TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

This krep was posted:

AUGUST 2008
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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.

Oh, just don't get me started on the crap going on in the bowl around me: it's too new and plentiful for me to comment on.

Except that it's not, obviously or this entry would be blank, (I originally typed "bland" which no doubt applies as well...)(oh, and just in case you're seeing what I'm seeing as I write this dreck, "undefined" not only describes what's happening in my script, but EVERY! SINGLE! attempt of mine to make things better at this early date. I mean, I had a salad for lunch today! What else could I possibly do?)

I'm now a hostage to being a victim of circumstance in my own home: my "home" desktop has been shut off from all access beyond what it can reach without really trying. Which protects me from the dangers of Skynet, I suppose, but it also stops me from viewing Australian webcams at the height of tourist season.

So they should rot for all eternity...

I suspect a virus but won't tell The Wif and neither should you; I'll get this all together soon enough and I'll be writing tripe from every computer available to me again ASAP. And do you really want to stop that from happening? You do? Good for you!

Just wait me out: so far that's been a pretty successful strategy. You can ask The Wif, if you'd like.

It was a glorious Wednesday morning, (as it had not yet passed noon). I left the office - ALWAYS a good thing - and strode into the September warmth. (I know full well that it's not yet September but I walked into the 9th month all the same.) I had loaded my new MP3 player to about 1/4 capacity and was pleasantly surprised to note that I was listening to "Blues Traveler" as I walked to my truck in order to meet my best friend for lunch.

And if you can't feel cool under those circumstances, you just have no pulse at all

So hillary did what she had to tonight. Small reconciliation from a small person, if you ask me. As for the rest of the convention that's now happening in my back yard? Who cares. Keep your smelly, gross hippies away from my property and you won't have to read about them dying in the local paper.

But I'll save you a copy anyway.

All about the Netflix around here: I've been trying for a one-week turn-around, and slightly-less-hyphenated storyline around this place, but what are you gonna do?

I watched "dark remains" which I obviously refuse to link to or reference in any other way. I have little doubt that these guys will be "living the dream" by being included in the next round of the "Masters Of Horror" series.

Let me just say that short of brian depalma, few others fall so short of the ideal: Horror means, in short, "horror." Scare us. Terrify us. "Omen," "Exorcist" and "Monty Python" were enough to do it in their time. What are you doing now?

Well, what you're doing now amounts to little more than saying "Boo!" against a driver-side window, providing you can remember which side the driver sits on in this country.

As if there's not already a lot happening that is being treated as if it's not happening, there's a lot going on which you wouldn't know about, except for by reading local wastes-of-time like this site, and many others. Because we CARE, darned it! We comment where others are afraid to! We shine the light where they dare not tread! Because we do! Or we shall! or we'll get around to it eventually...

Whatever. We'll get there if only because we have space to fill and nobody else is stepping up to fill the space. So it falls to me.

Again.

I had another interesting task assigned to me this weekend: I was supposed to send a "recent" picture of my Father-In-Law to someone who seemed to be volunteering his time doing exactly what I hoped to one day be doing: having so much time on my hands that I could write a spare 'graph now and then because I had already earned so much money at whatever the Hell I finally landed on I could afford to take a morning off, (not to mention the fact that if I took 40 minutes I would be overly welcome in my stay).

And the obvious answer is that the last time I had an opportunity to "shoot" my Father-in-Law was during his "showing." And I neglected from shooting pics because a small part of me was afraid the smell of death would carry through on the pics. Not to mention that I'd rather the kids remember him as he was when he was alive, (comment withheld for obvious reasons): Bink, he loved you without question. Nothing pleased him like seeing you bounce and laugh and cry in fear, (he was a guy, right?) on my knee. You were his youngest, smallest, last Grandchild and he loved you.

Even if you were too much trouble for him at the time. For that matter, even if you're too much trouble for me ALL THE TIME!: We still love you and always will. Even if only one of us still survives to say so!

Wow. This went in a direction I didn't anticipate. Let's hope the rest of the week goes somewhere else...

Well, I finally broke down. It's funny - in a not-so-funny sort of way - because The Wif calls me "gadget boy" and I'm only now starting to earn that title. Well, that's not completely correct, because the time was when I had a fully functional early model color Palm Pilot. Now that I think of it, I can probably lay hands on it again so maybe I should see about getting it back online. It could be nice to have schedules and phone numbers at hand should I ever need them. Then again, my phone probably has more computing power and cost approximately 1/6th as much, so maybe I should focus on keeping that thing up to date?

But, this isn't about that. Sure it would be nice to have my GPS back and it wouldn't harm me to play Bejeweled as I kill the 20 minutes I have to wait after getting my allergy shots each week. Then again, that 20 minutes is the only time I have to read something NOT written by Dr. Seuss, so I'd probably miss the opportunity.

But again, this is NOT about that, (focus, Stone. FOCUS!). This is about my most recent acquisition, which is slated to arrive at my door sometime today. It will be a most welcome addition to my belt/pockets and it will help me to be the obnoxious Father I know I can become. I mean, who's NOT going to love me stopping them in the halls in order to show the latest video of The Bink racing his Big Wheel down the street into our driveway? And in the Winter? Sleds. We'll have a little something for everyone.

