TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

This krep was posted:

NOVEMBER 2008
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Same guy, different krep...
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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.

(Sorry - hate to sound rude at this time of year, or ANY time of year for that matter - just trying to recognize a truth.)

One of the GREAT things about this time of year is that the additional darkness is designed to give the land - and our bodies - the extra rest we both require. One of the WORST things about this time of year is if we're unable to take advantage of that time of rest. Like me...

Now, before we get too deep into the Woe Is Me crappola, let me start by saying that I am my Mother's son: I KNOW I've been blessed. I know it, but I don't always remember it, (the human condition, alas), so I sometimes gripe and complain about a certain lot I've gotten in life before I think it through (again, alas). But the instant I see someone in a wheelchair or in the uniform of our country, (which happens quite frequently, as those of you in the know will know), I'm immediately reminded of how lucky I am to be walking around all fat and happy while others are suffering in ways I can't even imagine.

So when I say that my kids are sometimes a pain-in-the-butt, I mean it. And when I complain about The Wif being difficult/impossible, I mean it. And when I complain about the office, I mean it. And when I complain about family, well, many of them read this krep so I'm of course joking.

But there always comes a moment where I'm reminded that things could be worse; not just a little worse, but a lot worse. At those times I usually take a step back, relax and remember to count my blessings. It's a silly cliche to some but I take it to heart as often as I'm reminded to. And no time seems more appropriate than this week to do so...

I'm grateful for my family. As strange and "dysfunctional" and outside-of-the-bell-curve they seem to be, they're mine. And I love them.

I'm grateful for my kids. They filled a hole in my life and heart that I didn't even know I had. Sure they're strange at times and are sometimes hard of listening; They're MINE! DUH! They're the perfect fit into my life, my home and my family. I can't imagine life without them, (actually - sometimes I do but I usually wake up in a cold sweat on those occasions), and I'm grateful for God's patience in giving them to me. But we'll get to that.

I'm especially grateful for The Wif and her seemingly-endless well of patience where I'm concerned. Just about the time I'm convinced that she's going to be ticked off with something I've done, she just shrugs and says, "I thought I told you...". I'm certain that every husband's perfect spouse isn't a grateful nymphomaniac but a contented shrug.

The latter will beat the former each and every time. Trust me.

And I'm thankful for my Faith. It's led me to people and experiences that I would never have known had I continued to simply eat sausage sandwiches and watch football on Sunday morning. But beyond that, it's taught me that I'm more than a mere collection of proteins and time; I am the son of The Creator and I have a purpose on this earth. I was designed for more than to simply re-supply the soil with nutrients after 80 years of walking on it.

And during this Thanksgiving week, I think that's a pretty darned good list.

Oh - and Thank You. I appreciate your kind words.

So Van Helsing is the sexiest man alive. I only know this because People Magazine called me to tell me I came in second. AGAIN. You know, a guy can only take so much of this before he just says, "leave me out of the contest next year."

OK. Just two more times and I'll tell them to get lost. I owe it to my public, after all...

Sorry 'bout yesterday and all. The short explanation is in this title but will be more fully explained - to much wailing and moaning as the week goes on. Let's just say that the Governor called and I've been breathing ever-easier ever-since.

Of course, that's the short version because I had mentally drafted a post but sometimes when you sit down at the keyboard to say what you want to say, you just can't find a way to say it. For example, when you want to wish your best friend the very happiest of birthdays you might construct some sort of manly yet affectionate - but MANLY, always MANLY - paragraph or two in his honor.

In a MANLY fashion, of course...

So I'll refrain in my going-on here, if only because I'm a day late already. Happy birthday, Dood: see you sometime today.

As with most Conservatives, (Oh there he goes again! Where's my Ziggy bookmark?), I've been trying to find the silver lining and I think I've succeeded: this guy bends more than Linda lovelace at the height of her career.

He felt pressure about his Pastor and immediately rose to criticize him and then changed churches. He's been taking flak about his socialist leanings and then started to move away from them. The good news seems to be that he moves with the wind, so let's hope the right side can make enough wind!

Wait. That didn't... never mind...

Actually, the good news seems to be that he duped the left - as any politician who hopes to be elected MUST do - and he will govern from the top of a weathervane. Fine. I would prefer a man of principles and doctrine in the office, but we're stuck with this guy for at least four years. Again, Fine.

