TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

This krep was posted:

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

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Things to put in your head...

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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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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.

...Well, probably not - but you never know!

OK - I know that many of you have given up on me ever posting new kid pics, so let me explain what happened: I was moving the 'Family' folder and the 'kidpics' folder from a drive that was nearly full to a drive that was slightly less full. My final intent was to copy them from there to the big honkin' drive in the new PC in order to back them all up to DVD. This can, currently, only be done on the new PC.

But in the middle of the process, I lost the 'Family' folder. Gone. Kaput. This was not good; in trying to be responsible and back up the ENTIRE RECORD of the kids' lives with us, I lost it all. Yeah, I was real eager to tell that to The Wif.

After much gnashing of teeth and rending of garments I hit upon an idea. Now, I won't bore you with the technical details but I will REJOICE in the fact that not only did I find the 'archive' folder, I found the current one as well, including the pics from our finalization. Which are the ones I used for the latest update. The ones that didn't make the cut this time will be used for a special feature that should be up later this week.

No, really! Quit laughing already...

I was expecting to have our swamp cooler up and running last week. Obviously it didn't happen or I wouldn't have mentioned it. So, OK - I'm a tech/mechanical guy and I can probably get the unit open and find an 'ON' switch, right? So on Saturday morning I get out my extension ladder and place it against our roof.

FULLY extended it leaves only one rung above the roof level and it's a near-vertical climb. I know I can get up on the roof, but now that I'm of a more mature temperment and have developed an aversion to broken spines and cracked skulls due to a fall from 18 feet onto a hard wooden deck, I decide to fold the ladder up and put it back under the deck from whence it came. I have other options to consider, frankly.

I could: rent a 30 foot ladder which would allow for safe egress from the roof, but I'd still be up there in the heat with no real idea of what the heck I'm doing. I could rent said ladder and consult my (step)father for his advice on what I should be looking for, or I could call a professional and just write the check and bask in the cool, moist air.

I'll be looking up 2 phone numbers today. I think I know where the checkbook is, but I should find it before going to bed I suppose...

Closed Circuit to ViR: The ship has left the bottle and is sailing in smooth waters. The mouse has escaped the trap. Mangoes are delicious by moonlight.

That is all...

And from the 'UGH' files: Sundays used to be OK by me. Even though they signaled the end of the always welcome weekend, I was able to get an early start on this nonsense and could get to bed at a nearly-reasonable hour. That was back when "M" was in school and The Wif had to get the family up and running early to get her there on time.

Now that it's summer vacation time, The Wif actually has a vested interest in keeping the Monsters up as late as is reasonable; HERS! See, she can sleep in now, but only if the kids do. To that end, if they stay up late the get up late. ipso snooz-o!

But that means that she keeps me from the keyboard and the pillow that much longer and I get a bit drowsy around 2:00pm on Monday. Good thing I work for the federal gubermint. Nobody ever notices such a thing...

Oh, same thing goes for the Thursday night before the Friday I have to go into the office. Weep for me. WEEP I SAY!

By way of background, I will tell you that The Wif once took 9 months to buy a car. she insists that isn't the case, but she wasn't the one suffering through all of her, "this one has that, but that one has this" timeless comparisons; she was enjoying them; where I enjoy quick answers to my research so I can make quick decisions - that I know can be fixed/changed if necessary - she wants to wallow in the vast uncertainties of even the simplest decisions so that she can make the "right" decision the first time.

That's why she dragged our real estate agent to over 70 homes before we finally settled on this one. It's no doubt also the reason we get along so well...

So too with Dood: he's dangerously analytical but doesn't take quite as long as The Wif to reach his decisions, (although he was the genesis of my joke, "it would take him 2 hours to watch 60 Minutes). In fact, I've long said that as long as I know Dood and remain married to The Wif, (until death in both cases, I'm sure), I'll never have to research anything except computer issues.

And so has the case been proven once again. We were experiencing some issues with rug stains - pet-related and otherwise - which Dood noticed upon his visit to Stonestead v2.0, and he suggested a remedy. I was skeptical because I was pretty sure we'd tried almost every possible treatment out there, but I vowed to give it a try, "sooner or later" because I knew and trusted his track record.

He made the suggestion about 2 months ago and just tonight I got around to giving it a whirl; I started by spraying a particularly nasty stain "we," (meaning our cat) created in the master bedroom. Nothing had worked so far, but this promised special attention to pet stains as well as the extra feature of "oxygen," (so I could just breathe on the other stuff to make it work harder?), so I thought I'd start there. I sprayed the stain before I read the directions but I was thinking about the usual warning of, "test for colorfastness first."

Then it occurred to me: our carpet's mostly white in color, so what do I care if a spot gets bleached out? Sure, someone might notice it, but it's far better than a puke-yellow stain on the floor, right?

The instructions say to blot after 5 minutes and NOT to saturate the carpet, but it's my carpet, so why should I listen to them? I soak the carpet and then head down to dinner...

