TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

July 2007
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— 2007 —

June 2007

May 2007

April 2007

March 2007

February 2007

January 2007

Same guy, different krep...
Father Knows
Things About GOD

MEMBER OF...

Things to put in your head...

Friends...

Everyday reads...

Read on YOUR terms...

Read on THEIR terms...

Stuff for your ears...

Yes, I'm reading this now

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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.

Early word is that he's already donated to the clinton campaign...

Professional sports stars: since they can kick a ball with 42% greater accuracy than you, is there anything they don't know? (The answer - OBVIOUSLY - is "YES!")

Yes, Chancellor Palpatine, I will do thy unholy bidding. Just put the robe hood over your head, already...

There's just so much about this story that stands out on so many levels to me that I'd have to share each and every one of those experiences with you. Thereby losing my rather coveted:



blog rating.

Instead, I'll just mention in passing that a number of the youth group retreats of my former days rather resembled just this sort of gathering. Oh, not so explicit a message on the front-end, (so to speak), and the goal was certainly one of anti-birthing - aka, destruction without consequence - but the message was otherwise the same: conduct the experiment safe in the knowledge that you'll never experience the sparks and flames of what you've created.

...

Yeah - I also laugh to myself when I remember that they called themselves a "church..."

So it's Monday again and time for all of us wage-slaves to glance back over our shoulders and decide if we made decent use of those rare two days off we just spent. Of course, I got 3 days because last Friday was my scheduled day off - my reward for working an extra hour most every other day - and I kicked it off as I said I would: I slept in until 10:30. And even that wasn't enough, frankly.

I got up with the expectation of having to pick up the kids from VBS by 12:30 and started in on the serious task of cutting my hair. That's right - after sleeping for nearly 9 1/2 hours I then undertook the action-packed task of cutting my hair. Small wonder then that I needed a nap later that afternoon; such an exciting life I lead! Let's move on to Saturday before we're all forced to retire to our fainting couches...

The Wif had lined up 4 houses to see on Saturday, except she hadn't completely; we'd sent the list (or rather, her spreadsheet) to our guy but he wasn't getting our email. I finally sent it to him via another route but not until late Friday evening. Meaning he only had one address in his possession (via phone conversation), and scheduled that showing while the other agent was still in the office.

The good news is that the other three homes were empty or bank-owned and we could see them pretty much any time we wanted to once our guy had the lock-box codes.

The bad news is that he scheduled that first, owner-occupied home to be viewed at 9:30. As I'd promised to get up with the kids, I was fixing breakfast as The Wif informed me that we had 20 minutes to get everything together and leave in order to make the showing. 20 minutes? It takes us that long to prepare a 3 minute egg, for Pete's sake!

The worst news, of course, is that we found a house that would work for us; nice and big, (2,800 sq ft), great yard, a tri-level with a decent sized basement in a good neighborhood and at an amazing 225K. It was, well... take a look for yourself.

Of course, the fact that I'm sharing the listing with you tells the whole story: it's already under contract to someone else. In fact, it was under contract by the time we saw the thing but we didn't know it at the time. Obviously.

But now I'm starting to wonder. Usually when homes go under contract they're no longer available on the web -- so why am I able to find a link to this one still? Did the contract fall through? If so, is that a good thing for us, or is the house so fraught with problems that no contract will survive?

Then again, it's the weekend and it may just be as simple as the fact that the clerk who does the listings and de-listings doesn't work on Saturday. I can buy that. Especially if the link I provided above doesn't work by mid-afternoon...

We'll know then, I suppose.

MOVIES REVIEWED...

Thanks to the Netflix and some unusual circumstances that gave me roughly 3 hours of movie-watching time, I have two very brief movie reviews for you. The first movie was a little number called "tamara." This is your typical teenage angst/horror/black magic flick with all the usual turns. Teenage girl, trying to be a witch -- abusive/neglectful father, she's socially awkward and not accepted by her peers. Small wonder then when she succeeds in her goal. Things progress as expected and the people who "need to be cursed" are and they suffer accordingly.

No big surprises here, except for a rather unfulfilling ending. And by "unfulfilling ending" I mean that they didn't close the movie by bringing out the producers and screenwriters and force them all to walk across an acre of burning coals. Or beat the soles of their feet with bamboo rods. Something along those lines.

The other movie was The Abandoned. (Those links might be reversed; it's late.) If you visit that link you'll see just one review from someone who was probably a part of the recent "You're-A-Boob" democrat debate.

Plainly put, this guy simpy lacks the ability to mentally capture the larger effect of what this movie offered. It is a smart - although long - psycho-drama that involves the "larger plan" concept.

The ending is both layered and disturbing and the conclusion (because "final conclusion" would be redundant) is a neat little package that ties the whole thing together - without us ever actually meeting the most important person in the story.

It's interesting story telling and grim base in a less-than-fascinating way, but it works if you're willing to listen.

Sort of like this website, I suppose...

It is Friday. I cannot promise that the title I've just programmed bears out that fact, but I know it to be true all the same. "How can you prove it" you ask? Well I'm forever grateful to you rare foil's out there but I've got this one covered:

It is - as you read this - Friday because it's one of a rare set of days that I'll be allowed to sleep in, without a care in the world, well past the 7:30 deadline I usually face as a sleeping-in point, one way or another. Because The Wif has volunteered to work VBS as the 'Snack Queen' and has taken the kids under her wing in one form or another.

As a result, I'll get to sleep as long as I wish on a Friday morning. Saturday will be a different story, but who's counting now?

Oh - and don't try my number. I'll be in silent mode even if it means someone walking in on me while I'm asleep in bed. Because I'll be - you know - asleep in bed...

J.O.T.W...

Lawyers should never ask a Mississippi grandma a question if they aren't prepared for the answer. In a trial,, a Southern small-town prosecuting attorney called his first witness, a grandmotherly, elderly woman to the stand.

He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know me?"

She responded, "Why, yes I do know you, Mr. Williams. I've known you since you were a young boy, and frankly, you've been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife and you manipulate people & talk about them behind their backs. You think you're a big shot when you haven't the brains to realize you will never amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes I know you.

The lawyer was stunned! Not knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room & asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know the defense attorney?" She again replied, "Why, yes, I do. I've known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster too. He's lazy, bigoted, and he has a drinking problem. He can't build a normal relationship with anyone and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state. Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three different women. One of them was your wife. Yes, I know him.

The defense attorney almost died. The judge asked both counselors to approach the bench and, in a very quiet voice, said, "if either of you idiots asks her if she knows me, I'll send you to the electric chair."

Many thanks go out to Dood - so long as he doesn't bother to bother me tomorrow morning. Which reminds me -- I'll turn off my cell now...

I simply. Don't. Believe. It. I guess you could call it a victory for common sense, but we'll have to wait and see what the final result looks like, I suppose. Still, it's nice to see that a board of elected eggheads is able to feel the tug at their shoulder that represents not only them what elected the board, but them what pays their salary - in large part.

And then act according to that pull. Sure it's not the purest of motives but at least they landed firmly on the right side of the issue this time. And best yet, the facts completely back up their decision, so the lawsuit should be dismissed out of hand.

Well, unless it lands in the lap of some equally moronic, equally stoned-out-of-his-mind judge who's also looking to make a statement against the Bush Administration. Unfortunately, the odds seem pretty good that this will be the case, but I'm here to give you the warning signs to look for...

If the judge is also wearing oversized sunglasses at every moment in order to hide his PermaShot eyes and if you see the judge and TIc sharing a bag of Doritos laughing quietly at the term, "jury box," then you know that TIc's lawsuit will be upheld and the fine taxpayers of this fine state will continue to pay taxes that support both TIc and the incompetent judge in question.

Just something to be on the lookout for. No need to thank me, fine citizen - it's what I do...

BUT THERE'S STILL SO MUCH THAT'S WRONG OUT THERE...