We'll survive because we're bigger than his ego, (difficult as that is to believe), and we've actually become larger than those who came before us. Not that I'm greater than George Washington, Alexander Hamilton or the other Founding Fathers, because I'm certainly not. But together we are.

And that's exactly what they envisioned...

Q. I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this true?

A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it... don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?

A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.

Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?

A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine, that means they take the water out of the fruity bit so you get even more of the goodness that way. Beer is also made out of grain. Bottoms up!

Or perhaps there's another answer. Wiser minds than I will figure that out! It's a small world, after all..

So I managed to put eyes on the youngest of my ex-daughters today. I say "ex-" only because that was the position I was forced into all those years ago and certainly NOT how I've felt through lo' these many years. Just so we're clear.

She's working retail at one of those store-collections they call a "mall" and not only had I not physically seen her for about a decade and a half, but it was a gentle reminder that I hadn't visited a mall in a while. And a not-so-gentle reminder as to why that is, but that's another story.

Guess what? A kid grows up over the course of a decade. I know you're shocked by that, but it's true all the same; the last time I held her in my arms she was a quivering mass of barely 5 years. Today? She's an adult trying to make her way in the world and seemingly doing a fine job of it for the most part. Better than most if you're a cynic like I am.

I had decided to invite her to sup with us at Thanksgiving and finally concluded that was something best done in person. Besides, I wanted to reach out and say "HI" in a way that was at least slightly more meaningful than an email or a Myspace contact, (although I tried that first).

It was good to see her even if it was an abbreviated visit. After all, I don't want her to think that I'm HERE TO STEP IN AND SAVE THE DAY or - worse yet - seeking her out in order to answer the vast mystery of what all happened to her and her sister since 1994, so I kept it brief and cordial. I hope.

Speaking of her sister - and I only mention this because I know many of you out there know my history and may be curious - it appears they are currently "on the outs." Which is a terribly stupid expression if you take a second to think about it, so maybe it's best that you don't. At any rate, it seems I'll only have the slightest chance to see one of them this Thanksgiving. And like I said, it's pretty slight; she's already planning to spend the day with her boyfriends' family but may stop by later.

I honestly hope she can find the time to do so. I'd love to catch up - but not in the sense of diving into her personal business or asking the kind of questions that "60 Minutes" used to back when they were still in the journalism business. I'll have to hold my tongue around the boyfriend and not ask, "when will you make an honest woman of her?", but just because that seems to be my mood all of a sudden.

Updates next week -- a few days after we celebrate Dood's birth...

I took a survey today. That shouldn't surprise longtime readers since I've long stated that I take every survey offered me in the hopes that the world will take the results to heart and eventually look more like me and less like the people who hang up or click away from surveys. It's my thing that I do.

Anyway, the survey was on marriage and marital roles and the like and I understand the data will be used in Diane Medved's, (wife of Michael) (where I found the survey) new book. Check it out if you're, A) Married, and B) able to access the site. Even though the survey seems closed at the moment it might just be an error on the server.

LORD knows those idiots in charge of servers screw things up often enough...

Movie(s) Reviewed...

I'm currently watching Van Helsing and I'm only forced to re-inforce my previous conclusion: it's a GREAT flick! Action, notorious monsters, grand sets, great story and KATE! What's NOT to love?

I'm not exactly a fanboi when it comes to Van so I'm not completely current on the Canon, but I will say they scored a touchdown, extra point and a safety when they made the movie: humor, horror-lite and did I mention KATE? Yeah, she's there.

Which brings us to headspace. The very fact that I didn't capitalize the title should tell you something...

I caught this movie over a couple of nights using Netflix's 'Instant Queue' feature and let me just say this:

Well, let's back up just a sec. I've done movie reviews here for movies that I knew NOBODY out there would ever see. I'm fine with that. I've done reviews for movies that stunk so badly that you should have noticed the stench coming out your computer speakers. Whatever. I've reviewed craptacular movies and knew there was never a point to me doing so. 'K. I can forgive all that.

But this one? Uggh. Worst piece of crap since The Bink announced he had "orange poop" -- AND WAS RIGHT! It pains me to think that I wasted 89 minutes watching this thing. (Which should be a lesson to me, I suppose: if you think it bites after 20 minutes, it's not likely to get much better.)

