Watchtower of Jehovah’s Witnesses “Doubt & Fear: Be Courageous”

Original Video produced by the Watchtower of Jehovah’s Witnesses

Watchtower of Jehovah’s Witnesses worldwide Summer 2018 (with added lyrics & commentary, and color removed) convention video: fear based video propaganda critical analysis by Angela Glass.

Who?

Jehovah our God is one Jehovah.”
​— Deuteronomy 6:4

The New World Translation of the Watchtower of Jehovah‘s Witnesses

“May people know that you,
whose name is Jehovah,
You alone
are the Most High
over all the earth
.”
Psalms 83:18

The Watchtower teaches that Jesus Christ came invisibly in 1914 and picked them as the one true religion on earth. Anyone who doesn’t join dies at a worldwide Armageddon. Since JW’s identify as “Jehovah’s Witnesses” if you ask if they are “Christian”, that false teaching amounts to “All Christians Die (at Armageddon)”…

They call Christ “coming” in 1914 the “invisible presence”.

So, carrying on concerning the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ

S

A Warning as given to us by the congregation of 2 Thessalonians 2

However, brothers, concerning the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ+and our being gathered together to him,+ we ask you not to be quickly shaken from your reason nor to be alarmed either by an inspired statement*+ or by a spoken message or by a letter appearing to be from us, to the effect that the day of Jehovah*+ is here.

Let no one lead you astray* in any way, because it will not come unless the apostasy+ comes first and the man of lawlessness+ gets revealed, the son of destruction.+ He stands in opposition and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship,* so that he sits down in the temple of God, publicly showing himself to be a god. Do you not remember that when I was still with you, I used to tell you these things?

And now you know what is acting as a restraint, so that he will be revealed in his own due time. True, the mystery of this lawlessness is already at work,+ but only until the one who is right now acting as a restraint is out of the way. Then, indeed, the lawless one will be revealed, whom the Lord Jesus will do away with by the spirit of his mouth+ and bring to nothing by the manifestation+ of his presence. But the lawless one’s presence is by the operation of Satan+ with every powerful work and lying signs and wonders*+ 10 and every unrighteous deception+ for those who are perishing, as a retribution because they did not accept the love of the truth in order that they might be saved. 11 That is why God lets a deluding influence mislead them so that they may come to believe the lie,+ 12 in order that they all may be judged because they did not believe the truth but took pleasure in unrighteousness. — 2 Thessalonians 2

Published @ 150 video views

Jehovah’s Witness leader urges elders to destroy child sex abuse records

The Watchtower has settled multiple lawsuits filed by former members across the country, many of whom claimed that they were sexually abused as children — and that their abusers were protected by elders who enforced the religion’s rules, like one that requires sexual assault victims to find two eyewitnesses to support their allegations.

Watch: “Jehovah's Witnesses official says to destroy records because 'Satan's coming after us'”…

Posted by Angela Glass on Wednesday, July 11, 2018

A video recording of Bartlett’s talk was leaked online by an anonymous person early 2018.

“We know that the scene of this world is changing, and we know Satan’s coming after us, and he’s going to go for us legally.”

“We can see by the way things are shaping up. So the organization has said, ‘We’ve run into difficulties in the past because of the records we have.'”

Shawn Bartlett, the Witnesses’ record management overseer, explained that handwritten notes and drafts of internal documents needed to be destroyed because of the potential legal harm they posed to the organization, which has eight million followers worldwide. — Philly.com, July 9, 2018

You’re Spunky!

Throughout the course of mankind women and girls have been subject to the pressure of social messages instructing and reinforcing them as to how to “do” their gender, and as to how to be real, or true women. These ideals are then repeated or reproduced through their enactments and learned by successive generations with slight modifications accommodating for changes in the times, or namely the economy and politics. Simply put—the ideals of true womanhood are formed, reinforced, and passed down through generations of women.

Society’s expectations of women in regard to feeding, infertility, childbearing, particularly as social attitudes and technologies have changed.

San Diego Baxley’s

Baxley Family Armorial

I’ve been hard at work publishing all of my sister Heather’s genealogy research that she’s been completing over the last several years, focused mainly on our Hilton lineage.

Update: See Family Tree / Eve to Angela Marié.

Meanwhile, the Baxley’s come from the Anglo-Saxon tribes that ruled over Britain, and are from Sussex and Buckingham where they’ve held a family seat from early times.

The Lifeguards: A Reminiscence of West Coast Beaches in the 1950s by Robert C. BaxleyMy dad, Melvin, called me to remind me of an important and timely key point in my life… every single Baxley in the United States is related—all of William Baxley, who landed in Maryland in 1663.