3 hours later I notice that the stain is gone. Vanished. Hoffa'd. So I decide to spray the obvious others on the upper floor. 5 minutes later I check on those and see that they're gone as well. Not wanting to jinx the whole operation I go back and start blotting from the very first. Nothing. Nothing but a bad carpet pattern and texture - but certainly no, "pat coop" as The Binkster recently pointed out, (that'll be a blog on the newspaper site if I can figure out a way to pad it to 250 words).

It was the perfect solution to our problem! A spray that reliably seems to remove unwanted stains - but leaves the wanted ones alone - from the carpet. Man - what's not to love here? This suggestion from Dood - like all of his others - paid off BIG TIME!

So, my advice to you is that if you have carpet stains, and who doesn't, whether caused by pets or red wine or simply traffic lanes, get to know Dood.

He has all the answers...

J.O.T.W...

You may have seen this in email, but I can't resist on this week of 'Christmas in June...'

The first book of the Bible is Guiness, in which Adam and Eve were created from an apple tree.

Noah's wife was called Joan of Ark.

Lot's wife was a pillar of salt by day and a ball of fire by night.

The Jews had trouble throughout their history with the unsympathetic Genitals.

Samsom slayed the Philistines with the axe of the apostles.

Unleavened bread is bread made without ingredients.

Moses went to the top of Mt. Cyanide to get the 10 commandments.

The seventh commandment is "thou shalt not admit adultery."

Joshua led the Hebrews in the battle of Geritol.

David fought with the Finkelsteins, a race of people who lived in Biblical times.

Solomon had 300 wives and 700 porcupines.

Jesus was born because Mary had an immaculate contraption.

The people who followed Jesus was called the 12 decibels.

The epistles were the wives of the apostles.

One of the opossums was St. Matthew.

Paul preached holy acrimony, which is another name for marriage.

A Christian should have only one wife. This is called monotony.

"What? Something's highlighted? Must be a problem with the code...

Well, I guess I forgot that yesterday was Let's Jam The Streets With Bicycles Ridden By People Who Should Never, Ever Wear Spandex® Day. Man - talk about a missed opportunity. So I'm taking it now…

The people you saw riding to work yesterday are a bunch of phonies. By definition. I mean, if they were serious about saving the environment or about their health or about parking close to the building or whatever lame excuse they talked themselves into, wouldn't they ride their stupid bikes every day? Why do they need a day to remind them? And worse yet, why do it on the "designated" day? What a bunch of lemmings.

And what is their reason excuse for riding in the first place - so they'll look good to their co-workers? I'm sure that's part of it, but I think it's mostly so they can assuage their conscience; "I did my part - I rode my bike to the office." Yeah. For one bloody day and you spend the other 250 or so riding behind the wheel of your Tahoe. What a bunch of poseurs.

Look - just do what I do: LIVE YOUR FLIPPIN' LIFE!! Unapologetically. Live within your means, be (as) nice to your neighbors (as you can), raise good children instead of children who feel good about themselves, give to charity and be there when friends or family need you. It might sound simplistic but it's a heck of a lot better than hollow gestures and meaningless chest-thumping. You aren't going to save the planet by parking your SUV for one day.

All that being said, I should mention that I'll be walking to work tomorrow. All the way from my bed to my desk. Ahhhhh…

FROM THE HEADLINES...

Before you do anything else today, go here and give until it hurts. Then tell your neighbor to do the same. A more worthy cause is difficult to imagine. And yes, I'll be doing the same. NOW GO!

Oh good heavens. I suppose most of you locals have already heard about this story. I swear, every time you think they've exposed their absolute crazy-ness for all the world to see, they get another dozen imaginary friends. No bottled water? Only red, green, yellow or white food? No fried food? This whole thing would be laughable if it weren't so danged scary. See, this is their vision for you and me: ridiculous mandates on what's acceptable for consumption and what isn't and they get to call the shots because they know what's best for you. This hardcore socialism is being driven by so-called 'climate change,' too - that's their 'in.' Just so you know…

From the 'well, duh' files we see this little gem: Scientists think big impact caused two-faced Mars. Really? Wow. Did you know that Mars is talking about Earth to Jupiter behind it's back? You'd think all those SETI radios would have heard something after all these years. Then again, I suppose they could be passing notes. "Have you seen how fat Earth has gotten? She's really let herself go." "Oh I know - and she's been wearing that same Arctic Icecap simply forever!" I'm only speculating here, of course…

Oh, wait. As I read on I see that they're talking about a geologic formation. Topography, not gossip. But it's still a stupid headline; of course it would be an impact of some sort that created dimples and "formations" on the surface. What else would it be - artistic, supersmart underground space construction moles? C'mon this isn't rocket surgery here.

Sometimes justice is delayed. Sometimes, it's immediate. And funny.

It's amazing how people think they're being cute when they just don't consider the truth of what they're doing. Some morons in san francisco want to name a sewage treatment plant after President Bush. On the surface it's a cute little poke in the eye but let's do something that not even the opposition bothered to do: THINK about this "idea..."

