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Same guy, different krep...
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All commentary Copyright Stonestead.com, 2007. No part may be reproduced without permission. All statements within are the express view of the author and not necessarily those of his employeer, his clergy, his spouse, his friends or even himself.

Links to other people's stuff today. Sorry, but Wednesday is kind of a big day for me and with any luck, it's not so big that I won't have time to tell you about it tomorrow. That's a pretty safe bet, BTW. I mean, it's not like I'm meeting the President OR carrying out plans to blow myself up in his same zip code. All the same, I've got to get into bed so I don't go all 'Romero' on everyone. 'Zat OK with you?

Thanks. You're a peach...

I found the concept interesting, but the execution was rather self-important. Still, I hope a similar idea is planned for a certain, Dustin Brown. I'd LOVE to see where this leads, if only to find that I was wrong. Things that run counter to common sense - and somehow work anyway - always fascinate me.

It would seem that Presidential candidate Mitt Romney has started some leftist knees to knockin'. I mean, why else mention that his great, great grandfather was a polygamist? What else could be the point? Besides, in an era when the left would define marriage as "anything goes," why are they trying to smear a man because his great, great grandfather was married to several WOMEN? Is THAT the only form of marriage that's taboo to the left? (only if that's what it takes for them to win elections - ed.)

Taken during a National Global Warming Party meeting, the following picture shows would-be Chancellor algore responding to the Official Party Salute offered by his Pocket Protectorate Secretary Designee. When asked later, Chip Dorkmeier said, "It was just such an honor to be in that place at that time - when I could seig algore in person and was given a chance to heil his works in the party's behalf. He's truly a hero of the cause."

And now, because the dern-blasted 'yourhub' site is making me twitch tonight and I'm not convinced that they're able to accept new content at the moment, I offer you my daily story...

Unedited, natch. The pillow calls...

The other day, as the girls (Mommy and "M") were out on the town, they stopped in at a casual eatery for dinner. As Mommy tells the story, their waiter was sporting a hairdo that would require an advanced degree in geometry to replicate. This - of course - did not go unnoticed by our daughter, but just before she could comment on it, Mommy stepped in.

Mommy told "M" that she shouldn't say anything about his hair. She shouldn't laugh at it, nor should she point it out as being unusual - even though it clearly was. To do those sorts of things would not only be enjoying a laugh at another's expense, but would be very rude. And we just don't do those sorts of things.

All went well and "M" held her peace, until they were flipping through the kid's menu/coloring book and spotted a cartoon character that seemed to be the inspiration for the waiter's 'do. At which point "M" said - rather loudly - he has hair like our waiter! Like him!"

Yes, you guessed it: the waiter just happened to be walking through the area at the time "M" made the grand discovery. The phrase was completed only with her pointing towards the waiter. She had - it would seem - missed the point of the lesson.

Flash forward to Tuesday Morning. It's the first morning of each week that EVERYone in the home has to get up early; Daddy goes to work, Mommy goes to work and the kids go to school (day care). In the process of seating everyone for breakfast, Mommy mentions to D-Man that his hair is a complete mess and it makes him, "look kinda funny."

Without missing a beat, "M" pipes up: "Momma, we shouldn't say things like that. It's rude."

So I guess she was paying attention. Kinda.

Chris Stone is a slightly different - hopefully better - Father and man than he was yesterday...

Even though I've not commented on it lately, I'm still a big fan of Netflix. After all, it's not their fault that I have no time to watch the disc that's been on my shelf for 5 weeks now, but it is to their credit that they don't mind in the least that it's been that long since they've heard from me, I suppose. But I've noticed lately that there are other players trying to break into the game. This should prove interesting...

It appears that Netflix's main competitor is Blockbuster. Well, it's not like that one is a shot from out of the blue, frankly. Blockbuster has made a HUGE investment in not only brick and mortar but also in inventory. I mean, just imagine if they were to "whistle past the graveyard" and ignore the online movement that Netflix represents... Not only would it mean a massive bankruptcy, but their locations and their discs would suddenly flood the market. This would drive down the costs of local strip-mall lease prices and - ironically - the price of individual DVD's.

In short, the best way for Blockbuster to compete with Netflix may be to give up, declare bankruptcy and liquidate their assets. Rather ironic, no? Instead, Blockbuster has decided upon what I see as the second most effective strategy: to fight Netflix on their own turf.

This is not without it's risks - especially given that Netflix is pretty much the gold standard in the Discs-Via-Mail genre, but Blockbuster has decided to integrate its past strengths into its grand online gamble; they have included a "return it to the store" option, which is actually a pretty cool idea. But my guess is that it works only in theory. That is, when settling on a video plan for the family, the first concern is probably price, then availability and broadness of selection, then the number of "personal holdings" allowed by the plan, and the ability to immediately exchange one disc for another is probably at the very bottom of the list.

Not that we don't imagine ourselves capable of driving to the nearest DVD storatory in the abstract, but that in the practical, we simply WON'T do it. "It's too far," or "It's too late" seem to always trump, "I really don't like this and would love to request another" in the average American's mind and lifestyle. Because the latter would require some work on our part.

So there's the secret to Blockbuster's endeavor: how much extra are they charging for the privilege of allowing the consumer to drive to the store at 8:28 on a Tuesday night? If it's included at no extra charge, then they stand a good chance of survival. If it's something like double the membership fee, they'll survive only long enough for 42% of their customers to realize that they never - EVER - go to the Blockbuster building anymore.

It's the beauty of the free market, and you can only see the beauty if you understand the system.

Before I "speak truth to power" here, (what a tiresome phrase. And ignorant, boorish, self-important, overtly-childish and just stupid beyond all human comprehension), an important disclaimer:

• I DO. NOT. watch award shows. Any of them.
• I have NEVER seen more than 5 minutes of ANY award show - and only that much due to whichever female influence was in my life at the time.
• I don't seek out information about nominees before the fact nor about "winners" after the fact.
• I did NOT watch the grammies this year. I would not watch the grammies ANY year.
• I did NOT watch the oscars tonight. I would not watch the oscars ANY night.

And in case you thought the above disclaimer would be enough to keep me from writing about said events? Well, I'd like to welcome the new readers out there!

...

I'm starting to feel smugly-self-justified in my belief that so-called "awards shows" are nothing more than public displays of mass, group self-satisfaction, and that the selections that come from such gatherings are meaningful only in so much as they prove able to satisfy the egos and beliefs of those in attendance.

And a quick note to those of you who who watch, (i.e. females) and will claim to do so only to see the various gowns and dresses (again, females) at said event: those pics are available in very-nearly real-time at any number of online sites, (run by men wearing far too much mascara), so you can see them there. And get a life, BTW. Your husband is probably out of clean socks and your kids are no doubt in need of something. Just sayin', is all

Actually, I'm not "starting to feel" the truth of my beliefs, I'm DONE feeling it; I'd become convinced years ago and at each and every try these idiots continue to prove me right. Take the grammies: does anyone out there truly believe that the dixie whores deserved to win each and every award that was available - including best new rap album? Of course not. So why did they walk away with so much gold-flecked plastic?