Then he told me that one of my relatives lived locally in San Diego, Superior Court Judge Robert Baxley, or “Bax” as friends called him (see bracelet on the cover of “The Lifeguards, A Reminiscence of West Coast Beaches in the 1950’s” by Robert C. Baxley). Yes, “called” as in past tense. I’m once again heart broken to learn I won’t meet another legendary human on this earth.

However, I hope his friends will help me out.

Who knew I was coming home? Continue reading “San Diego Baxley’s”

Rape of Lucrece

The first time I was in Rome… I escaped a sexual assault.

What happens on the steps… happens on Facebook!This guy wanted to woo an American blonde.Scalinata della Trinità…

Posted by Angela Glass on Friday, September 19, 2008

Syrian War in Review

Syria's war: A 5-minute history

To understand the bloody, convoluted war happening inside and outside of Syria's borders, you need to watch this:

Posted by Ezra Klein on Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Angie was a Rolling Stone

Angie Baby Helen Reddy

Momma used to sing to me, “Angie baby, you’re a special lady….”

Jon Wurster, drummer for Superchunk, and the Mountain Goats on Helen Reddy’s “Angie Baby”

“Possibly the most frightening song ever written. It’s the story of this girl, Angie, who’s described as ‘a little touched.’ She lives in her own imagination, and she’s listening to this rock station all the time. And then this creepy guy who’s been lurking outside of her house comes over and convinces her to let him hang out with her. But the music is so loud that he’s thrown off his game and he’s disoriented. And as she turns the radio down, he gets physically smaller, and he’s sucked into the radio. Then the scariest line ever is ‘never to be found.’ He’s in there forever! I think as a child, that’s what scared me the most. Like, Cannibal Corpse and Slayer, bands like that, they sing about being mutilated and butchered – but I don’t think any of their songs are as scary as a song with the idea of being shrunken down and sucked into a radio for eternity.”

Read more at RollingStone.com

Video by John Wilson, Fine Art Films, for The Sonny & Cher Show.

Allen Eugene Rodman: December 30, 1974 – October 31, 2015

Allen Eugene Rodman (December 30, 1974-October 31, 2015)

Allen Eugene Rodman, Kirkwood Police Officer, passed away on Saturday, October 31, 2015 in St. Louis, Missouri. Allen was buried in Woodland Cemetery in Van Wert, Ohio.

He was the beloved of Jessica Marie Dacus, the son and first born of Wanda Carolyn and the late Graydon Rodman, and a loving father of Michal l’Lena and Evan Elijah Rodman, and to Christopher and Shelby.

Allen will be missed by his only brother, Burton Lowell Rodman, his family and his mother.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there; I did not die.

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin’
And you can’t remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie, by Bob Dylan

Child Abuse Sucks

Child Abuse Sucks

Our red Jetta had a scratch.

I found a grand “Child Abuse Sucks” sticker, black-and-white which I figured would look great on red, and decided to cover the scratch with the sticker.

Today we came out to our car to find someone apparently thinks Child Abuse doesn’t Suck?

🙁

Guess I need a new plan for covering this scratch.

Matthew Raymund Michael Morris Niblick

Oh! Breathe Not His Name
by Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

OH! breathe not his name,—let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o’er his head.

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

Niblick

SB 131 Allows Victims of Childhood Sexual Abuse to Seek Justice

Lawmakers say the bill corrects a Supreme Court case that, because the statute of limitations had been reached, denied a narrow group of child sex-abuse victims the right sue religious organizations, private and nonprofit groups that employed their abusers.

“If we didn’t do it, the law would still be invalid and the people would waiting on the legislature to see if we wanted to correct the law,” said Sen. Jim Beall.

Under the proposed law, victims over the age of 26 in 2003 will have a chance to file lawsuits during a one-year period.

On October 13, 2013 Governor Jerry Brown has refused to sign SB 131 into Californian law.

Brown studied to become a Catholic priest as a young man. This will doubtless fuel debate as to Brown’s motivations for turning down the bill. Kathleen Conti, a keen supporter of SB 131, expressed her sorrow this morning. “It is extremely disappointing that our Governor has allowed powerful deep-pocketed religious leaders, influential religious lobbyists and law firms to cloud the real issue here, which is the right of abuse victims to pursue justice for crimes committed against them,” she said. “Subpoenaed documents clearly show that certain religious institutions have been fully aware of the danger posed to children by pedophiles within their own ranks, but have kept things secret and handled matters internally instead of warning parents and letting the proper authorities handle perpetrators. I find it distressing that congregants will continue to not only attend but also financially support such morally bankrupt institutions who claim to have God’s blessing while at the same time being guilty of concealing crimes against children.”

