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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.

OK - so this is one of the rare, weird titles I use that I'll actually explain. And if you don't need an explanation, you need psychiatric help. Immediately...

You know how - when Frosty came to life, (or in any of his many reanimated forms -- sheesh, that snowman had so many lives you'd think the special should be called, "Frosty the Snowcat." Except that might bring to mind the image of Scatman Crothers slowly bleeding to death with an axe embedded in his back, I suppose. So let's forget the whole thing), the first thing he always exclaimed - rather enthusiastically - was, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY?" Well THAT'S what I'm calling on now...

(And having wasted all that time in setting a rather ordinary premise, we continue with hopes for more brevity - but completely expecting to be disappointed...)

April is a rather busy month for birthdays in the family; four in total -- 2 current patriarchs and 2 future patriarchs. It rivals December's pace, (also 4), but not in levels of testosterone, with only half of those being male, (My boys). And on this, the very last day of April, we celebrate the birth of my youngest, (so far - you never know), nephew; Fat Tony.

So today the baby brother, (aka 'Doctor Destructo'), turns 6 to much fanfare. I hate to say that there can never be enough fanfare in this kid's honor, but it sure seems to be the case. And it is in that light that I give the kid my present:

May you always be able to find happiness no matter your circumstance. I pray that you start to look within - rather than without - for your satisfaction and joy, because that's the only place such things can ever live. Happiness is a house built upon the foundation of gratitude: trying to find happiness on any other base is a fool's errand and will surely lead to ruin. And I apologize for calling you 'Shirley.'

Happy Birthday, Fat Tony.

Oh, quit yer danged whining. We'll also get you a piece of Chinese-made plastic which won't be enough and you'll break in about 4 minutes.

I'm assuming you'll be busy breaking other gifts before you get around to ours...

MAKING UP FOR LOST NONSENSE...

I've been composing my thoughts about Virginia Tech since the instant the details started to gel, but there was just too much there to cram into a single evening. Of course, the reverse is also true; I could write about nothing else for a full week and not cover all the things that I felt needed to be discussed. In that regard, our recent power outage helped in large degree because I wasn't able to go into any of it, at all. Which should probably be a clue as to how I should proceed, but I'm not one for picking up on subtle gestures.

Ever...

First off, I feel no sympathy for the shooter. None. He was an evil, scheming, slime-filled husk pretending to be human for as long as he could. And then one day, he unzipped the shell and let it all spill out over those around him. He should rot in Hell, or what I know of God is a lie. (As a Christian, I have to allow for the possibility of a last-second redemption, and I do. It might have happened...)

As for the shooter's family, I feel slightly less - and sometimes slightly more - sympathy than I feel for the other families who lost loved ones. But not necessarily for their loss, but for the weight of knowing that their kid caused all of it. That's GOT to be Hell if you allow yourself to feel it, and I suspect they do just that.

As for the gun issue, I think you all know where I stand but let me make it abundantly clear all the same: One of those killed was an Israeli professor. As an Israeli and given his age, there is little doubt in my mind that he was familiar with firearms. And given one, would things be different there today? I can't say with any certainty.

But I know this with every grain of my being: I'd rather have an armed Israeli at my back than an islamist with attitude in my face. YOU figure it out for yourself and then feel free to let me know.

And as for NBC, they might as well change their official Wall Street designation to "National Butcher's Choice" because that's what they've chosen to make themselves. As a techie geek, I would love to have the time to research whether or not they've re-structured their e-presence, because I suspect they have.

I would not be surprised to find that they've changed their e-mail addressing format or cleared out everyone's mailboxes or even employed an alias-server in an attempt to distance themselves from the next attack.

I just don't have the time to check the caches, but in a certain way, I KNOW I'm right...

And from the "Most Interesting Lines" file, comes this little doozy. I heard it from -- well, you'll know instantly -- a mere week ago today. There was the 3 of us, wandering through temporarily-empty homes and like any group in any similar circumstance we encountered the usual oddities and strangeness along the way. Sometimes it was a door that wouldn't open without encouragement and at other times it was a cabinet that we were sure held important documentation but was not "open" to being opened.

The sort of thing that happens all the time, frankly. But then came the question. It was more of a request, actually, the way it was delivered...

"Please tell me you didn't have to pick any locks today."

Two things: First, I had to stop and consider the request before answering, "no." Goody for me, I suppose.

Second: The Wif and I both have somewhat shady pasts but in vastly different ways. And in a way that, I suppose, she still feels compelled to be reassured about at certain times.

Goody for me, again...

OK. I have to admit to being really, pretty seriously ticked right now. So much so that - were it not Friday I would lean into a Wif-rant that would likely lead to my divorce, if she bothered to read even two words that I've ever written, that is.

Alright, alright. That's an exaggeration. She has read my past shopping requests.

sometimes...

The quick story is that the kids were with Grandma today for a variety of reasons, while we both worked. The plan was that The Wif would swing by after her time at the office, pick up the kids after they'd received their eventide nourishment and head home for some light aquatic activity before bedtime. The monkeywrench in the plan was my Sister, who - for a variety of reasons because she's a bonehead - had planned a surprise birthday party for her oldest son.

Problem is, it wasn't a surprise to him, but to his guests - as they were invited via phone call mere hours prior to it starting. (I'm beginning to think that you'd actually have to be a member of my family to understand how some of these things happen.)

So, The Wif is in town and prepared to pick up the kids anyway and I call her to tell her that there'll be a change of venue. That's ALL. The complete, catastrophic change in her evening is that instead of going all the way into Denver at 6:00, she can drive just a little ways into Arvada - to a local rodent-themed noisearium - and get the kids there. I've even saved her time on the commute by agreeing to let the kids go.

"You're not going?" she asked.

"No, I wouldn't be able to get there but in time to watch you drive off."

"OK."

(Note to husbands who might have forgotten: an "OK" from the spouse is anything but...)

At 6:46 my phone rings. It's The Wif and I - like the complete idiot I am - think she's calling to tell me they're packed up and on their way home. Is that what I hear? Of course not. I hear, "your daughter would like to talk to you," and my ticket on the Guilt Express had been purchased, punched and redeemed all in one 48 second phone call.

So I'm racing down the hill after a rather disingenuous conversation with The Wif - which ended with me hanging up on her and turning off my phone. I am playing absurd (both for content and ironic intent) at levels Dood hasn't heard since High School and doing my best to remind myself that I FINALLY have reasonable insurance premiums.

Once there, I find that this child; my adorable daughter who could not survive being away from me for such a long time that she forced - FORCED - Mommy to call me so she could BEG me to join her at the party, LITERALLY can't be bothered to say 2 words to me. "Hi" was her sole greeting, and that only after I prompted her.

Flippin' Chuck E said more to me.

(The damned rat...)

Anyway, that's why I won't be going into a big Wif-rant tonight. It's also why the story of my recent absence will be cut short. Let's get to it all the same...

LOST WEEKDAYS...

About last night. Or something like that...

On Monday, we went house-hunting. You all know that. The kids stayed home with a sitter and did crafts, played outside on the deck and in the sandbox. A grand time was had by all - except our real estate agent, because we didn't make any offers.