Oh, and I understand the device can also play music. I'll have to check into that; it might be nice to hear Jethro Tull or Audio Adrenaline or Third Day just because I want to in the middle of the day...

I'm slowly starting to change my mindset insofar as my daughter is concerned: Half-way through her Kindergarten year she was rewarded with a pizza party with her principal - which is a far more special occasion than I ever experienced in any of MY meetings with my principals - and I thought that was pretty cool; she made it to school/class each and every day. No sick time, no vacation days.

It got me thinking: Why couldn't my little girl be one of those kids you hear about who makes it through ALL of elementary, junior high middle school and high school without missing a single day? Why not? Well, why not her?

And then it hit me: Aren't those kids considered freaks by the other kids? And why should I derail all individual, Family activities just to meet this rather odd goal? I mean, (to overuse a phrase), perfect attendance from K-12 might be a laudable ideal but in the real world I just don't care that much that I'm turning my daughter over to the educrats on their schedule. Which includes plenty of sick-days, flex-days and "non-contact" days.

So it's not as if the teachers have perfect attendance, either. Why should I bother when she learns much more from me in a single hour than during a week in school?

The same goes for the so-called, "healthy snack" we're expected to provide. Oh, yeah; like the teacher's lounge has never seen a Snickers...

Let me start by telling you what I did with my weekend: I slept in! Huzzah! The folks had the kids and we were darned sure NOT going to press the case to have them back anytime soon. Obviously too much time with them results in a HUGE amount of re-programming, but Monday generally takes care of that.

(Doesn't it always?)

The celebration was due on account of my Mother-In-Law's birthday. As such, she got to choose the menu and it wasn't far from what I'd settle on: Chicken wrapped in bacon, baked beans, (which were microwaved instead of being actually "baked"), and corn. Lots and lots of corn...

So, family and friends gathered. Food was had. Discussions were discussed. And I can't believe that Slow Joe is the VP pick. Yeah, you heard me...

Slow Joe? The guy who insulted ALL black people, (as dimmicrats are wont to do), The guy who called obama "clean" and said it was "storybook?"You mean that guy?

I'm not trying to brag, but I have a 6^thth sense as far as these things are concerned and I can promise that Slow-Joe will NEVER be elevaed to that level...

N-E-v-E-R

The American businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large Yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied only a little while.

The American then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs. The American then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time?

The Mexican fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, senor."

The American scoffed, "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat, with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked, "But senor, how long will this all take?"

To which the American replied, "15-20 years."

"But what then, senor?"

The American laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions."

"Millions, senor? Then what?"

The American said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos."

Something about this is tugging at my soul: I'm on the verge of something and dancing around something larger. I just don't know what either of them is/are. Let's find out together, and thanks for coming along for the ride...

First off, please forgive my grammar, spelling and breath. Oh, wait -- that's another movie entirely. (On a separate note, did you know that 'anther' is an actual word? Oh, you did not; quit making stuff up. Worse yet, my spell-checker, that is, my computer spell-checker [as opposed to those monks who monitored all that chisel-work, I guess] recognized it but still fails to allow certain terms like "Internet," "ISP," "FTP" and "HTML" past its careful gatekeeping. Oh, and add "gatekeeping" to that list as well.)

At any rate, the movie, Ghost Rider is on in the leftground. In the old home it would've been the background, making it that much harder to watch, but here...? Well, whaddya gonna do?

So I finally called the city on Wednesday. As it turns out, Eva Braun was on leave for most of this week so I missed a fine opportunity to barbecue a live alligator in our driveway. More importantly, I wasn't able to get HER definition of an "unimproved" parking area, much less how something could be considered a parking area when nothing is parked there.

But that's OK, because Connie told me - and I quote because I wrote it down as soon as the last word left her civil service hole - "you don't have to improve an area you're not going to park in." Does that matter? Not in the least. But at least I have it recorded in two different forums now.

Yeah, two forums that when multiplied by zero, still equal zero.

I also told Connie that if need be, I would comply with the city ordinance requiring weeds be no more than 12 inches tall by clipping each and every one of them to 11 inches each morning. She said that would be fine if that's how I chose to handle it, although I secretly suspect otherwise. Especially once Eva is back on the clock.

But Connie also told me something rather interesting: as she was reading Eva's case notes, she said that Eva had been by on the 12^th and noticed that our trailer was still parked on said 'unimproved' surface. This is clearly a lie or at the very least a misrepresentation: Pop & I moved the trailer on the evening of the 11^th in order to avoid the $100 fine that was promised come the next day.

Now, at the risk of being this generation's much-less-popular Lennie Bruce, I'll leave this at that. But I'm NOT happy about it...

On the poopy front, I'm happy to report that The Wif says some progress is being made. Frankly, I don't see it, but what do I know? As "M" has returned to school on a more or less full time basis the home's Matron has decided to let the Knuckleheads roam the grounds in... Ummmm, "less than full dress, so to speak.

