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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.

Are the kids still saying, "WEEE-HA!", cuz that's kind of how I started my day. I awoke after my rockin' 6 hours of sleep feeling like a new man. A new, 84 year old man.

Actually, I felt pretty good considering that I shouldn't have; little sleep, burning gut and unending guilt over how I've treated this audience. Still, up and rolling, nice warm shower and a glorious sunrise can do wonders for a man's soul. Well, that and a sausage croissant value meal from Burger King ($4.64 - how sad is it that I know that?) can do wonders. And then my day quickly turned to HELL...

There's a new Sheriff in town, as the saying goes, and this particular law-enforcement official seems to be fully-grown into their new power. Worse yet, this is a gubermint Sheriff so a clear path is the Very! Last! thing on their mind. Need storage space? Upend the conventional and re-invent the system! You don't need a cabinet, you need a new way of thinking about storage! You need a cabinet paradigm - but only if you promise to think outside of your theoretical cabinet.

I swear - sometimes being a Fed feels like you're required to build a space shuttle out of mud and snot with teammates who not only don't speak English but have never heard a single syllable of another language, but it doesn't really matter because the earth is flat and what we call "stars" are actually just holes punched in the sky, so we're not going anywhere anyway. Still, you're behind the time-line for producing the external fuel tank and I'm going to need an explanation. In writing. In triplicate.

Yesterday. And we're going to follow-up with a conference call every week until things improve.

Just TELL me I'm off the mark. I double-dog dare you...

NEWS YOU CAN USE BUT YOU REALLY DON'T CARE ABOUT...

Well, in the worst decision since Custer said, "I don't think we need to use scouts," Rudy Guiliani - after apparently placing all his hopes on former New Yorkers now retired and living in Florida - is now out of the race. It's not that much of a surprise, except for the fact that he decided on the strategy in the first place; See, I'm about to say something that no candidate ever could:

The American people are sheep. Not as in, "sheep looking for a shepherd," but more like "sheep looking for a slightly more alpha sheep among themselves." Iowa matters. New Hampshire matters. Not because the people there are any smarter than the rest of the country, but simply because they go first.

In a one-on-one conversation it's generally understood that the second liar wins the contest. For example: "How much can you bench press?" "320 pounds. You?" "Idaho." (For the record, similar conversations take place around the topics of money, women, cars, and the number of times you've "dated" the lovely Alyson Hannigan:

Somehow, this principle is complicated by the fact that entire states are involved and that seems to convey the weight of the nation, even if the states in question are never, EVER even slightly considered by anyone else in the country at any other time in any given four year period.

In other words, when does anyone think about Iowa, unless it's election season or you're chompin' down on a big ol' ear of sweet corn on a hot summer's day? And New Hampshire? Forget about it; if the entire state went up in flames tomorrow most of us would have to consult a map to see if the smoke would irritate our sinuses or the ash would end up on our lawn.

But because they go first in the selection season, they matter. I'm kind of sorry that Rudy didn't realize that. Even though I'm quickly becoming a Romney guy.

What troubles me most about a McCain lead is that he's in the lead. A close second is what it signals for my party; a move to the left. If you question that, just look at the majority of his major supporters: the aforementioned Guiliani, The Governator (announcing today or tomorrow), the Governor and a senator from Florida, just to get started. And even though they're all "Republicans" in a sense, they all represent the left-of-center contingent of the party. As such, we CANNOT allow McCain to garner the nomination and drive the serious party into the territory of the goofy party!

Honestly, if it comes down to hillary/McCain, what's the difference between the two? You could vote for your shoelaces and end up with the same result. But if it comes down to McCain/obama, McCain will come off as the grumpy old great-uncle who spends every family reunion complaining that the potato salad has onions and they should have known that onions give him gas, but for some reason they insist on adding onions and it's probably because he dared to stand up to Grandma all those years ago and insist that it was time she finally quit driving and sell her car. To him.

For 250 dollars...

Yeah, I'm still here. In spite of my many recent re-inventions I've still found a way to get through all the same. And since I'm about to puke barbecue sauce, we'll concentrate on the posibility that john F-n' mccain will be my party's pick. It will all be left to be seen, of course, and my endorsement will mean nothing. I may as well vote for Bullwinkle. Still Romney has the legs that the old man just doesn't...

Man. There's just something unique to each and every political race that makes them more fascinating than anything ANY group of striking writers could ever create - even when they aren't striking. This year's developments are probably the greatest in all of our history...

This year, the democrat party - already bloated under their own weight of "political correctness" - has decided to drown at the trough they created. Namely, while they're busy reminding us all that bill was the first, "black President," he's out campaigning against someone who would be the next "black President" in order to elect the first "woman President." Which is to say that the first "woman President" would be the second woman President, because her main claim to earning the office in the first place is that she was already co-President alongside her black husband for all those years.

Or something like that. Frankly, it makes my head swim...

hillary claims that she's the most qualified to be President because she's already been President. If that were true, I have just two questions: why won't she allow the release of the paperwork that would demonstrate that experience, and why wouldn't she then be barred by the 22^nd Amendment from serving as President after already serving 2 terms, (1992-2000)?

Oh, I know that the 22^nd Amendment mentions something about "being elected" to the Presidency more than twice, but I'll also note that it mentions someone "acting as President." Which reminds me of a story...

In a former life - and more than a decade ago - I was a contractor with the Deptartment of Labor. The position itself was a joke of a fabrication of a serious need, so I fit the bill to a "tee." I did my work and showed up on time and installed keyboards and met The Wif and continued to be gruntled and got to know J_Lo and a bunch of other things that I'd never have time to share.

