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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.

It's only Wednesday (for me, as I write this) and already its been a week to forget, blog-wise. Irony is dripping from my veins and plodding half-truths wander the landscape with some vague memory of my contact information. (As I sit here, I envision Star Wars type war drones lumbering across the horizon with my visage on their screen. "IT'S A PERSECUTION, PEOPLE! TO ARMS - TO ARMS!!!)

...and now for something that should make some sense...

My absolute favorite site is Lileks. He's my blog-Father, in a very real sense - so at least you'll know who to blame for all this crap - and I love his ability to tell a story. He can make the usual UNusual in a way that nobody else can. Even his self-serving dreck is interesting.

I read everything he writes for public consumption, and I'd read his grocery list if he made it available online, (which he sometimes does, but in narrative format; "picked up brats, wine and those potatoes that everyone likes.").

What I find interesting this week is that his life is a very controlled mess, (which shows what comes from living a very controlled life), and he has uncharacteristically allowed his daily site to slip into a bit of chaos. Completely reasonable under his current circumstance and understandable given his situation, but rather out of character.

A cynic might decide that he's finally yielded to the pressure and become a "student of the grape" in every bit of the worst way. A fan (like me) will fall on the side of his being distracted, (after all, his current livelihood is in the balance and in the hands of people best suited for shoveling monkey dung at the zoo - as judged by their recent managerial decisions - and unable to recognize the true talent in the room while looking at him), and perhaps set off by the change in schedule caused by his informal lay-off and the recent Holiday.

At any rate, his site is off. By at least a day and in a certain sense of content; he hasn't carried through on a promise he made earlier in the week. His updates are late and they seem to be a day behind.

Sound familiar? Yes, you've seen the same happen here this week. And I'm deeply sorry for it. I should have risen myself to the task I've set for myself, but I didn't. I would like to say that I couldn't, but that's a different argument.

I'd like to apologize for being such a Lamey McLame this week. I should've brought better game, but it was beyond my abilities and time constraints. After all, I have to sleep some time.

Like now. But in the meantime, let me just advise all of you to watch "Firefly" by any means necessary. It's a great series with great stories and fantastic actors. And for those of you with short attention spans, it only ran for 14 episodes.

Perfect for all you ADD'ers out there...

OH KREP! I was just writing my bit for the newspaper, (which they never print anymore, so the question arises as to why I would bother to contribute to the non-effort, except for the fact that I realize that they're pursuing a good model: Local pages, local content from local folk. In a local section published for the local audience. It's what newspapers can do best these days. And without the international overhead, they'd be more free to focus on their online content geared towards those who share their zip code or those who are interested in said zip code.

Of course, it's a difficult truth for them face because for years and even decades the "local" newspaper was more of a Known Voice in the community as an outlet for those established world-wide information pools like upi and the ap.

But with the advance of the Internet all that's changed: news is not only instant but it's free from bias - unless that's what you want and then it's easy enough to find. There are newsstreams and RSS feeds and sites so plentiful that you could do nothing but spend all your waking hours online reading or trying to read your favorite sites. Believe me, I know.

But then, all of a sudden, you'd be reminded of what really...), when I realized it was past midnight. 12:00 is usually my nemesis, but especially so today. A busy day with my Brother has worn us all out. Every one of the rest of them proved that by falling asleep on the way home.

Sure the ride will be shortened as we move into town and closer to ALL my brothers, (for better or worse,) but for now? Nap-central as best I can tell. Except for the one behind the wheel.

You'd think that would be enough to forgive his extra 20 minutes in the rack this morning, but you'd be wrong...

"[G]ather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with choicest flowers of springtime.... [L]et us in this solemn presence renew our pledges to aid and assist those whom they have left among us as sacred charges upon the Nation's gratitude, the soldier's and sailor's widow and orphan." --General John Logan, General Order No. 11, 5 May 1868.

I didn't know him either, but there's a fascinating online bio to be had here. In some ways he's just another nameless vet, (and he was a candidate for Vice President) that most people will never, ever know.

But then again, that's pretty much what this day is supposed to represent: all those faceless, nameless, unknown-to-us people who have served in the cause of our freedom to question the value of their service - as the debate now goes - and especially those who "gave their all."

Which is to say, those men and women who have donned our country's uniform, gone off to follow orders in a strange and foreign land and somehow managed to lose their life in so doing.

And where would we be without them?

Enjoy your day off, but please don't forget the spring that waters...

I got a new beard trimmer recently an whoa, whoa there big guy! You can't just go off and announce big, exciting news like that without getting the people ready. You want they should all die from heart attacks or something? Shut up. No really. I mean, I can just see your readers - both of them - clutching their chests in violent attacks whilI'm about to create a violent attack of my own...

... I'll be good

ANYway, as I was setting up my new beard trimmer I plugged in the unit, stood it in the stand, put the brush and the oil where it belonged - and then for some reason DIDN'T put the combs in the slots provided. I know there was a good reason for not doing so, because I remember thinking it was a good reason at the time. What I don't remember is the reason, or where I ended up putting the danged combs. Which is a problem, because a beard trimmer without combs is basically a razor.

So I started looking for them - taking into full account my own personality and quirks and habits. I immediately found the push button from The Wif's "shower caddy." It had fallen off about 2 months ago and hadn't been heard from since. (It was behind the toilet.) I then searched through my sock drawer.

Now, I'm a short guy; I can walk under large breeds of dogs without stooping or mussing my hair. I have a six foot tall armoire and my socks are in the top drawer - well above the level I could look into - so I have to reach in blind and hope that I haven't set any mouse traps in there that I've forgotten about. I find my 2 (2) saddam 500 dinar bills, my John Elway commemorative first day edition and an 18-foot tie down that should be in the back of my truck.

To paraphrase Groucho, "how it got in my sock drawer, I don't know." But this is exactly the kind of thing that always happens around here and I'd really like to know if it's unique to us or if it's part of the human catalog of behavior: does everyone find everything except that for which they search? I know it's not just me, because The Wif searched for literally years for a pair of earrings that she borrowed for our wedding.

I think she found them sometime around our 5^th anniversary, but she eventually found them. Maybe if I start looking for earrings...

Those Toyota Tundra commercials are crazy. Dropping storage containers, carrying a load across a fulcrum only to fight it on the other side and racing through closing doors and stopping before falling off a cliff. Very powerful images, and I think that's exactly the word they hope comes to mind: powerful.

They're also effective. I am - though I never saw it coming - a "truck guy," (how else do you get the gazebo home?), and after seeing these guys perform, I will definitely consider a Tundra when it comes time to replace The Death Star. Of course, they're setting the bar to a new level that Ford and Chevy have so far ignored, or maybe they just haven't had the time to set up with a camera crew in the Grand Canyon.

But one thing's for sure; the envelope's been pushed. It will soon be broken...

Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

J.O.T.W...

A new business was opening and one of the owner's friends wanted to send him flowers for the occasion. They arrived at the new business site and the owner read the card - "Rest in Peace."

