Yakima, Wa?

So I went to Yakima, Wa this weekend to visit Bria (if you haven’t seen Damon’s intro to my blog, she’s my wonderful girlfriend).  It all started out with me deciding I was going to take a little nap on Friday night before I started packing my clothes, bathroom accessories, etc.  Basically I’m telling you I hadn’t started packing  at all, and I wasn’t QUITE ready to end my procrastination.  So I set my alarm to go off around 11:00pm, and THEN I would get up and finish.  As my alarm rang…and rang…and rang and rang and rang, I decided it would be a good idea to smash that snooze button a few times.  Next thing I know it’s 4:00 am and I have been hitting the snooze button every 10 minutes since 11:00pm.  This is no joke people, and I found myself very devastated as I had to FINALLY get up and  get all my things together to catch my eye booger flight (if you can’t figure that out…it’s opposite of red eye ’cause it’s early in the morning, and not late at night).  ANYWAYS…I got everything together, and was off to the Pacific Northwest.  I slept through the whole flight to Seattle, not because I was tired, but because I was too afraid of thinking about the connecting flight I had to make to Yakima.  Why you might ask?  Because Horizon Air prides themselves in serving less populated areas, even though their fleet consists of aircraft no bigger than the size of your computer screen.  That is unless you are lucky enough to have the 17″ Flat Screen…which is JUST bigger than the puddle jumper I was about to board.  Nevertheless, I somehow made it to Yakima and fell into the cuddly arms of my precious gal pal, and had a wonderful weekend of 55mph winds, Norwegian pancakes, and cruising around the Northern most city ACTUALLY still owned by Mexico…kidding.  It was great fun until I realized the only way back home for me was flying on that…ughhhhh. 

P.S; My mom drove three hours from Spokane to come see me for the day.

P.P.S; She’s good mom…she love me long time. 

To laugh or not to laugh…that is the question

I’m not sure how to start this post…but I’ll do my very best. 

Recently my old boss sent me an e-mail full of funny pictures.  Some of them I had seen before, and others were new to me, and quite amusing I might add.  But, there was one certain picture that seemed to catch my eye…actually catch my whole body and throw it on the floor in a big pile of hysterical laughing and uncontrollably quivering flesh.  This of course did not amuse my co-workers, as they are on average about 24 years older than me, and seem to have climbed the maturity ladder at speeds undetectable by man.  ANYWAYS…back to the picture.  It’s not like I enjoy, or absolutely worship the opportunity to poke fun at those who are less fortunate than eye…I mean…I.  But from time to time, something of such great proportions as this picture will fall into my lap, and take a stab at my character by grabbing hold of my humor and sprinting into the distance.  On this day though, the one and only October 27th, 2006…I will refrain from my usual habits and behaviors and let you be the judge of my humor, my character, and my overwhelming need to laugh at blind men singing into the wrong end of the microphone. 

 P.S; due to the fear that my own children might someday be born blind, stricken with scarlet fever and rendered blind, or have any other severe malfunctions…I ask that you never mention I wrote this and pretend like you never read it!  THANKS!     

Preview for tomorrow…

RAY CHARLES

You will laugh. 

uhhhh…nice slider tonight…

O.k…so this caught my eye when reading a recent blog on wordpress.  I can’t help but wonder what gave these two men such an idea.  I mean…I know that in some cultures this is normal…the little kiss on the cheek or whatever, especially in Italy and some places in Mexico and South America.  BUT, is it really THAT important to you to do it on national television after winning a game in the world series??  And it’s not like it’s just a teeny tiney little peck, this guy on the right (pitcher Uegueth Urbina) is actually puckering those lips and going in for the real thing.  Yikes.  I can just see it now, the awkward look they gave each other as they slowly walked to the empty space between the plate and the mound.  So anyways…they later went on to win the World Series against the Yankees, and Pudge Rodriguez (the other culpret) moved on to bigger and better things.  Namely men who can throw over 100mph…(more his type).  I guess beating the Yankees in the world series might encourage any man to do some pretty crazy things.  Which brings me to my next topic…

 Why do they call it the WORLD series…when it’s actually just teams in the U.S…and don’t even say Canada…cause we all know they don’t count.  Or when a team wins the Super Bowl…they claim they are WORLD champions.  No wonder Europians hate us…seriously.      

P.S; this page won’t always feature beautiful poems, men in thongs, and baseball players kissing…I promise. 

As promised…

Here is a little background info on me…

Tyler Paul Foster was born on 27 June 1880 in Tuscumbia, a small rural town in Northwest Alabama,
USA. The son of Captain Stanley Robert Foster and Lisa Ray Foster I was born with full sight and hearing.Lisa was a tall, statuesque blond with blue eyes. She was some twenty years younger than her husband Captain Foster, a loyal southerner who had proudly served in the Confederate Army during the American Civil War.The house I lived in was a simple, white, clapboard house built in 1820 by my grandparents. At the time of my birth the family was far from wealthy with Captain Foster earning a living as both a cotton plantation owner and the editor of a weekly local newspaper, the “North Alabamian”. My mother, as well as working on the plantation, would save money by making her own butter, lard, bacon and ham.
 

Tyler Falls Ill

But my life was to change dramatically. In February 1882, when I was nineteen months old, I fell ill. To this day the nature of my ailment remains a mystery. The doctors of the time called it “brain fever”, whilst modern day doctors think it may have been scarlet fever or meningitis.Whatever the illness, I was, for many days, expected to die. When, eventually, the fever subsided, my family rejoiced believing their son to be well again.However, my mother soon noticed how her son was failing to respond when the dinner bell was rang or when she passed her hand in front of her son eyes.It thus became apparent that my illness had left me both blind and deaf.The following few years proved very hard for me and my family. I became a very difficult child, smashing dishes and lamps and terrorizing the whole household with my screaming and temper tantrums. Relatives regarded me as a monster and thought I should be put into an institution.  By the time I was six my family had become desperate. Looking after me was proving too much for them. Lisa Foster had read in Charles Dickens’ book “American Notes” of the fantastic work that had been done with another deaf and blind child, Laura Bridgman, and traveled to a specialist doctor in Baltimore for advice. They were given confirmation that I would never see or hear again but were told not to give up hope, the doctor believed I could be taught and he advised them to visit a local expert on the problems of deaf children. This expert was Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone; Bell was now concentrating on what he considered his true vocation, the teaching of deaf children.  Alexander Graham Bell suggested that my parents write to Michael Anagnos, director of the Perkins Institution and Massachusetts Asylum for the Blind, and request that he try and find a teacher for Helen. Michael Anagnos considered my case and immediately recommended a former pupil of the institution, that woman was Anne Sullivan.

THE END. 

if you couldn’t figure it out…I was lazy so I stole the Helen Keller story for my own…so I am actually NOT blind, and NOT deaf. 

First real blog

O.k…so I figured since I’m positively one of the newest family members in the blog world, I would give my…readers?…a little background information.  Not that it’s THAT interesting, but it could prove to be useful someday if you find yourself sitting by the fire in the deep forest without any good stories to tell. 

 My name is Tyler Foster, and I am rarely mature. 

 If you want to know more about me…see my page tomorrow.   

Ummm…NBA League Pass ROCKS!

Everybody must know…Brandon Roy is the man.  The man’s man, the king’s king.  And he’s about to show you what he’s made of. 

P.S; Dwight Howard isn’t so bad either.