Because they're the mostestest bravest of all "artistes;" those that are feeling their oats enough to speak out against the President and his Policies. "Ooooh, they're sooooooo, courageous. They make my thighs quiver of their own accord." And let's not forget all the "censorship" they've endured:

PUBLIC radio stations have refused to air their "musical" harpings. Privately owned shops have decided not to carry their merch. Certain venues have said that the "chix" aren't exactly their cup of Jack Daniels. Oh -- Wait. That's not censorship, that's simple commerce. Because "commerce" is an exchange between individuals, and "censorship" is marked by government action against those who are in disagreement with Big Brother. And I here apologize for straining BOTH neurons of the hollywierd crowd...

The point is, the grammies PROVED without even the slightest of doubt that they no longer give a damn about the music. They've changed their focus and they're now concerned with political statements made during musical venues. Just as the oscars did a few hours ago...

I have no doubt that algore won. It's just too damn obvious long before the fact and now after it's fact. (For the sake of my integrity, let me just check Drudge now... Yup, right again.) The fact that it became public that algore was asking for an extension of his allowed time on stage 2 BLOODY WEEKS AGO was a kind of hint in itself of the nonsense they were sending on high. Anything but the norm of society, seems to be the one truth at these things.

Just please, I beg of you, think about this: The march of technology has actually been on a rocket-propelled sled of late and you'd be a fool to think otherwise. We've installed catalytic converters, oxygen sensors and fuel-flow regulators in our cars, not to mention at least dozens of other things I can't even imagine. We've put hybrid cars on the road and CO scrubbers in the smokestacks of our factories. We've found ways to burn coal more cleanly, developed better efficiency rates for hydropower and brought wind-powered turbines online. Recycling is now taken for granted and if you find a brick in a friend's toilet tank the only question that comes to mind is, "just one?"

How is it possible that Americans are the sole blame for global warming? We've done - as usual - everything right. It makes NO SENSE that the earth is warming solely because of man's activities in the 21^st century. What of the Industrial Revolution where coal was burned by the acre and the exhaust went directly into the skies overhead? How about the 1930's and 40's, when Nazi Germany was leading the cause in industrial works, and then in the following years when the rest of the world was in a frantic race to catch up? Were those times "carbon-neutral?"

The 50's had large, heavy, steel cars who belched lead fuel fumes directly into the atmosphere, (at least that which wasn't caught on the underside of those large fins), and the factories that produced them weren't running on ethanol, I promise you. So why now?

Well, I guess because a large number of self-important, scientifically-ignorant jackasses are trying to act their way into something meaningful...

But I could be wrong. I'd LOVE to hear how, though.

OK. Before any of you read on and think that I've intentionally misled you with that title, I'm going to state from the start that this section has nothing - repeat: NOTHING - to do with our various battles with the county foot-draggers. Although I have the feeling that THAT'S about to heat up and I'll have plenty to say about all that krep sooner or later, too.

Ah-hem. I've felt a bit of impatience surrounding technology for as long as I can remember. As a young child I recall dismantling an early version of the electronic TI calculator because I just KNEW it should be able to do more than calculate the square root of 289, (the only prime number which is created via the multiplication of another prime number against itself), (which is a complete fiction, because once any number is squared you have its divisor, which means the result could NEVER be prime), or spell out the word "BOOBS" when held upside down.

Hee hee... "Five, Eight, Zero, Zero, Eight." 276 people thinking, "well, we almost got the name right..."

(Details available upon Googling.)

AT ANY RATE, and only to begin the point if I can get around to it, I spent .008 seconds scanning the web - if Google is to be believed - the other day only to settle on James Remar's IMDB page. And while just a year ago, that sentence would be unintelligible, I noticed a significant change in the site's format. Different layout; different "feel;" and an added line of information I hadn't noticed before. Namely, "his next American TV appearance is..."

Whoa. Hold on, here. You mean, I'm looking at an actor's past deeds in order to nail him into a specific time-frame of his work against my own personal experience, and one of the things they offer me is information as to when I can next catch his work as broadcast across the matrix of our lives? What a Grand Day this is!!

But it's nothing compared to what we will see. And as much as I've groused about technology's pace in the past? This is the first step I've seen towards the databases actively interacting with one-another. And it's pretty cool.

But nothing like we'll see by the end of this year. Just a hunch...

J.O.T.W...

Q: Why don't blind people skydive?

A: It's too frightening for their dogs.

Q: What's invisible and smells like carrots?

A: Bunny farts.

Q: What did one snowman say to the other?

A: Do you smell carrots?

Q: Why don't cannibals eat clows?

A: They taste funny.

Q: What did zero say to eight?

A: "Nice belt!"

And now, in the full realization of kid-cold season...

Q: How do you make a handkerchief dance?

A: Put a little 'Boogie' in it!!

Ugh. It's everywhere nowadays. I'm almost tempted to say that you can't escape it, but I firmly believe that you can. Simply by changing the channel. What am I talking about? Something I'll call the "soft propaganda" of the anti-war hollywierd left. It's all those <Sarcasm=11>"subtle"<⁄Sarcasm=normal> War Is A Sign Of Failure messages that have pervaded what should otherwise be entertaining TV. I saw it happen to "Law & Order: Albuquerque" as week after week they insulted the President's intelligence. So I stopped watching. I read about it happening on "Cold Case," and was glad I never started watching it. But tonight, it really hit home...

One of my few guilty pleasures is "Criminal Minds." It doesn't pretend to be "ripped from today's headlines," so it can be allowed a bit of leeway. Then again, it portrays a crack staff of the best of the best of criminal hunters - who even with law enforcement pay wouldn't rank above a GS-12 - with unlimited resources, a computer network that boggles the mind and they travel from office to crime scene in a private jet.

Which would totally be believable if only they were ever seen filling out their travel vouchers. You know, and checking off that square next to "government-owned aircraft," because we've just all SO been there, right?

Anyway. The episode they foisted upon us tonight centered around an American Soldier who had gone nuts and was killing people as he was re-living an event from his time in Mogadishu. Where it was revealed that he had to kill a young boy who had the draw-down on his Company-mate.

Oy -- where do I start?

Well, as usual, people who know NOTHING about military service are projecting their own fragile egos and psyches on those who are brave enough to serve. (Obvious irony included for free with your admission price) They seem to imagine how they might react to an imaginary worst-case scenario built around their complete ignorance of military situations, then pretend THAT'S the universal situation. Yeah, that seems like the perfect foundation for a true-to-life dramatization to me.

Further, this "Soldier-as-victim" crap has GOT to come to an end. Do you know that everything you "know" about Vietnam Vets is an absolute lie? They're NOT any more likely to commit suicide, turn into serial killers, be treated for depression or take jobs at the post office. The same goes for Veterans of Somalia.

But wait - Somalia. Wasn't that clinton's war? Wasn't it the bloated hick who bolluxed that one up? Is it possible that the LSM is finally paying some well-deserved attention to Bubba McScrewsALot's misadventures in office?