The owner was naturally angry and called the florist to complain.

After he had told the florist of the obvious mistake and how angry he was, the florist replied, "Sir, I'm really sorry for the mistake, but rather than getting angry, you should just imagine this: somewhere, there is a funeral taking place today, and they have flowers with a note saying, 'Congratulations on your new location!'

A lesson in perspective, one might imagine. And one that it would seem I sorely need...

And one of those things is blatant dishonesty. NOT blatant atheism - I'm not yet a good enough Christian to spend one minute in concern over the thought of where those knotheads will spend eternity. I know I need to get there and I can see it on the path before me as something I will have to struggle with, but I ain't there yet...

At this point in my development - for whatever reason - I seem to be completely focused on the truth; searching for it, finding it and sharing it. Maybe because I'd fallen for all the lies of my past and culture and education when I knew I was too smart to do so. So I'm making up for lost time now. Maybe because I see the harm that accepting lies has done to the world around me. Maybe because I think "yes" should mean yes and "no" should mean no.

But I felt the record needed to reflect the truth. More updates as needed, (probably exactly none, would be my guess).

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT...

I come to you from a position of submission. I had been fighting my future; trying to redefine it in any way possible that might allow me to salvage some sense of altitude. Or perhaps even preserve a certain part of an altitude:attitude ratio. But that's not to be.

I want to keep the family and the kids up here in the remote location we've enjoyed thus far. The Wif wants to move us closer to family and further into town. To further complicate things, the "family" in question that she wants to move closer to is MINE. The cynic in me wants to say that she has somehow missed the fact that she feels I can't leave my family in spite of all evidence to the contrary. But maybe that's just me.

So I weigh the pros and cons, and then I do it again considering the needs of my family. After all, that's what's expected of a Father. And I find myself only slightly less ambivalent on the whole thing. I mean, I'm supposed to serve my family, but how am I not doing so when I place a priority on the general principle of setting up an archery range and motocross track on our property but in an area that won't greatly disturb the neighbors?

WE NEED SPACE FOR THAT, WOMAN!!

But then, I took a stroll through a Target store this evening and was shocked at what I found there: animated, specially-programmed water sprinklers. Rapid fire water guns. All sorts of RC vehicles, (ALL of which I would have killed to have as a child), pogo-sticks, swimming pools, battery-operated kid vehicles...

And more. Even down to simple sidewalk chalk. NONE of which we can make use of in any of the areas I'd really want to live in right now. And since these things can't be reconciled, I have to be The Man and agree to serve my family by moving us into town.

I've always known this. I've even been willing to accept it on a certain level in theory. Well, today the theory hit the road and I was the one walking away limping. All because of sidewalk chalk.

Hell, I even looked a gazebos. Yes, me, looking at gazebos. I never even pictured myself as a gazebo guy, frankly...

Oh - you didn't know we were on that subject? Well at least one of you should know that we are. And you also know WHO you are. Everyone else can stand down while I threaten to release a certain IP address and email address, (because I KNOW that's not your real name I won't bother), into the public domain.

Got your attention yet? Good. Pay it so now...

Your hatred of Christians - and people of Faith in general - has been noted and I think it's even passed all the cursory leftist tests; vitriolic? Check. Vocal? Check. Without a single shred of any proof to back it up? Check. A 3:1 English to F-Bomb ratio? Check. Public note of your taking of a scalp from a conservative? AHA!!

GOTCHA, snapperhead...

I've set, baited and sprung the trap here and you can't claim victory. I REFUSE to acknowledge you, to name you or to do anything other than taunt you from the winning side of the field. (Take THAT, you doorknob!) What are you going to do now? Quote this on your own blog? I DON'T NAME YOU, YOU PUKE. I don't even identify you in any way you might use. (To my friends and family; you were warned. skip ahead if you even think you understand my oblique references) You might be Andrew Sullivan or Christopher Hitchens, (though obviously not), or you might be Samuel Swordswallower of St. Paul or Gordon Goodsmoker of berkeley california.

But the one thing you aren't is honest. No, wait! The two things you aren't are honest and well-informe.. The THREE! things you aren't

You get the idea, (if you've ever watched Python).

To address your first lie, AGAIN: Jerry Falwell NEVER said the gay teletubbie was gay. He quoted a Washington Post story which quoted homosexual "rights" organizations which were rejoicing in the fact that a "gay" character was shaping the opinions of toddlers vis-a-vis the field of sex roles.

Purple and carrying a purse - plus the fact that his her its antennae was the "gay-pride" symbol, an upside-down coathanger, (what importance does this hold as far as their alliance with the pro-abortion forces, one wonders?), the pro-homosexual community celebrated tinky as one of their own. That's what the WaPo story reported. And they were accurate in doing so.

As was Reverend Falwell. And your wishes to the contrary don't change that. (BTW - why do you attach meaning to the word 'Reverend' when it's carried by al or jessie, but not so much when Jerry is introduced? Is it possible that you're, "mixing religion and politics?")

As to your new, second lie: one guy - a student of Rv Falwell - preparing slow-burning pipe bombs to counter protests at his funeral does not a radical student body make. Are you prepared to say that ALL the students at Virginia Tech are out-of-control, girl-obsessed gun-nuts because a single nutburger among them was? If so, that's a pretty strong charge and you'd better take a look at ALL of the groups to which you belong or with which you sympathize, because you've now made yourself a part of the very fringe-iest of the people there.

You ready for that? Really?!? Just let me know

you creep...

Just to set the record completely straight while it's still early enough that there's a decent chance I'll be able to do so, I should probably make clear that we have not yet sold our home. Which is actually a very, VERY good thing because there's a sudden discord as to where we should be looking for a new home: I LOVE living in the "stix" or the "boonies" as we used to say. It's quiet, remote, less populated and it seems like you can get more bang for your buck out here.

Of course - and this qualifies as another update, BTW - my Folks just put a contract on a place kinda in my old neighborhood. I didn't frequent the street they're buying on, but I was able to find it without problem, if you know what I mean. (Think, "large, suburban buying center on the north side of town, peaked in popularity in roughly 1989" and you'll have some idea) And since my sister lives roughly 44 blocks north of that location...

Well. Now The Wif wants us to relocate somewhere within that Google-zoom square, too. This means moving INTO the city. And you are free to imagine how much I'm in love with THAT idea.

It has it's advantages - every circumstance on this earth can claim at least some advantage, (my dark sense of humor is telling me that even those people saddam fed into the industrial shredders were freed from the next mortgage payment or visit to the in-laws' - so there's that). And one of those advantages had better be air conditioning. After all, with global warming and all, I'd better be prepared.

I only hope that I'm able to convince her that the higher the address number - so long as it's followed by a 'W' - the better. We'll see...

I'VE BEEN CHUCKLING EVER SINCE...

OK - I might be the only one amused by this, but I'm sure it won't be the first time THAT'S happened here. Although it might just be due to my sleep-deprived psychosis. Let's find out, shall we?

