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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.

Well, it's Friday. And that's just another enemy to the mission today. See, I've been so lax in my rants here that my spleen is more backed up than my ex's "dance card," if you catch my drift. There has been so much going on around here lately that I feel as if I've done you a disservice in neglecting to vent bile over the fine, persian tradition of accepting and welcoming unknowing, unwilling, long-term visitors into their land, (so kind of them), or screeching further against the ever-encroaching and seemingly-broadly-accepted theory of manmade global warming (or as the polar bears call it, "Favorable Hunting Conditions").

That's my fault. I'll try to fix it and many of you will be pleased by that announcement and many of you will continue to whine about the price of tea/gas/milk/bread -- anything but the cost of a four dollar coffee drink.

Not because it seems right that a mere 20 ounces of flavored mud should cost more than $4, but because YOU somehow think it's worth it. Never imagining what $120 each month would mean to your financial future, if invested wisely...

But I digress. I am instead faced with the worst of all possible worlds and imaginable conditions: The Wif is building a spreadsheet. Of the homes we're currently considering (and are available and seem to meet our criteria and those various attributes are the data which populate the rows of the sheet and are the focus of her efforts. Lucky me), or which may yet fall within our view or which we may at a later date visit.

I almost hope that this place sells before we find our new home. Not only would that push the reset button on Her hopes, but it would put me in a track that follows my Best Friend's path. And it's a path I've been following since I learned he was one-half-year older than I.

OK. So I've composed the worst book review ever and I somehow feel the need to build upon that shame the next day. Call me crazy, because nothing else seems to fit...

One of the things I wanted to mention - but held back on because I'm not sure how political I should get during a fraggin' Book Review for Pete's sake - was the fact that another distortion islam forces upon its believers is the falseness of "peace." That is, they say they are pursuing peace but are only doing so at the expense of everyone else's freedom. islam promises peace in the world, but only once everyone is believing whichever particular strain of said "religion" manages to first behead the most numbers of the other sect's believers.

It's a complicated battle with many nuanced sides to every argument but it eventually ends with a discussion of which group went through the most Sword-Whitening Polish in their efforts to get those pesky infidel-stains off their blades.

Oh! Will their trials NEVER end?!? Please, allah make it stop!!

(And if you mistake my lame attempt at humor for a dismissal of the ideas I've presented then you're reading me wrong. But nobody would blame you for that...)

In reviewing the 2nd chapter, "The 12th Imam," and the notes I'd made therein, I was continually stuck by a single thought: this is what the Anti-American left thinks and says about President Bush; that he's itching for a fight in the Middle East in order to bring about the end of days as predicted in The Bible. Everything covered in said chapter is repeated at each and every war protest rally, except the targets of their derision are different.

The religious recognize the fact that ahmadina-whack-job is spurring the persian empire on towards destruction, as witnessed by their recent decision to hold as Guests Of The mullahs 15 British sailors and Marines. An event that would stir up world opinion, if only the world were paying attention.

Which is a shame, really. Because if ever anyone needed to pay attention to world events, it's now. But never mind: Iran is so busy at the task of making enemies that they've neglected the obvious by-product: when a large, dark cloud eventually appears over one of their strategic interests, they're going to have a long list to review before they send a Retaliation Basket in any direction. After all, they're not big enough nor powerful enough to "set things right" on their own with any decisive flair.

But they'll probably try all the same. Reason enough for us to stay stong in the face of challenge, if you ask me...

The Book: "Jesus, Jews and Jihad", published by Xulon Press, © 2006, 3^rd printing, nonfiction.

The Author: MARVIN YAKOS was born in Austria. Due to communist persecution, his parents brought him to America when he was two months old. While still a teenager, he embarked on a passionate quest to find spiritual truth. He studied spirituality, philosophy and religions worldwide and subsequently earned a doctorate in English. In the 60s and 70s he traveled extensively, and while living in India he became wellacquainted with ancient Vedic teachings and Islam. His search for truth ultimately led him to know Jesus Christ as his Savior. Recognizing Islam to be the world’s fastest growing religion with one billion followers, Marvin Yakos was further inspired to understand its beliefs. After twenty years of study into Islam’s core foundations, he seeks to warn Westerners of what they need to know about the avowed enemy of all infidels (nonbelievers). Marvin Yakos has published three other books, The Roaring Lion of the East, Deliverance from Drugs and Prevent Life Decay. (Taken word-for-word from Xulon Press' website.

The Reviewer: Yours truly. An Evangelical Christian striving to make the pieces of this world fit together in a way that nears making sense. And one who has decided that education and critical thought are necessary parts of the quest.

THE quote: "The Qur'an was Satan's answer, an adjustment he originated to thwart and distort the authentic Scripture and its message of salvation in Jesus Christ." (Emphasis mine)

One of the reasons I requested to review this book was that from everything I'd seen of the promotional material, this promised to be a thorough and academic approach to a topic very dear to my heart: the similarities and differences between the three religions that lay claim to the land and history of Israel - an otherwise fairly undesirable stretch of real estate. And that's exactly what I found in its pages. Unfortunately for me, this was largely a collection of information I'd already been familiar with in my various studies through the last several years. But there's good news for anyone out there still asking the basic questions; this book holds the answers you seek.

Exhaustively footnoted and almost redundant in the wealth of information it provides, this book covers a vast span of both history and theology. It quotes extensively from The Bible and provides the "fairness doctrine" approach by including quotes from the qur'an - although I have every doubt that muslim critics would raise complaints of 'taken out of context' or 'misquoted/mistranslated' or even that of 'outright lie' - but the truth is out there for all to see.

One of the things I didn't expect to get from this book was the theme that came through clearly to me almost from page one: islam is nothing more than a perversion of the True Word Of God. That truth - although not emphasized in every chapter - is there all the same and on every page. islam's "12th imam" - as if the number 12 has gone unmentioned in the True account? The Old Testament tradition of avoiding contact with women while they are, um... 'unclean?' Is it possible that's the root of the female walking cloak of islam?

The so-called 12th imam fell down a well - Joseph was put down a well by his brothers. Jews and muslims share the same view of pigs and many of the same food laws, (meanwhile, I'm going to feast upon a sausage sandwich from a local royalty-related drive thru tomorrow morning - all the while knowing that I shouldn't. Or at least shouldn't enjoy it so). islam recognizes Yeshua's existence and presence - as does Judaism - and all 3 groups treat him differently.

Hmmm. Almost as if He actually existed...

This is a book that sets out to tell the truth, and does so. It's a comparative religion course in paperback that should find it's way into every home of every person who has a question about who believes what and which course they should set their sights upon. The basics are explained in such a way that every reader should be able to understand them. The differences are highlighted and broadened in a way that shouldn't be missed.

If you are a Biblical scholar, you can give this book a pass. If you'd like to know more about the forces that surround and threaten you, feel free to start here.

I'll loan you my copy if you ask nicely...

Well. Well. Well. So much for this retail housing slowdown, eh? Our home just appeared on the MLS on Monday morning - with a horribly defective address on the listing - and just a few hours later I got a call announcing our first showing. Tuesday morning. THIS morning, at 9:00. As it happens, I'd already long prepared to hear complaints from The Wif along the lines of, "WE'RE NOT READY FOR A SHOWING!" even if the place looked perfect.

As it also happens, the place is currently in a state which might be charitably called, "three counties from even close to perfect," so you can only imagine what my evening will consist of! (Since I'd already requested Monday off, I'm writing this just after being told about the showing - in hopes of freeing up said evening for walking the levels of Hell it promises to hold for me. It should prove interesting...)

Oh! But first - let me tell you a little story about that online listing. Or rather, the local discovery thereof...