In a word? NO. The problem here was an American G.I. and no mention was made as to a macro cause of "misguided foreign policy" or the like. As close as they came were two references to when it happened - once when the drug-addicted brainiac played narrator by saying, "so, in 1993..." so the dolts in the audience would be able to set the timelime. The other was a reference by the lunatic's wife when she said something like, "I lost him 14 years ago anyway..." Meaning of course that he's been starkers (English term for Stark Raving Mad) ever since. Can't be helped, really. He was in The War his friends would whisper just before nodding knowingly. Yes, yes. Shame, that is...

Well I stand here and call "Bullshit." Yes our soldiers are sent off to do hard work and sometimes very, very terrible things happen and sometimes they cannot handle it. But the vast majority of Vets go off with a stern determination to do the work that must be done, accomplish the task or literally die trying, and come home to ever-increasingly normal lives. I mean, just think about it: how many Veterans walk among us? And if there were a large percentage of that population who could be counted on to just totally lose it from day to day, how many incidents would we hear about?

Why, I bet it might even approach the number of times this sort of thing is mentioned on prime time television...

Note to Criminal Minds: I'm watching you guys -- but not for much longer if you continue to pull this kind of crap.

Medved had a whole hour today on the state of popular culture. I guess it only makes sense, given the latest idiocy from Madogna, the train wreck called brittney, (2 more kids about to undertake life without a mother, frankly), Anna Nichole's untimely demise - and if you throw in the whacked astronaut debacle and dozens of similar spectacles involving politicians, well, I guess such things are hard to ignore.

In much the same was as if a large sewage plant were installed in your living room -- it would be hard to ignore. And as a Father, that's what I have to think about now...

But I'm torn; can you really speak out against the evil of a culture you completely ignore? Or should I pay more time and attention to these morons in order to become more fully versed in their particular brand of moral decay? How best to curtail the influence these flesh-sacks will have within my home and within the lives of my children?

It's a dilemma that will be with me for some time to come, so I guess I don't need an immediate answer. Aside from turning off the television, I suppose...

DID I TELL YOU ABOUT...

I meant to tell you guys about the time I almost killed my oldest nephew. Now, there have been a couple of them throughout the years, but this one was the most recent. And the only effort that would not have been classified as accidental...

The other day - when the family was up to move stoves and spread mayhem west of their usual boundaries - my nephew and I got into a discussion of money. It started when I played my debt-free scream for the family, and something in him was able to recognize that being debt-free was related to having wealth. Because after hearing the call he asked me if he could "have" some of my money. So he gets kudos for the recognition that debt is the opposite of wealth, but loses them all for being a beggar. Tough break, kid.

I told him that he could not "have" my money, but that I'd gladly give him the opportunity to work for some of it. He was slightly disappointed. (READ: Completely devastated.) Through the new Goggles O' Life I've been given, I see this as a teachable moment and approach it as such. I now have the chance to IMPART. WISDOM. to one who will follow me! What a tremendous gift!

"Sarge," I start, "when you need money, there's a place to go where you'll always get some." I say this with the heft of one coming From The Mount, knowing that this is going to change both heart and mind. With these simple two sentences, I'm about to re-shape his world and the way he looks at it. Knowing that the answer to the question I've posed is; go to work to earn money, I eagerly await his response...

"Ummm, money tree?" he replies. It was all I could do to remain standing. I was about to go into the details of that particular category of slime, (I'll give you $100 if you promise me $140 - and if you miss the payment it'll be $1200), but my boys were awake and I was afraid I couldn't do so without resorting to harsh language, so instead I just said, "Sarge? If I EVER see you within 100 feet of those scumburgers, I'll break your kneecaps myself."

Unfortunately, I forgot to rap him once on each knee as a reminder. Guess I owe him that...

Well, well. A fake holiday to "celebrate" and a Monday when I'm not expected at the office, (at least that latter part is something to celebrate). Guess I'll sleep in, enjoy a cigar after lunch, grill up some perfect rib-eyes in the evening and enjoy them with a moderately-priced glass of Merlot.

And so long as I'm dreaming why not have the Swedish Bikini Team over for aperitifs and nude aerobics before winning $382 Million in the powerball...

Truth be told, I did sleep in - somewhat. I woke up feeling like 8 miles of bad road and was able to roll over and catch another hour or so, due to Mommy's diligent work with the kids upstairs. Only fair, I reckon, since I caught this particular brand of grippe from her and spent all of Sunday tending to the little people while she slept the day away. I suppose that's one of the things that make us a formidable team.

At any rate, I got up and joined civil society the family in short order, only to find that I had arrived in time to spell Mommy so she could take a shower. I busied myself by cleaning breakfast dishes, critiquing new dance moves, (each of them, SPLENDID!), picking up blocks and randomly enforcing rules as best I was able. (HOLY COW! I was just trying to nurse up a fleck of phlegm when I produced a kernel of corn, whole as the day it left the cob. Can NOTHING destroy them?) Eventually Mommy came back. Lunch was produced and consumed, then naps were begun. First D-Man, then Binky Boy, Mommy, "M" and I finally realized that I was needlessly putting extra hours on my corneas.

Besides - there were people asleep everywhere throughout the house. The place looked like Jonestown. Even if I felt up to the task, what job could I reasonably do?

After my nap I grabbed "M" and we went out to tend to the vehicles. The monthly check - long forgotten - was just as equally overdue. But where this used to be a thankless, solitary task, I now had an eager assistant. Things were looking up! We got dressed for mud and cold and mud and started about our work; we collected trash and created piles of stuff to go inside and just when I'm starting the really cool part of the lesson - teaching my easily-distracted daughter the cockpit controls so I can check the various lights - she says to me, "I'm watching the dog."

Well yes. Of course she's watching the dog, and who wouldn't, frankly. I mean, dogs are rather interesting creatures, aren't they? Curious and showing just a spark of intelligence, not to mention the question of loyalty that seems to be...

"What. Dog?" I ask. "That one there, Daddy" she said as she was pointing down the driveway. Sure enough, there approached a dog of brown body, white face, squatish muzzle and mis-matched eyes. My first thought was of course that of the safety of my daughter, but then I realized that if the dog had evil intentions, I'd know that already.

We continued our chore, occasionally taking the time to try and convince the cur that he had business elsewhere, (that "Crocodile Dundee" thing? Doesn't work. Just FYI.), but finally OUR dogs realized they weren't alone in the territory. Of course they voiced this realization by barking their fool heads off - all while Mommy and the boys were still asleep. This, I needed...

Holding "M" close, I released our dogs into the controlled area of their dog run. I imagined that the mere sight of these two savage beasts ripping and clawing at the fence in their efforts to get to the intruder would drive the intruder home. Our dogs rushed towards the gate, hit it in Full Gnarl and the interloper cocked his head in their direction. Wise in the Ways Of The Fence he was. But the part that added insult to injury was the gigantic melee that took place at the gate.

Which is to say that our dogs proceeded to attack each other. Apparently the dog union demands that whenever an intruder is present, and if you can't reach said intruder, you just attack the nearest facsimile. Makes me look forward to the day a short, overweight, bearded burglar approaches the house, I tell you...