You know how you're driving around town, minding your own business when you spot that annoying bumper sticker? (Now calm down ladies, I'm not talking politics here, as you'll see) That lamest-of-all-advertising method that goes something like, "Lose weight now, Ask me how!" or "Earn $5,000 per month from your couch, Ask me how!" or even, "See the world as a roadie for marilyn manson, Ask me (very loudly) how!"

Well, I got behind one of those this afternoon and I was inspired. An idea came to me that made me laugh out loud. So I kicked it around a little, re-worked the wording to make it fit and then chuckled about it a little. I was going to save it for Friday but I really wanted to see if it were as funny "in print" as I thought it was so I put it together and now humbly offer it here for your review.

So, everyone take a nice big drink of that morning coffee and click here to view.

And feel free to let me know what you think...

I don't know about you, but I can certainly count this weekend past as one of my more busy - yet least productive - of all time. I even count Friday as part of that, because it was my scheduled day off. Now, you'd think that adding an extra day to the count would work in my favor, right? After all, even a couple more dishwasher loads of effort should boost my productivity numbers...

You silly, silly reader you. This is MY life we're talking about here; a place where logic exists as either a theory or as something that someone once read about happening in a foreign land. (By way of example, I give you this mantra: "the shorter child's on top, and the tops are on the bottom." I have to recite this to myself - while standing in front of a 4-drawer dresser - whenever I dress the boys or am asked to retrieve a particular article of clothing for one of them. I long for the day when they are the same size and we can have just 3 gigantic drawers: 'socks & undies,' 'shirts' and 'pantaloons.' They're on the verge of feeling the same way.)

But whereas, 'in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king,' it does not work the same when you replace logic for vision. Apparently. It's the best explanation I have...

I spent much of Friday moving and lifting and sorting - The Wif was going to be a part of a garage sale on Saturday and had spent much of the previous week collecting, cleaning and pricing clothes, barware, (like we need THAT now) and other sellables with the view to unloading them on other suckers parents and customers. I had to go out to our storage unit, (located in an area we were once looking for a home but now proves to be about 50 miles from where we'll end up), to reclaim a folding table, then take all our stuff over to the site of the sale - plus my hand-truck.

Why the hand-truck? Well, don't you know that I was assigned the duty of helping our garage-sale hostess move some furniture into place for the big day? I didn't mind - she'd really helped me out when I needed it most - but still, a pain in the arse, (the ingrate said).

Then the big day. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of merch up for sale, two women ready to wheel and deal and kids clothes as far as the eye can see. This would be BIG...

Indeed. Our friend/co-host sold enough to get $0.18 change from a single Fourbucks coffee. The Wif was $0.72 short of buying 2 of them. Well, THAT was certainly worth all the effort!

The only good news about the day was that I worked a wedding and was able to scrape in 80 bones. Given the multiplicity of the effort, even that doesn't make it all worthwhile, but it was a nice side-effect. The kids liked it, though, because Grandma's Sugar-Filled Traveling Roadshow of Complete Approval Of All Destructive Acts made an appearance here for several hours.

Yippie-Ki-Ay, Cowboy...

Sunday saw The Wif going to an overly-priced kitchen gadget show. I brought the kids home, fed them pre-cooked, already frozen, heat-and-eat, chicken-ham-cheese conglomerate chunks then put them to bed.

And then took a nap on the couch. I mean, what the heck? The weekend was already shot anyway...

ON 2 TOPICS THAT REQUIRE COMMENT...

Jerry Falwell's death last week was an interesting occasion to test the political swamp. And it proved far more interesting than even I thought it would. But that's not what this is about - because the issue contains far too much rich soil that I alone could till. Instead, we'll focus on something more in line with this site: Political cartoons.

Most of what I saw in the days following his passing consisted of a single theme: this man was the first to mix religion and politics. Ever. Without question. And we're all the worse for it in every phase of modern life. All because of what Jerry Falwell did.

Sheer idiocy. These are the same people (LSM'ers) who hold JFK and Martin Luther king Jr. in such high regard. HELLO?!? Anyone paying attention here? Did those guys tend to mix religion and politics in any way, (much more so in the latter case - a superficial "victim's role" in the former)? Was there never before a politically-active preacher in this country the world? How about Bishop Tutu - whom the left holds such respect for?

And more to the point, how about the Puritans? Sure we wouldn't want to live today under the neck-crippling weight of those enormous buckles, but who can deny that they mixed politics and religion in quantities that threated their winter stores of same? It seemed they were inseparable, if you bother to learn the history.

But I've saved the foot-long putt for last: the Founding Fathers. Go ahead - I dare you - try to prove that they separated religion from politics. Hell, I double-dog-dare you...

And in other news, in the greatest case of projection ever noted by the mental health community, jimmah earl has decreed that the Bush administration is the greatest failure ever in the area of foreign relations.

Where do I start? Which approach is the most effective in this kind of circumstance? Has the irony already streaked the hands of those whose fingers are touching their keyboard? OH THE AGONY!!!

I guess, (he said, picking up the blunt axe), I'll just state the obvious: The Idiot carter started his grand wizz on the world with an early announcement: America is concerned with America. Given the time of this announcement, it might be the most benevolent thing he ever did.

Following that, he weakened US positions around the world. Shortened rotations and reduced presence. Hooray for us! We're keeping to ourselves!

Then he withdrew support for the Shah of Iran, because he wasn't the perfect leader, (like jimmah). I think we all knew what happened next, but I'll remind you all the same: abc started a 'hostage watch' show on late night television which evolved into, "nightline."

An unforgivable sin...

I have just written about 400 words on my denver/rocky post inlet. It's more than I would normally try, but I was the honest party in the transaction, frankly. They shut me down. THEY cut me short.

And please don't think that I'm complaining about the geography or necromancy or methodology of what we're going through. They experience it as well. It's just that we'll go through shortages and outages.

I hold them free from blame. Because they pretty much are, as I believe/know that power is sold along the lines, rather, the blocs, that empower us.

Doo-Dah, Doo-Dah...

I know Christmas is still a long ways off, (221 days), but it might be nice to pick up a few sets of these for the cu board of regents. It's clear from their decision to suspend The Idiot churchill for one year - instead of kicking him to the curb - that they're deficient in the area in question. It might be nice to allow them to at least appear as they were intended to.

Although, to be honest, I'm surprised even at this level of "discipline." Frankly, it's been so danged long in the doing that I thought they'd just keep drawing it out until everyone forgot about the whole thing and they could walk away without having to do anything. I suspect the only reason anything was done at all is because their fundraising efforts were met by all too many answers like the one I give when they call here: "Is The Idiot churchill still collecting a paycheck?" and then a slight, clicking sound...

Sheesh. The idiot churchill copies someone else's work and passes it off as his own, lies about his ethnic heritage, calls the innocents killed on 9/11 "little Eichmans" because they had the nerve to go out and earn an honest living, incites students to violence during an academic hearing... I mean, what's it take for these castrati to actually FIRE a professor?

