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Just so you know a bit about what's going on around here, it seems that every time I'm content to lay off politics and instead crank out 400 words about the boys' latest poop joke, (that reminds me: tonight as I was tucking The Bink in I held up his favorite blankie. He immediately said, "want THAT blankie!" I said, "how do we ask?" He replied, THAT blankie PLEEEZE! I covered him with the blue striped stretch of cloth and asked, "what do we say now?" Without missing a beat he said, "I farted" and we laughed it off together. The next 15 years are going to be interesting for me and shocking for Mommy), something happens on the political scene that I simply cannot ignore.

This was such a day...

The obamessiah went on record today as saying that we could do away with drilling for new sources of oil - a feat that's still a pipe dream (so to speak) since the demo leadership won't allow a floor vote - because we could save MORE oil than we might possibly pull from the ground by simply properly inflating our tires.

Yes, you read that right. No, I didn't make that up. Yes, he honestly believes it. Yes, he will soon say - probably some time today - that it was a joke with a kernel of truth behind it; after all, he'll claim, the best humor is rooted in truth...

But seriously: can this guy be taken seriously? It's a well known fact that tires inflated to the proper pressure can improve not only gas milage but average tread wear as well. Am I the only one who knows that? Does anyone else still have a memory of reading the "Shell Answer Man" pamphlets which clearly state that not only do properly inflated tires improve mileage but that almost nobody, (Dood excepted), bothers to keep their tires in such a state?

Worse yet is the math: does anyone believe that the vast, untapped gajillion barrels of oil in ANWR, off the outer shelf and under the Dakotas amounts to LESS THAN what might be saved by adding a few pounds of air pressure to the tires of our cars? Even if we're all driving hybrids, it's simply not going to happen.

Even if Headmaster obama requires us to 'show our work.' The guy is an idiot, plain and simple. A fraud at best, a liar at worst and a tool as a standard...

A peek behind the scenes: Just as I sat down to foist this dreck upon you, I took a moment to engage in one of my favorite activities of late -- standing at my front window looking out over my nearly-dead lawn, my truck, my struggling flower garden, my neighbors' homes and a street I used to avoid by one block and wondering to myself, "How did I NOT avoid this place when I came with cash in hand?"

As it was I was always able to avoid this street because the one just slightly west of where I now sit goes completely through, while this one is a bit of a detour. So I guess I should be grateful that what I recognized 2 and 1/2 decades ago still holds true today: It's not worth going down this street.

But OH!! how that's true. Well, except for the needs of the kids. I have to keep reminding myself of that every time I watch the little monsters run in the back yard. I did this for them, I say, to nobody in particular as a reminder that where I am now is where I'm supposed to be and they are WHY I'm supposed to be here...

So that's why I look out my window. My west facing window. Because it faces west.

And one day -- when I live nearer to where I now look -- I'll continue to look west. but for completely different reasons, and I'll stop once I own the horizon.

Until then I'll stand with my back to 121, try to formulate a new plan to combat the strange weed that's overtaken my front yard, continue to clean and re-clean and re-re-clean the garage so I can find my tools and use my table saw. Somewhere in there I'll find time to buy the kids BB guns and ATVs and watch them as they use both of them in the backyard.

Well, I'll try to watch them: I can't be everywhere, you know...

You know what I said yesterday? You know - about how my kids generally break themselves into self-selected "groups of one" littered among various stages on the "behaving<->disobedience" spectrum? Remember that? Yeah, well forget the whole thing. Mondays are a special creature, as it turns out...

Every Monday for the past several weeks I've been getting a phone call at the office during the early afternoon. It usually starts with something like, "I UNDERSTAND WHY SOME ANIMALS EAT THEIR YOUNG!" The mood having been suitably established, we then move on to The Wif's specific complaints:

they're not listening, they screamed throughout the grocery store and child #'N' (that's a variable, BTW), ran around through the pet store. Once home, child #'M' went on a mission to water the tiles in the bathroom and the boys refuse to take a nap. Or something like that.

The early attempt at mitigation consists of her putting me on speakerphone while I dole out the usual rote of Scary Dad Phrases; 'You'd better listen to Mommy or there'll be trouble!' 'Enough fooling around - close your eyes, close your mouth and go to sleep!' 'You don't want a spanking, do you?' 'Stay out of my booze!' and the like. Stuff that usually leaves them quaking in their pullups. But I guess it's not nearly as effective over the phone as it is when I'm towering over their little butts in their bedroom. Because I got ZIP as a result.

The second step is for Mommy to threaten to leave them in their room until dinnertime. So far that hasn't happened because I've never come home to find the boys in their room. I think I'm beginning to see part of the problem; can you say "empty threat?" Because I think the boys can...

Well, it all converged yesterday. AGAIN. A rough day's ride into night - to coin an unbearable phrase - followed by constant bickering and power struggles with the occasional threat of corporal punishment were the hallmarks of our evening. But what would you expect? After all, there's nothing like sleep-deprived 2-and-3 year old boys to make things interesting, (and loud).

And as if that's not enough, throw in a 6 year old girl who thinks she alone turns the crank that powers the universe and you've got quite an evening on your hands. All hail Mondays!

You can keep 'em all...

'TIS OF THEE..

Don't get me wrong: I LOVE my country. I firmly believe that the United States in 2008 is the single, greatest country God ever put on this planet. Bar none -- no exceptions, no qualifiers, no caveat. THE. GREATEST. EVER. I also firmly believe that there exists more than ample evidence to back up that claim. That's my default position, just in case you're wondering.

I also believe - with the same weight of evidence - that the AMERICANS of 2008 couldn't have LESS to do with their country's greatness. We are, as a whole and in general, fat, lazy, ignorant slobs who would rather watch hour after hour of "reality tv" instead of daring to crack a book and educate ourselves about our country, the condition of the world we inhabit or the history of both/either.

In this sense, I've become convinced that paris hilton is the perfect spokesidiot of the current age: after all, her Great-Grandfather worked hard to build a successful enterprise - "made it run," as goes the old song - and made sure enough of it was left over for the generations to come. Responsibility was not just a multi-sylable word in those days.

So too most of our Great-Grandfathers, I would imagine; hard workers because there wasn't exactly a ton of alternatives to the contrary in those days. And while they may not have been able to leave us roughly 258 BILLION dollars, they left us something. A legacy of name and family and history, if nothing else.

Which is kind of interesting to note, because this era's new poster child got all that PLUS the money, but allowed only the latter to affect her. And NOT in a positive way. But that's OK, because that's how the rest of us seem to have treated our legacies as well...

And since I've got the Geezer-ator® turned to '11' already, I may as well mention this: not only have Americans changed but their political discourse has also taken a turn for the worse. And no, I don't mean the emergence of blogs or talk radio or Internet advertising or any of the like. That's a change in METHOD, not a change in MESSAGE.

what I'm talking about is what might perhaps best be described as a change in tactics. It used to be that democrats and Republicans, (notice the change in tactics?), each thought of the other as simply being wrong in their beliefs and stubborn as regards their policy. No longer.

Somewhere along the way, (and I personally trace it back to the left's monopolization of American universities), things changed. Suddenly, the left started to claim that not only was the American Right, wrong, but that they were flawed somehow. Study after study started to appear "proving" that Conservatives were angry, authoritarian, (as broad a brush as I can imagine in this scenario), submissive, gullible and just plain brain-damaged, and THAT was the reason Conservatives hold the views they do.

