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August 2007
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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.

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I don't mean to appear crass or uncaring - for once - and I'm really wondering whether I sould say this at all, frankly. I mean, in this sensitive, politically correct time we find ourselves you never know when an off-hand or perhaps ill-advised comment is suddenly enough to find a group of villagers at your door. Complete with pitchforks and torches and a general willingness to use them, natch.

All that being said, I'm going to press ahead all the same. Because otherwise I will have wasted your time already spent here. Not that THAT'S anything new...

I'm absolutely weary of hearing about Katrina. No, not her. More of her could be a good thing - unless she decides to join the brittney/lindsay School of Driving Under Dubious Consciousness. I'm talking about the storm of 2 years ago. (Although most of you knew that right off, I'm sure.)

I know that it was a big one. I know it did a ton of damage, killed innocents (unless 10 couldn't be found) (bad joke/Biblical reference there), destroyed businesses and uprooted families. I realize all that. And the image of people drowning in their attics was pretty haunting to me. At the time I briefly considered putting a large hammer or a hand saw in my attic - until I looked out the window.

Even considering all that, isn't enough enough already? I mean, the hayman fire was a (near-natural) disaster that caused great destruction, loss of life and property and scarred the landscape for years to come but we don't gather every June and gnash our teeth over it. No - you put up a monument to those lives that were lost and you get on with your own as a testament to them.

But of course we all know why we're still hearing about the big wind from the LSM right? Because they're certain that every time they say "Katrina" it's a knife in the back of the President. It's being driven by political momentum and nothing more.

Mind you, they're trying to make it an issue based around competence, but lookee here: these are the same numbskulls (LSM) who reported hundreds of people drowning in their attics. They reported scores of dead bodies floating in the water or piling up in the Superdome. And - according to these idiots (LSM) - the ones who weren't dead envied them due to the overwhelming number of rapes, attacks and murders going on within that dome. Remember all that?

Then you probably also remember their grand Emily Litella in the days that followed. 'Tough to get reliable reports' we heard. 'Difficult to get reporters to the action centers' they claimed. Yeah... right.

They want to make Katrina a code word for incompetence? I say let 'em have at it but ONLY if we remember who the true dunderheads were. A knife in W's back? Puh-Leeze...

HOW I MOURN THE LOSS OF HUMOR...

This actually continues on yesterday's theme, and with only slightly more (non-graphic) detail. So if you're eating breakfast, (TBO!! I'm looking in your direction!), put this site on hold and await the latter stages of digestion...

Thenk Yew.

I was in the john today - which shouldn't be much of a surprise given the design of the human body - and the stall next to me was occupied. Now, to be perfectly honest, this is a rather unusual circumstance for me to find myself in. Due to a combination of my work schedule, the layout of restroom fixtures in my office and my chosen "lifestyle" - hermit - I almost never have to occupy a stall next to an occupied stall.

If you know what I mean.

At any rate, as I was - ummm... - tending to business I was struck by something funny about recent senatorial news events; wouldn't it be funny if I ran my hand along the lower edge of the stall wall? I mean, wouldn't that be worth a laugh or two?

But then I remembered that I'm much more of a news geek than those around me. I mean, what would that other guy think if he saw me doing that and had no idea why I was doing it?

worse yet -- what if he didn't follow the news and knew EXACTLY what I was hinting - although humorously - at?!? Is that the kind of dilemma one wants to find himself in?

Well, certainly not THIS one. I opted to just mind my own business and get out of there as soon as was reasonable. I know we might confuse you from time to time ladies - and as much as most of us seem to enjoy "bathroom humor" around you and each other, we also know that the bathroom is no place to be making jokes...

Well, I'd been meaning to say something about this for two posts now but generally demured on the subject because it was just so... Uh... "ICK." And you're hearing that from a guy familiar with changing diapers that look like they contain the warm contents of an entire chocolate Jell-O pudding cup.

Just to set the record straight from the get-go, I suppose...

But I equally suppose that a reasonable argument could be made that this is an entirely different kind of *ICK,* while others might argue that there's no *ICK* at all and I'm just a caveman who is against all forms of social and cultural evolution.

But that's why comments aren't made automatically public on this site, right?

At any rate, I trust that most of you guys have begun reading my site via a quick enjoyment of the cartoon at the top of the content frame (just above ^). After all, that was my hope in designing this site and deciding to include said cartoon in that location in the first place. So - providing the provider doesn't change his mind in the middle of the night and substitute another 'toon while I'm sleeping - you've now become at least passingly familiar with the latest Congressional scandal.

And I have no idea why I let the capital letter slip by, so don't bother asking.

So Idaho's male senator (caught that one!) propositioned a younger male for sex in a john in the Minneapolis airport. Now I'm proud to say that I'm completely unfamiliar with the physical symbolism that went on - bags and feet and hands all being deployed - but after hearing the full account, I feel safe in saying this:

*ICK*

And I also feel safe in saying this: he needs to fess up and step down YESTERDAY. It doesn't seem to be the case at this point, as those familiar with seats of power are familiar - and comfortable with - the nasty business of going after those seats - but he has to be removed from the public eye as soon as possible.

My call and his ideal are diametrically opposed, to be sure. Which only means that only one of them will see the light of day...

I have a difficult time believing that I'm still alive in order to write this. Please hold while I verify my Non-castro-like condition...

OUCH! Yep - I'm still alive. Next time I'll go with the more traditional 'pinch' though; slamming your hand in a kitchen drawer is overly-effective for this purpose. At any rate - he said slowly getting to the point before the entire audience flips over to Ziggy - I had one heck of a day.

It started out - as all great days do - with a head full of concrete and a sore, scratchy throat. STREP? You're soaking in it! I felt like rolling over and sleeping until Columbus Day but couldn't, because of the other reason that kicked my day in a rather inappropriate place; half my team was out today. One on her regular day off, one working a conference and one in Brazil.

So it wasn't fun and games for everyone just because they weren't in the office. But their absences meant that I was suddenly responsible for half the country, because in addition to my usual 5 sites I picked up 7 more. That's 12 of 23 regions in my overly-weary hands, just in case you thought I was exaggerating. Are you frightened yet? You should be.

So how does one spend the day where you're not feeling good, are swamped with work and would rather be almost anywhere other than chained to your desk? Well, I decided to check out a webcam at the Minnesota State Fair. Whoa there, big guy! There might be children reading this!

Quiet, you. I know it's not going to quicken pulses around the country but that's not exactly what I was looking for anyway. Besides, they've got a great setup and it was pretty cool being able to look around and zoom in on people. I swear, that thing got so close I was able to do dental exams...

OH - and The Wif rounded out my workday by throwing in some surreality. She called towards the end of the day and asked if I'd be able to take some containers of boy poop to the doctor tomorrow. Guess what I'll be doing during my lunch break?

Of course, with my luck the dog will get sick tonight, I'll have to take a sample from him and I'll confuse the samples. Can you imagine? "Mr Stone, your dog is getting too much calcium and your boy has ringworm."

