Lifted Up

At first I thought Excie was just doing a nice thing when she acknowledged my deprogramming as abuse. But, when I thought about it some, I realized that, probably unintentionally, she helped me understand more what you said above. Geez, I was clammed up about that event for so many years, trying to pretend it didn't happen. I couldn't, wouldn't, talk about it with anyone.

Poor nice guy Dale. He got plenty of exposure in the '80s when TBS came of age with all their braves games, but he wasn't flashy enough I guess.

I had no hope. Never saw it and heard almost nothing about it except the title.

Actually, one of my "famous contacts" (see Cheranne's "Famous friends" thread) does a lot of graphic novels, and has done a great job at transferring his artistic expertise into the computer world. However, he is not too approachable and as far as I know, knows absolutely nothing about TWI.

yea, and there's another thing about remembering. You know how even we old folks can remember exactly what we were doing and where we were when something very traumatic happened...reference the "45 years ago" thread about the JFK assasination. There's not much in the world more traumatic than what happened to Kristen (and some others). One point of my previous post is really that, when I know from my own experience how well she remembered some of those details she recalls in her account about the day to day things that took place that year at Emporia, it establishes the certainty in my mind that the last thing her account of abuse could suffer from is fuzzy memory.

I think our resident Yankee fan might have some talents in that area (from his "My Story" thread).

Ever since you moaned about maybe being the lone Yankee fan around, plus my reply, you should know that my yankee hating talk should all be taken with a few grains of salt. :) As a special bonus, here is an essay written a while back about Jeter by a senior research meteorologist, Chuck Doswell. Why a Yankee Hater Loves Derek Jeter by Chuck Doswell -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Posted: 26 September 2005 Updated: whenever This is my normal expression of opinion - nothing more, nothing less. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ask anyone who grew up in Chicago. We hate the Yankees with an undying hatred, a purple passion. In fact, if all New York sports teams lose every game from now until eternity, we still won't feel the score is settled. Fine. Now that you know where I stand, let me comment on Derek Jeter and why I think so much of him. I watched "60 Minutes" last night, where Derek Jeter was the subject of one of their segments, with Ed Bradley doing the honors. I was expecting something different than what he turned out to be. Derek is the son of an African-American father, and and Irish-American mother. There are those who scorn such children because those with that attitude are simply racist idiots - something of a redundancy, that. May children like Derek Jeter help put the .... of racism to rest. May we all live to see an age where such irrelevancies are no longer something even worth mentioning. Derek Jeter's a man any parent should be proud of, beyond question. The more such childern exist, the better, in my book. Let the fallacies of racism die as soon as possible in the face of contrary evidence. Derek Jeter was clearly portrayed sympathetically on the show. I don't know him and I don't know the extent to which the interview was representative of him as a real person. But what I saw makes me proud to be a member of the human race, and that doesn't happen every day, unfortunately. First of all, he's an articulate, intelligent sports hero who apparently had a father who instilled some really important values. He doesn't do steroids, he isn't a crackhead, and has tried all his life to live up to the expectations laid on him by a caring father. Not every young man responds equally well to the lessons such a father tries to convey to his son. It says a lot about the man. Derek Jeter respected his father and his father deserved that respect, because he gave his son a sense of responsibility. In fact, his father deserves respect because he was there, living up to his responsibilities as a father, and didn't abandon his children. Sadly, it seems that many fathers have failed their sons even in this most basic sense. I admire Derek Jeter's father, as well as Derek. Furthermore, Derek Jeter is apparently not so impressed with himself and his achievements as an athlete to be unwilling to accommodate his many fans, of all races and creeds. He signs autographs, poses for pictures, and cheerfully puts up with not having a private life. Most people can't begin to appreciate what he puts up with, and he does it with obvious gratitude for the support he receives from his fans. He's not some spoiled multimillionare jock, with an ego to match his paycheck. Again, Derek Jeter breaks the stereotype. By being the child of an interracial marrage, he's evidently been the subject ot ignorant taunts and heckling all his life. It would be easy for such a man to be bitter about his lot in life as a result of his heritage. Instead, Derek Jeter is simply a man, and seems impervious to the racist nonsense he undoubtedly has to deal with on a regular basis. I admire the man for his attitude. He's focused on being the best athlete he can be. Winning in a team sport depends on him supporting his teammates, including Jason Giambi, the admitted stereoid user. Why? Because, he says, Giambi supports his teammates, and so deserves their support in turn. I place a big premium on loyalty, and Derek Jeter scores high in my book. He's a man to be admired, in a sport that is wracked by scandal and various forms of bad behavior by athletes who are privileged to be playing a kid's game for a king's salary. Derek Jeter exemplifiies what we desperately want our heroes to be - he actually is a role model for our own children. He's a Yankee that I'm willing to cheer for, and that says a lot. I hope his team loses, but I hope he goes 4 for 4, with 6 RBIs and hits for the cycle. We Americans search almost desperately for heroes among the athletes we support, but usually get something far less. Derek Jeter is a man. The man, in my book, despite my being a diehard Yankee hater. Derek Jeter is a class act. I'll even cheer for him when he comes to bat against the White Sox or Cubs. Imagine what we all could do if we could overcome our stupid, irrational prejudices. Derek Jeter has shown us the way. Can we not follow his example?