Well, OK - one story: our property manager was a rather laid-back sort, but then that could be said of almost everyone on-site; nobody had a boss within visual range, (theirs were in Dallas and mine was in Virginia, (See: Commonwealth of). Our Property Manager was also an Aries, and if you've never encountered one of the breed, then you really have but just not realized it.

We're a different lot from the rest of you. We really are. We see things not just differently, but through a different - and probably out-of-focus - lens from what the rest of the world uses. As a result, we tend to share the same, sick sense of humor. Which is a long way of saying that we tend to see things the same way.

So much so that, when an agent of another agency brought back the full face-jack for a data-drop, (and none of that's dirty, in case you're wondering), and I taped it to his doorknob, wires exposed, and left a note: "Sorry I missed you. Teddy K." Obviously a reference to, well, teddy k. The funny part is that as our property manager rounded the corner towards his office, he saw the booby trap sitting on his doorknob and said outloud, "Looks like teddy K's been here."

So where was I? Oh, yeah - "acting" as President. Well, when bill was, it turned out he shared the bill several times along the way...

Look, I know it's D.C. and they feel as if they need to do something. I know that they're FINALLY starting to come to terms with their own irrelevance and it scares the crap out of them, because someone so ego-fed as a U.S. Congressperson can't cope with the idea of not being taken seriously. But can someone please tell them that the Emperor (in this case, "economic slowdown") has no clothes?

Seriously, with as great as things have been going in our economy, what's the driving force behind a "stimulus" package? What, we wake up on a Holiday Monday to learn that world markets are shaky and within the week we start throwing money around like al gore goes through Snickers® bars? THAT'S our standard?!?

Listen, "economic stimulus" is about as necessary as a "teaching brittney to drink" course at this point. Things have been going well, The Stone Index is through the roof - so much so that when I visit my local McDonald's I leave with a Whopper® - and we're still seeing growth. Things are fine; growth may not come in at 5% for this - or last - quarter, but I'm willing to bet the GDP numbers come in positive.

Mind you, when the check shows up at The New, Improved Stonestead, I won't be sending it back. In fact, I now live 2 minutes from my Credit Union's branch office, so I can cash it over lunch. While eating my Whopper®...

In other important news, I made a shocking discovery in the shower this morning: my shampoo and conditioner bottles are marked with recycling symbols - and here's the important part - my shampoo bottle is a "1," and my conditioner bottle is a "2"! Turns out, I'm practicing diversity, so I got that going for me. All the same, my ideal of "diversity" in the shower would be to add Tyra Banks to the process, but that's a topic for another day/forum. (Plus, I'd have to pick up a waterproof footstool, so it wouldn't exactly be a spontaneous event. More about that never...)

But in addition to the triangled numbers there is a warning: "Bottle coded for recycling. Check if facilities exist."

Being one who heeds warnings - but not directions, ("repeat" my arse) - printed on my hair-care products, I immediately sent Stonestead.com's crack research team out to see, "if facilities exist." After minutes of exhaustive research, I have been informed that said "facilities" do - in fact - exist. So rest easy, America.

I know I'll feel so much better knowing that as I toss both of these bottles into the trash...

J.O.T.W...

I had a much larger joke in mind, but it just wouldn't suit the circumstance. So instead...

A man in a hot air balloon realized he was lost. He reduced altitude and spotted a man below. He descended a bit more and shouted, "Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him half an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."

The man below replied, "You are in a hot air balloon hovering approximately 30 feet above the ground. You are between 40 and 42 degrees north latitude and between 58 and 60 degrees west longitude."

"You must be an engineer," said the balloonist.

"I am," replied the man, "but how did you know?"

"Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct, but I have no idea what to make of your information, and the fact is I am still lost."

The man below responded, "You must be a manager."

"I am," replied the balloonist, "how did you know?"

"Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you are going. You made a promise which you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. The fact is you are exactly in the same position you were in before we met, but now, somehow, it's my fault."

And you're free to draw your own conclusions...

OK. So I've come by the criticism honestly. I'll admit that it's a fair cop. But I'll also admit to the fact that I eventually recognized it and corrected it as much as was possible.

Well, provided that you're familiar with a place-holder; because that's what this will have to be for the time being (given the fact that I have TWO really, really great boob stories (as in, "a pair"), that will have to wait until next week, if things hold true and I actually decide to share them).

But for now - and given the fact that I might have actually corrected all the many problems I've been experiencing along the way - we might be back on track so far as this website (again, unrecognized), is concerned.

Stories to share, but without the proper technology I may as well be shouting out the backdoor. So please bear with me, jab me when necessary, (Thank you, Code Monkey), and remind me of my obligation.

After all, this is MY duty. That (should be) yours...

(thanks..)

(I just re-read this post and realized that many of you might jump to conclusions. Please hold all rage until you'd read the whole thing. Thank you. Plus, it wouldn't kill you to call your mother; you know how she worries.)

Heath Ledger, R.I.P. What a talented actor. What a nice guy. What an idiot...

What is it with these young stars? Where the HELL are their friends? Do they have any friends? Any real friends, that is? Not the guys who secure booze or drugs or women or whatever their particular vice is; those guys are certainly NOT friends, and if it can be proven that someone secured prescription drugs for the late Mr. Ledger - even if it was his doctor - I hope they're prosecuted.

Where are these people's family? Certainly in some cases it's probably better if the parents were removed from the celebrity's life, (see: spears, any), but it's kind of depressing to think that they have nobody to whom to turn or who thinks enough of them to smack 'em on the back of the head when need be. I mean, these people have the world by the trouser furniture and they end up destroying themselves.

As for Heath, well, I loved everything I saw him in, (obviously I've never seen brokeback), especially The Order on the big screen and Roar on the little screen. (If you're unfamiliar with Roar, feel no shame; I'm one of just about a dozen people who actually watched it and as a result it was a rather short-lived series. A great series but like all truly great television series' they don't catch on with the hoi polloi. See also: Firefly.) He seemed a nice enough guy and was able to get his point across on the screen, but he had something else.

