Adoption

Speaking of things to worry about, I was adopted. My birth parents are unknown to me, despite petioning the court twice for records. It's very strange. I want to know about my birth parents, and their geneology, but my adoptive parents are so wonderful. I feel like an absolute traitor trying to find this information. I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling this way.

I first petitioned the court when I was 22 years old. I was rather ambiguous about finding out anything, and wasn't concerned or suprised when I received little in return from them. I tried again about five years later. By then, I had gotten married, and was curious to see if there were any medical issues I might be unwittingly passing along to any of my offspring. Again, I received little information back from the court. Although, it is interesting to note, that on both occasions, I received a little more information each time. Not enough to go on, but interesting nonetheless.

So, I'll put this out here in hopes it would catch a google search if anyone is looking for me.

I was born in Lansing, MI. February 22, 1971 ( 02/22/1971 ) At Sparrow Hospital.

I do know my birth name, although I will not reveal that here. And it's only a first name, in case you wondered.

If you or anyone you know gave a male child up for adoption at the above location on or close to the date stated, please let me know. I might be that child. Feel free to leave a comment, or email me, if that option is there.

Lola the Pig

I have a pig. Actually, she is a small, white dog. When we got her, she was purported to be a Bichon. As she grew up though, I suspect that she is part mini poodle, and something else, maybe maltese? At any rate, we named her Lola.

Over time, my wife complained that Lola was getting too fat. I defended Lola, saying it was just her big fur that made her look that way. Sort of like clothes making you look fat?

To be true, Lola likes food, as any dog does. She makes big eyes at you when you eat, and climbs into the dishwasher as I am loading it up, just to lick the dirty silverware. Which I have mixed feelings about. I always imagine her cutting her tongue or something.

Sometime, about two years ago, I started calling her Piggy. And, in Top Dog fashion, in a few months, she started responding to that name. So now, she'll come when I call Lola, Piggy, or even just Pig. I think it's cute.

When I shave her down every few months, she looks even more pig-like, with her pink skin showing, and her little belly.

This has caused some confusion in talking to other people, mostly when the kids talk about home life. There are frequent mentions of the Pig, or Piggy. And lots of people in town think we own a house-broke pig.

I have shared this for no real good reason, so up above is a picture of the pig, to round out the experience. She is the little one, of course! The large one, is our standard poodle Jesse. He is a whole other ball of issues.

Cheers! WW

Variations on a theme

I enjoy music. It's the rhythm ape in me. I suppose there are some people out there that enjoy silence, or random nature noises more than music. But I am squarely in the corner of music. Music is powerful to me, the right music can bring me up, give me instant daydreams of some sort or another. The wrong music (usually broken tempo Jazz), can make me feel physically ill. Hot flashes, headache, nausea. It's pretty cool actually.

I know, news flash. Most of humanity has an affinity for music. Thank goodness! I have come to recognize some particular niches that my love of music inhabits. And it causes me worry on occasion. Am I too simplistic? Are the chemicals of my profession finally effecting my poor unused neurons?

I like variations on a theme. More specifically: remakes. ~cringe~

It's not a sickness, I assure you. The bitter ol' world weary traveller in me says, "There is nothing new under the sun to see." But, I am proven wrong on that all the time. New combinations of melody and rhythm continue to delight, and horrify.

I love the taking of a song I like, or even better, hate; and changing it somehow. It delights my senses. Like finding money in an old coat or something, my soul purrs.

It goes past a simple live version of a song. I like it when someone really hijacks the whole affair. Changes the tempo, the instrumentation, the works.

Ben Folds Five did a version of Dr. Dre's "Bitches Ain't Shit", and it is worth a listen.

I'm not a huge fan of rap, there I said it. I listen in sometimes, interested in riffs I may hear, or some of the poetry lurking behind all the hype. But as a genre, No.

So that song is one that I didn't hear in it's original form before I heard Ben's version. And I probably never would have. Which is the whole deal for me. The fundamental changing of something familiar, or not, in that case. (I love contradicting myself)

Along the same lines, one of my favorite "Mtv Unplugged" sessions was a very early one, which featured, among others, LL Cool J. I would never have imagined rap sounding remotely like that.

Well, the long and short of it is that there isn't anything wrong with me, I guess, for liking that sort of musical variation. After all it's been done for hundreds of years, with great success.

Variation, without recycling, that would be the key I think. I don't know where that fine line is though. To be explored some other day.

Cheers.

WW