Oh yeah -- I suppose it could happen. But only in theory, right?

Ron Paul is an idiot. I say this knowing that most of you have little to no idea who the idiot in question is - or, worse yet, are wondering why I'm taking a famous transexual to task. Well, ron paul is one of the "GOP 10;" that select group that's seeking the Republican nod for President. And I'm guessing that since I had no idea who he was until a couple of months ago, most of you still have no idea who he is. And since I can't be bothered to watch the Presidential debates - 18 FRAGGIN' MONTHS before the election - I'm guessing that most of you aren't glued to your sets when the 10 dwarves are on.

It might be a bit of a leap - and I'm certainly not saying that I'm better than anyone out there. It's just an educated guess that I'm more plugged into the political landscape than most everyone I know. In fact, it probably speaks more ill of me than of you; that whole, "get a life" theme and all...

At any rate, during the most recent debate, the Congressman (if I could half-capitalize that word I would), from Texas (they haven't irritated me lately), said that we need to understand why they attacked us. We need to be sympathetic to their feeling of being "invaded" because we have troops in Iraq. We have to get to the point where we're once again loved and respected in the world, and we do that by getting our troops out of everywhere.

Well, I couldn't take it. But if he choses to wear his idiocy on this lapel like a badge of honor, the least I could do is to put a big Ol' greasy thumb-smear on it, right? I went to his House site and "contacted" rep. paul.

Thusly:

Namey McName
email@dot.com
Sometown, CO
subject: I agree with the need for a withdrawal
comment: YOUR withdrawal. Get out of the debates. Get out of the campaign. Get out of MY party. Your insane idea that we brought the attacks on ourselves proves your lack of mental capacity and utter incompetence to lead this nation. Your remarks are much more along the lines of kerry's "global test" and as such deserve to be mocked and ridiculed. "Sure a-q are ruthless murders and ideological zealots bent on conquering the world, but we have to believe them when they say that they'd leave us alone if we leave them alone." How childish. How naive. How completely undeserving of the title of "President..."

(Have the same fun yourself! Click here to visit his contact page and send your own message.)

The Wif is sure that my name is on a list somewhere; maybe with Homeland Security, possibly with the FBI or MI-5. I keep telling her that she's crazy. The list is named after me...

HORROR OF HORRORS...

I can't believe it. As we've embarked on this search for a new home, The Wif has already surprised me at least a couple of times. I think I've already mentioned that she's announced her desire to raise chickens. The very phrase makes me wonder: "Raise" chickens? To what level? Are we supposed to teach them how to write, or would recognition of letters be enough? Seriously - what are we raising chickens to be - dinner? And if so, how much work is really involved in that, aside from swinging the axe and cleaning the carcass? (Both jobs that I'm certain would fall into the same set of hands which are currently residing on this keyboard. When would I have time?)

But her biggest surprise came tonight, when she announced her intentions with the Dreaded Three Words: "I've been thinking..."

Seasoned husbands recognize the danger in the phrase. Namely that when Wif's think something should be done because it could be done with what they perceive as a minimum of effort and expense, it's because they're clueless as to the levels of effort and expense actually required. I could blame us and our unwavering ability to try and make ourselves look good by down-playing the actual effort expended, but that would alleviate them from blame. So let's not do that...

The Wif's newest idea involves searching for a home much closer to town. In fact, she's exploring virgin territory - as she knows it - but is actually stomping on the hallowed graves of a thousand memories to my mind. And I let her know it.

She's actually gone about searching for homes in the vaunted "004" territory, (add the decade to the front). "Here's one," she'll say. "Michelle," is my response. "This one has lots of space and an open design," she'll point out. "We might well run into Beverly at the grocery store," I say. "This one is in your parents' new neighborhood," I'll hear. "Beautiful/M I K A L A" used to live there," I'll respond.

We go on and on in like fashion. Eventually I tell her that every 8000 zip code "hit" for a home will end with that home having a name. It's an exaggeration, but just slightly. After all, I did say "zip code" and not "neighborhood."

Now THAT woud be an exaggeration!

"...and wound that Mr. Smithers..."

OK. It's been a long day and I still have a small amount of it in front of me -- sitting like an unwelcome stain on the living room carpet, (my, but that was inane and stupid, wasn't it? Can anyone imagine a stain that would be welcome on the living room carpet? Well, maybe if an image of the Virgin Mary suddenly appeared and you were able to sell it on ebay for millions and retire to your ideal earthly paradise, I suppose), and I'm in a strange mood. As you've probably guessed by now...

Just odds and ends today. No real thoughts on anything of substance - not that that's stopped me in the past or is likely to stop me in the future. But you already knew that, right?

Not that I'm trying to become one of those one-tune, self-absorbed websites, but the high temperature here today was 41°. Now, if I remember correctly, this stuff is called "GLOBAL warming," not, "warming everywhere but in Stone's zip code." It was cloudy and cool and it was mid-May.

Please realize that I do this to show that I'm reaching a different conclusion and offering just exactly the same amount of scientific evidence to the argument that the other side does. AND - as one who is still able to remember the rules of scientific experimentation - would desperately like to revive them as a part of this debate. I mean, if they can claim global doom and gloom because things seem warmer now than what they remember from their time as children (6 decades ago), then I'm equally as valid in refuting their clamins based on thick fog and cool temps in mid-May.

It's a reminder to be careful how you frame your claim. Because your critics are then free to use your technique.

One of the reasons for this lame "worst of" reel is that I've expended most of my mental energy on trying to figure out whether the chick from the Hillshire Farms commercial, (click the link, hit the "view the TV spots" flag then click the red "2" on the TV - no direct link), would be attractive as a stand-alone, or whether she just looks all that much better because she's in the middle of a parade of human freaks.

I mean, she's a redhead - so she's got that going for her...

In further proof that the Internet has - for the time being, anyway - reached and surpassed it's maximum level of usefulness, word has come today that I am a "googlewhack."

Knowing that this will upset and shock a number of you - and confound others as to what this means as regards our relationship, I'm prepared to explain the various ins and outs so as to put your mind at ease.

First of all, as to how you will be expected to address me now, I will allow and respond to such terms as, "Your Google-hood," "Your Google-ness," "Grand Google-Meister" and the ubiquitous "Your Highness," of course. The following terms are discouraged: "Whackster," "WhackMeister," the shortened, "Whack-er" and "Googen-Heimer."

Anyone using the following terms to address me will be punished to the fullest extent that my new status allows: "Whack-guy," "G-Whack," "Whacked-G-diddy," "Goo-Waah," "G-K, (without further adding "stud") and "picklehead reverb."

So now you know...

well, everything except what's relevant about the term "googlewhack." A Googlewhack is what happens when an unusual and unexpected pair of words are entered into the Google search engine and a single result is found. That is to say, a search is done on 2 random words and the search result is a list of just ONE webpage.