(At this point I should note that several studies exist showing that not only are Conservatives more happy/satisfied than liberals, but that the Right gives far more to charity than the left could even imagine doing. Imagine that: Conservatives are depicted as being overly "greedy" but they willingly give away more of their hard-earned income than the left - who claim to care more about 'the poor' - do. Huh. What do we make of that?)

This idea was re-ignited in me today by a guest on Dennis Prager's radio show, (so you have him to blame). The guest - a professor @ berkeley - had written a book about how the political mind is hard-wired to believe certain things. Namely, the author contended that when we encounter strangers who exhibit behavior with which we can identify, we tend to believe that they share a great deal of our beliefs.

Everybody? *YAWN...*

Barring that 'extraordinary' revelation, his next set of rants really set him apart from others of his ilk: "'progressives' are more 'caring.'" "'progressives' pay more attention to the common man." "'progressives' are more attentive to the needs of the poor."

So he says. Kind of flies in the face of the charitable donations fact, doesn't it?

That's OK. I'm sure they have an out...

Well, THAT'S finally over: The Wif's garage sale has long since come to a close and I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On the one hand, I got to sleep in a little (very little) and spent a bunch of time with my kids getting to learn more about where they are now as far as their development, personal tastes, their general temperaments/attitudes/skills and the like and that was pretty cool. On the other hand, I had to start doing speed in order to keep up with them for 3 whole days.

So I've got THAT going for me...

Seriously; those little monsters are something else. You can generally count on one - but only one - of them to behave in any serious matter. One of the other two will be acting like Linda Blair's understudy and somewhere in the mix the third will be skating the fine line between knocking over local convenience stores and hoping they won't be noticed doing so in light of the fits being thrown by the first.

And who says they don't know how to work together?

The thing is, they always mix it up so we never know what to expect. Sometimes D-Man goes into meltdown mode and sometimes - like this weekend - he's the surprising, "Golden Boy" of the day, and so on along the line. An amazing group, they are. It's sometimes enough to remind us why we started this whole process in the first place.

But not so the bloody garage sale: Sure, she promised to clear out the krep. Sure she promised to make a ton of money. Sure she promised that I'd be able to walk through the living room unimpeded. Did any of that happen?

Yeah, sure...

OK. To be honest, she made about $230 American, before "expenses," but it's really my own doing that brought about most of those "expenses" so I probably shouldn't mention them. (Oh like the kids didn't need 'Donalds' for lunch and pizza for dinner. What would YOU do?) Not mentioning that, I will mention that there's still a great amount of krep that litters our halls, our rooms, our garage, our porch and soon our church. The same krep that was supposed to be cleared out this weekend while we suddenly became wealthy enough to retire tomorrow is still hanging around in unwelcome ways.

But what do I know? The living room does seem unreasonably passable...

I know that nobody out there will believe it, but I've finally completed the 'special project' I promised would happen on the kids page. I know that it's at least a month overdue but I have my excuses reasons. Namely:

I had no idea how to "merge" pictures in the software I was using. This is especially ironic because I'm using what is supposed to be the most user-friendly package in the history of computing, but especially damning because I couldn't figure it out: I STILL have no idea of how to do what I meant to do - how they meant me to do it - within the software.

All clear? I thought so...

And while I cannot do what I want to so far as 'merging' pics are concerned, I was able to stumble upon a usable work-around. It's kind of like the 13^th level of Robotron -- when you think all is lost and then you suddenly realize that the processor's weak spot is in the 700X200 range and you immediately head for the far, up-right corner only to kill every brain and drone and rescue most of the civilians, (the others had it coming; they were collaborators), and then capture the high score by sailing through the next 4 levels. Remember that? Yeah - just like that.

Uh... Where was I? Oh, yeah - the kid's' pics...

So I found a way to do pretty much what I wanted to with the kids pics, including (which is to say, "exclusively" in this update), create pictures that provide a side-by-side comparison of how they were "then" versus how they appear "now." It's been updated, so feel free to go there now.

And let me just say that I was amazed my the results. Mind you, I expected to be surprised by what I saw once I figured it all out and put it all together, but this was over-the-top. I suppose that all parents of today's technological age keep such records and are all equally amazed when they finally put 2 and 2 together only to end up with "18," but still. The results are staggering.

And online. Go. Let me know. That is all.

J.O.T.W...

(Joke Copyright W. Bruce Cameron. All rights trampled)

So that you'll never be tempted to participate in a "neighborhood garage sale," allow me to explain how they go:

Friday night you're up until two in the morning marking prices on all the junk you're hoping people will buy. At this point you're almost psychotically optimistic, calculating the total value of your "inventory" at slightly over twenty-two thousand dollars. In particular, you're hoping to rid yourself of a hideous lamp constructed from a stars-and-stripes motorcycle helmet like the one Peter Fonda wore in Easy Rider, and you give it a bargain price of $22. Last year's tag is still clinging to the chin strap; it reads $18.

The garage sale is scheduled to begin at 9:00am. At 6:30 a woman awakens you by pounding on your door. "I like to get an early start," she dimples. When you open the garage door to let her in, there are seven cars in your driveway.

By 11:30 all you've sold is a T-shirt for ten cents. Worse, your daughter borrowed twenty bucks so she could go shopping at the neighbors' garage sales. You mark the motorcycle helmet lamp down to $18.

At noon you leave the operation in your son's hands and go inside to get some lunch. A stranger is in your bathroom, trying on clothes. Another wants to know if you have "any more cake."

When you return to the garage, you find your son ecstatic because he has sold a whole set of garden tools-shovel, axe, rake, spade--for fifty cents each. You sadly advise him that they weren't for sale in the first place. "I wondered why there were no price tags," he replies.

You look around. "Where's my new bicycle?" you gasp, horrified. Your son tells you one of the neighbor kids is out taking it for a "test drive."

A little later one of your neighbors shows up to see how you're doing. "Hey, this Easy Rider lamp is a hoot!" he chuckles. "How much?"

"Since you're a friend, twenty-five bucks," you gush.

"The tag says eighteen," he points out.

"Okay, eighteen."

"I'll give you seventy-five cents."

"Sold!"

It's the high point of the day. Around one there's another rush: Word has gotten out you're selling garden tools for half a buck each. "I'll give you a dollar for your lawnmower," one shopper suggests. You ask him to leave. A woman picking through the books you're selling wants to know if you have anything by Carl Hiassen. When you tell her no, she asks if she can "look inside." You ask her to leave. When you step into the house a few minutes later, your son is showing your ties to the man who ate all your cake. "Why don't you check out some of the other sales," you suggest to both of them.

Your neighbor calls. "My wife says I can't keep this lamp," he reports. "I'll have to bring it back."

"All sales are final," you snap.

"Come on, Bruce," he whines. "You can keep the money."

"If you set foot in my driveway, I'll call the police," you warn.

You observe a young man slinking over to the collection of National Geographics you've priced at a dime apiece. He looks a little like a thief, and you wonder how fast he's going to be able to run with eighty pounds of magazines under each arm. "This is my first garage sale, and I'm a little nervous," he informs you.

"That's okay."

"I heard on the radio about this guy who bought what looked like a worthless rock collection, and in it was a sapphire worth two million dollars," he remarks.

"Oh?" you say politely.

"You got anything like that?"

