Archives For cars

The Car Part Sculptor

Nae's Nest —  January 11, 2013 — 2 Comments

 

 

James Corbett takes used card parts and, using them like pieces in a puzzle, creates amazing steampunk sculptures.

Corbett showed artistic talent ever since he was a little boy. Colleagues at his Redcliff school would always tell him he’d grow up to be an artist. But, at 36 years old James was running a motor wrecking business. That’s when he started welding together a bunch of car parts and awakened the dormant talent inside. In just 18 months he closed his wrecking business and became a full-time artist.

James Corbet says he makes these original sculptures because he can and it would be a shame to waste his God-given talent. The Car Part Sculptor has exhibited his works in galleries all

across the world.

 

Child Sex-Abuse Trial For Catholic Priests, Archdiocese Starts Today In Philadelphia

By MARYCLAIRE DALE 03/26/12 09:13 PM ET AP

Priests

From left to right: Former priest Edward V. Avery, Monsignor William Lynn and the Rev. James. J. Brennan are co-defendants in the trial.

PHILADELPHIA — A high-ranking monsignor who’s on trial “won’t run” from the Catholic Church’s sex abuse crisis, his lawyer said Monday as the landmark child endangerment trial began.

Monsignor William Lynn supervised more than 800 priests as the secretary for clergy in Philadelphia from 1992 to 2004. He’s the first U.S. church official charged over his handling of abuse complaints.

Prosecutors charge that he kept dangerous priests in parish work around children to protect the church’s reputation and avoid scandal.

Defense lawyer Thomas Bergstrom said in opening statements: “There is documentary evidence that the sexual abuse of children happened in the Catholic Church. We’re not going to run from that. He (Lynn), perhaps alone, is the one who tried to correct it.”

Bergstrom said his client had prepared a list of 35 accused priests in 1994, based on his review of secret archives kept in a locked room at the archdiocese’s headquarters. Lynn gave the list to Cardinal Anthony Bevilacqua and other superiors, but Bevilacqua had it shredded, Bergstrom said.

A copy was found in 2006 in a locked safe at the archdiocese and was turned over by a church lawyer this year. The document is something of a smoking gun in the case, although each side hopes to spin it its way.

Defense lawyers say the document shows Lynn trying to assess the scope of the problem. Prosecutors say it shows the church was mostly concerned about legal liability. The list notes whether the statute of limitations had run in each case.

According to prosecutors, the church kept secret files dating to 1948 that show a long-standing conspiracy to doubt sex abuse victims, protect priests and avoid scandal.

Assistant District Attorney Jacqueline Coelho called the case “a battle between right and wrong within the archdiocese and the office of secretary for clergy.”

Lynn, 61, appears solemn in court, where he has spent much of the past few months attending pretrial hearings and jury selection. He has been under investigation for eight years, through two city grand jury investigations. The grand juries blasted Bevilacqua and his successor, Cardinal Justin Rigali, saying they covered up child sex complaints lodged against more than 60 priests. But Lynn was the only supervisor charged.

Lynn had the “ugly job” of overseeing sex abuse complaints, but Bevilacqua alone determined priest assignments and transfers, Bergstrom said.

The cardinal died in January, although the jury might see the videotaped deposition he gave weeks earlier. The trial could last several months.

Lynn is on trial with the Rev. James Brennan, who is charged with raping a 14-year-old boy in 1996. Both men entered not guilty pleas Monday.

Defense lawyers have long planned to attack the credibility of the two accusers, who have struggled with drug addiction and have criminal records. But that strategy took something of a hit when a third co-defendant, defrocked priest Edward Avery, entered a surprise guilty plea to some of the charges Thursday.

Avery, who moonlighted as a disc jockey and adopted six Hmong children during his years in the priesthood, admitted that he sexually assaulted a 10-year-old altar boy in a church sacristy in 1999. That victim accused another priest and his sixth-grade teacher of raping him during his parochial school years. They will go on trial separately because neither was an archdiocesan priest reporting to Lynn.

Brennan’s accuser has convictions for theft and filing a false police report and called none other than the person he accused of abusing him when he needed to do court-ordered community service, a defense lawyer said.

“If you don’t believe (him), … the case is over,” said lawyer William Brennan, who is not related to his client.

Avery’s plea also acknowledged that the archdiocese kept him in ministry despite being aware of an earlier complaint. That complaint, dating to 1992, was detailed in court Monday by the first trial witness. A Philadelphia detective read a 1992 letter from a medical student that said Avery had once gotten him drunk and molested him after a DJ stint at a West Philadelphia nightclub and later on a ski trip.