A helpful - if lazy, (Now that's just unfair! His exact phrase was "procrastinating grad student" so I should use that instead and just have), correspondent from Great Britain informed me of my 'whacked' status yesterday. For which I'm grateful, in a certain way. J.B. let me know that I was Googlewhacked AND he let me know that he was a grad student.

In this modern world, that plus his email address is all I'd need to learn much, much more about him, if only I'd bothered to do the research. But he seems like a nice enough guy, so why bother? In fact, I kind of feel as if I've become part of his doctoral thesis with this response, actually, so I'll wait for HIM to make me famous.

Oh. I should probably tell you exactly how I've been whacked: "pterodactyls filibustering." Sure it sounds like me, but I'd like more proof, frankly. Who's to say that this wasn't the result of some weirdo pretending to be me? I mean - who would be able to tell the difference?

So keep your eyes out for "Picklehead reverb." That'll be the real test of my Google-ness...

Before I begin any of my usual nonsense, I'd just like to hope that I speak for my readers - both of you - by saying that our hearts and prayers go out to the soldiers captured in Iraq and to their families and friends. Let's all lift them up with a kind thought and hope that the murderous dead-enders aren't in too great a hurry to have brunch with "allah."

Of course - and in all the seriousness the situation requires - the plea from the captors, "stop looking for them," sounds all too much like the end of that sentence is, "we're afraid you'll find them!" Aside from the fact that these... (nearly issued the "sensitive eyes" warning there)... barbaric scumbags somehow managed to capture 3 of our finest, they really are a complete joke.

I mean, they might know the area better than our guys, but we have high-resolution satellites pinpointing increased enemy activity. We have choppers with infra-red cameras that can see without being seen. We may even have fitted these guys with GPS chips, detected their location from 90,000 feet above the planet, sent in first-strike responders, rescued the troops, killed or captured the (alleged) bags-of-scum and are holding the news so as not to give away too much intel to the enemy.

But maybe not. The bad news is that when these islamo-fascist huns "invite" "guests" to their homes, it's not to have the Westerners program their Tivo, ("Look: just select al-jazeera as a favorite network. Then enter 'jihad,' 'beheadings,' 'al-qaeda' and '72 virgins' as both title and subject to record...").

May The Lord be with the captured soldiers and with those trying to find them. May he comfort the families and may He grant good sense to those who will report this story's conclusion. Whatever that may be...

AND NOW - HAPPY, HAPPY TIME..!

OK, sorry. That's a rough transition. Sort of like shifting gears without using the clutch, (or some other analogy that Dood's sure to point out to me at his earliest convenience, I hope). Still, the modern technologically-driven world of instant response - of commentary before conclusion - of verb before final object...

Yes, I'll stop. But thanks for asking all the same.

Today - Tuesday - is my father's birthday. He's like, 127 or something, so it's probably time to let our hair down, (he's voluntarily bald), and celebrate like it's 1899.

I'm joking around, natch. He doesn't read this site or - I think - even know of it's existence, so I can afford to jab him anonymously in the ribs at this time. I'll have to call him to express my goodwill at his surviving another 365 days, and that will be the most recent conversation we've shared since late last October, when he met his Grandchildren.

It's a strange life, this life of mine...

FROM THE CLARIFICATION FILES...

I'm sorry, but to paraphrase the great Yogi, things get late real early around here. By the time we get the boys to bed/sleep and the house is a-drone only in the buzz from kid monitors, it's time the grown-ups should be in bed. But I feel an obligation - and to myself only - to write.

So I do. I write some oblique weirdness for this site, something nearly passing for readable on the newspaper site and I try to scratch out a paragraph or two on other projects. It's unfair to every obligation, to every reader and ultimately unfair to myself, too.

I'll have to work on that, I suppose...

But for now, allow me to clarify some of the details about my folks' home sale. Namely, that they hadn't even had the place on the market. Weren't even trying, as the country song goes, (I'm guessing on that one). One day, a guy with what we hope to be a big checking account knocks on their door and asks what it will take to get them off the land. They name an amount and the guy says that if certain conditions of the land are up to snuff, (READ: county code), they've got a deal.

2-day-long story short, they were scheduled to close on the sale yesterday. They now have until June 14 to vacate the property. Prime building season for the territory, but the developer might have made a mistake in this case: he told my folks' that they could leave behind anything they didn't want to move, since they'd be doing a total tear-down and rebuild.

If it were up to me - given that offer - that guy would go broke in dumpster costs. Not to mention all the krep that the other family members are sure to bring over. This could push back the completion date by at least a year.

Hope the check clears early...

Well, my Folks sold their house(s), and good for them, frankly. They'd been hoping for such an outcome for a number of weeks now, but with no result. Guess they hadn't deserved it/prayed enough for it/done enough planning in order to make it come through for them.

Except that they had. They'd covered all their bases and even come to the conclusion that they'd have to make the best of what they had where they were, before they'd experience new real estate.

Funny how that's always how it happens, right?

So they now have to move. It'll be easiest on them - strangely enough - and hardest on the feral nephews who had finally settled into living their weekends in a semi-detached hard-walled dwelling best described as 'Guest Friendly' by a Realtor trying to list the property.

But the best part is that they need neither: They aren't selling the home, they're selling the land. And as a result, it's no surprise that they didn't need a sign in their their yard to advertise their intensions. Another's will - in complete compliance with their own - came along and completed the transaction for them...

I'll be taking pictures of the transformation, if only because nobody else will. And I hope to be boring you all to death with them in about a month's time...

Whether we like it or not, commercials are a part of our life. It's probably a remarkable compliment to our society, culture and economy that we allow the open market to sponsor our mass entertainment rather than paying yearly fees to the gubermint in order to have them provide our soothing broadcast bromides -- but I'm too danged tired to mount the argument right now. You'll have to either take my word for it, (in spite of the evidence to the contrary I'm about to provide), or take me to task for it...

There's an ad - several of them actually - for a mortgage company running on the radio stations I regularly listen to. It's one of those situations where the company owner's ego is so big that they had to take separate cars to the studio, because, you know, the guy insists on recording his own ads.

To be frank, I don't have a long list of companies for whom this has worked - can't recall a single example of it - and this doof is no exception. He's linguisticly awkward, stresses all the wrong words/phrases at all the wrong times, is suffering the worst sort of projection, (he calls other lenders "predators" for charging closing costs while he's adding an extra 1% to the market interest rate for his loans), makes strange leaps of logic in his text and expresses himself in rather questionable terms.

But other than that, the ads are great.

His latest is a spot wherein he claims to believe that, "what goes around, comes around." He then goes on to say, "...if you harm a child, somewhere down the line - in this world or the next - someone's going to work on you with a blowtorch and a drill."

WHAT?!? Ok, first of all? Disgusting. Even if - like me - you're inclined to agree with some grain of the underlying sentiment, hearing it spoken thus over the public airways is just over the top. And somewhat more importantly, what the HELL does that have to do with home mortgages? Is there some sort of alternative universe where agreeing to torture those who hurt children is enough to suddenly make one take out a new loan on their home?

