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There's little worse - short of personal/family tragedy - than working on a Friday afternoon, realizing that you get to leave an hour "early" and then coming to the conclusion that you have to get up early next Monday. At least in my experience, and that's where I was on Friday afternoon; working and plugging away when I realized that I'd be rudely awakend a mere 62 hours from that point. Talk about a living vision of misery... But then - nearly as quickly - I realized that I would be spared that fate. HUZZAH! And this didn't involve the Governor, a phone call or a single legal appeal, because I'd already been granted leave; I'm off today! No office work for me! Instead, I'll be... Well, let's not get too far down that road just yet. We can address that at a later date and (hopefully) not lose any real sense of perspective. Let's just say that I have an appointment and leave it at that. For now. Details to follow, I promise/threaten. Other than that painful revelation and it's über-friendly conclusion, I can honestly say that things went rather boringly this weekend, except for the fact that my meds are totally whacked. My allergist has changed my meds with the resultant effect that I'm completely unable to breathe. Then again, the change in weather might have, (NOT 'might of' as so many bozos out there seem to believe), messed with my head as well. The long and the short of it is that when you can't get enough oxygen into your system, it makes you really, REALLY tired. So after The Wif left me alone with the Little Monsters as she visited her 'rents, there was really only one course of action that made any sense: I HAD to take them out to dinner. That's right - after suffering what amounts to a serious head cold I decided to take them into public. I blame the new meds... We went to Lenny's where D-Man had the grilled cheese, The Binkster had 'rock-A-ronis,' "M" had a cheeseburger and I had some slab of dead cow. I think; it's difficult to remember. What I do remember is that D-Man sat quietly, (!!) and wolfed down his dinner. "M" ate her entire cheeseburger - plus applesauce - without a fight. Binky? Well, for reasons that defy logic and science, he was unable to finish his mac. I know -- I don't believe it either!! He did manage - as did "M" - to eat several of my fries along the way. We also managed to avoid any food throwing incidents, because these guys can make the scene from Animal House look like an episode of the Teletubbies when they're in the right mood. As we were walking out I vaguely heard "M" say, "I hear your phone" far before I would ever have heard it myself, (from my pocket, I guess it's closer to her level than mine). I answered it only to learn that Mommy was just now leaving her folks' house. Late - as expected. I listen to her tales of woe and then ask her if she might have some idea where we are; she doesn't. I tell her we're in the parking lot and she asks - amazed - what we're doing there. When I tell her that we went out to dinner, she's almost too shocked to drive home. I hear things like, "REALLY?!" and "NO WAY!!" before I convince her that we did, in fact, eat food prepared by a national chain on their turf. This calls to mind the first time I took all 3 monsters to the store, (a store I sorely miss, BTW). She was stunned by the idea that I'd take these 3 young kids to a store all by myself. I guess she forgets who has the reputation as The Enforcer in their minds. And that every now and then I need to reinforce the idea that Daddy's a Superhero. That plays some small role, too, I suppose... What a sorry excuse for a site this place has been this week - and, in a larger sense - since it's inception, I suppose. Some of you may remember why this is and others of you have long since written me off anyway. So it's all good - he said, using the hipster-doofus language so prevalent in today's culture. Still, it's better than the "my bad" which somehow passes for an acceptance of responsibility these days. AND STAY OFF MY LAWN!! Sorry; it's far too easy for me to slip into Old Guy Mode nowadays. I'm working on it... At any rate, I was advised of what was happening, (THX, DOOD!), and I was initially confused by what I heard. After all, it made no sense as I heard it and I couldn't figure out what was going on and why. Well, it turns out that I'm a visual/logic-driven person, (proof to the otherwise offered regularly here), and once I downloaded the file and checked the actual code, I knew what was going on. I had actually started tonight's post at the beginning of the week, when I obviously had at least 12 extra minutes and a better attitude. I wrote the code and a rough outline - containing reminders to myself that were supposed to mean something later - and then forgot to comment it out so it wouldn't be visible to the general public. It was a rookie mistake by someone who would punch you in the face if you called him a rookie. A Wookie would be one thing, but calling me a rookie is unforgivable - unless I continue to prove it to be true... So that's that, pretty much. I've erased the errant entry and have resolved not to do it again. After all, given the nature of the new, immediate media, that which was funny/relevant/meaningful on Monday can't possibly last all the way into Friday. Not in the same sense, anyway. So no more of that. Promise...
