January 26, 2007

polarrhoids and preparation X

I've been putting it off a long time, but I can't any longer. Has it been bothering you, beloved?

I remember a melancholy day during my freshman year at Texas. I was taking a sociology class and I almost left in tears after our professor described how my dear generation X would never attain status, success, or really even have access to the top teir leadership positions opportuned by our fair nation.

That's when the blame train came. The reason given? This gluttony of bodies in front of us, the numbers unfathomable, the future unchangeable. I can't recall it at all, nothing specific about that lecture remains, other than the feeling of hopelessness when class let out that day. I wondered all the way to west campus if it was even worth the money and effort to get the degree I was seeking. Why? I was just going to get in a long line behind an arrogant life-sucking babyboomer. Farkin boomers. Early birds.

Then one night this past weekend as I'm watching the whole Democratic primary take shape, I remembered a haunting phrase.

"Your next President will be Hillary Rodham Clinton."

I heard that about two years ago while I was in NYC for a conference. The speaker was an adviser to a mega money management establishment up that way. His background must have been sociology, but his speech that day focused on the patterns and habits of the baby boom generation.

He spoke of the deep polarity. He spoke of the Viet Nam era and mentioned that for every anti-war hippie, there was a same-aged boomer on the other side of the picket line in a uniform.

The basis of his Hill-theory: the largest segment of the world's population has been at odds with itself ever since the generation hit puberty. It's what defines them.

He said the baby boomers would occupy the office of Presidency from here to the forseeable future. Further, that the office would oscillate from one extreme to the next, like a pendulum, for that's what the baby boomers know and love the most, debate, disagreement and the ensuing battle, all hail polarity!

Which brings us back into the present. I move we make some generational labeling changes. For effectively turning our nation into a quibbling, anti-depressant guzzling, angry mob in six short decades, and for being addicted to the disagreement, and for mass producing stomach acid in us all, Polarrhoids, I think, is a more fitting moniker for the baby boom generation. Even though their financial impact has meant nearly every success to date, that term speaks nothing of the true nature of boomers. Plus, if I have to endure watching years more of these solutionless assbags on television all night, don't y'all think it would help clarify the debate if we at least went ahead and called a spade a spade?

And to my beloved Xers, I move for another name change. Preparation X. Mainly, because there's not much else we can do. Just soothe the sphincter and watch as each polarrhoid out-asses the next. Other than greasing the gate, we simply don't have the numbers. Just accept the shit. Lube, baby, that's you!

Posted by shoe at 06:25 AM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

January 24, 2007


Me, "True, yuck. Please. Why do you always have a hand on your crotch? That is so gross."

True, "That's not a crotch, it's a penis and it feels good. What's a crotch?"

Sorry I asked.

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January 19, 2007



I noticed you. Don't think that this is one of those bigtime blogs where you can just slip in unnoticed. I see you, and I'm glad to see you, although you do scare me just a little bit.

Now, let's say you left a comment or clicked the mailbag button to the left and sent me some personal private email. I love email. I would be responsive to that. Rather than digging around in my archives, please, there are some seriously disturbing things documented back there...don't just dig willy nilly through the archives without saying hi, pretty please?

Come clean. Something brought you here, what is it? What keeps bringing you back? Why the secret link (that really confused me)? I went to your site but all I saw was a bunch of password protected stuff. Can I ask you something? Does that mean you linked me behind a password protected post? Cause if that's true, well, I think that seems kind of shady. Do you? I mean, if the shoe was on the other foot?

Plus, whoever is hitting that link all day must think I know something. Just ask and I'll tell you anything you want to know. And, likely, several things you hoped you'd never hear. And possibly, some shit that will curl your eyelashes. I'm good for honesty, although tact may be a problem. Usually is, I mean, take this post for instance.

Sorry I missed approaching you during the more fitting de-lurking week. I hope that we become friends. Please email me at chouchope@gmail(dot)com and let's find out more about this little obssession of yours with the chou. Can't wait!

Non-lurkers are free to leave their sage advice in the comments, as well as answering any of the rhetorical questions you find above. Have fun with it people.

Kindly yours,

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January 17, 2007

on the art of butchering a cliche

Alex, "The ground is frozen salad."