Which means they're running about in nothing but shirts and shoes. I guess that means they could still get a Happy Meal, but I still say it violates the spirit of the sign all the same...

It's a wonderful plan: remove the boys' "safety net" in order to get them to evacuate into the Great Porcelain Appliance and as I say, we're seeing some results. Just none of them solid results, if you take my meaning.

But no, for some reason, the Knuckleheads would rather rupture a bowel than crap into the crapper at any given moment. And while I admire their ability to keep everything contained, I'd rather see the look of relief on the faces once there's a big "PLOP."

And seeing them relieved would be OK, too...

In that same vein, I might take note of a serious flaw inflicted upon us by the previous owners - whomever they might be: the cabinet in the main floor bathroom was attached to the wall with straight nails. Now this would be fine if they happened to drill directly into a stud - as one of them did - but proves rather foolhardy if one of them goes only into drywall. As one of them did.

As you can imagine, one side of the cabinet started to sag and I noticed it tonight. As my youngest was stressing and straining trying to sully the bowl's integrity. So I had to stand with my back against the still-supported pressboard all the while pretending nothing was wrong.

Once the immediate need had passed I went back to the dinner table, said Grace and then excused myself to put long screws and wall anchors into place instead of the nails.

I mean, can you even IMAGINE the setback we would experience if a cabinet fell off the wall just as one of them was "advancing the cause?"

Oh, the crap-tasrophe...

I guess it's come to this: I'm going to have to start thinking about maybe reconsidering my ever-rosy outlook on 2008 America in general and our economy in specific. As you know, I was always one with an Uber-positive outlook on things and a different - if real world - way of measuring the robustness of our economy. After all, if things were as bad as some say it is - the reasoning went - then you should be able to get a good parking spot at Wally World and never have to wait in line at any check out lane. EVER.

But it may be time to rethink this. Maybe, just maybe things aren't quite that simple. Perhaps things also aren't quite that good. Mayhap I have rushed to judgment and come to an incorrect conclusion...

So what brought about this possibility of an examination towards the slight chance of a change of heart? After all, it takes a big man to open his mind to the outside chance that maybe perhaps a certain segment of his peripheral thinking might possibly not be perfectly, exactly 100% in line with each and every factor of the larger picture he's examining, right? And who's to say that I'm that man?

Well, it seems that financial hard times have landed at our door and in a rather serious fashion. If everything I read in the notice is correct, we're facing a foreclosure in the near future. I'm not quite certain how this came to pass, but apparently we have the opportunity to make things "right." I'm just not sure we want to at this point. It may be best to simply do nothing and let things run their course. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?

You see, the notice came from Adams County and was addressed to MY DAUGHTER! There is apparently a house in Brighton that she's on the hook for and she hasn't been making the payments. I think that we'll just let it go to auction. Maybe I'll ground her for a week, too. Just to prove the point; "You will NOT default on your mortgage, young lady!" You know - that sort of thing.

I gotta be tough now or she'll just grow up to steal stadiums and quarries...

And no, I haven't called the stupid city yet. Every time I pick up the phone I can feel my blood pressure raise to the point that my eyeballs want to shoot across the room, so I figured I'd put it off just a little. I was going to call yesterday, since I worked from home and I figured I could use the privacy, but upon further consideration I think it's better if I called them while I'm in the office. Much less chance of me yelling or using inappropriate language.

So I'll be calling them sometime today. Not only will those safeguards be in place but I can do so knowing that there's a gubermint agency out there which is far less competent than these bozos...

Well, I guess if it's August in a leap/election year that means the questions come fast and furious: why is it so bloody obvious that the world is a very, very dangerous place - and yet so many of my fellow Americans seem blind to that fact? Its's not that they're stupid, They're just unwilling to face that truth so long as the store still has bread and milk, I guess.

How is it possible that people suddenly believe in punishing the successful by taxing them back to the (pardon the phrase) stone age? Worse yet, how does one believe that doing so will somehow help them to get ahead? Or is it just about feeling better? If that's the case, how does that work, exactly? I mean, is 'I can't afford a 'vette or a villa on the Mediterranean so nobody else should have one either' a viable economic strategy? So your plan is, NOBODY should succeed? Seriously?

Speaking of undue punishment, who gave birth to the idea that taxing the Hell out of companies who produce stuff we all need will result in either MORE of said stuff or a lower price for said stuff? The answer, of course, is karl marx - the least popular of the Marx Brothers. (Yes, including Gummo!)

No, really, I'd love to know the theory - much less how it would translate into the real world - of punishment economics. If I'm producing a commodity and I make a profit, meaning I'm doing well at producing it, and the gubermint starts taxing me more for doing well, why would I continue at it? Why not just take my ball and go home, so to speak? Because that's exactly what will happen; the few remaining American oil companies will close up shop and take their operations to more friendly shores. Sure it will put hundreds or thousands out of work and the shortage of oil will be exacerbated until gas costs at least $8 per gallon, but BY! GUM! we will have shown them, right?!?