At 6:00pm the sale is over. It's difficult to calculate your take for the day because at some point you apparently sold the cash box. The thought of re-stocking all your stuff back inside the house is too fatiguing, and you begin transferring it directly to the trash can. Your son bursts in, effusive over some of the great stuff he's bought. "Look Dad, only three bucks! Now we have a matched set!" he trumpets, flourishing his prize.

It is, of course, the motorcycle helmet lamp.

I might've written that, but it would've taken me until tomorrow afternoon to do so...

Things are starting to get interesting around here. And as usual, when I say "interesting" I mean "busy and weird." The Wif is preparing for her Gigantic, King-Hell Garage Sale, ('coming soon to a driveway near me'), which means that I'm playing my normal support role in all of this.

You know, writing the ads, (craigslist - find it and you win a fabulous prize to be determined after the conclusion of the sale), posing, taking, editing and emailing pictures of the items as they are requested from the pre-lookie-loos, moving heavy boxes/items into a staging area, then into another area to be priced, back to the staging area, out to the driveway on the days in question, (and back to the garage at the end of each day, natch), and finally into the dumpster when the krep doesn't sell. Or, worse yet, into the back of my truck to be off-loaded at our church where it can become their responsibility.

Did I mention that I LOATHE garage sales? Well I do -- and not even for any of the reasons I've already listed. It's just the idea of pawning through some stranger's junk - or even worse, dealing with people who have so much time on their hands they can comb through your cast-offs in the hope of finding an original Mattise for twenty-five cents. UGGH. I just hate them.

So I hope The Wif has made plans to do something with The Monsters, because this will be the last place I plan to be this weekend. I'll go buy a movie ticket and sleep through 4 showings in the last row if I have to. (Note to self: dress warm and bring earplugs. Also, eight dollars for a Snickers bar between showings 3 and 4.)

Seriously. UGGH.

Speaking of Mattise... Wait. Were we speaking of Mattise? I can't believe we were; not here anyway. Did someone mention Ol' Henri or did I imagine that?

OH! That's right; I mentioned him and not a moment too soon, frankly. Our little french painter's reference marks a total of 3 - count 'em - 3 historical allusions I've made today, none of which seem to have been understood, including that one.

I have to say, my favorite so far was mentioning to someone in the office that she looked as if she were ready for a date with John Dillinger. HA! We had such a laugh that the explanation had to wait nearly 4 minutes.

Once it was clear it was met by the expected dull stares and "oh yeah's." Too hip for the crowd, I tell ya'. Three times over, in this case.

Except that I hope to make it four times before the day's close. An off-hand mention of Vatsyayana on our way to bed ought to do the trick. So to speak...

Oy. This Global July is starting to wear on me. I seem to be suffering 'fever dreams' because our bedroom is generally hot enough to cure a ham -- and those are actually pretty interesting; I ended up jerking my right hand across The Wif's shoulder the other night/morning because I was very vividly dreaming about trying to start my chainsaw. I'm not sure what the chainsaw might be in reference to exactly, but I can tell you that not only do I no longer have it, I don't feel as if I need it.

And certainly not in the bedroom. The living room maybe, but not the bedroom...

Aside from the occasional hallucination, the other un-fun part of these 'dog days' is the inability to get comfortable in general, but you all already know that, I suppose. What you don't know is that D-Man has contracted some sort of kid-bug that has lain him low; high fever, difficulty breathing/sleeping, a report of a headache and -- and this is a big one for any of our kids -- complete loss of appetite.

So he gets to lie down instead of eating dinner, sit with Daddy in a vain attempt to rest and start his evening of sleep in our bed under some substandard cooling effort. Now, for a family that thrives on rules, routine and equal treatment under Daddy's law for all children, this presents problems at every turn: "Where's D-Man?" None of your business unless you're going to change his diaper. "What D-Man doing, Daddy?" He's trying not to puke all over the couch - or at least he'd better be. "Wanna sweep in Mommy's bed" Yeah, well so do I kid and I called it first.

It's bad enough that the little dude is out of sorts already. It's worse that he'll probably have to hang out at home tomorrow. The worst part is that there's absolutely no way to remove the symptoms; he has to simply go through it and get better all on his own. Of course his body will be better off for it in the end, I'm just not so sure about the rest of us along the way...

Another - albeit far less serious - consequence of the summer's heat is the fact that many of the guys I enjoy reading online are either on vacation or probably should be; their hearts simply don't seem to be in it or they're posting is more sporadic than a good judgment call from brittney, et al. Present company included, I suppose.

I don't know if it's simply the heat itself or the ever-present reminder it provides that you should be out enjoying it before it's time to get the heavy coat out of storage. Either way, it's a bit taxing on the system.

In re-reading that last graph it kind of sounds like I'm about to announce a vacation that's going to last until sometime in late August. No such luck on your part; I'll continue to rant and rave and will be on-call as much as I reasonably can and still tend to the needs of my family and home.

Besides, "M" starts 1st grade in just a couple of weeks and somebody has to be on the clock in order to record what sort of turmoil that's going to cause to her psyche...

No, this isn't another story about me and my family going about strange parts of town without even the first clue as to how to get where we intend to -- but I can see how you might expect that given the title I've provided. That was simply a general match to so very much of my life right now that I knew I'd spring it on you sooner or later.

Surprise!

As you might expect I'm completely at a loss as to what the heck I'm doing with the kids on most days; they keep throwing me curve after curve and always keep me on my toes. But at least they're adorable and sometimes even painfully so. which is far more than I can say for the other things vexing me at the moment...

Work? Well, what can I say; if it were supposed to be fun not only would I not be getting paid for showing up but they'd call it something different. Like, "pie ala mode" or "driving fast" or "kim kardashian," right?

(Actually, I just today learned who that was -- or rather, what she looks like. I still have no idea as to why she seems to be so popular, other than the simple fact that if you're hotter than a fifty dollar Rolex you're bound to get some attention. Nothing like trying to establish some 'street cred' and then cutting it off at the knees. JUST ONE OF THE SERVICES WE OFFER!)

Anywho, work is work and they continue to pay me so I continue to show up. It's the least I can do, given that that is the very nature of our agreement.

What I didn't agree to was the blatant, biased, over-the-top LSM coverage of obama's back-packing across Europe trip. I mean, is it too much to ask that he stay at a hostel somewhere along the way?

Seriously: this trip is being touted as some kind of "semester at sea" for the Fledgling Newbie Lightweight when his time could be better spent reading through the last several years of Victor Davis Hanson or Frank Gaffney articles. Yes, it may be "bold" and "daring" to question the qualifications of someone who wants to talk to our enemies, bomb our friends and surrender to those who wish to kill us, but today's media no longer care about such things; I mean, when chris matthews ADMITS that he's sexually aroused merely by hearing obama speak, we're around the bend.

Further, what's neither bold nor daring is taking the simple (simplistic?) path of crying "racism" at anyone who disagrees with the obamessiah on issues of public policy, and I'm more than a little sick of it, frankly.

I don't think it's a good idea to "nationalize" 1/7th of the economy in an effort to copy the failed efforts of Canada's health care system. I don't think it's wise or in the least bit beneficial to tell our enemies that they can outlast our national resolve if they only kill a certain number of American Servicemen or take longer than 5 years to surrender. I KNOW that an unrelenting reliance on "talks" and "negotiation" causes those who demand our demise to laugh in our faces. Or at least behind our backs until the ink on the treaty has dried.