Namely, a daughter. Let's hope that if she grabs headlines in 20 years it's for something positive, because the trend seems otherwise...

WIF ALMANAC...

For years now - well, from almost the beginning of this website - I've been hinting that The Wif is completely nuts. Let me now set the record straight by saying this about that: I'm no longer hinting.

The Wif is flat-out CRAZY and I think I have the definitive truth. Enough so even to have her committed if it comes to that...

She stayed home on sick leave today (Tuesday) because, well, because she was sick. Laid low by a sinus infection, as it turns out. This being a day that I telecommute, it meant that she was underfoot for most of the day, but the kids were in day-care, so it was a bit of a trade-off.

Actually, I work from our bedroom now, (for so vast is its square footage that I can have my office in the same room as my bed), and she spent the day under a blanket in my Com-a-Man chair on the main level in front of the larger television. I "ran into" her a time or two when I came down to get lunch or to break the previous news story to her and I noted a peculiar thing: she was watching Little Miss Sunshine, (and providing me with updates as necessary), and complaining that there was little else to watch.

All this while she was sick AND TRYING TO SLEEP! Sure, hon...

She finally came up at about 3:30, entering our room and complaining that no matter what she tried, she was unable to sleep. Given the fact that my assessment of everything she'd tried was little more than channel-surfing, I told her I'd work downstairs, she could have the bed, (and the room), and I took the extra step of putting on The Empire Strikes Back. Heaven knows she's slept through THAT plenty of times in the past.

Of course, when I went back up to get my keys so I could pick up the kids, I noticed that she'd changed the channel. Sure she was asleep, but still...

NOT THAT I'M A GENIUS, EITHER...

Well, you may have noticed a bit of sporadic activity on this here site lately.

WOT?!? You haven't? Well, I'm shocked, frankly. Or rather, I would be if I hadn't spent so much time proving that I'm an absolute door knob.

See, I've been writing updates and commenting on breaking stories and staying up late in order to make sure that the Internet/tripe ratio remains in the 80^th percentile, but I've been going about it like an epileptic monkey in boxing gloves, (not that I'm trying to offend boxing fans).

We now have 3 Internet connections in the home. Each is supposed to serve a separate purpose, (One: work, Two: adult's business, Three: family service), but in the process of maintaining and setting up each of them, the process has become blurred.

I've been writing to the .TXT version of the file, or updating the local version of this file - and then finding that I'm unable to accurately upload the proper version to the website, (and I just learned that my spell-checker doesn't recognize the words 'upload' or 'website') or I've been working in an outdated file. Or I hadn't updated my software with the proper software.

But (almost) none of you care about any of that. The fact is that if you're reading this on a Wednesday in late January '08, I have finally started the process of setting things on the right path.

Just so you know. (Technical details available upon request.)

I never, EVER imagined these words coming from my mouth. Even in light of the fact that I've already written a similar post - and may have "spoken" those words without knowing it - I'm going to go all in and speak what has become my new truth:

I'm getting tired of the snow and the cold.

That's it; you've all heard me and I'll be danged if I'll repeat it. (Until I do later) I'm honestly getting sick of the snow and I think I know why: I moved down the mountain so we'd have a yard and be close to parks so the kids could be released into the wild on a whim, and it's been so bloody cold and wet that we can't possibly avail ourself of the very reason for the move!

Then again, maybe that has to do with the fact that some arbitrary authority now has power over me and dictates that I have to clear "my" property of said frozen moisture within a certain time frame.

After all, do I really "own" the property if others can dictate to me how I must treat it? What if I want to build an ice palace on the sidewalk? Well, I might be fined for not clearing the walk. And then I'd suffer for not securing this or that permit, and then I'd realize that I'm in trouble for serving alcohol without a license...

Ah well, who am I kidding anyway? There's a much more local authority that dictates what I'm to do with "my" house...

Not to be too heavy on a Friday, but this is utterly amazing. It's a jaw-dropping discovery that should take your breath away. I know I gasped as I read it and I certainly hope that most of you will at least go, "HMMM" as the details are revealed.

Wow!

That's all I have to say, frankly. I'd say "Awesome" but I'd be dating myself. Just like the seal did...

A DAY IN THE LIFE...

So I'm briefly away from my keyboard as I'm talking to The Wif on my cell. I wander into the early afternoon sunshine that's pouring through our living room window. As we talk, I hear a strange sound entering my other ear; it sounds almost like a dog emptying his bladder onto the living room carpet. I turn around and WHAT DO YOU KNOW?!?

Well, I reason, that was my fault for not letting them out and forcing them to urinate on the ground every two hours. Live and learn, right? After all, things could be worse.

Like having a rather playful and enthusiastic kitten on hand that insists on playing with the paper towels as you try to fold them up to collect the gallon or so of freshly-deposited dog urine. But you'll get through that, right? After all, she's a rather small and easily distracted kitten and things could certainly be worse.

Like going into a small panic when you realize that you're not likely to find the badly-needed carpet shampooer in all the mess of your recent move. After all, who would've bothered to keep track of that thing? It's not like we'd need it soon, right? I mean - if we had a badminton set I'd be more likely to keep track of where that ended up. But things could be worse.

well, actually, they were. Because the carpet shampooer ended up sitting - unnoticed - a mere 4 feet from the newly created Dog Lake. The physical truth of the matter outweighed by the panic the circumstance created. Still, things could be worse.

Like loading the delivery tank with fresh hot water, soap and club soda only to discover that the receptacle tank filled prematurely. Well, that was most certainly an error, so I tried it again with a gentler touch, only to discover that the carpet shampooer had been moved to the new house with a tank half-full of ditch-water from our previous house. Great. How could this get worse?