This is utterly incomprehensible. On the other hand, this is completely despicable. The former first...

I would like to thank all those hollyweird 'starlets' and their ever-eager stage mothers for giving The Wif and me the perfect blueprint of what NOT to do in raising our children. Namely, if our kids reach the level of advanced thought and those thoughts seem to go along the lines of, "Hey - I've just noticed that the entire universe's center goes right through my own belly button," then we've done our kids a tremendous - and criminal - disservice.

How does one become convinced that they are above the rule of law and are governed solely by their own feelings and impulses? Well, overindulgence for one. When a youngster learns that they and they alone control everything in their life - down to the accepted colors of M&M's in the snack bowl, (to borrow a famous example from 25 years ago), they are taught that nothing and nobody comes before their own whims. And what a lesson that turns out to be.

As for my second example, well, what else need be said? The hollyweird left has been anti-American since before the days of McCarthy and they continue to be so now. And the strange thing is that they're not "unpatriotic" in the sense that they imagine a 'greater' future and a 'better' path for this country. It's just that they've fallen in love with an ideal America that conforms to their silly notions of marxism, (the brothers get the capital M), and as such are blinded to the best elements of this country, because it hasn't yet conformed to the very worst elements of their beliefs.

If you catch my drift.

At any rate, it's no surprise that a bunch of juveniles would continue to rebel against the grown-ups (sometimes found) in Washington D.C.; it's what they do, after all.

As such, I have a real hard time choking down the stereotype the left has perpetrated and hollyweird has gained so much ground on; namely that of the "troubled vet." It may have started with the Civil War or maybe even with the Revolutionary War - where the single example of a soldier's trauma was generously applied to the entire fighting force.

Whatever it's roots, the phenomena was never more noticable than in the years following Vietnam. for "some reason," we all came to believe that Vietnam Vets were permanently scarred in some way science would never understand. From then on, if a man slaughtered his family and then threw himself in front of a train, it could all be explained away easily if it could be determined that he "was in Vietnam."

No other explanation was sought, because no other explanation could be possible. We all knew it to be so, and therefore it was.

Well, that's an outright retarded mindset, frankly. Vietnam Vets are no more likely to... or any less likely to... than is any other similar contingent within a similar sample of the population at large. In a word, they are "normal." I know it's a shock because it goes against 'conventional' wisdom.

And it is that "conventional" "wisdom" that allows such a warped view of our Vets to continue from generation to generation. Even to the sickening point demonstrated by a certain cable TV channel this week, regarding the war in Iraq and the Vets returning from such.

Honorable and noble warriors - one and all? Well, not to certain TV producers. May they change their ways...

Let me start by saying that it's good to know that I have so many friends out there who decide to make this little waste of time a part of their day. It means the world to me, it really, honestly does. I'm grateful for every one of you out there who willingly choose to visit this krep as a part of their daily routine. Thank you all.

And I have just one, small caveat to add; would it kill you to provide some positive feedback when you read something you like or something cute about the kids or something that made you think -- instead of just taking the time to note when I hit a '3' instead of a '2'? (If you need that explained, The Beautiful One is ever at the ready with the explanation.)

Seriously - your notes found me in good humor, as I usually am these days - and I'm not the least bit bothered by the number of you who wrote to point out my error. On the contrary, you'll have to search long and hard to find someone more amused by their own mistakes than I am. In fact, when I was first informed that I'd triggered a 'Wednesday' instead of a 'Tuesday,' my first thought was, "did I get July right?"

Such is the nature of my life and of my attitude towards it. Thanks to each and every one of you who paid more attention than I did. I owe you "one" (of something to be determined later, so decide now if you really want it!).

Today - and as I write it's still Tuesday for another 40 minutes - was one of my telecommuting days (if I've misspelled that, please let me know - I've already added it to my spell-check), but it was also another TWO chances to sell our home; we were scheduled a showing from 4-6, which was optimistically changed to 4-5 so that I could finish that final hour from a local connect point, only to learn that someone else wanted to see our home between 6 and 8.

Well, you can't sell the product without showing some leg and turning on the red light, right? So the entire family went to Church and helped/watched Mommy put together 100 snack bags for the next day's events. On the way, I drove solo through the drive-up window to collect bag upon bag of dead animal and potato while The Wif and the kids toured the countryside. We met and consumed varying degrees of farm animal and then The Wif got to work.

Along the way, we encountered 2 fifteen foot tall monkey cut-outs, a set of bongo drums, various tie snakes, hung and 'growing' grass, an artificial waterfall, a wireless microphone and an animated bird which recorded and repeated everything we said at an accelerated pace.

And each and every one of these things scared the crap out of The Binkster. He was almost constantly crying and running from something. Problem was, as he was running away from something he was always running towards something else. He could find no peace except in Daddy's arms.

Which I suppose is OK for now; but sooner or later he'll have to come to grips with the idea of finding peace where he is and with what he faces. Sure it can wait - he's not yet 2 - but we have to keep the ultimate goal in mind.

Still, the funniest part of the evening was when he was running from the bird and heading upstairs - an activity he usually enjoys - while muttering "no, no, no..." all the while. As he completed the first climb to the landing above the 8 stairs he dropped his sippy cup, looked back in the bird's direction, pointed and said, "NO!" He then climbed the next 3 steps to where I was standing, only to complain that his cup was on that lower level.

I told him to go get it and he did. But you'd better believe that he was watching for that bird all the while...

(explanation [WARNING: contains a single, FCC-unfriendly word]   video)

Now that we've all got Monty Python on the mind, I'd like to point out something, completely different that they also did. Namely, the election night special, (video), wherein you'll notice that there was a race mainly between the 'sensible' party and the 'silly' party - with some "fringe sillies" thrown in for comedic effect. As is the best those third parties over here can hope to acomplish, frankly.

The Python bit was formulated around making fun of all the parties involved - as was their wont - including the candidate's names, parties and supposed positions, the false 'gravitas' each electoral district placed upon the announcement of their own results and the varying personalities and behavior/behaviour of the talking heads. It was a classic of it's time.

And one that immediately leapt to my mind as I was reviewing the recent actions of the democrat "leaders" - both in Congress and in the race for the Presidency...

The recent "senate sleepover" (let 'em earn back my respect and the capital "S" that accompanies it), was an attempt at showmanship and media manipulation that simply cannot stand in this age of the Internet and talk radio; too many people are too well informed to let that nonsense go unchallenged. The dems in charge seem not to realize that having 90% of television reporters on your side isn't enough anymore, because they continue to act according to that old mold.

Another of the recent Congressional offenses is the inability to pass the so-called, "John Doe" provision. It's slightly more complicated but in short, this proposed law would protect people who report suspicious activity against ginormous lawsuits from those they report as being suspicious. That is, if Dood is wearing a head-scarf, boarding an airplane, carrying a koran and shouting to the rooftops, "allahu akbar!" over and over again, I would have the choice to report these things to authorities before I decided whether or not to get on the same plane.

Under the Republicans' vision, I would be safe to make such a claim because I would be shielded from Dood suing me back to the stone age (pardon the pun), should I point out his behavior to a person of authority. Under the democrat vision, if ANYone approached Dood (under these circumstances), and even asked him to tone down the rhetoric, he would be allowed to deposition ad nauseam until he learned my name and then would be able to file suit after suit after suit until I met my ruin.

Well, sure. That's fair enough, right? After all, wouldn't everyone be FAR MORE willing to report suspicious behavior knowing they're about to be made poor in order to make rich(er) the crazy person in question AND their lawyer?

Makes perfect sense to... the Silly Party, I guess.

I'M ALREADY PLANNING MY RETIREMENT...

I've got a great idea for a new superhero! Of course, once you have a superhero design you've got to start thinking about marketing: you need a theme, a graphic, a believable story line, arch-nemesis, fast food tie-in, action figures and then?!? Bring on the movie contract ("Ron Howard's attached to direct")!!