“I do not want money or any kind of media scandal,” the accuser wrote. “I need to know that he has been evaluated and treated for this disorder and his threat to other impressionable young men is gone.”

The archdiocese interviewed Avery, who denied the allegations before saying they could have happened when he was drunk.

“I thought he was a potential (priest). I was so good to him,” Avery told Lynn and Bishop Joseph Cistone in a 1992 interview, according to an archdiocesan memo read in court.

Avery was sent for inpatient therapy for eight months before returning to ministry. He sexually assaulted the altar boy seven years later, he admitted Thursday.

Lynn faces up to 28 years in prison if convicted of two counts each of conspiracy and child endangerment.

Guilty For Staying

Nae's Nest —  April 3, 2012 — 1 Comment

If longing for him, loving him, missing him, crying for him-are crimes-I PLEAD GUILTY.  I can’t explain why.

My mind tells me different–it warns me I am crazy,  I should find a way out.  NOW–While he is out of town, right now-RUN RUN RUN!  Go now while I can—but

I can’t!  I can’t go, I can’t leave.  Where will I go?  To a shelter?  How long can I stay?  And this underground business–you can forget that!  I have family, I will not leave them behind because of him.

No,no,no!  I can not go to my family.  They are religious.  They believe– once married, always married.  They do not know of the, the –abuse, no,no, crime no… shit the… situation.  Somehow it would be all my fault.  Who am I kidding??

It IS my fault.  I am a disappointment.  I was always a disappointment to him.  I make lousy eggs, I burn the roasts, I gained weight…Countless crimes, I have committed countless offenses.  No wonder I am in this mess!

When we married, he expected a saintly, obedient, subservient wife.  I was young and immature.  I think I was in love with the idea of getting married.  I felt I better leap on this opportunity because no one else would want me.  So, he ended up with me.

At that time, I was 5’2″, 105lbs, long dark red wavy hair and innocent–innocent and stupid  naive.  He was mature, handsome and he wanted me.

From the time I was 12, I had boyfriends.  I had no trouble getting one.  My uncle used to tell me they were standing in line to be honored with a chance to date me.  But I knew being  female was all it took for the boys to line up.

In the beginning, “the dating stage”, Carter treated me well.  Though, to be honest, there were red flags that I chose to ignore.

I recall a time when he came to my house to visit with both my mother and I.  I left the room to get beverages.  Upon my return, I overheard Carter saying I was out of shape.  I needed to lose some weight.  The statement angered me. However, I was devastated when I heard my own mother agreeing with him!

I let the both of them know how angry and hurt I was.  Both of them managed to get me to blame myself for the entire ordeal.  I guess, I was a little flabby.  I could stand to tighten up and lose a few more pounds.  That night, I cried myself to sleep.

Our dating experience continued along these lines.  The red flag would wave brightly.  I chose not to see it and eventually I married him.

can’t don’t want to go into great detail.   It is just too  embarrassing painful to share.  I love him.  He isn’t the only one at fault.  It is my fault too!  I screwed everything up, I made mistakes, I forgot things, I broke rules—it is as much my fault as it is his.  How can I point the finger at him when I know I am not innocent?  I will  share a couple of instances with you,  as long as it is understood–I am just as guilty.