When The Wif got home - after hearing MOST of the story about how I heroically saved not only the Living Room carpet but the very foundation of the home - she then also took brief note of the waffle pattern that the dog piss captured on the stacks of paper towels I used to clean it up that was at the top of the trash can and noticed that I'd used HER shoe to "stomp up the slop."

I'll pay for that, in the form of many dozens of new shoes in the months to come. That much is sure. Could it get worse than that?

Well, only if you find the brush assembly to your carpet shampooer in the garage instead of attached to -- you know -- your carpet shampooer.

There's another question involved here, but at this point I fear the answer and may have gathered some evidence to support that fear. Time will tell and it marches on all the same.

Funny that...

nbsp;

J.O.T.W...

I may be jumping the gun a bit, but that's where I find myself...

Passover Dr. Suess Style Sam! Will you never see? They are not KOSHER, So let me be! I will not eat green eggs and ham. I will not eat them Sam-I-am. But I'll eat green eggs with a biscuit. Or I will try them with some brisket. I'll eat green eggs in a box. If you serve them with some lox. And those green eggs are worth a try Scrambled up inside some matzoh brie! And in a boat upon the river, I'll eat green eggs with chopped liver! So if you're a Jewish Dr. Seuss fan, But troubled by green eggs and ham. Let your friends in on the scoop: Green eggs taste best with chicken soup!

Well, I indeed wrote some content for yesterday. Wrote it on the new computer, actually, (she's a beaute), and in the process of setting up everything that needs setting up, (Firefox with all required extensions, adding users - Mommy and "M", installing the printer, scanner...), I accidentally deleted the Admin's profile. BRILLIANT!

Maybe because I do this stuff all day, every day I got complacent and sloppy. Could've been aided by the fact that I usually write this stuff at the turn of the day when visions of sugarplumbs are rushing in. Whatever the cause, when a profile disappears it doesn't go alone; it takes hostages and promptly kills each and every one of them on its way out.

Including files filled with pointless drivel. Like last night's post...

I really wasn't at all happy about it because I've noticed that my schedule lately has been to write here or on the newspaper's blog and I don't want my writing to be an either/or thing. Ideally, I'd like to keep the pace here and write there when I have charming stories about the latest way the kids make me look like an idiot. Then again, there's a possibility that the other blog could turn into a paying gig (fingers crossed).

And as a brief aside, I'd like to thank the anonymous rater who gives each of my posts at the Denver Post a 5-star rating. Thank you. I even have an idea of who it is, and they are somewhat more likely to read this site than the other. Maybe... But at any rate, you and I both know that they don't ALL deserve 5 stars. Every now and then I'm only up to a 4 ½...

So, that's the 300 word explanation. The 3 word explanation is, "computer go boom."

STARTING TO GET IT...

OK, ok. I'm starting to understand the whole MP3 player thing. I kinda like the idea of stacking a whole bunch of tunes somewhere, telling something to play them at random and sitting back and listening to the result: strange combinations and then out of nowhere comes one you haven't heard in ages and you'd forgot was even in the list.

So, how do I enjoy this phenomena if I don't have an MP3 player? Easy - but not what Code Monkey is thinking -- it's not via Media Player, although it does a pretty good job when pressed to. No, my random music player is part of a game called "Mono."

You can - and should - check it out here. It's like Asteroids on acid, so you know it can't be bad, (plus, it's completely free). And, when you copy your music files into the music folder you can set the game to play or shuffle them as you blast away at paint-filled balloons that defy gravity AND the laws of geometry. It's pretty sweet.

For me - as I've said - the best part is hearing my music assemble itself into a completely random puzzle; sometimes it's Newsboys followed by Third day and then the start of "LIE" by Dream Theater (I never live long enough to hear the entire song unless it's the first up), and other times it's Matchbox 20, Joe 90 and Frank Marino and Mahogany Rush - a group so obscure that only Frank's Mother and I remember them. If she's still around.

But as I enjoyed the mix tonight, something hit me; two of my favorite songs from my "coming of age" time are songs that could ONLY be found on movie soundtracks, AND NEITHER SONG ACTUALLY APPEARED IN THE MOVIE!

OK, so it's a slow news day. Still...

One song, "Waffle Stomp" is a delightful little romp by Joe Walsh. It features such memorable lyrics as, "Well, you can practice your bongo/go to the congo/get lost on safari/ask 'WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?'/speak in Swahili/they tell me that a lot of them do." which is ABSOLUTELY brilliant since it references a joke about a fictitious native American tribe AND a Monty Python skit nobody but me actually remembers. (Aren't you glad to know someone who's taking such an active role in preserving such ephemera?)

But the brilliance doesn't stop there! Not by a long shot. The song also features a rather time-locked reference: "Talk on the phone/call up the coast/call up collect/dial direct/reverse the charges/if they accept, they're home." Sure, we old foggies know what all that means, but talk about something I'd never be able to explain to my kids! "Dial direct?" In the age of cell phones? Forget about it...

The other song that fits this strange criteria is "Last Time In Paris" by Queensryche. It's a playful little rocker that tells the story of an American band member playing in a strange place, meeting a local hottie along the way and then running into a strange string of vexing circumstances. Very fun.

And, given the title and the fact that Ms. paris was only 9 at the time of the movie's release, it would seem that she was tarting it up before it was "hot" to do so.

(And no, that last line was a tack-on, not the entire purpose for the post. In other words, I didn't write the cheap shot and then confabularate a whole post in order to put it out there; it just sprang into my mind as I was wrapping it up.)

(Oh, and the movies were, "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" for the Walsh song and "The Adventures of Ford Fairlaine" for the Queensryche ditty. In case you want to add them to you Netflix queue.)