So I choose to NOT support the people that support such silliness, REGARDLESS OF THE COLOR OF THEIR SKIN! They could be translucent people with 5 arms who radiate a purple glow from their backsides; if they are in favor of policies that are more likely to harm my family, I reject their ideas, not their race, ethnicity, family history or skin color.

If you doubt me, let me ask a couple of quick questions: do you think that the LSM is supporting obama in much the same way they rallied to jesse jackson during his Presidential bid(s) - except with a certain sense that obama could win while they knew jesse never could? It's not about skin color; it's about promoting a hard-left radical who will support their ideas.

Gut-check: how excited were these very same empty-heads about Alan Keyes' Presidential campaign? Exactly. And Keyes is "fully black:" a claim obama can't make...

I generally hate to start out the week complaining about my weekend because I am fully aware of what a pretentious git I come off as being. Something like, "well, my weekend was filled with manual labor which simply destroyed my manicure but I was able to put at least 3 of my hand tools on the same shelf -- once I moved it from the front of the garage to the side of the garage, but only after I'd ensured that the clearance room would be unmolested - and the window on the north side would be blocked off until another option somehow presented itself. I mean, how am I to keep track of such things?"

You know -- a sort of drama which was pretty much absolutely unknown in the time of our Fathers. And moving furniture? Heck, they did that in their sleep. Or rather, they moved the furniture in the hopes of catching a nap on some part of it somewhere along the way.

And if the new furniture proved less than rewarding in that area, well, no matter: our Dad's have never lacked the ability to find a comfortable place to settle when need be, so why would they start now? I mean, Football season is about to start and if there's anything more likely to cause a nap I'd have a hard time defining it as other than, "A Broncos Game."

But here I digress...

I traveled into the vast expanses of Aurora in order to shell out $650 for the priveledge of getting lost both ways, meeting a stranger, (great guy, BTW), carrying out heavy dining room furniture and bringing it back home under whatever wraps and keys we could manage while evading concert traffic that had the road under its spell for at least a quad-hectare.

But it now sits in our Dining Room: That's right, where once sat my cheaply-acquired Thomasville dining room set there's now the long-acquired Broyhill set. But it was HER choice.

And that's all that seems to matter at the moment...

(Ask me next week: After the pain has gone I may not be so cynical...)

So it's come to this: I'm wearing a goatee. I know -- I didn't want to put all the shock on you all at once like that but I figured it was like taking off a bandage: best to rip it off really, really fast instead of drawing it out across a couple of hours. Besides, who has time to read such nonsense, ("I just peeled back another centimeter and it hurt like heck. How much longer must I suffer?!?"), much less endure writing such dreck? So I'll jump right in instead...

This dates back almost a full decade to a relationship that was formed all those years ago. Did I say "relationship?" I meant to say, "Contractual obligation," but it was almost the same thing: The Wif has always liked me in a beard. Probably because she knows me in no other state. I have always thought that she looked best in long hair. It was these prefrences that forged our Mutual Understanding: I keep the beard, she keeps her hair long.

It was a MAD policy that kept us mostly honest. In all those years I've worn a beard except for a brief period (4 days over a long weekend), where I shaved in order to see whom I was dealing with in the mirror. I garnered her permission well in advance and she - predictably - said she hated the results.

Of course, I have only myself to blame for not noticing that she cut at least 4 inches from her hair that one time back around 2000; it was a major setback at the time, but nothing like we're dealing with now.

She had an appointment today. She asked me again and again if she could cut her hair short and I was feeling as if I was in charge of a mixed bag; on the one hand, I wanted to remind her of our agreement and warn her of the dire consequences should she do so. On the other hand, after nearly a decade of being her husband (almost to the day - more on that later), I have learned how she responds to my warnings; it starts with a yawn and accelerates to a full snore from there.

So, being a man in full control of the recognition of what I actually control in this marriage, I said the only thing I could as she headed off to her appointment:

"You do whatever you need to, dear." I probably repeated this about 17 times during this past week, and -- unfortunately -- she eventually took it to heart. She came home with a "bob" - or whatever you officially call, "NEXT to bald," these days - and seemed right at home. Which was a problem, because it violated Official Policy. So I shaved off my beard.

Which didn't happen without some trepidation. After all, the only thing worse than looking like a hipster-doofus is looking like a hipster-doofus-wannabe. Which is the only thing that almost stayed my hand from shearing my cheeks.

Check the webcam for results. That's pretty much the joke today.

(The good news is that I'll be flush again by Sunday evening/Monday morning. The bad news is that The Wif can't even come CLOSE to that claim...

As if I needed a reminder that God doesn't give with both hands, (a phrase I first heard in Casa de la Muerte), I got it last week anyway.

As you may recall, we recently got our swamp cooler up and running and it was a welcome relief against Global July; we've put it to use to one extent or another for the entire time since the check was signed. It's proven itself to be a welcome addition to our list of Most Used Appliances. In fact, we'd settled into a "cooling scheme" pretty quickly: the "big" portable cooler landed in our room, backed towards the open window in the walk-in and blowing across our bed. The "little" portable lives on a bench in the kitchen where it tries in vain to cool the living space from the ravages of sun and dinner prep. There is a fan attached to the window sill in The Knuckleheads' room that runs constantly but is pretty much to Room Cooling what Tim Conway is to Shakespearean Theatre.

And I LOVE Tim Conway's work, BTW...

But at least there was a working, efficient system in place. Some sort of guideline and timetable and placement expectation that forced cool air into the places where hot air usually ruled the streets. A meteorological turf war whose tide was turned only by my ability to remember the schedule, fill the tanks with cool water and move them into position.

Which was just fine until mere hours after the overhead unit was working and the large cooler in our room experienced Severe Pump Failure: no more cooling capacity beyond what was possible from just the fan alone. At the time, I worried about what might be the end result of this development, but given the fact that the cooler overhead was pumping in cold air and the fan on the floor was pushing it towards my bunk, I saw little problem.

Well, except for the fact that we have to lock the cats in our room from time to time as we leave the back door open, and when that happens our room is left to bake in the heat and all bets are - as might be expected - OFF.

So our room is now cooking under the delusion of a fan filled with ever-increasingly scum-infused water blowing tepid air in the direction of an asthmatic's sleeping arrangement. Perfect! Of course, all that means is that I'll have to open the beast up and see what I can do besides drain the water all over the floor in order to skid my knuckles against pipe fittings and finally declare the unit to be beyond all repair. I'll then have to go to Home Depot or Ace in order to track down, pay for, bring home and assemble a replacement. Such is the way of my life, I suspect.

Of course it doesn't help matters any that the pump in the kitchen unit died this week. Lots and lots of stinky water is going to be poured out this weekend.

I wonder if the algae could help the lawn. I guess in the interests of science I'm doomed to find out. Stay tuned...

You guys are just amazing. Simply amazing, (and I mean that in a good - if a bit disarming - way). I mean, I introduce a vague idea about a page that hopes to use your own children and you guys are all over it. Eager, that is.

But the second I introduce the 80% completed version of said site, you're all as quiet as Marcel Marceau during a radio interview. What I want to know is, WHY is that? Did you envision something different from what I came up with? Did I overstep some boundary in your mind/life in what I did? Were you completely underwhelmed by what you saw? Did I "use" your kid in a manner inconsistent with what I promised?

And for those of you who chose not to contribute to the effort, why not chime in with suggestions of your own? I know that I don't allow comments on my "blog" but that doesn't mean that comments are unwelcome. I just have my own reasons for not including a 'comments' section, (and 'homo-robotic-self-arousing-kiddie-pr0n is numbers 1-42 on that list).