The "story" - as best I could tell - was that some guy goes to a park and stumbles into a chess game. He loses in about 19 seconds but the victor refuses payment. The loser suddenly, exponentially, increases his knowledge about everything except the fact that the chess king is his long-lost brother, (we learn that later but suspect it immediately).

We learn in flashbacks that his father shot his mother and then gave up the brothers to a local orphanage. The "big mystery" is that he stipulates that they need to be kept apart and are presumably done so until that chance meeting in the park.

Tired? Ready to quit? I was too but wasn't quite that smart.

The chess loser - now a victor and keeper of all knowledge - starts to have people die around him and see all his contacts as demons. He gets referred to a Russian scientist (Rooskies - is there anything they don't know?), who warps him further. He runs to his friends' house where he threatens to kill them with a knife, (and a flashlight if necessary) before the cops arrive and shoot him.

We end (mercifully) with him being admitted to a crazy ward and locked in a padded room. His shrink asks to see him and we learn that she's one of the demons, too.

Krep. Pure and total krep and nothing else. Don't bother. Heck, don't even be tempted...

The other day - SUNDAY, to be exact - I awoke from a very deep sleep with the memory of a rather vibrant dream: I had decided to change clothes in front of an old family friend who had a rather large crush on me. It was a casual decision devoid of drama and simply my way of "tweaking" her, because I was sure (and am sure) that she's moved on by now. Still, it was a weird dream.

As most of mine are. I've dreamt in 1080 before anyone knew what that meant. That's why I was a bedwetter as a child, (and still fear it as an adult): I always saw myself standing in front of the John to take care of business while I took care of business still in my bed. I have a son that I fear may suffer the same condition but we'll get to that in due time.

Further, if you bother to read my other dreck you'll see that there's a new concern in my life: namely, boys calling to talk to my daughter. My plan was to answer the call, allow "M" to talk to the boy in question, (mostly because she talks about him in rather dismissive terms. He's probably her future husband), and then comically ask the boys' mother what sort of desires he had on my daughter.

The problem is that I'd shared this plan with The Wif. Therein lies the trouble.

Always...

I told "M" that I would allow her to call Andrew, (if your intent is to molest my little girl you will find no anonymity here), and that I wanted to talk to his mother or father afterwards. This got me a good grilling from The Wif:

"What are you planning to say to the parents?" she asked. "Well, given the fact that "M" told us he spends most of recess hugging her, I'd like to ask them to talk to him about it" I said. This went un-commented, which I've long learned is NOT good news.

Later that (this) night, as I was reaching for my phone I was reminded, *COUGH*, that I probably shouldn't "dress-down" Andrews' parents because "this might be the first time" he hugged my daughter. My mind raced.

Do any of us remember our "first time?" Was that meaningful in any way and did it set a certain tone in us for future encounters? I will grant that those of you out there who know my history have already spit your coffee across your monitors at reading this, but I'm serious: First TIME?

Yeah: Crap starts somewhere.

I finally came up with what I thought was the perfect question and the perfect solution. Question: "When then SHOULD I start standing up for my daugher?"

Solution? I had her make the call. It went unanswered.

Wouldn't you know it?

Well it's about time. It's PAST time, frankly; last week was a total bear which is ironic, because in this place I'd only see a bear if I put Jungle Book into the DVD player. Good thing I haven't done so lately...

I still HATE!! it here, but I'm slowly adapting to it. Which means that when I see an envelope from the city I'm just starting to believe that maybe I've missed a payment to the water entity instead of about to be fined $100 dollars for having an inflatable, 6 foot turkey attached to our roof.

That sort of thing...

So I think I've said Goodbye to my earthly Father -- without ever having actually said it -- which completely sucks. Completely. (Clutches are optional at this point, in case you haven't already figured that out.)

My Dad is off on a folly of errand in order to try and find his fortune. I find the whole thing interesting because we've been here - as a family - before: he was bound and determined to earn big bucks by joining Buyers's Club. Or by dedicating himself to selling Commodore 64s. or Hoover Vacs. Or Amway. Or Avon, (Yes, he was an Avon Girl...).

But I want him back. Today, tomorrow but no later: he loves computers but can't be bothered with the Internet, which I find strange. Still, I hope he finds this and realizes that people love him and want him home. It's not likely to be MY kids that change his course, but if he stops and thinks about it, I'm sure he'll imagine a little blonde.