Well, to make things brief, here's the exact text of an email I wrote to the san francisco Republican party:

Sirs: You are approaching this from the wrong point of view because you are missing an important point. Namely the purpose of a sewage treatment plant. On one end of the plant is sewage - which, given the new political implications, might represent the previous administration and the way their inaction allowed global events to lead to 9/11. On the other end is usable water. Water that has been "cleaned," in other words.

In the middle is the plant itself, doing the hard work that others wont. (Merely suggesting this interpretation should be enough to kill the initiative, if that's your goal.)

If you need any more help, please feel free to contact me at this address.

Stone
Arvada

And they wonder why I no longer donate to the party...

...

Well, I was going to go into some campaign screechiness, but it's only 10 and I'm the last man standing here and I have a Netflix to watch, so I think I'll at least get started on it. I'm sure most of you didn't want to read it anyway, so I'll save it for Monday when your minds are numb and unsuspecting. Or maybe I won't...

A hearty Happy Birthday wish goes out to my "Baby" brother on this fine day. I should tell him here that he should expect an e-gift later tonight because they're just so cool. And I'm not being the least bit sarcastic here...

Years ago, when I first got into PCs and networking and the like, my brother wanted little to nothing to do with it. Maybe because it was a topic introduced via my father's, (OK - stepfather's) latest get-rich-quick scheme and maybe because he was so torn in other directions, interests and obligations, (school, Demolay, comic books, Star Wars...) that he had no time left for it. Most likely, he simply saw his eldest brother's new interest as a passing fad that took too much time and wouldn't likely lead to anything he'd ever be involved in.

Only he can tell. Whatever the case, we were both proven wrong; PCs led to something that nobody ever imagined and yes, even he became wrapped up in the final product, (or 'produce' - as I originally typed it). Eventually the web evolved and became a hub of commerce, an endless source of worthless opinion, (See Also; Blogs, Stonestead), and a vast resource for those who love comic superheroes.

I think that was the hook that eventually caught him. But again, only he knows.

'Social Networking' is all the rage and while I might - just might - have been his introduction to the larger principle, he was my introduction to it. I joined MySpace and Facebook and Quechep because of his example. And while I can't yet say I've benefited completely (aside from some online reconciliations), from joining those sites, I'm grateful for the way things seem to have turned nearly full-circle.

And for the chance to keep up with him, natch...

Happy Birthday, Bro. Love ya - and keep an eye out for something coming your way. Probably a Hickory Farms gift basket.

They're online now, you know?

OK - first things first: If I EVER fat-finger another title you're free to call me on it. No matter what's also going on in my life at the time. Now, I reserve the right to say, "I'm a little busy right now," but I promise to always lead off with a hearty and honest "Thanks." That's my promise to you; and to the idea that no week should ever contain two Thursdays again.

Second things next: Thanks again to one and all for the well wishes and notices and/or letting us know you're praying for us. It means more than I can express here or anywhere else. Thank you.

And now, (last things last, I suppose), we try to get back to normal -- whatever that is. Mommy's home for most meals now but she's also got a great responsibility ahead of her. She's going to be the one to go through all the stuff with her Mother. Well, all the stuff on the main level anyway; there's plenty of stuff downstairs that she'll be able to sort out - and she'll get some help with the thousands of beer cans - but there's also plenty of things that I'll have to carry upstairs since my MIL hasn't been on their lower level in about 3 years.

Which is fine and I'm certainly not complaining, no matter how much it sounds as if I am. I'm just trying to define what the next 20 months will look like; MIL realizes that she's been left with too much house, (by definition, if you can't get to the lower level I suppose), and has her eye on some "senior" "patio" "homes" within walking distance of where she currently lives - for those who can walk. She's even toured the model, (wish I could say that!), and has declared it to be, "for me."

Now, the skeptic in me tends to believe that she'll go the way of HER Mother but just a bit earlier in life. In case I haven't mentioned it before, Grandma moved from her own home to a home with HER daughter, (MIL), to a home with (what used to be) close family friends to assisted living. Where she was kicked out or left under unfavorable circumstances at every step. Following that, she moved to another assisted living facility and - following a fall and a broken hip - into a nursing home. Upon her recovery, she was able to spend her last days in yet another assisted living facility. I can't drive through Longmont without spotting an apartment/complex that she once lived in...

I helped her move each time. Thankfully, it got progressively easier because she was constantly down-sizing along the way. In the end it was pretty much a dresser, a bookshelf, a bed, a TV and some clothes; got it done in a single afternoon and it all fit in my truck bed in a single load. Of course, once things were all said and done I had to move all of it back to MIL's house for storage/use.

Kind of what we're looking at now, frankly. We'll see how it all works out...

AND ON THAT NOTE...

The Wif decided that, given her extended absence from her own family and the fact that said absence ACTUALLY had The Binkenheimer asking for her, (an unprecedendeted event!), that we should spend Sunday afternoon in a "family activity." Well, we started early as we spent Sunday morning in a "family activity" known as SLEEP! I was the sole person who woke up in time to make the church service, came downstairs to check on The Wif, (who slept on the couch for reasons of comfort - as she is now), and found her immovable.