Best yet, MY superhero is based on actual events! Yep - I'd like to pre-announce, "Rattlehuahua." Taken from the fine tradition of Spiderman, Rattlehuahua is a dog who maintains his natural form but has now taken on the characteristics of a rattlesnake.

You will be riveted as you watch Rattlehuahua slither through the grass! Be amazed as Rattlehuahua suns himself on a rock in the morning sun - only to slink into the shade as the noontime heat comes on. Watch in slack-jawed amazement as every nervous shake gradually takes on a noticeable rattle! You'll be stunned as...

Uh, no. You probably won't be. Forget I brought it up...

Well THAT was a wasted weekend. Well, not entirely but from where I sit right now it kind of feels that way. I mean, I accomplished some things around the house - cleared away most of the clutter from the front, hung another door downstairs, (one left!), paid some guy $75 to haul away a collection of household detritus, baked muffins to help The Wif prepare for VBS this week, got a full reject on our offer and lowered our selling price by 11K - which kind of seems like a decent list of 'mission accomplished' items but I gotta tell ya'; my work finished to tired/sore ratio feels almost nil.

I don't know - I guess I did some things that need to be done, but so much more remains undone that any bit of progress feels a bit like procrastination...

There. In re-reading that I realize that it's the perfect summation of where I find myself; I walk around this house and see that there's so many jobs to be done here that I could take a month off work, hammer and pound things from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. and complete my evening duties only to start it all again the next day - and I STILL wouldn't be done in the given month. Not to mention the fact that I seem to be stricken with Peruvian Sleeping Disorder, ('what - 5 hours per night isn't enough?'), which makes it impossible to do home improvements from 7 to 7 anyway. Even if it were otherwise possible.

So there are those times - when I'm able and The Wif's not watching - that I decide to catch a quick nap. Of course, even that is fraught with danger because as I make my way to whichever nap-bed I choose I'm bound to notice several vessels that have to be filled with water. It's either the portable evaporative cooler or a dog-water jug or a humidifier tank somewhere. But it's always something and it's usually just a bit depressing. (I'll survive - I'm just complaining. You know, standard fare here.)

In an odd way I've gained a new understanding of Pretty Boy edwards and his $400 haircuts. It's a change of mind that I had to experience in order to fully understand, frankly, and tonight I got the experience...

The Wif has been commenting for some time now on The Binkster's need of a haircut. I've been polite and said such husbandly things as, "I've noticed that too" or, "yeah - I've been trying to find the time to cut it" and until tonight they've served me well. But tonight I noticed something. Mainly that my son's hair was nearly as long as his sister's. Something had to be done.

So as I was changing his diaper in preparation for putting on his PJ's I grabbed the comb and scissors and went to work...

This was NOT his favorite moment of the day. Then again, given the fact that he's getting another ear infection and just generally feels like crap I'd bet that if you asked him what was his favorite moment of the day he'd spit in your face just to make one. Which is pretty much what I experienced during his haircut.

He screamed, he jumped, he jerked. Worst of all, (because what do I care if his hair is cut crooked?), he'd do all three and then throw his fingers into the path of my scissors. A missing finger I'd have to account for, and not simply by saying, "yeah - I've got it in my pocket."

I finally settled on putting him on his belly, lying my left arm along the length of his body and holding him down as I finished the job. This seemed to placate him - or change his circumstances - just long enough for me to visit most of his hair. Of course, once I declared us both "finished" I noticed that what I'd done was barely noticeable. Typical.

So yeah - I have a better understanding of the $400 haircut, because if I were to charge for the haircut I gave tonight, $400 would be THE TIP...

(Of course, to justify the price, this supposes that Pretty Boy edwards screams, fights and cries like a baby as his hair is being cut. It's a supposition I accept without question.)

In her continuing effort to prove herself far more "butch" than your humble narrator, (a comment only she will fully understand, thankfully), (but I will happily and willingly explain to her husband because there are no 'saucy' details involved), J_Lo has upped the ante to a point I cannot possibly reach: she has given birth.

As I understand the details, the boy was unexpected but on schedule. That is, unexpected to J-Lo's way of thinking but almost to the hour the doctor predicted. Or so. As I wrote before, I am relying on memory here, but I think the kid read the doc's notes and did his best to conform.

At any rate, she popped out a 7 pound boy of undetermined length, (I understand that the hospital measured him at around 14 inches but they're suing in order to gain another 6 or so - then again, that's what got her into this mess in the first place - we'll track how that goes), and her life is no doubt vastly different than the life she just left.

J_Lo: we wish you nothing but joy and glad times. And we hope you start a blog so we can laugh at everything else.

:-)

Several, actually. But main among them is, What is it about the left and their need to kill babies? Why do they feel so ferociously charged around the question of abortion? Yes, I know it's Friday and this is supposed to be the Gallery Of The Light but this thing is really sticking in my craw. Why are they SO bloody insistent on insisting that a woman has sole authority to abort a forming life? I mean, if there were a palestinian Albino Titmouse family thriving in their backyard, Mom would no doubt make her children play in the street rather than endanger said mice.

Why is that?!? Can they not see that humans are so much more important and meaningful to the planet they claim to love? Can a mouse invent a carbon-scrubber? Of course not. A mouse might become a PART of a carbon scrubber, but it cannot invent it. Can an elk route traffic in a meaningful way? Well a few of them in the road can route traffic, but the timing of the lights is still a bunch of evolutionary steps beyond them.

Humans alone hold the promise of a better future. Nothing else need be said.

But that's never stopped me before...

I think I know why an unborn baby is such a threat to some people: because that baby is proof positive - in absolute, undeniable, physical form - that 2 people not only need to grow up, but have to face the consequences of past decisions. It's that simple.

And growing up and facing consequences are anti-dogma to the left; concepts they simply cannot understand.

J.O.T.W...

A married man and his secretary were having a torrid affair. One afternoon they couldn't contain their passion, so they rushed over to her place where they spent the afternoon making passionate love.

When they were finished, they fell asleep, not waking until 8 o'clock. They got dressed quickly. Then the man told his secretary to take his shoes outside and rub them on the lawn. Bewildered, she did as he asked thinking him pretty weird.

The man finally got home and his wife met him at the door. Upset, she asked where he'd been. The man replied, "I cannot tell a lie. My secretary and I are having an affair. Today we left work early, went to her place, spent the afternoon making love, and then fell asleep. That's why I'm late."

The wife looked at him, took notice of his shoes and yelled, "I can see those are grass stains on your shoes. You liar! You've been playing golf again, haven't you?"

This may be a repeat - but at least this week I've got a reason for that, (and it isn't that I'm having an affair).

Given the vast differences between the sexes - and the way those differences sometimes grate on us - it's a wonder that the species is able to propagate itself. I'm just sayin' is all...

(Actually, you'll see the irony behind the title soon enough.)

I had gone out of my way to spend my lunch at my desk, sketching out tonight's post in an effort to put something here and put myself to bed at a reasonable hour. My topic? The house hunt, natch. I may be hitting that a little hard but that's only because it's the Thing Most Weighing On My Mind lately. Remember the 'gotta make the donuts' commercial? That's been me: time to find a house -- time to find a house.

Between pecking at my outline I was scanning the property listings for the area I know she likes. An interesting home here, another there and with each one I found I wondered, "what will she find wrong with this one?" Which reminded me - again - that it once took her 9 months to buy a car, (something she denies but I mentioned to the state adoption reviewer the previous day when he asked how the "move" was coming), so I decided to put that in my outline; "9 months to buy a car - 2 years to buy a home?" I wrote.

Then I saw a home that I've seen online before. It was in the right area, in the right price range and is a single gate from a golf course. That's right - open your back gate and there's the 16^th in all it's glory. It also has a hot tub (aka "Kid Drownin' Area" we'd turn into a ball pit) and is in a pool community. Oh - and it's a nice home, too, but she hasn't gone to see it. She saw one just down and across the street, she's seen others in the area, just not this one.