As you might imagine, The Wif and I are becoming more than slightly familiar with most of the better realty websites out there: we know which ones do the best searches, which ones to rely on for decent maps/directions and where to go to learn if the kitchen is on the main floor. (Although I'd take a quick moment to say that the publicly-available websites should take more care to mention or include county information or say at least a little something about school districts within the property's reach. It's important to some us; unbelievably important.)

On this particular morning, I flipped open an Internet window to show The Wif a new listing. It began with an uphill shot of a Hershey Brown house, then led to a view of pines through the branches of a dormant Aspen.

The Wif said, "oohhh..."

Then she said, "where's that?"

And then I flipped to the next picture: a long shot of a living room with a window in the distance, an entertainment center on the far wall, track lighting fixtures overhead and a wood burning insert against the left wall. Bud Holiday steins lined the mantle. Don't get too far ahead of me.

The Wif said - or, started to say - "Ooohhh," (maybe got out the "ooo") before her ship was righted and she realized what she was seeing: "That's our place" she said.

And BINGO was his name-o!

I was of course then stuck by a rather strange feeling. After all, we've long said that if it came to it, we could still live in this house; we really have no real reason to move, aside from personal preference and whatever weight that holds in one's life. But then I felt the need to ask The Wif if - having seen her home in the cool light of impersonal reflection - she still felt the need to move out of it.

She said Yes. I can almost feel the torrents and rip-tides as they rage within her, and I know I'm riding each and every one of them. But I'm forcing myself to stay clear and focus on the mission at hand.

LATER THAT EVENING...

I'm such a slug. I admit it freely and with a certain sense of absolute glee. That sense being that the Truth will always lean towards the fanatical ability of tending to grant one a certain sense of Freedom. If embraced in such a way that said Freedom will be allowed a right-of-way along the Truth Superhighway from time to time...

(Don't worry - I don't understand it either)

The truth (that is supposed to set me free) is that I became so wrapped up in my household-due-to-be-done-tomorrow duties that when I sat down at my keyboard tonight to write a LONG-overdue book review... I forgot the rules.

I forgot the standards and I forgot to update the icon in my Green Screen. I forgot everything - sort of freezing in the headlights - except without the blind fear. So to speak.

Catch me tomorrow: I'll try to catch up...

Of course, the subtitle would most likely be, "...and other things you're going to pay for..."

I saw part of a re-creation of a show that was even then pretending to be older than it was at that time. The question then becomes one of, "how do we set the stage so that we're able to prove to the audience that what we're showing actually took place 50 years prior?"

Their choice was to feature silhouettes in prominent locations - that is, easily visible to the cameras - but my question is, was that the rule of that day, the rule of this day, (in relative terms), or just an imaginative device of the time?

By way of searching for an answer, I think I would have to look inside our own homes and then ask: How many pictures of our family do we even have or feature in the first place? I mean, we're far enough removed from the need for silhouettes - and are even well within the digital age - to the point that we should all have a very good idea of what our previous generations look like, even to having the proof of such hanging on our walls.

But do we? Have we taken full advantage of digital technology and the ease and frugality of printing off copy after copy of our ancestors - only to display them proudly on our walls?

Not that I've done it either. I just think it's worth asking...

OK. Look. I know that all the talk about the somewhat amazinginly slow rate at which we are filling our storage unit is boring you all to tears. It's perfectly expected and normal, even. But it also happens to be a big part of my life right now: I've set a rather tight schedule for myself - by design rather than by accident for once - and I know that if I live up to this pace, and especially given the fact that our home goes "LIVE" later this afternoon, we'll be able to sell at a profit rather quickly, and then we'll all find ourselves homeless.

Fine by me, actually. I'll set The Wif on a search for the cheapest living conditions in the area and we'll find something that suits our needs. The secret lies in our ability to adapt, and as "luck" would have it, that's one of the lessons I hope to impart to our children. So Bring It On...

But all the same, have you ever noticed how much empty space is contained within a single dining room chair? I mean, with every trip to the storage unit I imagined the payload completely filling the designated area, but I still drove away with plenty of space left. Until today...

Today I took three wooden dining room chairs to storage and I struggled - for the first time - in finding a place to put them. A bed, a bike, a shelving unit, pillow upon pillow and a complete swingset - among others - already fill the space, but the arrival of the three chairs was the first sign of trouble at the farm.

We'll get through it because there's still enough empty room in which to deliver the designed, as it were. Storage units aren't just for house-hunters anymore:

They're for those who can sit patiently as their home is on the market. For starters...

.

(Borrowed from POP culture and a friend - not necessarily in that order...)

A software engineer wrote: Subject: Failed Upgrade Last year I upgraded from Girlfriend 7.0 to Wife 1.0 and noticed that the new program began unexpected child processing that took up a lot of space and valuable resources. No mention of this phenomenon was included in the product brochure. In addition, Wife 1.0 installs itself into all other programs and launches during system initialization, where it monitors all other system activity. Applications such as Smoking 10.3, Boozing 2.5 and Saturday Night Pubs 5.0 no longer run, crashing the system whenever selected. I cannot keep Wife 1.0 in the background while attempting to run some of my other favorite applications like Night Club 4.3, Dance 'n' Drink 2.0 and Bachelor Party 7.77. I am thinking about going back to Girlfriend 7.0, but the uninstall does not work on this program. Once I tried to uninstall Wife 1.0 but got this error: "General Protection Fault in module House Security. The Uninstallation will abort." Can you help me, please? Here was the reply from Tech Support: Re: Failed Upgrade This is a very common problem among men, but it is due mostly to a primary misconception. Many people upgrade from Girlfriend 7.0 to Wife 1.0 with the idea that Wife 1.0 is merely a UTILITIES & ENTERTAINMENT program. Wife 1.0 is actually an OPERATING SYSTEM and designed by its creator to run everything. It is unlikely you would be able to purge Wife 1.0 and still convert back to Girlfriend 7.0. It is impossible to uninstall, delete, or purge Wife 1.0 from the system once installed. You cannot go back to Girlfriend 7.0 because Wife 1.0 is not designed to do this. Some have tried to install Girlfriend 8.0 or Wife 2.0 but end up with more problems than the original system. Look in your manual under "Warnings-Alimony/Child Support;" this was given to you at time of registration with Wife 1.0. I recommend you keep Wife 1.0 and just deal with the situation. Having Wife 1.0 installed myself, I might also suggest you read the entire section regarding General Partnership Faults (GPFs). The best course of action will be to enter the command C:APOLOGIZE. In fact I would suggest you use this command every time Wife 1.0 crashes on your system. Wife 1.0 is a great program, but very high maintenance. Consider buying additional software to improve the performance of Wife 1.0. I recommend Flowers 2.1 and Chocolates 5.0 or Movies 4.5. Do not, under any circumstances, install Visual Secretary With Short Skirt 3.3. This is not a supported application for Wife 1.0 and is likely to cause irreversible damage to the operating system. Recent surveys show add-ons like Visual Dress 2.0, Diamond Necklace 3.0, and A Quick Tour To Temple 1.0 are the best Third Party tools supported by Wife 1.0 to allow it to run smoothly and effectively. Best of luck!

I'm watching a show about the Titanic now - at 12:44AM - while I should instead be sleeping. I strongly suspect that all of you have long been in bed and for that I praise you. I continue to wonder why I can't ever create a schedule that allows me an extra hour of sleep on the front-end of the evening, but then I realize that I'm expected for either baths or reading/tucking and then boy-rocking until they can be trusted to stay in bed - QUIETLY - for at least most of the night.

Mommy would change that "MOST of the night" thing to "ALL of the night," but then again she's already hinted at making me the night watchman for those evenings prior to me working at home. As if working at home is the equivalent of a vacation day. If anything, I'm more on edge and more attentive to work and email on those days I don't have to leave the house if only because I don't wish to abuse the privilege.