So as the noise builds I decide to take on the task alone. I squeeze through the gate and chase the stray down our driveway. I charge him and he shows the first signs of aggression towards me. I advance, he lunges and barks. I walk forward and he backs up. I push him back, he starts towards me. It's SUCH a fun way to spend a half hour!

I decide to pelt him with snowballs; that'll drive him off! I create a "ball" of "Zemi" consistency only to watch him try to catch it. It's a game for him. I push him down to the road and tell him to go home. He lunges at me and barks. I find a stick in the driveway and imagine the various uses in which it might be employed. It is frozen into the ground. A car passes; some yuppie in a benz on the phone -- I can't imagine a better target! The dog doesn't buy it.

With nothing else to do I head back up the driveway. As soon as I turn I can hear the mutt coming up on me. I suddenly realize that I have only two things to do here: first, survive. The second is to call animal control. (The other option, "bring a gun" has long passed the feasibility stage.) As I come to the bend in our driveway I yell to "M" that she's to take our dogs back inside. This part is crucial, because if our dogs are still out as this mutt follows me up the driveway, a whole bunch of noise will be created and naps will be spoiled. And nobody wants that.

Of course, "M's" chosen method of driving dogs into the home is screaming their names at the top of her lungs. This shortens my menu considerably. Do I hurry up the driveway - stray in tow - and create BarkFest '07, or would it work better if I SCREAM, "DON'T YELL!" to "M" from the bend in our driveway - thereby making me look like a complete idiot?

So I did a little of both: I held the stray at bay while "M" screamed at the dogs. She may as well have been telling the siding to change colors, such were her results. When I saw that the dogs weren't going to listen - EVER - I came up the drive as quickly as I safely could and rushed everyone into the home. I was going to settle this one for good, and without gunfire.

For once...

I came inside and was grilled without mercy by The Wif. What dog - what did he look like - where was he - what color was he and so on, while I tried to navigate the county's website in order to find the number for animal control. I finally had to do something I try never to do: 'shush' her while I searched.

But I found the number and placed the call. As this was going on I explained what was going on and told her what I was doing about it. All seemed well. UNTIL the phone was answered. Turns out this was a Monday when they weren't expected in the office either.

I think that dog knew that...

I HATE the whole idea of "President's Day." It's an absurd notion that should have been strangled in the crib from the very beginning. Of course this day started out as two separate holidays - one to recognize the birth of George Washington and a similar one for Abraham Lincoln. 2 great men from 2 different periods of American History who each faced their own challenge and emerged victorious. Our 2 greatest Presidents, one could safely argue...

But then mealy-mouthed, weak-spined image-obsessed morons -- i.e. politicians -- got a grasp on those days and did what they do the best: Drain all life and meaning out of them. Way to go, dorks.

So instead of two, distinct days set aside to honor two, distinct men of honor, we've been given one intentionally blurred day to honor - WHAT? All Presidents? I mean, sure, it's an exclusive club that boasts only 43 members these days, but what if half of them are total gits? Are they really deserving of our respect?

I seriously resent the feeling that I'm expected to bone up on my Millard Fillmore trivia just in case a discussion of our Presidents should break out around me. Garfield? Loved lasagne, as best my research reveals. Cleveland was the capital of Ohio on at least two occasions, as I recall. And if asked, my best response would be that Polk is, "the other white meat."

But William Henry Harrison? Well he had the good sense to die before he was faced with the horrible prospect of living up to a campaign promise. It's that singular distinction that sets him nearly on a par with the other greats of the job. Because to hear the name, "William Henry Harrison" might otherwise lead one to believe they were learning about a serial killer...

In short, why am I expected to honor people like Monroe, Van Buren and carter -- let alone people like carter, Hayes and carter, if this day is diluted such?

Think about it...

On a certain level, it pains me to face this fact. I mean, I've always kinda liked his work - except the westerns because I just don't like westerns in general - but I was never fanatical about having to catch All of his movies. Still, he got to see DebraLee buck naked and at her prime, so there's that, too. All the same, it has to be said:

Clint Eastwood is an absolute moron. I know that this wasn't always the case so a certain amount of sympathy is to be extended on the occasion of the passing of the neurons in what remains of his brain. But still; There's a new sheriff in Moron City, and his name's Clint...

Recently he was given the chance to speak about his latest war movie in front of a microphone at the 57^th annual Berlin Film Festival. He used said chance to say that his film was intended to show the futility of war. And then even given this idiocy, he was allowed to finish his remarks.

I'm sorry, but the futility of war?!? What the HELL was this fossil thinking? As you can imagine, I have about 2,384 comments on this, but I'll stick to the most obvious. Namely:

— The only thing "futile" about war is losing one.

— If war is futile - meaning that there's never anything a nation should fight for - how far into the personal realm does that extend? Is there some point at which you yield to the rapist or allow the squatter partial ownership of your land? Where would that lead us?

— If war is futile, what is to be learned from the American Revolution? How happy would Ol' Clint be making movies for the BBC and under their overly-structured "mentorship?"

— What action saved the Chinese from the brutality of the Japanese during the 1940's?

— He was speaking at the 57^th. Annual. Berlin. Film Festival. Now do the math: Which large, earth-shaking event led to there even being a FIRST annual film festival in that particular city?

And though thousands remain, I'll wrap it up with this:

— What finally closed the nazi death camps? What caused hitler to put a bullet into his own brain? There was a single cause that finally cooled the ovens and cleared the air around the camps, right?

And you'd better believe it wasn't a sternly-worded memo from the united nations.

Idiot...

I'm discovering that there's a serious down-side to having our top 3 feet of snow melt away. Oh sure I'm happy to become reacquainted with the mud that lines our driveway, (until it was recently covered over. AGAIN - ed.), but my problem is my new shower. See, it's underground, (and poorly constructed, but that's another matter), and squarely under a window well. It's a window well that has been filled with snow since roughly 1957, (or so it seems), and now the snow has been burned off. So I can look up/out and see much more of the sky.

But when the wind blows, like it has been the last few days, it's now free to blow through the cheap window frame and right onto my wet bod. NOT exactly what one would call an embracing shower experience...

I used the grill configuration of my stove tonight. Cooked steaks for the family and it turned out rather well. Which is not to say that it all went well. Not in the least. Having the grill indoors - and powered by gas - was two extra things that I hadn't had to consider before. When you add on the fact that I had to keep the meat edible, well, I was uncertain.

But when The Wif said that her steak was the best she'd had in quite some time, I did a double-take. Really? You Sure? She said she was and then proved it by eating at least 80% of the meat from her meal. (I didn't have to ask her if the was humoring me, because I have never found this to be a problem in the past.) My steak was delicious. The Wif's seemed to be as reported. "M" ate most of a boneless rib eye. D-Man stuffed his mouth so full that he had to spit most of it out. Binky Boy ate mac-N-cheese.

All in all? I think it's a success...

J.O.T.W...

Short but sweet and all too true:

"A good slogan can stop analysis for 50 years...

You know what really ticks me off? When I've mentally "written" about 4 graphs towards a complete post only to forget them in the activity that follows said composition. THAT'S what really ticks me off!