Which is entirely expected. just ask 'em...

Just come home, 'K?

We'd all agree, just so long as we could visit you

Bill Clinton is visiting a school. In one class, he asks the students if anyone can give him an example of a "tragedy." One little boy stands up and offers that, "If my best friend who lives next door is playing in the street when a car came by and killed him, that would be a tragedy."

"No," Clinton says, "That would be an ACCIDENT."

A girl raises her hand. "If a school bus carrying fifty children drove off a cliff, killing everyone inside...that would be a tragedy."

"I'm afraid not," explains Clinton. "That is what we would call a GREAT LOSS."

The room is silent; none of the other children dare volunteer.

"What?" asks Clinton, "Isn't there anyone here who can give me an example of a tragedy?"

Finally a boy in the back raises his hand. In a timid voice, he says: "If an airplane carrying Bill and Hillary Clinton was blown up by a bomb, THAT would be a tragedy."

"Wonderful!" Clinton beams. "Marvelous! And can you tell me WHY that would be a tragedy?"

"Well," says the boy, "because it wouldn't be an accident, and it certainly would be no great loss!"

Now that they seem to have been forced from the national scene, there seems little harm in putting this out there...

Have a great weekend!

Since one or two of you have asked, (guess which?), I'll just say that I was shopping for a jewelry armwaoi armoirr cabinet for The Wif for her birthday. Having struck out at Wally World - which I found strange since that's where I bought the last one - I decided to try another location. On my way there, I noticed a "Big Lots!" sign and decided they might be worth checking out. After all, they have a fairly frequently-revolving 'catalog' and decent prices, so why not?

I made the turn into the lot and turned again to get closer to the store when I noticed something: a dirt-blue - or rather a dirty blue - SUV that looked rather familiar. I checked the plate, confirmed it as The Wif's and kept on moving. After all, with the kid seats in the back of my cab I'd have to put the cabinet into the bed of my truck and it would be just my luck that the instant I lifted it out of the cart to do so she'd pull up alongside: "I saw your truck across the parking lot and, OH!"

That sort of thing. Happens to me all the time...

So I went home knowing that I'd be able to hit another Big Lots! during my lunchtime on Wednesday to search for a cabinet. Of course, if they didn't have one, (likely), I'd have to wing it. Again. But that's where I really shine, if I do say so myself.

Cue Wednesday. I woke to find The Wif putting herself together, which is our normal routine when "M" has school. I ask her if she's still planning on being a Lady Of Leisure on her birthday - being as the kids were at school/day care all day - or if she'd rather go swimming and she reminded me that her goggles broke. BUT - she told me - she checked Amazon and they didn't sell goggles. Or so I heard, which was COMPLETELY wrong, (natch): not only did they sell the bloody goggles but she started to say that when I ordered my new pillow I should order her up some.

Well, ordering goggles online is a bit silly, even if I am the chief advocate of ordering online. And when Wednesday went COMPLETELY screwy I took advantage of the situation and spent 5 minutes in a sporting goods store buying her TWO new sets of swimming goggles.

Happy Birthday.

I filled my tank on Tuesday, so to speak. Since the "low fuel" light had been on for nearly two full days and my trip odometer was reading well into the 300's, (THIS! IS! SPARTA - and a need for gas!), I was well overdue.

My tank holds 30 gallons but the light comes on when 24 of them have left the building. My past experience tells me that I still have about 60 miles remaining in the tank and I was much more careful to fill up before I got to that point. Now that gas prices have dropped so much, (THEY'RE UN-SCREWING US!), and we're much closer to most of everything in our lives I don't have to worry about it so much. So I don't.

But there comes a time - and so forth. So I bellied up to the bar and took my chances:

I spent $52 to fill my tank to nearly overflowing, (I don't buy the environmentalist CRAP about actually filling up my tank; more attempts to restrict energy use if you ask me), and then I looked at the receipt in a different light.

Instead of doing the usual math, I calculated that I got 6 miles to the dollar on my penultimate tour; 312 miles divided by 52 and there you have it: 6 miles per dollar.

Since this is not the usual calculation and the human condition is one that is normally adverse to change - unless it's spoken about in strange, vague and mysterious ways, apparently - I don't expect it to catch on right away. But you should try it all the same. I'll be happy to report any results you care to share with me, AND it'll probably be far more educational than that old math you used to do.