Well... I went to a medical specialist today and I have good news and bad news; I'm dying. I suppose that's the bad news. The good news is that I seem to be dying at the same rate that most of you are. (Sorry 'bout that. Couldn't resist. Please forgive...) I'm sitting here tonight with roughly 50 holes in my back and arms. That's just a guess, but I imagine it's pretty close. I know for a fact that I have 18 in my arms alone, with two trays worth in my back, so I'll bet that's a decent guess. The testing was interesting and I had a brief flashback to those days in junior high, (when they still had such things), when guys would walk the halls for a week with numbers and scratch marks lining their arms before they were allowed to shower again. Junior high - what a great time to undergo THAT test... Apparently, they can do the whole test in just 20 minutes or so now. It sounds like grand progress on one hand, but it actually means that either the human body has become much more sensitive or they're using much more concentrated solutions in their testing. Care to guess? At any rate, it turns out that the "control" shots acted up almost before she got the needle off my skin. So I got THAT going for me. After that, well, things got interesting. My results qualified me for the "advanced" tests - where instead of a single scratch across the skin I got a full shot and micro-dose of the test agent. 9 times in the back of each arm. Just take a minute and think about the skin 1 1/2 inches above your elbow and tell me how ready you are to take a hypo there. You're not? What a wimp... Just kidding. As it turns out, that's exactly where I got the "mold" shot - to which I'm apparently highly allergic. It itches like crazy, even this late. I'd take a Benadryl if I didn't have to work in the morning; useless, it makes me. Worse yet, I tested positive for at least 3 different types of grass. No wonder I'm feeling it more now that I live in the 'burbs. (Dood - when are we going golfing next? Seriously -- I need to know for a number of reasons.) This means that my future holds bi-weekly shots for the next couple of months, followed by weekly shots for the next couple of years. Followed by monthly shots for who knows how long. The idea - for those of you who haven't walked around with bleeding sores and Sharpie numbers lining your limbs - is a slow vaccination. They inject you with the very thing that irritates your schnozz and then sit back and watch. Sure it sounds like a part of the spanish inquisition, but they assure me that it's going to help. Eventually. And I'll trust them on the same schedule...
My life, and how I'd like to live it: Computer Problem Report Form Happy Friday... Can't write this one away except to say that I'm giving a day to those who would rather spend their time looking at my kids instead of reading my krep. For such is my output: Kids pics, (with labels to follow), have been posted. Anything else I have to add would be a sad counterpart. So be it.. My weekend actually started at 1700 hours on Thursday. That's when I clocked out and put my feet up on the desk. Then I crawled into bed in an attempt to catch about 40 minutes before Mommy & The Monsters returned home, (that would be a great name for our family music group - even if Mommy isn't going to be onstage). It didn't last that long because I remembered that dinner was my responsibility. So up-and-at-'em and I'm downstairs browning 2 pounds of ground cattle before you can say, "treat me for eColi." I've decided on nachos; they're (relatively) quick and they go over well with everyone concerned. And why wouldn't they? They're basically just disjoined cheeseburgers on corn chips instead of bread. Oh, and with salsa instead of ketchup. And I managed to make exactly enough - no child hungry and no leftovers. That's a perfect score 'round here. Later that evening, Grandma calls to demand the children be available for a sleep over on Friday. Well, we were going to stay up late chasing them around, argue forever about long-standing rules they refuse to obey and tell them for the 3,166,438th time to keep their feet off the table during dinner, but if you insist... We had dinner at Outback and The Wif was snoring from her chair by 8:35, (she blames the two Beam & Sevens). I stayed up and watched the second part of John Adams, (if you miss this, kick yourself in the arse until sitting down is painful. It's Just. That. Good. It's absolute 'History Pr0n' if you understand the term. I mean, how often do you get to watch something about our founding and the character of "George Washington" is not at the top of the list? Seriously - see it). I then went upstairs and wrote a rare Friday night bit for my newspaper blog and turned in around 2300 or so. Which means I left the bed a mere 12 hours later. No kids, no monitors, no worries... Eventually we have the monsters again and they are absolute wrecks; full of sugar and devoid of sleep is the standard fare as they return from Grandma's. It's as sure as returning a rental car with a full gas tank. I cook up a half-dozen grilled-cheese sandwiches figuring that after the parents have one each we'll have 3 left to put back in the fridge. I'm pleasantly surprised when all kids have eaten their fill - except "M" who eats 3X her body weight - and I'm left with a single half, which I then eat. Since Sunday is looming heavy on our radar, we try to put the kids to bed early - and it's not like they don't need it already. We fail miserably and they go to bed a mere 45 minutes before they would have otherwise. Sunday: Since the Easter Bunny had visited us overnight, we can either get up early to search for eggs or we can find them after we return from church. I vote for the latter, only to realize that we'll be going to my folks' house directly from church. Well, no matter, I think, we can find the ovum after we return from my parents'. It is then I realize that we're due at a birthday party for my Israeli Brothers' children after we leave my folks,' and I am NOT missing that. So I figure, how many eggs are going to spoil between 2300 Saturday and 1800 Sunday if left out of the fridge? And then I answer 'all of them' and I agree to get up early on Sunday. 