I don't think anyone saw this coming. It's probably a little late to do the whole 'neener-neener' dance, sticking my tongue out at those who said it would be a technological marvel forever and ever. I'll will say, "I told you so" and let it go at that.

Yikes. If this doesn't get your attention, then you're not paying attention. Sure it's good news for roman polanski but almost nobody else. OK, jerry lee lewis, but almost nobody else. And isn't this just what every household needs; pubescent pre-teens. While you're at it, go ahead and pick up that rabid, senile wolverine.

And from the WTF files comes this little gem. One of the more bizarre stories you're likely to read. In a related development, the Boulder police department announced that they are closing the JonBenet Ramsey case, naming the kitten as her killer.

ON THE PRESIDENTIAL PODIUM..

Well, after hill's "live free or cry" moment/victory last week I got to thinking. No, really! It bugged me - and still does - on a number of levels but here's what I settled on: we want the candidate who cracks and is shaken to tears at a slight set back? Well, do we?!? C'mon - this is still America, isn't it? (After asking question, author goes to window and peers out. After noticing an abundance of obese people milling about outside he first wonders if he was looking into his mirror, but concludes this is indeed still America and returns to his desk.) And are we - as Americans - going to settle on the very weakest President possible?

What I think is happening is that this stupid meme of "we're not loved around the world" is being taken just a bit too seriously - which would be defined as "at all" - and some of us think that a crying woman is what we need so we'll be loved again. There is a word for this theory:

Poppycock. (Which is also a tasty snack! Try some with Yoo-Hoo for an amusing little meal.)

So the crying chick is the best face we can put on this great country? Puh-Leeze. She's the one that's going to re-earn our street cred among our enemies? Really? The country electing a woman as President is going to garner us much favor with people who think that women are property, should be covered from head to toe - making them less than human - and cannot go to school, the market or even leave the house without a properly sanctioned male relative walking 10 feet ahead of them? That's our recipe for success?

(As an aside, I sometimes wonder if the male escorts ever become worried about losing their female charges. After all, they're supposed to walk a respectable distance ahead of them, they cannot touch or unveil them and I'm sure the women aren't exactly quick to speak in public. As a man, I'd be scared to death that I'd lose her! Of course, on the plus side you might return home with a different woman each trip. On the negative side, what the Hell difference would it possibly make?)

So I say, to HELL with how the rest of the world thinks of us; they've never loved us anyway, no matter who was the President. Death To America and Yanqui Go Home have long been slogans of the "international community" regardless of whom was at the helm. And domestically, America Out Of Everywhere has long been the heartfelt slogan of many a brainwashed college-educated moron for longer than I've been alive.

More importantly, as Americans, why would we even consider the feelings of foreigners as superior to the needs of our countrymen when selecting a leader? Isn't there something that's really self-loathing about such a concept?!?

...

And another thing while we're in this neighborhood; don't forget that today's Michigan contest is an open primary. That means that the lefties are free to ignore their own, uncontested primary and play in our sandbox. They will vote in droves (and possibly multiple times or under assumed names), for the Republican they feel can most easily be defeated. So look for that.

Of course, there's a caveat in all this: Mitt Romney should win the contest; he's Michigan's native son and the son of a popular 3 term governor of that state. If Mitt wins, it was probably the natural result. Any other result is probably due to shenanigans on the part of the kos kiddies.

Just so you know...

Sorry guys. Nothing here today. I was too busy this weekend bringing boxes in from the garage and trying to remember how to breathe (pneumonia's a Hell of an adversary), in order to remember to record any far-reaching socio-political commentary.

They say it's the last to go, but who believes them until it happens?

Suffice it to say that things progress and you're all welcome - at nearly any time - at our new diggs. And someday? The garage will be empty enough that The Wif can once again avail herself of it. That's one of my early goals, frankly.

As for everything else, well, I was the featured "blogger" for the Rocky on 1/10. It's a bit of an honor, but only so far as the "my child was student of the week" bumper stickers go; sooner or later, everyone gets a turn at the wheel.

So it was a boring surprise to receive a package from the website which contained several copies from each of the Central Denver, Southeast Denver and Castle Rock Hubs which all contained my ugly mug and utterly stupid bio.

Don't get me wrong - it was a blessing, (of a sort), to know that I was the "featured blogger" across the land. I just wish they would've told me before the event so that I might have made my bio make more sense.

You know, like I do with this site...

As one who has been paying attention to the political debates, let me just say this about that: We here at The Stonestead have heard your cries and we've responded to your calls to action. As such, we are prepared to offer "change" at every opportunity. For such is the nature of this season's debate: change must be offered and it's a given that it will be the accepted norm as we move forward.

As such, I'm glad to announce that as we progress from this point, the Friday post will from here-on be done in Portugese. After all, the Friday post is supposed to be light in nature and what could be lighter than a romance language spoken in earnest by fewer than a couple of hundred thousand folks? So you've got that change to look forward to.

Further, so far as the joke of the week is concerned, I'm feeling a bit more... International so I'll just say this: the Joke Of The Week will now be presented in Esperanto, so that we garner a larger, more world-friendly audience. It's not a perfect solution, but it's what I feel needs to be done in order to expand our audience.

And it's a change...

Change for change's sake? Well, who the Hell needs that? Is nobody smart enough to realize that George W is leaving office by Constitutional Decree? Isn't that enough to focus the debate?

Probably not...

J.O.T.W...

A man walked into a very high-tech bar. As he sat down on a stool he noticed that the bartender was a robot.

The robot clicked to attention and asked "Sir, what will you have?"

The man thought a moment then replied, "A martini please."