Please feel free to let me know what you find and if you want me to share it here.

I should let you in on a secret that nobody out there will care about in the least: I've written HTML code to help craft this page in an effort to ease my own effort every night. Because if I can write, "1, 2, 13" instead of, "Monday, February 14^th" I might spend a few less seconds at the keyboard. But by 11:45, those seconds actually matter...

So when I'm approaching "N, 11, 11" I suddenly realize that I'm in desperate need of something. Namely, a birthday present that'll mean something more than a card grabbed while racing through the store and a piece of dime-store jewelry while I'm trying to make my way home in time for the celebration I KINDA planned...

Still, having a Wif who almost always says, "Don't Bother" in this circumstance is just what the Doctor ordered: Until you realize that she bought you something for your birthday. And it doesn't matter what, because the simple act of remembering that she went out of her way -- probably with the boys in tow -- is enough to remind a husband that he has to do SOMETHING in order to make things right. So here I go...

My Wif is the ultimate manifestation of what I imagined as Love Incarnate. She MUST be, because she's the ONLY female I ever allowed close to me without cheating on. Good For Me! her a general sense of Judeo-Christian values! Us, I suppose.

She is the love of my life, but for more than she simply puts up with some of my more unreasonable (NON-other-female-related) plans and simply allows me the opportunity to kill myself suddenly rather than go about it in a slow and tortuous fashion: she actually allows me "free range" once the children are secured and we've agreed to ignore the phones and the doorbell, so I fail to see where I could complain.

In fact, she's already adapted to my habit of having Laura or Dr. Laura coming through the computer speakers while Dennis or Dennis is coming from the confused signal my bedside radio receives as the TV gets the Alfred Hitchcock Hour. It might be easy to write-off given the fact that she could sleep through the Wizard of Oz's hurricane, but she has to go through it from time-to-time, which makes it notable.

Oh - and I love her with all my heart. I'll write that in her birthday card - provided I can find it OR my desired gift for her. Until then, I'll just try to show it as I always have...

I would like to just take a second to express my heartfelt gratitude to our nation's veterans. I know that it's all the rage in certain circles to mock or dismiss the members of our Armed Services, but not here. Not in the least...

Your service to this country is one of the most noble callings I can imagine. You leave family and friends, home and hearth in order to secure freedom's blessings to those - often ungrateful - who stay behind fat and happy. And I for one thank you for it. I know that quite often your service takes you to some rather unpleasant areas of the world, and that's even before we address the issue of being surrounded by people who want to kill you.

So on this Veterans Day I'll do the only thing I can - even though it sounds like a hollow gesture:

Thank you.

After recently surviving three screechy little girls, we somehow decided to attempt an effort at hosting an adult party -- and BELIEVE ME -- it was nowhere near as interesting as that sounds...

Friends from far and wide - but mostly near and close - gathered here to be tricked into buying overpriced jewelry while I sliced cheese. I wanted to say "cut" but decorum and the fact that my boys will eventually have all those jokes covered for me means that I have already passed the torch. Good for them, (lots of laughs, that is), and good for me, because I will now be able to "let things pass" in the truest of senses and enjoy their work second-hand.

Or second-nose. It's up to you now...

We hosted a hen party tonight and it was instructional in ways you wouldn't normally expect it to be, except for around here: rooms had to be painted, kids' pictures had to be framed and hung and lamps had to be bought. Thank Heaven I had only to deal with the second of that list.

(On an unrelated note - and this has NOTHING to do with the Glade Candle Chick - I had only to hang the childrens' art work and little more else before Dood was expected. I completed the task only to find that more was expected of me, but then what did I expect? I had to buy beer, none of which was consumed, and hang a drape here and there as well as put a boy on the potty from time to time. Life as usual in spite of an unusual circumstance.)

So I spent much of the day with Dood and my future Mother-In-Law. That's always a promise of good times to follow. Of course, before they arrived...

I had to cut the cheese and I did so with The Wif's full blessing, (Go Team!), as well as slice a beef log, gather crackers and collect corn chips. It was made clear to me that I was also expected to sweep, ("seep") and mop the floor before everyone would arrive, so I did.