On Tuesday, I awoke to a disgruntled Wif (and she'd been so gruntled the day before!) who was struggling to wrangle and contain small children in big coats. We had at least 11 inches of heavy, wet, Colorado spring snow on our property and it was still coming down. Later that day, they closed the day care, and the kids had to be retrieved. Even later, we lost electricity.

And then things really got fun...

I don't know (for sure) about you ladies, but I feel confident in speaking for most men when I say that the first few hours of a power outage are challenging and even fun - depending on individual circumstance and the ability to place things in their proper perspective, natch. It's a break in the normal routine - usually welcome - and a chance to prove ourselves and our skills against the raw, stinging nature of nature.

And so it was for me. I knew we had enough candles so that we could still be seen from space, and since I'd installed our new gas stove, we had a way to cook our meals. We'd survive the night. Besides, our friendly energy provider's automated phone system guaranteed this would be a brief outage.

I knew I could believe them because their Rhonda Robot was rather specific: "Your power will be restored at 6:47 PM." I mean, when you're providing that level of detail, you've GOT to be all over it, right? And then, when I called again at about 7:30, Rhonda told me all would be well at 8:19 PM.

Needless to say, I did NOT call at 8:30 that evening. No power was forthcoming no matter how sincere the automaton sounded. And no power meant no website update, and no newspaper blog. But hey - maybe someone was telling me to take the night off, right? I mean, by this time we'd collected very nearly 2 feet of global warming and it was starting to get a little intimidating. The "extra" sleep would be welcome.

Except for one tiny little thing. Take a look at this:

This, my friends, is a sign that no matter how badly your day has already gone, it's about to get worse. Maybe much, much worse. Just so you know it if you ever come across it, here's another angle:

And here...

...is the shot I took just before the thing snapped and fell on me, sending me to the emergency room. Have I mentioned that hospitals now have WiFi?

JUST KIDDING!! I'm fine, (but tired and ticked. See above). I noticed the tree as I was getting out the candles in preparation for the sunset - it happens every night around here, dagnabit - and just happened to glance out the window. What you see in those pics is a tree on the northern side of our driveway trying to get a look at what life would be like on the other side. Maybe it's some sort of forbidden romance that the tree just finally had to take the chance on overcoming.

Whatever it was to the tree, (I suspect painful), it was downright energizing to me. Namely because it was bent directly over The Wif's car and maybe even over my truck. I ran downstairs, awoke The Wif - who was napping and no doubt thought that I'd somehow managed to separate a child from one of their legs - threw on a heavier shirt and my boots, grabbed my keys and backed The Wif's car down the driveway and out of harm's way.

Then, being male I immediately assumed I might change the course of Things Intended. I went to the root of the tree and tried to shake it. I actually heard the tree laugh at my efforts.

Undeterred, I grabbed some of the smaller pieces of firewood and threw them into the upper branches of the giant, bent monster. It didn't laugh this time, but it didn't yield its load, either. I hit true with my first 3 strikes and didn't get enough snow to even build a decent snowball. Which I would have thrown back into the tree anyway.

I think the tree knew that.

What I did get out of that monster was a number of small cracks; and even though I'm not a tree surgeon even I know that small cracks lead to larger ones. And then to one great, big, meaningful one and I didn't want to be around where I was to hear them. I went inside and changed into something a bit more comfortable.

I hadn't even unlaced my boots before I heard *CRACK* *BOOM!* Which was good, because I had to go back out and see what damage it had done to my truck...

After that, the Wednesday without power was a walk in the park. Except having to cut and move that danged tree, natch...

J.O.T.W...

More timely than funny, I admit...

A blonde got lost in her car, in a snow storm. She remembered what her dad had once told her: "If you ever get stuck in a snow storm, wait for a snow plow and follow it."

Pretty soon a snow plow came by, and she started to follow it. She followed the plow for about 45 minutes. Finally, the driver of the plow got out and asked her what she was doing. She explained, that her dad had told her, if she ever got stuck in the snow, to follow a plow.

The driver nodded and said, "Well, I'm done with the Walmart parking lot, now you can follow me over to K-Mart."

ATTENTION! YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE!!

The global warming symposium has been canceled:

That is all...

(No, of course that's not all: details to follow, complete with pics and maybe even some new kid pics...)

Well, even though it was a day "off" for me, (meaning I racked up 9 hours of annual leave), I pretty well feel as if it was a day of work. Perhaps even more work than usual, because we were off house-hunting for much of the daylight hours and deciding where and which floorplan fits us best in the coming years was enough to make me understand why Dood buys his houses while they still exist only on paper: Because that's when and where they look the best and hold the most promise.

But never mind. This is where we are and this is where we have to live: we're shopping in an area where not only is there little new construction, but where new construction exists it's the LEAST desirable option because all the good, big, flat lots have been built upon and the new homes have to go up on land that's mostly vertical.

Thus explains the parameters of our search and why they are what they are. We'll have to find something that already exists that also happens to fit into our list of what we want before we make an offer. And all that being said, we looked at something like 10 homes today/Monday and came away with a "top 4" list. Kinda.

Which is to say that I really liked 4 of the properties while The Wif's ranking of all 10 houses somehow produced a ranking that included 4 at the top. With only something like 3 ties...

Which is really good, in a way: it means that nothing we've seen so far is so much more spectacular than where we already are. In fact, I've started to reverse-engineer the situation and some day in the very near future I'll even ask The Wif:

Given the fact that we have these 3 young children, and given their room requirements, and given the fact that this house is on the market at the current moment and at this current price...

Would we buy it again under that circumstance? Because if the answer is YES, we need to de-list this place and find satisfaction where we already are...

(OK - please forgive all the danged white space from last Friday. I've figured it out in a way that I haven't yet fixed. Which is to say that I have an idea what needs to be corrected but I haven't yet found the 22 minutes I need to locate, update and upload the change to fix the thing. I guess the lesson would be to stay current so that you won't have to suffer said indignity all that often. But that's probably self-serving...)

Oh how I curse my fingers. Their lack of speed, their complete tardiness and their seeming inability to immediately capture on this page the thoughts that I feel belong here. For example...

We attended a fundraiser at church on Saturday evening where we watched children clamor for an intricate balloon design only after/before/during their efforts at having a dragon/flower/frog painted on some part of them before moving on to the other, and - HOPEFULLY - after having partaken of dinner in the meantime.

I mean, we paid for it all, so why not...

Pictures will follow. And I can say that safely knoWing that I've just recently found the camera. It was in between the right pocket area of my pants, the chair cushion and the right-hand chair frame. So I had to dig a little.

Surely you'll forgive me that...

Well here's an interesting perspective: I have too much to say and already too much has been said to ignore. Can't shout from the rooftops, can't deadbolt the front door and load my weapons. what to do, what to do, what to blog?

Don't worry. I'm about to bore you all silly with a small string of nothingness...

J.O.T.W...

Maybe it's a repeat. Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's the time of the year...

The IRS decides to audit Ralph, and summons him to the IRS office.

The IRS auditor is not surprised when Ralph shows up with his attorney.

The auditor says, "Well, sir, you have an extravagant lifestyle and no full-time employment, which you explain by saying that you win money gambling. I'm not sure the IRS finds that believable."

"I'm a great gambler, and I can prove it," says Ralph. "How about a demonstration?"