The robot clicked a couple of times and mixed the best martini the man had ever had. The robot then asked "sir, what is your IQ?" The man answered "oh, about 164."

The robot then proceeded to discuss the 'theory of relativity,' 'interstellar space travel' 'the latest medical break through' etc.

The man was most impressed. He left the bar but thought he would try a different tactic. He returned and took a seat. Again the robot clicked and asked what he would have?

'A Martini please.'

Again it was superb. The robot again asked "what is your IQ sir?" This time the man answered "Oh about 100."

So the robot started discussing NASCAR racing, the latest basketball scores, and what to expect the Dodgers to do this weekend.

The guy had to try it one more time. So he left, returned and took a stool.... Again a martini, and the question "What is your IQ?" This time the man drawled out " Uh..... bout 50.

At this, the robot clicked then leaned close and very slowly asked, " A-r-e Y-o-u-r p-e-o-p-l-e g-o-i-n-g t-o n-o-m-i-n-a-t-e H-i-l-l-a-r-y-?

Untold thanks to The Beautiful One for that trial escape. We'll visit it all again...

From Drudge today: "paris hilton at Harvard?" Well of course she will be. It makes perfect sense and she absolutely deserves to be. And she's in the debt to whomever told her about the bookstore having a gift shop...

Also via Drudge: "Russia says it is ahead in race to put man on Mars." Yes. Yes they are. I have no reason to doubt the claim. In breaking news, Russia also claims the lead in cloning unicorns, capturing leprechauns, converting pixies into renewable fuel, Sasquach hair production and Loch Ness monster egg omlettes. (Yummy!)

And from Yahoo!: "Swedes to use body heat to warm offices" Finally! The Swedes have found a good use for their bodies. I know it's what we've all been praying for...

AMERICA'S MOST POPULAR PASTIME...

What a difference a day makes, eh? Or should I say, 'what a difference a few tears make?' Does anyone remember Presidental Candidate Fred Thompson in Hunt For Red October? He had the best line: "Your average Rooskie doesn't take a dump without a plan, son." Now, just substitute "Clinton" for "Rooskie" and you've got the news in a nutshell...

For those of you not paying attention, (98% of your readership - way to drive 'em off, moron), after hillary finished third in Iowa - behind Mr. Wet-Behind-The-Ears and the empty hair-cut - it appeared her campaign was in free-fall. But I don't want to be seen as "picking on the girl" so no more about john edwards.

She was behind in the polls where once she led and obama was raking in the cash and endorsements. There appeared to be no way for her to get back on top of the race. And her frustration was showing; when asked how she does it, (or some other equally insipid variation), her voice wavered and she teared up, "I have so many opportunities for this country..." she quaked.

Well, I guess it happened at just the right moment: close enough to the vote to effect its outcome but not so far out as to have it revealed as phony by further examination. And here I didn't think hill was as politically shrewd as bill. Of course, he might have been the one to advise her to tear up (just recall the Ron Brown funeral), but I'm still skeptical. After all, tears only seem to work if the public already accepts a sense of humanity about them what shed 'em.

But she pre-cried and I'm sure it was a calculated move to touch the sensibilities of female voters. And yes, I know how insulting that sounds, but here's the thing: it did JUST THAT! Going into New Hampshire a majority of women voters who were polled were going to vote for obama. When all was said and done, a majority of women took the Grrl Power path and voted for hill. Which just cracks me up on several levels...

Yes. The Sisterhood is vast - I understand that. Yes, women tend to stick together if the other option is standing by your man - every married man understands that. But somehow Grrl "power" has been defined as "rushing to the side of one driven to tears? How can that be? Isn't the original design of woman tears meant to be that of driving a man to his knees? How then are girl tears a cause to rally around for the chicks?

Well, maybe if the tears aren't accomplishing their Prime Directive I could understand it. But it really doesn't speak well of you wimmin-folk out there: "We're supporting a Presidential Candidate who cries at the first sign of trouble." What a rallying cry THAT is!

And do you honestly expect to carry the day with that attitude? Hell, I'd rather support the other woman in the race.

But I'd earlier promised to lay off john, so I'll stick to that and end the post now...

AND AS TO THE FUTURE...

But as regards the future of the Presidential race, I feel compelled to issue this warning: Michigan has its turn at the wheel next week, but it's an open primary. That means that those who are registered as I can't be bothered to think about such things "independent" are allowed to vote in either party's primary. For that matter, ANY registered voter can play in either party's sandbox.

To further complicate things, Ol' hill is the ONLY dem on the Michigan ballot. I haven't yet gotten to the root of how that happened, but it is the case all the same. This means that demos, with just a single outlet for their vote, will quickly realize that they are free to cast shenanigans in the Republican party process.

And there is little doubt that this deeply blue state will do just that. They will vote for the Republican that they feel confident they can most easily defeat in November.

That means that next week, as you're vaguely aware of the results pouring in, keep in mind that the dems were given a chance to pick their opponent and they chose the weakest lamb in the flock. Maybe...

'Round about my lunchtime I was about to start the grand composition that would forever define this website and would forever gel the image of its author in the minds of its readers for ever and ever. Instead, I popped over to KFC for a quick drive-thru, (I left without my change - the result of living 23 minutes from the nearest branch and feeling the heat of a quick return - and ended up fighting over pennies).

Small matter: I could take the time to personally knock out every one of the branch's employees or I could take my scattered leave among all people and slink away quietly.

Or I could ignore everything else and pretend to not be surprised by a hillary/mccain win in New Hampshire. Which, frankly, is a bit of a surprise. Most of everyone would have predicted an obama/mccain/Romney/Thompson split, but here it is all the same.

And I'm glad I didn't jump on the "hill's done" bandwagon - although I would have loved to do so...