Well, that and the fact that I feel as if I'm under greater scrutiny for having gotten away with something. God forbid they allow me to work from home every day: I'd be an absolute wreck...

Why does the chick on the Honda lawnmower commercial look as if she's trying to smuggle one of the mowers under her dress while strapped to her hip? I mean, talk about a "natural" bunker! Seriously, would the TSA folks at the airport even detect the problem, or would they be referred for further training?

So albore managed to find his way from hollywierd back to where he grew up - Washington, D.C. Of course, he was fashionably late - but only if you define "fashionably" as, "wanting to avoid actual, real, discussion about his foolish and rushed-to-press-and-cinema falsehoods." But he did his duty, showed up and pretended to answer the questions of the panel.

Question: If the debate is settled, then why not arrive early, experts in hand like a Professional Football teams opening wedge, and shatter all arguments to the contrary?

Question: If humans are the main cause for global warming, why now? As the most productive and profitable and pollution-free nation on the surface of Earth these days, how could we possibly be responsible for heating the planet?

Question: As a HAM radio licensee, (KA0SPU), (DOOD - remember yours? I do...), I learned that the atmosphere's outer layer - what was then known as the "F" layer - split into two distinct segments at night. As one who lives in the mountains, I can testify to the effects this has on radio reception. What about seasonal, NORMAL, variations in other atmospheric levels?

My very first acknowledgment on any of the varied Interwebs came on this, sadly reflective day. I'm almost ashamed to point it out, but since the pride and charm and rebelliousness came by way of the web, I'll jump on the bandwagon.

And if you're completely in the dark - as I suspect you are - click here to see the first, then scroll up (or hit "home"), to explain the second.

More than I can bear at the moment...

I've been trying to go to the storage unit at least once every day. On workdays that means traveling during or near dinner time, but it's well worth it for the time I spend sitting in there lovingly stroking the boxes and furniture that are temporarily unwelcome in our home...

No, of course not. I don't go to visit the stuff that's already there but instead to add to the collection. The problem I'm running into is one of time versus space. (I'm aware that some wiseguy with bad hair once proposed that energy IS matter, and said theory has a grand impact upon the idea of our understanding of both space AND time, but that has little effect on the barriers of a ten foot by ten foot storage unit - as I understand it.)

My "problem" is that my truck is capable of holding so much stuff that I have to balance my ability to fully load it against my other responsibilities each evening. I could spend my time carefully packing things to go to storage - Tetris style - but it would cut into my evening to the point that I would be unable to read to my Daughter or to rock my Boys to sleep.

It's a very easy choice: I'll spread the storage jobs across several nights so as not to miss a single night with my kids...

When we first moved up here, many of my desires in a new home were ignored. I liked the home with the steep driveway and the out-of-place concrete walls in the basement - if only so I could solve the mystery behind - literally - those walls. I liked the newly constructed that backed to the National Forest; the plan was open and the fireplace was two-sided, plus the downstairs was unfinished - just begging for the repeated, healing touch of my hammer - but the Master was really small. (In looking back at it, after 9 years of living with The Wif, I can easily recognize the importance of large rooms and large closets. Not that MY clothes are ever going to be allowed within a furlong of a closet I can reach from the shower without first drying out...)

But now things have been made more clear: The Wif desires nothing more than me 'Main Floor Living,' with all things passing for daylight activities taking place on the same horizontal plane.

Not that she'd express it in the same terms...

Well, for once I think I've given you a title to a post that makes absolute sense to everyone concerned. I honestly believe that Marvin the Martian could pay a visit, deduce what this post is about just from the title and then decide to ignore it completely. Come to think of it, maybe I should change the title to something like, "reading books by their covers."

Nah, that would only explain the explanation - not the post itself. It's counterproductive, but not in my usual way of doing things. I'll stick with what I have, (as far as you know)...

The most obvious answer to the title - and given today's date - is that at 6:07 this evening - Mountain Daylight Time, (what a strange phrase to use BEFORE the fact) - we'll once again be greeted by Spring's friendly face. Of course this in no way means that we're free from the trappings of Winter - namely inches of snow measured in feet - by a long shot. just that it's become slightly less likely.

Hail the equinox and pass the sunscreen...

The obvious smart-arse answer to the title is, "my driveway." Given the fact that we now judge local temperatures against our experiences during the last couple of months, ("Hon - it's 46° outside. Do the boys really need shirts?"), it is something of a miracle or at least a notable moment to mention that I've been able to get up our driveway in two wheel drive for at least a couple of weeks now. And that the white slush has given way to brown slush.

Less attractive to be sure, but somewhat more passable.

And speaking of smart-arses, the next step up this little ladder I'm building was a phone call from an old friend. As we were traveling at 75+ MPH southbound on north 25 at time, I'm tempted to call it a poorly-timed call, but there could be no such thing: I am not one to be distracted nor slowed by talking on the phone while behind the wheel. In fact, I didn't even leave the left lane and at no point did The Wif pump her imaginary floor brake nor grab for the "OH S**T!!" handle. I'm just that good -- but that's not my point.

The point is that I got a call out of the blue from someone who was a shaping force in my life when I needed it most, and it was welcome knowledge that he remembered the acronym that spells my phone number. For those of you in the know, he was the Admin Officer in the adjoining office on the 16^th floor. Not the geek beyond my doorway: the wierdo just before it.

He's doing well and is currently enjoying retirement with his wife (HIS term), by traveling the nation in an RV. Currently in the Southwest (at least at the time of the call), I neglected to ask him if he was in Texas and if he had a newborn in the bus with him.

Well, HE would've found it amusing...

And the "highest rung" of this metaphorical ladder is the fact that I've been in contact with... well, what do I call her? My daughter - because that's how I've pretty much always thought of her - or do I go with a more legalistic and, in light of, um... my daughter, a less confusing term? I'm seriously at a loss here; one of my "older daughters" or do I throw in an "ex" as a reference to my failed first marriage?

No. That wouldn't do, because I don't feel I'm an "ex" to her, just a (forcibly) absent Father for the last 12 years or so. I'll continue to work on the term and will eventually settle on something that makes sense for everyone involved. (As much as "M" relishes the thought of being the oldest child, how would she take to the idea of having a couple of older sisters? It's not that I allow the kids to rule the roost or anything, but this would be a really, REALLY big thing for her.)

But the First Important Thing is that when I feebly reached out to her, she didn't slap me away. Surprising in a way that wasn't so surprising, if you know what I mean. She remembered my name and my role and I'm not sure how. But I'm grateful for it all the same.

The Second Important Thing is that The Wif always told me - even almost from the instant she learned of my divorce - that this daughter would be the one to contact me later in life. I honestly can't remember her meeting my daughters more than a single time - and even then just long enough to offer them candy from her desk drawer - but she heard all the stories. She heard me tell the tales and I guess I was good enough at it so that The Wif was able to build her own psychological profile of the children and of the adults within my household.

She was paying attention to me and my life before I even recognized it. When did that change?

Remember: SATIRE. I'm not mad at anyone right now. But I'm about to go off the mood-altering drugs, so WATCH OUT!

With a mere - what, 5 days? - until this house is on the market "for reals," and me not at all confident in my ability to make this place showroom fresh by that date, I'm happy to report that great progress has already been made and much more is planned. This weekend saw me taking 3 trips and 2 loads (I had to go sign the contract, didn't I?) to the storage unit and it thrills me to no end that each location seems far more empty than it should be.

In fact, we can now identify the two chairs - soon on their way out - in the downstairs living room that were completely buried by overflow crap just a few days ago. Heck, I've even made some slight progress in emptying out the workshop.

(For legal purposes, that room which was at one time called a garage is going by the name of "workshop" now. If the house doesn't sell within 60 days we're going to refer to it by an unintelligible symbol and the phrase, "the room formerly known as "workshop." It a great incentive to keep the place clean enough to sell within that time frame.)