True, "It's frozen SOLID, not salad."

Alex, "It looks like it's frozen salad to me."

The weather is worse today. Solid ice rink out front. No possible way to get to work. Haven't seen a car move in over twenty-four hours. It's a little on the cuckoo side. Dash nailed it yesterday with that cabin fever comment.

I'm about ready to take my life into my own hands. I will venture out today. By foot, if noway else. I shall break free of this jaundicing prison. I lived in Wyoming for crying out loud. I can handle this.

And here's a shot of True showing me his frozen treasure from the yard. Wow, frozen newspaper. Can you feel the joy?DSCN07120001_1.JPG

Posted by shoe at 09:10 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

January 16, 2007

Breaking News

It's Snowing!! We are freaking out we are so excited!!

Posted by shoe at 10:32 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Witch's Tit, Texas

Wish you were here.

Well, no work or school today. As I type you, sleet is steadily tapping down outside. Word on the news, it's Armageddon out there, or Texans on ice, same difference. They've closed I-10 from Sonora to San Antonio.

I tried to get into the office, but got myself in one typical single mom quandry. Do I leave my children here? Because if I wreck out on the roads I do not want them involved. Survival chance much greater if they remain glued to the tv set here.

But then, what if I get to the office and I'm stuck there, and the kids here? Not good. I stayed flustered for just long enough to call the home office and hear that half the state is shut down and do not go out under any circumstances. Sweet.

I love bad weather memories. I have plenty, mostly involving sledding and driving mishaps. Is there any greater celebration of shitty weather than sledding? I think not. Worth every chapped lip, every frostbitten cheek, sledding may be the cure all to life's woes.

And if by chance you're bored today, feel free to q the chou. It's not that I don't want to write more often, it's that I don't have a clue what to write about. Denny has suggested I write about how the dimocrats are going to sink our economy. And while I don't usually do market forecast, I am trying to think of some creative ways to tackle that topic.

OH, and what happened to lurker Bob? Anyone? Is he still checking in anywhere? I haven't seen him since the first of the year. Just wondering. Bob, if you're out there, say hi.

Y'all have a wonderfully, wintery day today. Think of all us lollygaggin' Texans, curled up warm and safe, and smile. Someone in Texas loves you.

Posted by shoe at 10:09 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

January 11, 2007

financial unrest

I'm driving home from True's school. I could do it blindfolded, s curve and all. I know every mailbox, every driveway. It's twelve miles all told, but snakes along the river. It winds and shifts, crests and dips. It's a beautiful drive really.

Bikers die here every weekend. I mean, every weekend. Seems like folks just get too confident, a little heavy on the gas, i guess. Some of those curves are just not forgiving, the rocks even less so.

So I'm heading back from the school and I am stuck behind a huge flatbed hauling hay bales. Holy Moses. Slow as fuck and late to work. Again. Great.

I pick up the speed. I figure if I hug the back of this hay hauling monstrosity for a quarter mile or so, then when we get to the straightaway, I can dart on past him. I hug, I excel, I take the left, OH SHIT, F-350!! I brake and it feels like eternity waiting for that hay truck to get by on my right. I yank the wheel right, just as the road snakes left, and that is where my day ended right in the beginning. FUCK.

I don't know how I missed the guardrail, but it was a fortunate thing. Had I been a couple of feet further down the road, i'd have been wearing it, and there's no way I would be posting this now.

The bad thing is, as soon as my tires left the pavement they hit what amounted to a mudslide topped with fresh gravel. It gave the appearance of traction, but there was absolutely no slowing the centrifugal force of my car plowing down the short embankment sideways into the river.

When the front bumper went under, I remember thinking I didn't think the river was that deep here. But when I saw the mud going straight up the passenger side window, I was almost euphoric, like what am I looking at? So surreal. I could barely move and it was all happening so excruciatingly slow anyway.

I guess I shouldn't rant about all those other fucktards out there, eh? Kharma is a bitch. Look for the new side of chou in the coming year.