Of course, in the time between having crafted those lines and when I can actually sit before an LCD screen to commit them to the vast, horrible record of the world wide web I've been able to correct at least one child, pick up blocks or bricks or cars, kiss all of my children, see them off to bed and maybe even comfort them in a time of dis-ease.

So the advantage is all mine...

Instead, you get a visit to the Land I Had Hoped To Enter Already, complete with commentary by your tour guide. Ready? All you need do before we cast off is imagine me in a khaki, multi-pocketed vest sitting in the helm of our ship. I'll need a starter's pistol, too. Let's leave the shore.

On the political front, I'm happy to point you to this little item. As predicted, the source has been corrected on a number of levels, but the post proves that things on the web tend to be "sticky things." They exist on a level that many of its contributors simply don't understand and they've been recorded for all of posterity to view.

That may be the funniest part of this story; those that post what they really mean to say, only to find that it's been read correctly and commented upon by the opposition and then try to edit out the most honestly reflective comments. Only that it's FAR too late to do so.

Well, let's hope that's the funniest part of this story, because a House member promising to "undermine" the President's efforts in wartime usually goes by a different name: Treason.

On the slightly-more-personal front, I can only share with you my justification, self-satisfaction, confusion and revulsion at this headline. At first, I became acquainted with this story through a headline in the hourly radio news. You know the type of thing; "A recent study reveals that adoptive parents are better than other parents. Details to follow." But of course the details never follow of their own accord. They have to be hunted down and speared through the spine as I've done for you above.

So what's the problem? Well, I'd normally say that I agree with the findings of the study: adoptive parents do seem to be more attentive to the greater needs of their children. And yes, I do accept the study's finding that it is directly tied to motivation. In fact, I'd go a step further and say that not only are The Wif and I better equipped and trained to be parents than many of the bio-parents around us, but that we are quantifiably better parents in any number of ways.

But then again, there are many bio-parents and adoptive-parents who do much, MUCH better than us in any number of categories. That's the problem with the spectrum: you can only imagine the ends and can only know for sure that you're in the middle somewhere. Worse than you on one side and better than you on the other. But I digress from the main point of the whole thing...

Before the opening sentence is put down the study's bias is revealed; they're out to challenge blockades against same-sex "marriage" and "gay" adoption. You need read no further.

If the study is commissioned by a group that is set to smear mud on the idea that homosexuality is not the norm, (and I ask you - could it ever be?) - what else would be the result? As the old saying goes, "If you pay the piper, you get to call the tune," and that's exactly what I suspect has happened here: groups with a set agenda have set about to cull any and all information necessary in order to normalize their cause. And having paid the appropriate sum to the appropriate firm, they got the results they required.

And in the doing, I've been co-opted to their cause. I never thought it would happen to me, but here we are all the same. I hope you don't expect me to go quietly.

OK, Ok. So I wrestled with that particular title. How to reconcile the common expression with the fact that we don't actually engage in the practice of "credit?" But then I realized I was being a complete and total wanker and just went ahead and used it anyway. Because that's how brave I am...

...

My Wife is an incredible woman. One who defies description, but I'm just foolish enough to attempt the task here in a forum that she will never see, and therefore it benefits me not. It's a Better-Than-Perfect metaphor for such a large portion of my life that I cannot help but continue along this path...

As you might imagine - and like every other couple in the world - the arrival of children has set our life on its ear. Things have changed and we have adapted as best we could, but I can say with certainty that I have fallen short of fully completing the task. Which is to say that when it's dinnertime, my main goal is to heat food, distribute it in age-appropriate portions and do my best to see that it gets eaten. When kids are sick, I calculate their dose and see to it that it finds its way into their bodies. Bathtime? Clean. Diaper change? The same.

In short, I am goal-driven. Given a task, I feel that my job is to complete it. Run The Course, if you will. I have a job to do and given such, I'll focus on that job. And it'll get done.

But given the same list, The Wif will complete all of the jobs I do and will accomplish more. MUCH more. She will take the time to sing the ABC's with D-Man during a diaper change. She will explain the concepts behind lunch's creation with D-Man, spell them for "M" and remember to grunt at Binky Boy. And then they all get fed. Medicinal dosing gets its own time and floor show that helps to make the medicine go down. Diaper changes find Binky Boy discovering not only HIS nose, but Mommy's as well.

And none of this takes place with the TV on. The kids can watch Barney and Blue and Sesame in the morning, but the rest of the day is set to the soundtrack of Mommy. She calls the shots and runs the show. And she has nothing but the kids' best interests at heart. And she proves it at every opportunity.

I guess that's just a dozen of the 12,393,294 reasons (to date), that She's my Valentine...

I had to take "M", (and not 'The "M"' as goes yesterday's typo), to a birthday party last weekend. It was something of an unusual circumstance, because the host family's three kids birthdays all fall one day after the last. That is, three consecutive birthdays on three consecutive days. Kind of like our plan, but with an extra one tacked on for good luck.

Anyway, I got there with "M" exactly 3 minutes late (the earliest I've ever been late with the kids!) and then managed to enter the house through the wrong door. Both were quickly forgiven and I got to meet and converse with 'Grandma.' Now, given my circumstance - namely attending the birthday party for a 5 year old - 'Grandma' in this circumstance was at most just 15 years older than I. Probably less, even. So it was an interesting conversation...

Early on she asked me if "M" was our youngest. I immediately understood the question to be one of, "How did an old guy like you end up with such a young daughter?" and told her that "M" was our oldest child and we had two little brothers tearing up waiting at home. The fact that I'm starting to look my age was obvious when 'Grandma' nearly collapsed upon hearing this news. But once I shared our story with her, the color started to return to her cheeks. She even shared with me the fact that a friend of hers - her age, even, (emphasis hers) - stepped into a similar situation.

So we at least had some common ground upon which to build a pleasant conversation. It helps to pass the time, if nothing else. Even if I had to be reminded that I'm no spring chicken.

LATER THAT SAME DAY...

OH - but that's not all that particular Saturday held for me; after a rushed ceremony of cake, ice cream and the ritual destruction of colored paper, the entire party headed out to go sledding. Not a bad idea, all in all, and as we rounded up all the little cherubs I - being the jokester that I am - asked the adults if they thought there would still be any snow left on the hill. At this they laughingly beat me with snow shovels and errant reports from weather forecasting rodents.

Ahhhh... Good times...

Once on the hill I was struck by how hard the snow had been packed down. At least in those downhill areas. The flat gound you had to traverse to get to the hill was loose enough to step through from time to time, (defined as 'every other step'). I was at a loss for an explanation as to how this came to be, because all those sleds had to walk across this same ground, but oh well. For our first run I laid down on the slide face first and them "M" laid on my back. This was a mistake - you should always save the 'good stuff' for last, lest they expect it every trip. It was a rookie gaff.

After that first run we moved to higher ground and we went down together in the same fashion so "M" would not be afraid of going on her own. I crashed us early and all was well. She took several runs on her own and I have to say that she did really, really well. She maintained speed and direction and an upright attitude and on 2 runs went further than I'd seen anyone else there go. Of course, I would gain greater appreciation for her task in just a few minutes.