I then decided to prepare "M's" breakfast cereal, complete with a cup of milk in the fridge, as well as semi-opened breakfast bars and sippy cups of water for The Knuckleheads in their room. I then returned to bed after inviting The Wif to join me there.

After french toast and showers for the adults, once everyone was stirring, we went to Heritage Square. A grand time was had by all.

Oh, except for the fact that Bink wasn't tall enough for many of the rides. And except for the fact that what I call the 'teacup' ride was non-functional. And except for the fact that the Ferris Wheel wasn't running because of the threat of lightning strikes. And because the ATM wasn't where I remembered it being from the last time I was there. And because of the fact that we never made it to my favorite rides - the bumper boats and the go-Karts - because we were busy doing other things.

It's probably just as well: given the fact that both of them run on gasoline they've probably doubled the number of tickets to get on them. Such is the way, I suppose.

Here's the text of what I stood up to read today during the service. Never mind the fact that I grabbed the wrong bin - thereby leaving all the pics and songs and CDs and pictures at least 30 minutes away: I had to be the one who corrected the problem. Since I caused the problem.

Somewhow...

I won't get into details, other than to say that I averaged at least 75 mph along highway 287, lest I convey blame in one direction or another. Which I wouldn't dream of doing.

So, with no further ado, here's what I said in the chapel today:

I’ll never forget the day I first met Jim – just as my wife will never forget that I stood up in front of all of you to tell this story…

It was a Saturday morning. Desiree and I had known each other for several years but had only been officially dating for a couple of months, so in that light, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I had spent the night there. We were talking and just getting the day started when the phone rang. After a brief, easy conversation, my (now) wife hung up the phone and casually announced that her father was coming over.

I know for a fact that Des has only seen me panic once, and this was that time.

Even though we were both in our 30’s (those were the days) with careers and homes of our own, there’s something deeply woven into the male DNA that sparks the survival instinct when we hear, “my dad’s coming over,” when we haven’t met him yet. I’d love to hear those words now, (written, but unspoken).

I of course had nothing to fear; he was genial, open and kind – as we all knew him to be. And since he was delivering a 27 inch television he was even grateful for my help. Later, as we talked outside, we got to discussing cars. I pointed to Des’ Saturn and said, “it seems zippy, but I’ll never get to find out.”

Jim smiled, looked at me and said, “You should ride with her mother.” I knew then that we would be friends – and we were.

And so it ends. And so it begins. Thankfully, we subscribe to both HBO and The Movie Channel, so I should be able to find enough space movies to keep her asleep for most of the weekend. Like now, for instance...

J.O.T.W...

The teacher noticed that Johnny had been daydreaming for a long time. She decided to get his attention.

"Johnny," she said, "If the world is 25,000 miles around and eggs are sixty cents a dozen, how old am I?

"Thirty-four," Johnny answered unhesitatingly.

The teacher replied "Well, that's not far from my actual age. Tell me...how did you guess?"

Oh, there's nothing to it," Johnny said. "My big sister is seventeen and she's only half-crazy."

Which makes me crazy-and-a-half, I guess. Plus, I subscribe to Netflix. For now...

As you all know, we're in the middle of planning a memorial service. It's not the least bit fun, but The Wif is using it as her latest excuse to ignore her feelings: it's how she operates and for the time being - and the past few decades as well - it's worked for her; she focuses on the job at hand and when that job is finished she finds a new one. For now, her job is to collect photographs and ephemera to display during the service.

She is excelling at the job. Even to the point of calling me into service as need be. Which is quite often...

I'm the one who is expected to scan pictures and create music CDs for the service and so far - if I dare say so myself - I've done yeoman's work; CDs created, 5X7's scanned and turned into 8X10's, grainy 3.6748 X 4.8362's turned into much clearer 4"X6"s and music files downloaded from Amazon. She was quite impressed by that, newbie that she is. But they're ready to go all the same.

We're traveling separately tomorrow, and without a single kid in tow; they'll be at school until the cost becomes prohibitive that we leave them much beyond regular business hours, (although a certain part of me would like to roll up a half-hour late, give my kids a box of chicken nuggets and grease Miss Rachael's palm with a C-Note if only to prove I can - such is my state).

Memories. Pictures. Family and friends tomorrow. A complete gathering ahead of us. Just wait until they hear what I have to say; The Wif will be mortified, but should recover quickly, since she knows me so well.

I think I've already explained the details, but the story will follow. Just in case you've missed it...

This is a curiously painful time in American history and as much as I feel that the 'right' is also obvious, it just comes up time and time again that those in the so-called 'fourth-estate' are so seriously setting themselves around what feels good, rather than what might actually be good for us.

For example: barak obama. Case closed...