Two years, I reminded myself. Two. Bloody. Years. *SIGH*

I decided to send her the link with a note: "Could we PLEASE go see this one?" I got the message together but was having technical problems and couldn't get the link copied over properly so I decided to go fill my water cup. I looked at my phone (and it's dying battery - UURGH!) to see what time it was when I noticed I had a voicemail. I told a passing co-worker, "with any luck this'll be from my Wif telling me that she's put an offer on a house."

And we enjoyed a good chuckle. After returning to a good cell area I checked my message. It was The Wif - I was half-way there.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

She said that she'd gone to see a house - THAT house - you know, the one on the golf course? 'Great,' I thought, 'now that one's out of the question I can at least save myself an email.' She said she'd talked to the realtor (our guy's out of town) and the house had been under contract, but it fell through. She said it had aluminum wiring and a smallish backyard. She also said the LOVED the place and wanted to make an offer.

As I came to, the nurse told me that I'd suffered a concussion from my head hitting the concrete floor.^* Plenty of fluids and don't move too fast was her advice - as if they ever tell you to limit fluids. (Oh, OK - surgery. But that's about it.)

"Time to make the donuts." "I already made the donuts..."

^*I actually suffered no concussion -- but what fun is it to say, "I was shocked?" It lacks dramatic flair, it does.

THOSE FLIPPING! IDIOTS...!

It's official: I'm mad. No -- in spite of my self-imposed language restriction I have to say that I'M PISSED! Just when I'd pretty well become convinced that the local news stations - specifically "channel" 9 - were fairly free of the liberal bias that has soaked through the sheets of the LSM, I happen to catch a story from the "news"cast behind me that The Wif insists on watching.

The "story?" It involved a proposed ballot issue regarding when life begins. The implications are obvious; if approved by the voters, the idea that life begins at conception could be the first step towards ending abortion in this state. A fairly simple news event, right?

well, not in the age of political correctness. Instead of a reporter standing in front of a camera - you know, REPORTING - the decided to play both ends against the middle. They recorded the views of an activist from each side, (both female, natch), and played them against each other. It's a pure case of "balance" passing for "news." But we're used to that by now, right?

But what I saw sickened me: they had filmed the (rather attractive young lady) representative of the pro-life side in such a way that only about 75% of her face was on-screen. The remainder of her visage bounced in and out of the shot as her personal speaking habits dictated. Usually, only one of eyes was on screen.

So what of the pro-abortion (janeane garofalo look alike)? Why, her entire face was on-screen for the entire interview! We never lost sight of her eye, much less her outer cheek area! How 'bout that?!?

Well, this being a "credible" "news" "organization," I'm sure it was just an oversight. Perhaps they had a trainee manning the camera, they filmed the Conservative first and after that 7 minute interview said trainee had a better mastery of the camera so they were able to capture the leftie's face in frame. That MUST be it, right?

Well, I was willing to buy the 'incompetent cameraman' angle until I realized something: The leftie they interviewed had her face fully contained within - albeit along the LEFT edge - of the television screen. The (much more attractive) Conservative's face was barely noticeable along the RIGHT edge of the TV screen.

In short, there was a cameraman or an editor or a producer - maybe all 3 in concert - who decided to frame the shot(s) in such a way that the leftie would be on the left side of the screen and the righty would appear on the right side of the screen. EXCEPT that they decided to show things such that the leftie was ALWAYS visible and the righty was only barely seen.

The upshot? Well, they're saying that the leftie's, (always visible), position is within the viable "mainstream" of American politics while the righty's position, (visible only at the fringe), is OUTside of our political spectrum. The message is as dull as the axe they've chosen to deliver it.

Of course, the worst part of it all is that THEY'VE decided where to place their camera according to where THEY imagine themselves along the spectrum. That is, their own bellybutton is the center of the American political sphere -- and they've demonstrated this belief by allowing us to view the world through their eyes.

This is not the end of this. Blogs and youtube and the like - not to mention their own website - always promise that these things have legs. And I intend to kick them in the butt to see how those legs react...

UPDATE: It's a start...

IN PRAISE...

Just to - sort of - continue the first post, I have to start by saying how proud I am of The Wif for finally being seemingly willing to get her foot wet, as it were. I've been telling her for some time now, (roughly 11 years), that great risks come with great rewards - usually - BUT! Minimal risks cannot offer substantial rewards. It just doesn't work that way.

It's not that I have a wealth of examples to fall back on to prove this point, (or at least 3 tiny little examples that are the VERY DEFINITION of this point!), that are able to sway her thinking, it's just that she falls back into old patterns very quickly.

So I here, publicly, announce my pride in her for taking that first step. Or at least taking a first step towards that first step. It really is quite remarkable. But it's not the first time we've noticed this behavior from her.

Namely, it's not a coincidence that we'll make an offer on an imperfect house today, because she accepted an offer from an imperfect spouse on this day 9 years ago. Many of you were there; you remember the heat and either her dress or my sweating myself into my own shoes. My best man was 9 months pregnant and Dood was there asking if we could turn up the heat in the hall.

The day progressed and each of you have your own memories of what happened to you that day, where you were in your own life and what our event might mean to you. Well, what it meant to me is exactly what I've been trying to express here for lo' these many years. And I've always fallen short of the mark.

Much as I sometimes feel I have in the marriage itself; too much me and not enough her - or sometimes (but rarely) vice-versa. I exist, she exists and yet somehow we have - from that moment forward - existed together. It's beyond me to explain here.

All the same, I can express gratitude for it whether I can explain it or not...

Thank you, Wif, for all you've done, all you've put up with and for understanding that my initial unwillingness to adopt ALSO played a role in the creation of our family. Thank you for praying for me - I feel it in ways I cannot express. Thank you for your patience - both with me and with our children - because it is a model that will outlive us both by centuries. Thank you for venturing into unfamiliar waters when you felt the most uncomfortable...

That's the very model of marriage and I'm glad to see you holding up your end of the agreement. It's what defines a partnership.

I love you with all of my heart and with all of my purpose. Aside from that, I have little else to offer you...

Sorry. It's been a very, very busy day within a very, very busy week within a very, ve

Well, you get the idea. In addition, this is my first full week at work in several weeks, PLUS I sat in on the semiannual state review of our case, as well as D-Man undergoing his high-gear mandated professional review, (their conclusion: my son is "average." Pfft! I bet they say that about roughly 54% of all the kids they examine). The other two go later this month and eventually the reports will be complete.

Now, that won't mean to the world what that phrase means to the D.C. community, but it's a date we anticipate all the same.

Houses and flooring and wounded knees to follow.

But for now? Good Night.

The death of Lady Bird Johnson brings up an obvious question: she was still alive? I didn't have any idea she was still around and I guess if she hadn't driven drunk or publicly juggled her child or gone clubbing without her undies or been imprisoned for 6 hours or driven cross-country in diapers intent on killing a romantic rival that only her death could get her into those jam-packed fishwraps.

Well, I guess the wife of our most insane President had a pretty good run. Good for her. Now I have to ask the women out there: am I the only one appalled by how women are presented in the LSM these days? (To be fair, most of the examples above involve only 2 "women" but the point stands) Where are the stories about the young ladies serving our nation proudly overseas at great personal risk? Are there any women out there working on cures for cancer or making advancements in engineering? Hell, I'd even settle for a cute little story about a cute little girl who saved her allowance all year to donate to a cute little food bank at this point.

You wanted "equality," ladies. Is it everything you expected?

I may now have a reason to hope algore's been right all this time. This story gives me pause. Of course, he best part of the story was this line: "This is the first study to detect this possibility..." Which of course means that this is the first study which was looking for that possibility. I'm telling you, I could create a computer model which shows mankind is evolving into frogs.