Yeesh. No wonder he tries to appeal to people too cheap to pay closing costs on their loans; the poor sap's too cheap to hire a decent ad agency and get a commercial that makes sense.

KID STUFF, QUICKLY...

The Wif has recently read, "The Stong-Willed Child," but for all the wrong reasons. Or rather, for all the wrong motivation. See, at first we thought that "M" would be Child Of Will in question, so I'm fairly certain she went through the pages with "M" in mind. The only problem is, in the meantime D-Man has really come into his own and his "two-ness" and has discovered and deploys without complication the word, "no." Thereby proving himself to be the Strong-Willed punk kid in question.

Except that he's a piker when compared to The Binkster, (as an aside, I'd love nothing more than to give the little guy the second middle name of "Binkman" when we finalize the adoption. I think that "A. Ruiz Binkman Stone" is just long enough to avoid being a serial killer and nearly weighty enough to win at least 4 Senatorial elections in a row. Time will tell, of course, but I think I'll have to get two copies of the forms and fill one of them in when The Wif's distracted and then keep it handy.), who can say, "no" with a single glance. He can even say "no" with a smile - and does so regularly...

The Binkster is the ultimate in independent spirits; he runs his own course and for the most part cares not for the concerns of others. More like me than I could have created, in other words. And he's a climber to boot. I can't at this time reasonably predict whether he'll be a star football player or be tall enough to be a star basketball player, but one thing is certain: He'll be a star.

As will each of my children, if I have anything to say about it. And you'd better believe that I have plenty to say about it. There's still some stuff in the pipeline of the older two that will have to be flushed out of their systems, but progress along that front is already well under way and in spite of our bundled transgressions along the path, I have Faith that we'll all arive on the other side, together.

That's the big picture view I hold: These small people may disrupt nearly every phase of our day-to-day life, but in the Big Picture, well, they ARE the Big Pictures.

It's just the nature of things...

I have to admit to being just a little panic-stricken the other day when Hugh announced that "there [was] a fire burning..." and before he finished the sentence I was wondering if my home was in danger. It's happened before, so it's not too much of a leap. Except this year, of course.

This year we've had so much global warming snow that there are places where the water is literally standing in the fields. The land is mud, the spillway is being rushed like ted kennedy and bill clinton heading to an open bar with topless waitresses and the streams are out of their banks. Heck - I could surf to work.

If I had a surfboard, knew how to use it and had a way home. But other than that...

WAIT! Do you hear that? It's the Stonestead's Online News & Information Collector (SONIC). Let's see what's fresh off the wires, shall we?

Dems Introduce New Withdrawl Date

After learning about a plan by 6 Islamic extremists to assassinate possibly hundreds of U.S. soldiers on the Fort Dix Army Base in New Jersey, Congressional Democrats have proposed new legislation addressing U.S. military operations.

The new bill would set a date of November 30, 2007 for the complete withdrawl of all U.S. troops from New Jersey.

Considered controversial in some political circles in Washington, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, (D-NV) and House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, (D-A small closet on the dark side of planet Harpie-9) were quick to defend the bill: "We've learned our lesson from Iraq," Reid said, "and we're not going to just allow our military men and women to become targets in New Jersey the way George Bush has allowed them to in Iraq."

When asked if this measure was clear sign of support for the troops, Pelosi responded; "Absolutely. We're supporting the troops by removing them from an area that's clearly hostile to their presence." She later added, "It's obvious that having these murderous thugs from the Army in that area is a great cause of distress to the local population, so removing them is the surest way to solve the discord and hopefully open up a dialog with them."

The bill is scheduled to be brought to the floor of the House by the end of the week and Congress hopes to have it on the President's desk in time for their month-long Arbor Day vacation. Early word from the White House is that the President will veto the bill and suggest a more reasonable solution. White House Spokesman Tony Snow suggested that legislation allowing law enforcement greater freedoms in tracking and monitoring such threats would be an acceptable compromise.

Well, isn't THAT something? I guess nobody saw that coming...

---

I mean, what are the odds? Well, a serious examination of the question would prove the answer to be one in twelve, I suppose. Much like some 80's movie - now long forgotten - wherein the General asks an underling, "what are the odds the Rooskies attack on a Monday?" It just so happened that I was watching that with Pop. And when he turned to me and asked: "Well, what ARE the odds?" I was able to answer, "one in seven."

It was more than a mathematical certainty, it was an opportunity to assess our enemy as best we knew them at the time.

One in seven -- the savages. They might attack at any given moment on any given day; it's just as likely you'd be at the gas station or at the grocery store, (this was before they were one and the same), and then feel the heat and suffer the blindness of an atomic blast. Not to mention the survival rate, which was dictated by one's willingness to live outside of a 25 mile radius of a "target."

But all that's changed. We've survived each of the Cold War's threats only to face an entirely different threat. One from a previously-unknown source, using previously-unimagined tactics in an effort to change our way of life, forever. They're out there, and they are messing with our lifestyles. There can be no doubt of it.

 

 

I'm being overly-dramatic, of course, once again. But if you were able to conjure an image in your mind while reading that - BE HONEST - then it was all worthwhile. My "attack on self" I've mentioned is the fact that the local paper is seemingly undergoing a major do-over and is currently not only NOT being printed, but is completely inaccessible online.

At least to me. And maybe that's the lesson; maybe they've blocked my IP or I'm missing software on the new laptop or I'm just unwelcome.

But in the words of Groucho: "I wouldn't belong to any club that would have me as a member."...at least not until they fix their website...

---

I tell ya - today will be a welcome change for me. I'll return to the office and a place and time where things make 42% more sense, are noticeably quieter and I can return to my more normal, linear, way of approaching things.

Just like always...

Last Wednesday, I think it was, I was emailed an offer I couldn't refuse. The wedding coordinator from our church was seeking a sound man for a Friday evening service. As I said, I couldn't refuse, so I was there early. For reasons both boring and technical, I had to get there to sort things out on the sound board because, (and I should say this now, before I lose every one of you; there's a Sunday entry just below this one. Probably just as boring, but it has a picture! Unless you don't like pictures. Then you can just go on to the "For Better Or Worse" website.), the previous Sunday I noted that I was unable to get sound from the CD player into the Sanctuary.

Which, unless they've hired a band - and those that could afford to do so wouldn't book their wedding in our humble abode - means that there would be no music. The CD is the life's blood of the bride, even if she be a luddite.

Fortunately, I was able to disassemble just enough equipment and trace just so many cables to track down the problem; it was an error of human habit that I'll have to equip to memory, because it's sure to happen again. A button here and a button there - who's to notice? Hopefully, me from now on.

But speaking as a member of "staff," I can tell you that it's always interesting to take part in a service where your most fervent hope is that the marriage lasts at least until you're able to cash the check for the service you've provided. Now I'll admit that that sentiment is unfair in the least, because I haven't met any of the parties involved and indeed couldn't identify any of them should I see them on the street.