Obvious, no? Then why don't more people get it?!?

Did you see the non-debate debate the other night? No? Well, I'm sure you caught all the chatter about it in the LSM. I mean, it's been simply everywhere, right? What's that you say...

Well, since the high-and-mighty obamessiah went completely nutso trying to prove that he has feet of clay and ended up looking like the inexperienced N00B that he is, it's unlikely that you're going to hear anything about it anywhere. Oh - and expect that there will BE! NO! FURTHER! DEBATES! in any format. I'm not sure how he'll pull it off, but given the fact that he has about 2,000 unpaid press secretaries behind news desks across the country, it'll probably be pretty easy for him.

The one question that's been getting the most play in any venue that's not on network/cable news is the question of, 'when is a baby entitled to human rights,' (or something nearly like that). Li'l o's answer: "...that's above my pay-grade."

I couldn't agree more. That and so much more...

What a great weekend - the obvious not withstanding, natch. The obvious, you ask? Well, that stupid citation for one. I decided it was in my best interest NOT to call the code Nazis on Friday, lest they immediately come and condemn my house outright and put in a Kwik-E-Mart. Hey - there's an idea; maybe I can get this place on the federal roles as a national weed refuge. I'll have to call some folks today. Not the code enforcement jackals, of course. No sense in letting them in on my plan prematurely.

Other than that, it was pretty good. Nice cool, wet weather that was a welcome change from the mid-90's we'd had during the dog days so recently passed. Of course that came with its own set of challenges because I'd recently set up about 80% of the kids' swingset that I started about 2 years ago and they weren't able to go out and use it, but you can't have everything, right?

Speaking of the kids, things around here are starting to take an interesting turn. I suppose that's always been true and will always continue to be true but this has been palpable -- almost measurable; "M" is really, really starting to become a Daddy's girl. I guess I always suspected it would happen eventually, and now that the adoption is final and I no longer feel the need to keep her at arm's length is just as good a time as any.

She's been wanting to hold my hand when we go upstairs to brush teeth at night. I guess this isn't all that out of the ordinary for any "normal" father-daughter relationship, but it's new to me. Also, she goes out of her way to thank me for my efforts for the family, (cooking dinner, fixing toys - heck, she thanked me 4 times for putting together the swingset before the thing was even vertical), and she's not slow to rush over and give me a hug. I'm not sure what I did to deserve this - aside from being available to her, I guess. There's probably a lesson in there for every father.

The other side of that coin is that when I correct her it seems to really hit her hard. It's as if she believes that since we're closer now than we were, that she can do no wrong. Or at least she won't be hearing about it. Sorry, but that's not how things work in my home; not only will I call anyone, (including myself, unfortunately), on their misdeeds but it's my duty and obligation to do so. After all, I'm raising a responsible citizen and eventual wife and mother (in that order) and NOT a princess. The world has enough princesses already.

There might even be another lesson there...

The other surprise around here is that we seem to have turned most of a corner with D-Man. He's far more eager to please and not quite as quick to fight as he has been. Perhaps because he's nearing the magic age of 4 or maybe he's finally figured out that there are real-world consequences for his bad decisions. Who knows and who cares, frankly? As long as he's starting to get it.

Their brother, on the other hand, has been paying attention to me in an all-together different manner; when I correct him he gives ME the skunk-eye and points his chubby little finger at me. Also, I sometimes whistle at them when they're getting out of control or out of range and since he can't yet whistle he instead screams at a very high volume and pitch. I only recently realized that was his copy of my whistle. Yeah, he's been paying attention to how I correct him, but for all the wrong reasons. He's a real stinker.

Which is no surprise.

On an unrelated subject, I have only one question today: How will punishing oil companies LOWER the price of gas at the pump? What's the obamessiah's answer to that?

Oh how I LOATHE! THIS! PLACE! I swear, I'm going to kennel the animals, take the family to my Mom's and turn on the toaster oven - after inserting a newspaper soaked in gasoline, (it's a continuation on a theme). Oh, they'll catch you, you'll say. They have science and strange lights and Marg and test tubes, you'll say. You're sure to get caught!

Maybe so, but I bet I have more freedom behind bars than I do right now...

Anybody want to guess what I got in the mail today? Now, don't spoil it for the rest of us, but yes a city citation. Another one. My third. I'm thinking of papering my garage in them at this point.

Ah, but what was the citation for? Well, for not having an "improved" parking surface! This is an interesting development, especially given the fact that I moved my truck AND trailer since the last notice. I mean, how can something be considered a "parking surface" if NOTHING IS PARKED THERE?!?! I hate this place.

So today I'm going to call the office and ask them to send one of their jack-booted nazis over to explain that to me: after all, I have moved my trailer fully onto my driveway and my truck is now parked in the street, completely unprotected from the little thugs which will no doubt become code enforcement officers. I'm just dying to hear the stupid reason which has no basis in common sense and no defense besides toadying to their arbitrary little whim.