Seriously, here's a guy who has said that he's going to seize the profits of oil companies, (what better way to ensure that they LOWER the price of their product?), impose extra income taxes on the successful, increase the taxes on the dead, (after all - what do they care - they're dead), take more of the profits from those who were wise investors and even control the settings on your thermostat.

Other than that, he kind of believes in giving you a dose of freedom...

But let's pretend we're not worried about economics for now. Let's pretend that we're focused on National Security and the effort at keeping attacks away from our shores. Surely obama's better on that front, right? He wants to pull our troops out of the middle east so we stop aggravating all those poor, oppressed people and then they'll just leave us alone.

Or so his story goes. Historically, a retreat has always been followed by an attack or a surrender, so the second we leave the middle east -- well, we should know what to expect, right?

Better yet, one of his chief foreign policy advisors made a point of quoting the "Winnie The Pooh" books in a recent speech. Yeah, that's just what we need: Christopher Robin as Sec Def. Great move there, dude. You're showing some real great judgment so far - why not go for President? (As usual, Lumby is ALL OVER it).

Why are we paying so much attention to this individual who would do his best to destroy this nation?

Why? Well, just ask yourself...

As a follow-up to yesterday's post, let me just say a hearty "Thank You" to everyone who bothered to send an email or make a phone call; it's been much appreciated. And to the young lady who's intent on feeding us all this week I can only ask, "where were you last week? You mean to tell me that news spread through the office of what was going on and NONE of you hens stopped to say, 'she's leaving the kids with THAT GUY?!? Let's get some meals together and Band-Aids® and gauze and maybe a couple of fire extinguishers and get over there. LET'S MOVE, PEOPLE!'"?

Or not so much. But I DID ask her where she was last week and she said she had no idea of what was going on, or she would've helped out then, too. She's a great gal, as well as a friend and almost-neighbor. I'll rest better knowing I have her in my corner.

Not to mention the fact that she promised to bring by stuffed shells tomorrow (today, as you read this). She's already won my friendship; if she follows through with the stuffed shells, The Binkenheimer will follow her through the gates of Hell...

As far as our gals are concerned, well, the home's youngest was a bit confused this week by the mere mention of the word. Guess I've been even more guarded in my use of the language than I thought I was; I've been careful, but I was pretty sure I'd used terms like 'chick' or 'gal' or 'sweetheart' or 'gam machine' or 'hose monster' or ... Wait a minute - back up a bit...

OK. So I'm pretty sure I've used those first three and ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that I haven't gone anywhere NEAR those last two. Still, "M" seemed confused by my casual use of the word "gals" recently. I explained that it was the counterpart - the female equivalent - to the word "guys" and she seemed to happily accept that. I suppose that if this home had been subjected to more Gilbert and Sullivan I might have said "Dolls," but that would mean I'd have to sit through much more G&B in order to explain it.

Gals seemed to work fine...

Just to get screedy, I thought I'd mention a recent court decision: Namely, the recent SCOTUS ruling that jailed islamist thugs have the same rights as you or me, (mostly you). 5 idiots decided to take the leftist, feel-goody-good line of, "we can be better than that" nose-in-the-airism that will eventually destroy our country and have decided to destroy our country.

Now, the LSM has decided to paint this court decision as a "black eye" for the Bush administration, but that's a weak-kneed and foolish observation: a simple google search will reveal that many democrats in Congress also voted in favor of enacting the bill that was overturned by the court.

The truth is that the "court" ruling means that; when an American Soldier captures a foreign national trying to kill American troops or innocent civilians via an explosive device, and that foreign national is housed in Gitmo or Guam or on an American Naval ship, that foreign national now HAS MORE LEGAL RIGHTS THAN THE SOLDIER WHO CAPTURED HIM!! Isn't that a grand way to feel better about yourself? You give the enemy MORE rights...???!?

Let's put it another way. Let's say we're all warm and feely and friendly and there when we're needed the most. We obey the law, (except for Speed limits - what do they think we are, Turtles?!?), and do what we have to to be in compliance with lawn-length ordinances. The Supreme Court has recently ruled that terrorists have the same access to our civil laws that you and I do. Meaning that all evidence against them has to be presented in open court; thereby giving our enemies a tremendous advantage.

But I think the theory holds greater weight: these thugs have just been granted the full favor of a document -- that they wish to destroy.

Perfect. See you on the other side, I guess...

I've gained a new appreciation for stay-at-home Moms this week. After all - it turns out that running a home full of small children is a bit like trying to manage a lake full of minnows in the middle of a herd of cattle. Angry, blind cattle likely to stumble into the lake at any moment: Tending to the little ones sometimes means paying attention to the cattle - the larger problems of house and home.

Mind you, it's not like I'm the stereotypical father; I'm engaged in my childrens' lives AND in the day-to-day operations of the house. I make sure that I'm "there" for my kids at every turn, I know as much as I can remember about their friends and habits, I keep track of their taste in foods, (chicken, cheese and processed "spaghetti" rings) and then I cook dinner/lunch and the rare breakfast (french toast), do the dishes and the occasional load of laundry. So I'm more than a little involved in my Home than simply bringing home the bacon.