And then things got interesting. I had to stop yelling at those people who wandered onto my lawn and welcome them into my home - for they had been invited. And there's nothing quite like sharing an afternoon with your best friend of 30-some-odd years.

(I expect to be corrected. After all, he's an auditor now...)

Well, I may have succeeded in a minor task - that of ridding Trevor Baskin from my ears and brain -- but have probably failed in the much larger sense. Meaning that I have mocked the idea of Trevor Baskin to the point where I may no longer have to hear of him.

Good for me.

But I have also probably managed to simply drive that particular subject from the list of those things my daughter will share with me. Bad for me.

And for her. I seem to have shutdown a major stream of communication where I swore I never would. I have a TON of work on my hands...

And for those of you out there with internal plumbing, I'd love to hear from you how I might correct this. Don't bother writing to tell me that I'm a complete numbskull because I already know that. I messed up and I know it; the question now is how I might limit the damage. I WANT my girl to be able to talk to me about anything, even Trevor Baskin should I ever be able to say his name without the shimmy I hear from her when she says his name, (I would write his name in a quakering font if such a thing was possible).

So where do I turn? Ladies?!?

J.O.T.W...(in honor of a rare event this week)

A guy took his blonde girlfriend to her first football game. They had great seats right behind their team’s bench. After the game, he asked her how she liked the experience.

“Oh, I really liked it,” she replied, “especially the tight pants and all the big muscles, but I just couldn’t understand why they were killing each other over 25 cents.”

Dumbfounded, her date asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, they flipped a coin, one team got it and then for the rest of the game, all they kept screaming was: ‘Get the quarterback! Get the quarterback!’ I’m like…Helloooooo? It’s only 25 cents!!!!

Thank Heaven I didn't marry one of those...

Two words that are currently haunting my life: Trevor Baskin. Trevor Freakin' Baskin, but that's the joe biden version...

(How sad is it that most of you won't get that. And most of you who DON'T get that are the ones who voted him into office.)

(Don't worry - the sour grapes are about to be put on pause until February. Just wait it out.)

I can live with the fact that the man who forged me into a Conservative goes wobbly every few years and just votes based on whatever feels good at the time. OK - so he's not as tuned in as I am to these things and that's fine. I mean, some of us have a life and all, right?

My current problem is that my daughter was recently swayed away from the family line because 'the little o will "talk" with people rather than try to kill them.' When she told me this, I asked her where she heard such idiotic nonsense and her answer was Trevor Baskin.

Yeah, THAT Trevor Baskin...

Dismayed, I tried to prove a point by telling her that should someone break into the house and try to kill HER, I would be sure to "talk" to them. Mind you - I told her - should they want to kill me or Mommy or her brothers I would be sure to shoot them in the head as they came through the door; but if they wanted to kill her, I'd "talk" to them.

I even went so far as to tell her that she should tell Trevor Baskin the same: we're open to negotiation and diplomacy here -- but only to a certain extent. I'm not sure she actually told him that, but I think she finally got the message. At least I hope she did.

Just for the record, I should note that I'm not against her voting for the little o. After all, the votes of a 7-year-old only count in Chicago. My biggest problem is that she decided to play the role of the Stupid Girl and took the little twerp's word as Gospel in her decision.

Can you imagine how many lives have been ruined from women taking that approach? The mind shudders...

On another note, I will reference my other blog in order to expand upon it. If you don't enjoy spoilers, read that first.

Ready? OK - after I saved my son from choking, (again), I asked him not to choke again. It's more than a bit of a pipe dream and after everyone was calm and happy and breathing we all agreed to new terms.

I held my son in my arms - only recently able to breathe again - and asked him not to choke again. He agreed but we all know what that's worth. With the jawbreaker evicted I asked him to only choose chocolate in the future. He said he'd choose candy corn.

Always the comedian, but the point wasn't missed. In fact, Mommy laughed until she coughed herself stupid. And I'll be sure to buy more candy corn next year...

So it's done and we have only to wait for the adjusted withholding tables to make it real, (good thing I don't owe anything on credit cards or car payments like so many Americans do!). So be it. Here's my answer to it all...

Read. Click. Obey. Feel better about yourself all over again.

...

(Except it doesn't seem to be working at the moment. Change indeed.)

Well, this is it. THE day. The big enchilada. The great plebiscite. It's "ballot, over the bullet" time. We're to the point where we exercise a great, peaceful exchange of political power for the winner and the loser will be taunted and booed until my throat is sore, (to quote a notable American figure).