On October 13, 2013 Governor Jerry Brown has refused to sign SB 131 into Californian law.
On October 13, 2013 Governor Jerry Brown has refused to sign SB 131 into Californian law.

Continue reading “SB 131 Allows Victims of Childhood Sexual Abuse to Seek Justice”

Baxley + Glass

The Baxley & Glass families of Charlotte, North Carolina
have been family friends for generations.

Philip Darryl Glass and Angela Marié Niblick-Baxley Glass
Darryl and Angela

We invite you to sneak a peak at into our social life…

Darryl Glass
Philip Darryl Glass

Darryl “expounds upon Angela’s virtues a little”

“Angela is personable, beautiful, loving, joyful, spiritual-minded, brilliant, playful, serious about important things, sociable, likable, engaging, charming, studious, always thirsting for knowledge, one of the best friends a person can have, and she’s committed to ‘us’.

Angela is a designer in the tech world, I am a consultant in the business tech world. She loves people, family, and culture, like me. She loves to travel and experience other cultures, like me. She’s anxious for the end of this bad system and being a part of God’s new one, like me. She hates all the cruel injustices of this world, like me. She wants to make life a little better for people, like me. She loves the Bible, like me. She believes in the enjoyment of life, like me. She loves the ocean and the beach, like me. She’s also weird and slightly off, like me. All in all, we’re a pretty good fit. 🙂 Good thing since we are becoming “one flesh.'”

Angela on Darryl

“I just asked for the guy version of me.”

David said to Mi?chal: "I will celebrate..."

My Grandpa, Herbie Schaadt

HERBERT LOWELL SCHAADT, 78, of Fort Wayne, passed away on Thursday, June 13, 2013, at Visiting Nurse Hospice Home.

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Born April 26, 1935, in Willshire, Ohio, Herb was a son of the late Dorothy Fritz & Edward Schaadt.

IMG00326180706A

On Jan 23, 1957, he married Laura “Katy” (Hilton) Schaadt. He retired from International Harvester and enjoyed being a musician in Audiences Unlimited.

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Herb will be sadly missed by his wife, Katy; daughters, Wanda Rodman of Antwerp, Arlene (Melvin) Baxley of Statesville, N.C. and Audrey Knapp of Sarasota, Fla.; brother, Marvin of Fort Wayne…

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seven grandchildren

  1. Allen Eugene Rodman
  2. Burton Lowell Rodman
  3. Angela Marié Niblick Baxley Glass
  4. Sandra Nicole Knapp
  5. Heather Reneé Niblick Baxley Puckett
  6. Matthew Gabriél Niblick Baxley
  7. Erin Estellé Baxley Hagar

IMG00114164112A

and 13 great-grandchildren

  1. Luc Andrew Rodman
  2. Nathaniel Marc Rodman
  3. Madelynn Grace Rodman
  4. Hannah Marie Knapp
  5. Tyler Jayce Roberts
  6. Michal l’Lena Rodman
  7. Brittany Leann Hagar
  8. Katie Danielle Hagar
  9. Evan Elijah Rodman
  10. Hailey Estellé Hagar
  11. Mackenzie Leigh Puckett
  12. Hannah Nicole Hagar
  13. Jackson David Puckett
  14. (Addison Rae Knapp)
  15. (Charlotte Avery Baxley)

Uncle Randy and Grandpa

He was also preceded in death by his son, Randy; and brothers, Richard and Raymond.

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See “You Died“, originally published on Medium, and the threeriversband.com

And Grandma rocks my beats

Grandpa Schaadt and Gidget the Clown, his grand daughter

Service is 2 p.m. Monday, June 17, 2013, with viewing two hours prior to the service, at Dooley Funeral Home, 202 W. River St., Antwerp, Ohio. He will be laid to rest at Maumee Cemetery. Memorials to Hospice Home.

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Condolences and fond memories may be shared at www.dooleyfuneralhome.com.

Published in Fort Wayne Newspapers on June 15, 2013

https://rd.io/e/Qj5BIgM/

Escape from Christendom

A friend and I were wondering about the etymology of the word Christendom the other day, and theorized that it might have meant to imply “Christ’s Kingdom”, only given Revelation, it would be the kingdom of the false Christ.

I then came across this story…

Escape from Christendom

by Robert Burnell

The Journey

In my dream I see the lone figure of a man following a road. As the sun sets beneath the hills, a city comes into view. Nearing it, the traveler sees what appears to be a large group of churches. Spires and crosses pierce the skyline. His pace quickens. Is this his destination? He passes an imposing structure, a neon sign flashing “Cathedral of the Future.” Farther on a floodlit stadium supports a billboard boasting that fifty thousand people crowd into evangelistic meetings there three nights a week. Beyond this, modest “New Testament” chapels and Hebrew Christian synagogues cluster together on the street front.