0630 early, apparently. There was some sort of mis-communication along the way and at 6:30 - LONG before I agreed to a conscious state - She rubs my arm: "Time to get up," she says. I agreed to get up early, but this is ridiculous! I tell her to send in "the first diaper change" to wake me, thinking that I can change into my lounging clothes and brush my teeth as she changes the second diaper. She walks in leading a boy and carrying a boy. "They're both relatively dry," she announces as I'm pummeled by excited boys. As she missed the point entirely. We addressed our appointed rounds, (pictures to follow - I promise), and were early only for the first two. We were SO late for the birthday parties that it was as if we were early; we were the only ones there, aside from our gracious hosts. Much loudness followed. All too much of it from my children. We stuck around and helped clean up after a party we didn't attend, but that was for our betterment, not theirs. In fact, as we entered his home The Wif announced, "The clean-up crew is here!" which I found both amusing and committal and both suited me fine... As you may have determined from the title, I need some help. Well - to be perfectly honest - I need LOTS of help, but I'm addressing a specific need instead of a general truth at the moment... I'm in need of some information about something which I KNOW exists but haven't yet been able to research; wireless speakers. Now I'm not talking about wireless headphones - because I've done some small amount of research as far as they're concerned and I'm still pretty un-impressed. Not because the technology is sub-standard but because I HAVE MORE THAN ONE ROOM IN MY HOME and can easily move myself to another if the circumstances warrant. I have no need of wireless headphones. However, I find myself in great need of some kind of 'wireless speaker' solution and here's why: on those days I work from home I listen - online through my personal computer - to either the Dave Ramsey Show or the Michael Medved Show, neither of which I'm currently able to listen to on the radio. Thus the need to listen online. However, when I'm online I'm only online in my home office and the rest of the house is left wanting, (unless I take the trouble to logon to the Family PC downstairs, which suffers from a lack of range), so I need a solution; I need wireless speakers with a broad range and little quality loss, (that is, I need everything). So if anyone out there has an answer as to how I can listen to my computer from the shower - without shocking myself to death - I'd love to hear it. Heck, I'd even buy an extra setup for the living room so I could traverse the various floors of my home without missing any commentary, but that's probably just me. Someone in search of an easy solution... Have you ever been the guardian of a secret - someone else's secret? Well, you probably have, since that's the stuff of the foundation of the human experience. At some time or another we all gain the confidence of a friend and they share something with us and nobody else and then ask us NOT to share it with anyone else. I'm inclined to believe that this happens mostly as children, since that's when we're the most open, candid and trusting. Heck - there's a commercial out there for some anti-bacterial product that features just that theme: kids whispering their secrets to one-another, "I don't wash my hands." "I play in the mud." "I eat my boogers." Or something like that. I haven't paid that much attention, to be honest... But that's the general idea with which we're all the most familiar, I think. Oh sure there's the sharing of "conquest" details during the teenage years, but that information is shared in the hopes that it's broadcast, not kept secret, (believe me on this one). Then, as we grow and mature (slightly) we may again come under the trust of someone who shares a deep-seated secret that they've barely allowed themselves to face, much less spoken aloud. It's a natural belief that said secret will not be shared but they still want reassurance: "Don't tell anyone, OK? I've been on every edge of the "secret" game, (as I suspect you have): I've shared those all-important childhood Nuggets O' Truth and heard my fair share while on the playground. I've whispered, (written, actually - I still have the texts) details of my "romantic" conquests/targets/frustrations to my Best Friend during our high school days. I've also told my Best Friend about my wishes that he eliminate certain Items Of Shame upon my death, (which could be tomorrow - given how I feel right now), as an "adult." (Closed circuit to Dood: forget that request, BTW. I finally discovered my calling there and I'd be willing to share the details with you if you really want to know. Otherwise, it's a Google-fest to find what we're talking about. And what I've done about it. And I'm sorry if I've played the Devil's Spoon with your Brother over the whole thing. Seriously.) So aside from the Big Request I just referenced, I've had - and shared - my fair amount of secrets in my lifetime. I'm still holding one or two, if only because I gave my word that I would. Haven't even told The Wif, which is kind of bothersome but necessary in those cases. But I feel honor-bound not only to my word but to the friendship - even if THAT no longer exists. Which means that I'm honoring my word, I suppose. ... But imagine this scenario: you've discovered a way to manipulate/muck with/DESTROY an entire website. And not a small one like this tiny fry you're reading now, (OMG! How did he know we were reading him?!?). No, I'm talking about finding out that you'd be able to pull the site completely down; shake it from its timbers. Unroot it entirely. You have stumbled across a flaw in the codes that would allow you to logon as ANY user you'd choose and say ANYTHING you'd like - AS THAT PERSON AND WITH THEIR FULL CREDENTIALS! Imagine hijacking an established, online identity. Now imagine hijacking THOUSANDS of them, one-by-one.
Are we power-mad yet? Well, I'm 98% certain that I possess that ability at this very moment, (actually, 4 hours ago, but who's counting?). I could create panic and havoc by logging in as the people I disagree with and creating something that would drive them starkers and just sit back as the sparks fly. I could logon as an online friend and praise things that seem questionable in my own eyes in their name. I could logon as a boss, (yes, that much is true), and write article after article about the value of the Avalanche NOT making the playoffs. Such is my power, (got there!) As the holder of this vast key, what do I do with it? I pass the information along to those who will take corrective action. Yeah, the hijinx might've been fun, but what if someone out there cracks MY account?
(I've notified people who should be able to notify people about the problem. We'll see just how responsive they are...) I can't believe this year's election race. And let's forget the fact that it all starts off now with a discussion about race... So obama adresses concerns about race by throwing his own Grandmother on the tracks. I mean, I thought that john edwards was an empty suit! This guy is sucking all of the air and the lint from the jacket that hangs under the plastic shield and continues to go for more; what a complete joke of a candidate. But we'll get to that. The funniest part of the 'obamamania' is that the lily-whitest-arsed people - carting their kids around in minivans while stopping every so often for an Eight-dollar coffee and a Froo-froo cup of whatever - are the most likely to be the ones sporting the "big O" bumper stickers. I'm sure that it's not that they're guilty of pandering, but I suspect that they're guilty of pandering. The latest "hey -- I'm cool!" mark has long been associating oneself with "minorities," (other than women, that is; nothing is less cool than a straight, committed, heterosexual couple), and it dates back to Caddyshack and beyond. Girls and women have long been so indontrinated into victimology that it's become the video game's "power pack" of the real world: you get extra Life Points for paying attention to a certain minority. So too of obama; if you love the guy, you're on the RIGHT side of history: you're correcting past injustices. And if you feel a longing to correct past injustices, then he's your man. On the other hand, if you question his desire to set the top tax bracket at 94%, you're not a Student of Fiscal Activity - you're a racist. Because you dared to question a black man's ECONOMIC POLICY! What the HELL has happened to my country? Well, we've all grown soft is a decent start of an answer, but it doesn't even come close... This guy, (obama), is a shell of a farce of an answer to a question that nobody asked; he is - in the language of my Home - a "goofball." He's NOT to be taken seriously by anyone, including the dogs, at any time. And yet he persists. Even to the point that he compared his Grandmother's expressions of fear, (she's white), at encountering black men on the street in the middle of the night - to those of a minister who claimed that the U.S. deserved what We got on 9/11. Which brings me to ask, "what was his Grandmother doing on the streets at midnight BEFORE 9/11, and what was his "P"astor doing aftward? Just asking, is all... OK - enough about me being sick; we're all - er, rather sick of hearing about me being sick. Except I am. Something about these twin fronts moving in or I'm allergic to Arvada or those little germ factories are belching out production at an unheard of rate. Nothing says it can't be all of them, I suppose. I just keep telling myself, "one day, you'll breathe again. And that very night you'll sleep." Right. And then magical winged pigs will move in and poop sausage on toast with cheese for me every morning. It's just bound to happen... Kate Beckinsdale is on Jay Leno right now and I have to confess something: after seeing her in the Underworld movies - and contrasting that role with whatever they showed her in - I was determined to be at least indifferent to her unless she had a gun in her hand. I was wrong. Very wrong... I've become MUCH more laid-back as I've aged. It's not unheard of, frankly, just a bit of a surprise. Still, the other half of this story almost made my blood boil. The page I've linked to portrays the matter in a rather positive light - as far as I'm concerned - but what they didn't mention is that there was a protest against the bill at the capital. Knowing that, you'd naturally assume that the protesters were the I guess the question is already answered by the fact that these people actually darken those doorways, but it's still left begging because they protest a cap of 45% on the loans THEY TAKE OUT!! What happens in the human mind where it drives a person to walk around the capital saying, "At 340% they're NOT SCREWING US ENOUGH!" or, "HOW CAN THEY BE EXPECTED TO REMAIN IN BUSINESS CHARGING ONLY 45%?!?" Listen: my credit union somehow manages to stay in business while housed in two different
buildings employing a staff of at least 100 while charging no more than 8% on a car loan.
A second mortgage might go for slightly more (I haven't checked either of these numbers but
feel very safe in asserting so), but I'm willing to bet that their expenses are more than
that of a store-front with 2 minimum wage employees at the helm. Better yet, they provide
me - for a mere $15 - an entire box of checks, while the Have I sold the concept yet? No? Then let's consider geography; when we lived in Evergreen we were often spoken to as if we were some sort of minor royalty. Not a prince or a duke - exactly - but perhaps a second-earl who was Somebody's son or brother who could trace their family line back to somebody standing near to somebody else as something important was happening at someplace important. In short, we were considered to be living in a "wealthy" area. And guess what? There wasn't a single 'pay day loan' office in Evergreen when we left, (so far as I know). Would you like to guess how many are around me now that I live in a "common" area? More than I know. What does THAT tell you about the Rich VS Poor, and how behavior dictates commerce which dictates landscape, if left un-molested? First off, let me wish everyone a HAPPY As for the weekend, well, it didn't come fast enough; weird stuff happening at the office and other time-wasters in my personal life - as well as my own idiosyncrasies - made for a VERY long week. And this was my "long" week already, meaning that I'd have to work on Friday, which is more than enough to make it a "long" week. So how did I spend my weekend? Well hard in labor, natch: I fixed the drain in our half-bath which is a feat that deserves more than just a sentence in passing. I hate ABS piping. No, I LOATHE ABS piping. If hate were people, I'd be Earth. And any future planet we discover with humanoid - or insectoid - life: I can't stand the krep. It's unsteady. It's unreliable. It's always struck me as something that you'd install if you had to (excuse me - harsh language ahead) piss in the sink because the steel pipe for the rest of the house was on back-order. Some contractor somewhere said, "well, I can't get the metal I need, but my guys can't be seen peeing onto 4th, so we'll find some way to connect the lines..." But maybe that's just me. Or maybe that's just ABS. It's terrible. It molests children if left unattended. I have read stories about this in email, as it happens. I have also heard that if you stop it from molesting children it emits carbon monoxide and directly contributes to global warming.
At any rate, I drove to the local orange-themed big-box and bought the one, LAST part I needed to empty my waste-water into a hole in the wall, (AH, the modern conveniences..!). Via some miracle, all the parts finally fit together and we're now able to wash our hands after emptying our bladders in this particular room. As for everything else -- well, I fixed the 'upstairs' vacuum, cleared the clog in the kitchen drain, attached the retractable extension cord, changed the defective right-turn light on my truck, cleaned both vehicles, affixed the flagpole-holder to the front of our new Hell-hole, put up towel rings in both bathrooms, painted the 'other' one and explored the depths of my willingness to clean The Wif's car. I didn't vacuum. Except to test the machine, but that shouldn't count against me... Well, it came to light today that The Wif doesn't have to leave town when everyone else was planning on leaving town: she doesn't have to leave her family on Easter Sunday in order to fly to parts east. This means that we should be able to attend the birthday party of our Israeli niece and nephew, which has been postponed one week due to an illness in my Israeli Brother. And here we thought the IDF could handle their challenges... (I only add that to see if they're reading...) Instead, she may fly out of here the following week or the week following that week. Whatever. The threat still looms and we'll have to adjust accordingly when it actually happens and I'd like to think that I'm up to the task, but we'll see, (I'll succeed). In the meantime, we'll continue as planned. Just so you know...
This is a special day; it is the day during which a special woman in my life was born. She's been quiet and behind the scenes - pretty much - but has been a major force in my life, even in her absence from my life.
It's like she sensed that she'd be replaced, but was a major fixture in the meantime. Then again, who's to say that it's life-changing that a man would be ruled by only ONE woman?
An 85 year old couple, having been married almost 60 years, had died in a car crash. They had been in good health the last ten years mainly due to her interest in health food, and exercise. When they reached the pearly gates, St. Peter took them to their mansion which was decked out with a beautiful kitchen and master bath suite and Jacuzzi. As they "oohed and aahed" the old man asked Peter how much all this was going to cost. "It`s free," Peter replied, "this is Heaven." Next they went out back to survey the championship golf course that the home backed up to. They would have golfing privileges everyday and each week the course changed to a new one representing the great golf courses on earth. The old man asked, "what are the green fees?". Peter`s reply, "This is heaven, you play for free." Next they went to the club house and saw the lavish buffet lunch with the cuisines of the world laid out. "How much to eat?" asked the old man. "Don`t you understand yet? This is heaven, it is free!" Peter replied with some exasperation. "Well, where are the low fat and low cholesterol tables?" the old man asked timidly. Peter lectured, "That`s the best part...you can eat as much as you like of whatever you like and you never get fat and you never get sick. This is Heaven."With that the old man went into a fit of anger, throwing down his hat and stomping on it, shrieking wildly. Peter and his wife both tried to calm him down, asking him what was wrong. The old man looked at his wife and said, "This is all your fault! If it weren`t for your blasted bran muffins, I could have been here ten years ago! Ok, so yesterday was an exercise in self-amusement. But then again, name me a single post here that isn't. Know what I mean? I was worked up - needlessly - over a snide comment I received from someone I don't even know. How stupid is that? Yes, it pegs the meter and I know that now. Wish I'd recognized it 24 hours ago, but there we are all the same. Normally, I look forward to positive feedback, (which is a rarity so I take it that no news is good news) and gladly ignore the stuff from people who have found my site after a search on, "DebraLee Autopsy" (true result, BTW), but this guy got under my skin for some reason. Maybe I was weak from my recent bout with stomach flu, (which The Wif is currently experiencing and will soon pass back, so I got THAT going for me), or delirious from a lack of sleep. Perhaps I was in the middle of one of the boys' ever-escalating Scream Fights and dropped the ball. Who knows? Anything's possible, frankly. But for some reason I let some WebGnat get under my skin when I should have just swatted the delete key instead. My fault, and I'm sorry. I'll try to keep Mr. Sensitive behind the Break Only In Case Of Emergency glass as we move forward and try to ignore the irritating emails. Unless they're from you. I REALLY appreciate what you have to say and read and consider each and every word of YOUR emails. Without fail...
I was just going to let it pass - especially since it's the proverbial "dead horse" in the room already - but there are just so many interesting angles to the spitzer story that I feel the need to get up on my soap box and open my pie-hole. Let me just set this down... Apparently the ex-governor was a rabid prosecutor who abused his power in personal quests to destroy others. And I hear he's not a very nice guy, as well. Ironically, one of his favorite targets was prostitutes and their customers. Well, maybe that's not so ironic after all; maybe he should just have claimed to be doing "research" for the past 10 years. Then he'd be off the hook for any criminal charges that come about due to mis-use of gubermint funds! Hey - I'm researching here, bub -- that's a legitimate expense!) One of the more interesting things, (to me), is the "escort club's" web page (not to worry - it's safe for work). The "ladies" are rated from 3 diamonds to 7 diamonds, (although they look more like eyeballs, if you ask me), and they charge accordingly, (Sydney's a 7 while Chrissy's only a 6? IS THERE NO JUSTICE?!? Plus, maybe Sienna could raise her rating a bit if she wore a dress that WASN'T made of two throw rugs stapled around her. Just a thought), and plenty! $31,000 for a full day with a 7. Seems a bit steep to me but I haven't been in the market for a prostitute lately so I'm sure there's been some price inflation... I have a question: how do they determine the gals' ranking - customer reviews? Years on the job? If that were the case, wouldn't they lose stars as time goes by, or are they counting experience only? Do they have a 'feedback' page, and, if so, would you really want to read it? It boggles the noggin, it does. But when you talk about noggin-bogglin', nothing beats the clintons and their link to this story. Seriously, can YOU consider a governor caught up in a sex scandal and NOT think about ol' Bubba? Not to mention the fact that spitzer used to be a "super-delegate" who was due to sample the "local flava" of Denver prostitutes this August? Who would have known? Well, either the Denver prostitutes or the Denver Vice Squad, so I guess we'd be here eventually. Still, bill didn't have to pay for sex. He seemed to pick it up along the way, as it were. But if you visited that link, you could easily come to the conclusion that one gets what one pays for. And if you're getting it for free... ... (I'm talking only about powerful elected officials who hold powerful, elected positions at this point. I'm not trying to run down - or even enter the conversation - of those women we call "Wives" who claim to be "doing it for free" in the larger market. I'll shut up now) As for the media idiots in our area, I'll just close by saying that the un-trained monkeys in the local radio outlet have referred to the whole thing as a "prostitution ring sex scandal" which caused me to ask if there has ever been a "prostitution ring chess scandal?" I mean, you're dealing with prostitutes here people! If they didn't have sex with you, you could sue them for breach of contract at a very minimum. The way things change. I'm reading a book about Fathering Daughters that I'll permanently attach to my sidebar when circumstances allow. Currently slated for Winter of 2015... OK, look: I have better things to do, (he said, isolating his entire readership). The Wif and I - contrary to every expressed expectation, (go alliteration! Yeah!), are closer than ever. Closer than I ever imagined, to be perfectly frank. And I actually have a rare early morning staring me in the face. To make it worse, I haven't contributed to That Which May Become My Paying Gig for several days; And the wear is starting to show as far as the traffic and interest is concerned. Not good. But I've heard your complaints - and unfortunately I've heard ALL of them: You want more kid stories, but can't be bothered to read the newspaper 'thang.' You want less of my personal life and more about what I think the world is about. Except those of you who don't care about politics. Or the environment. Or global trade surpluses and unrealistic currency exchange rates and all of the rest of it... In short, I can't make You happy here. The goal of this site - from Day One - was to provide an outlet for my thoughts and to express the things that weigh heavily upon me. It was a desired side-effect that I'd attract a readership in the low 80-thousands, but the original goal was that I'd commit myself to write while maybe tickling the eyes of some of my friends. I'd like to think that I've accomplished at least ONE of those goals. Did you know I prepared an entry for yesterday? NO! Of course you didn't, because I couldn't be bothered to upload it after spending all that time writing it. Why should I? After all, if my friends and family can't be bothered to drive over here, hack my Internet connection and search my hard drive for a ubiquitously named file and read it from its 'local' location, what's the point? Why should I share if they can't make a little effort from their end of things? Whatever. At any rate, that last 'graph worries me on a couple of levels and let's start with the fact that my spell checker didn't recognize the words, 'upload' or 'Internet.' I mean, it's a spell checker so there might have been an English major involved somewhere in the process but you just KNOW they wouldn't have written the code to make it happen. So how did the Geek In Charge Of Code not bother to add some familiar language? It's not like those terms are top secret or anything. It's a bit disturbing, frankly. But that's just a start compared to how disturbed I became at work yesterday; everything I touched seemed to turn into a great steaming pile of Failure. Nothing went right and I learned - via a scathing email (krep - it doesn't know THAT either!) from my boss - that I'd been screwing things up for days, without even knowing it! I thought I was on top of things, but my view was a bit skewed, apparently. I went about dilligently trying to correct my process, only to discover missteps and frustrations everywhere along the way. I swear, if my pen had burst into flames while I was using it I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised... The worst part is the fact that I had recently discovered an error I had been making and reassured my boss that she could count on me, now; I'd mended my ways and corrected my path, but the evidence said otherwise and one of us is wrong. And it's probably not the 0's and 1's. So it's a complete mess and my arse will look like raw hangamur at some point today. What can I say - it's my fault. I screwed up and fell short of the measure. It's a funny time we live in where the truth sounds like, "the dog ate my updates" - frankly - but that's where we are and that's what I'll do: be a man and own my fault. I don't care how un-heard of it is in this day and age. I'll probably be written up and I deserve to be, so I'll take that like a man, too. But that's not where my concern lies: the disturbing part of this whole thing is the "fact" that I thought I was doing my job, but things had somehow slipped away from me. I'm "in charge" of these sites and they are found to be wanting - solely because I dropped the ball somehow. But how? There's the problem; I KNOW my stuff, (usually). If this slipped under the radar, what else have I missed? Why can't I remember dates and times (raw data, people - my kind of stuff)? I find myself in interesting times - for more reasons than I care to explain at the moment, but might later. So... do you have ANY idea how today's title relates - unintentionally - to what should have been yesterday's title? Yes, of course you do. You're just that smart, (and at least 28% more attractive than the average American - according to our studies)... Well, I thought I was helping. I honestly did. The Wif went to visit her folks on Sunday and while she was away I thought I'd lend a hand - but what can I do? Well, I'm a great cook, but dinner is slated to be left-overs, so cooking more food isn't exactly the definition of "help." Unless we want more left-overs later in the week and I don't know that ANYbody wants MORE left-overs. Unless it's steak or pizza, natch... So I look around at what needs to be done and realize that there's little I can actually do around here that actually needs to be done; I can't un-pack the remaining boxes because not only do I not know where the stuff is supposed to go, I don't even care if we keep any of it. I can't start painting because she hasn't settled on any colors, much less bought the paint, (I have promised her that I'm going to start customizing this house and if she doesn't pick a color soon I'm going to start peeing on the walls to make the place feel more like my own). I can empty and re-load the dishwasher, but that takes about 4 minutes, total. It's not exactly something to fill an afternoon. And I've got to keep an ear on the boys as the nap, but again, that's not exactly something that kills a bunch of time. I mean, it's not like I'm a Western Union outpost in the 1880's and have to set a keen eye on the telegraph key or something. So I find a way to pass the time and pride myself in lending a hand to keeping the home machinery running fluidly. I then prepare said left-overs just as The Wif calls to say that she's on the way home. Life is good, except for the little incident surrounding my calling 3 suddenly-deaf children to dinner and getting no response. Seriously - what goes on in those little brains that makes their ears shut down so completely? And why does that last line look like something my dad would have written in his blog 35 years ago? At any rate, The Wif walks through the door to find us all at sup. We're "enjoying" week-old corndogs, hangamurs and fries. Or at least I'm trying to convince the kids that they're "enjoying" them. Once settled, The Wif unfolds a tale about what she encountered at her folks' house, aside from scorching heat. Once finished, she lets loose a large sigh and says, "I still have 4 baskets - wait, 3... 4 - yes, 4 baskets of laundry to put away tonight." It should probably go without saying that there was a new, 5th, basket of clean laundry in the basement ready to be put away that same night. Because I know how to operate the washing machine and dryer. And took advantage of it. I'm about to break the news to her; let's hope she doesn't break me in return... (For no particular reason that comes to mind.)(YET...)