Ah well. No matter. I guess I can only write this whole thing off to the fact that most of you are like me: Idea people. We have grand plans and wonderful ideas and the occasional technical expertise to get things started but lack the follow-through necessary to bring the full fruits of what our efforts might otherwise bring.

Then again, maybe most of you were too busy on that Tuesday to be bothered with whatever trivialities I had in mind for the day. I'm good either way...

On the 'yard front' of my front yard, I'm happy to report that the "green parts" are looking pretty good. Or so says both The Wif and my Mother, (I suspect they were in cahoots there), and I'm starting to agree to a degree.

Unfortunately, I have Arvada Kudzu growing out through the ground and all efforts to kill, trim, pull or otherwise eradicate it are met with failure. The only thing I've found that actually kills the stuff is "Cancer-In-A-Can" - or something like that - sprayed directly on the scourge. The good news is that it kills the weed in question. The bad news is that it also kills anything else it touches, including dogs, neighbors and neighbors' dogs.

(BTW - if anyone knows a good attorney, I'd really appreciate a call...)

So I'm sitting here looking at a somewhat green lawn interrupted by 5 to 7 foot stretches of Brown Death and wondering what might be done about it. By way of an answer I apply our last 3 quarts of Revive - mixed with grass seed - to the bare stains that crisscross the lawn. I then water the devil out of it.

Yep. Started the sprinklers at about 3:30 PM. Moved the smaller one twice before shutting down the whole operation at exactly 10:10 PM. Nearly 7 hours of constant watering; it should cost me about 40 dollars more than last month, but then again, if I had watered more last month I probably wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures THIS month. Such is life in the suburbs. Or so I'm learning.

I hope...

Oh, wow. It just hit me that not only is today the "ides of July" but in a very real sense it's also the "ides of Aught-Eight." Half the year behind us and only 107 days until Halloween, (Christmas? Just 162, thank you very much), which is important to remember during these dog days of global warming and all.

Although for the life of me I can't figure out why it's important to be reminded that Halloween and Christmas are on the way just because it's 92° outside. I guess for the same reason that we recall with fondness these very same hot temperatures while we're shoveling a foot and a half of "partly cloudy" off our driveway in the spring. (Yes, around here it's the spring that sees the most snow; February has the cold, but March has the snow. It dates back to a court settlement whose details have been sealed for all time but I understand it was a very messy case; the children have never been the same.)

At any rate, I guess it all goes to show that things don't really change in any sort of a Big Picture Way but just keep getting recycled into well-worn patterns that we experience throughout all of our lives. Until things REALLY change and we're all totally screwed, I suppose...

Where the heck was I? Oh yeah; change and progress and things that don't stay completely the same from day to day. I can work with that. For example, just this evening I realized that when we run our evaporative cooler we must first turn on the spigot against the back wall, because that's where the water for it comes from. Sure it would be better if it had a leak-proof, dedicated water supply - and it will as soon as I have a few minutes to tap a supply line - but going outside at Eleven Hundred to turn off the water supply has taught me a valuable lesson: the condensation from running the cooler goes down the roof, into the gutter and down the spout, thereby washing the spider ENTIRELY out!

But why is that important? Well, we've learned from our neighbors that this house has sat mostly vacant for large portions of the last 5 years or so. Anyone willing to bet that cleaning out the gutters was a priority in that time? Don't bother; I can safely tell you that just looking from the street you can see large amounts of pine needles poking up over the tops of the gutters. It's so bad that it looks like andy rooney is trying to peek out onto the street from our roof!

So the fact that any amount of water - even a lowly trickle - can get through that mess and to ground level is a refreshing bit of news. The other good news is that, with a minimum of effort I'll be able to re-route that water to my garden, (expected completion date 2018), and thus recapture it for a noble cause. And I can think of no cause more noble than fresh, sweet, home grown corn on my dinner table. So I got that going for me, (eventually). Things are starting to look up around this suburban dweling!

And speaking of "looking up," I'm happy and slightly proud to announce that my "big idea" from the other night finally has a skeleton and the initial traces of sinew and skin. I took a few moments tonight to add color and text and then started on the actual code to make it do what I wanted it to do. The results were more than I expected this early in the game and I'm more than happy to share them with you now. To see what I've been up to, simply click here and then be ready to share it with friends and family. This IS. GOING. TO. WORK!! I so decree it.

Now, it's not exactly perfect yet and I suspect that I'll have to continue tweaking the pics to get them to a usable size, (TBO! I'm looking in YOUR direction!), and I may yet transfer it to a more friendly URI, but I know that I've given you an idea of what I was after. It works, dagnabbit: it bloody well works.

Now, let's make it work...

(I should mention that the pics expand when you mouse them, but only in IE. I suspect that I could get it to work for Firefox - my browser of choice - or Safari if I had some more time, and I may yet stumble on the code somewhere down the line. But for now, just go with it if you want the full effect.)

(Oh - and tell a friend.)

OK. This could easily turn into a tear-fest if I allowed such things to happen here. But I don't, so it won't. However, that doesn't mean that I'm about to quit complaining about my workload. I mean, why start now?

So, I was finally afforded a day off in light of the horrendous failure of the server and my seemingly complete inability to rebuild it in any meaningful way. Well, until I got it limping along, barely recognizing the backup tape and still lacking a stable base -- but that was enough to continue for now, apparently. So with any luck, one-fifth of the people I support - but the only group that can reach my desk in a timely fashion without purchasing an airline ticket - will be quelled within the next couple of days as I track down their remaining "missing" documents.

The technicalities are off the chart, but it's my job to sort them out. So sort I will...

As for my recent Bleg, I can only say, "BRAVO!" You have done remarkable work so far as my request was concerned. But you should also take this as an invitation to do even more: ask your friends - ask your family. Heck, ask your enemies. We need a kid army in pictorial form and I'm willing to draft your kids if I have pictures of them, (you know who you are). After all, if you gave me permission to publish shots of them on my site, I fail to see how what I'm about to do violates that agreement.

Let me know. Or rather, don't: I've covered all my legal ends already...

I trod on new territory this weekend. Namely, I waded through 18 inch deep water as my children marveled at their own ability to "swim" or "float" or walk from one point to another within the same pool. There were two small slides, as well; they were short, but interesting in their own rite.

At the other end of the building were two large, long, serious-looking water slides: one was to be ridden in whatever you wore there and the other was designed such that you went down riding an inflatable tube - complete with handles and a painted arrow showing which direction the tube was intended to go down the slide.

(I should have had so much help in High School...)

But the greatest part of the experience - and of ALL my experiences in said location - was that we were never, EVER at any risk for sunburn. We were completely enclosed within the building itself and even those people who chose to rest at the tables against the windows weren't at any risk.

The water was warm, the slides were fast and generally unpopulated and at least one of the Lifeguards was 80% legs. I'm not yet ready to break out the rest of her being, but based upon a snippet of conversation I overheard, I'm absolutely certain that the minority shareholder was not "brain..."

Just sayin' is all.

I'm happy to report that I got real, genuine, actual responses from my call to action yesterday. Not that I was expecting a complete blow-off, but I was happy with those of you who responded. I didn't get as many as I'd hoped to, but I got more responses than I expected to. So thank you -- and please don't forget to talk with your friends about joining up; it's an easy tour of duty and if you choose to wait until you see what I put together as regards this project, I completely understand.