The bad news is, it's already over. That's right - it's all been predetermined even before the polls open; the Washington Redskins lost tonight. If you don't understand the importance of THAT then you shouldn't be voting in the first place...

It seems that when the Redskins win their game just prior to the election, the party in power stays in power. But the 'skins lost, so the little o didn't waste all that time he's spent measuring the oval office for new drapes. Actually, he didn't do it himself; he had chris matthews do it for him between his massive leg tingles. keith olberman is picking the color. No really! I read it on a blog somewhere.

Oh the questions remain and are numerous in nature, so let's hit the big ones, eh?

How can it NOT be obvious to even the most politically-unaware that the LSM is completely, totally, over-the-top in the bag for the little o? John McCain or Sarah do interviews with these bozos and they get questions like, "given the current exchange rate, the rising price of oil and the decline in Argentinian exports, what's your plan to increase GDP without negatively impacting standing inventories?" while the little o gets to watch katie, "I left my brain - oh wait - I didn't have one," curic flush with excitement and giggle as she asks, "tell me why you don't like ice cream?" (Presumably she's planning the menu for the victory party and wants to be ready should he stop by.)

Further, why would it be the case that within 24 hours we knew all about Sarah's estranged brother-in-law, and shortly following a plumber who dared question The One agents were using gubermint resources to dig up dirt on him, but the Professional Airhead and the Professional Hairdo have yet to mention the name of the TERRORIST to whom obama has tied his political star? Why is the los angeles times protecting the little o by withholding a tape of a party where he allegedly toasted a PLO TERRORIST?!?

Can we yet proclaim 2008 as the year journalism officially died? I thought so.

What amazes me the most is the fact that the man-boy's (and I'd call myself that if I were running for President, BTW), own words go unheeded. Here's a guy who says that he's going to bankrupt anyone who builds a coal-fired plant, that his plan will necessarily cause electricity prices to skyrocket, that he wants to spread the wealth around and he's going to abandon BOTH of our allies in the Mideast. And he STILL seems destined to win. Mind you, HE SAID all those things: there is tape out there with those words in his own voice, but it doesn't seem to matter. The plastic-fantastic bromides of "Hope" and "Change" are apparently enough to blur the vision of enough people that he's going to win.

And why is it that a guy who plays the promise of "Hope" card is so busy playing on the absolute CYNICISM of the American people? After all, the ideas of "Hope" and "Change" only find an audience if that audience believes themselves to be utterly devoid of both! His "uplifting message" is that America sucks, then, now and forever -- unless we elect him. Then both you AND his wife can finally be proud of America.

Never mind that we're already the beacon of hope the rest of the world looks to. Never mind that 30 Cubans will pile into a styrofoam cup in the hopes of landing on our shores, that 40 Mexicans will gladly be locked into a big rig or scores of Chinese will willingly take the risk of being crushed to death in a storage container in order to get here. No, America is "broken" and ONLY a 47 year old of absolutely NO achievement can "fix" us.

Eh - may you get what you wish for, as the old curse goes. It's just too bad that you're taking so many of the rest of us down with your little suicidal self-involved gesture. There WILL be change, that's for sure and some of it will start right here on Wednesday morning. I'd say to "look for it" but it'll be nice and obvious.

However, (and there's usually a 'however' around here), there is cause for hope from my side: it seems the polls are critically flawed. It's a bit inside-baseball-ish but it's worth looking at...

One of a pollsters' jobs is to take guesses; how many registered voters will show up, which demographic is most likely to vote, (usually geezers), how much of an effect will things like race, gender or religion have on people's decisions and so forth. To do this they study things like past results and current demographics and then apply their guesses before making a bunch of phone calls.

One of the demographics they look at is the number of registered voters. Makes sense, right? I mean, if you want to speculate as to how a person is likely to vote, looking at their party affiliation is a pretty good place to start.

The problem is that these things are constantly in flux. One year there are 47% democrats and 44% Republicans while the next election cycle sees 46% Republicans and 43% democrats. The difficulty is trying to measure these facts against things like "turnout models" and "likeliness" to vote. And it's made much worse if you don't get the facts straight.

Guess what? The pollsters are building their polls based on a model of 6%+ of registered democrats. The problem is that current voter rolls show only about a 3% advantage to democrats nationally. Did someone say "OOPS!"?

