Drop it like it's hot

Speaking of getting an "F"... I'm reminded of one of my favorite Volkswagen commercials. So many great aspects. Removing the F from "flame" to make it "lame". Sticking the F on the chest. "You got an F." "We just dropped it like it's hot." Enjoy.

Comments

Block Facebook Ads with CSS

(This is my experience evaluating Facebook for my daughter. It turned into a technical exercise in CSS. If you want the full narrative, read on. If you just want the steps for using CSS to block ads on Facebook, jump ahead .) Emma asked permission to create a Facebook account so she can keep in touch with some of her cousins and friends. Emma has been very responsible using our family computer and does a good job keeping our rules about what to do and how to behave online. So, Thelma and I decided that it was probably OK once I had a chance to check out and become familiar with the privacy settings and parental controls. Even though I work for an online business and Facebook is a frequent topic of conversation when it comes to reaching out to and retaining online customers, I have to admit that I have rarely used the service. I created an account for business purposes to become a "fan" of a client so I could keep tabs on some social marketing campaigns. That's it.

Awake. Again.

I arrived home from work with just enough daylight and just enough Spring to mow the lawn. Braeden and I reveled in the straight lines and greening blades. "It's the awakening," he said. — I sat in the temple and smiled at the sight of Emma and Braeden sitting side by side, quiet and content. Outside the temple, we stared up at the stained glass, the angel, the glowing walls. I asked Emma how she felt. "Light and airy," she replied. — Driving home from the airport, I listened to my mother describe her trip to Disneyland with Megan, Talia and Jackson. "If your dad were still alive..." she began to say. For the first time, I smiled and laughed instead of fighting back tears. — Awake. Light. Laugh. Alive. Again. — Everyone is asleep. I sit down to write. I don't cry. I don't turn away. It's a change. I can write again, at last. But it's not the same as Before. Everything seems different now that I live

Helped or Had

I feel uneasy tonight. I'm not sure if I helped or was had. In what has become something of a Thursday-evening-post-basketball tradition, I drove to Walmart for some late night shopping. Two weeks ago it was new shorts and an exercise shirt. Last week it was another exercise shirt (because I liked the first one so much). This week it was new insoles and laces for my basketball shoes. (Thelma, who has thoroughly documented her distaste for shopping at Walmart has driven me to these shopping trips under the cover of night.) Approachable is not how I would have described myself as I trudged across the Walmart parking lot in my wife-beater sleeveless shirt, shorts and coordinating fleece vest. Sweaty, yes. Beleagured, perhaps. Approachable, no. But a woman did approach. Something told me to stop and wait for her. She was caught somewhere between out-of-breath and verge-of-tears. I could see she was nervous talking to me. She tripped quickly over some desperate story that I co

Mowing the Lawn

Search This Blog