After her asking to ride down on my back at each turn, I finally told her that on the last run we'd ride down together. So with time ticking away before her appointment, we did just that. As we crested the "launch site" I realized that it was much steeper than it looked both from the road and from the top of the hill. A few dozen feet later we were traveling at Mach .5 and merely skipping across the surface of the bumps. On a few of the larger bumps I'd hear a "crack" from time to time and after doing my best to inventory these old bones I came to realize that we were breaking the sled; it was cracking right under me.

After going several hundred feet further and approaching Mach 2 I notice that the bumps and jumps were now causing me to bounce off the sled and when we met again, it was usually my lips or my nose that were smashed against the sled's rim. It was then that I finally realized; this hill was trying to KILL ME!

As we neared the bottom of the hill - or so I thought - a final, steep slope presented itself. I'm not sure how fast we were going at this point, but I was starting to see through time, if that's any hint. One of the bumps knocked my sunglasses off and I could feel things start to escape from my pants pockets. It was then that I finally realized; this hill was trying to kill me and TAKE MY STUFF!

Having reached this conclusion, I did the only thing I could. I dug my feet and hands into the slope. I managed to keep said appendages AND stop the Plastic Machine of Death. I stood up, made sure "M" was OK, grabbed the remaining segments of the sled, collected my belongings and shook my fist at the hill in triumph.

...And then slogged our way back to The Death Star.

DUPLICATING EFFORTS...

This is a re-print of my online article on Fatherhood. This does not excuse those of you who are able to view the site from viewing the site!

...please...

Well, duh!

Dealing with young children isn't always the easiest thing to do. Sometimes they lack the vocabulary necessary to convey the source of their discomfort or delight, and the younger ones may not have even developed language skills yet. Then there is the question of the stubborn child - one who is intent on suffering and simply refuses to communicate their needs. Let's face it: language ain't their strong suit.

But then there are the times when their limited understanding of our lexicon proves heartwarming and - yes - even hilarious...

We were out meandering through the offerings at a large discount chain recently when The Wif started looking at coats. Coats for young girls, to be more precise. She flipped through the rack, pulling this or that one out to look at it and ask "M" her opinion, and then they went back. Eventually she found one that she liked and which seemed to tickle "M's" interest as well.

It looked as if we might get out of this store after all, but Mommy was not done. She opened the coat and started to read the tags. "M" - excited at the prospect of a new addition to her wardrobe - said, "Let's get THAT one, Momma!" "Just a second," The Wif replied, "I'm reading the instructions."

And I SWEAR to you this is what I heard next: "It's OK Momma. I just put one arm in the sleeve, wrap it around my back and then put my other arm in."

We were laughing so hard I don't remember if we ended up buying the coat or not...

Chris Stone is a slightly different - hopefully better - Father and man than he was yesterday...

Let's get the worst of them out of the way first: I guess you could file this under the category of, 'being Canadian won't help him now,' but I prefer, Hell Has Not Yet Forged A Place Hot Enough.

Seriously; are the words you most desire to hear right after your death, (hopefully by execution), "Just three million and 6 down this hallway, on the left. Say 'hi' to Hitler for us!"?

From the "Told ya' Files" comes this little nugget. (First, go back and imagine that I'd remembered to bold the first few words of the last section. Thank you.) Remember last November? We had some kind of event that seemed to change everything and suddenly all the network news bozos were seen walking around in a state of permanent arousal. <YodaVoice>Unsettling, I find it!<⁄YodaVoice> Well then you'll recall how one of the major, pressing issues the American left was pressing for was a raise in the minimum wage. Because the most serious threat to the American lifestyle in the very early phases of the 21^st century is the fear that teenagers will be unable to afford their Stridex® pads.

Well, enough naive voters bought their line that they not only put the dems in power but also voted in many state and local minimum wage increases. "It's for the working poor/children/wage slaves/under-empowered/downtrodden/fallen-of-arch and it will only do good!" they claimed. Oh, the voters were warned to the contrary, but they just couldn't stake their belief in economic reality at the cost political do-goodism.

But they'll learn eventually, right? I mean, they just have to!

And finally, a local headline. A very local headline: I finally have the use of my dual-fuel stove. My Folks came up - weekend charges in tow - and we were able to maneuver the various appliances into their appropriate locales. The harder part was of course hooking up the gas line. Too short a supply hose to the unit, and the wrong size to boot. Well, in this house that type and many problems is a sign of eventual success.

Pop and I drive to the nearly-local big, orange box warehouse and stumble through the 2 million parts. We settle on something we think will work, consult a vestiged person who gives us a less than enthusiastic encouragement, ("Be sure to check for leaks!" "You mean -- we don't want 'em?"), and we head out. But the kit we want doesn't scan. Worse yet, the clerk hands it to "Vincent" who has apparently headed out to Gardening in order to price a kit for a gas range install.

It makes perfect sense - provide you think about it long enough and voted for the minimum wage increase...

Eventually I give up the waiting game and go to chase down another installation kit. I then cross paths with "Vincent" and our local expert. They are together walking the aisles in search of where the installation kit lives and have finally struck paydirt. With me in their wake.

Once everything is cleared up I leave with a new 4' installation kit, a 2" gas nipple, a tube of gas sealant, a headache and 38 fewer dollars than I had when I went into the store. Once home, I assemble everything, check for leaks and then fire up the stove in order to cook egg noodles for the stroganoff we'll be feeding everyone. They are cooked over a bright blue flame. Things are good.

And later, after the "M" and the boys are in bed and everyone else is on the road and I'm cleaning up the project area I notice that the installation kit was complete, as promised. It had the part we were looking for all along, as well as a small tube of sealant. We had overbought and made the project far more complicated than it had to be!

And THAT'S when I knew I had the perfect stove for this home...

Howdy - and welcome to Friday! We like to keep things light around here on Fridays but some days, it's almost impossible to do so. Today is one of those days, (and not just because of Anna - a somehow fitting tragic end to a fairly tragic story it would seem), but fortunately, I included the adjective 'almost' earlier, so I'll overcome it by thinking and typing about 2 of my favorite people on the planet...

Dood and Mrs. Dood's wedding anniversary is coming up. Or it might be today. Maybe yesterday. I forget exactly - I have enough trouble remembering my own frankly and he'd probably be hard-pressed to get that date. So cut me some slack here.

These are genuinely good people. Speaking as an outsider, it sometimes seems as if they spend too much time going after each other rather than stockpiling the cannon balls against the attacks from without, but my audience here might well assume the same thing of me, based on what I sometimes have to say about The Wif. So what I wrote isn't even the least bit fair, I suppose.

But I'll stick by my statement that they're good people. I've known Dood since just after the earth cooled and the continents took shape and met his infant bride in the closing seconds of the 20^th century. Or something like that. We've had our ups and downs together - as does everyone - but I'm being honest when I say that when it comes to the necessity of forgiving sins, they've taken the lead in our relationship(s).