The auditor thinks for a moment and said, "Okay. Go ahead."

Ralph says, "I'll bet you a thousand dollars that I can bite my own eye."

The auditor thinks a moment and says, "No way! It's a bet."

Ralph removes his glass eye and bites it. The auditor's jaw drops. Ralph says, "Now, I'll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite my other eye."

The auditor can tell Ralph isn't blind, so he takes the bet.

Ralph removes his dentures and bites his good eye.

The stunned auditor now realizes he has wagered and lost three grand, with Ralph's attorney as a witness. He starts to get nervous.

"Want to go double or nothing?" Ralph asks. "I'll bet you six thousand dollars that I can stand on one side of your desk, and pee into that wastebasket on the other side, and never get a drop anywhere in between."

The auditor, twice burned, is cautious now, but he looks carefully and decides there's no way this guy can manage that stunt, so he agrees again.

Ralph stands beside the desk and unzips his pants, but although he strains mightily, he can't make the stream reach the wastebasket on other side, so he pretty much urinates all over the desk.

The auditor leaps with joy, realizing that he has just turned a major loss into a huge win. But Ralph's attorney moans and puts his head in his hands.

"Are you okay?" the auditor asks.

"Not really," says the attorney. "This morning, when Ralph told me he'd been summoned for an audit, he bet me twenty thousand dollars that he could come in here and pee all over your desk and that you'd be happy about it!"

...Yeah, I think it's a repeat too. But given this week and the events contained therein, a repeat might be just the "reset" we need.

At least that's my simplistic view of things. Be sure to let me know if you disagree...

Patriot's Day, indeed. It means little - if anything - to those of us who even bother to remember it. Truth be told, there's an even deeper meaning or significance to this date and if anyone out there can remember it without being told I'd be really, REALLY surprised.

But that's because you're sure to hear all about it anyway. Probably already have. But here's what you may NOT remember:

This is the date of celebration of the birth of a True American Hero. When called, he served; in ways he's still only becoming familiar with sharing with his family. And in a certain sense, I feel that he's only becoming comfortable with the idea of all of us wierdos being "his family."

Sure, he can adapt to being in a war-torn country at it's most dangerous of moments, but give him rebellious male preteens, an independent-minded Wife and a daughter who's control valve knows no shut-off position and he suddenly finds himself in no-man's land...

But like everything else, he survives it. Happy Birthday, Pop.

A FIRST REFLECTION, KINDA...

There's too much bouncing around in my head about the VT massacre at the moment to compose even my usual standard of post about it, much less trying to put together something meaningful and coherent about it. There are just too many facets and cross-references that I have yet to nail down and I can't write about something that's pure ether to me. I like to have at least the suggestion of a skeleton before I go off half-cocked -- all evidence here to the contrary gleefully ignored.

But I will say this, now: the LSM have put on their kid gloves in their treatment of the VT murderer's media statement. They have lain prostrate at the feet of law enforcement, sent all the materials they received from the scumbag killer through the "proper channels" and let us all know that they've done same.

Well Bully for them.

It still leaves at least ONE question unanswered: Where THE HELL was such similar concern on their part when the media outlets - sharing the one rather under-sized brain they sometimes bother to consult in these circumstances - as one voice cried "foul" time and time again as they exposed the leaked details of our Government's efforts against the Islamofascists with such glee? The details about tracing aq's banking transactions? Happily shared with the world. The fact that we're sponsoring detention centers in other countries? Well, that MUST be rushed to press...

But even that is not enough: exposing the truth is nothing when compared to the opportunity presented by all the lies surrounding the so-called "desecration" of the fraggin' koran at Gitmo. (Let me tell you - if a koran had actually been flushed down a toilet I'd willingly pay my taxes and maybe more knowing that the lie of a $600 toilet seat would be well worth my effort - even if I couldn't afford even two of them.) Remember that one? And how about all the (momentary) hysteria created around every one of our military victories? Why, when our country wins a battle or even the slightest of skirmishes, those enemies of ours in our own media are always in a rush to cry, "unreasonable response" or "excessive force" or worst of all, "war crimes."

But it would be a different matter if they were shouting their questions from our border directed at the outsiders. No such luck: They might be on the coasts, but they're yelling within; at the rest of us. And they're asking why we don't care that our Government sometimes goes to moderate lengths to protect the safety of its citizens.

Never mind that they're calling for universal health care to see to each and every person's every hangnail in an effort to win votes make everyone live forever. Doesn't matter. The left's only position seems to be that of, "we want those who are old enough to vote for us, to be able to vote for us." Fetuses? Can't vote. Don't care.

redirecting...

Why would the Lame Stream Media take the time to mention that NAB network received material directly from the murder and then air segments that are presented only with the official Stamp of Governmentalese? Well -- why would they spread the unreleased details of our GWOT WITHOUT Governmental permission?

The answer is a question: "Which one puts The President in the worst light?"

Well well. Guess who's the world's greatest superhero? (Only my brother would answer 'Green Lantern' so I don't want to hear it.) It's me, natch. And knowing what yesterday was will only spoil the surprise but I'm going to tell you all the same.

(If I didn't, there would be no need for this site.)

I did our taxes yesterday/tonight/Tuesday. Mere hours before everything was actually due I went to my chosen online providers, filled out the screens with the necessary information and got pretty much exactly the news I was expecting: we owe the Federales 1,100 dollars plus a handful of quarters. Last year it was twelve and a half, so the reduced income from The Wif taking 5 months off of work was reflected appropriately.

The other side of the equation is that we're due back 665 American from the State, so we're out of pocket roughly 4 and a half small. Not bad, overall, and FAR better than one of the stats I took note of while filling in the screens on my Federal return. This site said that the average refund - AVERAGE, mind you, meaning "MOST" in almost every calculation and circumstance - was over TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS!!

Folks - if that's true, (and I have no reason to believe it's not), (I'm also feeling really, really parenthetical tonight), then I have only to SCREAM from the rooftops: "LOSERS!!"

Seriously, do you NOT understand that all those numbers you're messing with and trying to find a home for on all those government forms actually represent divisions of YOUR money?!? You might be filling out a Federal piece of paper, but you're manipulating your own pocketbook. Worse yet, the tax forms are a backwards-glance, not a glimpse into waiting 6 to 8 weeks for your refund, as the system would have you believe.

Your income information? Last year's. Your mortgage interest? Already paid - now accounted for. And the same is true of everything else you're dealing with. All too often taxpayers fall into the trap of thinking that they're toying about in the government's vault and the right turn of numbers might yield them a healthy check in turn.

With this mindset, it's no surprise that three of the first four months of the year are besotted with imbeciles "bragging" about the enormity of their refund check without recognizing the ironic nature of using the word 'refund.' As in - getting back your own money...

So if the stats are true - and I forget the exact number so let's guess on the low end - the average refund is something in the neighborhood of $2,300. That means that you have given up the right of usage of YOUR OWN MONEY to the tune of...

• $44 every week if paid weekly
• $88 every two weeks if paid every two weeks
• $95 twice every month, if paid bi-monthly, AND...
• a whopping $191 per month, if paid monthly.

I'll leave it to better minds than mine to calculate a 12% return on those investments over the course of a year instead of leaving it in the hands of our rich Washington Uncle who pays exactly ZERO PERCENT on every dollar you loan him.