“Is this the City of God?” I hear the traveler ask a woman at the information booth in the central square.

“No this is Christian City, “she replies.

“But I thought this road led to the City of God!” He exclaims with great disappointment.

“That’s what we all thought when we arrived,” she answers, her tone sympathetic.

“This road continues up the mountain, doesn’t it?” He asks.

“I wouldn’t know, really,” she answers blankly.

I watched the man turn away from her and trudge on up the mountain in the gathering darkness. Reaching the top, he starts out into the blackness; it looks as though there is nothing, absolutely nothing, beyond. With a shudder he retraces his steps into Christian City an takes a room at a hotel.

Strangely unrefreshed, at dawn he arises and follows the road up the mountain again; in the brightening light of the sun he discovers that what seemed like a void the night before is actually a desert–dry, hot, rolling sand as far as the eye can see. The road narrows to a path which rises over a dune and disappears. “Can this trail lead to the City of God?” He wonders aloud. It appears to be quite deserted and rarely traveled. Continue reading “Escape from Christendom”

this block of wood

Life is infinitely stranger than anything the mind could invent.
— Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle

I couldn’t invent the story of my life if I tried, it’s hard enough figuring out how to write it. Life has been non-stop and I just can’t seem to figure out how I’d ever explain it all — I imagine with the tools now I can basically rig up a wedding photo montage with music introducing the couple style experience if I could just compile all the images (curate them) and add the details like the music, atmospheric settings, etc, and if technology could only get as good as the ideal—it being fully recorded for full sensorial experience upon playback, upon editing.

Unlikely adventures require unlikely tools.” — Mr. Magorium

Continue reading “this block of wood”

Randy Lowell Schaadt 1957-2012

Grandpa, Me, and Uncle Randy

Randy Lowell Schaadt, 55, of Fort Wayne, passed away Friday, September 21, 2012 at his sister’s residence in Antwerp, Ohio.

Uncle Randy: Family Photos

Randy, known by his three sisters as “Bubby“, asks that you watch his collection of family photos (on Flickr, above) with the accompanying track “GOODBYE” (below, on SoundCloud) as a slideshowAngela suggests playing the video (further below, on YouTube) on low volume over the soundtrack as you watch the slideshow, too.

Randy was born in Van Wert, Ohio on August 31, 1957, the son of Laura “Katy” (Hilton) and Herbert Schaadt of Fort Wayne.

Uncle Randy

The last song the family, the Three Rivers band, played together—Angie, Katie, Herbie, and Randy—was the Animals “House of the Rising Sun“.

He will be sadly missed by his parents and sisters, Wanda Rodman of Antwerp, Arlene (Melvin) Baxley of Statesville, NC & Audrey Knapp of Hobe Sound, Florida.

Schaadt's in Hell

Continue reading “Randy Lowell Schaadt 1957-2012”

Not the Life I wanta

I write with a weary head—last night made my heart tired, and I carried that heavy heart to bed, as I finally got home sometime after three in the morning.

My friend, he’s 37, a former Army man. We only met this summer, but we’ve hung out quite a bit since that chance meeting in August.

He invited me to his friend’s karaoke night. She’s a friend, a co-worker I think, young, something like 26, and single. I met her earlier that night as I learn he’s procured the “goodies” for his friends and we’re going to drop hers by her place in Ocean Beach before her dinner… karaoke isn’t until later. I learn that it’s something like $60 bucks worth of white powder.

As I see her, I already feel underdressed for her party to come… She’s in a short shirt (or shirt dress?) covered in sequins, black fishnet leggings, and applying false lashes with very dramatic, artfully applied eye makeup. I had chosen a striped knit shirt that shows of my curves, but isn’t much more interesting than that, and a pair of jeans with boots.

Her apartment is typical of that in Ocean Beach. Her front door opens to her parking space immediately adjacent to the alley and the busy street. Incense of some sort is burning, and it’s adorned in an eclectic mix of items collected, the quantity and quality expected of a just-out-of-college girl, as I assume she is.

We leave and make our way back north along I-5 and into a neighborhood where, coming from my beach life perspective, I’m pleased to see real houses. You know, the kind that some kids are lucky enough to grow up with. This one a split level, enough bedrooms for the parents and kids, a small yard, garage, lined up on a street of all the same and a culdasac or two for good measure.

Here I’m to meet the friends he grew up with. He considers these friends his “family”, inasmuch as he considers the friends in his Mission Beach ‘hood and co-workers just “friends”.