You know, as I look back over what you just read, something hit me: Something about, 'not what I'd hoped but more than I expected' sang all too true to me. It didn't take much for me to realize that that sentence pretty much sums up the keys to a happy life. Hope for much, expect little and be grateful for what you receive. Come to think of it, that could pretty much describe the life of a Believer as well, so long as you include the idea that, "the rest will work itself out." Which pretty much goes unspoken in the original, if you ask me.

ANYWHO...

Wif Almanac...

Yes, I know that I've practically abandoned the brand but it's never too late to start anew. Or so I hope.

The Wif has been on a Holy Tear lately about our household finances. It's funny how she went at least 4 years without giving it even a first thought much less a second, and all of a sudden - under the much more favorable circumstances of having no debt (save our mortgage), and bringing in an extra Grand per month of that sweet, sweet, county cash - she's suddenly all about cutting corners and saving almost every dime she can where ever she can:

She's stopped buying low-carb tortillas and reduced-carb bread because they're too expensive. Similarly, she buys kid yogurt in a single large container rather than in individual serve cups for the same reason. So too with "dog cheese" and a number of other items.

As the main "breadwinner" does this bother me? Not particularly; I'm glad she sees fit to take care of what I've been blessed to provide. It's a worthy goal. At least until you consider it all in context...

The Wif is the world's worst at turning off a light as she leaves a room. THE. WORST. PERIOD. EVER! And not that this is a new problem - not by a long shot. The idea that a light switch has two settings has vexed her from the very first day I met her. We've talked about it and from time to time she has promised to "work on it" but that's all it is: talk. She hasn't worked on it any more than I've worked on becoming a Chinese jet pilot, (extra points if you can identify the movie that line references).

So here's MY "thing" in all of this: why do I have to suffer through sub-standard food in the name of saving money when The Wif walks through the home and leaves a trail of light that looks as if Haley's Comet stopped by for a cup of coffee and the tour? Does she not realize that electricity doesn't grow on trees?

Well, it doesn't! It grows on those tall poles that line the streets, but that's another topic for another day...

J.O.T.W...

Hillary Clinton was on her way somewhere when he came across a little boy selling puppies. She stops and asks the boy "What kind of puppies are they?"

The boy replies, "They're Democratic puppies, Ma'am." With this she smiles and walks off.

Later on that day she mentions to Bill about the boy and his puppies and suggested that it might be nice to have a puppy around the house. The next week Bill was on his way to McDonald's and saw the boy and his puppies. He stops and asks the boy, "What kind of puppies are they?"

The boy replies, "They're Republican puppies, Sir."

"Republican puppies?" Bill asked. "Last week you told my wife they were Democratic puppies."

The boy replied, "I know, Sir. But since then they've opened their eyes.

Oh, don't look so surprised: I was due already...

Here's my idea - or rather, your role in my idea. Oh wait; first, some background and economics: This idea has to do with our current gasoline prices and what might be done about them. See, the democrats are running the show so far as congress is concerned and they've really run the brand into the ground. I'd like to believe that this little tidbit is due to the fact that most of the American people are starting to believe that the dems are content to allow the economy to go to Hell because they think some political gain can be had. Well, I certainly hope that the public is starting to wake up; it would be a welcome change, frankly.

One of the battle cries from the No! Drilling! EVER! crowd is that it would take 10 years before a single barrel would hit the open market, so there can be no immediate reward, so there should be no immediate drilling. In a word? BUNK! This is AMERICA! We can do stuff! Besides, thirty years ago they were saying it would take 10 years -- does this mean that technology hasn't advanced in that time? You honestly believe that we couldn't do it sooner than a full decade?

More importantly, a vote in congress to allow drilling in ANWR or far offshore would bring oil prices down tomorrow; first, it would let the purchasers and speculators know that we are serious about increasing the world's supply of oil, which always reduces the price of an item. Second, it would send a message to OPEC nations that we're no longer willing to be held captive to their whims and folly. This would put pressure on those nations to increase their capacity (supply) in order to deter us from keeping that much more of our money here at home.

Which brings me back to my idea. Now, I've pretty well roughed it out and I know I can carry off the technical aspect of what I hope to do but I'll need some help. That's where you come in; I'd like to use pictures of the children in your lives. Young, old, (up to about 15 or so, I imagine), toothless, in a baseball uni, sleeping on the couch, blowing out birthday candles -- whatever you'd care to donate to the cause. (And the sappier the better, but you didn't hear me say that.) The pics would be labeled with just the first name of the child - or a nick-name - and so would not be identifiable in any real way.

And yes, I'll be including my kids' pics and names in this little project of mine...

Just one more thing: since all of about 12 people read this site, I'd need you to contact friends and family to ask for their cooperation in this endeavor. Just a pic of the kid, his/her name/nick-name is all it would take. And trust me, this isn't simply a pie-in-the-sky idea without any hope of success; all we have to do is force a vote on the floor of the house. And it's completely do-able. Trust me.

So, can I count on you? C'Mon -- if nothing else we may get on TV; I'm a shameless master of self-promotion when I have to be. Let me know...

OK - so this'll be brief. You're welcome...

Well, we have a functional swamp cooler. Finally. One of the funny things about this whole misadventure was that The Wif was about to abandon the whole idea of getting it up and running and wanted at one point to simply buy window AC units for most of the larger rooms of the home. And while that would have worked at a certain level, this was a much more reasonable answer.

The other funny thing - to my way of thinking - was that on Monday morning I crossed paths with the guy I'd first hired to come out and get us running; he had just fueled up at a gas station across from the breakfast joint I visit when I have time to, which is just across a tiny avenue from a Mega-Church which ties the three of us together, in a way. I then had two options:

I could: turn around in the middle of traffic and "gently" nudge the dude back to my house, force him onto the roof and require that he service the cooler. OR, I could honk and wave, knowing that the repair guys were just a couple of hours away from getting us up and running and also safe in the knowledge that he'd have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA of who the heck I was.

I chose "C:" Croissan'wich. MMMM...

(To be fair, I should probably mention that I suspect I didn't get a call or a service call was due to the fact that the professional in question thought that I was looking for a discount on his services. Not that it matters but nothing could be further from the truth: We paid a Golden company exactly $125 American to get things up and running and I can't even imagine asking or expecting a discount on such a paltry sum. Not that he knew that, I guess. Still, all's well that ends.)

We also visited the workplace of a former Wildcat this week: The Wif's thermostat, (or rather, her CAR's thermostat), was in need of replacing. Code Monkey had risen to the call of an earlier post and recommended an Arvada shop that my old man used to frequent. It was under "new" management in a way -- that being that the son had taken the reigns -- but I knew that my dad was always after the best for every dime he had to lay on the counter, so they must've been pretty good in their day. Given the fact that Code Monkey had pointed me in their direction I counted that as 2 positive feedbacks and shot them our business.

Not only were they able to get her car in on the same day, they completed the work ahead of schedule, didn't give me the hard sell on a ton of extra services and got us out of there for a reasonable price.

Not bad considering that I didn't even have to mention that I had the owner's senior picture at home in my computer hutch...

Thanks to the all-seeing Lumberjack I've been tipped to this nifty little story. Go ahead -- check it out and form your own opinion, because you're about to read mine...