So, what kind of refund did YOU get?

One of the things that sets me in such a procrastinary mood as regards our taxes is the fact that I've had to write such a large check to the Feds each year. Sure we get most of it back through our State return, but I still feel the pain having to write out, "one thousand," at the beginning of the check.

The other problem - if you follow this to a logical conclusion - is that I have to complete the Federal return in order to do my State return. Even though it would make sense to do the returns, file the State, get the lion's share of my Federal debt and THEN file my Federal return complete with payment check, there's a real problem for me in that plan. Namely, I now have not only the full picture but the bad news about the check I have to write. Add to that the ability to write said check and the absolute overwhelming feeling that I'd like to get the whole thing behind me and over and done with already and I've crafted the perfect excuse for waiting until nearly the last hour to complete my taxes.

Besides, given the status of the debit and the credit, I e-filed the State return and snail-mailed the Fed. Complete with a check that I totally hosed of it's magnetic ink by running a very powerful magnet across the routing number -- they'll have to hand-process that bad boy!

Of course, in recognition of the difficulty and under-appreciation, (turns out I'm also feeling hyphen-rific tonight), of what they do, I also included a little note in the Memo section of the check.

WHAT?!? "Choke On It" IS a little note...

I have to admit to being really, really ticked off right now. Well, ticked off and saddened. Perhaps even ticked off, saddened and even a bit incredulous. And speechless; I find myself speechless in spite of all past historical evidence to the contrary...

A sane mind will never be able to understand the motive "behind" whatever crazed, evil madmen do. That should be accepted by definition. But worse is the fact that so many people are left behind without a single point of reference as to what their loved ones suffered and why the had to do so. That's the harder question.

The question without answer, as it turns out...

But my mind has been playing "make believe" all day. It's not in the hope of finding a solution or of averting such attacks in the future or even that of sympathy/empathy with those who are currently suffering: it's just been an exercise in the "what if" business and I resent every moment of it.

What If this and What If that -- what does the future hold and where would we turn if the worst came to bear itself upon us? Maybe the fear of such loss is what keeps so many couples childless. After all, if we were about our children - and they were lost to us - what would be left to keep us going?

But when we get right down to it, what else really matters in this world? Who would count it as a blessing that we'd changed 3 tires - NOT our own - and jumped a dozen cars when it mattered most to their owners?

And most importantly, who else would note that guns are both the question AND the answer at times? But I suppose that's not the question at this point; right now, we'd rather investigate the question as to why the gunman chose to ignore the signs that declared the school a "gun free zone."

Unless that was the point to begin with. And we sure hope that announcing that the entire student body was utterly defenseless wasn't the point.

Unless somebody missed something in the translation...

OK - this will be as short as me crouching under a passing train. Or at least Heaven knows it should be; it's a whisker's breadth short of 11 on a Sunday night. And it was a very, VERY long Sunday at that. As you feared, I'm about to explain...

I should say at this point that I actually love this site. I either write or maintain things at a number of other online establishments, (nothing up to Code Monkey's numbers but enough to where I feel slightly beyond whelmed all the same), and I honestly cannot explain how it feels to open up the software that creates this stuff without using the phrase, "coming home." It's comfortable and challenging all at the same time.

I feel as if I'm obligated both to you, the reader, and to myself as purveyor of some sort of online presence that I'd like to be proud of. I usually fall way short of the latter mark and that of course leads me to feeling as if I've failed in the former, too. The answer, of course, is that I have a grand, eventual design in mind that'll be slicker than shag carpeting on the Sky Slide.

Or whatever that green monster was called. But it matters not, because I don't see myself able to put it all together for another decade. Or until D-Man or The Binkster - or BOTH - join the online crew here and decide that the old design is just, "SO Dad" that they recreate it themselves.

I only hope to be kept on staff at that point. If they should put me out to pasture I'm likely to have forgotten what would be expected of me...

And now? The point, kinda.

Saturday was interesting, in a "full of baloney" sort of way; the gals had gone about their usual weekend rounds and I had time here with my boys. Always a challenge -- always louder than it should be and always fun, entertaining and educational. As much as I'd love to spend every minute with the two of them tucked under each arm while rocking on the couch, I know that's not fair to anyone involved. So the roam and only sometimes come 'round to check in with me. The house is full of gurgles and giggles as the boys discover the world and each other.

It's a special time that's only matched by putting them down for their naps.

Well, kinda. I have a long list of things that have to get done and only those 2 hours D-Man is asleep to see to most of them. It's a selfish view but it has it's practical side. After all, isn't the house better off if there's a lid on the chest which houses the blankets, (which D-Man tore off earlier in the week)? And doesn't it then follow that said lid should be protected by a child-averting latch? And it's not like you can do those sorts of things when young boys are awake and prowling the floor.

Except that I did, I guess. I had procrastinated the whole thing to such a point that my brownies were still cooling when the boys woke up, so I had to rebuild the cabinet while dodging their helpful hands (and bodies) and attach the kid-lock while they were locked into their highchairs and enjoying dinner. But it all worked out.

Brownies?!? Yes, brownies. Peanut Butter Brownies, to be more precise, (many of you have enjoyed the recipe already. The rest of you can ask for it). It was necessary that I create some kind of bringable because we were slated to attend a party called for by one of The Wif's friends, hosted by another of The Wif's friends in honor of the visitation of a third Wif's friend.

(You can read the meat of it elsewhere; unless you can't. I'll try to keep up...)

(This was also posted elsewhere. Some of you will have already learned that and others of you will be left to guess that. Enjoy.)

As a parent I'm finding that just because I seem to hold more sway with a certain child and their behavior at a certain time - say, for example, because I'm able to calm The Binkster's rabid, banshee-like cries when he feels that his feet have spent too much time in contact with the floor - that I'll somehow have earned my 'cred' when I'm tested in another circumstance with that same child.

Let's say - just by way of example - having to administer a dose of medicine that Binky Boy would rather not take. I know I can step into the void without fear, because I have a certain power over this child in a completely different context, right?

Oh, stop your laughing; we'll get to the stories in the next paragraph...

So I'm holding the boy in the familiar, upright, stomach-to-stomach, one-armed clench when I approach with the syringe. He shakes his head from side to side but I'm not concerned, because he listens to me, right?

He rejects my first attempt and the dosage only slightly touches his fuzzy pajamas -- on it's way down my chest and stomach. But I'm not concerned, because I exercise a certain power over this child, right?

I cradle him tightly in my left arm, (after reloading the syringe), and go in for another pass. I safely ignore his screams because he's sure to take the dose THIS time. I also decide to shoot the entire payload into his mouth all at once...

...Which he immediately spits/sprays all over my lower face, only to have the rest of it dribble onto my left arm and side. This is quickly becoming a battle of wills. But since neither of us is named "Will," I decide to have another go.

I'm not concerned, because I blah, blah, blah, right?

I fill the syringe - AGAIN - and this time I put him on his back, on the floor, and hold his head steady. Or as steadily as I can as I pump the dosage into his mouth. He emits a small spray across my eyes, turns his head and starts to choke and cough.

I keep a watchful eye on him as I stand up, only to see him stand up, cough time and again, look at me with questioning eyes and then walk away. Coughing.