Yeah. I can see that happening. But only to me...

AND IT JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER...

Great. Now I'm in trouble at home. Again. I'm not sure how best to tell this little tale, so please bear with me as we sort it out together...

I guess I should start by saying that I'm very much a creature of habit. I'm extremely likely - and even prone - to erratic outbursts of spontaneity but I partially credit this to the fact that I know an underlying foundation (CAUTION: Redundancy alert!!) has been laid upon which I'll always be able to land.

Well, that and the fact that said outbursts rarely involve gunplay, illegal substances or other dangerous activities - such as staying up past 9:30 PM.

(Of course that last one's a complete crock; I'm now regularly up until nearly midnight on most evenings. It just fit really well with the theme I was developing. Or not - you tell me.)

At any rate, it is this quick adjustment to routine that helps me to be a decent husband. Mainly because it means that I'm easily domesticated trained. For example, over the years The Wif has taught me not to walk past a pile of things at the bottom of the stairs. Oh sure I'm supposed to ignore all the other piles throughout the house (KIDDING!!), but if things are stacked up like 747's over LaGuardia at the bottom of the stairs, it means that those things are supposed to find their way upstairs via pure husband-power, (the 1/2 horse model).

Similarly - and because I possess the basic mental abilities of a chimp - I've learned to adjust and adapt that lesson to the point of seeing payload sitting at the top of the stairs as an "action item" -- as they say in corporate America.

How I hate them...

So what was my domestic sin tonight? Well, there was a boy hamper (for such is our use of the language around here) full of clothes at the top of the stairs. Add to that the fact that The Wif washed our comforter but was unable to check its status today and you've got a prime example of exactly what I'm talking about.

She held the (non-sleeping) Binkster and I decided it was time for a mitzvah. So as I went downstairs to check on the comforter I also carried the boy hamper (for such is our use of the language around here) downstairs to have its contents laundered.

It's just one of the many services I offer. And one of the only ones that's almost never rejected by The Wif -- but that's another story for another day.

I checked the comforter - still damp in spots - and rearranged it for another hour of tumbling. I then set about putting the load of boy laundry in the washer. I felt good! i was helping out around the house and lending a helping hand to The Wif!! Yeah Team Me!!

(Now don't go getting ahead of me here...)

Once The Wif put The Binkster to bed (read more about that on the newspaper site if all goes well), I told her - even bragged - of what I had done: I'd noticed the need of a wanting hamper of clothes, carried them downstairs and taken the EXTRAORDINARY step of actually starting them through the wash cycle.

Yeah Team Me!!

The Wif both grunted and shrugged. It was an interesting combination to witness, frankly. But then she explained her actions: "I told you those were clean and that I wouldn't have time to put them away tonight!"

Well, what in the world is she complaining about then? I've fulfilled her promise by assuring that those clothes will be in the dryer until well into tomorrow's lunar eclipse! I don't see the problem!

I swear: Wif's. You can't live with them, you can't figure them out, you can't show them the errors of their own ways, you can't get them to admit that a $19.95 frock costs $20, you can't get them to carry a Thomas hamper full of clothes beyond the threshold of the stairway, you can't make them understand the relationship between a wheel's diameter and its circumference and you certainly can't count on them to take up golf.

Uh...

Where was I?

I worked a wedding this weekend. It was notable for a couple of reasons; first, I was expected to attend the rehearsal. This was unique because my usual pattern for these things has been: "Show up, (Note to self -- wear pants!!), get CD(s), play at appropriate moments and volumes." and second; because this wedding - unlike the last one - had absolutely NO Celtic dwarves involved in any way.

Seriously: how do they expect me to work without them now?!?

At any rate, I had asked the wedding coordinator to email me a reminder during the week so that I might actually show up for the blessed event and its rehearsal. She did; on Friday afternoon, mere hours prior to the rehearsal. But she was absolutely right: it came during the week.

Now, I should explain that as I read the email The Wif and "M" were out and about and about to get their hair cut. After the shearing they had planned to go to Sam's and then another location. (I forget which. It might have been the dark side of the moon for all I remember and as long as it took them.)

I might have called her at that point with the information. After all, it was plenty early enough that she could have returned home straight-away after the haircuts and been here in time for me to attend the rehearsal. Instead, I opted to wait a bit...

In fact, I waited until just before I went in to wake up the boys from their naps. That way, no matter what sacrificial/martyrish urge overcame The Wif, she would be physically unable to fulfill it and would be forced to continue on with her plan for the day.

And I suspect that I'm still paying for it, frankly. I'll know the cause of this weekend's "chilly nature" by Wednesday or Thursday...

At any rate, I got the boys up, "Superfunded" their removal from toxic waste changed their diapers, loaded a diaper bag/backpack and we hit the road. My plan was to pack them full of both snack and toys and dump them in the church nursery. I would then run the mixing board and check in on them from time to time or as the various screams warranted.

As I arrived, I learned that the wedding coordinator's daughter was onsite. Not the eldest daughter who was the kids' first babysitter, but her younger sister. If memory serves me (a long shot at best), she's about 8 and she was volunteered to go sit and watch my boys.

I'm here to tell you that they each have the same number of toes they had when the evening started, (D-Man: 10. Binkster: 14.) and that she hasn't yet developed the advanced sense of humor her older sister has. But I'm confident that she will eventually.

After all, I intend to hire her as she gets older.

I'm more than a little disturbed by the war coverage I'm seeing/hearing lately. Mainly because I'm not aware of ANY bloody coverage happening outside of various blogs and talk radio. Nothing. Nary a comment to be had -- unless there's an attack by "insurgents," (READ: "illegals in Iraq trying to kill other arabs"), that succeeds. Such is the nature of our modern media.

Meh. I think I just justified my use of the word "bloody" in the previous graf and I'm completely bored by the whole thing - as you are - already. So let's just end by agreeing that throughout all of the history of humankind there's never been a point that success has been defined as, "giving the enemy EXACTLY what they want."

The American left seem unable to understand this and instead wish to surrender your will and all the ground and progress and political achievement gained in Iraq to the enemies whose one desire is, "America out!"

Is it any surprise that the slogan from Iran and Saudi Arabia exactly matches the placards of the so-called "peace movement" here at home? And is it any surprise that they often voice their opinions in the same way? Namely by burning American flags>

Not to worry, tho'; I'm sure they're still patriotic...

Well, I haven't exactly been able to see my way out to visit our storage unit - mostly because it's roughly 100 miles in exactly the wrong direction, (I'll have to map that out to get a more proper estimate, I suppose), but I've certainly decided to live my life as if I've done a drive-by, audited our account and verified which checks have actually cleared. And at any rate seen with my own eyes that the "administrative lock" that once adorned our unit is now at least gone.

But I've decided to live my life as if all of that krep has already been taken care of all the same. That's just the kind of guy I am...