Which is a fancy way of saying that they've been quick to forgive me for being an absolute asshat now and then. A selfless act which has only worked in my favor because it has allowed me to keep them in my life. Thank you both.

So on this -- the occasion of their 428^th wedding anniversary, we'd all like to wish them the very best in all they do. May you reach your goals and stumble over bundles of good fortune in doing so. May you reach your rainbow and find a pot of gold. At the bottom of a much larger pot of platinum. And so on and et cetera...

Seriously guys; Good job. Keep at it.

J.O.T.W...

This week's joke comes courtesy of the Patriot Post. You can find them at: patriotpost.us. Check 'em out, sign up for their various email offerings. The quotes they compile are funny, poignant, numerous and important. But most of all, you'll find stuff like this. Which makes it completely worthwhile.

(Of course, it probably goes without saying that she needn't worry about these two pretty boys; not only does the American voter care little about promoting a senator to the White House, they care even less about these two twits. Then again, we are talking about the democrat party here...)

Allow me to sum up my morning: It's Wednesday, and I have 2, one-dollar bills in my wallet.

Of course, I've just said more than you realize, because the mundane details of life are usually summed up very neatly. Just as I hope I've just done. Allow me some more space to explain what I mean by that...

Wednesday morning carries a vast amount of weight in my world in just those two words. Namely, that it's one of those days when I have to go down the mountain and report to a brick and mortar office at a certain, given time, (poor me - I'm the country's most victimized citizen), and also that it's trash day around here. The two goals - that of getting the trash to the curb before the big truck rumbles past and of getting myself into the office on time - are almost mutually exclusive. But not always, as today proved.

And in that time, I also have to get breakfast, because I just don't have the time I used to in order to cook and cool and prep and wrap something from home. But with just 2 dollars on my person, it should prove an interesting trip around the drive-thru. But these things find their own solution, right?

I went about my business - namely that of checking the state of various servers throughout this vast, broad country of ours - with all due diligence. "Backup logs - check - you must" or something to that effect. But it's what I do, in addition to a few dozen other things, available upon demand through the proper channels.

Once I'd finished my "rounds" across the country I settled into my cozy routine of reading/training (drier than 12 miles of melba toast, I tells ya), while keeping an eye on email and the help desk software - lest I drop the ball on another help request. I'm "deep" into the process when I hear a squeal from the hallway. Since I wasn't listening FOR said squeal I wasn't able to provide a positive definition, but my first thought was, "that's one of mine."

And no more had the thought escaped my scalp before I saw Binky Boy come through the door. Of course he was being carried by The Wif, because it would make no sense to see him floating effortlessly through the air, (I always imagine him flapping wildly), and she was leading the 'walking squeal' known as D-Man behind her. Had a problem with the motion of the elevator, as it turned out. This is rather unexpected, because he's always enjoyed it in the past, but then again, he's always had his sister along.

Until today. Today he was the oldest of the youngest and he didn't wear it well. He was afraid of the motion of the vertically mobile closet and at least we know what we need to work on. He'll be making several more trips up and down flights in the future. After all, you can't live your life on a single level any more - no matter how much we would wish it so.

The rest of my day passed in rather the fashion one would expect: a conference call full of rumor, news of meetings, rumor as news and meetings of rumors. Nothing definite, then? No, not really. Are they still paying us to do this? As far as we can tell from this point. Well then. It would seem that I'm still obligated to show up and work, right? So far, but be sure to check your bank for payment...

Once home, I was rewarded with a hyper girl, a sick boy and a very hungry Binkster. We addressed each as best we were able, (no bath for D-Man -- lest he puke all over everything, a 12 minute bath for The Binkster and a clearing of the calendar for "M's" dinner and bath. Lest it span the time until Easter), and then went about the business of putting everyone to bed.

The funniest part of that is that everyone else IS ALREADY in bed. Everyone except me, that is. It's 12:42 and I've just short of 7 hours of sleep ahead of me and I should be relishing every minute of each of those fractional hours. So let's get to it...

First off, about skipping yesterday: As you'd expect, all the usual excuses apply - it was late, I was busy, dealing with stubborn kids, an older boy made me do it... All the lameness you've come to expect of me. Plus, I'll add one more. I was sick. And not like a, 'sick of writing' type of thing. Sick as in fever-dreams of Dood and a half dozen midgets building a jet powered, monkey navigated rocket car. Or something.

The worst part isn't the fever or all the sleep it seems to require, (they could call this bug the "Peruvian Napping Flu and they wouldn't be far off), though. The worst part is using all that leave, being around the house all day and not able to rise to the occasion of even the slightest of my home repair projects. The list currently stands at something like 2,639.

Felt better on Tuesday and was actually able to "go" to work. But there's the rub: I work from home on Tuesdays and Thursdays and that's custom made for those times I'm not up to hopping from the bed to the shower to the cockpit of The Death Star. Like Tuesday.

But we're also learning - slowly - from all these illnesses spreading their way through the family. "M" seems to be our canary, in that she's usually afflicted first. Fortunately, she gets over things fairly quickly. Usually just after passing it to me. From me it goes to the boys who are currently suffering with this one. Or rather, Mommy's wardrobe is because D-Man managed to puke all over her this evening. Fortunately, this also meant that they were very easy to put to bed tonight.

The other thing I want to clarify is from last Friday's post when I talked about "M's" therapy session. I am NOT worried or flustered by her remembering her birth parents. Not in the least and when it was pointed out to me that that's what I had written, I had to say that WASN'T what I had meant by what I said. She will remember what she remembers and live her life out and when she's old enough we'll gladly give her all the information we have and even help her track them down if that's what she wants.

No. What I meant was that her assigning a man/giraffe to safeguard her memories of her birth parents sounds like the start of her personality splitting. That's the part I'd like to avoid if at all possible...

JUST A THOUGHT...

You may find it hard to believe, but my thoughts are even more scattered now than they used to be. Oh wait - of course you believe that if you read this stuff on even a semi-regular basis. At any rate, I used to have random thoughts enter my brain thanks to scattered stimuli throughout the day, put that thought off to the side and then sit down later, pull them all off the shelves and see which ones fit together. I no longer have the luxury of puzzle time - at least not in the quality and amount I used to.

Which is fine, really. Better than fine to tell the truth; I wouldn't have traded my evening with a nearly naked, fevered Binky Boy resting on my chest for anything in the world. ANYTHING.

But this means that I'm not able to develop things very deeply anymore - if I ever was able to in the first place. With that in mind...

One of the things that really bothers me is how the American left constantly say that there is no difference between men and women - beyond the physically obvious. Not only is this absurd on its face, but saying/believing this is to deny a larger truth, (another of my hot buttons). Of course, once this insane idea is on the table it opens up a huge area for all sorts of other tomfoolery; since men and women are basically the same, neither brings anything truly unique to the other, much less to the raising of children. It undermines our entire societal structure, and all because the left wants to chase this myth of their own creation.

Yes, myth. And it's obvious that not even THEY believe the nonsense about a person's sex being meaningless. Think about it -- if a person's sex meant nothing, why would the left be so strident about so called "sex change operations?" If they're both the same and neither offers anything unique - as they charge - what's the big deal about mutilating the body to change the appearance? You could be born into one and feel like the other and not have to res. Wait a minute...