I HATE this place. I'd move, but there's a brand new listing on the next block. Plus, "M" will be packed and on her way to college before this dump would be ready to show. AAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!

Anybody know where I can get some half-dead sod, cheap? Maybe I'll just "harvest" some from around here.

(i hate this place)

J.O.T.W...

A man arrives at the gates of heaven. St. Peter asks, "Religion?"

The man says, "Methodist."

Another man arrives at the gates of heaven. "Religion?"

"Baptist."

"Go to room 18, but be very quiet as you pass room 8.

A third man arrives at the gates. "Religion?"

"Jewish."

"Go to room 11, but be very quiet as you pass room 8."

The man says, "I can understand there being different rooms for different religions, but why must I be quiet when I pass room 8?"

St. Peter tells him, "Well the Jehovah's Witnesses are in room 8, and they think they're the only ones here.

On a recent trip to the local grocer I was accosted outside by an aging hippie who asked me if he could, "help me vote by mail." I noticed that - like most of the mall-crawling morons lately he was carrying a clipboard. Now, I usually just blow past these freaks, figuring that anyone hot under the collar enough to waste their evenings randomly hassling innocent people picking up a quart of milk and a loaf of bread on the way home are hot about an issue I am not.

But this guy was different; he was special. He was old enough to be my older cousin's father - and he's dead! Further, I noted that the back of his clipboard - which he was OH! SO! CAREFUL! to constantly display - had an obama logo attached to it. Huh?!?

I was curious and my first thought was, 'well, THAT can't be legal,' but after a second I realized that since this seemed to be a registration drive rather than a signature collection for a particular issue, it must be legal to associate registration drives with a particular candidate. (I should note that I haven't researched that because it would dash my hopes that the geriatric hippie in question was later tazed, clubbed and dragged unconscious from the building. But that's just me.) I mean, this guy's probably been out there all day, bothering as many people as he could so if it were illegal to "flash his 'o'" I'm sure somebody would have complained by now. Darn it.

OH - and while I usually just glare at these oxygen thieves I couldn't resist responding by telling him, "no thanks - I've already canceled you out." It took him a second but I'm sure he understood what I meant. Even without adding, "you patchouli-laden woodstock-wannabe relic."

Darn it!

I was resisting the urge to comment about certain current events but sometimes, life throws you an opportunity...

A conversation broke out at the office today about the nature of the olympics and general detritus regarding same. After hearing about medal counts and world records and the average daily consumption of the adult male panda talk got around to the very heart of the matter; whether its better or worse that professional athletes are allowed to compete. The general thought was, 'THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END BECAUSE PAID ATHLETES ARE EVEN ALLOWED TO WATCH THE GAMES, MUCH LESS COMPETE IN THEM!!'

(That may be a paragraph; I'm not a human tape recorder, you know.)

One school of thought was that it was so much better to see the younger athletes compete instead of these seasoned pros. Completely resisting the urge to say so, I thought 'what? Under that line of thinking gymnastics and figure skating would be dominated by embryos!' (No I'm not watching; I live with a person who watches every minute, reads the pre-stories in all of my business people magazine and is eager to share every kernel of information they discover. Despite my best efforts, I still absorb roughly 3.7% of that information.)

The next to chime in said that the olympics were supposed to be about the purity of the games and seeing the very best people compete. Again keeping to myself, I thought, 'you want to see the best - but believe the best are those who can't make a living doing what they're doing? Back to econ 101 with you.'

At this point a third spoke up. Knowing this person to play fast and loose with the B.S., I listened to him say, "I thought the games were about the world coming together in the spirit of comraderie and friendship," when I could no longer hold my tongue. "Oh, kumbayah this." A comment which was generally well-received except the new guy, who doesn't yet know what to expect of me, almost fell off his chair laughing.

He's slowly learning what to expect of me...

OF TIME AND ENERGY...

I just can't remain silent any longer, (you may have noted how unusual it was for me to do so much of it lately, as mentioned in the previous post), and have to lay out some obvious facts. You're allowed to go now if you wish.

First off, WHERE ON EARTH did these dunderheaded eco-liberal-lefties come up with this idiotic notion that tapping an oil well today won't produce any oil for 10 years? What is that - a throwback to the Hoover administration?!? Has technology not greatly advanced? Have you not even glanced at the operation of a modern oil rig? I mean, those guys are shoving shaft sections into the well at a rate which brings to mind all the attendant rabbit metaphors...

Oh, 'transportation and refining take time,' they say, as if they're CEOs of the very oil companies they wish to destroy. Yes, of course it does but have you not heard of tanker trucks, oil tankers and pipelines - ALL of which we already have in place? Check out a show called, Ice Road Truckers on A&E. These guys drive big rigs over roads made entirely of ice that only exist for about 2 months a year. In those two months they completely supply mines and miners with all the food, equipment and everything else they'll need for the rest of the year.

Yeah, transportation takes forever.<⁄sarcasm>

And refining? Well, we've got those, too. Not nearly enough of them, but we got 'em. BTW, if the enviro-lefties would allow the oil companies to build more, it would solve two problems: we'd have more refining capacity, (obviously), and the capital expense would cut into those "record profits" they're always whining about.