This was the "first week of school" week - even though "week" is in itself a vast overestimation of the roughly 6 hours those kids spent in the classroom during the "week" in question.

Nevertheless, in a certain sense (and from a 5-year-old perspective), the class of 2020 have at least one week under their belts. Of course it's complete nonsense, but they're far too young to recognize it.

And I wouldn't have it any other way. Pictures to follow and stories to come....

J.O.T.W...

After a particularly poor game of golf, a popular club member skipped the clubhouse and started to go home. As he was walking to the parking lot to get his car, a policeman stopped him and asked, "Did you tee off on the sixteenth hole about twenty minutes ago?"

"Yes," the golfer responded.

"Did you happen to hook your ball so that it went over the trees and off the course?"

"Yes, I did. How did you know?" he asked.

"Well," said the policeman very seriously, "Your ball flew out onto the highway and crashed through a driver's windshield. The car went out of control, crashing into five other cars and a fire truck. The fire truck couldn't make it to the fire, and the building burned down. So, what are you going to do about it?"

The golfer thought it over carefully and responded...

"I think I'll close my stance a little bit, tighten my grip and lower my right thumb."

Those of you in the know will recognize that I've shamelessly lifted the title from an episode of The Simpsons. Of course if you're that savvy, you'll also recognize that much of what that comment characterizes could be broadly applied to pretty much everything I do here. After all, it's completely obvious and devoid of any apparent opposition while stating something completely dull.

Like I said - exactly what you've come to expect of me...

Until yesterday. For perfectly boring reasons I won't explain other than to say, "technical difficulties," I was unable to post to anything to anywhere. Well, until I realized that it was a local browser failure - and fortunately the host server had maintained an instance of my session even though it was terminated on my end.

See, the nutrino flow from the flux capacitor had encountered a reverse-flow induction that was mimicking a partial blow-out, (or at the very least an upstage, 3rd-level transversion), of the polarity inverter which rendered all neutral, 3rd party interactions completely insolvent.

But like I said, all of this is perfectly routine and rather boring, so let's not stand around contemplating the obvious. I'll just say sorry for not being there when you expected me and leave it at that.

A LUNCHTIME OBSERVATION...

One of the things I actually enjoy about those days I physically spend down the hill in my nondescript cube is the breakfast I pick up along the way. There's just something about sausage with American cheese on a french pastry served by a Mexican immigrant that says, "YUMMY!"

And if you think for a second that I'd try to spell the name of that curly, buttery delight you're crazy; I killed my computer last night and see no need to "repeat the feat" as it were...

The thing is, I've really come to enjoy the king's fare. It wasn't always so and of course I still visit other places - since I can't seem to find the time be bothered to pack a lunch like I used to. There's one right along my morning path as well, so it's a quick and convenient stop for the breakfast I prefer.

But then lunchtime rolls around and I find the morning's Diet Coke still in my cupholder (I'm one of 8 people in North America who don't drink coffee. We hold our annual meetings in a corner booth at Perkins -- "bottomless cups" be damned), and I think, 'Hmmm... a little-person-themed-ad-campaign would really hit the spot right about now.' Only to realize that my office is miles and miles from the nearest flame-broiled outpost.

Which is not always enough to keep me from the effort, natch. But I've found that of the two locations that are very nearly within my reach, exactly 0 of 2 of them have been able to get my order right on a consistent basis; "ketchup and onions only" is somehow understood as "slathered with mustard." "Diet Coke" has mostly succeeded as an order, but occasionally gets me a Sprite. And even without an elaboration on my part I quite often find an onion ring in my Freedom Fries.

I honestly don't mind that last one because I like their onion rings, but they give me terrible heartburn. I've found that one ring is enough to give me the taste but NOT enough to rip my gut to shreds. So when I find a ring in my fries I'm perfectly accepting of my good fortune. Even though I would never try to order such a creation out of fear that I'd drive away with a deep-fried tennis shoe and a container full of marbles.

With a Dr Pepper to drink...

Of course, such levels of customer service are not unheard of in other quarters; many of the so-called, "big box" retailers and popular chain discount-stores are having any number of similar problems: low on staff, high on employee turnover and reasonable prices on those things we require adds up to full parking lots with long checkout lines.

And all this got me to thinkin'...

What if there were some way to quantify the number of drive-thru orders that were botched in a single week on a per capita basis? That is, how many times condiments and "additionals" were screwed up just enough to be noticed by the customer? And then, if you could find a way to average the distance from the storefront the customer parked during certain periods throughout the week - combined with the amount of idle time spent waiting in line to checkout? What would you get?

Don't answer yet! How about if we also consider some sort of measure of the weight of goods purchased against the cost of said goods and find a way to incorporate that calculation into our total? What would you have then?

The perfect, everyday, everyman's guide to the economy; a measure of competence that would judge employment levels, a measure of economic activity that's easily understood and a very personal understanding of just how much a dollar buys these days.

It's still (obviously) in the planning phases, but it's called The Stone Index and it already shows great promise...

Well, that header is just a little ambitious. But we'll sort that out as we proceed today...

This presents any number of problems to the reader. But let's start with the media-related end of things - just because this is my website and all:

From the top, it becomes obvious that the source of this story - the Daily Mail - might be considered part of hillary's "vast right-wing conspiracy." Or rather would be, if they published in America.

But it doesn't take long to get into the story and discover that this is a very rare sample of nearly "pure news." It contains all the ugly warts and even suffers from questionable Picture Placement as it tells the story, but what else would you expect?

Of course the heartbreaking elements of the story are: first, the beautiful picture of that beautiful child. How precious she would be to someone who bothered to care about her. Someone who put HER needs above their own willingness to go out and celebrate a rather ordinary "holiday" in the european southwest.

But maybe that's just me and my suspicious mind.

As I read this story over and over again, I become more fully convinced that something's amiss in that family and we'll learn about it only as the BIO-channel finally decides to turn it's cameras towards the goal of producing a documentary concerning that beautiful young girl.

with any luck - and if it's merited by their behavior thus far - the parents will catch the show on the prison television from the common area.

But that may just be me...

Well, not really. Kinda - but not so much. I mean, I feel like I'm sorta a grandfather but I'm not the one who decides whether I even get to be considered able to feel that. You know what I'm saying?

Well, neither do I, frankly. But here's what I mean...

Years ago I married what I thought was my high school sweatheart - the American Dream and all, don't cha know - but it turned out to be A Brian DePalma Production. Thankfully, that marriage ended somewhat less violently than "Carrie" did, but I lost two daughters (OK, legally they were step-daughters) in the process.

Flash forward to the age of the giant all-seeing, all-knowing Interweb and with just a couple of keywords in a search engine I'm able to locate the younger of them. Turns out that she's a beautiful, capable, self-reliant young woman (now) fresh out of High School. I contacted her one night and we've had some sparse communication since then. It's been a welcome breath of fresh air that's just slightly awkward on my end...