If they're the same, HOW would it even be possible to feel like you're "the other?"

TO END ON A HIGH NOTE...

And finally, here's the resource I mentioned last week. I had been waiting on it's arrival and now? Well, it's finally here. Speakers to a reasonable level...

Guess I was a little more nervous than I thought: I forgot to correct him that we still have a first mortgage and I was a year off - in the right direction - on The Wif's birthday. All in all, not too bad, if I must say so myself...

Things are running around here: Binky Boy is finally of a weight and age that we're able to turn his car seat around and set it upright. Details are elsewhere, with corrections to follow if I get anyone to complain about not being able to see it.

Both Binky and D-Man were finally able to open up to Family members today, but only after the room had emptied to include mostly just them. This is - I'll admit - a strange report: either they're selfish or shy but each contains a piece of the other, right? We'll have to work on this.

And speaking of "working on things," I attended "M's" second session with her play therapist. Surprised? I wasn't by her technique; "sand tray" was the choice and did "M" ever preform.

She created a world of sand and a world devoid of sand. Clear boundaries, there, but I fear they tend to work against us at this point. Still, the water animals found their way into the water - in a clustered heap - while the land-bound beasts were - somewhat surprisingly - ON THE FRIGGIN' LAND!!

The determination? A clear boundary with a cluttered sea, (but who among us DOESN'T feel that way?) . and the animals on the beach were cautiously - almost fanatically - grouped by type and then deemed to be a family. With a Father and Mother obviously obvious, there were then several smaller of the species in the area. The msw had just started to explain it all to me when "M" jumped in to add, (of a giraffe family), "and here's the man who remembers my mom and dad..."

The Psych said, "OOOHHH!"

"M" Said she wanted to build something else and asked me to leave. I did.

And an evaluation of "M's" pictures is due next week. Stay tuned.

I - for one - can't wait...

As hinted at yesterday, I had to take 80% of the household beasts to the vet for their (nearly) annual vaccinations. (That number goes to 83% if you include my presence, but I didn't require a ringworm, rabies nor parvo treatment, so the math gets sticky fast.) As is our custom, I secured the two cats into separate mesh bags and loaded them and the dogs into The Wif's car. Once at the vet, the whole thing suddenly took on greater importance.

See, I used to be on autopilot so far as the pets were concerned: feed, water, release for the doing of their dirty sinful business, a once per year trip to the doc to be stuck and receive their medal for gallant behavior during same and observing them for signs of rabies and/or some skill that might parlay itself into an early retirement for me. In short, I was sleep-walking through the whole thing, doing my duty but with little to zero drive for seeing it through. It was different this time...

As I was sitting there, it struck me that I suddenly had much more on the line so far as this trip was concerned. Not only was I VERY interested in making sure that the beasts were immunized from going all Cujo on the family, I also had to be darned sure that these weren't "mountain vax" but instead stuck to the strict letter of what the county required. Namely because I have to answer to another of the county's offices now. And how ironic is it that the "human services" division is FAR more interested in the state of our animals health than is the "animal control" division?

It's enough to make me expect an animal control officer to appear on our doorstep asking to inspect the installation of our children's car seats - lest they slide free and bonk a dog on the head...

But there was another interesting aspect to this trip: as I was trying to explain why I was being so persnickety as to getting the proper copies of the proper records, one of the office chicks asked me which agency we went through for our adoption. "Just Jeffco," I replied. She nodded, looked me in the eyes and said, "I gave up my second-born for adoption." Uh-oh...

"...And he's just the happiest, little... guy you ever seen..."

It was an interesting ending - for about 2 dozen reasons - and an even more interesting lesson to me: some people are interested. Some are involved. And sometimes I need to SHUT UP. And it doesn't count that many of you were already thinking that.

About yesterday's news: Many of you read it and understood it to mean pretty much what it said - that my niece had left the hospital. The funniest part is that I clipped that section, pasted it into an email to The Wif, led the message with something like, "I came across this on a small, obscure blog today" and sent it off. She replied that it was a good thing my brother DIDN'T go with the name 'Grace.' (For 'tis the truth - but she'll forever be Grace to me)

When I asked why she thought that, I got an answer like, "because if they had, she'd already be suffering from a case of mistaken identity." Since I didn't understand that response in the least, and since The Wif is now working just 14 hours on the clock and within the office walls, I decided not to distract her further and would instead "ask" her about the response later.

"I'm sure you could have been more obscure," I said, "but I'm wondering what that would look like."

Once we were reunited - tired and exhausted and focused on dinner - I got the chance to ask Her again about her strange comment. Her answer was that -- had my brother and his wife gone with "Grace," the child would be suffering a common fate, and therefore an identity crisis - with the person I'd "discovered" online. Things suddenly became clear to me, and I told The Wif that her email discovery was fairly close as the family tree goes. I even went so far as to ask if she ignored the writing style.

"No," she said. "I only thought - 'here's another goofball on the web.'"

Which leads to a number of questions, but the short answer is "NO." Of course The Wif can't be bothered to read what I write. To her mind, she already knows what she must about me and reading the product of my mind would either compromise her standing or her assumptions. So why bother?

J.O.T.W...

Honest to God: this one came to me - against all stereotypes to the contrary and all similar tales of similar origin. I can testify that this exchange is true because I witnessed it as it unfolded...

Read and enjoy...

FROM HQ: National Wear Red Day

Friday, February 2, 2007

On Friday, February 2, 2007, Americans nationwide will celebrate the fourth annual National Wear Red Day by wearing Red to show their support for women's heart disease awareness. The Heart Truth campaign, sponsored by the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute, part of the National Institutes of Health in the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, introduced the Red Dress as the national symbol for women and heart disease awareness in February 2003, to help spread the word that heart disease is the #1 killer of American women.

On National Wear Red Day, the [Agency in Question] is joining Federal agencies across the country by encouraging all employees to wear red. By wearing red-whether it is a red dress, shirt, tie, or the Red Dress Pin-and encouraging your colleagues and friends to do the same, you will be sending a lifesaving message: "Heart Disease Doesn't Care What You Wear-It's the #1 Killer of Women."

Subject: RE: National Wear Red Day (Friday, February 2)

The official response from my PAO:

There is no official [Dept] reading on this as of this time. Usually they send out a News Release under the Secretary's signature. My reporting headquarters is seeing if we will be receiving something today. I will inform you once that is initiated.

Subject: RE: National Wear Red Day (Friday, February 2)

Thanks for the clarification on the national heart disease awareness program. I have advised employees at our facility to stop promoting heart disease awareness until further notice from [HQ].

Employees are now aware that they may not wear red on Friday in support of this campaign. If an employee does happen to wear red on Friday they are advised to also wear a sticker stating that the red does not in any way condone or promote the National Wear Red Day campaign.

First Ladies Campaigns

Very Respectfully...

Here endeth the satire. But it's what I have to live with every day. So Blessed Be that last guy. I think he has things in the proper perspective...