And I'm not even going to get started on the 'inflate your tires' idiocy. Again.

I'll just remind you all once again that I LOVE the Netflix! They send me the dreck I ask for, I carve out 90 minutes throughout my week, send it back and they send me another! What a great idea! Now - on to the latest dreck...

My latest was, "30 days of night." It's the tale of Barrow, Alaska which - for the purposes of the movie anyway - experiences no sunlight at all for 30 days every year, (thankfully, it doesn't happen to appear randomly). It is for this reason that they are set upon by a flock of ruthless and ravenous vampires. As opposed to all those friendly and dieting vampires, I suppose.

Anyway, like any good troupe of vampires they send an advance team to take care of some of the pesky details that have to be seen to while the sun is still in the sky. Stuff like collecting and destroying everyone's cell phones, killing a team of dogs and destroying a radio tower so as to further isolate the town. That being done - and half the town's population leaving voluntarily - the sun goes down and the vamps start attacking.

Now, the lead vampire seems to speak something akin to pig-Romanian but how would I know? I did note that his little speaches were subtitled but not in your usual manner; they were large, sparse and yellow. I guess that goes with his speaking "style" which was growling and slow - careful to pronounce every sylable - such as they were.

Now that I think about it, he may have been speaking Klingon. But again, how would I know?

After most of the town's small population have been sucked dry we learn that it's NOT the vampires' desire to create (or "turn") more vampires. This is a food run, not a recruitment tour. This leaves a small but heroic group of people who are faced with having to sneak from house to house against an enemy they can't kill and can smell their very blood. Ooooohhhhh -- tense.

At one point they devise a plan to create a weapon and to everyone's surprise, IT WORKS! One of the trashier vampires falls victim to it and has to be sacrificed. Then, to even further surprise, our hero doesn't turn it on the rest of the vamps standing there watching events but rather abandons it, never to return. Like ya' do.

What a putz...

Many battles ensue and one by one the good guys buy the farm until just a few remain. They hole up in what would be a rather effective defensive position, except that some don't make it. They're not killed, they just didn't make it with the rest of the group; missed the bus or something like that.

Suddenly, things spiral out of control and dangerous, risky action must be taken. BECAUSE IT MUST! DAGNABBIT!! Things are done and the lead vampire... well... I don't want to ruin the ending, because it's a love story with a twist. This generation's Romeo And Juliet! Honestly!

(Having tired of using exclamation points, your humble host returns to the point:)

Since I don't want to ruin the ending, I'm going to encode it in the following white space. If you want to read it, just highlight the area below:

OK, so our hero comes to the realization that the members of their group who had been bitten didn't change over right away, and devises the brilliant plan of injecting himself with blood from his deputy who was bitten and killed just minutes earlier. He grunts and groans before heading out to battle the LEAD VAMPIRE so he can cause enough distraction so his estranged wife and a small child can escape from under a wrecked SUV before the fire the vampires set to destroy the town spreads and burns them alive. His brother - safe in the hideout - is to radio her to tell to run once the distraction is going on. As the transformation spreads he gets stronger and starts to hold his own, but the lead vamp is just too strong - having had hundreds of years of experience, I found myself thinking. Unfortunately, his wife is dumbstruck and stands there watching their fight instead of taking off. Eventually she catches on and runs off, leaving him to do what he must. In a final, lucky shot he kills Vampie in a rather gruesome way and the rest of the vamps wander off. With dawn in the air, our hero and his wife sit atop a high hill to watch the sunrise, where his exposed skin promptly burns up. She holds his ashen head against her as she cries and the credits roll.

I really don't know why I went to that length: those of you who wanted to see it already have and the rest of you moved on to Ziggy.com at the mere mention of 'vampires.' Still, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, right? Next in my queue is a Korean horror flick called, "Nightmare." Stay tuned!

(yeah, right...)

Well, today's one for the books: my little girl is a first-grader. Starting this morning. Actually, it kind of started tonight, (for I'm writing this the evening before you read it, as ever), with our first ever "Back To School Night." Our first as parents, anyway...

BTSN was kind of like what I remember from my childhood. A bunch of sparkling little faces wandering around a building they think they know with expectations of BIG THINGS in their near feature: A New Year! New Class! New Teacher! New Pencils, (I REALLY love new pencils)! Great adventures are sure to follow!

Of course, BTSN is also complete with bored parents who know the real meaning of SSDD and that the school which will house their child for some 180 days will do everything it can to squash that child's expectations. And they will succeed, for this is what they do.

Which proves that I was in attendance, I suppose. Still, it's interesting to see "M's" excited reaction and try to imagine what's going on in that little melon of hers. Far too much time has passed for me to remember what I was thinking as I entered first grade, but there's clearly something happening there. She might be imagining giraffes handing out homework or space aliens visiting for recess. I have no idea.

What I do know is that Stone's First Rule of Life is at play here: "nothing is EVER as good or as bad as we expect it will be." Think about it.