But the story got me thinking, as well: why should all those snooty eurpoeans with their month-long vacations get to lounge around and have us send billions of dollars and other aid to them without some comeuppance? You want our money? Fine - take a few hurricanes with it, Pierre!

But I'm no idiot; I know where they'll turn - hands out and palms up - as the 'canes start. Pfff! They won't be able to handle 'em and WE name our sports teams for them...

I am NOT - I repeat, NOT - the Emperor of Colorado. I have much more grand expectations. That is all. Thank you.

SOMETHING TO CHEW ON...

This, courtesy of The Patriot Post's daily email, was waiting for me in my inbox this morning:

"There is a rank due to the United States, among nations, which will be withheld, if not absolutely lost, by the reputation of weakness. If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it; if we desire to secure peace, one of the most powerful instruments of our rising prosperity, it must be known that we are at all times ready for war."

That was written by George Washington's speechwriter (if you catch my drift) for his "Fifth Annual Message" in December of 1793. I'll admit to being ignorant of exactly what an "annual message" was at the time and am assuming it was the equivalent of the modern State Of The Union Address. Without Chris Matthews, natch, (he wasn't on the scene until James K Polk's administration).

So much of what Washington says there is noteworthy to the point that I barely know where to begin, so I'll just dive in...

I suspect that by, "to avoid insult," he meant something more serious than the french calling American Cheese, "idiot cheese." He's not talking about us being called a bunch of poopy-heads or cowboys there. He's talking about an attack. After all, you don't "repel" an insult; you repel an attack.

He started out by insisting that this young nation was due some respect among the ranks of the other, more established nations. Why would he say such a thing? Simple: his country had stood to the task before it and beaten a much greater foe in almost Biblical fashion.

He then says that the appearance of weakness will be interpreted as weakness by our enemies. It takes little imagination to see that bin laden also understands that concept, (do a search for 'horse'). Then the 'insult/attack and being above such a thing' idea.

Washington concludes with 2 powerful ideas: peace - as opposed to so much of his mature career - is the ideal that will allow us to focus on butter instead of guns in order to make the best use of the land we occupy. He then goes on to say that we must never neglect the need to produce, store, develop and train our youths in the use of guns in order to secure that ability to focus on butter.

It's a powerful message that still holds sway today. Where is YOUR political party as regards General Washington's Address?

Well, it appears that I've been tagged. Worse yet, it's not the thin veneer of 'appearance' but instead a cold, hard fact: I have indeed been tagged. And as a member in decent standing of the "online" "community" (sorry - couldn't find the european spelling for either of those words so I'm sure I've missed at least 4 "U's" there) (Added much later: I'd written the previous parenthetical comment long before I'd heard about NASA's recent, related faux pas. I'm pretty creeped out by it, frankly), I'm obligated to respond and I'll start by saying that I'm not all that surprised to be tagged. After all, lumberjacks are all about serious business and it doesn't take a whole bunch of nonsensical comments on their site before you come into their sights.

So, this is how I'm repaid; I have to complete the following:

1) Tell who tagged you. CHECK!
2) Tell 8 random facts about yourself, (keep reading).
3) Once tagged, post these rules as well as said 8 facts.
4) Tag and notify 8 other people.
5) (Taking a page from him what tagged me), don't change the rules; only shorten them through more efficient use of the language. (PLEASE NOTE: Leave off #5 in the future unless you're going to re-write them in binary; 11000101 10010101 10100101 10100010 10010001 00100100 00011011. HA!hahahaha! 1001 - who saw that coming?!?)

And now, the problems with such a proposition: your first temptation is to go and review the offerings of the one that tagged you. I did that. Your second temptation is to respond to the facts presented by He Who Tagged instead of giving 8 of your own. I almost did that, (because we have a couple in common). The other question is, "random?" How in the world can I give 8 "random" facts about myself without being in possession of the proper matrix to determine such things?

For better or worse, I THINK I have torn myself away from such questions, but you will be the judge of the facts:

...

¶ I'm a night-owl. Find a way to shorten my day and I'll be all the more insistent on lengthening the next 3.

¶ I'm actually - believe it or not - an optimist. I believe that my Faith drives me to believe that I'll eventually spend my days in Heaven. And that there I will no longer feel obligated to share driving tips. Once everyone is doing it my way, I mean.

¶ I cross-stitch. Or at least I used to; blogging and writing has taken so much of my time from me that I can't spare another 4 minutes in any other endeavor. Yet...

¶ I LOVE Marx Brother's movies and it's one of the things I'm determined to pass onto my kids.

¶ I can watch The Matrix (one.), Death ship, House of The Dead, Tombstone or most of the Star Wars franchise from start to end and love every minute of it.

¶ I spent most of a night in juvie. Once there, I actually ran into someone I knew from school. It was an interesting lesson and if I can remember his name, I'll Google it tomorrow.

¶ I have had ONE best friend from the time I was young. He's always been a better guy than me and my main contribution to our relationship was usually one of trying to get him in trouble. For some reason, he continues to forgive me for that, and I'm eternally grateful.

¶ I always expected I'd be a father, but I NEVER expected it would be in this way or would be this fulfilling.

As for the tags I'm expected to make, well, one need only look to the "friends" section to see a part of the future there; two friends listed, two tagged in the future. And even though LumberJack didn't declare "no tag backs" it's safely assumed that it's built into the challenge.

I'll have to think about this...

An exceptionally unusual event happened tonight; The Wif came home in a bad mood, (that's not it), and proceed to lie on the table down on the couch. "Loveseat" would be more accurate and "lie" would be better replaced with "sleep."

I was alone with the kids and against all odds we seemed to survive. Of course Binky screamed bloody murder when he couldn't be in my arms. Of course D-Man wanted to get out toys instead of put them away. And of course we got our usual visit from a wandering pamphleteer while we...

WAIT A MINUTE! A pamphleteer here would be as rare as... well, so far it's been a Saturday FedEx delivery and a late group of Trick-or-Treaters who were well beyond the age of doing such that has surprised me at my own door.

Maybe he was one of those Halloween visitors from oh so long ago...

At any rate, he knocked on the door before he looked through it. I know this because as we became aware of each other - through the screen - I actually heard him moan in remorse for having disturbed our dinner. As the dogs became aware of his presense -- well, thing changed in another way.

I sized him up; too much hair and carrying a clipboard. He was wearing a T-shirt that sported the Colorado State Flag and by my best guess he had not yet settled on a favorite brand of razor. I knew what this was about before I'd secured the dogs: "why are you killing the planet by driving that big truck?"

Of course that wasn't how he phrased it and I have to admit to being VERY impressed by his professionalism. If every leftie adopted this guy's (Nathan - as he introduced himself), attitude cars would already be outlawed and we'd all be vegans who walk to the office and grow 89% of our own food in the backyard.

But that's not the case. And as much as I wish Nathan a good, long and healty life I'm reminded by him of how many more people will be knocking on my door if we ever move into the city.

It's a different story that will come later. As for those people that will be knocking on my door, I came to a sudden realization tonight: ANY 20-something that approaches me in any setting will be politely ignored, unless he's wearing a collared shirt or better. Golf course attire will get you noticed by me because - in relation to your hair length - it will show a certain willingness to adhere to someone else's rules.

As opposed to the whole global warming thing which demonstrates your willingness to go along with the crowd.

Seriously: Nathan - Live, be well, prosper and and enjoy good health. Find a good woman and raise fat babies who grow into healthy, strong, idealistic young people like you. Change the world as best you can from where you are.

I only hope you raise a line long enough...

J.O.T.W...

What did Adam say on the day before Christmas?
It's Christmas, Eve!

How do you make an idiot laugh on boxing day?
Tell him a joke on Christmas Eve!

What do you have in December that you don't have in any other month?
The letter "D"!

What does Father Christmas suffer from if he gets stuck in a chimney?
Santa Claustrophobia!

So what's the point? Well, we're just 163 days from the point, I suppose...

