-improving aides from an email marketer? Let's be honest for a minute. If you are a nubile 16 year-old who is comfortable with my penis as it is and has a great stock tip you're going to offer to me while you and your sister go down on Catherine Zeta-Jones I might just want in. Otherwise you can just forget sending that message. Thanks for thinking of me though, Boon Sheridan ©2002 Fluffybunny.com. All Rights Reserved. Don't make us come after you.

http://www.egregore.com/misc/herbindx.htm The Medicinal Herbs Online site was created to help educate visitors about the often forgotten wisdom of the old ways of treating illnesses. Many of today's drugs and medicines were originally derived from natural ingredients, combinations of plants and other items found in nature. We are not suggesting that you ignore the help of trained medical professionals, simply that you have additional options available for treating illnesses. Often the most effective treatment involves a responsible blend of both modern and traditional treatments.

* U.S. courts will begin offering criminal files online: Eleven U.S. federal courts will start offering federal criminal case files on the Net under a pilot program that has caused concern among privacy advocates. http://www.earthlink.net/elinkissue/may13/news1.html

> > God shrugged and said, "Jesus Saves!". OH! How clever and how so true. Shirley in TX

How come there are no more UFO sightings or alien abductions anymore? Did the aliens find out we were just humans and lost interest, or did they find out what our world was like and became too afraid to return? Did the aliens abducted specimens from other countries and we didn't hear about it or did they just take folks in the United States? Just some of the things I wonder about. Shirley in TX