(awwwwwwww...)

So after 20 minutes and roughly 3 cups of medication I think I was finally able to get the required 1/2 teaspoon into the child - NOT counting whatever ended up in his lungs.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go take a shower lest I stick to the sheets...

J.O.T.W...

(This one is unknowningly courtesy of our unmet but not unproven long-distance friend, A. I'm not the one regularly in contact with her, so I don't know her well enough to give her a better, more fitting nick-name. So, thank you and please forgive me...)

A boss wondered why one of his most valued employees had not phoned in sick one day. Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialed the employee's home phone number and was greeted with a child's whisper

"Hello ?"

"Is your daddy home?" he asked.

" Yes," whispered the small voice.

May I talk with him?"

The child whispered, " No ."

"Yes."

"May I talk with her?"

Again the small voice whispered, "No"

Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss asked, "Is anybody else there?"

"Yes," whispered the child, "a policeman".

Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee's home, the boss asked, "May I speak with the policeman?"

"No, he's busy," whispered the child.

"Busy doing what?"

"Talking to Daddy and Mommy and the Fireman," came the whispered answer.

Growing more worried as he heard a loud noise in the background through the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, "What is that noise?"

"A helicopter" answered the whispering voice.

"What is going on there?" demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.

Again, whispering, the child answered, "The search team just landed a helicopter"

Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated the boss asked, "What are they searching for?"

Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle... "ME!"

We can only hope the boys can do better than that! (And I suspect they will...)

(Happy Birthday, B.I.L...)

I believe it was 362 days ago that many of you were up here sharing a special (to me) Sunday afternoon at The Stonestead. Many more of you didn't make it and I still feel bad The Wif's basic mistrust of the postal service meant that at least one of you weren't invited at all.

It was a great day and a grand surprise and a memory I still cherish. My continued thanks to not only those who made the trip but to those of you who wished me well just 2 days later...

I'm of course talking about the surprise 40th birthday party that The Wif organized for me. It was great to know that I have so many people in my life who are genuine friends. I'm grateful for every one of you. And that includes each of you who sent me emails and wishes of good will today, (Wednesday), (every one of them female, it's probably worth noting). For 'twas my birthday once again.

And as I type this, it still is -- for a few hours yet. Hours I intend to selfishly spend enjoying myself and then going to bed early.

Thank you all. It's touching, to say the least.

See you tomorrow...

There's so much going on out there that eventually some of it was destined to penetrate even the kid-frantic buble that currently surrounds my life. So here's what I have to say about that...

(In reviewing what I wrote, I should warn my readers with more sensitive constitutions that I get a little crude with the language; I don't think you'll find anything here that's not acceptable on prime-time television - to our great, collective detriment. If you choose to visit Ziggy instead, I'll completely understand. But you'll have to first give me credit for following through on a promise from yesterday. For once...)

The Don Imus flap interested me for roughly the 2 minutes between the time I first heard about it and the time I was able to locate and digest the details thereof. The cultural implications are more telling than the event itself, frankly. Do I care that a behatted skeleton called the members of college basketball team "nappy-headed ho's?" Not in the least, and there's nothing out there that could make me care about it.

Well, maybe if said skeleton were attacked by a race-baiting, lying, racist, victim-pimp I might spend about 10 minutes writing something about it. But until that happens, don't expect me to say anything about it. I mean, why should it matter that some guy talks about a group of girls using the language that they themselves most likely employed in the locker room the evening of the event? Wouldn't we have to be crazy to care about that?

The democrats are really pissing me off. In fact, they're proving themselves to be even more incompetent that I thought they were. And I'd set that line WAY out ahead of them, or so I thought.

san fran nan needs to step down - something she's far too power-crazed to do - or be removed from power by her party: something they're far to power-crazed to do. It is ILLEGAL for a representative of the US government, other than the President or those that he appoints to do so, to contact foreign heads of state with the intent of expressing US will. Guess what she did and what should happen to her?

Her little jaunt to Syria is more than enough to put her behind bars for 3 years, but will anything come of it? Of course not. The dems are too smug with their perfectly ordinary November victories and the administration has been so busy trying to play nice with them that they've thrown out their spines with the bath water and can't be bother to actively prosecute efforts to undermine the war we're in.

And THAT'S another thing: As frustrated and bedeviled as I am by the weakness of the Bush Administration in this regard, I have to say that at least they're doing it right; they may be going soft on their political opponents but they're serious about taking the hot war to those who want to kill us. The dems have it EXACTLY backwards: they'd rather give victory to al-qaeda than to George Bush. But at least they're mostly honest about it.

I couldn't - and haven't - said it better myself.

I'm sorry, but... Wait. No, I'm actually NOT sorry at all, because I KNOW that being unwilling to fight is a sign of weakness. If you have NO principle which is worth fighting for, then you are a quivering jellyfish, devoid of spine, resolve and strength.

Please understand that I'm not saying it's OK to take a tire iron to the clerk at Subway because you found a sliver of onion in your sandwich after you told him - TOLD him, dammit! - NO onions! I'm not trying to justify senseless violence, but rather am singing the virtue of standing behind principle in strength. And you don't even have to throw a single to do that. Allow an old man a small diversion along a rabbit path...

Years and years ago I was dating a lovely young redhead. We were out at a movie with her younger sister when a couple - roughly our ages - sat in the row behind us. Did I mention their blood alcohol level was "Kennedy?" It was and it was obvious in the way they were giggling, talking loudly and generally disrupting things around them. I'm sure we weren't the only ones who noticed, but nobody did anything about it. Not wanting to "cause a scene" as my Grandmother might have said.

And then, one of them puked. And while we didn't collect a majority of their dinner, we were splashed. It was at that moment that I...

...Allowed my date's younger sister to go and complain to an usher. I know; it's not a story I'm proud of and maybe even one that those of you who really know me have a hard time believing. I hope that's the case, actually. But part of the point here is that I learned from that little slice of humiliation. I grew. I changed. I "evolved," if you will. In short (TOO LATE!!), I'm NOT the same little twerp I was at 20. I no longer cleave with slavish devotion to failed theories of pacifism, because I know how much they sting.

Fear of confrontation and fear of failure - while both are fear - are completely different animals to the human creature. They treat us differently...

Which may or may not be an adequate segue into this thought. The democrats, (and God willing this is the last time anyone will EVER type this phrase), led by john edwards, have already practiced their surrenders in a different theater; the field of televised debates.

I imagine most of you have heard that the entire democratic field, with the single exception of the raelianistic dennis kucinich, (sorry, raelians), have decided to opt out of a democratic debate because it would be hosted and televised by Fox News. I'd say this were red meat for their base, but one gets the impression that most of their base consists of Level 5 vegans who won't eat anything that casts a shadow. (Blatantly stolen from The Simpsons)

So here's my final question before the last 8 minutes of Twilight Zone is over: if these intellectually-lazy arseholes can't go to a friendly forum, (the network is trying to expand their viewer base, right? Can they do that if they're openly hostile to the dem candidates? Everything comes down to the open market -- yet another real-world concept that eludes the grasp of the so-called "reality-based" community. How much longer can they lay claim to that moniker?) and debate one another, HOW IN THE HELL can the American people expect these testosterone-deficient asshats to actively engage foreign powers in a meaningful way?