But for now, I'll just try to rest easy in the idea that there's a ton of wild road that lies beore the candidate, and it's on that path that we'll sort it all out.

It's what the Founders envisioned, after all...

In case you were wondering, that title is a line from a Simpson's episode - the good seasons. I just haven't figured out how to add my particular 'Simpson's flair' to my title script. Well, that's not entirely true, but who has the time and money to go out and kidnap Matt Groening, much less the space in the basement in which to store him until he gives up the exact Hex codes for the colors in question? It's just not worth the hassle...

So I expect some problems to arise when one moves. It's the natural order of things: with so many things to switch or change or update the law of averages dictates that something's bound to slip through the cracks. It has to be the case. It's a natural situation.

And when it happens to me, I'm going to try to fight the equally natural fury that it causes. Because that's what I'm doing now.

Water, ISP, Dish Network, Xcel, trash collection, magazines, mail - did I forget anything? Well, insurance and the mortgage, but that should have sorted itself out at the closing, right? (NOTE: It didn't. I received an official-looking parcel from my insurance company a few days into our new place. It was sent to our previous address and so was adorned with a bright yellow Postal Service sticker containing our new address and the warning to advise the sender of our new address. The best part? The letter started, "this is to advise you that your official change of address has been registered with our office..." Priceless,) So what could have gone wrong?

It was as plain as the dirt on the nose on my face: I had called their office to establish service and my calls went unanswered. I called again and again - being the Holidays and all I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt - and I finally got a return call. I took it as a good omen and we established a rate, pay schedule and delivery schedule. It seemed like an ideal relationship, frankly. We were ready to go and I fulfilled my part of the deal on Sunday evening.

And then, at, (checking phone for exact time - don't you just love the technology?), 3:02 PM today, The Wif called to say that our trash hadn't been picked up as we were told it would be. I called the service provider, was put on hold for several minutes as the chickie talked to "the dispatcher" and when she refocused her attention on me, I was told that they hadn't yet visited my neighborhood, which seemed odd, given the time. But not to worry, because chickie told me that "dispatch" had told her that even if they HAD been past our neighborhood and neglected to collect, (so to speak), they would make a special trip back along our way to make things right.

So I was a little surprised to back into my driveway and find a heaping pile of uncollected garbage sitting there tonight. After all, I'd been assured and re-assured and was convinced that everything would be taken care of during this first workday of the week. Why was I surprised?

So I call the bozos and leave a message - just like a couple of weeks prior. I say something to the effect of, "you promised and you promised and you re-assured and WTF?!?"

They have until 9 tomorrow morning to call me back and until 1 tomorrow afternoon to fix their error. In the gap I'll be talking with other collection services trying to establish service. I may even have a trash olympics and go with whichever company actually shows up to haul away our refuse first. I'm agnostic on the whole thing at this point.

But one thing upon which I'm sure: I won't be lied to. I've reached that point in my life where I can stand firm upon that principle.

I just don't have the time for it...

Most Sundays are an uplifting and affirming experience for me. During the week I've become somewhat jaded about the general state of today's youth so it's a great experience to go to church and see so many well-behaved, shiny young faces. Makes you think that maybe - just maybe - things are going to turn out OK. But then there's Monday and the cycle starts all over again.

Well, my week got a bit of a jump-start today...

After going to church, emptying out place #4 that holds our stuff, (down to a bunch of crap in just 3 places! What could be better?!?), and taking a 2 1/2 hour nap, (more about that later or on my other blog), I went to run some errands. Number one? Fill the tank on the Death Star...

Couldn't be easier, right? I've charted a rather round-about course to one of those grocery store discount places in the neighborhood; it's longer than it has to be, but it's just right turns so it's worth it. As I'm filling up - I'm nearly empty so it takes most of a fortnight and costs a King's ransom - I notice a car pull up on the other side of the pumps.

They seem slighly lost and don't seem to understand the "club card" feature of the pumps, so he goes inside to pay. I check the plates and learn that at least the car isn't from out of state. Then I notice that she's (the driver) not only smoking a cigarette, she's holding it out the window to flick the ashes. I really want to say something, but then her beau says something on his way inside: "Hey - don't smoke all that one!"

It strikes me as a grammatically strange way to say, 'Please don't kill us all in a fiery explosion,' (is there such a thing as a non-fiery explosion? If so, I don't want to hear about it), but at this point I'm willing to accept any word of warning that might help to maintain my molecular structure. And then he says...

"That's the last one!"

OY. This chick's determined to set a city block alight and her Chief Doorknob is worried that she's about to Bogart the last smoke. Talk about being centered-in-self! Just on a lark I looked in the backseat and saw my worst fear: two small children. Great.

I then took a second look at the driver. Don't worry -- it wasn't brittney...

ON THE MEND, I THINK...

Oh how I long to feel like crap. I think that stage is about 2 or 3 days away at this point and I'm really looking forward to it. Because being slightly tired and somewhat sick and having a slight cough looks like Heaven from where I am now...

I'm breathing from the top 1/3 (or less) of my lungs, lest I start a violent, convulsive coughing fit that not only causes me to toss my cookies but makes me dizzy enough to lose my balance and fall to the floor. It's happened before and I'm worried that it'll happen again. But maybe not during this infection.

The good news is that things aren't continuing to get any worse for me, health-wise. I went to the Doc and in spite of the scary circumstance of having her ask me if my kids were vaccinated against Whooping Cough, (enough to really, REALLY capture your attention), I continue to carry on.

Though things get tough I have to stand strong - along with my Family - against all challenges. And even though the Doc wrote me 5 scripts and handed me a $100 inhaler, (which I have yet to avail myself of tonight), I know that I've taken the right steps in order to protect my family.

And whether that means stepping out front in order to shield and take the illness less my family suffer it, or going to the Doc for treatment in order to protect my famiy from what I'm suffering, well, it's kind of six of one, frankly.