Nemo Nautilus

Yea, like a certain Captain from another work whose name I won't mention...yet. Wonder if anyone else is checking this out, because I have all but given the title. But, then, I had a liitle help on Mr. Hamilton...

You or anyone else know of any developments in the CC offer? I haven't seen any news but haven't been paying complete attention. I don't wanna see him become a Yankee because then there'd be a Yankee I liked.

Finally got to this...wonderful. Life ain't always easy. The artwork is neat. The sketches and comics remind my of one of my "famous contacts" (from Cheranne's recent thread) who got started that way, and in fact one of his movie parts actually shows him sketching. He still does that stuff, is a lot into graphic novels, and of course is involved in computer art.

I have noted this more than once on this thread, but it bears repeating in view of the mention of these reviews which question Kristen's memory. Being also in residence in the 8th corps at Emporia as she was helpd a lot when I read her account. Though I was not sexually abused, it is the several things she mentions that took place during that year that I also remember that helped me to live her experience. And nobody had better doubt my memory...Dunno if my first corps roomie remembers, but he was raving over it after a certain recitation... Yea, Excie, she re-lived her hell. It had to be a difficult thing to do; yet somehow, with the help of others, it evidently has been a healing experience for her (as she discussed in her second interview with Paw).

I wanted to do that, but my co-worker wouldn't let me touch him.

Even if we Tribe fans talk about how we bugged the Yankees before blowing it against the Sox last year?

I guess it is time for next to giveaway... “You don’t mean to say that you have any idea of the meaning of the scrawl?” “I do,” was my desperate reply. “Look at the sentence as dictated by you.” “Well, but it means nothing,” was the angry answer. “Nothing if you read from left to right, but mark, if from right to left—” “Backwards!” cried my uncle, in wild amazement. “Oh most cunning Saknussemm; and I to be such a blockhead!” He snatched up the document, gazed at it with haggard eye, and read it out as I had done. It read as follows: In Sneffels Yoculis craterem kem delibat umbra Scartaris Julii intra calendas descende, audas viator, et terrestre centrum attinges. Kod feci. Arne Saknussemm Which dog Latin being translated, reads as follows: Descend into the crater of Yocul of Sneffels, which the shade of Scartaris caresses, before the kalends of July, audacious traveler, and you will reach the... (giveaway phrase follows)

Okay, I'll start them off... Without taking sides, I know there are Sox (and Yankee) fans in many places, but somehow I have never equated red Sox territory with Republicans. :)

You should have been fine, as long as they didn't use a magnetic pencil to draw figures on you as if you were an etch-a-sketch. P.S. does this make you the next "Iron Lady"???