Am I the ONLY one who imagines pretty-boy having to bring his Mommy along on diplomatic tours, and then running to her when the negotiations take a less-than-good turn? "MOMMY! He said we're acting in an imperialistic fashion! Make the bad man stop, Mommy!!" How are these idiotic pansies going to deal with the likes of mass murders like kim jong-il and ahmadine-whack-job and the murderous mullahs of iran if they piss their pants at the prospect of having to talk to Brit Fraggin' Hume? It's almost as if hillary is the only one among them with any balls.

They're bill's, of course. Her turn to use them and all...

...and then there are times when I'm sleeping. Granted, I'm much more dork than sleeper lately, but you already knew that, right?

I had made a special point of staying up beyond all reason on Sunday night - after an already ridiculously long day - and re-dedicating myself to at least giving an honest effort at producing 2 semi-quality pieces for Monday's readers. (I had also hoped to be well-rested enough by Monday night to deplete The Stonestead's Strategic Qualifier Reserve. So that's one mission I can safely put behind me.) And not only did I put I put in at least two quarter-arsed efforts, (do the math), but I also loaded, ran, emptied and re-loaded the dishwasher, dried a load of wet, clean clothes, ran a load of dry, dirty clothes and was in bed at the crack of Midnight.

All this effort was successful only because I was able to avoid the toil and drudgery of those 2 and 1/2 minutes it takes to transfer my files from local laptop to Worldwide Server. Many of you noticed the lapse and for better or worse, if you missed it's late appearance yesterday, it's included with today's offering. Just look below...

And sorry for everything it's going to cause when it happens again...

EASTER STUFF...

We arose late on Easter Sunday -- The Wif both earlier and angrier than I. "Late" of course being a relative term that in this case roughly translates to Eight am. Too late to make the early service but that's exactly how we'd planned it: late waking, late walking, late worshiping. After all, somebody already went at sunrise for us

And somebody had already done the heavy lifting for us over the Sabbath. We felt entitled to sleep in. Not that that's a sin or anything...

(Join us tomorrow when I finally call for the censure of diane finestein and the resignation of nancy pelosi. It's a sure bet that their allies in the LSM will bow to the pressure I create. Because, doesn't everyone?)

Well, I had an interesting experience this Easter weekend. One involving a lost wallet, actually. But FIRST...!!

Friday was my scheduled day off, which meant I was much busier than I normally am. I got up and took my new, improved anti-ulcer drugs, (the early verdict of which is that they're completely lousy with side effects which makes them much better than the earlier drugs and slightly better than the ulcers themselves), spent some time with my kids, (who are pound-for-pound as noisy AND adorable as you're ever going to find in the Americus Minorious breed), and then headed to church to serve a couple of hours as Interweb Guru Tutor.

The new Board of Elders, (almost as frightening a phrase as "2nd Lieutenant"), has decided to make web updates the job of the Office Administrator, so it fell to me to demonstrate how they're done, as well as to survey the computer and see if it were lacking anything necessary to complete the job.

She was able; the PC wasn't. I'll spare you the technical gobbledygook.

But in the span of our shortened time together, she told me how her Father had lost his wallet recently, and then managed to lose the number of the guy who'd found it. We remarked about how remarkable it was that someone would find a lost wallet and then go through the effort of tracking down and contacting and returning it to its rightful owner. I'm sure that conversation weighed on me heavily enough to influence what happened later...

On Saturday morning - from 9:30 to 11:30 - we had a showing of our home scheduled. That was good because things had slowed down considerably, (READ: two whole days passed without a showing), but bad because it meant an early-morning MAD DASH to get our bodies out of the house by then was in our future. Much pain, it promised.

But then again, "Ketchup's" Mom had emailed to alert us of an Easter Egg Hunt in a nearby town that was taking place at 10:00 that very morning. It was all falling into place. You know -- Holy Saturday, 19°, snow on the ground, snow falling from the sky, kids bundled into parkas and unable to use their hands through the various gloves and mittens they were wearing, (D-Man wore 3 gloves and 2 mittens - don't ask how)... Nowhere else says "Easter Egg Hunt" the way Colorado does!

...And on the way there I got a call from our agent telling me that the potential buyers had canceled the showing. Proves they're not fit to live up here, I guess. We continued on to the Easter Egg Hunt because we're made of the heartier stuff that qualifies us to live in these climes.

As said hunt was winding down, I was following The Binkster - who was determined to prove that his legs worked in snow - when he dropped a glove, (one of the 19 he was wearing).

Right on top of a wallet that was sitting on the ground in the snow...

So - after turning around twice - I headed into Lakewood to track down this kid's (Oh man - I AM old!) address and return his wallet to him. I found the place, walked up the stairs and proceeded to knock on the door of his storage unit. D'OH!! Wrong end of the building. South side of a northbound mule, as it were.

As I knocked on his door and noticed that I wasn't getting an answer, (as expected), I also tested and found that his front door was unlocked. Worse comes to worse I could just chuck the thing through the door and leave him wondering how he dropped it THERE. Curious, though: did he figure that any potential robber would first go through his wallet and decide that his home would similarly have nothing of value to take, or was he just a sloppy sort of guy, thereby eliminating the question of why his wallet would be on the floor in the first place?

It was a third floor condo, and one with only 2 other doors on that level: one that led to another unit across from his and one that was barred by a light blue door that led to the storage units on the back of the place (the steps I could've saved had I known that earlier). So when I heard voices in the parking lot - and somehow knew one of them to be the owner of the wallet - I headed down the stairs.

Only to see "Mike" standing at the bottom of the stairs wondering who this weirdo was that was heading down the stairs that led to his front door.

"You Mike?" I ask as I walk down the snow-covered steps.

"Yeah..." he answers - and then glances quickly behind him at a friend I had not yet seen.

"Yeah, you looked familiar," I say, pulling his wallet from my coat pocket, "mainly from your drivers' license photo."

I missed his initial response because I was trying not to stumble on the stairs and crush his body under the uncontrolled free-fall I would have undergone, but the rest of his response spoke very well of him; he said they (he and his friend "Erik") were only there to check if he'd left his wallet at home. He shook my hand firmly and well. He asked if I'd driven down solely to return his wallet. He said that he only had $15 and wished he'd had more money in order to offer me a reward. He asked what he could do to make it up to me. He offered that he'd trimmed trees in the past and would be willing to do it for me by way of compensation. He shook my hand again - equally firmly.

This is a guy with a strong sense of right and wrong and an even stronger sense of gratitude. Healthy attitudes that portend a vigorous and robust future for this young man. I predict a long and prosperous life for him...

(An interesting note: he said he recognized ME from that very morning. He even named the town and the circumstance, but not the Egg Hunt, as he was Unburdened Of The Joy Of Children. I was skeptical, until he turned to Erik and asked him to recall said circumstance. "You were piloting The Death Star," Erik said in not-quite-those-words but close enough for me to know that their story was true: they had spotted me. I hope it was a favorable experience even prior to me returning the wallet...)

As for Easter Sunday - or Easter pics, for that matter, they'll have to wait until tomorrow. But based on what I've seen and remember, it's well worth the wait...