  • 1.  One morning, I decided to surprise Carter with a nice big breakfast.  Breakfast was his favorite meal, however he had to leave for work much too early to sit down and enjoy a long leisurely breakfast.  This Sunday morning was lovely.  The sun was out, birds were singing, (I was careful not to sing, Carter says my voice is terrible–though, up until the time of our marriage, I was lead singer in a popular local band–he made me quit).   While he was out jogging, I was preparing a surprise breakfast with all of his favorites.  Carter returned to a house smelling of wonderful breakfast delights.  Without acknowledging or saying anything, he sat at the table.  I asked him if I  surprised him.  He said, “A good hearty breakfast should never be a surprise it is expected.”
  •  I worked third shift at a medical facility.  Carter didn’t want me working.  I knew we needed the extra money, especially with the meager weekly allowance he handed me every week.  Funny, the allowance never increased after I started working, but I said nothing.  I knew better.  I also knew not to complain that I was unable to keep up with my wifely duties, which included cooking and cleaning throughout the day while he was at work.  He did not want me wasting my time sleeping, reading, or watching TV.  He believed watching TV or reading put thoughts and ideas into my head.  I resented this, I felt he was telling me I wasn’t smart enough to have an idea or thought of my own.
  •  I began to serve him.  I always personally served him no matter where we were, except for restaurants; where  my duties were relieved by the waitress.  I did long to be able to order what I wanted, instead of him always ordering for me.  If I dare complain,  he would say:  “You get out of cooking and serving me and still you are not satisfied”.   I supposed he was right.
  • I served him a couple of fried eggs, over-easy.  He looked at the eggs and then looked at me.  He was furious!  He began to rant and rave saying things like “you did this intentionally” and “you are just trying to get out of cooking breakfast”. The next thing he did, shocked me.  He took the plate and threw it against the wall.  The plate stuck to the wall and slowly slid down to the floor leaving a sticky trail of egg yolk, about 4ft long.  I jumper up, upset and started to cry.  Over his yelling, I shrieked back “I am not going to clean that mess up.  You made it, you clean it!”  I ran upstairs and locked the bedroom door.  Thankfully, he did not follow.  I heard a door slam somewhere, the basement, I supposed.  He often retreated down there when he “needed to escape his childish and selfish wife”.  I often thought of locking him down there, taking the car keys and leaving.  Thank God we never had children.  I cleaned the egg mess, 3 days later. **************************************************************************************************
  •  We did not have the money for a long romantic honeymoon.  We took a local weekend trip instead.  We stayed in a 1 bedroom cabin on a state campground.  There was a beautiful view of the lake, and many activities such as hiking,  and horseback riding among other things.  However, we did what any young healthy newlyweds do–we stayed in our cabin, only surfacing for food.  It was wonderful.  I knew we would be happy the rest of our lives.  It is a shame we had to leave.  It all came to an end.
  • We had a nice apartment.  The bedroom was a loft overlooking the living room.  It was perfect.  Carter made me quit my job just before we married, proclaiming:  “Any woman of mine will not work.   My wife’s duty is to stay home, keep my house for me, and to wait on me when I am home.”  I regretfully quit my job.  I worked my way through school.  I had just begun to  work with the elderly.  I loved my job.
  • Our first day in our apartment I spent unpacking, cleaning and cooking a nice meal.  I had dinner on the table when he got home.  However, I managed to break a rule our first night.   I was unaware of this rule, at the time, I was unaware of any rule.  I think he enjoyed “training” me when I broke some rule of his.   The unforgivable rule I broke this night was “failing to pull his boots off and rub his feet”.  He threw a fit.  He said, as a wife I should have known when a man gets home from work he has a seat and expects his wife to pull his boots off and rub his tired and sore feet!   He wondered just how “stupid” I was.  He rubbed my nose into his boots so I would never forget this rule again.  He also locked me into our bedroom.   I could see from the loft that he turned on the TV and ate our meal in the living room.**************************************************
  • I have decided to share 1 more story with you and then I had better get home.  Yes, I know how you feel, I am just not ready yet.  I am scared.  If you want to hear this last story, you will hush now.
  • This episode happened, well it happened just before I ran over here!  I am still shaking.  It was so stupid, and it is my fault.  I knew better.  I had just come home from grocery shopping.  He was angry because I was gone a half hour more than he estimated I should be.  I told him I was sorry.  He was not satisfied because I did not elaborate.   There was nothing to elaborate on.  I had no explanation.  He kept bugging me, so I finally told him I must have gazed at the tomatoes longer than I should have.    Well, now he needed to punish me for my smartass remark.  He jumped me.  He is 6′ tall and 200lbs.  I am now 130 (he really hates that).  He had me pinned to the floor.  I was unable to get away.  He began to rip my clothes.  He was hitting me, you can see the marks on my face.  I have marks all over my body.  He forced his way with me–he had sex with me, it hurt so bad.  I didn’t want it.  He also stuck the TV remote control in me and roughly……you know.  I said something about him raping me.  He says a husband can not rape his wife.  She is supposed to submit, if she does not, a husband has every right to take what is his.  His grip finally loosened on me.  I think he was trying to find something else to insert and hurt me with.  I managed to get away.  I got up on me feet and ran out the door.  I was pulling up my torn shorts and straightening my torn blouse as I ran.  Thank God my keys were still in my pants.  I left without my purse, but I only have about $6.00 dollars left out of the grocery money.  I was not allowed credit or debit cards nor was I allowed the checkbook or cash.
Talking all of this over embarrasses me.  Some seems trivial, other things are horrible but my fault.  I just don’t know what to do.  I came here, to this shelter for help but he will come after me.  If he goes to jail, he will get out and get me!
What do I do?
 I am
Imprisoned
There is no escaping
No one to help
This is my plight
I should go back
Take my medicine
This is my bed
I should lay in it
My fault
Always
Too stupid
Too ugly
Too slow
Too fat
Too married
by Renee Robinson

***Though the content is heartwrenching, this is  a fictional writing.  I do sincerely hope, it will help someone who is in the situation, please take that hand that is offered.   Do not wait until you end up going to your grave.