One of the things I learned from her is that her older sister, who has - intentionally, as far as I can tell - almost a zero Internet footprint, was married, living locally and expecting her first child. And as far as I can tell via this great, online Oz, only one of those things has changed recently...

You guessed it; she gave birth to what appears to be a healthy, sleeping baby boy. You know? Once you enter the world of children you tend to notice that there's a whole mess of them around and even more of them every day.

But this one is special to me. Even if I never meet him or hold him or know his name, this little guy is a rare treasure rescued from my own ignorance through the magic of modern technology. I think I'll nickname him "bit."

If only because it sounds so much better than, "high speed cable access,"

HSCA, for short...

MORE PAIN THAN I PLANNED FOR...

OY. Did anyone ever tell you that research can be dangerous? Well of course they have, but their admonition took the form of, "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing." Same saying, really. Until you have to live it.

As you might expect, the work on the home continues. It's a fun and interesting pursuit but only if you translate "fun" and "interesting" as "slow, labor-intensive, muscle-straining and almost pointless." Well, that's not true; it's certainly not pointless - unless that house on Everett has already sold - but it does seem to be labor-intensive. At least that's why my body is telling me.

I've been working on installing the kitchen floor for roughly 27 years now. To (previous) date, I've only ever been able to install about 4 rows before the whole thing feel apart in my hands. Usually as the refrigerator was re-introduced onto the new floor, and this time nearly suffered the same result. BUT! I'd gone online and read some Tips-N-Tricks as regards laminate floors and concluded that the manufacturer's instructions were translated from Taiwanese into English by a person who spoke only Esperanto.

It's the only way they could have gotten such basics so basically wrong: you don't start how/where they tell you to and you're not going to have any success if you do the rest of it the way they tell you to, either. As I said above and in a different context, sometimes you have to rely on the Interweb and all it's glories in order to get to the truth.

So. You tell me: is this shaping up to look like something that - once finished - might actually receive an offer?

Yes it's Friday and we should all gather 'round the Fountain Of Cheer clutching dear to our Happy Blankets while sipping from our Juice Boxes O' Joy. Don't worry - I'll get you there. In fact, let's start with a joke that's inspired by the headline you just read. Ready?

How many feminists does it take to changTHAT'S NOT FUNNY!!

HA HA! Can't you feel the levity spread out like pancake syrup from an opened bottle on the floor in front of the refrigerator? You can't?!? Well I guess some metaphors are just for me...

The truth is that some percentage of the human race actually thinks in the terms I've presented. They'd rather be miserable even to the point of "suffering through" good news instead of being faced with the untenable prospect of cracking a smile and thereby ruining decades of Street Cred.

Or something. I don't pretend to understand it. Being as I am a naturally upbeat kind of guy - if only because I hope to be the one making everyone laugh as we face "the inevitable," it's kind of like landing on the backside of Mars and being expected to understand the building codes. Won't happen.

Still, on Wednesday of this week we went to - and went through two - different appointments with the county. The first was "matching" and was 30 minutes in length for most everyone there. It was only 20 minutes for me, because I came in late and missed the introductions. Which, given the number of people in the room probably took most of those 10 minutes.

They asked questions about the kids and about their time with us (very nearly one full year), and finished with, "what kind of family do these kids need?" In a strange pique of roll-reversal, I was considering the question while The Wif answered without missing a beat; "US."

Well, DUH.

The second half of our morning was spent in pouring over government records as regards the kids, us, the bio-parents and the various social workers. It was two multi-part files that if they were stacked together and stabilized, The Binkster would have trouble mounting. (Again - that's saying something!)

Some things we got copies of and other things we were expected to pour through while in the office. But it wasn't enough time. It could never be enough time, frankly. We learned some things that were interesting and fleshed out some details on things we'd only heard mentioned in passing and also learned some things that were rather distressing. Such is the nature of these meetings, one might surmise.

Afterwards, if for no other reason than we were both hungry, we went out to lunch. I had the steak and a red beer; The Wif had a shrimp basket. We talked about the many surprises we had encountered over those rare and rarely-consumed items.

We'll read the copies we have as we have time to do so. But the good news is that we're suddenly much closer to making the whole thing final...

IN OTHER FOOD-RELATED NEWS...

OK - this guy is - in the immortal words of Bugs Bunny - a complete maroon. Of course the story is crafted so as to take on the cause of the "little guy" against the interest of "Big cheeseburger," (which basically describes the problem with Old Media as it's currently experienced), but it's still pretty telling even through that filter.

If you bother to read the story you'll see where the guy asked for "cheeseburger - no cheese.' Fair enough; I have a nephew with similar tastes. Later in the article it's quoted a family member as saying something like, 'he asked at least 5 times that there be no cheese on the ground patty, for bovine lactate is the devil's snot' or something of the kind.

Of course - as you've come to expect - I would have reported it differently. I would have said something like, "his mother reported that - in no fewer than 5 separate occasions - he delegated responsibility for his own health and well-being to complete strangers. Shocked that they didn't take his condition as seriously as he himself should have, he's decided to sue for 10 million dollars."

Please tell me how I can get on this jury!

J.O.T.W...

An old, stingy lawyer was dying and was determined to prove wrong the old saying; "You can't take it with you." He told his wife to go down to the bank and withdraw enough money to fill two pillowcases. His plan: Put the bags directly over his bed and when he died grab them on his way up to heaven. One day the old ambulance chaser died. When his wife was up cleaning in the attic later, she came across the forgotten pillowcases - still there and still full of money.

She said to herself, “That old fool. I knew he should have had me put them in the basement!"

OK - before we get started in on the topic at hand I have to ask a question; did anyone out there catch the recent live interview with o.j. simpson? If not, it's an absolute shame because the replays I caught (rather ironic, that usage), were the perfect examples of dark humor.

During said interview, a caller asked orenthal if it was tougher to run for 2,000 yards in a single season or to get away with cutting 2 throats in a single night. (His response? "I'm sorry - khkit! you were krr-thi! breaking up and CAW! CAW! I wasn't able to CHUGGA-CHUGGA-WOO-WOO!! hear the question. But thanks for being there for me."

Not long after that caller posed his question, another guy called in with the following question: "remember when you played for San Francisco?" oj said 'yes' and then the caller asked, "did you kill Bill Walsh?"

I wasn't watching the original but I would imagine that the interview ended pretty quickly after that...

Flash forward to the actual point: who out there - aside from just me - imagines that the DAs are pursuing michael vick overly-vigorously because he is a high-profile NFL star? I mean, maybe it's his own doing for denying the charges for so long in the hopes that his friends would keep their mouths shut, (HA!), but it seems to me that in allowing the co-conspiritors to plead out, they're focusing on the popular and well-paid target over anything else.

So before I "come clean" on any of this I have to ask -- does anyone really believe that michael vick actually, physically handled any of the dogs in question? I don't.