This morning I awoke - as I have from time-to-time, (see yesterday's post), to the rather oriental nature of my cell phone alarm. I cannot explain why an Asian scale is the default tone for my "alarm" - other than to accept the idea that the phone's designer/programmer is roughly my age. That is, came to a certain state of pre-maturity in an era when the Japanese buying large blocks of Manhattan was considered to be as serious as a giant lizard rising from the sea - created by our own wanton (why do you think they call them that?) - misuse of a devastating and war-ending device. Twice.

But historical/political considerations aside, I was lying comfortably in bed when my alarm went off. History (DRAT - again?) has taught me that it's worth at least 4 minutes of my snooze time to encapsulate myself back within the sheet AND the blanket in order to get warm enough to face the world threatening me. It's my way of coming to face the threat of the coming day, so I take it rather seriously.

Then again, The Bink and I were strapped in and rolling at around 7:10. I had to change his diaper and put some shorts on him, (more about that later), but we were rolling soon enough. We got to the Vehicle Exchange Point - my Folks' house - far before The Wif could manage it. Which means that I could have slept an additonal 20 minutes or so - as might have my youngest son.

So if there's a "next time," I'll know to hit snooze twice. I owe it to my son.

(BTW - everything went pretty much as expected. As older parents, we're not as freaked out by those things that tend to freak out the other first-timers. I mean, cutting holes in your kids' eardrums? Who would do such a thing and who would accept such a thing?)

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. The fact that I'll be working from home tomorrow doesn't erase the fact that I'll be working tomorrow.....

OH! But before I take my leave I'd like to thank all zero volunteers I received following yesterday's post. Seriously - as a man of Faith I believe that things happen for a reason and the fact that nobody stepped up to have hammers thrown at them was just further proof that I need to walk away and leave things as they are right now: I've already done all that I was meant to do.

Thank you for that. Really.

And good night.

AAUUUUGGGHHH!! There - had to get that out.

Nope, that didn't help. I'm going to have to do the long version, I guess.

Now, some of you will know this, some of you won't care, some of you may disagree for personal reasons and the doorknob who really needs to read this doesn't even know it exists. It's a post known among bloggers as, "a real audience killer." Ready, Aim...

Brief backstory: I commented on said doorknob's (and I've reached this conclusion after several interchanges with him) blog - to a comment on his blog - and he responded by calling me an idiot. The he demanded some respect from me. Go figure. We got a little further into things and each and every time he had something to say he either couldn't understand what I had said or he called me a name. Or both. Real intelligence there, I tells ya'.

At any rate, (I could link to the exchange but it's pretty mind-numbing), he finally misunderstands - again - a point I'd made earlier about lefties using about 4 words to stifle debate, (bigot, racist, sexist, homophobe), and says I am a bigot if I want to deny equal rights to homosexuals.

Now, to the point: (AT LAST!) there's a very, very important two word phrase in what he said - "equal rights." Now, when lefties use that phrase they are trying to argue that since I can get married, they should also be allowed to marry. An interesting - if extraordinarily shallow - interpretation of the phrase. It's also an incredibly wrong interpretation.

When discussing "rights" in public policy there is only ONE standard by which rights are judged - a LEGAL standard. That is, does a proposed - or indeed existing - policy or law conform to the guarantees of the Constitution? The law as it currently exists in nearly every state, (lest I say '49 states' and 3 come out with wacky decisions overnight), conforms to the legal standards and protections of the Constitution, and I'll prove it (you lucky reader, you).

The equal protections clause of the 14th Amendment means that states cannot deny legal protections or privilege to ANY of their citizens. Given that this was ratified in 1883, it's obvious that its roots are in protecting the rights of freed slaves, but it has grown to encompass more than that. Now it has come to be understood to mean that, given me and my status - legal citizen, non felon, et cetera - I cannot be allowed access to a State-granted right that someone of equal or greatly similar status would be denied.

And that is EXACTLY the policy in place now: given myself and ANY homosexual male in America of similar legal status, we have exactly the same rights. We are each entitled to own land, to earn a driver's license, access to public facilities AND the right to marry. How so? Well, the "pool" of people available for me to marry IS EXACTLY EQUAL to the "pool" available to the homosexual male!

The common pool looks like this: female, not already married to someone else, of legal age to consent, (or sometimes receive permission) and not related by blood (in some states). That's MY pool, that's his pool. They're EQUAL.

Ah, but the leftie says, 'they aren't free to marry the person they love.' Well, if 'the person I love' falls outside of that pool, neither would I be (EQUAL). This is an attempt to play to feelings and obscure the legality of the current system. Do they really want the government to recognize marriages based on "love?" What would that look like? Is there a meter or a graph or a chart of some kind? Blood test? And what if things between me & The Wif start to go sour? I guess it would greatly simplify the divorce process: "Sorry your honor, we were at 52% yesterday but I woke up this morning feeling a very distinct 48.7%" BANG! "Divorce is official."

And don't get me started on how this is the group who wants to get the gubermint out of their "health decisions," (READ: Abortions For All!), and they now want big brother to monitor their feelings for their "spouse?" Give me a break...

Ahhhh. That's better. Thank you.

ADDENDUM: *SIGH* I guess I need one volunteer. If 5 or 9 brave souls step forward, all the better, but if one of you would be willing to examine the facts and respond of your own accord I'd be ever so grateful. You know how to get in touch with me.
Thanks again.

ANYBODY REMEMBER FEE WAYBILL...?

(That is the absolute worst, crappiest, most obscure title that I've ever used. No - wait; it's the worst title in all of the history of blogdom. I'm as sorry as I am sure that nobody -- NOBODY except Fee's friends and family will connect the title to the post without visiting Google or Wiki. Please forgive me.)

Depending on when you read this site, The Binkster's ears are either waiting to be tubed or have already been tubed. I suppose it's possible that, should you tune in around 10:26 or so you might catch this page while they're between the right and the left - or vice versa - but you get the idea: Today, (Wednesday), is the date we have for his tiny little ears to receive the straws.

I think I've noted before that it literally took a court order to get this done. Of course the best part came on Monday when The Wif got a call from the hospital telling her that they hadn't yet received the signed consent form. Goodie! This could mean another exam, another doctor's order and another court hearing, thereby pushing the procedure back until he and his own son can go in on a two for one rate.

Thankfully, I got a call from the social worker this morning saying that she'd faxed the whole package over again and she confirmed the hospital had received it. Just as I was about to call The Wif and tell her to check with her people at the hospital, she called me saying that she'd just called the hospital and everything was a go.

So today's the day. I'll let you know or you can text/call me in the afternoon.

JUST THINKIN' OUTLOUD HERE...

— If algore treats his son's recent legal troubles in the same manner as he treats his own "carbon footprint," we should notice a marked increase in the purchase of 'prison offsets' in the international markets. This should drive the price higher, so buy now. Of course, if he'd spent fewer years buying 'parenting offsets' and had instead spent more time with his son, perhaps neither of them would be in this mess now.

— You might take a second glance at this, as I did. What you're looking at is a picture of a bedroom in a house that we're actually considering putting a contract on. Oh sure it looks as if Data exploded here, but I'm sure there's a better explanation. Regardless, what in the world was the picture-taker thinking? Why not spend roughly 28 seconds gathering those parts into the un-photographed corner of the room so they're, like, NOT in the shot?

  Laetly, I've been asking myself, "what would success in Iraq look like?" Mainly because it's so much easier than the question, "what would success in the US Senate look like?" And I've answered the lesser question in a peculiar way that kind of surprised me; success in Iraq would look much like Israel. Seriously, if you think about it and seriously evaluate the options, success in Iraq would mean ever-decreasing terror attacks while the government continues to coalesce and concentrate a serious effort on developing new ways to thwart terror attacks. Eventually, Iraq would decide to build a wall to guard their borders along those areas deemed too remote to patrol, and fully patrol those other areas.