I'm finally convinced that it probably won't matter and the pollsters will have fulfilled their obligation to their unholy alliance with the mass media outlets, but it's still kind of an interesting fact to know. And maybe keep in mind for next time, but I doubt that, too.

In response, I'll be out buying ammunition today. Couldn't hurt -- at least not me -- right? If I had the cash in hand I'd buy about 4 more guns as well, but I guess I'll just have to make do with the seven I already have. (Maybe a new holster, tho'.) And it'll give me the perfect excuse to clean off the so-called 'workbench' in the garage so I can get back to forging my own 9MM's. Admittedly I'm a bit out of practice, but it comes right back. Good thing I have plenty of lead on hand...

On a completely unrelated note, I would TOTALLY do that chick from the Glade candle commercials.

Totally...

Well here we are again; smack dab at the start of "MST" or "EST" or whatever "ST" you find yourself in. Which is a long, stupid way of saying that daylight "savings" time has come to a rather abrupt end.

And that has always been my argument against it. Not that I necessarily mind the extra hour of light in the evening - especially now that I have kids. And certainly not that I mind driving to work in the dark; it's a welcome change to be able to slowly ease into the morning rather than have it slap me across the maw at its first opportunity. It's just that the change itself comes on so suddenly -- on each end -- that it disrupts the normal circadian rhythms.

And mine are anything BUT normal to start with...

The first day or two are always the most interesting: it's always as if you've forgotten how dark it can get so now it's happening even earlier. The first bit of good news is that we have a Sunday in which to try it on for size before "going live." The second bit of good news is that we're human and by definition we adapt to almost anything pretty quickly. "What's that? You're adding 12 channels to the satellite programming but I'll have to eat only a thin gruel of bread-paste for the rest of my life? I'll still get the 12 channels, right? OK - I'm cool."

It'll be dark when I leave the office Monday afternoon and I'll drive home with the lights on. And I'll spend most of the day listening to people gripe about it, but not me; I'm more than glad it's finally here and only wish we could have a smoother transition...

I spent the weekend at Sam's Club, well, and on the roof, (more about that later), and some of it Halloween-ing And perhaps... Sheesh! No wonder I'm so bloody tired!

I took The Knuckleheads with me to get my allergy shots on Friday and then we stopped by Sam's on the off-chance they might have some ghoul-themed inflatables on sale. They didn't. But they did have plenty of samples and we were sure to help ourselves to as many as we could.

Years ago it would have made me ashamed to take even one, but there's something about pushing a cart with screaming/singing boys while wearing a shirt stained with their snot, (if you're lucky!), that lowers your standards to the point where taking a free sample pales in comparison to, say, having them drop their pants in the middle of the aisle and announce, "Daddy! I farted!"

You people with sons know what I'm talking about, right?

(If not, you will soon enough. Drop me a line. And nothing else.)

In my effort to wear a happy face while we have to suffer through the interminable HELL that is my life in Arvada, I deployed the purple spider just 2 weeks ago. The good news is that Eva Braun either didn't notice or helped herself to the plate of sacrificial brownies that I left out, because the spider was attached to the roof of our garage and I didn't receive even a single warning.

Of course, this meant that I had to get up there to drill it into that roof -- and again in order to bring it down. I went up alone so it would "appear" as a surprise to the kids, but I didn't retrieve it alone because I brought "M" up on the roof with me.

She listened and I'm thinking that the height was scary enough to put the fear into her and things went well. So well in fact that I decided to climb to the upper roof so I could clean out the gutters. Our house no longer has "eyebrows."

And then on Sunday, the turkey had to go up. So, it went in almost the same spot as the spider found himself, but with much more company. Because I took each kid up on the roof with me.

That's right, I abused my kids (7, 3 & 2) by refusing to stop them from climbing up the ladder to the roof. That meant that all of us were sitting on the crown of the roof as the sun fell and we asked Mommy to take a picture. She took 3, but wasn't happy about the circumstance in the least. The best part was when D-Man shouted to the kids playing on the street below, "HEY! WE'RE ON THE ROOF!" I told him that was probably obvious to them, but as soon as I said that, one of the kids shouted back:

"WELL, WE'RE... RIDING OUR BIKES."

Game, Set and Match...