Ya know, I think this need to be said more.

Okay, in the who-in the h*** cares department, I got my first taste of umpiring in some softball games, and of all times and places, it took place during my interim corps year as a Philly WOW in the early summer of 1979. There were some pickup games near our apartment, and it was outwardly an attempt (failed of course) at wintessing, just as going to Phillies games was . the group decided it soul be nice to have an ump, and I volunteered. But I've always had the temperament. In my late teens, in a fastpitch church league (even though our team wasn't really a church), I flabbergasted an umpire once by telling him he called a good game...I was on the losing team.

I constantly hear talk about various stadiums being outdated or for whatever reason the team need something new and improved....I suppose the Sox will move out of Fenway when hell freezes over? ...edited to give Fenway its proper respect...I forgot to capitalize it!!!

...and I don't think you will see favorable reviews from any of them. The ones who are stirred by Kristen's testimony and don't reject it have a lot of thinking and reflection to do...but even though we don't hear from them right away, maybe it is possible that some are being moved. Just a hopeful thought.

I remember one Senators game I went to in the summer of 1968. There was a large group sitting in the lower deck stands beyond the first base line getting a free look at the game. They were easy to see because the crowd was typical for Senators' games. It was the national guard.

Thanks, Rocky. Now, can anyone spare a thousand bucks to make up for the last child tax credit we just lost? :(

This is from still another work... The Canadian's last words produced a sudden revolution in my brain. I wriggled myself quickly to the top of the being, or object, half out of the water, which served us for a refuge. I kicked it. It was evidently a hard impenetrable body, and not the soft substance that forms the bodies of the great marine mammalia. But this hard body might be a bony carapace, like that of the antediluvian animals; and I should be free to class this monster among amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises or alligators. Well, no! the blackish back that supported me was smooth, polished, without scales. The blow produced a metallic sound; and incredible though it may be, it seemed, I might say, as if it was made of riveted plates. and "My worthy Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance, which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the chemist, it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simply a morbid secretion of the organ that produces the mother-of-pearl among certain bivalves." back to the first... I have, in consequence, kept no account of what followed for many hours. I have a vague and confused remembrance of continual detonations, of the shaking of the huge granitic mass, and of the raft going round like a spinning top. It floated on the stream of hot lava, amidst a falling cloud of cinders. The huge flames roaring, wrapped us around. A storm of wind which appeared to be cast forth from an immense ventilator roused up the interior fires of the earth. It was a hot, incandescent blast! At last I saw the figure of Hans as if enveloped in the huge halo of burning blaze, and no other sense remained to me but that sinister dread which the condemned victim may be supposed to feel when led to the mouth of a cannon, at the supreme moment when the shot is fired and his limbs are dispersed into empty space. The ancestry of the star of the movie based on this work is reportedly, he is the great great great great grandson of... Daniel Boone. There was another film adaptation of this novel which was released this year. What happened after that? As to the terrific roar of the explosion, I do not think I heard it. But the form of the rocks completely changed in my eyes—they seemed to be drawn aside like a curtain. I saw a fathomless, a bottomless abyss, which yawned beneath the turgid waves. The sea, which seemed suddenly to have gone mad, then became one great mountainous mass, upon the top of which the raft rose perpendicularly. We were all thrown down. In less than a second the light gave place to the most profound obscurity. Then I felt all solid support give way not to my feet, but to the raft itself. I thought it was going bodily down a tremendous well. I tried to speak, to question my uncle. Nothing could be heard but the roaring of the mighty waves. We clung together in utter silence. Despite the awful darkness, despite the noise, the surprise, the emotion, I thoroughly understood what had happened. Beyond the rock which had been blown up, there existed a mighty abyss. The explosion had caused a kind of earthquake in this soil, broken by fissures and rents. The gulf, thus suddenly thrown open, was about to swallow the inland seal which, transformed into a mighty torrent, was dragging us with it. Only one idea filled my mind. We were utterly and completely lost!

Nope. Will come up with more shortly.