And if you think I'm excusing dog-fighting enthusiasts, you're crazy. There's something just NOT RIGHT about those people who enjoy dog fights or cock fights or hippo fights. They're sick in a very real sense.

But my question now is, are the authorities pursuing michael vick because he's sick or because he's actually the ringleader or because he's the "NAME" around which a case might be built?

Inquiring minds have already drawn their own conclusion...

There's been a couple of themes at the relative fringes of American behavior lately: one is that SecHome has voiced a concern that he has a "gut feeling" that we're overdue for a terrorist attack in this country. Of course this has brought eyebrow-furrowing attention from the olberman wing of the democrat party and other Nutburger contingents from the left.

After all, why would chimpy mcBushitler tell his SecHome slave to issue such a warning if an attack wasn't already in the works? It's just another way to scare all the sheeple, man!

AH-HEM! As we were saying about the fringes...

Certain security-minded people - your humble author included - have spent a great deal of time in contemplation of why we haven't been struck again in the nearly 6 years past. Surely it's not because as the towers fell we suddenly ran out of targets: every mall is a commercial center. Every college is a collection of our young, (remember the Texas clock tower?) and every playground is more than I choose to contemplate at this moment.

Enter the other theme: the Presidential election.

Meaningless at this point? Well, that's a reasonable argument. We're ignoring those people that we'll be voting for in a mere year or so. But you know what? The two are linked in ways that are sometimes difficult to fathom. But fathom we shall try...

I think it's fairly obvious that we haven't been attacked on our home turf again because since March of '03 we've extended the front. That is, by taking the fight to Iraq we've fused everyone's attention to that area. After overthrowing saddam - a rather easy task - the future was unsure and could easily go either way; calm or chaos. We want the first, the islamonazis crave the second and we're each working towards those ends. Fair enough.

But it's happening in Iraq. That's where the war is and where the democrats hope to leave it. Such a thing cannot possibly happen of course; the day we leave the emergent government in Iraq to the mercy of such wolves starts the countdown to the next attack within our shores. Why that isn't obvious escapes me.

So what keeps us safe until that day - God forbid it should come? Well, in your humble narrator's opinion it's the rather lengthy nature of the 08 Presidential race. The fact that the democrats - with a single exception - want an immediate retreat from Iraq is just as significant as the fact that the Republicans - with a single, miserable, exception - want to continue to fight the GWOT on foreign soil.

And because the Presidential race began pretty much the day after the midterm elections, that stark difference has been on display to the world ever since...

Which is to say, the serious Republicans believe in continuing to hold the line against terror in Iraq. They believe in fighting the war on other turf and in supporting the slowly-maturing Parliamentary system in Iraq. And they get the chance to say so roughly once a week, thanks to the extended campaign season.

Knowing this, the radicals out there don't dare to make another major move against our homeland because it would guarantee the election of a Republican and mean that our official policy would continue to be one of 'taking the fight to them' instead of retreating and waiting to be hit again. Is this NOT obvious?

Of course, I think they also recognize that the heir-apparent to the democrat nomination feels almost the same way. No matter what she's said to the contrary along the trail...

Well. That was a rather interesting day that I'm beyond glad to have behind me, frankly. Unfortunately for your humble narrator, there is no logical order to what happened - beyond me waking up 11 minutes after I intended to and having to make up that time in the shower and on the road - so I'm faced with presenting a general mish-mash of events in a tangled spaghetti-like timeline.

Or I could just skip it all, (the better option). But then - as you ask yourselves every day - what would be the point?

So, being the environmentally-aware guy that I am, I've decided to go with the 'hybrid' option. Just watch what THAT looks like...

Word came to me early this morning: a family member was worried that they'd said something to upset The Wif. Which was actually pretty funny because I'd been wondering the same thing for about 3 days, but I know the secret; you just have to wait her out. She's absolutely reliable about telling me what I've done to upset her, but only after she's no longer upset and the argument could not possibly have any bearing on actually fine-tuning our relationship.

But at least there's a system in place...

(Oh, before you get all cluck-clucky on me just recall my many glowing tributes to the woman I've chosen to spend the rest of my days with. Just because I recognize a flaw doesn't mean I'm about to throw the whole thing overboard and that goes one hundred fold in the other direction.)

(So there.)

Anyway - as I was on the phone learning this information, I got a voicemail from my guy: OUR OFFER WAS rejected! To get everyone up to speed, (in case you've missed the story from the other site), there was this house in an area of town with which I shared just a bit too much history - if you catch my meaning - and it underwent an overnight reduction in price of $50K.

Yep. From $269 to $219 simply because the sun bothered to come up that day. Well, that and the overly-deep gold shag carpeting. I swear, it was like walking over a towel that covered hundreds of randomly-placed mice corpses. It's probably scared off it's fair share of potential buyers and let's hope it continues to do so.

Because the range of their discomfort with our offer extended only to the point that we wrote paper contingent upon our home selling (or being under contract) within 90 days. The truth of the matter is that if we can get this house for 219 we can then drop our price to 219, plus closing costs, plus carpet, plus movers. I haven't done the math (and here a "Dood-signal" would come in handy) but my rough guess would be that we could cut another 10-15 thousand from our current price.

That would bring a contract pretty quickly...

Of course there's also the fact that I finally decided to send up the white flag and call for reinforcements - TWICE - only to be completely ignored by both guys. Then again, the second guy I called is a retired co-worker and said that he'd be out of town and would call me Monday OR Tuesday. So he's got THAT going for him.

At any rate, the larger point is that if we can get a contract on this place the bank would consider our offer on the "new" place. Easy enough, provided we can get some of the upgrades/repairs completed, like, yesterday. That's my goal.

MOVIE REVIEW...

Let me tell you about a little something called, House of 9 (SPOILER ALERT!). But before I get too deeply into my review, let me just say this about that:

If you aren't already a member of The Netflix, GO! NOW! and subscribe, then put this movie at the very top of your queue. Then, if they have the gall to go ahead and ship this thing out to you, cancel your membership in protest...

Well, that may be a little harsh. Especially considering the fact that I only got to watch the first hour before I felt compelled to flip over to the local evening news in order to placate a certain member of the household who was still awake at the time. But in that hour I gained an invaluable insight into the very heart of the movie. Namely, that I'm not the only one who has great difficulty affecting an Irish accent.

The problem is, I don't get paid for failing at it. Dennis Hopper did...

You all (Texas, Alabama, Georgia and neighboring states: "Y'all") know that I firmly believe that the world doesn't run on money, earthly power, love or Magical Prius Exhaust but rather on pure, 95 octane irony. I don't recall forgetting that fact but I must have, because the reminder hit me hard right between the eyes this weekend...

My realty agent called on Thursday, (the beginning of MY weekend - bow and weep, mortals!), to ask if we could schedule a showing of our home for 5:30 to 7:30 that evening. Well, it cuts our evening routine to the bone, I said, but we'll make it happen; has to be shown to be sold, after all.