One more thing that I wanted to mention; as we entered the school there was a huge throng of humanity to wade through, including table after table of pta folk, (over-grown teachers' pets), trying to find new and creative ways to suck more money out of my wallet and we were a bit lost. Finally, we spotted pages attached to a bulletin board which were marked with, "1st Grade," "2nd Grade" and so on. Exactly what we needed.

The caption on every page was the same: "find your child's student id." Yes. EXACTLY. That's just what the situation called for. I was being asked to find number 6874365 - NOT 8675364! - on a list so I could identify which teacher would be mentally abusing my daughter for the next several months. STUDENT ID?!? What gives?!?

OK, I understand that this was a public event, in the sense that you would be admitted to the building with simply the presence of a young child, AND I'm willing to concede the point that a disgruntled ex-spouse, (oh who are we kidding - husband, right?), might take this opportunity to further stalk his ex, but are we just a bit over the edge with this?

I'd rather see armed guards at every entrance than a list of numbers that looks like a mini-concentration camp, circa 1943. Heck - I'd volunteer to guard a door myself from time to time. I'm sure I could get the time off.

HEY! Where ya' been? I mean, I've been looking all over for you guys and you've just been nowhere to be seen. Honestly - if you want to ditch me, just do it and lets be done with it already; there's no point in drawing these things out. No need for these Mickey Mouse games, right?

Ah, but here we are together again, so who am I to complain? All is well and equally forgiven and if you're OK with meeting with me like we used to, why would I be twitterpated at the concept, you know?

At any rate, it's good to see you again and I'm hoping we can put all this ugliness behind us. After all, it's Monday and that's plenty ugly enough on its own, so why add to it?

I have this son... let's call him, ummmmm, the youngest, (unless that's too obvious), who is WAY too much like me for his own good; he's more stubborn than glacial-slide, more steady than a Ringo beat and won't go to sleep no matter how tired he is.

As a case-in-point, I just spent 5 minutes in their room watching the elder sleep and the youngest fidget about on his bed. His own bed, that is. NOT the bed of his older, sleeping brother. I would have stopped that, because I was there, after all. I think I just said that. [checking...] Yes, I did.

And yes, I would have stopped that. Had it been happening. But it wasn't, so I didn't have to. Just so we're clear.

(I guess I'm in a mood. Let's see where this goes...)

I got to meet the Sheriff this weekend, and it cost me about a hundred dollars.

Now, usually when you hear/read/imagine that sentence you've got in mind a pretty good idea of what happened and the scenario generally involves at least one deputy, a drawn gun, a pretty good chance of a taser being deployed, a club or two and a bail bondsman. Fortunately, this was not my experience...

We met over a chilled white and toasted brie, (I partook of neither and didn't see him engage), in the mountains of Evergreen. Lovely home, lovely area, lovely place. Wish I knew what it was like to live there. Bet they saw their fair share of elk and then some. Seemed like a nice place. Where was I? Oh, yeah...

Shook his hand and shared a story or two, I did. He laughed but then, what would you expect? His wife - while taking note of my youngest (there he is again!) - then said, "you moved into the area 7 months ago..!." (and that's my best attempt at a half-exclamation mark until I master Photoshop), and my heart missed a beat.

I always imagined the Sheriff would know my name. I took it for granted that this would come to pass. Inevitable, it was.

But this was something else. I was an adult. With children. And while saying that doesn't exclude me from speed traps I can still hope to converse with a law enforcement official on an adult level, right?

He's a big guy, but he seems spooked. Maybe I'm picking up my brother's instant judge of character, but that was my first instinct.

But I could be wrong. It's been known to happen before...

One day two blondes decided to take a trip to Disney Land. They were riding down the road when all of a sudden they came to a fork in the road. A sign there said "Disneyland, Left"

So they looked at each other, said, "dagnabbit," and went home.

Just sayin'...

So my truck (The Death Star) is parked in the middle of the driveway. Again. This can only mean one thing: The Wif's car (Ezmerelda), is NOT in the garage. Not OURS anyway. And it's certainly NO BLOODY concession to eva braun who dropped by last week in order to recite the litany of my sins against the Reich, (but couldn't be bothered to stick around long enough to even consider asking me to dispense the cyanide or load the pistol. Typical of these Prussian Dames, if you ask me), but indicative of a rather lengthy and expensive stay in the bunker.

So to speak...

So as The Wif drives my truck today, (and Bink rides in the seat from her car because she cannot work his seat from my truck), I'll sit at home and LONG to eat Sonic for breakfast, Sonic for lunch and try to find my way to Sonic at about 2 PM so I can order some tots to get me through until dinner. But I'll be damned, (to use Bink's word), if I'll ride the bus.

I could cook my own tots before having to suffer that...

In a very real sense I'm waiting for all the wrong things right now. I'll admit that I'm more restless than I've ever been - I'd love to travel right now, which is no doubt a feeling I inherited somewhere along the way - but which will go unrewarded for the time being, because I'm finally the one in charge.