Lay 112, Sick Friend

Nae's Nest —  April 3, 2012 — 3 Comments

I have been busy lately visiting a relative in the hospital.  She has been so sick.  She has been unable to lay any Easter eggs due to fear of infecting the eggs.  However, there are hundreds of others who are still able to lay, so this should not effect Easter too badly.

Lay 111, Precious

Nae's Nest —  April 2, 2012 — Leave a comment

EVERYBODY SAY “AHHHHH”

Lay 108, Bus Trip!

Nae's Nest —  March 31, 2012 — Leave a comment

“Ethel, yo! Ethel!”

“What Ed?”

“I just woke up, maybe I missed something…but WHERE is the bus driver?”

“I just woke up too.  I think we were all sleeping, it’s the middle of the night.  Driving straight through to Florida is rough.”

“So, OK, yep.  That still doesn’t answer my question though”

(yawning)   “Oh, I’m sorry Ed.  What question was that?”

“I was wondering where the bus driver is?”

Ethel looks around.  “Oh!  Here she is, Ed.  No worries.  She’s asleep on the floor.  We should be quiet so we don’t wake her.”

“Oh,Ok. That’s good.” said Ed

Ed is puzzled.  He thinks this over in his shell.

“uh, Ethel?”

“Yes Ed”

“So WHOSE driving the bus?”

Ethel looks around, looks at the sleeping driver.

The bus is definitively moving.  The driver is definitely sleeping.  WHOSE driving the bus?

“Ed?”

“Yes Ethel”

“No one is driving the bus”

“What do you think we should do?”

“Can you driver a bus?”

“No”

They checked with everyone on the bus, careful not to wake the driver.  No one could drive.  No one knew what they should do.  They were beginning to worry and panic.

“Listen up everyone!” said Ed.  “I have an idea.”

Everyone hushed and looked at Ed.

“Sense none of us can drive.  I think we should all go back to sleep. We will let the bus driver decide when she wakes.”

Relieved, the eggs all agreed.  They quickly fell back to sleep.

What do you expect?  Eggs are embryos.  Give’em a brake.  Premature.  Hey look, they don’t even have heads yet, so why would you expect brains?

 

 

This form of transportation was used by the Easter Bunny several years back.  Times have changed and with it better ways to transport:

The motorcycle not only goes fast which makes deliveries go smoother and nicer, the Easter Bunny feel years young, sleek and sexy.

***footnote:  The top caption also answers the age old question: “Why did the chicken cross the road?”  Now that we know, we should spread the word.  That question has been asked so many times, we are all sick of hearing it.

This project means a great deal to me.  When I read this article, I teared up.  In my case, chemo damaged me so badly, I am unable to drive.  My reflexes are too slow.  I have lost feeling in both my hand and feet.  I never realized, until I experienced it that being unable to “feel” the gas pedal or brake makes a huge difference in driving!   I would be unsafe on the roads—something like this would be greatly appreciated if I were in need for it.

Riding in “style” would be an added treat!

By Zach BowmanRSS feed

Posted Mar 29th 2012 11:29AM

Those of us who are fortunate enough to have never suffered through cancer likely don’t realize how the disease can turn some of life’s simplest acts into huge hurdles. Just getting to treatment appointments can be daunting with the onset of symptoms and side effects. One cancer survivor in Austin, Texas has set up a network of exotic and classic car owners to make getting to the hospital a little bit easier and more fun at the same time.

Ken Adams noticed a large number of cancer patients who were forced to take public transportation or rely on friends and family to make it to treatments while he was waiting for his own doctor. Adams then hatched the idea for volunteers to help get those patients from home to the hospital, and Your Ride Is Here was born.

Patients get to ride in everything from vehicles like the Aston Martin Rapide to the Chevrolet Camaro and even the Ferrari Enzo. For patients who may be going through some of the darkest days of their lives, the chance to ride in some of the world’s greatest pieces of engineering is also a chance at a valuable smile.