Then word came down on Friday that someone would like to see the place from 11:30 to 1:30 on Saturday. Again - it's a Meal Killer - but we could work around it. Namely by running from spot to spot and fulfilling certain obligations such as paying our much-overdue bill at the storage unit and the like.

NObody lives like we do and I should be getting more email in gratitude of that fact, frankly...

We got home in paid-in-full and lunch-stuffed status around 2:05. The Binkster had fallen asleep on the road. At 2:01. Such a joy to carry him up the stairs, watch him wake up as he realizes what's going on and then try to get him back to sleep! No, those aren't tears of joy - they're drops of blood running from my punctured eardrums, but thanks for asking.

Since I'm pretty much the expert on the subject putting Binky's to bed I leapt into action. I rocked and held firm and sang until he was asleep. It was 2:18 when I carried him into his bed. And then - a mere 22 minutes later, a car pulled into our driveway.

It was our showing! A mere hour and 10 minutes late, bless them. We did our best to stay out of their way - a young couple who did a quick run-through - as I explained the ongoing improvements to their agent. Not 10 minutes after they left my guy called me to schedule a showing on Sunday from 2:00 to 3:00. Well, it would destroy naptime, but we could go to my folks' where not napping is a way of life, (except for the adults). 40 minutes later, he called back to say that another broker wanted to show our home from noon to 2:00, effectively killing the entire day.

The best part? The part that drives this very orb on which we all find ourselves?

During the Thursday call I had finally heard my guy suggest that we take our home off the market while the repairs/updates are completed. It's something I've been toying with for about 3 months, (but you already knew that), and it was refreshing to hear him suggest it.

Of course, this recent flurry of activity around here suggests the opposite. Let's see what happens as the work is completed. That'll be the true test...

VERY HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY WISHES...

The Stonestead would like to take a moment to harken back to those glorious days of yesteryear. Those of you who were there remember the day better than I do, with one single exception...

On July 19, 1998, I officially stepped into the bear trap again married The Wif. It was a very hot day - officially 104°, (HEY! What happened to global warming?!? Shouldn't 7/19 be up to about 109° around here a decade later?!? Oh, right - it's not yet a decade. We'll have to wait until next year for the actionable data), -- where was I? Oh yeah; STAY OUT OF MY BOOZE!

At any rate, one of the people in attendance with very little memory of what went on that day is my Nephew, Monkeyface. The other is me. Of course, Monkeyface has an excuse because he was still in his Mother's womb, while I was in full life-draining tuxedo, all grown-up mode.

How I envied that little bugger...

The deep, dark secret of the day is that Monkeyface had a better seat during the ceremony; after all, he was enclosed within embryonic fluid and could easily adjust his position at will, while I was required to stand in a state that guaranteed I would sweat through my odor eaters and possibly the floor beneath me. Sure his view wasn't all it might've been...

...

Just over 3 weeks later - and on his own schedule, thank you very much - on this very day nine years ago, the world gained a beneficial influence; my Nephew, Monkeyface. He's a great guy and if I could only choose 5 people to help me defend a position against invading huns, he'd be there alongside me.

Happy Birthday, Monkeyface. Ask your mother to check her email for a message for you...

Oh the agony! When you come to the point of realizing that you've wasted an entire week with nonsense - or, rather, 4 days of said week - you really start to feel as if you should be thrown from the top of a 13 story building and then feel guilty if you comment on the fact that the breeze is messing up your hair.

(Anyone catch the reference? It applies all the same.)

The Bridge? Well my first impression is ably captured here, (remember - it's Friday so serious conditions can be addressed in cartoon form). But nothing ends there. We still have the issue of beauchamp floating out there as well as tax policy, the price of crude and the general state of the "visible/available media." (Because sometimes I just assume you already understand what I'm talking about).

Still, the most notable and memorable part of this evening was the fact that we had dinner out. It's not exactly a new proposition but it comes up from time to time and tonight we celebrated an evening's dinner at a local, chain pizza place in the heart of our most industrialized area.

I watched the family and stroked my hog-leg at every available moment...

We had pizza. We had water (even Daddy - who also ordered a glass of Merlot along the way) and we enjoyed it all. Except for when I had to cart The Binkster outside because he was being a disruptive influence on the other diners.

we're that kind of folk...

...

Eventually I'll either explain my views on the rest of the world's issues or something else will come along. But for now, I offer you this - as ineloquent as it is...

J.O.T.W...

An Antartian woman came into a bar and asked the bartender for a drink. Then she started to yell, "Yeah!" "Yeah!" Then five more Antartians came in and started to do the same thing. Then three more Antartians came in and one of them had a Barney puzzle.

The bartender asked one of them, "Why are you yelling 'yeah yeah!'?"

One responded, "We did this puzzle in three hours and it says 2-3 years!!"

yeah, yeah...

well I'm back and if I had to choose 3 adjectives to describe me, "tan," "rested" and "ready" wouldn't exactly be at the top of the list. (You youngsters out there are free to email me for an explanation if you so choose.) But here we are sharing a moment during a Thursday all the same.

And I hope I'm as welcome a sight as you are for me...

Things last night got weird fast; I'd written my piece for the newspaper but when I tried to attach the pic and write my all-too-boring usual caption, the program crapped out on my end. Now I realize that I'm getting awfully technical by using the IT-specific phrase, "crapped out," but I trust that most of you will still be able to follow the discussion.

Of course, with the "loss" of those 300 some words I was a little ticked. And tired. And ticked. So in order to calm myself and reacquaint myself with "my peeps," (please someone shoot me if I ever say that again), I turned my attention to this site. I wrote a few 'graphs between visiting some of my favorite hot sites, only to watch my browser die.

And it wasn't going alone; it decided to take each and every one of its brethren with it. A serious system crash was had by all. Or -- to use the more technical term -- I was up a certain creek without a hardwood propulsion device. HA! It almost seems funny when I put it that way!

Except it doesn't: this was a major disruption all too late on an evening that faced a morning overly-laden with responsibilities. STUFF HAD TO GET DONE!!

well, you may have noticed that somehow I was able to save my newspaper piece. Not that it mattered because it's neither read nor published, but I had an entry for that day. (For the record, I think I've missed about 30 days in the year to date. 7 and one-half months into 2007 and it's as if I missed April. Not great, not bad. I knew it was an overly-ambitious schedule when I started and I have a feeling that December might see grand changes in my life if I can maintain a slightly-better-than-this pace as the year winds down. But that's just a wild hunch.)

Of course, it didn't take long for this evening to get bizzare either - but in a different way. Namely, tonight was "boy's bath night" which was long a coveted event for me because once my guys were bathed my night was pretty much over. The only thing that remained was to put The Binkster to sleep before putting him in his crib, and that was a very easy task.