Now for the bad news: our dream home is indeed under contract to someone else. No matter, though. If we're meant to be there, we yet will be; contracts are broken every day and things go wrong when you least expect them do. But here's the deep, dark secret surrounding our home search: we can still live in this house if it comes to that.

That's right - we're negotiating from a position of absolute strength: we're not pressured to get out of this place in the next month. We're not under contract to buy something we don't really want. We'd be happy in that other house but we can easily be happy staying in this one, too. We are sitting in a position where we can make ANYting we choose to do work in our favor...

Two-sided fireplace? Well, I'd really like that and there are a number of them available. All bedrooms on the same floor? Somewhat rare up here but we're able to wait it out, if need be. Walk-in closet? The Wif would like nothing more, (except maybe two of them), and we're able to hold our ground until all these things - or reasonable ratios presenting themselves as usable portions of all these things - show themselves to us. It's a good place to be

And don't EVEN pretend to write me suggesting we build. I'd hate to see what that monstrosity would look like...

Well, that was an interesting little experiment, even if no experiment was intended. Following yesterday's post 2 of you complained about the content, one of you expressed gratitude and the other 114 of you were as silent as, well, blog readers. To be expected, I guess. It's not like I'm fostering an environment of controversy around here.

Except when I am, natch...

I have to admit that my first thought was that I'd burn your town to cinders, but then I quickly forgave all of you for your transgressions. Because that's just the kind of guy I am.

But don't push me. My limits have shrunk and my fuse has been cleaved. Don't force me to offer refunds here...

On another note, if you've been following our ongoing, semi-announced, somewhat-formal house hunting tale, then your life is shallow and lacking meaning. The good news is, you've found the right website for that!

Err, no. Sorry - it's late and we're all sick and 28% of us are sleep-deprived. What I meant to say is that I met with a broker friend of ours today, showed him around this place, came to a general agreement that there was much work to be done before it was ready to be shown and decided that it would officially go on the market one week from today. So, brother can you spare 2,700,000 dimes? Because that's what we'll be listing it for, give or take. It's a figure that promises some built-in fudge factor on either side of our buying/selling transaction.

But, having done the work to get us here I now feel perfectly safe in saying that - in spite of the fact that there would seem to be a contract on the house - if we're meant to be there, we will be.

THAT'S how to use that phrase...

J.O.T.W...

OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER: I found this list on the web. Therefore, any truth between this list and the truth is an absolute miracle...

1. Coca-cola was originally green.

2. Every day more money is printed for Monopoly than for the US Treasury.

3. Smartest dogs: 1) border collie; 2)poodle; 3)golden retriever.

4. Dumbest dog: Afghan

5. Hawaiian alphabet has 12 letters.

6. Men can read smaller print than women; women can hear better.

7. Chances that an American lives within 50 miles of where they grew up: 1 in 2

8. Amount American Airlines saved in '87 by taking out 1 olive from each salad served in first class: $40,000

9. City with the most Rolls Royce's per capita: Hong Kong

10. State with the highest percentage of people who walk to work: Alaska

11. Chances of a white Christmas in New York: 1 in 4

12. Portion of US annual rainfall that falls in April: 1/12

13. Percentage of Africa that is wilderness: 28%

14. Percentage of North America that is wilderness: 38%

15. Estimated % of American adults who go on diet each year: 44%

16. Barbie's measurements if she were life size: 39-23-33

17. Average number of days a West German goes without washing his underwear: 7

18. Percentage of Americans who say that God has spoken to them: 36%

19. Percentage of Americans who regularly attend religious services: 43%

20. City with highest per capita viewership of TV evangelists: Washington DC

21. Percentage of American men who say they would marry the same woman if they had it to do all over again: 80%

22. % of American women who say they would marry the same man: 50%

23. % of men who say they are happier after their divorce or separation: 58%

24. % of women who say they are happier after their divorce or separation: 85%

25. Number of different family relationships for which Hallmark makes cards: 105

26. Cost of raising a medium-size dog to the age of eleven: $6,400

27. Average number of people airborne over the US any given hour: 61,000.

28. Percentage of Americans who have visited Disneyland or Disney World: 70%

29. Average life span of a major league baseball: 7 pitches.

30. Portion of ice cream sold that is vanilla: 1/3

31. Portion of potatoes sold that are French fried: 1/3

32. Percentage of Americans that eat at McDonald's each day: 7

33. Percentage of bird species that are monogamous: 90%

34. Percentage of mammal species that are: 3%

35. Number of US states that claim test scores in their elementary schools are above national average: 50%

36. Portion of Harvard students who graduate with honors: 4/5

37. Chances that a burglary in the US will be solved: 1 in 7.

38. Portion of land in the US owned by the government: 1/3

39. Only President to remain a bachelor: James Buchanon

40. Only first lady to carry a loaded revolver: Eleanor Roosevelt

41. Only President to win a Pulitzer: John F. Kennedy for "Profiles in Courage"

42. Only President awarded a patent: Abe Lincoln, for a system of buoying vessels over shoals

43. Only food that does not spoil: honey

44. Only person to win $64,000 Challenge and $64,000 Question: Dr. Joyce Brothers (subject is boxing)

45. Only bird that can fly backwards: Hummingbird

46. Only continent without reptiles or snakes: Antarctica

47. Only animal besides human that can get sunburn: pig

48. Ostriches stick their heads in the sand to look for water.

49. An eagle can kill a young deer and fly away with it.

50. In the Caribbean there are oysters that can climb trees.

51. Polar bears are left-handed.

52. Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair.

53. Eskimos never gamble.

54. The world's youngest parents were 8 and 9 and lived in China in 1910.

55. The youngest pope was 11 years old.

56. Mark Twain didn't graduate from elementary school.

57. Proportional to their weight, men are stronger than horses.

58. Pilgrims ate popcorn at the first Thanksgiving dinner.

59. Your nose and ears never stop growing.

60. Jupiter is bigger than all the other planets in our solar system combined.

61. Hot water is heavier than cold.

62. The parachute was invented by da Vinci in 1515.

63. They have square watermelons in Japan. They stack better.

64. Cream does not weigh as much as milk.

65. Starfish have eight eyes-one at the end of each leg.

66. Iceland consumes more Coca-cola per capita than any other nation.

67. First novel ever written on a typewriter was "Tom Sawyer."

68. There are more collect calls on Father's Day than any other day of the year.

69. Heinz Catsup leaving the bottle travels at 25 miles per year.

70. It is possible to lead a cow upstairs but not downstairs.

71. Men get hiccups more often than women.

72. Armadillos can be housebroken.

Wow. Considering that I just cheated my way through that list - code-wise - I'm going to quit while I'm ahead. See you on Monday...

The democrats continue to - in the immortal words of one of my college classmates - "make my butt itch." They really are quite remarkable in ways that shouldn't earn that adjective; the woman running for President who wants to 'open a dialog' refuses to do interviews with the media. The bloviating gas bag who tells us we're overheating the planet uses 20 TIMES the energy of the average American in any given month. The empty suit who channels not only dead children but Christ himself lectures us about us being too selfish - after he's built a private residence big enough to be seen from space.

OK -- given today's technology it's possible to see pretty much any address from space, but you know what I mean...

Seriously - where do these dolts get off pulling this crap? I can only conclude that either they're idiots or they're sure you are to buy this steaming load. However, the problem is that there's not a loud enough voice out there to call them on what they say. Well, there's Fox News, but that's a whole new bucket for them to step in.

And step in it they have; following the lead of the boy-faced empty suit with the Breck-girl hair, the dems have refused to participate in a debate that would have been hosted and broadcast by Fox News. Why? Well, because it's Fox. News. and Heaven knows that any network that allows conservatives even a minute of airtime can't possibly be fair. It's religious dogma to the left and needs to go without challenge, for obvious reasons.