It doesn't take a great deal of imagination to figure out where I come down on this one, does it? I mean, in general I believe most teachers to be either well-meaning people of average good will or civil servants just biding their time until they can collect their annuity. "Marking time," in other words. Either 'category' is fine by me, frankly and I would expect little more from these groups. The same extends to the society as whole; those who find themselves in the 'squishy middle' are of little concern to me because they've already demonstrated their inability to chose a side and by standing in the middle of the road like they do, the only one they're going to hurt is themselves.

The problem - with society and teachers - is the zealots.

If you read the story you know what I mean; this teacher could have simply left the 'demonstration' with the film she showed and a Q&A afterward. That would have satisfied the requirement of learning about other religions. She might have brought in some imams from the local mosque, (think you can find one of those in England?), and had them demonstrate a prayer to allah. THAT would have satisfied the requirement. But that wasn't good enough for this short-sighted zealot: nothing short of full acquiescence to the invading religion would serve her purpose.

My first thoughts were that it's so sad to see an ally gladly agree to their own downfall. Just last week some judge over there said that they could see where England would benefit from following sharia law. You know - women can't expose a single square millimeter of flesh, can't drive, go to school or even leave the house unless accompanied by a male relative. Oh, and if she's seen talking to the "wrong people" it's the family's obligation to stone her to death.

But it doesn't stop with women; roving gangs of self-appointed purity police would roam the streets looking for anyone who they perceive as not praying properly. Or often enough. Or with enough zeal. 5 times a day, every day! What would that do to productivity? No wonder these "people" live in caves -- it's all they can afford!

But of course I internalized the story far more than that and I imagined it happening here. At my kids' school. TO my kids. I think it goes without saying that there would be tire tracks from my home to the school's front door and I would park my truck in the lobby on my way to the principal's office. There's no way on this planet I would allow such nonsense to happen to my kids without letting my opinion be known.

And then? We pull them out of the school system. Given the district's inane motto: "our kids, your future," we're already half-way there as it is.

THEIR kids?!? Really? Well, at least they're being honest about how they feel. For once...

Just so we're clear: I don't place a whole ton of stock into horoscopes or astrological signs or any of that stuff. At best I find it an interesting/entertaining distraction and nothing more. I mean, you can read the descriptions of people you know who were born under this or that "sign" and come to any number of conclusions regarding the accuracy of the "star charts" in play at the time.

My usual conclusion is that some guy dreamt up this krep based on a large sample of the people he knew born at different times throughout the year and then applied this statistical study to create the generalities that form the basis of the charts. Then I stop and think about it a minute longer and come to a different conclusion: he probably knew about 10 people born at different times throughout the year and completely over-generalized based on that tiny sample.

He then gathered various, random "traits" assigned to other signs and lumped them together under the banner of the one sign whom he knew nobody, (Gemini). It's a theory-in-progress, but I think it explains things suitably.

All that being said, I just came to a rather frightening realization tonight: my home now houses TWO Scorpios. Now I know that I should have caught on to this earlier. After all, The Wif's birthday follows "M's" by just over two weeks -- *WAIT!* -- Not only do I have TWO Scorpios in the house, THEY'RE THE TWO FEMALES!! Oh, krep: I'm doomed...

Hold on - there may be hope yet. Let me check the Knuckleheads, (I KNOW they're the same sign since their birthdays are only a day apart)... AWWWWW, crud: Sagittarius-es. No help there; "Happy go lucky and couldn't be bothered to care," or something like that. Not exactly what this circumstance calls for.

Oh well. Guess I'll have to devise another plan. Perhaps - now that I know the most immediate females in my life are both Scorpions - I can change the way I interact with them.

He said, thereby negating his initial disclaimer...

It was so nice to see those of you who came by yesterday to be seen. I'll even say, "thank you for coming" knowing full well that I was able to provide - at best - comic relief and it was The Knuckleheads and their sister that drew you to our home. And that's fine, frankly; the house got cleaned, cookies were introduced and even though I had to suffer the devasting effects of grill-smoke, I got to enjoy the fruits of said labors. Which of course wasn't fruit at all but rather seared bits of rendered animal flesh made whole by the addition of cheese.

Yummy!

I might also note that my father was feeling rather, ummm... upset by the fact that he lost his cool in front of you. Twice. He made the apologetic confession to me later in the evening and I got the feeling that he would have liked to express same to you if he were given the chance. So I'm doing it for him.

(I also assured him that you guys have family also and it was likely not the first time you'd seen someone at their temper's end during a family event.)

Look: Whatever. It was good to see you guys and now that you know where we are, don't hesitate to honk on your way past...

"The Sun never shined on a cause of greater worth."
   -- Thomas Paine (Common Sense, 1776)

"The time is near at hand which must determine whether Americans are to be free men or slaves."
   -- George Washington, (Thank the heavens they made the right choice! - ed)

"I am apt to believe that it [the declaring of independence; not the document itself - ed] will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more."
   -- Letter from John Adams to his wife Abigail, July 3, 1776.

"Celebrate the birth of your nation by blowing up a tiny piece of it."
   -- Convenience store clerk on The Simpsons.

Happy 4^th. Let's remember what it's all about...

J.O.T.W...

How was the food at the Fourth of July picnic?
"The hot dogs were bad and the brats were wurst!"

What did Washington say as he crossed the Delaware?
"Next time I'm going to reserve a seat!"

Teacher: "Why did Washington chop down the cherry tree with his hatchet?"
Student: "Because his mom wouldn't let him play with the chain saw!"

Teacher: "The Declaration of Independence was written in Philadelphia. True or false?"
Student: "False! It was written in ink!"

Why did Washington win the battle of Trenton?
Because the enemy soldiers were Hessian around!

What would you get if you crossed a monster with one of Washington's officers?
Baron von Steupid!

What has four legs, a shiny nose, and fought for England?
Rudolph the Redcoat Reindeer!

What march would you play at a jungle parade?
"Tarzan Stripes Forever"!

Why did the British soldiers wear red coats?
So they could hide in the tomatoes.

Why is the Liberty Bell like a dropped Easter egg?
Because they're both cracked!

Teacher: "Who wrote `Oh say, can you see?"'
Student: "An eye doctor?"

How is a healthy person like the United States?
They both have good constitutions!

What would you get if you crossed a monster with a redcoat?
A bigger target.

Hey - don't blame me; blame the website I stole them from!

Oy. Everything going on at the national level seems so bloody obvious that I tire very easily of writing about it; I feel as if I'm beating the memory of the ashes of a dead horse, frankly. I look at this stuff - like the stuff I wrote about yesterday - and I just think, "how can they NOT already know this?" And then I feel bad for making you suffer through it.

Then again, it's not like I'm holding one of my many guns to your head and forcing you to go through this krep; it's a voluntary transaction, right? Any of you can skip out at any time in search of some real entertainment at any time.

There. I don't feel so bad about making you suffer yesterday. Today's a different story - in the sense that I really, really don't want to talk politics. Even if it is a rather rich vein at the moment...

I killed a server this week. I didn't mean to but she was just so darned slow bringing me my rootie-tootie breakfast that the situation really called for lethal action.

Oh wait - that was just a dream I had; the waitress was my ex-wife but then she morphed into Mothra, (like THAT'S a stretch), and I had to kill her using just my fork, a container of boysenberry syrup and the extra napkins on the table. Guess she should've thought twice before bringing those to me, eh? So, where was I? Oh right -- the dead server.

Technically I didn't kill the server; I was just on hand to give it Last Rites. And then the fun began because I had to rebuild it using instructions that were at least 4 years old and without a single scrap of software on hand. If this were camping, conditions would have to improve five-fold in order to be termed, "roughing it."