Of course, it was easier a year ago because he was younger and because he ended every day with a nebulizer treatment that really put him on his arse. Piece Of Cake! He was down by 8:45 every night and life was good!

well, life is still good but the boy is busy giving us a preview of his 2-year-old phase; he laughs, he fights, he'd rather be in bed but he'd rather be on Daddy and just like every other phase of his life he wants All Of The Above and he wants it RIGHT. NOW!

Well, he can't have it now and neither can I. As ready as I was to comment on the bridge collapse, 25th reunions, deaths in your graduating class, notes on the war and further mocking of the Breck-girl, it's now time for me to go to bed.

As always, I hope I've offered you something of value for your time here and also as always, I welcome all of your feedback. Some of it might even be addressed here.

Please contain yourselves to small groups of shudders of anticipation.

I've had it. I've been at war with the Electron Faction all night and it's time that I yield the floor. After all, they've compromised my footing and completely outright destroyed my "yourhub" piece; not my best work but still, not deserving of the chainsaw treatment it received at their hands. If it be any reassurance, it will rise again in nearly identical fashion.

Eventually...

So I'll have my victory then and certainly not now: I have a lunch date with my boss tomorrow, (I've been blessed with mostly happy and healthy relationships with my many bosses through the years), so I'm going to crawl into bed with the promise of waking to my alarm fully rested and ready to face the challenges that come my way tomorrow.

And then hope to remember the meeting. Because if I sleep through it...

I know that most all of you don't care 2 figs about the Presidential campaign at the moment, but you're also free to start your own blog and ignore it there. I find these things interesting for several reasons and I also like to talk about the things that intrest me or inflame my passions. Well no DUH!

Watch it you...

At any rate, I'm not so interested that I'd actually watch the whole thing - (that's another thing: a Republican debate on a Sunday morning? Let me ask this; members of which party are more likely to be in Church on a Sunday morning? Yeah, I think so too) - because too much exposure to ron paul is suspected of causing 'Stupid Tumors.' The good news is, you no longer have to watch an entire debate if you know where to go to get the highlights: talk radio.

Much bemoaned on lefty blogs and a thorn in the side of the LSM because they do good work, center-right talk radio pundits are covering both parties debates with yeoman's effort. They play the more interesting questions and answers the next day and provide their commentary. Much can be learned if one only puts forth the effort to turn on the radio.

To wit: Mitt Romney is taking heat from some of the other Repubs over his stance on abortion. Of course being at the front of the pack leaves your back unguarded against those in the rear, but Sam Brownback is running ads attacking Romney's position, basically saying, 'many years ago he (Romney) wasn't as pro-life as he claims to be.' Aside from being a violation of Ronald Reagan's 11^th Commandment, it's just not a smart thing to do, no matter how desperate you are.

First off, you're only giving fuel to the other side once the dust settles -- if Romney is the candidate. By way of proof I'll point out that the "willie horton" issue was first raised (nearly 20 years ago - where does the time go?) during a democratic debate by that noted inventor of the Internet, algore. algore was trying to gain an upper hand early in the primary process (as we are now), by using michael dukakis' furlough program against him. It clearly didn't work - since dukakis was the eventual nominee - but that single mention was enough to fuel the Republican machine into beating the Mass. governor over the head with willie horton at every opportunity.

Figuratively rather than literally, natch, although it would be funny to watch it happen literally. Still, let's not allow history to repeat itself by giving a political hand grenade to the political enemies of a Mass. governor, eh?

Of course, the other - and I think more obvious - point is that as the so-called, "Party of Life" do Republicans really want to be especially eager to laugh and point fingers at the new arrivals? After all, if the goal is to change minds and win hearts are we really accomplishing that mission by laughing and saying, "you're such an idiot for not coming to this conclusion so much earlier" to those we've just won over? Seems counter-productive to me...

(Note: in the last 'graph I've used language with which I disagree; namely, I'm not convinced that Romney is a 'recent convert' to the idea of preserving life. Although I'm open to an argument from either side.)

And now I have a confession to make: I've already voted for one of the Republican Presidential candidates. Twice, as I recall...

One of the men on that stage is my Representative and it shouldn't take much effort to figure out which one. (HINT: He's the one standing on a phone book.) (HA! I'M making a joke about someone else's height! Even if I offered a free 20 ounce cup of pure cream and dark chocolate covered with brie and a pure silver dollar taped to the bottom - that couldn't get any more rich.)

As my Representative, he's pretty good. That is, as 1 in 535 he seems to blend in just enough. The problem is, as 1 in 1, he'd be a true disaster and he's all too ready to prove it every time someone asks him to. Namely in his willingness to insist that "bombing" Mecca is a viable threat against islamic terror.

Which is to say that he seems to truly believe that saying we'd be willing to bomb Mecca should we be attacked is enough to thwart another attack on our land. Could we please take a moment to review this idea?

I mean, if islamofascists take to the streets and riot and burn cars and behead people because a Dutch newspaper dared to print cartoons featuring images of their beloved "prophet," do we honestly believe that bombing their most sacred of "holy" sites will calm them down?!?

How would that work? "well, the infidels published the cartoons, knighted Rushdie, invaded Iraq and allowed 2 of our faithful to electocute themselves because of their own stupidity and we displayed allah's will by rioting and setting fire to their evil horseless carriages. But I've got bad news: Mecca's been destroyed by a US nuclear bunker-buster this morning. [grumbling...] Right, okay, meeting adjourned forever...

Somehow, I imagine not. Still, I'll vote for the little guy next time; as my Representive. That way, he'll stay where he can do less harm...

Sometime over the past 3 to 18 days or so I had an epiphany. (Hey - if I'm expected to keep track of the exact time and location of my epiphanies I'd be able to do nothing else. which would please all too many of you so instead I continue my efforts as concerns this webpage.)

But back to my epiphany: I realized that the reason I was unable to continue putting down the new floor is because the old floor was uneven. And not just uneven, but uneven to the point of being evil enough to eat children, let the air out of car tires and write duplicate checks to the gas company.

*SHUDDER*

I then noticed a certain peculiarity in my kitchen. Namely that the floor I was trying to cover up was an attempt at covering up the floor that went before it. It wasn't exactly a miraculous discovery, since removing the moulding at the base of the cabinets revealed another half-inch of the floor that hadn't been seen since Nixon was in the White House and in viewing that it was obvious that the cabinets preceded the floor by at least a decade.

The short conclusion is that the crooked under-floor could be pulled up and disposed of, (more about that later), instead of trying to be forced to conform to a ridiculously flat standard it could never attain.

So it had to go. It had to be, well, ripped up from it's very roots - in whatever size chunks it dictated - and thrown into the bed of my truck for disposal at a later and more convenient date.

And so it came to pass...

So I'm sitting here at 11:35 knowing that my truck bed is full of 3/8" pressboard sheeting and my own bed is empty of 195 pounds of me. The bad news? I have to get up in 7 hours and it's likely to be a rough night all 'round because we're experiencing thunderstorms.