They have two little girls, about 5 and 6 years old, one a red head and the other a blonde, otherwise difficult to tell apart. We bring the count of couples up to three, and we’re there to hang out a bit before taking his pal, Pete, with us to the party. He grew up with the boys too, and is in from out-of-state. He seems quiet, though it’s hard to tell, as he’s sort of stuck back behind me in the corner in a seat a little apart from the circle.

Sitting in the living room with these friends, I quickly felt welcome and included. Much like eager parents, they are happy to welcome a girl into his life. They tell stories about childhood in their suburb of San Diego. Playing football, warrior like battles of throwing sticks, then graduating to swiping liquor from the uncle’s cabinet and replacing the vodka with water.

As I relax in my rocking chair it’s easy to see myself hanging out with these guys again. Easy going and warm, and when we have to go, a round of hugs to go with their hopes that we’ll do it again soon.

I go to grab his car, he borrows a cooler to stock for the party. I’m the designated driver. Pete climbs in the backseat.

I’d been hanging with my pal all day, and I wonder at how it is he’s not simply starving. No breakfast, at about three in the afternoon we’d had a half of a Rubicon deli half sandwich each. Plenty for that moment, but long since forgotten and long in needing. As we approach Muzen, the Vientamese karaoke join, I ask if I can drive through Wendy’s real quick for a burger. He doesn’t eat anything.

Earlier he had explained a bit of the in’s and out’s of cocaine to me. How it just amplifies whatever it is someone is… crazy people become crazier. Normal people just seem to have much more energy. He said he’d had a “bump”, “testing out the goods” earlier. I think maybe he’d had two or three lines thus far. I have no idea how much that is, I have no idea about using cocaine, and just a little more about living with it in your world. I think maybe it’s the cocaine that keeps him from being hungry. In this moment, I feel like I should apologize for being hungry, for the quick drive thru detour…

We arrive, and turns out this isn’t the same place as they’d been before. It’s not BYOB, but he hustles the guy at the desk, passing him two bills, a twenty on the outside, as I help him carry the cooler past into the room.

The room is much larger than times I’ve gone to Asian karaoke. I’m relieved to see that the people inside are dressed like me, I fit in. Peter was ahead of me and grabbed a seat on the corner of the couch. My pal seems to now been in performance mode, assuring his presence is noted among his friends. I take the small corner of the couch next to Peter, happy that there’s someone else here with us. It’s not feeling much like an us. As far as us goes, I guess you’d say he didn’t introduce us—Peter and I, to his friends.

He fixes me a drink—it’s three or more hours before I’ll be driving us home. I’m okay with that, though I know to some of my more conservative friends being the DD means respectfully no drinking at all. Meanwhile, it the party girl is smashed, and he is keen to catch up quickly adding two more beers to the three or so he had at our last stop.

Peter and I talk a bit, left to each other alone in this group of commrades. He doesn’t know anyone here either—maybe he’d met two of the girls once before. I learn he’s single, and as quite an attractive guy, I comment on the single girls. Turns out it’s just the belle of the ball who’s solo, and so far her performance isn’t attractive to his eye.

The contrast deepening between these two men, I become ever more thankful that Peter was along for the ride.

Meanwhile, the shirt dress outfit struggles with boundaries, especially as she starts performing dramatic drops to the floor in a half split. Obviously intentional, but I’m not so certain about the intent of her friend who routinely comes from the couch to stand from behind, hoisting her back to her feet lifting from her under her pits. It makes for interesting people watching, but I wonder if she’s aware of how it looks to us. It appears to be no easy task for her friend.

Our pal is quick to ensure everyone has a drink, and with assistance his bounty is gone. He’d taken $20 from Peter in the purchase, but I notice he’s had only a couple beers, turning down new ones from our ever eager host of sorts. Some are dispatched to the store nearby to procure more. I don’t know if our pal went or not, while the room was open, I had long given up on his movements. He hadn’t even spoken to me more than once or twice since entering.

Peter was a back up singer from the couch, but I took on a couple of songs. The other single guys interacted with me, seemingly uncertain of who I was and why I was there. Sitting besides Peter the entire time, I don’t blame them, who knows who I am, and if I’m game. The volume prevented conversation to distill the truth.

