This is just too good not to pass on.  Welcome to my video game playing dream.  God bless Nintendo.

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Happy Sunday to all.  Here’s a taste of the NFL’s latest enshrinees into immortality.  One of my favorite players and people of all time, Emmitt Smith, during his induction speech.  Nicely done.

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Welcome all.  Please enjoy this break from the grind of life . Here’s Sylvester Burks.  Take the time to enjoy what you have and inspire others.  Happy Sunday.

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I don’t normally post movie reviews, especially in light of not having seen said movie.  But Sex In The City 2 is getting some epically negative reviews– epic as in worst thing ever put on celluloid reviews.  This particular one left me laughing out loud:

SATC2 takes everything that I hold dear as a woman and as a human—working hard, contributing to society, not being an entitled c**t like it’s my job—and rapes it to death with a stiletto that costs more than my car. It is 146 minutes long, which means that I entered the theater in the bloom of youth and emerged with a family of field mice living in my long, white mustache. This is an entirely inappropriate length for what is essentially a home video of gay men playing with giant Barbie dolls.

Even if you disagree with that assessment, you must agree that that quote was freakin’ priceless!  Read the review in its entirety here.

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Happy Earth Day!  Here’s a beautiful, visually striking image from a beautiful world that is wonderfully appropriate for the day.  Find out how Earth Day began here.  If you’re searching for ways to commemorate the day, check out your options here.

Glory of Spring by believer9

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Classic.  March Madness indeed.

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I pray this is real.

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(Editor’s note:  This is the third part in a three part arc on the tenets of happiness)

Love is life.  Love is a brilliant sheen, glossily shining in the eyes of lovers– of families yearning to see their loved ones– and dreamers hoping to find and claim its shine for their own.  Like hope and faith,  love can sometimes be painful and blunt, as a blow to the knee.  But we are forever searching for it, trying to nestle within its bosom, to feel its nurturing caress.  What does love mean to you?  I’d like to share a story about what it means to me.

My grandmother was this lovely old sage, prescient in fact and circumstance.  She never let a moment go by where she didn’t try to instill some Aesop type of lesson into you.  I remember visiting her in Florida during the summer.  My family and I fled the tame Connecticut summer in order to melt under the west coast Florida glaze.  As a child, I really had no perception of hot and cold–but there was something about the way a body sweats in the sweltering Florida heat that can make even the most child-like among us yearn for cold air.

My parents had left me overnight with my grandmother.  I was happy to be spending time with her, but there was one thing lacking in her modest home:  air conditioning.  The day turned to night, but the sticky swarm still enveloped me.  The air was dense and moist, and I was terribly uncomfortable.  The thought of having to sleep there under an oppressive blanket of heat and humidity was almost too much for me to bear.  But I had to bear it.  I laid there on the couch, trying to get as comfortable as possible, roiling from my fit-fullness.  I started to whimper.  Then I heard her come out of her room.  She asked me what was wrong, and I told her that I couldn’t sleep.   She grabbed my hand, and led me into her bedroom.  She told me to lay down because she wanted to tell me a story.  Here’s what she told me:

Your dad used to bring me mangoes every day.  He had no particular reason for doing it, he just did it.  Everyday I would make something different with the mangoes, even though I did not enjoy them very much.  But, I would routinely fix a mango dish.  I fixed them because my son went out and brought me a mango– I think it was his way of making sure our home was taken care of.  And I wanted to reciprocate his hard work with some of my own.

I didn’t quite understand her.  She made these mango dishes even though she didn’t really like mango?  “Yes, she said.”

Because it was more important to show my son my appreciation.  God must have given him the idea to bring me mangoes, so that is what he did.  When your grandfather died, your father accepted his role as the provider and protector–even though he really wasn’t, and even though he did not need to be.  He did it because somehow, that’s what he was supposed to do.  I made mango dishes– even though I did not like them– because that was what I was supposed to do.

She took out a mango and shared it with me.  I’d never eaten one before.  “Love and life are in this mango,” she said.   “Love because of what my son and I shared.  Life because you are now linked to us, from the tree outside this window.  We all now share in the blessings of love and life.”

The mango made me smile.  My grandmother made me happy.  I laid there, sucking on a piece of mango, smiling at my grandmother, completely forgetting the heat and the discomfort prohibiting my slumber.  She gave me the stone from the fruit and told me that it represented her eye.  She said that if I kept it, she would be watching out for me always– and when I’m fitful or anxious– she would soothe me.  I kept the stone so I could always see my grandmother staring at me, comforting me.  To this day, I cannot pass a mango tree or stand without fondly thinking of that hot, special night.  The night I bonded with her.

I learned a special lesson about family and love that night, one that I hope to teach my children.  It’s the little things that tie the binds of life.  Learning to appreciate what you have, and make the most of life’s small wonders– like the mangoes from that tree of life.  My grandmother was a woman who practiced and preached these principles, and her life was full of love as a result.

I lost my grandmother two days ago.  I loved her.  She loved me very much.  Her love was all-encompassing and all-consuming.  She is forever embedded in my memory– an indelible reminder of what is good and just and innocent about this life.  I thank you for giving me a glimpse into the heart of the man I can become.  I thank you for proving to me that selflessness and devotion are the benchmarks of love unconditional– and the pathways to true happiness.  I thank you Annie Wright– for your 97 years on this earth– and your 37 years of loving me without pause.  May you find the riches of promise and love eternal, in the realm of saints.  And may you always know just how much love I had for you.

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A tremendous story that should not go uncovered.  Absolutely amazing.   From the Mail Online:

James Harrison, 74, has an antibody in his plasma that stops babies dying from Rhesus disease, a form of severe anaemia.

It was found his plasma could treat the condition and since then it has been given to hundreds of thousands of women.

Mr Harrison has been giving blood every few weeks since he was 18 years old and has now racked up a total of 984 donations.

It is estimated he has helped save 2.2 million babies so far.

He said: ‘I’ve never thought about stopping. Never.’ He made a pledge to be a donor aged 14 after undergoing major chest surgery in which he needed 13 litres of blood.

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A Tribute to Gay and Lesbian Characters from Children’s TV Shows and Movies?.  Awesome.

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