But the problem now becomes one of political identification for the left. That is, if the dems refuse to debate on Fox allegedly because they're biased against the dems, then what would that say if they agree to appear at a debate hosted by cnn? Wouldn't that be a tacit admission that cnn is overly-friendly to the American left? And since they've spent so much time and capital on the idea that they're an objective news source, wouldn't that scenario - no matter how much they'd love to host said debate - thereby "out" them as little more than an arm of the democrat party?

In short, if they won't appear on Fox because they view that network as hostile, then any - make that ANY!! - network they do agree to appear on would now HAVE to be judged as a friendly outlet. A label most of the LSM has been trying to avoid...

And speaking of the LSM, don't even try to buy into the feces-storm surrounding the so-called, "firing" of 8 US Attorneys General. This is the stupidest, most foul piece of "news" that I've seen in a long time, and that's saying something. The Administration let lapse the contracts for 8 USAG's - who serve at the pleasure of the President anyway - and suddenly the dems and their paid hacks in the media want to make a big deal of it.

But who out there knows that President clinton sent 93 USAG's packing almost from his first day in the White House? 93 good men and women suddenly on the street because of a President's whim. Is that reported? Which story in which newspaper contains that information? And who would care, except for the fuss the LSM and Li'l chuckie schumer are making of it?

well. It's always surprising what goes on the page here that elicits the most responses from you guys. I know I've mentioned it before, but it continues to turn my head when I make what I think to be a new and brilliant observation on science or politics and it goes unnoticed - only to gripe about something along the home front and receive a flood of advice. Some day I might actually take note of what that means and what it bodes for this site, but don't hold your breath.

At any rate, thank you one and all for your many and various advice on the current subject. Those of you who merely offered advice of, "stick with it" or such - i.e. those of you who know me best - I'm going to take your suggestion to heart and stamp it with my own, particular flourish. As such, we already have an appointment to see the house this week. Details to follow.

But I've also learned that The Wif has gone out on her own and sought out homes in the area that start to creep towards meeting our criteria. We've already received an email with links to 6 homes in our price range and in the general area. Generally...

So the seed has taken root and it looks as if we may be on the move. Will this affect the adoption? OF COURSE it will affect the adoption! If I sneeze more than 14 times in a single 24 hour period I have to fill out a barrage of forms - in triplicate - to explain my actions. But my thought is, if the folks at the county are dragging their feet, (CHECK!), why should we forestall our entire lives waiting for them to finish that which they seem unwilling to finish in the first place? Hell, we may move TWICE before they release us from their grasp!

...but I've traveled a bit far afield. New (to us) homes - flat, usable, pool-ready land, reasonably priced. What's NOT to love?

Aside from that whole, 'moving everything you own from one spot to another' thing. But I think I can get over that...

JUST A CLOSING NOTE...

OK. After all was said and things were left undone the other night, The Wif came to me and apologized for "being so pessimistic" about our potential move. It was an interesting moment, only to be made FAR more interesting by what she added: "But if we're meant to be in that house, then it'll happen..."

Sorry; NO. That's not how Faith works. You cannot stand in complete opposition to an idea and then lay claim to the fact that you'll somehow magically wake up in the new house "if it's meant to be." If that's how it works then you can expect to be swallowed by a whale - at least.

Anyway, I'm rambling. The truth is that Faith=Works and Works=Faith. In Spain they say, "Pray to God -- but hammer away." You'd better believe that I'm about to show The Wif the business end of a hammer and the finer points on it's use...

THE MOST WONDERFUL DAY OF THE YEAR...

The Ides of March. Some guy in a white dress was killed on this day, like, a million years ago, and that's what many of us remember this day for. But not me -- in spite of already having referenced it within this same paragraph. Nope. I remember this for the day that I missed in honoring some 2 months ago. I'll explain, natch...

For Christmas, she got a T-shirt. Now, if it were left at that it would be pretty lame, right? Thankfully, we thought ahead and specialty-ordered a shirt that had (almost) all of her Grandchildren represented on it. We did OK, so far as that Holiday was concerned. But I dropped the ball for today, because if I had even the slightest bit of my act together I would be able to deliver a Grandmother's Broach to her doorstep today.

On this important day. I could have celebrated it properly. Instead, we're left with the thin hope that I'll remember to order a Grandmother's Pin of some kind in time for Mother's Day. And we don't have to worry that she's reading this now, because she'll probably forget about it by then, OR I could disguise the present through some clever pretext. Say, wrapping it in some kind of shiny distracting paper or something...

Today is my Mother's Birthday. She was born in a mining town in New Mexico ("There's a NEW Mexico?") that today is marked only by the overgrown grass, the occasional wood frame and the series of ovens carved into the landscape. But you've got to get close enough to spot them. And only someone whose been there can point the way...

I remember visiting the site of the "town" years ago. My Mother and her Mother were walking the streets as if they were still littered with half-sober miners who wanted to call in sick in the morning, but knew better. (It was like they remembered the individual people and their particular "drunk walks.") They talked amongst themselves and wandered "L" street or "I" street or "Second" Place or whatever it was - I would have no chance of remembering which street was which - but I do recall that their place was just a few doors away from the local pub. And calling it a pub is absolute work of literary license.

Thank Goodness I've renewed my license fees!

And even though I'm completely unsure where I'm going with this recollection, I can safely say that I'm ever so grateful that one of the priorities of that mining camp/town was taking care of the newborns brought into the world at that locale. Further, I have another reason to thank my Grandmother and to just stand in awe of her strength.

She carried and protected a young daughter for all she was worth - and that's a lot - in spite of overwhelming odds to the contrary. And I wouldn't be here if she hadn't.

I think she knew that...

Happy Birthday, Ma. I'm sorry it took me so long to recognize the importance of this day.

Well, that's a bit harsh, but you'll see where I'm going with it...

I completely believe in what might be called 'omens' or 'visions' - provided you're not skinning cats or sacrificing virgins or killing virgin cats or the like when you get them. I've just seen too much of my life's direction pointed out to me beforehand, (not that I paid attention, but that's a different story), to completely dismiss them without a second thought. I know that not everyone will agree with this, but if I wanted to make everyone happy I would have shut down this site years ago...

Almost from the day we took our first adoption class The Wif and I have been talking about the possibility of having to move into a new home. As it turned out, this house still fits us pretty well, but it could be better. A different floorplan, a real garage, some more room for storage - all these things would go a long way towards making our lives easier. And as much as I HATE to move, if things - design, size, location, price - all fell together, I would do so gladly. I guess I'm ready for yet another big change in my life.

Go figure.

You've generally got a bunch of time to do some serious thinking while in the hospital and my recent stay was no exception. In examining my recent past I realized that with my gas range finally installed, 3 of our 4 bedrooms being used as bedrooms rather than storage and with the new addition of the tankless water heater, I had pretty well made the Stonestead into what I envisioned it would be. And then I realized that it's all too common that people finally get their house "perfected" only to move right out of it. So by that standard, I was already prepared to move. Number 1.

Then, as I drove home on Wednesday I was struck by a feeling; a feeling not only of, "I should move," but that "I MUST move." It was palpable as I moved across the landscape; almost as if it were in the cockpit with me. I could've taken the HOV lane if there were one available. Number 2.

Then, Thursday night at dinner The Wif and I were talking over our plan of attack for moving Grandma into her new digs. Some furniture here, others in storage, some with Grandma. I prefer a linear attack, but I'm not in charge of the operation so I choose instead to just be briefed on the existing plan. Out of nowhere "M" says, "we're moving to a new house?!?" That's three - I'm out...