Anyway. I crawled out the window and looked stunning in my fall suit caked with mud. I was sopping wet from the waist down and looked like I had feces randomly spattered across my face. I lost one of my shoes. It was awful. Not to mention all the kind people who stopped to help. Ugh. I just wanted to hide my flithy face. Why couldn't I at least be maimed into a must-have-morphine state, for crying out loud?

I trudged up the embankment. I had to get out of there. It was eight a.m. and every client I had was driving that road and rubbernecking at the fucking 4Runner in the river. Is that my broker? Every moment sucked now.

I hitched a ride, more or less, to town and went to my office. It was pathetic. I realized how unprepared I was for this. How was I going to get my car out? How was I going to get a replacement? I haven't had a car payment in four years. Ugh. I used the phone at my office to arrange rides home from school for the boys and then I walked to my house, still caked in mud. Still shoeless.

I don't remember much from last night. The boys came home but the migraine persisted, unreal. The stress, indescribable. Sleep was the same, fitful. I tossed and turned, thinking about car notes and mudslides and shame and failure and another ugly life mess to clean up. I hurt all over.

And then I woke up. I went straight to the garage and there was my car. Right where I left it. No mud. I should have been relieved, but it sure was a shitty day at the office. My neck hurt and, man, was I tired. Too busy destroying my life as I sleep.

Ah, but the bills are paid and I'm sure to get a good night's rest tonight. If I do go out driving again, I'd like to go somewhere relaxing for a change. I'm thinking Yellowstone in the late summer? But don't freaking animal jam me, people, because there is no telling what I might do. You know the R in REM stands roadrage, right? You have been warned.

Happy trails to you. And drive friendly, the Texas way.

Posted by shoe at 08:07 PM | Comments (19) | TrackBack

January 04, 2007

chou of the year

Sometimes, your kids go to school and they create and they make you so proud. Your little Einstein, or little Picasso, or little Michael Jordan. Everytime they excel, you feel a little push, momentum for your weary course. It's not all eroding away, the struggle is producing real results.

Then, other times, you open up your child's homework folder and what you find there deeply disturbs you. You may look out the front door to see if child protective services is on the way to get you. You may call your parents and repent some random sins.

Or, like me, you may just sigh and accept that your nomination for Mother of the Year will likely be looked over again.

true christmas story.jpg

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January 03, 2007

black- eyed blues

"C'mon kids, it's time to get ready for school."

True, "What? But? How? Waaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"What's the problem?"

True, "You said if I ate those peas, I'd have good luck. I ate mine and Alex's too. I'm not having good luck at all. I don't want to go school."

Yay. The daily grind is back. Perhaps not lucky, but definitely welcomed. Have a great one.

Posted by shoe at 07:19 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 01, 2007

Happy New Fear!

It's a good thing I don't know how to rig the category search around here. I wonder if you would be surprised. Everything fits in three categories. Any of you regular few who could guess them?

The unknown is here again. Of course, it never went away. Looking back though, much failure. Major disappointment. Dash and Christina's home burning down. The deaths of several folks that meant a great deal to me. The loss of friendships. Public humiliation. Panic. Fear. Weakness. What did it all mean? Was it really that pointless and painful for no reason?

Impossible. Surely, all the blessings I've been blind to must be peace for all the pain.

My son fell off a second story balcony last year and only broke his arm. He started school and his individuality is beaming. My hair twirling baby is a problematic lovebug. He says "I love you," to everyone, so much so, it has become his schtick.

True transferred to a smaller school and rekindled a spark. He made instant friends, and started Alex on a series of lesson plans. Everything from flashcards, to telling time, to drawing robots. They are a tight twosome and it makes a mommy very happy (between wrestling matches, which make a mommy very tired).

And by chance, the stock market went supa nuts to boot. Silver linings are so very nice, aren't they?

In short, an Everest of unknown is out there for us all. Best of luck with yours. Thank you so much for stopping by my humble blodge this past year to lend a hand with the anxiety and a laugh to the excitement. Blown-eyeds have wonderfully warm dispositions (for the most part) and a gorilla glue grip on my soul. Your perspective is always welcome here and your presence much appreciated.

Good riddance to what is done & prayers of peace for what's to come.
Fly high, Blown-Eye!

Posted by shoe at 05:01 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack