TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

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MAY 2008
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Same guy, different krep...
Father Knows
Things About GOD

MEMBER OF...

Things to put in your head...

Friends...

Everyday reads...

Read on YOUR terms...

Read on THEIR terms...
Lileks
Dave Ramsey

Stuff for your ears...

Yes, I'm reading this now

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Must Read(s):

 

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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.

I tried to kill myself this evening. Of course, that wasn't exactly what I'd intended when I started out, but that seemed to be the result...

Due to the weather and general bouts of laziness I skipped mowing my lawn last weekend. I was able to rationalize it away, (and that's a good sign), by saying that if I wait until about Thursday evening to mow, I can then wait until the following Sunday to do it again! A full week and a half between mowings instead of just the traditional 7 days? Why, I'm beating the system!

It is at this point that I should note that I'm becoming fully obsessive about my lawn. Never even saw it coming, frankly, but I guess it comes with the fact that I've never owned one; until now, I've only resented the fact that I was expected to "care" for someone else's. I'll have to check that in my future relations with my boys and find some way to ingrain in them a sense of ownership that makes them care about our lawn far before they're expected to start making payments. And an "allowance" isn't the answer, (just sayin').

Anyway, I think I've mentioned that I'm allergic to 3 or 4 different types of grass. Now, in my youth I considered allergies to be a sign of weakness - of one who should not reproduce, lest they pass this weakness on to the next generation and then Those Who Would Conquer Us could do so simply by placing pansies into their lapels. Have us all collapsing into our tissues, they would...

Needless to say, in my old age and current condition I have changed my mind and have accepted the fact that some noses ain't quite right. Mine included. And it continues to be proven at almost every turn. Especially when I mow the lawn.

I can only imagine how my "new" neighbors view me, but I'm sure it's never a more pathetic vision than when I'm mowing my front lawn; it only takes about 12 minutes or so, but it's the most brutal, regular 12 minutes of my life, (except for the half-hour it takes me to do the back yard, but nobody sees that). I walk behind the mower, twisting and turning and guiding it along arbitrary lines that we've just created and it must look as if I'm mourning the loss of every blade of grass I've just cut. My eyes are watering that much.

And to add insult to injury, the woman who said she'd mow the lawn so I wouldn't have to - long before we knew I was allergic - comes home and announces, "The lawn looks great, hon," which is an outright lie but at least she's taking note of my effort in the area.

And that might be enough - when combined with my new-found zeal for a lush, green lawn - to turn this into a lawnBlog. Probably the first in recorded history, but at least the lust for new information would drive a more regular update schedule, right?

J.O.T.W...

(In case you haven't noticed, I'm changing things. SLOWLY Not content - still the same old krep - but technical details that I imagine only one reader has picked up on. This is just the second of those changes and nobody really cares which means the joke had better be a good one. It isn't...)

What is a hippos favourite dessert?
Hippo-mousse!

What did the hippo say to the banana?
Nothing - bananas cannot talk!

How do you get a hippo to do whatever you want?
Try hipponotising him!

What public transport does a hippo use?
A hippopotabus!

What do you give a hippo who feels sick?
Plenty of room!

What did the weight-training hippo achieve?
Hippopotamuscles!

What do hippos make when they form a band!
Hippopotamus-ic!

What do you call a hippo with chicken pox?
Hippospottymus!

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Hippo!
Hippo who?
Hippo birthday to you, Hippo birthday to you!

Let's try to have a better weekend than those from "300" did. Just saw the movie and, AHHHH, let's have more, eh?

I have NO idea what's going on here! This will come as no surprise to the vast majority of you who know me, but still, that's the fact. Sure I took Sunday off - so there was no Monday post and of course it followed that Monday was a complete mess on any number of fronts, so I took it off as well. Meaning that there was no Tuesday post.

But I SWEAR that I wrote on Tuesday night and successfully posted it for Wednesday morning - testing it where necessary - and was even able to read what I'd written from a computer at a distinct location from where it was written -- and it was there!!

In other words, I wrote, posted and verified from home on Tuesday night and was able to see the post in question from the office on Wednesday. The problem now is that I can't see a single update from the last third of the month online. This would suggest that I've been an even greater slacker than I've felt guilty about actually being! And that really, really bites...

This is further compounded by the fact that, should I simply append this krep to the latest file I can find on my machine, (this one), that I might end up losing those posts that I wrote between last Friday and tonight. Which I admit is a bit like saying that used cat litter will somehow mysteriously beam itself into oblivion on the sun's surface, but it means a little something to me and perhaps - one day in the distant future - it might mean something to my kids, should they stumble upon this vast wasteland I've been somewhat diligent in maintaining.

Hold on; something just leapt into my head and I want to drill a large hole in my skull, track it down with pliers, throw it onto the empty 3.9 square inches of space on my workbench, nail it down with 3/4" barbs and take a pair of boltcutters to its... Wait. What was I saying?

Oh, yeah: an idea. Please allow me to check it out. I'll be right back, (in your time)...

...

OK. For reasons I cannot fully explain, I was able to retrieve - via a different browser on a different PC - a copy of the text I wrote last night and have included it below. I'm sorry.

The Wif has lost her mind - Again. I had occasion to leave the house in order to retrieve "M" from day care the other day, leaving The Wif and The Monsters here without my presence, so she opened the back yard to their amusement. They amused.

As I pulled into the garage, (in her SUV), I allowed "M" to go check the mail, (two Netflix envelopes with another due today), and was interested by seeing the door to the house open. It was The Wif, with a question: "What's all the pounding?"

To say I was confused is to understate things by a factor of HEX: She was all; 01110110 and I was totally0X76?!? I mean, HONESTLY, what's wrong with her?

That was to set the scene: most of you are now as confused as I was, and that was with intent: The Wif pokes her head out of a door, asks "what's all that pounding?" while my most vigorous activity at the time is opening the child-lock-protected back door so that my daughter can run to the curb and check our mail. The only word that came to mind was, "huh?"

Of course, the answer is obvious to anyone paying attention: Mommy? Kitchen. Daddy? In the car with "M". Cats? Detained in the master. Dogs? No thumbs. Monsters? ...

...

Monsters?!?!

Oh, they're out back hitting the house with large sticks. Like you do...

I awoke Sunday morning feeling like 10 miles of bad road. And then it hit me -- would it be better to complain about my various and sundry health concerns, or to talk about politics? Which would go over better? Would the readers (I hesitate to say "fans" lest my ego grow like The Blob and slowly take over the entire city. Not that this city couldn't use it, but still...) appreciate one over the other, or are they - like myself - sick to death of both?

probably the latter, but if I can't write about my life and can't write about my interests and concerns for our nation, what's left - reviews of interpretive dance? Not a chance: That would mean that I'd have to go see some, and nobody - especially ME - wants that.

So that was my quandary: Complaints? Politics? Complaints/Politics? Complaints about politics -- and I finally settled on the last. After taking 2 days off to consider my choices...

I think I was the first person to post online that obama was an empty suit. (I'm no doubt wrong and a simple Google search would prove so, but I'm just not that interested in proving myself wrong at this point. I have kids and a Wif to prove me wrong.) The funniest thing I've seen recently - until Monday, that is - was john edwards standing at obama's side on the stage. It looked like the men's department at JC Penny's: a full row of empty, over-priced suits that'll unravel at the first sign of trouble.

Seriously? An obama/edwards ticket? Is that where they want to go? And do they imagine obama/clinton to be any better, (as if obama would put her at his back? He's foolish, but not stupid)? How does this light-weight get to the top of the democrat party - because he speaks well?

OK then, how about the funniest thing I've heard from obama - and it happened over the weekend: the candidate in question said something to the tune of, 'I'm grateful for all those soldiers who gave the full measure for their country - and I see many of them in the audience here...'

As I say, it's not an exact quote but if you question me, question me and we'll get there together. Still, he seems to lack even a basic understanding of what a Veterans service means, and IMHO it belies a deeper misunderstanding of the role of the military in the world: They go, they fight and some of them die. They know this - as do their families - and everyone suffers when it it happens.

But when it doesn't happen, and the soldiers fight and live and make things better it seems to be a problem to the American left. For reasons I can't understand, frankly.

Why is it impossible to accept that there will be a stable, democracy in the Middle East? Why is is impossible to accept that we'll have a second, reliable ally in the world's most unstable region? WHY?!?

I've come to a conclusion: because the left cannot live with the idea that there will be a GEORGE W. BUSH airbase on the outer ridges of Baghdad. Well, screw them. This is too important to be left to politics. We HAVE to leave Iraq a successful country and as stable as we're able to make it.

I simply don't understand any other position...

For obvious reasons and needs...

Dad was up early Saturday morning mowing with a gas lawn mower around some trees near our pond. The grass was still wet from the dew, which made the slope he was mowing very slick. While lifting an evergreen branch, Dad’s foot slipped under the mower!

He was very lucky, the blade didn’t cut through his shoes. It did whack his big toe a few times before he managed to pull his foot out though.

A few days later, Dad was telling the story to a neighbor, and showing him his bruised and swollen toe. The neighbor took a close look at the toe and then said, “Looks like you need to sharpen your lawn mower blade.”

Just the kind of "help" I'd expect on a day-to-day basis -- as my job is going...

So I'm sitting here watching "silver surfer" thinking, 'you know - my life could probably be a little more interesting if I could light myself on fire and fly through the air, or make myself invisible or marry Jessica Alba,' when I realize that my life is plenty interesting enough already. In fact, interesting bites; it's boring that I long for these days.

Now, most of you reading this will no doubt say that I've already achieved a perfect state of boring. I will respectfully disagree; I have not reached a state of boredom but rather one of being mundane. Completely and totally mundane. It's just my writing that's boring...

A kitchen drain that's stopped up for over 12 hours isn't boring. It may not be exciting, but it isn't boring. It re-structures your life in interesting, (there's that word again), ways that you wouldn't expect. It's kind of like having the power out -- you still flip the switch when you enter the room, but it's much more intrusive. I firmly believe that we could live much longer without electricity than we could without water and that has nothing to do with the biological component. But I guess that's neither here nor there at this point.

My life has become interesting. All too interesting, frankly. I suppose that with every "corner" we've turned - getting kids, termination of visits, The Bink starting to walk, "M" going to Kindergarten, the move, the finalization and all of the rest of it - I just thought progress would translate to me getting more sleep. Or more time reading, or something like that. No such luck. I have time to read now because twice a week I spend my lunch hour at my allergist's office getting my arms stuck. I have time to sleep twice a week because I telecommute - so there's an "extra" hour.

But as we turn these corners other things crop up; sure it's good news that D-Man can dress himself, but it almost takes longer now. Of course it's good that "M" can help out more and more around the house, but she's now old enough for soccer and swimming lessons. Both of which she's enrolled in and start in just a few weeks. She'll enjoy them and they'll be good for her but they're already starting to impart their influence on our schedules.

Which is what we signed up for, I suppose. So I'll quit complaining tonight...

I'm not sure if I've already said this, but sit tight and prepare to be surprised...

My truck's engine recently exploded. Literally. Cracked head, cracked block, 2 seized cylinders and at least one thrown rod. That's where the 6,000 dollars came in: a week in the shop and a brand new engine. Or so I thought. After about 3 days I got a call from the tech. He wanted to know if I wanted new plugs, wires and a water pump installed on the new engine. I only had one question for him:

HUH?

Aren't I paying a king's ransom for a "NEW" engine? Shouldn't a "NEW" engine be - you know - NEW?!? Why in the world would they pull the water pump et al. from an engine that's already given up the ghost in a spectular display of how to leave usability? Don't they realize that part of the reason the thing expired was because I didn't regularly service the plugs and pumps?

Yes, of course they know that...

After I wrote the big, back check to these knuckleheads I was told that the "NEW" engine had a great warranty: 3 years or 100,000 miles; whichever they could weasel out of first.

OK. I added that part. I was told the warranty was 80,000 miles...

So this past weekend, when The Death Star started to experience the telltale signs of Extreme Wallet Extraction, I expected the worst. Care to guess whether I was right or not?

After dropping it off at the dealership at about 8:15, I got a call around 2:00 telling me that they'd analyzed the problem and found it to be a mis-firing ignition coil. The ignition coil they'd taken off the old engine and installed on the "NEW" one. Six K for this?

Don't get me wrong: I love my truck. It's good to know that if need be I could drive right over 60 percent of the other cars on the road and hardly take note of it. It hauls what I need to haul and usually when I need to haul it. It's fantastic. What isn't is learning the hard way that "NEW" actually means, "carrying over the weakness from the old engine."

The new coil - including labor - only cost me $215, but I'm done with the dealership. The guy worked with me on the price, but this is ridiculous! Does anybody have a guy in the Lakewood area?

Thanks. For everything...

I don't mean to complain -- except that I actually do; after all, if I didn't mean to then I'd find some way to my minor little bitches and annoyances to myself, right? After all, who really wants to spend even 5 minutes reading a blog about the authors' heat rash or diaper rash or cashier who doesn't know how to count back change from a sawbuck? How would that site ever survive the test of time?

And yet somehow you have all forgiven me those little forays when I wander afield. And let's just keep it our litle secret that I used a word that I wouldn't normally deploy here; it's been that kind of a day, frankly...

But here's the thing: today was just off-the-rails irritating: I made an appointment to take The Death Star back to the dealer because apparently SIX BLOODY GRAND isn't enough to ensure a smooth-running truck; it's running rough, slow and slow and rough. Shouldn't be happening. "John" told me that sometimes things are forgotten to be connected, (or however that sentence should be formed), but that I, "shouldn't worry" because it's under warranty.

With a straight face and a deadpan voice I told him that "worry" wasn't exactly the emotion that was foremost on my mind at the moment. He had the good taste NOT to laugh, but it was small consoloation at the time.

Further, for most of the day my kitchen sink was stopped up tigher than a Burma relief agency; I sent down 4 brats that were most of a decade old and they smelled almost as bad as the gallon of drain cleaner, (Liquid Fire - not the band), that I used that finally cleaned them out. The lesson I'm just now starting to learn is that I should never - EVER - under ANY circumstance, put food down the garbage disposal.

Oh the humanity! If only mankind would invent a device that would chew up our unused food bits and send them along their merry way down our drai... WAIT A MINUTE...

Others? Well, there's the fact that the humidifier just up and quit -- and I suspect its wife up and left and the dog done gone and died as well, but what are you going to do about all that?

And my rose bush died. But I bought a replacement that The Wif watered just this evening... And it's going to die as well; for some reason, I'm able to tell these things. Or maybe I just fail at gardening for the time being. Whichever...

So there's where I'm at, I guess. I still get my Binky-therapy every day and I was finally able to free my sink from it's cloggage via a lucky flip of the switch and I am taking a leap of Faith that somebody will be there to pick me up and take me back to the office and that through some miracle whatever actually needs to be done to The Death Star will be covered by the warranty, (although I suspect otherwise), and I guess that all means that things are looking up. In a sort of way.

So I'll have sausage and cheese and some form of bread tomorrow morning and I'll drive into the office and it'll be just another, normal day. Even though I no longer have a "normal" day. It's the same as always, I suppose. Which makes me long for something more.

Still. I can take refuge in the fact that I'm not hillary...

OK - you should feel free to sue me because I took a day off. Be sure to collect at least 3 times your losses because that's what I remember the check collection agencies were able to collect for - so I'm sure you're due at least that in return...

The truth is (at least) two-fold because I think I'm the last person to take a day of leave among my team, (but I'm probably wrong about that), and that I'm finding that I need more and more of them. It's a perfect combination that will probably get me fired before it's all over.

 ...

So what else is going on at the moment? Well, aside from the fact that I'm about to be fired, (I'm not sure that I've mentioned that), I'm creating hiccups over my asthma over my ability to process caffienne: Another reason I can't be bothered with the stuff, frankly.

But who cares? I got to spend much of my day off with my Israeli Brother. I think I've told you before what a great guy he is and he hasn't changed - much - since that time; He's earnest and knowledable and knows how to dismantle either a gun or a play structure in an afternoon, (less for the former).

He's definitely a man I want in my kids' life and his kids are more than amazing and I hope to continue to be "Uncle Chris" for as long as they remember.

Heck, I hope they come to swim in our pool next Friday. It's the least I can do, frankly...

That title has little to do with how this post is going to proceed - if only because it'll be mercifully short. Then again, it didn't take all that long for the Stinkbug to fall asleep tonight, which is what that title is referencing. Sooner or later, this will either make sense or it will disintegrate into nonsense (too late).

The Bink is no longer a baby. No matter that just tonight he claimed that he was, (which should be enough to negate his claim to that status, frankly), he simply isn't. He is capable of full-blown sentences and creates a new one every minute based on everything he's experienced to this point and everything he expects should come his way.

Like every man, so I suppose we have that going for us...

What I really wanted to write about was the edwards endorsement of obama. You want to talk about the men's section at JC Penny's? That's the only place I've seen so many empty suits gathered in one place before the two of them appeared together this week, (pantsuits are on the second floor). These two idiots deserve each other and if barak can't figure out that the late teaming only happened because he'd finally tossed the broad to the curb - thus making the endorsement overly-safe - then he doesn't deserve even that.

As lame as it will prove to be...

But then again, it's Friday and I shouldn't be talking about such things. The only reason anyone comes here on friday is to see

J.O.T.W...

A guy comes home completely drunk one night. He lurches through the door and is met by his scowling wife, who is most definitely not happy. "Where the hell have you been all night?" she demands.

"At this fantastic new bar," he says. "The Golden Saloon. Everything there is golden. It's got huge golden doors, a golden floor, the works - hell, even the urinal's gold!"

The wife still doesn't believe his story, and the next day checks the phone book, finding a place across town called the Golden Saloon. She calls up the place to check her husband's story.

"Is this the Golden Saloon?" she asks when the bartender answers the phone.

• "Yes it is," bartender answers.
• "Do you have huge golden doors?"
• "Sure do."
• "Do you have golden floors?"
• "Most certainly do."
• "What about golden urinals?"

There's a long pause, then the woman hears the bartender yelling, "Hey, Duke, I think I got a lead on the guy that peed in your saxophone last night!"

 

 

...And this holds more meaning than anything else in our life could at this point...

---

I simply refuse to believe that the administration has agreed to put the bloody Polar Frickin' Bear on the 'threatened' list - as I'm sure you've all heard about recently. Let me assure you: this was not a kindly, warm-hearted nod toward the well being of a mammal who shares our dental pattern (if I'm remembering that correctly: 2-1-2-3 I believe), and taste in fish. This was a calculated, political, economy-crushing move that the Bush administration bought with the ease of the most telegraphed head fake.

I heard,enjoyed and agreed with Hugh's analysis so I'm going to borrow liberally from it in the next couple of graphs. Full disclosure now being met...

The "endangered" list was created in order to protect certain species who were genuinely at risk of extinction should certain activities continue unmonitored in certain areas those critters called home. If that sounds even the least bit vague, welcome to the world of gubermint regulation! The 'crats decided to craft the law in such a way that it would apply to future impending extinctions no matter what circumstances might be present.

But if you give those in charge an open-ended law you're sure to invite exploitation of said law sooner or later and that's exactly what happened. Many of us will remember the case in the late 80's where a farmer (in California, I think), was forbidden by Federal Law from plowing his land because a rat that was too stupid to breed had decided to set up house in his back yard.

I'm sure the rat's curtains were fabulous...!

The problem is that the law worked just a bit too well. It allowed such gubermintal abuses under the pretense of protecting furry little creatures and so was generally allowed to grow to unrestrained heights. Or so we thought until this latest decision.

Until now, the "endangered" critter in question had to suffer a direct threat from your actions on your property in order to affect your life. All that has changed now, because the polar bear is considered to be "endangered" due to increased carbon dioxide emissions heating the planet and melting the arctic ice shelf. Sure it's an unproven theory, but why let THAT stop us?

The problem is that this ruling now allows anyone pretending to argue on behalf of the polar bears to shut down almost any activity: someone in Kentucky can now shutdown the Saturn plant if they claim its emissions are harming the bears they say they love so much. It no longer matters that the Saturn factory displaced not a single bear; the fact that they emit gasses into the atmosphere would be enough for some whack-job judge to issue a temporary restraining order and put thousands of workers on the street.

Doubters are welcome, but think about this: how long will it be before some weirdo smelling of patchouli files a suit to get trucks like mine off the road because they don't conform to present CAFE standards and are therefore polluting the planet and killing off the bears? It's going to happen, people. Mark my words.

And all because of some stupid bears who are doing just fine otherwise, (thenk yew very much), and could really benefit from some Alone Time with the missus. So Back off, if you please...

 

Today is a presumed Happy Birthday day in my family: It's the anniversary of my dad's birth and I suppose I should be grateful for it if only because without this day - way back in '42 - I would not be here. Which means that this 'blog' would not be here, to say the least. And no cheering will be tolerated at the very prospect of that thought.

Happy Birthday, Dad. Your cards and pics are on the way.

---

I have a sneaking suspicion that whatever I do here goes completely unnoticed in the end. After all, I included a pic of my son as a deep backdrop and nobody said so much as "Boo." Which, in retrospect, would have been a pretty stupid thing to say so it's to your credit that you didn't. I suppose.

Still...

I only know about the "American Idol" dust-up because I happened to catch it on Drudge and my reaction couldn't be more straightforward: Who the HELL cares? Some guy looking to get rich while riding his son's back is news? I would suggest that the only difference is the money - because fathers have been basking in un-deserved and second-hand glory since Adam told Cain, "...still - I'm not a little impressed at your enthusiasm..."

(Some jokes here are only for me. In case you're wondering. And the Theology is anyone's guess...)

If anyone has to wonder about the state of our economy, don't judge it based on the minimum wage. Don't judge it based on what your favorite cable "wonk" has to say about things. Don't judge it based on the latest numbers from the Bureau of Labor Statistics, (although they're well known to be hard-working people of above-average intelligence and well beyond average attractiveness): Trust your instincts, and the Stone Index where it applies.

And it applies everywhere - even if you've already received your so-called "stimulus" check. GO! SPEND! BUY SOMETHING - BUY ANYTHING - BUY EVERYTHING!! Dreaming of an iPod?!? Get one! Heck - get three! Want a third DVD player to watch media in your bedroom, but the TV in there is not RCA compatible? Buy both! Why not? What's wrong with you?!?

...

We will NOT spend this gift; it's going to replenish our Emergency Fund and I couldn't be happier about it.

Of course, next year I'll be one of those morons I deride who get a huge (in the thousands) refund -- but it'll be for completely unique reasons that I hope to correct along the way.

A Chorus Line is coming to town and it brings to life a new and interesting argument: should I take my baby girl, ("M"), or should we pretend that it doesn't exist? Well, given the fact that "Chorus Line" will outlive anything I'm likely to do, I'm of a mind to let her see it at a much advanced time-line. That is, when she's nearly as old as I am now...

---

I'm sorry, but the well is dry on this fine, Spring, day. You wouldn't guess that such a thing is possible - even given the fact that we're supposed to wake to 2-4 inches of "Global Warming" this morning, (and to those of you who forgot to fertilize, well, I've got a post for you later in this month; perhaps with pics, but that will wait to be seen.

Stick around...

---

Ugh. How I've grown to hate Sundays. I'm sure I've said this before, but Sunday seems to be the very longest of my days - including any and all of the days that I have to go into the office and toil under (at least) two bosses. And we all know what THAT'S like...

Still, Sunday used to start out pleasant enough - if a bit too early - with me getting up and being ready in time to allow The Wif time to get herself ready (2 1/2 weeks), and us leaving for church in barely enough time to get there before the first song started. It's kind of a shame that I'm re-creating that experience and I'm about to tell you why whether you want to hear it or not:

When we lived in the mountains it was easy enough to assume that we'd always be on time no matter the circumstance, because we lived within the same Zip Code and we all know that a Zip Code can be traversed from end-to-end before we can fully enjoy a Black Cow, right?

Aside from the fact that nobody knows what a "Black Cow" is, I'm going to stand by that 'graph.

 

The problem now is one of time and distance: We live much further from our Church and that means that we have to be ready all that much earlier than we once had to; our linens have to be clean, the car has to be gassed and I have to get up 40 minutes earlier. It's the price I pay,

And it's well worth it. Still - that's the better half of an hour that I have to let slip away from me while I entertain/dress the children and eventually load them into The Wif's car. She'll join us and we'll make our way to church. If I manage the car properly, we'll get there on time.

The rest of everything is left to me to do. Have I mentioned my allergies? I think I have...

---

Before we go any further, let me wish a 'Hearty Fellow Well Met' to all those Mothers out there; each and every one of you deserve more than you're about to receive this weekend. The good news - if there is any to be taken away from this lesson - is that you don't actually believe that. Which is good because as a wise philosopher once said, "lowered expectations is the key to a happy life." It would seem that you Mothers learn that - in general - far before most of us fathers do...

No doubt out of necessity; you'd go absolutely bonkers if you waited on us to fulfill your needs, so you learn to get by on your own. It might be a sad condition but it's almost universally true, (the reverse is also almost universally true, but this isn't about us right now). and you have learned to cope as best you can. Good on ya!

So as Mother's Day rolls around my thoughts naturally turn towards those strong Mothers I've had in my life: I start - as does charity - in the home with my own Wif. To say that she's amazing would be to understate the case by a factor of 10¹⁰⁰. (I did that on purpose, BTW.) The Wif continues to surprise me each and every day by how she relates to the children; she learns from them, learns about them and learns how to correct them. It's absolutely amazing, frankly. As far as me and the kids go, I pretty much have two moves: hugs or yelling. That's nearly the entire scope of -- OH! and kissing owies. I can do that. Everything else is a hug or a yell. That's just how amazing She is; She has at least 19 other wrenches in her toolbox...

The other Mother I have in mind is my own. Cheated of time with her children (it's a long story never told), she feels a need to spoil her Grandchildren. So she's exactly back on track as far as that goes. A more gentle woman would be hard to find. Likewise a more ferocious defender of her den. I love ya, Ma - and I'm FAR from alone in that. But you know that already.

Several other Mothers (and Grandmothers) are circling around this imagined construct right now: Lolly, J-Lo, SuE (the elder), SIL, Emoto and many more - but one in particular sticks in my mind this year: My GrandMother.

For various reasons I haven't allowed my mind to dwell on Gran for lo this decade-and-a-half, (or so), but she's visited me from time to time. And now it's time to come to terms with something: Mother's Day was created for my GrandMother.

She was a tough broad with a tough life, (I've been trying to write her story based on the pieces I've been able to gather), and she came through it completely sane, strong and always ready for the next challenge. I guess because that's the attitude she had to take.

She was generous to a fault - LITERALLY - and would give you the shirt off her back, provided you'd sit through her lecture about how you needed to work harder in order to succeed. But it's not like she knew anything about that, <\sarcasm>.

And so it was that I came to know her. She was already in her declining years but hadn't yet given up the fight; she made a point of irritating everybody who irritated her. She went out of her way to prove a point if she knew she was right, (a trait she easily passed on to her children - in spades), and I never once saw her back away from a fight -- even if she should have.

On a lighter note, she always had root beer in the fridge (just for me) and Mr. Goodbars in the hutch, (just for me). Is it then any wonder that I would suffer her, "This Generation Is So Fat" letcures? "Right, Gran - pass the pop, and could you get me a candy bar while you're up?"

 

I'm imagining a line of strong women. Many leftists would start with the root of eleanor roosevelt, proceed to jackie kennedy and land on hillary. Me? I now start with my Grandma, proceed to her daughter, (my Mother - a tie for first, frankly), and am currently surmising the reign of The Wif as to whether she's worthy of the list.

I'm guessing a three-way-tie, but only time will tell...

 

J.O.T.W...

I stole this out-right from my sister. If you've already seen it? Shame on you for not sending it to me earlier...

 

An Amish farmer, walking through his field, notices a man kneeling down and drinking from his farm pond.

The Amish farmer shouts:
'Trink das wasser nicht. Die kuhen haben dahin gesheissen.' (Which means: 'Don't drink the water, the pigs have crapped in it.')

The kneeling man shouts back:

'I'm a Muslim, I don't understand you. I speak Arabic and English. If you can't speak in the sacred tongue of Islam, speak in English.'

The Amish farmer says: "Use two hands, you'll get more."

 

No doubt I'll receive further death threats, but That's Funny - I Don't Care Who You Are...

---

It may be of no surprise to those of you that can read between the lines that I'm experiencing some health complications at the moment. I'm being treated and although my condition seems to be worse than when I started, I honestly think I'm going to come through this better and stronger than I was (or can ever remember, for that matter).

The problem is that it's several conditions that are somewhat tied together but seemingly have to be treated by two different docs: asthma, allergies and some other heart/lung related issues that seem to pit one doctor against another. And sometimes one medication against another. This is not a new situation to some of you - as I know personally - it's just a chance for me to needlessly complain about something.

The thing is, I thought I was doing pretty well - in the sense that I was functioning and living and letting live and giving war a chance and all the rest of it - before they 'discovered' all these problems in me. Worse yet, I'm of an age now, (132), where I'm trying to take the doc's advice because while they don't know me as well as I know me, they've seen what I have and much worse in others while I haven't. Reason enough to give them the benefit of the doubt, I suppose.

But when the treatment makes things worse, it takes a great leap of Faith to continue along the lines they prescribe. Which reminds me of two things:

When I saw the doc last (actually, I saw a nurse practitioner), she said one of the most foolish, ill-informed things to me that I've ever heard. Now, HIPAA (notice I've spelled it correctly) laws won't allow me to go into details here, but trust me: it was Just. Plain. Silly. It was all I could do not to laugh but I'm glad I didn't; because later in the session she asked if I "had Religion."

I said I did. She asked what variety and I told her, "Christian - Baptist..." wondering if my next step should be the address of my church and the name of my Pastor. She turned and said, "Pray. Pray for God's help [in what you're going through] and He'll help you. He always does."

This shocked me out of my shoes and at least two of my held stereotypes. A health care professional was advocating PRAYER? How rare is that, (unless you actively seek them out, natch)? She cares about my soul nearly as much as she cares about my joints (or blood pressure or whatever)? WOW.

Well, I ended up glad that I hadn't laughed at her silly statement earlier, because she'd redeemed herself completely with that bit of advice. It might be shallow of me to think so, but in those few minutes I matured quite a bit; her "silly question" wasn't borne out of malice, but rather of ignorance, and that's fine because nobody can share every experience of every other person.

She meant well - but we all know about the road to Hell, right? - and she followed up with pertinent meaning.

It meant something. That's all I'm saying...

---

OK - I've said it before and I'll say it again, (probably within this same post) - I LOVE TECHNOLOGY! I absolutely love the idea that I can dial up youtube and find a Cheap Trick video with the easiest of searches. Same goes for Warrant or Ozzy or any number of other "artists" from my youth. Which reminds me...

The other day, someone in the office had switched the building's music system to "80's Hits" or whatever it's called. All I know is, whenever I was in the hallway I heard Poison or Cinderella or Lita Ford, ("Kiss me once; kiss me twice; C'mon pretty baby kiss me DEEAAAAAADDDDDDLYYYYYYYYYYY!" Yeah - not with your Mother's mouth, you skank), and all I could think was, 'what a bunch of dreck. Absolute krep - ALL of it.'

And then I walked out to hear Pink Floyd's, "Wish You Were Here" and I was reminded of the fact that there was actually a segment of that catalog who could actually play their instruments. And when they could? Magic.

Which brings me back to Cheap Trick; most underrated band of the last 3 decades, if you ask me; 2 hunks and 2 nerds - guys who should NEVER be able to get along, (as witnessed by a portion of their history, I suppose), and they do nothing but RAWK. They get their stuff together, get up on stage and have the most fun I've ever seen anyone have. Rick throws away more guitar picks than he uses, Bun settles in and gets down to business - no fancy stuff there, just solid beats - while Tom and Robin run their fingers through their hair.

So that's a gross underestimation of what they bring to the band, as they each have talent, (a 12-string bass. Tell me THAT'S not something to stand in awe of!), but someone has to be the pretty-boy, right?

The thing is, they've always had fun at it; Granted, I haven't seen every performance but the ones I have seen have always shown them just kickin' butt and not caring enough to take names, much less carry a notepad. That makes them pretty unique in their world: Led Zeppelin always took themselves way too seriously. Aerosmith always tried to be Led Zeppelin. Bad Company always knew they were way down on the list and Foreigner was trying to be Bad company.

Oh, and Rush was Canadian, eh? Complete elimination by default. (I've just ensured that my Sister won't talk to me for the rest of the year...)

They enjoyed what they were doing and they showed it. It's obvious in (most of) their videos; pure energy and enjoyment through and through. And it's recorded for the ages on the technology of the Interwebs. It'll never fade away.

 

Oh, of course it will: eventually the grandkids will get tired of paying for grandpa's ISP and it'll get deleted into the ether like everything else. All things are fleeting and my generation's total grip on the Internet is already starting to weaken in the face of things like Myspace and Facebook and Quechup. It's the way of all things...

 

And here's my other prediction. Most of you probably know that I'm not a betting man. In fact, I only cast a serious wager when I know something that gives me the upper edge. So here's the perfectly predictable prediction that I'd bet the house and my truck on:

As the democrat race unfolds, it will end in two, predictable, conclusions: The nominee will be a minority (the fact that you women call yourselves a 'minority' in spite of comprising 54% of the population might be a reason we tend to question your math skills - just sayin'), and the nominee's spouse will be a complete whack-job who will probably cost them the election in the end.

Unless - as I've predicted elsewhere - bill has to "take one for the team" in order to win hillary the sympathy vote. I'm not saying it' going to happen, but pay attention to this Septober/Octember all the same.

 

(Closed circuit to Code Monkey: Message received, answer unsure. I know what we do but I'd hardly recommend what we do to be implemented on a larger scale; it could activate SKYNET and who wants The Governator kicking down your doors in the middle of the night? Now that I'm part of a larger group I'll ask around, but I suspect a third-party solution is the answer. They've never been very friendly to users' needs - if you catch my meaning.)

---

MAN! How I hate that calendar in the left pane - and for exactly that reason: it's a PAIN! Once every 30 days, (or so), I have to slip and slide the lines of code around so that it actually conforms to the shape and design of the current month. My worst fear is that I do all that work for naught, because I'm fairly sure nobody uses it anyway, so what's the point?

Well, like so much else in my life the point is that I continue/fulfill the routine, rather than actually making any sense of anything. The worse - and larger - point is that like EVERYthing else in my life I have only myself to blame because I'm the world's worst procrastinator; If I can put it off until tomorrow, I'll push for the following week. It's just my way, I guess.

(Oh - and I should note here that that isn't the reason I neglected to a kid's pic update this weekend, as planned. I had a bunch going on, which we should get to, and then we lost power in the circuit that drives the home office. So I was pretty much ker-splat for most of the weekend, to use the technical term...)

Friday was the start of my weekend and I got to pick up my daughter after her morning Kindergarten, but there the normal routine ended. We didn't get to the bank or allow ourselves to drift aimlessly through Hobby Lobby because I had to rush into the foothills in order to get my allergy shots. I deliberately planned to take her along in order to model some "perfect" behavior for "poke-poke arm;" which is exactly what happened - finally. For some reason, the nurse on duty didn't think I was up to getting my shots and asked for a doctor to give me a glance before she'd inject me.

So there I am, pleading my cause and begging to be stuck in each arm. What in the world is wrong with me?!?

I then had to rush home so I could drop off "M" and pick up Bink; he had an appointment with an orthopedic to check out his crazy legs and it gave me about 20 minutes turn-around time which was more than I needed and less than I wanted. If you follow me.

After we waited for a half-hour the doc came in with his professional opinion: The Binkster, does - indeed - have legs. Gee, thanks genius; you're still paying off your student loans in order to come to these conclusions? No wonder you call what you do "practice." Maybe someday you'll get it right.

Seriously: I'm certain this guy didn't crack the file or even glance at Bink's last X-ray. "Yes, kids have curved legs and yes, eventually they'll curve the other way and yes, eventually they'll be straight. Or as straight as they're meant to be and yes, I'm charging you $280 for this visit." Well great, doc, but did you read where there might actually be a medical condition responsible for his curved legs? A condition, I hasten to add, which has been responsible for at least one leg-straightening operation in the family in the past? No? Well, I can't say that I'm too very derned surprised.

Saturday saw The Wif go visit her folks. I'm sad to say that she hasn't much more time to do so, so I'm (mostly) glad to monster-sit while she goes. Besides, while there she does such exotic things as mop their floor, clean their bathrooms and clip their toenails, so who am I to deny her such pleasures? Strangely enough, I suspect it will be time she misses soon enough...

Sunday got interesting and I have to make a big, official announcement: I now own a lawnmower. That's right - and please try not to gloat too very much - but I own a LawnMaster or a LawnKing or a LawnThrasher or some other such piece of equipment. I'm not real sure as to the particulars because it's still in a box that would almost fit into my glove compartment. The only thing I look forward to less than using the thing is putting it together.

It was acquired out of a severe sense of necessity and the fact that my Israeli Brother was visiting and it seemed like a decent chance to shop for the thing with someone who might know what he's talking about. It's self-propelled so there's an outside chance that The Wif - who promised to do the mowing should we move she force me into town - might use it at some future date. Probably just as a demonstration to the boys as to how it works so that they can start mowing the lawn.

Lord knows that's MY plan...

Sunday continued with a trip to Wall E. Weasels, (or 'Chuck E Fargin's' as The Master calls it), which was as well received as you might imagine. Ah well: the noise is almost overshadowed by the fact that you're there with family, the kids really enjoy themselves and you're subjected to a cleavage-to-intelligence ratio which is usually reserved for the inside of a Hooters®.

I guess you've got to take the bad with the good. In this case, I suppose the "bad" would be the heartburn from their exclusive Catsup-On-A-Cracker recipe...

---

This was a busy weekend that rivals the next only in scope and activity: a 7-year old's birthday can't compete with Mother's Day if only because one is much less frantic than the other. And in the extreme - and realistic sense - NO Mother that I know of is going to hold the Celebration Of Her Day at Wall.E.Weasel's. Although...

We saw plenty of Mother's roaming the halls today: Mothers carrying/pushing kids in strollers and carts; Mothers, (as young as teenagers), carrying their children through the place and I came to only one conclusion:

Don't let me kick a leg in the middle of the night and hit their head: I won't know which county agency to contact....

---

Well, well. Apparently many of you are not only paying attention, but you're detail folk as well. This is actually a favorable turn of events as far as I'm concerned, because I had thought I'd included the details earlier in the week when I actually had spaced them out. So - in order to complete the circle...

The Death Star needed a new engine, for the old one cracked and exploded. It was all I could do not to run a graphic from the closing frames of Star Wars IV: The Start Of A Confusing Series - in order to illustrate the point, (you know the shot). Still I refrained and/or restrained from doing so.

The problem is, I thought I explained the problem as I was crafting the post: I mean, why would anyone write about the cost of a new engine without mentioning that they needed a new engine? Well, they (I) would if they lacked sufficient mental firepower to pull it all together -- A position I seem to occupy.

So, that was the problem with my truck - it needed a new engine; the old one blew up in a most inconvenient manner and left me stranded along a stretch of highway we only used to travel, even when we lived in the area.

It didn't ease me any at the time, and looking back, it helps little. If I were slightly more ambitious, I'd consult Google to see if there's a "Street view" of the area and include it here. Oh, just hold on...

...


View Larger Map

There. That's at least half of what I imagined it would be, happened in the end. And I had to wait there until The Wif and the family showed up to rescue me, and the guy from the towing company showed up to collect his check and my truck from that spot.

No Joke today: I feel as if that would be encroaching on the franchise of the democrat Presidential candidate, so I didn't want to go there...

fa

---

OHHHHH, Krep... Somehow the first of May has snucked up on my arse and caught me totally un-prepared. Well, no bother; it's not like anything important happens in May, short of Memorial Day, which most of us solely greet as a Monday off and little more.

What?!? My father's birthday is in May and he'd probably appreciate a Hickory Farms sampler platter? Well, why didn't someone tell me this?

And what's this I hear about Mother's Day? That's sometime in August, isn't it? I mean, it can't be this early in the year: I simply won't hear of it. Instead, I'll buy The Wif a great Valentine's gift whenever that rolls around, in the hopes that it'll "hold her" until Mother's Day happens in the Fall. A reminder would be appreciated...

Well, that seems to be my thinking, anyway; I have time. I always have time. And if time fails me, I have my wits to make it right. My wits and a debit card. But mostly my wits.

Which is a long way of saying that I'll probably end up buying a diamond pendant at Sam's Club in order to celebrate our second - TRUE - Mother's day, (because dogs and cats are temporary amusements, but they don't count). The kids are here to stay...

 

I have achieved the impossible: I have watched an entire movie in a single night and am sending it back to The Netflix in the morning. Whew - Daddy's good, (which is the tagline for how I speed through the "ABCs" as my boys ask me to sing it to them when I put them to bed). (They both love it), but as for the movie...

Well, it was excellent: Those of you who enjoy spooky movies should check it out. Those of you who don't will already have grown tired of the review and have checked out the Disney website.

So be it...