Of course the occasional bomb-thug would slip through - as they do in Israel - and of course the attacks in Iraq would garner much more media attention than those that happen in Israel. But that's the model: a representative government that respects the minority while sanely passing out seats according to the parliamentary model. And if a car bomb is exploded in the streets below?

Twenty minute recess while they clear the rubble. Vote at 11, people!

(Here's the link that will provide context for that.)

I hate my cell phone. Well, no; not exactly. The phone is pretty much a phone and does all the things I'd expect it to do. Namely, call my friends and confound certain of them by texting from time to time, (you know who you are).

That is, my phone can do those things - and more, like math on the built-in calculator - when it's working. Which is to say that during the roughly 18 MINUTES between necessary re-charges! I can't tell you how often I've nearly been late to work because I missed the alarm because the phone has decided to take it's leave of this mortal coil in the middle of the night! I won't be able to hear your little 13 decibel beeps of "goodbye cruel world" at that hour.

Yeesh - it's almost as if it decides to die like Doc Holliday in Tombstone. No good, pal. I need more notice than that. Think more like Drew Barrymore in Scream. That I might hear...

So I guess I don't hate my phone after all - it's the battery that I loathe; the phone is OK. It's YOUR phone that I hate.

I will ask this as politely as I can: what IS it with you people?!? How can being on the phone cause you to become so completely and utterly distracted? Just the other day I was stuck behind some woman talking on the phone in a minivan cranking out a mind-numbing 28 MPH, which would be OK in a school zone AND if she were receiving news that her dog ran away, her home had burnt to the ground and someone had stolen the ashes. I could allow that as sufficient distraction.

But she was on a state highway! The speed limit was 50 - meaning an unofficial 57 was the expected minimum. Hang up or pull over already or I will make you wish you had. Nothing violent, nor threatening, mind you, but take this to the bank: if I cannot get around you and away from you I will lay on my horn like michael moore on a buffet.

Of course, this nuisance is not limited to highway driving; one of the scariest things I face in my day-to-day life - and half the audience is about to take umbrage, so limber up first lest you sprain something - is a woman behind the wheel talking on the phone.

Usual disclaimer in place, if I'm walking through a parking lot and about to enter a crosswalk, even though I have the right of way, I will insist that she keep driving. Play through, as it were. Step out in front of a woman on the phone while she's driving? No, thank you.

I'd rather gargle with anthrax. Better odds of surviving, frankly. Not because women are evil or anything of the kind. I won't accuse them of being inferior drivers either. It's just that - recent studies to the contrary - I believe that women ARE far more invested in their conversations than men are. All you have to do is be married - and male - to come to the same conclusion. And I think marriage is optional for our purposes here.

When I make a call, it's for a purpose; I want to get a phone number or check on a tee time or be reminded of the date and time I'm supposed to act as Best Man. It's short and sweet - with only 2 exceptions. One is when I'm talking to Dood - the one man outside of my family that I actually enjoy being on the phone with, and; Two, when I'm talking to a woman.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I'll close now because I know the first rule of holes...

GREAT, GRAND WISHES...

Honestly, I had no idea. Well, I had some idea, but none of the specifics were dancing around in my frontal lobe. I knew J-Lo was going to spend 19 hours on a delivery table ;-) sometime soon, but had forgotten it was expected to happen, like, yesterday. I remembered that she was Great With Child but to my mind, she's been preggers for something like 32 months. It all goes back to that 'not paying attention to conversation' thing I mentioned above.

And by the way, ladies, not remembering the details doesn't mean that we don't care. We really do. And if I were expected to deliver the baby I'd have known the date - or at least maintained a rough estimate of such. Probably would'a had her on speed dial, too.

But that's neither here nor there; here and now is the time when we all collectively gather whatever goodwill we can muster and send it her way. And we might also want to apologize for me embarrassing her in this manner.

J-Lo: first remember that you know my other readers as well as they know you. Rest easy on that. Second - remember that we're all pulling for you.

We'll laugh at you later...

PRESIDENTIAL POLITICS...

I've been giving it some thought, and maybe Fred Thompson is worth voting for. I mean, why wouldn't we want to be known as the world's only superpower AND the country with the hottest First Lady? Couldn't hurt us, right?

AND FINALLY...

I'm putting you all on notice: I may call you into service any day now. It's nothing major and won't cost you a cent and I won't be asking anything unethical of you and this won't take any more time than I suspect most of you already spend waste on my drivel, so it's pretty light service.

But if it comes to it, I might ask for your honest opinion and a single click. Nothing more than that. You've probably already imagined that it involves my parenting blog and I may need to call up the Reserves (you) if things get twisted there.

It's an outside possibility, but please remember your boots all the same...

In a very out-of-the-expected-realm of things, I just killed a fly. It was an adolescent, judging from it's wingspan, but it was one that first caused me to smack my own left ear, rage against the upper portion of my right shoulder and then hit an area of my left rear-skull with unexpected force. (An area probably reserved for the "learning from your kid's behavior gene.) For fly-hunting is usually made up of such maneuvers...

And I was convinced of my kill - and being well on my way towards my Ace - when I noticed that my head was no longer being molested; whatever secret my scalp held that somehow attracted teenage flies had been solved with the death of this one guy.

I was elated; NO MORE FLIES! I'd solved the problem with a mere three, concussion-threatening blows to my own head! King of the World, Ma!

And then, as I was typing this, I noticed a fly. A fly of an immature nature - on my computer screen. He was on the right side of the screen so I was either to smack him or to grab my little-used 4 Iron and turn the whole setup to dust.

Well, since my clubs are under lock and key in a certain toolbox, I decided to just "reach out and touch someone." Namely the fly on my monitor: I backhanded him and he dropped into the night.

Of course, that means that I backhanded my monitor at a rapid rate. As I tell my daughter, "think about where you'll land." I didn't.

Turns out, the fly fell onto my keyboard where he was promptly gathered into an area I sincerely hope The Binkster cannot access. Barring that, I hope God has gifted us with the innate ability to know that dead flies are bad news.

CLOSED CIRCUIT...

TO:

J_Lo: I need your address. Soon. I suspect, well, never mind what salacious details others might infer from this request. Just - PLEASE - send me your address and then be on the lookout for a Goodwill delivery...

algore: OK, ok. We seem to finally get your side of the argument; Now it's time for you to go home, leave the global-earth-fight-for-survival thing to those A-List celebrities you've been dying to rub elbows with -- and maybe even abandon your own personal carriage as Global Martyr -- if only to save your son.

That is, if you think him to be a grand enough fight...

Dood: Do you hear that? Applewood is calling. Or maybe FoxHollow. It's tough to tell from up here...

Before we go any further, let me just announce to a certain group of readers that my other online, newspaper-related Fatherhood, near-daily blog is once again available to those of us who reside behind the same firewall. I'm not sure what happened or who is responsible for the change, but here we are all the same: I'm now allowed to further infect the halls of that Federal agency that was foolish enough to employ me all those years ago.

And you're free to register and grant upon me glowing praise and endless 5-star ratings. Such is the nature of our relationship -- if one is to take the newspaper site too seriously. And for those readers who would like to comment here but can't, that's the perfect opportunity to not only comment on what I have to say but also leave a site-wide rating.

So knock yourself out...

J.O.T.W...

As for me and mine, I present this list...

The Top 10 Ways I'm Preparing Myself To Move Back Into Town:

10: Walking barefoot over laid bricks, packed ground and broken glass will make a back yard a dream.

9: The lack of illegal fireworks will make next year's Independence Day celebrations a reason to remember the Police's non-emergency number.

8: Believing I'll actually visit one of those libraries I've been paying for all these years.

7: I might actually ride on one of those buses I've -- Never Mind.

6: Believing I'll trade Wildfire Alerts for Tornado Alerts.

5: Crying myself to sleep each night like a little girl over the change I'm about to experience.

4: Climbing upstairs - rather than downstairs - to go to bed will require very little change in my muscle memory.