(I can also fry it up in a pan. But that's as far as I'm chasing this particular rabbit...)

But speaking of the laundry, (and wasn't THAT convenient?) I've become convinced that men originally did the wash and you ladies lost your minds over it somewhere along the way. After all, who would come up with the idea of beating a stinky animal skin against a wet rock and who would invent laundry soap, fabric softener, (which you can't use on towels, lest the space/time continuum be rend, apparently), Downy® balls, fabric softener sheets, laundry baskets and hampers and the ability to remember which is which and hangers and FOLDING THE STUFF FOR PETE'S SAKE?!?

The prosecution rests. Defense? Your turn...

Thank you all for the kind words - but I've realized that I worded that post poorly; she's visiting with her mother because her father's nearly out of time. Sorry to be so blunt but that's where we are. I know a few of his stories and I may yet share them here, but its times like these that make you realize you wish you'd taken the time to listen to more of them.

They're saying hours BTW, but given the fact that the Universe runs on equal parts irony and B.S., I'm expecting the call on Sunday. We'll get there - wherever "there" is - and through it together. After all, that's what family is all about, right? Thanks again.

My lawn - or as I call it, "dandelion fields forever" - continues to vex me. Somewhat green but with a brown base, it looks like crap. That's the front. The back is composed of weeds that grow so quickly I'm afraid of letting the kids play out there for more than 45 minutes. They've already lost about a dozen balls in the terrain. Fortunately, I find them. Unfortunately, it's usually with the lawnmower.

The worst part - as I've meant to say before and may have actually done so - my allergies make me look as if I'm mourning every blade of grass that gets cut because I'm sniffing and producing more tears than an Italian bride at her husband's funeral, (that's a family joke, so don't bother sending irritated emails). It makes me miserable and is just another reason excuse for me NOT to mow the lawn. Yeah - like THAT'S going to happen anytime soon. Let's hope these shots take effect soon. REAL soon.

J.O.T.W. (passed on to me by a reader [Thanks, MMMSS!] I hope I haven't already used it, because it's almost too late to do so...)

My husband is a liar and a cheat. He has cheated on me from the beginning, and, when I confront him, he denies everything. What's worse, everyone knows that he cheats on me. It is so humiliating.

Also, since he lost his job almost eight years ago, he hasn't even looked for a new one. All he does all day is smoke cigars, cruise around and bullshit with his buddies while I have to work to pay the bills.

Since our daughter went away to college he doesn't even pretend to like me and hints that I may be a lesbian. What should I do?

Signed: Clueless

******************

Dear Clueless:

Grow up and dump him. Good grief, woman. You don't need him anymore!

You're a Senator from New York running for President of the United States.

Act like one.

Sure, it might look like it's over, but NEVER count a clinton out...

From the 'I'm no Saint' file: OK, so yesterday's post was rather boastful. Sorry - that wasn't the intent and many thanks go out to the pinhead who bothered to say so. Yes, you're completely correct that me writing about my family and our current circumstances - ON THE WEBSITE I PAY FOR AND MAINTAIN (poorly) - was a bit selfish and self-inflating. I should have been more humble, lest people think I'm touting my own horn, (to mix metaphors).

Sheesh. Just in case you missed the point, (you did), my website is designed, maintained, written and bemoaned as a way for my friends and family (probably in that order) to hear me rant about political news, crank away about the general state of decline of our culture and receive updates ABOUT MY BLOODY FAMILY!!

Sorry that little fact escaped you. Please seek professional help and do not operate heavy machinery. But please, keep those cards and letters (OK - emails) coming. They amuse me to no end and I could surely use a bit of that right now. Oh - wait; I've found my DVD copy of Caddyshack.

so never mind about those emails...

Speaking of that - and the general decline of society as promised - I discovered that said movie was being broadcast on a cable channel which I knew would edit out the stuff my kids wouldn't see, so I flipped over and we watched some of it together.

As The Wif would say, I was wrong again; they edited out the "major" swears and the topless scene, (or some of it, anyway), but left in the drug references! WHAT?!? Further, they left in the "Amelia Earhart" line. Try explaining THAT to your 6 year old daughter! Thankfully, I took a guess and coughed loudly when I expected it; which is not to say that she didn't hear it and I could have reasonably come up with an explanation given the fact that an airplane appeared to nearly take off the characters head but still - this is supposed to be family fare?

I guess I need to revert to my rule of making sure I screen EVERYthing my kids see, since I can't count on "them" to care for "mine." I should'a known that, frankly.

From the 'I'm no Saint' file, part II: In the midst of all that's going on around my family, I have to admit that I feel more than slightly guilty about going golfing today; after all, anything could happen at any moment and I should always be at the ready, right? Then again, I kept my cell on and in my pocket so I could be ready - if only slightly further away - for anything that transpired. I was also slated and ready to pick up the Monsters and My Beautiful Daughter at the close of the day care's day.

(OK - enough of that literary style. It bores me.)