So lest my suffering become theirs, I've already done my duty. Not that anyone here's in a hurry to thank me for it, but that's what being a Dad is all about, frankly...

I wish you could see our home right now. I honestly do. It's such a mish-mash of living space and storage that it might be the subject of some sort of surrealist artist, should he ever get the time to travel our way. I know full well that I could take pictures, (because I now know where to find my camera), but if I posted pictures of this mess, I'd be absolute TOAST with The Wif.

Not that I'd be able to tell the difference, so long as recent history would play out, but why tempt fate?

At any rate, sheets over the windows and boxes blocking our way through The Room That Shall Not Be Entered aren't exactly our idea of an ideal situation. But someday we'll put it all together and every one of you will be justified in your questions.

&nbps;

This Yankee from Massachusetts was hiking through the mountains of northern Georgia when he came upon the tiniest cabin he had ever seen in his life. Intrigued, he went up and knocked on the door.
"Anybody home?" he asked.
"Yep," came a kid's voice through the door.
"Is your father there?" asked the tourist.
"Pa? Nope, he left afore Ma came in," said the kid.
"Well, is your mother there?" persisted the tourist.
"Ma? Nope, she left just afore I got here," said the kid.
"But," protested the Yankee, "are you never together as a family?"
"Sure, but not here," said the kid through the door. "This is the outhouse!"

(Whoa. Some of you out there just learned a little something, didn't you? Well, don't get cocky...)

Dear Brothers and Sisters: for whatever reason, the fickle finger of fate has decided to place an unusual amount of political weight in your hands. Or rather, in the hands of of people who populate a state which otherwise can claim very little else on the world stage. Oh sure, there's that whole, Breadbasket Of The Planet thing, but who thinks about that outside of 2 weeks in August when the corn tastes really, REALLY good on a hot summer night?

Of course, Iowa is one of those states that continually lose many of their children as they age and decide to head towards either coast - the state being conveniently located almost equally as far from the water's edge on either side - so maybe that has something to do with it.

But at any rate, as you caucus today/tonight, please consider the fate of the Nation and who's best prepared to lead us against those who would kill us simply because we believe differently than they do. It sounds simplistic, but that's really what today's world is all about: Killing those who want to kill us before they're able to fulfill their mission.

Anything else -- the death tax, income tax rates, Chinese imports, bird flu, swine flu, bovine flu, Asian flu, Superman flu, Chuck Norris' bad moods, (OK - those really ARE very serious), scoliosis, halitosis, expealidotious and everything else in the public realm come in at a distant second. Or perhaps 17^th. It's hard to say from where I sit.

But one thing is sure: since we are forced to lose W as our President, (due to short-sided Repubs who could never imagine a Reagan or Bush II that might challenge FDR's popularity), we'll have to be sure to replace him with someone of a similar build. Morally speaking.

And in short, my Brothers and Sisters, the answer to that riddle is NOT "huckabee." That answer is far better suited to the IHOP-Situated question of, "what flavor of syrup should I put on my waffles this morning? 'ButterBerry?' 'ChuckleBerry?''FrankenBerry?' No, I'll go with huckabee. Haven't had that in some time..."

Please. I know that you're a religious people and I thank my lucky stars (so to speak) that my Faith has its roots in your rich soil. But the fact that someone is an Ordained Minister should NOT be enough to tilt the scales in his favor. Especially if he disagrees with most of the other things you say you believe in.

Similarly, just because someone differs with you on Theology but seems to carry the same water you do on every other issue should NOT be a reason to vote against them. Which is why I'm supporting Romney.

Romney seems to be the best candidate at this early date: he has experience leading companies and experience leading International Efforts. Even if it was only the olympics.

He has knowledge about turning trials into profit and even though the Federal Blok is forbidden to do the latter, he could bring a new spirit to the process. Plus, he's actually run something(s). And those something(s) eventually ran at a profit, PLUS. In fact, he's one of the country's most successful businessmen.

And if there's a better qualification, I'd love to hear it...

well, there's no chance at all of me "ringing in the new" this year and I couldn't care less, frankly. But for those of you who are out doing so as I type this, (I can only think of 2 readers who might possibly be in that group but I've been wrong before), I wish you the best. And don't forget your scarf -- that wind is murder...

I've always thought of New Year's as a complete scam of a "Holiday" -- even more so than Valentine's Day, if you can believe it -- because it's even more of a scam date. I mean, YOU try to pick the day that the Earth starts its year-long trip around the sun and I bet you'd choose either an equinox or a solstice, because that would make so much more sense.

St. Valentine's Day is at least an effort to preserve a date that actually means something along the way; namely, that of remembering a fallen Saint who went to his death (presumably) in the name of Love. New Year's is nothing more than, "oh, we're done with the cold weather and it's time to think about the warmer days to come.

And although I now find myself among those who believe such things - kinda - I'm keeping my snow shovel close. But I should explain...

I'm looking forward to this summer and the many and varied water structures that will find their way into our backyard. That should make the move worthwhile, frankly. And between here and there, I'll enjoy the sound of our kids moving about in the playroom downstairs and the sound of toys being tossed hither and yon.

For such is the sound of young boys who cannot access their yards...

But until then, the law requires that the front sidewalk be cleared within 24 hours of the end of the storm. Even if it's a pointless exercise because another storm is due by morning. Much legal rangling might ensue from all of this. Especially considering that our road is never, EVER plowed. Even during/after a snow storm.

How could they expect more of us than they're willing to deliver? It boggles the mind UNTIL one considers that we're dealing with County Folk here. Take it from me; you can safely expect anything from County Folk and they're not likely to disappoint. I think it's a part of their Mission Statement...