Later that night The Wif points out a particular home from an ad in the local fish-wrap; 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, 2+ acres of usable (READ: "flat") land, attached garage, two-story with an open layout and an office AND rec room on the main level. The location? Just 5-8 minutes more commute than we currently suffer. The price? Well, they're asking 374K, so depending on what we can get for this place and/or what we could talk them down to, our payment could change by as little as $100 per month. We can make this happen...

Expectations? Heightened. Outlook? Brightened. This place has it all! We could even put up a 20 foot Christmas Tree and STILL have room for a gigantic projection TV system. Hell, the ad even mentioned that high-speed Internet access is available, so I don't have to worry about radio reception. And since I drove by the place already, I know that our cells get a signal, too. This is really going to be something!

Except that I forgot an important detail at home: The Wif is a complete pessimist. She's NEVER seen a path that she couldn't throw a roadblock across. I'm reminded of Louie Anderson's early comic routine where his Mom had a worse-case scenario for every possible question the kids would ask; can we have a cat? No - they'll shed on the butter and kill us all. Can we have a dog? No - they'll get up on the counter, lick the butter and choke to death on the cat hair. I'd add another from my own experience with The Wif: can we get a new house? Well what's the point? The earth is doomed to a fiery death from a collision with an asteroid and no home will save us from that, right?

Actually, her argument went more along the lines of - "we'll NEVER get a good price for this place because the deck is falling apart and the roof is leaking into the eaves." Talk about cutting the sail while it's still on the mast...

Of course, the deck can be set to picture-perfect by replacing a mere 4 or 5 planks. Any more than that and she's free to walk off them herself. As to the roof, well, that'll require a bit more work but it should only mean a couple of phone calls on my end to get things set straight.

Will it make a difference? Probably not. It's funny, but criticisms coming from a woman who leaves trash within 18 inches of the trash can and grape-flavored medicine spills all over the counter seem to carry FAR more weight than they would in normal situations. Worse yet, she pulls this crap KNOWING that one of the side effects I'm currently experiencing is wild mood swings.

Because I'd really, really like to stay mad at her attitude, but can't. CURSE these modern chemical wonders!!

As for the house, I may as well show it to the lot of you. It's pretty clear that we won't be moving into it anyway...

Ok, ok. A lame title for a lame post representative of a lame weekend. So get some crutches and a handicapped parking placard and meet me back here as soon as... you... um -- or, like...

whatever...

So it's the Friday just passed when The Wif tells/reminds me that all 3 kids have appointments with their "doctor" in order to start catching up on what may or may not be missed immunizations on the part of the older two. This means an appointment each month, and four to eight shots per appointment, until everything is in writing and certified and we can honestly say that we KNOW that "M" and D-Man have been stuck to state-required standards. Even if they already had been, because we could never prove it.

The major obstacle seems to be that the kids are always sick and therefore ineligible for the vast majority of their due shots. Ear infections, sinus infections, restless body grippe, skin failure - we've seen it all and we've seen it all stand in the way of progressing towards the day when the kids conform to some kind of age/immunization chart.

This in NO WAY excuses Mommy's gaffe of, "Well, "M's" not feeling well today so you probably can't give her the shots today...". DANG, WOMAN! If the doc is as good as she's supposed to be, let her figure it out on her own, already!

Anyway, we left the doc's office with a sore D-Man (4 stickin's), a relieved "M," (but she'll feel it later), and a referral to Children's for Binky Boy. They want to check his breathing difficulty to see if it isn't something worse. The question is, who's going to take him - knowing the risk that they might keep him overnight or even into Spring?

As if you had to ask...

We're sitting in the waiting room and the one thing - the overriding THING that I can't escape is how small and vulnerable he feels in my arms. In the regular world Binky looks like a big Ol' lumbering goof (judging by how Mommy dresses him), just clubbing his way through life and knocking over that which he can't - or won't - walk around. He's a natural leader and proves it at every opportunity.

But on friday he was sick, and in a hospital dress, and barely able to breathe, and I couldn't help but think that maybe I'd just keep him in my pocket until they needed to see him. Except that I wanted to hold him and he wanted to be on me - a fact he continually proved by throwing his tiny head onto my shoulder and hanging on to me tightly.

It only gets better in light of the fact that he didn't have pneumonia, he slept for about 3 hours on me (I slept for nearly half that time), and the evening saw him running laps around the hospital and up and down a staircase he found. He kept me busy until the time came when I had to entertain him while we waited for the doc to release us.

Home never felt so good. Or so welcome...

Then, on Saturday, we finally had an experience which might be described as one of, 'moving away from a hospital' situation; The wif's Grandmother had been upgraded to the point that she no longer qualified for nursing home care and had to move to an assisted living facility. Or rather, someone was needed to move Grandma into said facility. Someone with a truck. Someone (don't get too far ahead of me) with a "free" Saturday. Someone who could - in spite of battling low blood levels - carry furniture from here to yon and from yon to hither.

But, it never got above 54° - slightly overcast to low-grade showers. The perfect day for such activities. I could arrange furniture in the 189° temperature of the room and then step outside into the otherwise livable conditions provided there. Of course we brought Binky along - lest Mommy miss a chance to wussify him.

But he ain't buying it: he's still a Daddy's boy and his growls prove it...

Got my meds today and HOLY COW are these guys padding the bill or what?!? I've got a Plavix, a Biaxin and 2 amoxicillin each morning and each night. 8 in all, every day for the next month. Once those are gone I've got a month of protonix ahead of me. Better living through chemistry, eh? Of course the only side effect NOT listed between all these drugs is "Levitation."

Too bad. That would'a been really, REALLY cool...

As if that danged creepy "king" weren't enough to give you nightmares, now we have to worry about food nazi ninja ballerinas, too. Apparently they've been brought on the payroll to do the evil "king's" bidding, which is even more frightening. Too bad the "king" is the "hero" of this campaign, because I'd really like to see him eaten by a dragon. Or crushed by Dick Butkis. Either way would be cool with me.

My new water heater is just swell. Now that it's working, that is. The Wif can take as long as she'd like (or as long as the kids will allow) in the shower and NEVER run out of hot water. She could even run the dishes at the same time without problem. And one of the very best parts of the whole thing is that it's towards the very bottom of the energy use scale that's provided with all new appliances these days; the bottom rating is 177 therms/year and our unit is rated at 183 annual therms. Now, don't ask me for all the technical low-down on what a therm is and what you feed one, I just know that if the scale starts at 177 and ours is just 5 above that, it's pretty darned good. And when you add in the unlimited hot water supply thing? Well, there's just one problem.

I used to judge the length of my showers by how soon I would run out of hot water. At the temperature I liked, I had just about 10 minutes before I had to start cutting off the cold water as a sign to wrap things up. Now I'll never get out of there...

This week's major revelation should come as no surprise to anyone out there. Namely, to Hell with sleeping in any more. If my kids are up, why shouldn't I be up enjoying them? After all, they're only going to be this age for this day and no longer. I want to be there so I remember it all, but also so that they remember that I was there. It's a pretty important thing.

So I'm restructuring my life (yet again), in order to accomplish that goal. You shouldn't notice anything here, I'm just giving you a head's up. Besides, they still take naps...

J.O.T.W...

And, since there's only 236 days to plan, I thought I'd give you a leg up on the competition...

Do zombies eat popcorn with their fingers?
No, they eat the fingers separately...

Why don't skeletons ever go out on the town?
Because they don't have any body to go out with...

Why did the Vampire subscribe to the Wall Street Journal?
He heard it had great circulation...

What kind of streets do zombies like the best?
Dead ends...

What did the father ghost say to his family when driving?
Fasten your sheet belts...

What do ghosts add to their morning cereal?
Booberries...

What is a vampire's favorite sport?
Casketball...

Why do mummies have trouble keeping friends?
They're so wrapped up in themselves...

Why do vampires need mouthwash?
They have bat breath...