I muddled through and when I was fatally stuck I called my boss and she talked me through some of the secret rituals that were instituted during my absence from the team. 'Tweak that, delete those and re-write this' or something like that. We eventually got it up and running to the point that I could do the installs remotely, which means... well, hold on for a sec:

The employees of the region seemed to grouse at me because the server and its apps were unavailable for so long, (some of said employees, anyway). What they didn't seem to realize or appreciate was that I was in the office on a day I was expected to telecommute. Now, I don't want a medal or anything. After all, that was the agreement I signed - if something goes wrong that requires me to be in the office, I have to be in the office. Fair enough. But what some of them failed to realize was that the sooner I got this stupid machine online and working, the sooner I could return to my normal schedule and might even be able to telecommute on Thursday, (not that it's not work - I just don't have to spend it around the 'grousers'). So when I reached the point of being able to connect remotely to the machine,

(we now return to our story...)

...I left the office knowing that I could rebuild the backup job from home and then do the rest of the install - also from home - later Wednesday night. What was the line? "I love it when a plan comes together!"

Until I logged on and found that the server had shut itself down. Guess where I'm going to be today?

...with a large blowtorch...

Have you ever noticed that there are some people in this world who, once they start speaking you just say, "I'm glad I don't have their nerve in my tooth?" Enter Weasely clark...

Weasley clark - that one-time golden-haired child of the clintons - said this weekend that 'riding in a fighter plane and getting shot down' doesn't qualify John McCain to be President. Let's de-construct that, shall we? First off, John McCain wasn't "riding" in a fighter: he was piloting a one-seat A4 ground attack plane on his 23rd mission when he was shot down. Kind of makes ol' weasley's comment look snide and um... incomplete, you think?

Further, as I understand it he was leading the largest air squadron at the time. One might deign to call that "executive experience," no? After his grueling ordeal at the hands of a ruthless enemy, his release and rehabilitation, he returned to flying Navy jets - leading a rather notorious squadron from rags to riches, as the saying goes. That sound like a man capable of turning things around if need be? Thought so.

But better yet, it certainly sounds to me like a little more than, "riding" in a fighter. Yep, nothing like dismissing a man's military record for political gain. Yeesh.

Here's where it gets really good, though: if you recall, weasley was a Presidential candidate in 2004. He was in the democrat race for the nomination and was soundly trounced. (Even after howard dean's "I have a scream" speach.) And upon which qualifications were we supposed to believe he could be President? HIS MILITARY RECORD! If the word 'hypocrite' is jumping into anyone else's frontal lobe, by all means raise your hand.

And then, after his idiotic statement went almost unchallenged, he went on to say that barack (barak? barrack?) should be considered qualified under 'different circumstances,' (I'm using single quotes because after his first statement I was so busy laughing my arse off that I wasn't able to hear the exact quote). Fine. So he's promoting different standards for the candidates. Nothing new here for democrats. Setting aside the very racist proposition that "the poor little black boy can't be held to an equal standard," (tell me I'm wrong - I dare you), I'd just LOVE to know what the different, lower, standard should be?

Ok, we've got some hints circulating. After graduating law school, he walked away from a high-paying, prestigious law-talking job to work as a "community organizer" on the south side of Chicago. Here begin the questions: Since when has rubbing elbows with politicos in Chicago NOT paid well? It's like hitting the slots in Vegas and every spin pays.

Second - what in the WORLD IS a "community organizer?" Well, given the recent activities of the obama campaign, it must involve "organizing" muslim women out of camera range. No, wait - that can't be all there is to it. In fact, I remember hearing the shrew his wife say something about helping people after steel mills closed. How - by letting them smelt in his garage so they could keep their skills sharp?

Besides, I'm no expert, but exactly how many steel mills were there on the south side? I haven't been there in some time, but I think most of those legendary closed mills were in Ohio and Pennsylvania.

Just sayin'. Besides, proof is now coming out that he's nothing more than just another corrupt Chicago politician. Just what we need.

And on a similar note, I have a suggestion for the McCain campaign, not that they'll listen. We see all these, "Hope - obama 08" stickers and signs around and one might wonder how its possible to counter such a positive message. Well, leave it to me, (because the party sure as heck ain't doing anything about it): "McCain 08 - Results." If that doesn't spell out the difference between the 'head in the clouds' party from the 'boots on the ground' party, nothing will.

"Hope." "Change." Yeah -- you'd better HOPE his tax policy leaves you at least some CHANGE in your pocket...

(BTW - two cuter words were never spoken by a two and a half year old. I'll try to get it recorded but The Knuckleheads tend only to perform for us.)

Well, that's it - it's over. Stick a fork in summer, cuz it's done. Oh sure, we all know that it doesn't officially end until sometime in Septober but all the same, here we are. The Fourth is really the last BIG party/shindig/celebration of the season. Some people hold out Labor Day as the last holiday of the season, and while that's technically true, we all know otherwise...

The Fourth is the pinnacle of summer, even if we're only getting used to it. The days are still warm and there's plenty of sunshine and warm days ahead of us, but to say so is merely whistling past the graveyard. As they say while passing graveyards. Yep, it's all over. Nothing to do now but shop for school supplies and get out the Halloween decorations.

In other words, WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO THE FIRST HALF OF AUGHT-EIGHT? Where did it go and what do I have to show for it?

Well, I guess finalizing the adoption was pretty cool. And we've received The Binkster's new birth certificate, so we got that going for us. And I survived another birthday, Mother's and Father's day. Not to mention Groundhog, Flag and Arbor days, (so let's not mention them). We got somewhat moved into our new home and even plan on hosting a small family get-together this Sunday. AND we have finally cleared out all boxes and baskets from the floor of the Master so we can walk to the John in the middle of the night confident in the knowledge that we'll only stub our toes on a dog.

OK - so all of this is just me, I suppose. But I know where the Halloween lights are...

On the national scene, I have come to a conclusion: the dems want higher energy prices. It doesn't make much sense to me - except in a certain context - but it's just so danged obvious. Explain how their aversion to domestic oil drilling, resistance to oil shale production, refusal to allow a refinery to be built, inability to allow natural gas exploration, pants-wetting fear of nuclear power and dependence upon less-than-efficient technology, (solar, wind, pixie-dust-powered electric plants and the like) can be seen in any other light?

So how is it that the "party of the people" (*GAG*) can support these policies that are so harmful to the "little guy?" I can only see one explanation: they're doing it because they think it's good for their party - politically - if the nation suffers. That's it: nothing else makes sense. They're deliberately causing harm and misfortune among the masses so they'll suffer so that, come November, the electorate will pull the proverbial level for the "d's."

Of course, they have to build a cover story to hide this motivation, so they say drilling won't produce any results for years to come, (if that's the case, why did any of them go to college?), that oil shale is "experimental," that refineries won't change supply (HA!), that natural gas is expensive to collect and transport and that nuclear power would create a Chernobyl at every outlet in every home in America. Don't buy it. ANY of it.

Another story that's circulating is that the oil companies haven't drilled on the oil leases they've already got. What a crock that is; those leases were entered into with the guess that maybe there might be oil under the soil. It was more of an "exploration with rights to drill" lease. I mean, it's not like there's oil everywhere and one need only force a length of pipe into the ground at a random location to find crude. After all, I believe finding oil to be equal parts science, art and luck.

OK, so maybe it's more like 40/30/30 but still...