I hit the links a full hour and 20 minutes before we were supposed to tee off. It was my fault for not reading the email more carefully and it served to my benefit; I was able to spend a full half-hour on the putting green and another on the driving range. I did remarkably well, given the fact that it's been nearly 2 years since I graced the greens.

And then the time came to Put Up Or Shut Up. And I should have shut up. In fact, I did and as early as hole #1; I think I hit the ball - one or the other or the next - about 12 times before I finally realized that the other 3 were getting bored out of their skulls waiting for me to join the same zip code they occupied.

To golfers in the know, this is a sign of a bad day to come. And so it was...

I realized early that my problem was a medical one: my allergies prevented me from keeping my head down, lest I feel as if I was drowning in my own juices like a perfectly cooked rib roast. As a result I topped about 95% of what I hit, resulting in net gains of about 30 yards or so. Things were not going well, to say the least.

And then things continued to deteriorate; my shots got weirder and I lost more and more golf balls and my sniffling became almost constant. I held up the (MUCH!) better golfers and they started to give me advice on my swing. (If you've never been golfing you'll probably not understand this - and I mean no disrespect to those with whom I shared my morning - but it's a GIANT sign that you really need to quit the game. They surely didn't mean that and that's the second use of 'surely' in this post, but it's pretty much true all the same: "take some lessons," "practice more," or "give it up now before you waste anyone else's time" is the message. And it's completely deserved.

I'll figure it out, but the message was plain, clear and deserved...

I've suggested elsewhere - so I'm loathe to keep harping on it here - at what's going on with our family right now. Those of you with even intermittent Internet service (what a GREAT! phrase) and 2 working brain synapses have already put it all together. So let's just leave it at a Gentlemen's agreement that I mention it less and less and leave you free to send all the comments you wish to. OK?

And if you've guessed that I've taken some time off - from much more than just this website - then you're right; I've flown to an exotic land, taken a Polynesian bride - which is really strange since I was in Helena - and declared myself a separate country. The very next day I sobered up and came to my senses, had the marriage annulled and took a cab back to Arvada. The ride home cost me $2,494, (28 Euros)...

Or, not so much. The truth is, I've taken 3 days (!) annual leave at a time when my family needs me the most. For now. I've been surrounded by monsters in an effort to keep their lives somewhat normal while their Mother spends her evenings with her Mother. Waiting for the final moment. It's a tough time, frankly.

To be honest, I almost never take a day of leave; I will - from time to time - take an afternoon here and there for a doctor's appointment or to watch my beautiful daughter's field day, but I pretty much never take a day off -- much less 3 in a row.

I suspect that will change as the kids age and we decide to take them on trips to the beach, Mount Rushmore or Thailand, but for now I'm happy to let the hours speak for themselves. I think.

Thanks for checking in. There's things in the works, so hopefully I can provide more - and more varied content - in the future.

I've come to the conclusion that walking through town barefoot is actually a pretty bold statement: sure you can't go into a restaurant and expect to be served, but who would want to anyway? At any rate, I've adopted and emboldened my position based on what my youngest son (The Binkenheimer) has taught me about life.

And his main lesson seems to be that one can ably navigate life without shoes. It seems to be his most powerful drive: that to remove his shoes.

It's no surprise, then, that I went to pick up the kids without a single shoe on my feet and one boy - about 4 years old, (ask his name and I'll surrender outright) - noticed and asked why I wasn't wearing shoes. I felt the need to say, "because I don't have to" but I knew that would shake his future career as a gubermint employee, so I just said, "because it's a warm day."

So I've probably ruined all warm days for the little guy. Sorry 'bout that...

J.O.T.W...

This fellow is looking to buy a saw to cut down some trees in his back yard. He goes to a chainsaw shop and asks about various chainsaws. The dealer tells him, "Look, I have a lot of models, but why don't you save yourself a lot of time and aggravation and get the top-of-the-line model. This chainsaw will cut a hundred cords of wood for you in one day."

So, the man takes the chainsaw home and begins working on the trees. After cutting for several hours and only cutting two cords, he decides to quit. He thinks there is something wrong with the chainsaw. "How can I cut for hours and only cut two cords?" the man asks himself. "I will begin first thing in the morning and cut all day," the man tells himself. So, the next morning the man gets up at 4 am in the morning and cuts and cuts, and cuts till nightfall, and still he only manages to cut five cords.

The man is convinced this is a bad saw. "The dealer told me it would cut one hundred cords of wood in a day, no problem. I will take this saw back to the dealer," the man says to himself.

The very next day the man brings the saw back to the dealer and explains the problem. The dealer, baffled by the man's claim, removes the chainsaw from the case. The dealer says, "Hmm, it looks fine."

Then the dealer starts the chainsaw, to which the man responds, "What's that noise?"

Like I haven't been here before. Prayers are appreciated...

It's not as if I've messed this up before. No, not at all. I'm sure this is the very first time things have gone wrong on this site. In fact, I'm willing to bet that - should this turn out to be an actual error - I'd pay the person who discovers this error and is able to point out another...