But I'd know that car - the little Subaru with the wild paint job and the ad for the tattoo/body modification shop - on sight. I might even recognize the Bride by the tattoo that spanned the length of her right arm, or the groom by the way his Tats, (that's Hip, Street Lingo for tattoos, FYI), flared up from his neck to his chin.

Silly me, I was worried about showing up in jeans and a golf shirt to run the board...

And then there was Friday night. But that's a different story for a different time.

Saturday was interesting, mostly in the opportunity it gave me to show my boys how harmless thunder is. We had thundersnows up here to beat the band. Which made me instantly grateful that I've only imagined assigning instruments to the kids, holding regular practices throughout the week and traveling the country in a multi-colored bird-themed school bus.

Not that I ever watched the show, but The Wif has learned a small amount about how to work the remotes, so she's got that going for her...

---

(NOTE: Yes, a Sunday post -- sort of. Enjoy it as a rare treat. Like winning the lottery, but only in the sense of odds of it happening, not like winning a large sum of money or experiencing the thrill of same.)

May 6^th, right? I ask because I had to double-check it myself this morning; 30°, 10 inches of snow, fog, a refeshing chill in the wind -- why, it was the perfect November day! Except for the obvious, natch...

Of course the High Church of Global Warming will say that our record-like moisture this winter and spring, (I don't have time to check, but I'll bet it's at least in the top 5), and freak late snowstorms like this isn't proof against global warming but rather proof of it. Which on it's face should prove them to be idiots.

If we're warming the planet, but it's giving us cold snaps and tons of snow in flippin' May, does't that mean the planet is fighting back? Meaning that we're not smothering an old, frail rock on its deathbed but - even given that we have ANY effect at all, which I don't buy - that ol' gaia is capable of self-regulation?

I know that you're probably about worn out on my rants against the "beautiful people" and their cause of the hour, but hear me out, because I've come to a new conclusion. I used to be of the mind that this hoo-haa was just the latest panic that the media and the people hungry to be seen and hear their own voices deployed in order get on the business-end of a TV camera. To be sure, there's a goodly amount of that here, too, but I've finally realized that at its core the man-made global warming hysteria is simply the fuel behind a new drive towards socialism.

I know, I know. It sound McCarthistic and extremist and all that, but just listen to how the debate is starting to be shaped. (If you listen to the language, you'll learn the mind -- and you can quote me on that.) They're talking of, "carbon footprints," which is the amount of carbon dioxide produced by an individual, a household or a company. Do you think there's ANY chance we'll be allowed to self-monitor that, or will a gubermint agency take care of that?

And how about "carbon offsets," those tricky things al gore - Tennessee's answer to ted kennedy, sans the booze and the broads (so far as we know) - uses to excuse his outrageous utility bills. Basically, "offsets" are where carbon guzzling/burning/producing people pay for others to do things to help negate their own abuse of the planet, (if such a thing exists). It's kind of like paying someone else to skip desserts in an attempt to lose weight, as The Lumberjack once pointed out, (it was apparently a short-lived header graphic, because I can't find a trace of it now).

So, "offsets" are a sort of perverse love child between the welfare system, the "progressive" tax schedule and a vague desire to, "do something" about a "problem" which may or may not exist.

OH - you've won me over, Skippy! Where do I sign up?

What of so-called "carbon credits?" Heard of them? Still in early rhetorical phases, "credits" would be issued from the gubermint, (different agency from that which monitors the "footprint"), and would dictate exactly how much economic action carbon dioxide any person, family or company could produce in a given period.

The formula for determining how one would earn credits - and how many would be earned for any given period, not inclusive of non-negative revenue quarters, regardless - but not completely inclusive - of non-inventory surpluses carried over from at least two previous income deficit periods - but not more than five without subsequent filing of form 1184(b) - without consideration of alternative fuel tax credits not realized in previous income years... is still being worked out.

Fortunately, as you can probably tell, they've engaged the IRS as consultants so the formula will probably be completed by the end of 2022. And adapted and revised every 3 months from that point until the end of time.

 

In short? Check this, from MAY 5:

I got yer 'global warming' right HERE, pal...

---

For some reason, this seems to have been a really, really long week for me. Of course it might be due to the fact that this week follows a week in which we lost power for nearly two days, but that wouldn't make any sense. After all, the week in which power was uninterrupted and the landscape un-snowed should be a breeze compared to the alternative, right? And given the fact that what we've just been through is still rather fresh in our minds, (although not nearly as much as you might imagine, frankly -- nobody has been spotted shaking their fist at the sky), everyone has returned to their normal schedule.

Which is good in a certain sense and bad when you consider that something along the way has triggered something in "M" that has made our lives a living Hell. Somehow, somewhere, she has either hit something in her path that reminds her of another circumstance she once lived through, or she's so settled into her life here that she feels safe in rebelling against it. Either way, it's a total pain in the ass for us.

"M" has decided that "I want to..." is the very basic, driving force behind everything in this world. "Go sit on the bench," is easily replaced by, "I want to go into Binky's room" and it's done almost without explanation and certainly without purpose.

But I suppose that's why we're here at any rate...

 

And from the "well, DUH" files, I have been warning against this for years, but have gone completely unheeded. The problem? People seem to be getting sick during brad pitt movies.

I warned you. Don't ever say that I didn't warn you...

 

I live my life as if none of you - NONE! - follow my advice and listen to the same radio shows I do. I honestly feel that it's best if I can present my case for or against a certain hour's argument knowing that most of you could not be bothered to spend the time listening to said argument. Not that I can control your mind, but rather that I feel free to frame the other side in as accurate way as possible - knowing that the rebuttal is always available - and then knock it out of the park as neatly as I am able.

It's a proven formula - but only so far as it's accepted...

J.O.T.W...

(I just preformed a huge,"Fornicate Yourself" personal ceremony aimed against the website I was just trying to honor. No traction gained there, I'm afraid, but it's also no skin off my nose that they've made things that much more difficult for those of us out here. FINE by me, actually, because the day I rely upon the web's content for something to write about is the day I hang it all up, frankly.)

And now, fresh from The Web's most updated content, (and my use of random search terms), I give you the Joke Of The Week!

 

Mrs. Pete Monaghan came into the newsroom to pay for her husband's obituary. She was told by the kindly newsman that it was a dollar a word and he remembered Pete and wasn't it too bad about him passing away.

She thanked him for his kind words and bemoaned the fact that she only had two dollars. But she wrote out the obituary, "Pete died."

The newsman said he thought old Pete deserved more and he'd give her three more words at no charge.

Mrs. Pete Monaghan thanked him and rewrote the obituary: "Pete died. Boat for sale"

---

From the weighty history surrounding the birth of the Times New Roman font to the stark contrast provided by it's black letters against the gleaming, new, white page, this - aside from everything I've ever written - is easily the most annoying thing I've ever seen in print.

You can read it if you'd like, (and if you already have my opinion of you has dropped dramatically), but I'll spare you the pain of it all with this brief summary...