Things are too busy now and without further forces to drive me to a point there won't really be one, but I'm starting to get it:

Our kids need to experience many of the same things we did at their ages. That's pretty much a given and was the norm as far as things once went in this great country of ours; we experienced it as children, so we forced our children to experience it as we became parents.

The rants may change but the people don't; the very definition of family in today's world, I suspect.

By the way, I hear that Disneyland is beautiful this time of year, but maybe that's just me...

Oh, krep: it's Monday again. Well, we've got to live with the hand we're dealt -- even if it includes a Moanday now and then, right?

The weekend? Well, thanks for asking! It was rather long for only having two days off and it read like a ripe peach; soft overall, (he said while counting his blessings), but with a few sticky spots and even a glimpse at the hard, unyielding pit beneath. So you know, life as usual...

It started with a sick kid, but don't they all? That being enough to alter my Sphere Of Influence, I found myself doing email from home as a child slept on the couch. The one that can still be seen/found that is; NOT the two that are beyond approach by any but the most hardened and cynical of adventurers, (such as your humble narrator).

Eventually Saturday arrived and after "toss-o los cookie-amos in el bag-o de heave-o" at the sight of the latest obama ad, I experienced a new kind of thrill: shopping for harvest decorations in the heat of August with two young monsters while we still don't even have a single crop in the ground.

I believe this is called "suburbia," but we're about to get to that...

After my Thursday run-in and having explained it to The Wif, we had a rather interesting exchange -- which followed the "official citation" arriving in the mail here on Saturday. Oh, wait. we're not quite there...

Saturday morning saw much of the same of what we were already used to: the boys getting up before we're ready for them to do so, eating each others' snacks and fighting over whatever they see as the best of it and then eventually trying to batter the door into toothpicks. It's standard fare so it held no surprise.

We went downstairs to a breakfast of Daddy french toast and bacon and then Mommy and Bink left for parts north. I made the best of my time by going first to Hobby Lobby, ($23 on Fall and Christmas decorations), and then to the hardware store. I bought 6 feet of 1/2 inch hose and a tap that would allow me to finish attaching the ice maker. And while the pliers were on the loose, I decided to give the swamp cooler its own, dedicated water line as well.

Both projects were accomplished in short order. So I got that going for me.

What I really wanted to do was get some idea of where our various Halloween decorations are at the moment. It's not that I expect we'll have the "perfect" Halloween this year, but I'm getting very close in theory. Here's my idea; We'll have a "kids' path" through the yard or on the furthermost frindges of the driveway that leads to a very "softly" decorated" way to the front door and the related candy therein.

On the other hand, the garage might be kept open and a very, very harrowing path - one FAR too scary for my own kids - could be created. Perhaps there would be a greater reward on the other side of that web-infested door for those brave enough to make it through.

Then again, maybe they'd just get Mike & Ikes. It's anyone's guess.

But Halloween is just the beginning; what do we top that with? There could be brown boa giveaways and urban turkey shoots in honor of Thanksgiving as well as, "Shoot the Christmas Robin out of the sky" contests for the following month. But I'm just brainstorming at this point...

(Confused? Can't say as I blame you. Got a grasp on my weekend yet?)

(NOTE: I'm out of my mind currently. Standards of good taste may have been abandoned in this effort. You've been warned.)

I'm writing this much, much earlier than I usually do, and with (what I consider to be) good reason: I'm more ticked than a Maine forest...

I was casually walking to the mailbox - feeling just swell about having finished my latest Netflix movie by Thursday, which means that I should get my next flick on Saturday - when I was greeted by a white truck parked where I used to park on the street.

Beyond my knowledge, a self-described "code enforcement officer" had decided to visit my home to point out all of my civic errors, as concerns our domestic facade.

The home, that is, not our family life. The latter would be handled by a completely different entity, and I already know most of their names, so that's of little threat.

No, she was here to tell me that I was in violation - and the recipient of a complaint - because there was a collection of furniture on my porch. Never mind that it was out to be collected by ARC and would therefore benefit the less fortunate among us. That doesn't matter; this pencil-pusher had a "job" to do and was intent on seeing it through.

Once she accosted me she also went on to inform me that not only was our trailer parked illegally, but my truck was as well. This was due to the fact that the trailer - and about 1/4 of my truck - was resting on a small plot of "unimproved" land.

I wanted to tell that parking my truck as it was, IS an improvement, but she stopped me cold: "you also have weeds."

At that point, it was all I could do not to uproot a large clump and force them down her gob, but I still had a DVD to put in the mail, so I refrained...

Against my better judgment I tried to plead my case to this worthless "patrol" officer: I told her that I had a car that was invaded while it was parked on the street and several neighbors also had their vehicles invaded on the same night. "Why" I asked, "should I be forced to put my truck in danger when your precious city entity can't guarantee it's safety?" instead of parking close to MY BLOODY HOME?!?!?

I HATE this place. I HATE these morons. I want out and I want out now and I have more than enough experience behind me to prove my case at this point.

They should all die in fire...