3: Just to remind myself of the importance of sprinkler placement, I've been showering in only cold water while piping in hot water via a direct connection to the water heater and one of those "shower" spinklers.

2: I've been playing my "Sounds Of 42nd Square" CD at top volume in the room next to ours. I'm up to roughly 5 hours of sleep in that time.

AND -- #1: I've been practicing my driving gestures!

I have BIG news! On the morning of the 4^th of July, 2007, I slept in. And none of that light-weight sleeping in, either; I slept until 10:41. HA! Beat that!

Of course, there were two things that made that possible. The first is my amazing Wif who - as usual - got up when the screaming started and allowed me to stay in bed, (BTW - I expect to be handed a full accounting of each and every such hour some day, with a request for similar compensation; something along the lines of a weeks vacation at Rancho Relaxo or a 32 carat diamond pendant).

The second thing that helped me wake at the break of lunch was the fact that I have Bronchitis. 2 big, full, steaming portions of it, actually. It seems that whatever bug came into our midst and gave the boys ear infections decided to settle in my lungs instead. OK, FINE. It would seem that we've caught a friendly bug in the sense that it has decided to attack along each of our well-known defenses, but it doesn't ease the pain I suffered on Tuesday night when I was coughing so hard I blacked out, fell out of my chair, smacked my head against the keyboard tray, (it was uninjured - the tray, that is), and came to a mere half-minute later, only to see The wif standing over me asking if I was alright.

Well, in the sense that I was alive and awake, (again), yeah, I guess I was alright.

So nothing follows Tuesday night breathing problems and Wednesday morning oxygen-depravation like afternoon weed whacking, right? Let's get to it!

One of The Wif's recent concerns about selling our home has been the length and prevalence of our local weed population. I've noticed a certain spurt in their growth but have graciously decided to let it all go unspoken. After all, once a problem is noticed it's a small step to have it commented on, and once it's commented on it's a very small step to involve me in some sort of physical labor.

And that's something we'd all rather avoid, frankly...

But 'Twas not to be: I tried all my best arguments - "you know, doing yard work while trying to sell a home is one of the worst actions you can undertake." I got a blank stare. "Seriously - what happens when a potential buyer pulls up, sees the stacks of dead weeds lying about and then thinks to himself, 'you know - that'll be me having to slay all those weeds next year if we buy this place.' We'll scare off buyers if I harvest the weeds!"

The Wif seemed unmoved by logic. Well, it wouldn't be the first time...

"Besides," I continued, "Who's to say that the beauty of a weed is in the least bit diminished by the beauty of a flower?"

Well, The Wif, apparently. So I'm out trying to start the Whacker O' Weeds when I realize something: I've been here before: yes, sometimes in June and sometimes in July I've been sent out to vanquish the weed population only to realize that the tool at hand is too difficult to start on a once-a-year basis. It was designed for the more regular use of the future suburban setting it's about to see.

Not to mention the fact that it's cutting surface is made up of a length of plastic of varying thicknesses: a green strand is suitable for those lightweight, sissified lawns you city-dwellers experience, but a red strand is necessary when the job goes beyond mere grass. After all, the red ones are thicker and last longer against the more stubborn problems of wild roses, sticker-bushes and even crabgrass.

That's all well and good, but for the high country, we need something more than "green" or "red." Namely, we need "black." It's an impressive length of plastic that's 1/4 inch thick and will annihilate even young evergreens, should it be necessary.

But they were found to be lacking, frankly. I had to start and finish the job - the volume of which would be better suited to either a lawnmower or a goat - with a red strand in a weed-whacker known for it's unreliability.

I got the job done and things look better and at least shorter around here. So tomorrow I move the trash cans in an effort to boost our curb appeal.

Couldn't hurt, right?

News you can use, and nothing more...

The general principles on which the Fathers achieved independence were the general principles of Christianity. John Adams, June 28, 1813, to Thomas Jefferson

It is in vain, sir, to extentuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775

Proclaim liberty throughout the land and to all the inhabitants thereof.
Inscription on the Liberty Bell (and, by way of non-accident: Leviticus 25:10)

I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.

You will think me transported with Enthusiasm but I am not. — I am well aware of the Toil and Blood and Treasure, that it will cost Us to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. — Yet through all the Gloom I can see the Rays of ravishing Light and Glory. I can see that the End is more than worth all the Means. And that Posterity will tryumph in that Days Transaction, even altho We should rue it, which I trust in God We shall not.

John Adams - printed in Adams Family Correspondence, 2:29-33.

And please say a brief prayer for our troops serving in our interests overseas; it's their service that makes our cheddar-brats taste so sweet...

Yes, yesterday was a mess. But you were warned -- kinda. See, the "funny" thing about ending your day by writing about it is that you spend your day constantly writing about it. Every event, every moment is under scrutiny to see if it will be included. And if you're me, by the end of the day - and especially by the end of TWO days of NOT writing - you have nothing more than a hopper full of ideas and experiences and roughly 12 minutes in which to put them all together.

The result is the Krep you saw yesterday, (and, I'm somewhat proud of the fact that I was able to convince my fingers NOT to split the tense, because as you read "saw yesterday" above, I was about to write "see today." But I have more time and am - strangely - of a more focused mind throughout tonight's effort.)

And there I've just demonstrated the problem of my otherwise 'scattershot' commentary; my seemingly infinite ability to be distracted onto the narrow paths that skitter beneath my feet. Thankfully, you faithful few have found a way to forgive me, and I'm about to punish you for it.

For 'Tis My Way...

On the Presidential Politics front, I have much to say. Namely because I've kept my powder dry thus far and it's finally time for the big explosion: I know of NO person who is worthy of being President.

Oh, as if today I'll vote Thompson or Romney - provided they're still in the race when the date finally rolls around, (isn't it, like, 6 and a half years before the next Presidential Primary?) - but who knows what can happen between here and there? As the saying goes, there's always the possibility of a live girl or a dead boy showing up to ruin things, but it seems pretty unlikely on my side of the aisle.

And Fred Thompson, (linking to his IMDB page seems unnecessarily cruel in this context), seems to be successfully surfing the edges at this point. Good for him and bad for us. Maybe. Then again, I've actually listened to the speeches that many of you will endure only in soundbites and have concluded him to be little more than a name and a deep voice.

I would like to see a Santorum or someone along those lines in the race. Alas, No seems to be the answer as of the dawn of July 07. Pity that.

Maybe. It's early yet and I hold an open enough mind to allow other entries to prove themselves to me given the context. Barring that, I might do the write-in thing...

As usual, I'll have to make this brief: 11:14PM here as I type and I'm expected in the office tomorrow morning. Rough go of it, that - until you consider every other person's tour of duty. Pretty sweet, mine is. So sweet in fact that I'm about to go two full weeks - and with leave and the Holiday - I'll only spend two Mondays physically in the office. And tomorrow's one of the two.

So I got that goin' for me...

Of course this Wednesday is the Holiday and next Wednesday The Binkster's ear-tube surgery, so we'll have that working against us.

Not that I expect trouble: not in the least. He's a stable and sturdy little guy and if things go bad I have every expectation he'll jump up on those bent Binky legs and scurry himslelf to a safe place - probably as close to me as can be expected. He's a Daddy's boy, after all.

Many of the bodies that share an address with me saw at least part of the movie, Serenity this weekend. That one of us able to put together an informed opinion is about to share it with you:

IT STINKS! (to quote The Critic.) Well, not completely. It has it's moments but they're mostly predictible - except for the opening sequence. It's too grand a mission, too much of a struggle at the end - for everyone involved - and too much of a mission statement to jibe with the series.

Which makes me believe that they've crafted the movie APART from the series, which would be a serious mistake. Which I think they've done and I believe they've created.

Worse yet, they can't bring the series back for another 9 movies, as I'd hoped they might do. No. They've killed the franchise, and there's no going back.

Pity that...