Luke 22: 1-20:

1 But the festival of Matzah, known as Pesach, was approaching; 2and the head cohanim and the Torah-teachers began trying to find some way to get rid of Yeshua, because they were afraid of the people. 3At this point the Adversary went into Y'hudah from K'riot, who was one of the Twelve. 4He approached the head cohanim and the Temple guard and discussed with them how he might turn Yeshua over to them. 5They were pleased and offered to pay him money. 6He agreed and began looking for a good opportunity to betray Yeshua without the people's knowledge. 7Then came the day of matzah, on which the Passover lamb had to be killed. 8Yeshua sent Kefa and Yochanan, instructing them, "Go and prepare our Seder, so we can eat." 9They asked him, "Where do you want us to prepare it?" 10He told them, "As you're going into the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him into the house he enters, 11and say to its owner, `The Rabbi says to you, "Where is the guest room, where I am to eat the Pesach meal with my talmidim?" ' 12He will show you a large room upstairs already furnished; make the preparations there." 13They went and found things just as Yeshua had told them they would be, and they prepared for the Seder. 14When the time came, Yeshua and the emissaries reclined at the table, and he 15said to them, "I have really wanted so much to celebrate this Seder with you before I die! 16For I tell you, it is certain that I will not celebrate it again until it is given its full meaning in the Kingdom of God." 17Then, taking a cup of wine, he made the b'rakhah and said, "Take this and share it among yourselves. 18For I tell you that from now on, I will not drink the `fruit of the vine' until the Kingdom of God comes." 19Also, taking a piece of matzah, he made the b'rakhah, broke it, gave it to them and said, "This is my body, which is being given for you; do this in memory of me." 20He did the same with the cup after the meal, saying, "This cup is the New Covenant, ratified by my blood, which is being poured out for you."

Luke 22: 39-46:

39On leaving, Yeshua went as usual to the Mount of Olives; and the talmidim followed him. 40When he arrived, he said to them, "Pray that you won't be put to the test." 41He went about a stone's throw away from them, kneeled down and prayed, 42"Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, let not my will but yours be done." 43There appeared to him an angel from heaven giving him strength, 44and in great anguish he prayed more intensely, so that his sweat became like drops of blood falling to the ground. 45On rising from prayer and coming to the talmidim, he found them sleeping because of their grief. 46He said to them, "Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you won't be put to the test!"

Luke 22: 63-71

63Meanwhile, the men who were holding Yeshua made fun of him. They beat him, 64blindfolded him, and kept asking him, "Now, `prophesy'! Who hit you that time?" 65And they said many other insulting things to him. 66At daybreak, the people's council of elders, including both head cohanim and Torah-teachers, met and led him off to their Sanhedrin, 67where they said, "If you are the Mashiach, tell us." He answered, "If I tell you, you won't believe me; 68and if I ask you, you won't answer. 69But from now on, the Son of Man will be sitting at the right hand of HaG'vurah," 70They all said, "Does this mean, then, that you are the Son of God?" And he answered them, "You say I am." 71They said, "Why do we need additional testimony? We have heard it ourselves from his own mouth!"

Luke 23: 20(ish)-25

(...Pilate) 20appealed to them again, because he wanted to release Yeshua. 21But they yelled, "Put him to death on the stake! Put him to death on the stake!" 22A third time he asked them, "But what has this man done wrong? I haven't found any reason to put him to death. So I'm going to have him flogged and set free." 23But they went on yelling insistently, demanding that he be executed on the stake; and their shouting prevailed. 24Pilate decided to grant their demand; 25he released the man who had been thrown in prison for insurrection and murder, the one they had asked for; and Yeshua he surrendered to their will.

Luke 23: 33-38

33When they came to the place called The Skull, they nailed him to a stake; and they nailed the criminals to stakes, one on the right and one on the left. 34Yeshua said, "Father, forgive them; they don't understand what they are doing." They divided up his clothes by throwing dice. 35The people stood watching, and the rulers sneered at him. "He saved others," they said, "so if he really is the Messiah, the one chosen by God, let him save himself!" 36The soldiers too ridiculed him; they came up, offered him vinegarn 37and said, "If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!" 38And there was a notice over him which read, THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.

And then things started to get interesting. Not that they weren't already...

Happy Easter, everyone

J.O.T.W...

A man was driving along the highway and saw the Easter bunny hopping across the middle of the road. He swerved to avoid hitting it, but the bunny jumped right back in front of the car and was hit. The basket of eggs and candy went flying all over the place. The driver was a very sensitive person, as well as an animal lover. He pulled over to the side of the road to see what happened to the Easter bunny. Much to his sadness, the colorful Easter bunny was dead.

The driver felt so awful that he began to cry. A woman driving down the road saw him, pulled over and stopped. She got out of her car and asked the man what happened.

"I feel terrible", the man said. "I accidentally hit the Easter bunny and killed it. There also may not be an Easter because of this. What should I do?"

The woman told the man not to worry, that she knew what to do. She went to the trunk of her car and pulled out a spray can.

She went over to the Easter bunny and sprayed the contents all over the furry animal. Miraculously, the Easter bunny came back to life, jumped up, gathered the eggs and candy, waved its paw at the man and woman and hopped down the road.

Fifty yards away the Easter bunny stopped, turned around, waved and then hopped down the road. Fifty yards away the Bunny stopped again, turned around and waved. In about fifty yards, he again stopped, turned around and waved.

The man was astonished. He couldn't figure out what was in the spray can. He asked the woman, "what's in your spray can, what did you spray on the bunny?"

The woman turned the can around so the man could read the label. It read: "Hair Spray. Restores life to dead hair. Adds permanent wave."

Oh, and Happy Easter too, while I'm at it...

I honestly wish I could share with you the view I currently have: Shazbot!

It's both beautiful and empty at the same time, while being refreshing in the reassurance its repetitive nature offers.

All nonsense to a point, of course. But if you're inclined to do so, you can check out my code, search on "Shazbot," scroll up a small slice and see what I mean and understand what I'm looking at here.

Not that any of it matters much, I just thought that some of you might find it interesting is all...

The more I watch The Twilight Zone the more I realize how very important it was not only as a mere television show - which was just a void waiting to be filled, if you ask me, (and is still found waiting) - but as social statement. It embraced and showcased both the popular idealized "should-be" feeling of the day and the thoughts and wills of future people's, (READ: Today's) lives.

Of course they got it all wrong, but that's the nature of the prognostication business. To paraphrase another circumstance; you pays your money and you takes a guess at the nature of the game you're playing. It's just that simple.

(Or to re-play it in yet simpler terms, "you pay for 3 rings that need to be tossed over the necks of milk bottles, only to find yourself throwing ping-pong balls into goldfish bowls." Surely one is easier than the other but you've signed up and even paid for one game, ... -- ... only to find yourself engaged in the other.)

NEVER MIND.

It was the Dark Age of TV. Everyone involved was looking for a reasonable way out of their involvement. Or such is my guess, given the current state of where their work led us all..

First off, I need to tell you what I think is a really cute - and perhaps very poignant kid story. I didn't think you'd object...

Last night - or rather, Monday night - was the beginning of Passover. It's a strange Holiday not because it's so widely held in ignorance but because it's so widely held in disdain by so many people who claim to be Christians. They read The Book, believe every word and accept it as Universal Truth, yet somehow turn their hearts against and their backs to Passover.

