nevada makes my butt look big

Friday, Aug. 23, 2002 @ 10:30 a.m.

SAN FRANCISCO (Reuters) -- "Steady" Ed Headrick, the California inventor who figured out a way to make the Frisbee fly fast and straight, has died at the age of 78. His family said his ashes will be made into Frisbees.

Headrick died in his sleep early Monday at his home in La Selva Beach, California, his son Ken told the Santa Cruz Sentinel Tuesday.

While no services are now planned, Headrick's ashes will be molded into a limited number of "memorial flying discs" which will be distributed to family and friends, and sold to help fund a future Frisbee/disc golf history and memorabilia museum, his son, Ken Headrick, said.

"I felt the Frisbee had some kind of a spirit involved. It's not just like playing catch with a ball. It's the beautiful flight," Headrick said. "We used to say that Frisbee is really a religion -- 'Frisbyterians,' we'd call ourselves," he said. "When we die, we don't go to purgatory. We just land up on the roof and lay there."

A moment of silence, please...

This is going to be a short entry because I am going to do a longer one later today.

I am really damn tired of being sick. My sinuses are still clogged, yet they are draining enough to make blowing my nose every few minutes a necessity. I didn’t take any medicine yesterday because I thought I was feeling well enough, and by the end of the day the right side of my face felt like it was filled with cement and I had a pounding sinus headache. Plus I am so tired. Gah.

I haven’t had any milk or eaten any cheese in the last week, because dairy makes you more mucusy, and it’s driving me crazy. I always have a glass of milk before I go to bed, and I love cheese. I want cheese!

Yesterday the hot dog machine in the cafeteria had chicken drumsticks in each slot, instead of hot dogs. It was kind of surreal looking.

I finished Claudine in Paris last night and started Nathaniel's Nutmeg. It's about the spice races between the Dutch and the English in the 17th century, and I thought it went with the last non-fiction book I read.

I read this Emily Dickinson poem last night:

The name-of it-is “Autumn”-/The hue-of it-is Blood-/An Artery-upon the Hill-/A Vein-along the Road-

Great Globules-in the Alleys-And Oh, the Shower of Stain-/When Winds-upset the Basin-/And Spill the Scarlet Rain-

It Sprinkles Bonnets-far below-/It gathers Ruddy Pools-/Then-eddies like a Rose-away-/Upon Vermilion Wheels-

I like this poem because it operates on 2 different levels. It compares the falling Autumn leaves to blood, and that is suitable because not only are they red, but also blood is an appropriate metaphor for autumn, when the year is “dying”. I wish autumn would get here. The weather is ahead of itself already.

~S.

frozen + fresh