What's a vampire's favorite fast food?
A guy with very high blood pressure...

Guess I'm off the hook on that last one for awhile!

OK. I'm home again and I've got to say that writing this tripe from my office chair has a certain amount of charm that I missed while wrestling with IV tubes and sitting crooked on my mal-adjusted hospital bed with stents and electrodes bouncing around the keyboard. But you probably already knew that...

Some advice for the person going into the hospital. Remember these things and in this order: toothbrush/paste. Your favorite pillow. A personal entertainment enclave, (mp3, laptop, headphones, DVDs, books, sudoku books...). Shampoo/conditioner. Hairbrush. That's at a minimum. Which is to say that the above list will be more than adequate for most men and will be laughed off as a complete joke by most women. To each their own.

And here's the best advice I can give to ANYone out there; bold moves, my friend. Bold moves...

It was late morning when they finally discharged me. I had held off both showering and ordering lunch but for very different reasons. So once the internist finally gave her stamp of approval, my nurse came in, ran through the various instructions for the next several weeks, got my signature on a couple of things and removed my connectors. I told her that I planned to shower and maybe order lunch before I left and she said that would be fine.

I showered - removing the last of the sticky cups that had been affixed to my chest - and got dressed. I then put on my coat, brought the sleeves down low over my ID bracelets, put on my sunglasses and walked out. That's right - right past both nurses' stations, down the hall and waited for the elevator.

My concern was that they wouldn't let me drive home and since I'd driven myself there, I didn't want to leave my truck in their parking lot forever. (The Sam Kennison question: "How else are we going to get our cars home?!?") I also considered slipping down the stairway - which was very close to my room - but where's the fun in that? Besides, how could I possibly be the great rebel that won so many hearts with such a lame gesture?

Nope. No sneaking out stairway doors for me. I'm going out right past them...

We're at Pretty House's Refried Beanery and Noiseoleum on Saturday night - as a special treat for "M" having received 50 green "good behavior" dots for the month - when I notice some emergent peptic distress. I had ordered the chicken fried steak, but still; maybe the pink castle screws up "gringo" food as well. I had to skip out early - so as to continue the installation of the fabled water heater - and left the family with my folks. (The older 2 kids were going to spend the night with grandma and grandpa.)

Now, even as versed as I am in the ways of copper pipe, the new ways of applying heat to water had eluded me, and I was up until 1:30 am Sunday trying to get the derned thing working. Without luck. So I turned in at around 2:00 knowing I'd have to be up and going by about 7:30. Can you see why I had so many reasons to suspect my strange and unusual feelings might easily be blamed on something else?

By Sunday night I had come to a conclusion and let you all know it here: I would be going to the doctor on Monday. (A decision that was at least partially driven by The Wif's question: "Why are your nipples so white?") And then yesterday I told you I ended up here. But there was a bunch of stuff I left out...

Once I was removed from the emergency room chattel, I was briefly interviewed in a small, cluttered office. Half-way through she (whoever she was), stepped out then asked me to follow her. She had me sit in a chair in the hallway across from the ER nurse's station so they could start an IV and conclude the interview. But first! They had to take some blood. Which makes perfect sense, right? Here's a guy we KNOW to be bleeding internally, very low blood pressure, rapid pulse -- let's tap this guy!

As anyone except the dozen people around me could've guessed, I passed out. Cold sweat, clammy skin, eyes rolled back, dead-to-the-world, OUT. This had the added benefit of getting me a room in the ER ward right away. I guess it's bad for business to let the bodies stack up like cord wood in the pseudo-lobby. I later found out that my blood pressure was 70. 70! (It was rough I tells ya' - why we were so poor we could only afford one of the numbers. It was rough!)

My ER nurse was JUST the coolest - even given all the krep she had to put me through. Part of it, I suspect, was also my attitude. I insisted on telling her and another nurse there that I didn't remember passing out. That seemed to amuse them. At one point, she was measuring outside my body for the amount of tubing she'd need to put down my nose. I asked them if I was getting new drapes. Again; general goofery, well met.

(Unlike that old guy at the other end of the ward. I suspect that shouting, "NO! G--------, KNOCK IT OFF!" does not endear you to the staff. I was proven correct in that I was allowed to lie quietly in my private ER room while the world passed loudly by outside.)

Once upstairs in my own room, I was introduced to the next staff of people that would be poking me all night. If you haven't yet spent a night in the hospital as a patient, I can tell you that when you do you're in for quite an eye-opening experience. Literally. I've concluded that hospital night shifts are modeled after both anthills and beehives; anthills because they're constantly on the move and beehives because they're always looking to stick you. Be ready for it.

Even in my sleep I could quickly tell who it was that was waking me up: my nurse would come in and gently put her hand on my arm. The nurse's aid would come in, put her hand on my arm and shake or push me until I responded. The trolls from the lab would come in, kick my bed, turn on the light, hit me in the head and Start Ta' Jabbin'!

That reminds me: just before midnight I had to have a unit of blood put into my body. Seems that one of my blood counts that should've been 40 was 29 when I came in and 27 a few hours later, (I have a theory as to how that happened, BTW). Well, my nurse and one other from the station where they keep them corralled entered carrying a big, juicy, red bag. The walked over to me, asked me my name and birthdate -- and then started a routine that would do cold war nuclear launch sites proud:

"Stone - S-T-O-N-E"
"S-T-O-N-E. Check."
"4/11."
"Check"
"O positive."
"O positive. Check"
".875 Liters."
".875. Check."

By this point I was ready to duck and cover under my bed. They pulled out two matching keys and hung the blood. After being told what adverse affects to be on the lookout for, (#1: death), they took my pressure and temperature as a benchmark to check against after the entire unit was under my skin.

Sometime around 4:30 or so, one of the lab trolls came up and tapped my hand - part of their reclamation effort no doubt; they give me a unit and send some guys by later to collect the 10% kickback. Ah well, as long as the gears stay greased...

But then she was back in just 15 minutes or so. Problem with my tags, I was told. "They didn't match"...

And they thought I was pale before. Turns out that the nurses are capable of independent thought where the labs have a problem taking blood from someone named "chris" when THIS! TAG! -- This one - RIGHT HERE - clearly says "Christopher." So they send up troll #2 to try and take the next sample, partially because I'm effortlessly chased off #1.

She arrives, looks my arm/hand over for a good drillin' spot, then proceeds to draw her needle. I ask her, if my name difference was the problem with my previous sample, why hadn't she yet asked me my name or birthdate? She told me that it was OK, because she'd copied the information from my tag. Dizzy from the circular "logic" I settled into sleeping away whatever I could manage of the morning.

My nurse was there - mainly because I'd called her in when I feared they'd given me albino koala blood - and offered to comp me something because of their error. She first offered a bag of food and goodies. I countered with a topless nurse parade -- after all, if you're going to give me something I can't have, I'll take the low carb option. We settled on a robe.

A low carb robe...

(I'm sure I've forgotten a ton of stuff that'll come to mind as soon as I close this file. I'm also sure you're sick of hearing about this tale, so I'll save them for never.)

(Oh - it was a bleeding duodenal ulcer. More tests to follow, but it looks like it'll be treated with strong antibiotics and harsh language in varying degrees.)

So I'm at my doctor's office. She's giving me once-over - twice - and she finds something she doesn't like; blood where it shouldn't be. (As for me, I was none too happy with her exploration methods, but that's a subject for a different day) She knows me a bit too well and sheepishly suggests a trip to the hospital expecting the answer to be not just, "no," but "no, and from which lower form of life did you ev0lve?" Can't say as I blame her - it's an image I've done everything to earn...

So I go to the hospital emergency room and settle in among the masses for a long, long wait. Which doesn't happen. My name is called within minutes of returning the clipboard with my coveted signature releasing them from liability. At first, this seems to be a good thing; less waiting! But then I realize that there were probably 2 dozen people in that room before I even got there...