We’ve been plenty guilty of balking at supercars in the past, and while they remain firmly out of grasp for the vast majority of the human race, they also represent just what mankind is capable of with the right motivation. We’re just glad to see some of their owners have a similarly impressive capacity for compassion.

If you don’t own a supercar but still want to help, Your Ride Is Here relies entirely on donations, which can bemade here. They’ve also made an excellent video that best explains their purposes, which can be viewedfarther down the page.

Your Ride Is Here

 

Years ago, it was the Milkman a husband might have to worry about.  Times have changed.  Now the cat owner worries about the Eggman.

Barbie and I Cannot Get Our Jeans Over Our Thighs

No matter what your weight or size, most of us have experienced that moment when we realize it’s time to “retire” a pair of our favorite jeans because they just don’t fit anymore. Damn you, slowing metabolism. Damn you, gravity. Damn you, left over mac n’ cheese.

Yesterday, while trying to dress my daughter’s Barbie in a stunning pair of black and silver lamé jeans, I realized they weren’t going over her thighs. WTF? Had she borrowed a pair from Skipper? Was it her time of the month? Was she spending too much time in her Barbie McDonalds and not enough on her Barbie bike?

All I know is, this scene seemed oddly familiar. Trying to yank some slim pants over unyielding thighs… where had I seen that before?

Oh right, my closet, that’s where.

At first, I felt a tinge of pity for Barbie. I breathed an empathetic sigh as I resolved to get those once-fitting lamé pants over her rubbery legs. Maybe a little Crisco would work? Hmm, does that mean I should be buttering up my legs to get those J Brand Cigarette jeans back in the rotation?

Frankly, both of us could use some form of buttering up, right about now.

Well, in lieu of greasing her down, I accepted the fact that this chick may need to drop a pound or two if she wants to get back into those knickers. It was then that I felt an odd sense of camaraderie. You know, like I could look into her painted on Barbie eyes and say:

“Yeah I know, it sucks right? You and your shiny hot pants with the built-in belt and me with my favorite jeans (the ones that were once a bit loose)… we’re quite the pair, huh?

Remember the old days? You know, when we could eat what we wanted and still make Ken’s head turn? G-d I miss them.

We’d both sigh in unison as we contemplated the years we’ve left behind.

Oh, to be young again. What are you now Barbie, like 50? Seriously, you look good, girl. You shouldn’t be looking at me with those sad eyes.

Sure, they gave you a breast reduction, but frankly those things were getting in the way of your modern career options. Pro tennis player, Doctor, Veterinarian, Fashion Designer — no one could take you seriously with those measurements.

As soon as they started calling you an “airline attendant” instead of a “stewardess,” your days with those puppies were numbered. Well, I don’t have to tell you that.

Her little head would look down at her smaller boobs and she’d nod appreciatively.

Now look at us. A couple of has-been sexpots, zipping up our pants with pliers. The other day, I noticed that you had a grey in one of your hair plugs. I pulled it. I know, two will surely grow back, but I couldn’t resist. You were sleeping in that hammock that attaches to the camper and I didn’t want to wake you. I imagine it’s hard enough to fall asleep in that thing, not to mention the back pain you must have by morning.

Oh Barbie, what have we resorted to? I uh, I know this may be a touchy subject but, I saw you throwing up the other day after my daughter fed you that plastic turkey at a pretend dinner party. I saw you, and so did that token brunette Barbie, what’s her face? Kelly, no, Stacie? I don’t know, but it was a real eye-opener.”

After contemplating our moment of bonding, I felt something I never expected… joy. Yep, that’s where I think the story gets sick. (I know you may have had that thought a while back when I outed Barbie as a bulimic.) But, for me, it got a bit alarming when I felt a sudden sense of delight in Barbie’s pain. Like, “Wahoo, I’m not the only one assessing my need to go back to the gym. Now, you know what it feels like Barbie! You with your Dream Townhouse, and your Glam jet, and your “Not so Roughin’ it” camper, and your perfect hair, and your perfect tan, you’re not so perfect anymore, are you? So, suck it!”

I don’t know what this says about me, other than my need for a new workout regimen, a better diet and a visit to my therapist. I like to think that I’m usually a person who is excited over other people’s accomplishments, beautification-wise and otherwise, but I realized there is some evil part of me that enjoyed commiserating about having less efficient metabolism, spreading hip bones, an aging butt, and a thigh complex — even if that someone was Barbie.

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