The good news? As sore as I am, I'm inside and safe from the rain while the debris in the bed of my truck is out being rained on. It's a decent position to hold, especially considering that the flooring outside is likely to double in weight as it collects the effects from tonight's rain. I'm mercifully free from that...

Well, personally at least. The bad news is that I'll have to drive around a half-ton of wet pressboard for a couple of days or so. And if nothing worse happens to me in that time, you'll know because I'll close this site.

(Which is an outright lie: this site thrives on the minor offenses life offers and I have a feeling that they're not about to stop anytime soon...)

I didn't know this, but yesterday was the birthday of one of my favorite radio hosts as well as that of my ex-wife. He turned 59 and she? 41. Congrats to one and all.

If you'd like to see the "no DUH" headline of the day, check this out. (Be sure to click the pic for further proof)

It's good to be reminded that certain candidates have a very fine-tuned radar for detecting America's most dangerous enemies.

As usual, I have a question: at what point do you get to stop using the word, "allegedly?"

Holy Mackerel! I mean, talk about dying to get there...

And from the, "don't do me any favors" file, we bring you this little item.

J.O.T.W...

The strong young man at the construction site was bragging that he could outdo anyone in a feat of strength. He made a special case of making fun of one of the older workmen. After several minutes, the older worker had enough. "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is," he said. "I will bet a week's wages that I can haul something in a wheelbarrow over to that outbuilding that you won't be able to wheel back." You're on, old man," the braggart replied. "Let's see what you got."

The old man reached out and grabbed the wheelbarrow. Then, nodding to the young man, he said, "All right, moron - get in."

Well, in a move that makes john edwards look like a serious candidate -- wait. Strike that. This, while incredibly naive and stupid, isn't enough to grant serious heft to john The Lightweight. Nothing could do that - it isn't even within the realm of possibility. Sorry I was so rash, there...

In the somewhat-well-publicized tiff between hillary and obama it has been mentioned by the experts trolling the political sidelines that we'll know when obama becomes a viable candidate because the Teamclinton machine will kneecap him. Based on my own personal observation of the clinton's' insatiable lust for power, I have little to doubt said experts. But for unknown reasons, obama is going out of his way to make it unnecessary.

The wet-behind-the-ears candidate recently said that - once he was Commander In Chief (God forbid 1,000 times!) he would pull troops out of Iraq and instead invade Pakistan. This is all part of his grand plan to capture osama bin laden - presumably so people will quit confusing their names. It's also a painfully vacuous and idiotic idea.

Let me see if I've got this right: he wants us to pull up stakes in a stabilizing, parliamentary democracy in the middle east; from a country - an ally - who has officially requested our continuing help? We're supposed to turn our backs on them in order to, what - send troops uninvited and unwanted into another sovereign country - ALSO AN ALLY?!!? Last I checked, that's called an invasion and would be considered an act of war by that country!

And in case Mr. wet-behind-the-ears hasn't had time to study either his intelligence briefings or HISTORY, I'll simply remind him that Pakistan is a nuclear country. That is, they HAVE nuclear weapons technology already. It's not a rumor or a "lie" or a suspicion; it's FACT.

Of course, this "plan" falls apart pretty easily but it's difficult for me to imagine why he'd pose it in the first place. It will immediately prove facile to people able to think these things out, (Conservatives), but it is sure to tick off his base - the mindless leftie bobos out there. His followers tend to think that the US efforts against terror should be pursued as a "law enforcement effort" instead of a war, (meaning, I guess, that instead of the US hunting him down with armed men and women we should send in a team of lawyers with subpoenas). obama's saying that he'd pull us out of Iraq is sure to please them, but saying he'd pursue a military action against obl is sure to tick them off.

And this was just days after he said - during that insipid 'you boob' debate - that he'd meet unconditionally with the world's worst despots, dictators and tyrants. What an incredibly stupid thing to say - that he'd legitimize these thugs without asking a single thing of them! What's wrong with this... oh...

Wait... I think I get it now: he must be polling well in Iowa or New Hampshire and Teamclinton has fired up the Mind Control Device (solar powered, natch) and is beaming incredibly strong "Stupid Rays" into his thoughts.

Well - YOU come up with a better explanation!

KEEPING A PROMISE TO MYSELF...

And since I long ago promised to mock john edwards at least twice as much as I do any other democrat candidate, I have created an imbalance in the Force which must be corrected now. Thanks to the fine folks over at The Patriot Post, (which, BTW, if you're not reading you sure should be), I offer you their latest, fine effort. Enjoy.

("Breck-dogg." That's probably the funniest thing I've seen in quite some time...)

MY SON THE COMEDIAN...

(Hopefully) Short background: at D-Man's recent Sewall eval, their preliminary conclusion was that he was "average" overall for his age. (I believe I've mentioned that already.) This was a knife in Mommy's heart because she was certain that the red-headed apple of her eye would test off the charts and at once be offered full scholarships to both MIT and Juilliard. Not that she'd necessarily admit that...

Well. After this week's Sewalls for "M" and The Binkster the general consensus was that each of them is "advanced." And while Mommy's taking great pride in that assessment, she is also stinging from the contrast it provides. Frankly, I can't blame her for that, because I firmly believe that D-Man is the smartest of the 3.

(Now I have long recognized that as a parent you can recognize different talents and abilities within your children and still love and cherish them all equally. After all, we are all "in the image" but none of us are "of the mold." So please don't misconstrue my heartfelt judgment as an admission of favoritism.)

One of the things that leads me to this conclusion is the fact that he so readily and easily understands the concept of humor, and is more than ready to apply it whenever possible. I think you know that I accept the idea that true humor isn't possible without intelligence and knowledge. Oh sure it's an easy gag to kick a box marked 'FRAGILE' down two and a half city blocks or to make endless strings of fart jokes, but that's not real humor; that's a function of math.

Namely, the Lowest Common Denominator. And I know what many of you are thinking: 'Hey, Stone - don't you do potty jokes from time to time?' Well, honestly - no. What I try to do is poke fun at myself and my mistakes and my shock/apathy at various new experiences the kids expose me to. It's a function of their ages and our lives that so many of those experiences are centered around dinner, bath and the potty.

Real humor is... well, I'll tell the story: at dinner the other night the family was seated around the table when I got up and went into the kitchen to fetch something. Once there I noticed that the small screen was airing the CourtTV show, "Beach Patrol" and - as is the theme of the show - someone was drowning.

As proof that the lifeguards are doing exactly what they were designed to do, rather than designing rockets or something like that, they played film of one of them saying, "We get a lot of weak swimmers out here. That plus the combination of the tide, the heat and the water can contribute to some of them drowning." In response, I said outloud, "You mean WATER can contribute to drowning, genius?"

This comment did not go unnoticed. D-Man spoke right up in his mock-hysterical voice: "Jesus?!? Jesus was in the water?!?"

"Well, no" - I wanted to reply; "but He was on top of it."

I think I'll save that for his advanced class...