1. Raising teenagers is like nailing Jell-O to a tree. In response to the question, No - I honestly don't know what the heck's going on with me; I feel like 8 pounds of death in a 2 pound bag. But it's interesting what you learn along the way... I've been having the chills lately, as well as some internal distress along my digestive tract. And tired. Plenty tired. So imagine my surprise when Robert Schimmel is telling his story on the Dennis Miller radio show and lists fatigue AND chills as symptoms he experienced before being diagnosed with lymphoma! Add that to the fact that I've been feeling like this for far too long AND that The Wif has bribed me to go in for a physical, (having never been in for one as an adult) and I guess I'm going to see the bloody doc. Now, what else is on the calendar? Oh, well, there's this; The Wif will be out of town for an entire week this month. Quite a birthday gift she's got me there, eh? I'm up to the job, I know that much, but it should be very interesting on everyone. I think that's "M's"spring break week, which adds an interesting angle. Like the fact that I may be able to sleep in a little - provided I get the leave and provided I keep "Grandma hours" during that week. I'm actually looking forward to it in a way. We can cook hot dogs over Bic lighters, dust using the cat and dinner can be pizza and ice cream to Stevie Ray Vaughn. Gotta get those kids some culture, don't you know! What else? Let's see... OH! There's this tidbit: we will finalize the adoptions this month. WHAAAA?!? [/Szyslak] Yes, that's correct -- after a mere 20 months of wrangling with paperwork and process, we finally have a court date to finalize. To say that this is welcome news is to understate the case to a ridiculous degree. It is so understated that I'm having difficulty coming up with a metaphor to describe it, frankly. I'll still have to fill out the monthly rosters in order to qualify for all that sweet, sweet county money - and not having Beth The Babe visit every month is a bit of a drawback, but it kind of feels like finishing a marathon. Not that I'll ever, actually know what THAT feels like... It's 9:30-ish and my sons are fighting each other. Which means, (DUH), that they're still awake and if I wanted them to help change the oil in Mommy's car I could call them down, have them put on shoes and coats, grab the wrenches and the oil and the filter and then have them - well, show them - how to attach the tool to the old filter in order to replace it later. But we'll get there... 7:26 AM and The Wif busts through the door. I've already booted my 'top and climbed back into bed as it struggled to find it's connection and I suddenly had a new mission: Get The Wif's car moving. NOW!! She offered a help, but one that would take about 20 hours to get going. She suggested that we employ "The System," but at the moment it's discharged, (the sole victim of my battery-aware state, it would seem,) and I would rather replace the battery - especially given the fact that she's already depleted it once before. But this does little for a man who lives on a mountain. Oh, wait... ... I no longer live on a mountain. There's an auto parts store within walking distance. I'll walk there and choose the battery that will WHAT AM I? CRAZY? I'LL SEND HER BUTT to the store and have her buy the battery that fits her car. After all, I'm a bit tired... In the mean-time, she drove my truck and took "M" to school and left the boys strapped into her car in the garage, which she didn't bother to tell me about. Which is a scary thing to discover, frankly. And we're all alive and things have gone better than imagined, (for now, at least) and it'll all continue until lawsuits shut us dowm. Yeah, whatever... In case I haven't mentioned it before, I HATE living in Arvada. It is the absolute bane of my existence in more ways than I could possibly explain and just when I start to appreciate whatever "upside" this lousy experience might hold for me, (a Burger King about 1 mile north of our location), I start to catch hold of the downsides, (I'd have to be up, showered, dressed and there before 10:30), and they keep me in check...) And by the way? AAGGGGGHHHH!!!! (That was a scream to myself in the hopes that I can track down the code error that expanded my left side or exposed the closing comment code to the rest of the world. But since when has this mattered to any of me? Well, since I moved to AR-FLIPPIN-VADA!!) (Not that I hate the house) And how I hate living in the city. Any city, for that matter... But The Wif & I are finding ourselves closer than ever in ways that I should probably not mention; In fact, if there are any County employees out there reading this krep, I'd love to know if Peter Forsberg will be in the starting line in the near future. He was considerably diengaged from the process, which is more than could be said of his Dad. His Mum asked if I was going to write about it. I said no. Sometimes it's nice to have your lies at hand...
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