(I'm really tempted to add, "Let those with ears to hear..." but that would be gratuitous.)

So we had our own, modified, Christian-themed Seder dinner as night fell on the first day of Passover. I led the ceremonies, (after all, I've taught Bible Study so I'm the natural expert, right?) (Those of you who don't understand the shot I've just taken at myself are free to write and request an explanation.), and as expected, my main audience was a wide-eyed, reasonably attentive 5-year-old girl.

I have to admit that it was rather awkward. Sort of like meeting the Pope, the President, your future In-Laws and that cute little redhead you had such a crush on in the 5th grade all while wearing just your boxers and that threadbare pair of socks you keep around even though your Wife keeps telling you to toss them. But I got through it all the same. I had my Bible at the ready and was well prepared to jump to the reference material should I need to, but I was able to remember all 10 plagues - if not in order.

I'm sure some Biblical scholar somewhere has commented on the importance of the order, but we weren't trying to get "M" her doctoral degree; we were enjoying the importance of Yeshua's Last Supper - a Seder. And the lesson stuck. Frankly, I was afraid that the only thing "M" would remember was how badly the wine tasted, but I'm getting used to being wrong.

At dinner tonight, one of "M's" early questions, (for the Hour Of Sup seems to be prime time for bringing questions to the old people), was if we would do again tonight that which we did last night. Of course the answer had to be "no," because last night was Passover and tonight wasn't, (never mind that tradition holds that it was: we'll cover that bridge when we shall see. Or something like that), and we'd continue with our normal routine.

Even better, she told us how she'd related our Seder-Supper experience with someone (I forget the name) at school and a small argument ensued about whether Monday night had anything to do with Jesus. I wouldn't expect the typical Christian child to accept the idea that a Monday evening could even remotely be associated with anything Christ-Like, so the disagreement is not much of a surprise.

The best part of everything so far is me imagining the teacher rolling herself into a little ball in the corner of the room over the discussion of a couple of preschoolers.

(Just kidding, in a way: the kid's teacher comes across as a rough-and-tumble broad who's seen the world and wasn't too surprised by it. Coping would be beneath her, but she still sometimes has to yield on either principle or paycheck. Like the rest of us, in other words.)

So my darling daughter was paying attention - and even moreso than I imagined. Good for her, but I'll have to remember that she has an ability to listen even if she blocks it more often than uses it...

The other thing that happened tonight... OK: reality check. Do you all remember reading above that I had my Bible at my side but didn't have to refer to it? Well, D-Man remembers seeing it and tonight during his last diaper change mentioned "Read Da Bybl" to Mommy. Mommy in turn sent him out to ask the favor of me: "Read Da Bybl." Unfortunately, he went to my Com-A-Man recliner while I was in the kitchen preparing Binky's final bottle. He probably said "Reed Da Bybl" to the back of my chair, but that was worth exactly what you'd imagine it to be.

I went in, read to "M" - Strawberry Shortcake, chosen she had - and upon my return The Wif announced that I should probably read a Bible story to D-Man, because that's all he's been asking for. He was even sitting quietly in my chair - something that's been a battle to see happen - flipping through one of Mommy's books while calling it a Bible.

So I went through the children's Bible in search of the story of Job. 'Never too early' being my reasoning. But it wasn't there. D-Man instead heard about Rahab (doubt her significance? James 2, as I recall), and of the fall of Jericho.

He even seemed disappointed when I put The Book away. Maybe I've guessed wrongly as to which boy will be the preacher...

YOU cannot possibly imagine the amount of exhaustion that's currently coursing through my body. And if you'll allow me to whine about it some more, you'll discover exactly how it all came -- What's that? You don't care about how late it is or how tired I am or how both conditions came to be in this room at this time?

Well, good for you...

What we're about to see happen in the Middle East could not possibly be faulted to the U.S., but it will be all the same by certain elements within the leftists of the world: iran takes hostages, (something completely out of their character or history), blames the rest of the world for their extended stay in their country, keeps them alive only insofar as they prove valuable to the ruling mullahs interests and then releases them only in the face of a serious threat.

But there's the missing element: the serious threat. All other conditions are in place, but we're lacking a Reagan to bring it all to a conclusion...

Years - even decades - ago, the country had a clear leader who was clearly in charge and clearly rough around the edges, as the rest of the world saw him. We could look past that offense because he was surely one of our own and not only did he talk the role, but he strided past those who would pretend to climb the fence toward the office in favor of doing something real and tangibile that the poseurs would be incapable of.

But Reagan has long passed from the pubic eye, so why do I mention him now? Well, after the dust settled in 2000, I commented to a co-worker that I earnestly hoped the new President would be more like his Father's Boss than his Father. And for a time I was proven right: tough talk was followed with a strong rebuke at a minimum and a backhand across the bow when need be. But there became something more to my eye...

The Presidency - either holding the office or having to leave the office - weakens men. They yield too easily to the call of power or they shrink in the face of no longer having the power, but by their first day of being "citizen President," they're pretty well spent.

So even though the election is some 19 months away, I'm begging you just one favor: vote for strength.

Because whomever wins is going to need it...

MAN! what a weekend I had. "M's" appointment had been moved to Saturday morning at 11:00, so that meant that I'd be up with the children, (as planned), but that Mommy would tote "M" away under her arm sometime in the teens-past-ten leaving most of the rest of the day to me, my sons and our own devices. In a few years that will really prove interesting, but for now it mostly involved the boys fighting each other over an inconsequential piece of extruded plastic - or worse yet, a piece of trash found on the floor - or over which boy would sit on which of my knees.

Which was still pretty cool to watch. We could wrestle and connect or they could wrestle and connect and occasionally touch base with me - literally - and all was still good. There was little need of those qualities of "manners" or "politeness" or of "asking permission" before one of us jumped on the other. It was the kind of a Saturday that was needed all around, if only as a refresher in the manly arts.

The alternative was 3 hours of bungee-hunting, and I'm not sure Binky's up to it; I don't think his spine is ready for the shock of it all. Plus, I'm not convinced that the elk are yet in full run just yet, so we might be wasting ammo at this point.

We'll examine it again in the Fall...

And then there was Sunday. On Sunday, I'm happy and almost proud to say that we were able to nuke at least 3 homes from The wif's spreadsheet. The full story is that we left after the Palm Sunday service, stopped at a friend and former co-worker's home in order to see if we really wanted her cast-off furniture, (again) and to invite her to our Church.

In long and in short, we'll yet have more of her furniture in our house when next I can find the time to drop by her place. (The difference being that The Wif actually desires that I stop by this locale as compared to, say... the local Hooters franchise. As if she has grounds to worry along those lines.)

And here's the tiresome secret to this weekend most recently past: I was managing our 3 kids, and at times I was forced to manage the three evil-spawn of my sister. They know me, so we shared some common ground, but still...

My first task was changing poopy diapers, but everyone already knows that. My next task was trying to avoid sneak-attacks against my "rear guard" as I held Binky Boy. Not exactly a cake-walk.

My last task was trying to convince my oldest 2 nephews that every phrase in the English language that contained the word "CAKE" didn't actually involve an actual cake, was the toughest of them all...