So I hurry out of range of any objects they might throw at me...

Seriously, is it a good thing to be rushed into the emergency room that quickly? Well, for me it meant more prodding and poking and a hole into every vein they can find. On the other hand, it did get me into this hospital room with the very cute and very nice "erin" as my nurse, not to mention this schweeet wi-fi connection - at no extra charge! Forget staying in hotels when you travel, my friends; pick yourself a good hospital and go with that instead.

It almost makes up for having to share the room. Now if you'll excuse me, my unit of blood I signed for has just arrived. Did I mention the difference in room service menus?

Ugh. I'm sick. Not your normal, everyday sniffles and sneezes and the like. No, not by a long shot. I've been experiencing sharp abdominal pain (too high to be the appendix) and a number of other symptoms that I'd really rather not think about. So much so that if I'm not MUCH better in the morning I'll be going to either my doctor's or the hospital.

I told you I was sick!

It's obviously my most ardent hope that all is well and this too shall pass and I'll be flooding your computer screen with fresh tripe as soon as this time tomorrow. Until then, here's a little something my my YourHub site:

All good parents know that the very act of being a parent is actually made up of at least a couple hundred tasks both large and small. Sometimes you're driving your kids around town and the next minute you're putting together a science project at the last minute.

Granted, that last one hasn't happened to us yet, but soon enough...

Around here, one my many other jobs is that of plumber. Years ago, when we moved in here and I noticed that the heating system consisted of vast yards of water-filled copper pipe, I decided that it would be a good idea for me to learn how to cut, move and build sections of that pipe.

So I went out and bought sections of pipe, elbows, connectors, a valve, a torch, solder, flux and plumber's sandpaper. You should have seen some of the nightmare creatures I put together! But it served me well; I have no problem piping water from where it is to where I want it.

The trick on Saturday was that I had to put in a gas line, too. We bought a tankless water heater and of course the hard truth of replacing a water heater is that from the time you start until the time you finish, your home is without hot water. It's a pretty darned good motivator.

Unfortunately, I wasn't familiar with the quirks of tankless heaters, so from the time I started - 11:00 am Saturday - until I time I finished - 1:30 am Sunday - we didn't have hot water. In fact, we didn't even have hot water when I finished. I just couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong.

I'd reached the limits of my physical and physiological abilities, and climbed into bed. So now you know where I was yesterday and why there was no blog entry. The good news is that at 4:00 this afternoon I brought the unit online and it works like a charm.

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

Oy. A new month. I even included that in the bloody title yesterday in the hopes that it might help to remind me that, like - you know - it's a new month and all. See, when we enter a new month, there's a number of duties I have to see to on this site -- duties that understandably go largely ignored by the readers, but stuff that I should see to getting right if I'm going to even try to be taken seriously.

For example, I have to update the calendar - which from February to March is the very easiest thing to do; even during a leap year. I have to add the previous month to the archives section, erase all text from the 'body' of what you read here and then after writing the first entry I have to remember to rename the archive file so it will reflect the new month.

Additionally, I have to remember to create my code calls so that they reference the new month. I fully realize that this is WAY too much inside baseball for all but 2 of you (probably), but you should also know why I tend to bat only about .500 on the first of the month. And if anyone out there can tell me why I'm relying on so many metaphors from a sport I can't stand -- WITHOUT resorting to a so-called "Freudian" desire to watch it, because those shelves are bare -- I'm dying to hear it.

Anywho... this is the excuse-fest I'm leaning on so as to explain why you saw "February" in yesterday's title. And why the actual link to the February file was absent. And how I managed to completely eradicate the February file in the first place... (All is well! I was able to work the automatic restore feature and resurrected the file. Life is good!)

So why all the information nobody really cares about and all the lame excuses? Well, it should be obvious: I'm getting ready for golf season...

SHORT SHOTS..

But the reason I was so abbreviated yesterday was something else all together; namely, this really, really cool web tool. It's called - as you can see - 'Zpeech' - and it maintains a running database of comments from registered readers (with them, not with the target site) associated with any URI you can imagine. Too fraggin' schweeeet.

(And now, so Dood can understand: You go to the website I linked to. You register with them and after confirming your registration, [by clicking on a link they provide via email], you're free to post any number of comments to any number of sites any number of times simply by putting 'zpeech.com/' in front of the address of the site you visit. You don't have to be an Uber-geek or know code or understand gopher ports or anything like that. In fact, you don't even have to register unless you want to post comments. You can read them on any site, like this. Check it out.)

So, I foolishly spent a great deal of my time last night stamping my web presence on any number of the sites I frequent. Like this, this, this, this, this, (can you see that I was busy?), this and even...

Well, he'll see it in 3... 2... BINGO!

(A quick explanation as to why I did that: There are only three, real-world scenarios that can come from this. 1) An enemy of the site finds out about this new technology and drops an obscenity-laced, tripe-filled comment as the list leader. 2) Some mouth-breather stumbles across this in a drug-induced haze and knows - JUST KNOWS - that the site's owner will fawn lovingly over their, "First comment! WOW!" dropping. and 3) a friend of the site visits and leaves something that is at best flattering and at least none of the above. You're welcome. This thing is on the verge of going viral, people.)

And please, I beg of you; PLEASE do NOT leave any comments on any of the pages containing the kids pics. I may ask the exact opposite of you at a later date and if I do so I'll explain everything then.

We hit another milestone tonight: at not yet 27 months of age, D-Man produced his first "poopie in the potty." We celebrated - but no overly so - and then got on with our lives. Namely, baths for the boys. But still. Just over 2 years old and he's getting the hang of being on the potty. You non-parents may not understand the importance behind such an event, so I'll tell you:

It means our firstborn son is an absolute genius. WAY ahead of his time, this one. It also means that he'll be keeping us on our toes every day for the rest of our lives.

Even when The Lumberjack is off his game - which I'm not sure I've ever seen - he's right on. Which means that when he's hitting on even a couple of cylinders, he's the Caber Toss Champion. I know nothing about the man personally, but as a blogger? I know he's a genius. As evidence, I submit exhibit 'A'. Check out his whole site - it's more than worth your time.

AAAHHH! Is THAT the time?!? I've got to get to bed. More random harping against society in general later. But for now, please enjoy...

J.O.T.W...

A man scanned the guests at a party and spotted an attractive woman standing alone. He approached her and asked her name.

My name is Carmen," she told him.

"That's beautiful," he said. "Is it a family name?"

"No," she replied, "I gave it to myself. It reflects the things I like most - cars and men. What's your name?" she asked.

"Beersex," he replied.

Two blondes were driving across Iowa on I-80 when they decided to stop in Des Moines for lunch. They started arguing how to pronounce Des Moines. One said it's "dez moynz". The other said nope, it's "da moin". They kept arguing until they got to the restaurant. Once inside, they stepped up to the counter and the waiter asked "may I help you?" The first blonde said "before we order, would you help us settle an argument? We can't agree on how you pronounce the name of this place. So would you please very slowly pronounce where we are right now?"

The waiter looked up and very slowly said "Buurrrrrgerrrr Kinnnnnnnngg".

One day, an ape escaped from the Bronx Zoo. They searched for him everywhere in every borough. They announced his disappearance on the radio and television as well as in the newspapers, but no one reported seeing the ape.

At last, the ape was found in the New York Public Library. Officials of the zoo and the animal handlers were summoned to the library. They found the ape sitting at a desk in the reading room with two books spread out in front of him. The ape was reading with great concentration. One book was the Bible; the other was The Origin of Species by Darwin.

The zookeepers asked the ape what he was doing.

The ape replied, "I'm trying to figure out whether I am my brother's keeper or my keeper's brother."