I watched him encourage dancing on the couches, the leader of the pack. Not that they needed too much encouragement, but I suppose it was something of the age difference, made more apparent by the two of us—Peter and I—as the seeming wall flowers. He called for the party girl to get up on the table and dance, suggesting Coyote Ugly. I fear for her, as she’s already kicked over my cup, spilled a few drinks, and besides the table being strewn with drinks, it’s also covered in liquid. I don’t know if she ever made it up there, I just recall seeing her making an attempt, lifting her foot to the table, but teetering backwards. I wonder if she realized that her top wouldn’t allow her to make it up there… though since I’d seen everything between her legs several times already, I’m not sure that’d really be something that would matter to her. I wonder how much of her goodies she’d consumed already. She talks to one of her friends about how the guy running the place has singled her out, I couldn’t hear the descriptive she used, but the point was clear. She thought herself undeserving.

All in all it wasn’t so bad. Tame really. I compare to my experiences with my friends in San Francsico, and frankly with them I’ve had far more fun. Packed in, having to share laps as seats, hot and smelly. We too have plenty of sequins and short dresses. And we’ve definitely danced on the tables.

The unsettled difference isn’t quite apparent to me yet.

I’m surprised to find it’s after 1am, as I had known the reservation to have gone until midnight. Frankly, it pleased me that time passed so fast. Hanging out with my pal has made me feel a little bit lame. Not quite able to hang as long, as strong, and no desire to waste my days away in hang over.

My self-prescribed lameness returned as Peter and I hear our pal working making plans to move the party to his place. I think Peter had hoped for some time with his pal, being as he’d driven 8 hours to visit, and was just here for the weekend. I know I had hoped to return to a scene more like the house of friends earlier. Several people had left already, it was the singles who were raring for a plan, and he was all too happy to promote his, to our dismay.

I was going to drive Peter “home” on the way back, but our pal applied multiple aspects of peer pressure, I think it sealed the deal when it came down to the other car following us. Meanwhile, I could hear the negotitations of the other car. Party girl wanted to carry her open bottle of champagne, and I heard someone suggest putting it our car, as I was the sober driver. Geez. I saw that bottle set aside atop a trash can.

In the car, our pal became an animated conveyor of plans, repeating himself again, and again. As he addressed Peter—his wanting to go home, his not singing a song, etc, I found myself wanting to defend him. What? Our pal didn’t get up and sing a song either… he was just a clown on the microphone, using it to instigate, notsomuch sing. And hey, not being introduced didn’t leave either of us much impetus to converse, let alone that the volume that accompanies Asian karaoke.

Peter relented. I just knew he’d regret the decision.

Our pal urged me on—faster—to the liquor store, worrying we’d not get there in time. The shop was closed. I’m aware of being careful of those following behind, and negotiating where I was going with my drunk (and I assume, still high) navigator who urged me again to go faster, even though we’d exited the highway and were now on the closing time, people strewn streets of Mission Beach. I was relieved to hear Peter pipe up from the back seat trying to settle him down a bit. The next liquor store was also closed. Darkened so that we didn’t even notice it was there as we passed. Now, onwards to the grocery store—it’s 24 hours. I park in the underground lot, and the other car pulls up aside. He runs into the store, Peter in tow. Peter arrives back at the car to announce that they aren’t actually open and that our pal has moved on to CVS.

A security guard comes over to tell us that we can’t be parked there.

If I hadn’t already, this is the moment that I realized my position as the “adult”. The driver, the local, the one in the lead. I decided to stay put. Who knows where the pal that joined all of us together in this night was?

Turns out it was a smart move. When he returned to the car it was from 7/11, as it turns out that CVS was also closed. He proudly proclaimed his feat of aquiring 32 cans of cheap beer, and a bag of ice, which somehow had something to do with cutting the line.

I drove us, leading the car behind, to his place.

As he took my place to park his car in the garage, he told me that he wasn’t sure what they’d do with out him. When I replied that I wasn’t sure what he’d do without him, it was just a reply. He gave me the key to the door with quick instructions—open the door, put on music… anxiety isn’t quite the right descriptive. I don’t know what you’d call it. There were mere moments between my opening the door, and he coming in behind me.

I put the music on, and moved into the bedroom. Exhausted from his interupting my sleep the night prior in the wee hours in the morning, setting this day into play, I crawled on top of the covers to rest. Knowing that I would, earlier he’d said he’d change the sheets—the bed being given over to his guy friend and some girl he hoped to score with the night prior—but that wasn’t a priority now, and frankly, it wasn’t for me either. It’s not like I was going to be getting any sleep in this setting.

I got up after just a few minutes. I stepped into the living room to see him leaning over the stereo. He didn’t hear me. I warmed my hands at the heater, and when he turned he came over. Nearly the same moment, Peter came in from outside. He was going to catch a cab—go home. I quickly considered offering to drive him, borrowing the car, and perhaps even taking myself home while I was at it… No, at this point I was there to observe from a separated distance.

I felt for Peter. $20 funding drinks for people he’d never met, and now a cab ride that couldn’t be any less than $60 or $70, just minutes after arriving at the party he’d never wanted to be apart of any way.

Peter left, and he turned back to me. I snapped. I pulled my arm away, as he said I could just take a cab home too. No, I was going to wait until it was all over. I was appalled. How had I missed how little respect he’d shown his friend he considered “family”, and the girl he considered his “girlfriend”.

He might offer words of affection regarding those friends he’d known since grade school, but his actions showed no concern for the relationship. I counted myself the same. He didn’t care what I did—he’d pay for my cab—as long as it wasn’t an interruption.

In the moment my heart sank with sadness as I realized that the way I yanked my arm back from his touch showed more than any words could. My eyes must have too. And that I knew that from his perspective, it was all my problem.

I gestured that he should just join his friends, the party in progress, and return to his intent of getting wasted. I stepped away and back went back into the bedroom, this time pulling the blanket over my head to block a little of the noise, and the lights, leaving room to breath and see.

Party girl entered the bedroom, and a plate with more of the white powder was had. He stepped out of the room trying to prevent others from joining and having to share, and in that moment she took all there was left. Three swipes I believe, from the sound of the snorting. I’m pretty sure he was offering just one, but then again he didn’t intend to give away the $60 worth earlier, but I was starting to see why it was that he was so confused about the night before and all the money he thought he’d spent. He’d muttered something about $400 bucks. Yeah, I’d be concerned too, as it seemed that that was just another of his typical Thursday nights.

He came back in the room, and drawn with him with another of his co-workers. He saw the plate too, apparently he would have partook, but there wasn’t any left, but he’s offering to call his guy.

In the course of the next hour, while I attempt to rest in the dark room, waiting out the chaos, I hear conversations… someone pushing him to get more “goodies”, though the his guy hadn’t responded. Other voices join the mix, distinct in that they carried foriegn accents, Irish maybe. More hopes that they might score. Even from my distance, separated, observing by ear only in the bedroom, I could hear things growing out of the scope of his intent. He had come in early on to bring in my iPad, so it wouldn’t be swiped, and that left me thinking of my iPhone, sitting there playing the part of Rdio DJ. People came in and out of the room, to get to the bathroom. Party girl came in numerous times, her words were slurred to begin with, I don’t know how to describe the progression from there. She dropped something loud to the floor, in the darkness, and I wondered why she was spending so much time apart from her party people. Earlier she’d been alone in the house, on the couch, looking over a book. I’d gone to check out what was up, as she’d dropped something to the floor then too, and that sound alerted me to something amiss. My pal had been robbed apparently a few times before, people in and out of his open house while partying… oh, it’s just her. I didn’t address her, just moved to get some water before returning to the room.

It was near 3:30am. They are deciding to go to the bay. Chaos, commotion.

I’m not ashamed, I suppose purely for the fact that I think there shouldn’t have been enough shame left for me to take a part of it.

I got up and pulled on my boots, and grabbed my bag. She was huddled near him in the doorway to the room, a sad gesture to see. She thought she wasn’t visible, and the look that passed was obvious. Yes, I’m lame. Oh, wait. No, I’m not.

He stepped from the doorway into the living room, to clear way for me and that left her lingering oddly in the room. She stepped uncertain to the door, and I gave a firm hand to her back to guide her out the door, closing the door partially to make sure my intent was clear.

He had wide eyes, hard lined pupils.

I told him I was taking his car to go home, and conveyed my judgement.

He didn’t respond, except when I asked if Peter was still here, to say “No, he can take care of himself”.

For a moment I thought when he stepped to the door with his keys, that he was leaving me to take a cab, the only means by which it seems he’s ever able to travel or to convey me. No, he was going to pull the car out for me.

Again, sadness.

This guy, really, he’s a great guy.

But it was just that day that he had told me that he’d been mean to me to see how I’d react.

He opens doors, and he always pays for dinner.

He always pays for my cab.

I want a guy who can pick me up.

I left knowing he’s not that guy—he’d rather a beer in his hand.

In memory of adorable Jamie Glass

Jamie Viviana Glass

When I was younger, my family was good friends with the Glass family. I’ll never forget when Darryl came back from Peru with his beautiful Angela.

Her name, like mine, was Angela Marie/a—except in Peru the girls were all named Maria and then a different middle name, so technically she was Maria Angela, and referred to as Angela: I adored her.

Darryl and Angela married, and had Adrian and Jamie.

Jamie died in a very tragic family accident at three and a half years old.

“The most unnatural death is that of a child before the parent.”

Continue reading “In memory of adorable Jamie Glass”

Lost, Please Find.

It started with opening facebook to a post Patrick Terry had just put up:

“That’s all I wanted, something special,
Something sacred in your eyes,
For just one moment, to be bold and naked
At your side”

Daddy and Me

I wondered for a moment at who wrote it as I gestured over the comment notifications, coming to one from a name I know from my oldest memories, Rosalee.

Rosalee Matt was a great artist, he had his Lincoln Life uniform on. I hope Arlene saved some of his work, it was amazing.

Angela Baxley Hey Rosalee—unfortunately I don’t think we have anything left of his. It seems each piece one by one met by some untimely demise along the way. I’m most heart broken over the one he painted specifically for me. If you do come across anything of his, including reproductions, Heather and I would love to collect whatever we can.

Daddy's Tired

Pam That’s you, Heather—in his expression!

Lisa Is that the hat that they gave your brother in December? The one of your Dad’s!

Heather You know—I don’t know. I’ll hafta ask Momma. That would make it that much more special!

Lisa Yes it would.

Heather It certainly does look like it!

Lisa That’s what I thought. I think it was Wonda was tagged, ended up being your pics. So I was checking them out again. But it’s time since your trip home. When I looked at this one I was like OMG I think that is the hat!

Angela Wow. That makes me so happy. I’ve always hated Matthew hasn’t had anything of his. It seems so unfair they never met—they look just alike. It’s so hard to see my father stuck at the same age as my brother. We’ve all grown older than he has now.

If you have any artwork by the artist Matthew Raymond Niblick (1958-1983), this is my father. Please contact me via spunkygidget@facebook.com.

Momma and Daddy

Update 4.9.2013

This morning via Twitter I was alerted to the Facebook “Other” inbox—others also being made aware that there might be messages missed… I went to check and there was a message from a nun in Wisconsin responding to this post. She had written in February:

A friend of mine is doing research on the paintings in the back of St. Michael Church, in Dane, Wis… I know that these were painted by Matthew Niblik as they are signed..

He painted these pictures when our church was new…1975. One of St. Michael sending Lucifer to hell, one of Our Lady of Guadalupe and one of our school and church.

I remember he had a sister who is a sister of St. Agnes…Sister Lael.

Not sure if this helps you.

longtime teacher at St. Michael…now Blessed Trinity School.

I’m hoping to they’ll be able to send digital photos — so exciting to really get to see artwork of his we’ve never seen!

Dad

I’ve been told that I was Daddy’s girl. I’m not quite sure if that means he adored me, or that I preferred him over my mother—the concept is difficult knowing how critical my relationship with my mother is to me, but then again, perhaps that’s because the first best friend I lost was actually my father?

I took my love, I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around

After he died, I was taught that one day, I could see him again in a resurrection in a paradise earth where we could live forever, together. As long as I made it there myself.

And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down

Today was a special day for me, one of reconnection. I experienced my nervous system exploding where it felt like my nerves were crawling, struggling against the skin on my face for release from capitivty in my body.

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?

I wasn’t raised to believe that he’s in heaven, looking down on me. My mother sat me on the back stoop on Reid Street and explained how he was no longer, and that he would go back to the earth—crumbling a leaf in her hand demonstrating how life deteriorates, ashes, dust. It was March, in Indiana.

Can the child within my heart rise above?

I’ve struggled—”would he be proud of me?”—my whole life to live.

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?

I have. I will. I am.

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

He would be proud of me.

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you

I don’t know how to breath, and I don’t know how to feel emotion—my nerves are deadened, a life lived in conflict.

But time makes you bolder

I guess today was the day I came to terms with my life.

Even children get older

My sisters had babies, and they are growing up without me.

And I’m getting older, too

And so is my mother.

Oh, take my love, take it down
Oh, climb a mountain and turn around

I wonder if my mother will hold true to this torture our whole lives.

And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Well, the landslide will bring it down

I had my father for 42 months, and the days of my birth and his death.

And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills…
Well, the landslide will bring it down

I wish I could know my mother.

Oh, the landslide’ll bring it down.

Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?

They’re Pinky and The Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain
Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain
Brain.

Before each night is done
Their plan will be unfurled
By the dawning of the sun
They’ll take over the world.

Pinky and the Brain gave me endless joy after school. For years, I’ve meant to get around to posting the compiled list (I have it on my hard drive somewhere for such a long time). Today, @dkr inspired me to get around to it.

SMRTrWorld (2014) Pinky & The Brain TrailerBecause the Real World wasn't reality. Introducing cast members, Cameron & Jeromiah, and Darryl Glass and the original voxox of digg nation.Posted by Angela Glass on Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Continue reading “Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?”