There's a town in south Florida known for producing fast - really, really fast - football players. Players who can turn on a dime without losing a step and can complete the 100 yard dash before the others have finished their $4 designer coffees. It's actually a decent premise for a story.

But then things go wrong. The author tries to build a living myth based on a single question: "Is it because of what the boys do in the fields?" - and it's an intriguing question. TOO intriguing for the story, because you're constantly answering the question with something better than you're going to receive...

What ARE the boys doing in the fields - Voodoo rituals? Sacrificing goats to Satan? Smoking the insoles of their Air Jordans? Fornicating like rabbits?

Well, that last one is dead on -- in the sense that it's at least half-right; the answer does involve rabbits. The boys have a history of chasing rabbits through fields that have been set aflame. And that's the ultimate lameness of the story.

It's a rather rambling piece that says in just 1,200 words (my guess) that which was in grave danger of being complete in just 150, so it's overly reliant on metaphor and descriptive narrative as filler. But aside from the stylistic complaint, I would also say that the premise is rather thin. You mean to say that a town, whose tradition is that boys chase rabbits through burning fields, tends to produce football players known for their speed and agility?

Jeepers, Captain Obvious -- what's next?!? A seaside town where the boys are known for chasing dolphins through the water has one Hell of a swim team? Man -- I sure didn't see THAT coming...

ON CONFUSED MORALS...

Take a look at this and then re-examine your premises. This is one of the proofs behind the truth of the GWOT, unless you're inclined to think it's not. If you read carefully, you'll see the Giving As Truth in the "slippery slope" argument that's used: "If a President starts kissing the gloved hand of an elderly woman who used to be his teacher, how much closer are we to his requesting sexual acts of a young intern? But just to be sure, let's lock all women away - even in those rare occasions they're allowed to be escorted out in public - and let's outlaw all internships while we're at it."

"Oh, and let's publicly call the President to account for his having coarsened our culture just to put a neat little bow on things."

Well, that's one approach to the story and my slapdash analysis opens up several venues. (Here's one: just as mass murders have said that the first kill is the hardest, but it makes the resultant murders so much easier, so too does the first public depravity by a person in a leadership role make all subsequent lapses easier for a culture to tolerate. Find a water cooler and a co-worker and discuss. NOW!) But here's what struck me first and hardest about the whole thing:

In a certain part of the world, you can deny that an attempt was made at mass extermination of Jews without consequence. You can also call for the mass extermination of Jews without consequence in the modern day. But why stop there? You can also call for an open, religious war against The West and it's most prominent member - The United States - without consequence.

Hey! This is a pretty cool gig; you excite violence against your enemies - real or imagined - and can call for the death of those who've wronged you even if only in your dreams and there's no downside! Why, it's like being a blogger with actual power!

Oh, but wait; if you show affection to a woman - even though she be 'gloved' from head to toe without a single square inch of skin exposed, (I'll bet they have the lowest rate of skin cancer incidence on the planet), you're suddenly on the outs with the culture police. What a life.

To recap: Calling for nuclear Armageddon? Good. Daring to kiss an old lady's gloved hand? Well, that might cost you your office in the next "election." What a screwed-up world they live in, eh? Why, it's almost as if we need an opposing force in this world...

JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME...

I don't care if you don't care, frankly. I'm going to both mention it and "fix" it all at the same time.

Thusly...

LORD, this day preceded us and it would be far too easy to assume that it's our stop-gap measure between Thanksgivings. Father - creator, just as those who came before us called upon You, let us come to You in a spirit of gratitude, asking only that Your will be done and for open hearts, spirits and minds so that we might receive Your response, and accept it as what's best for us. Rather than our earthly desires, LORD, please grant us those wishes that reveal Your presence in us, for it is for this we were built. Carry us through, LORD, and let us remember our Savior.

Amen. Until next year, I guess...

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When my alarm went off this morning - I use the alarm on my phone now, just to try to feel a little bit of that all-encompasing techno/electro synchronization I long for in all of my life - my first thought was that I had to jump into the shower immediately. Realizing the safety problem inherent in such an act, I quickly re-thought things.

To be honest, my first thought was that I had to - HAD TO!! - find a way, or the right words or the right fabricated scenario to plead to my bosses that would allow me to work from home: I was just too danged tired and worn out to be bothered to traverse the 26 mile land mass that separated me from my office. Plus the rivers seemed to be running awfully red.

And I think I saw locusts hovering just beyond the horizon...

My mind raced, (such that it was able), to build a reasonable case - within the boundaries of the Truth - that would allow me to work from home. And I came up blank. My one excuse, and it was a pretty dern lame excuse, was that it was nearly time for me to report to work and I was still in my jammies. Would that do it?

No, I decided, and resigned myself to sensibly stepping into the shower, getting dressed and driving down the hill. I'd have to take about 45 minutes of leave when it was all said and done, but why would that be necessary? Which is to ask, why in the world did I set my alarm for so late?

And then it hit me: it was Tuesday. I was called awake a mere 30 minutes before the start of my shift because I set the alarm the night before knowing something I'd not yet realized today.

I work from home on Tuesdays. No commute and I get roughly an extra hour of sleep. My greatest desire in the whole, confused morning had been granted and I didn't have to "compromise" the Truth to make it happen; it had already been put into place long ago.

I enjoyed an early victory. So I had THAT going for me...

And the rest of the day passed fairly easily. Except for the fact that I have to get up early on Wednesday, (today) - and the fact that it's trash day to boot - I could easily languish in that one, blessed hour.

PUBLIC NOTICE...

I wouldn't normally do this. In fact, I've debated myself long and hard as to whether or not I should even mention it at all -- and if so, how I would go about doing so. And WHY I would go about doing so. Here's the answer I came up with:

IF you have dealings with Wachovia bank and IF you happened to list me somewhere, somehow among all those documents they require, well, they'd like to hear from you.

That's it.

I have no judgment to bear on you and am not in the least bit bitter, upset or even rankled, (still gruntled, in other words). In fact, I finally went with the decision to post this in the hopes that maybe we can spend a little more time together as family, WITH family. If that makes any sense.

Hang in there. You've got people pulling for you who would like to share a beer and a steak over hot coals with you.

You know where to find us...

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Man! You guys are a fickle bunch. I know this because I've read my email and even talked in person with at least 2 of you, (so I'll consider myself an expert on the subject based on that poll alone), and here's what I've discovered you guys want:

More politics, but without involving so much politics. SOME religion, but just until the topic brushes up against your particular variance from the Scripture. You wouldn't be against hearing more kid stories, but only if it wouldn't mean having to read JUST kid stories. And you'd like longer posts -- but only if the topic in question is one of your pet projects. Otherwise, your vote would be for shorter posts.

And pictures. You'd like to see more pictures included here, unless you wouldn't...

Well, since it's May Day - the day in which communist countries promised all things to all people - I'll gladly oblige all your needs. As follows...