Oh, never mind. Things here are actually going fairly well; We're (read, ME), generally getting through the latest bug the kids brought home, (I can't wait for what they bring back this afternoon!), and I'm just dying to see what's going to go wrong with my truck.

Actually, I already know that my next large expense will be for brakes; they shake like Charo on the San Andreas Fault in the middle of a windstorm. Or something; Forgive me - I'm a bit distracted at the moment.

Part of the problem is the fact that I'm currently on leave and I'm finding it difficult to even "phone it in" as it were; Oh, I fulfilled my duties but it takes much more to keep me at bay. So I have tomorrow off as well. Further, I've almost never taken a day - much less most of a week - off so this is kind of a big deal.

Krep. it's kind of a big deal that I haven't yet entered into our timekeeping system. I'm such a dolt in that way... a

Oh, krep. as it turns out, I've just sat down to write and the dogs need to be fed. I'll be right back...

OK. Back to whatever it was I was about to say. What was that? Oh yeah - I was going to give the much-avoided and never-desired health update. As it turns out, I don't have pink eye but am rather suffering from something called "conjunctivitis."

OK, some jokes are just for me and I continue to prove that with every passing post...

Actually, the family is suffering from something that seems to look like pink eye, but actually isn't. Oh, and it's viral in nature, so there's no real cure. So you'll be going around looking as if you were punched in the face, infecting those around you at every turn while looking as if you've gone 12 rounds with Frazier.

But you don't dare say that in polite company; it's something you believe all on your own and only give voice to in secluded moments from time to time: "faster." "more realistc." "Wants to finish the job." "change lanes"

And the like. We're currently struggling over the number and how it'll all be spread out, but that's kind of like arguing about showing up as the oldest kids' Dad and asking where all the young chicks are. I won't do that.

At the very least, I'll do something else...

Kids pics - card found, camera still lost. Imagine that. I can't believe it myself, frankly. I mean, where could that dern camera be, after all? Even though the house is somewhat larger than from whence we came, it isn't so much bigger that it shrugs off digital conveniences that get misplaced from time to time...

OK - first of all, many thanks go out to Code Monkey for his diligence in doing what I cannot seem to be bothered to do: read this site. I think he's the Last Man Standing as far as that particular activity is concerned so I dare not check my online numbers. All I know for sure is that the death threats have long stopped rolling in so I must be doing something wrong. Either that or I offended a particularly unmotivated cell.

Then again, as I say, almost nobody seems to be reading, so I may have bored them into Lutheranism. Good for me!

I'm talking nonsense of course, but you're all used to that by now. That was a long and overly-involved insider's way of saying that I've corrected the date from yesterday's post and even though I'm loathe to edit that which I've already written I have corrected an improper tag. It's not like I changed the content - although LORD knows I should have - I simply changed the layout. Kind of.

At any rate...

...

The kids and I spent time together tonight, (a good start), watching a GIGANTIC cloud form out our east windows. It was really something to behold and if I had even the faintest clue as to where our camera was, I would have included a picture at this point. Here's an empty example:

Anyways, these were Angry Clouds Who Must Be Heard and I'm sure that we're in for quite the "concert" tonight; lots of light and lots of noise and I'm certain that even though I'll be wearing earplugs I'll be brought out of sleep repeatedly by thunderclaps and lightning strikes. I may even end up with a scared boy at my side.

And even though that would be a pain in the arse, it'll be welcome as a possibility now that these little monsters are officially our own and they can share our bed from time to time...

...

As far as the Presidential race is concerned, I now feel uniquely qualified to comment on recent events. Namely, that obama has now separated himself from trinity united church of Christ - the "body" to which he's belonged for at least 2 decades - because I myself did the same thing several years ago. No - I did not walk away from a "black church" in Chicago - but I did walk away from the united church of Christ in my new/old hometown.

Of course, I did so because of said Church's inability to crack a Bible's spine and their overwhelming demand/focus on "social justice" - or, at the time, the "nuclear arms race." There was even a sort of unofficial Missions mission that included trips to cuba with updates as often as technology allowed at the time, (Thank GOD! that at the time it was just a 20 minute stand-up lecture once a week and email was still a distant dream; I'd still be deleting them otherwise...).

In short, I can say with full authority that the united church of Christ believes in nothing. Or rather - in everything; Sex ed for 7^th graders? Why wait so long?!? The fact that the planet is at risk from [insert latest global crisis here]?!? Nach - we'll lead with it on Sunday! Oppressed minorities? We'll take a special offering!

Mark who...?

OK - the first thing I think about when I see that a month starts on a Sunday is the fact that it will - by default - contain a Friday the 13^th during it's second week. I blame Encyclopedia Brown for me knowing that, but it's still a question of valor to a certain extent: What did I know would happen and when did I imagine it would take place, exactly?

The official name for it is "triscadecaphobia." At least I think it is; I'm without my spell-check and can't be bothered to do the research online. So here we are.

So happy 13^th, Y'all (whenever it shows up)!