TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

This krep was posted:

May 2009
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Older stuff...

— 2009 —

April 2009

Smarch 2009

February 2009

January 2009

Same guy, different krep...
Father Knows

Things to put in your head...

Friends...

Everyday reads...

Read on his terms...
Lileks

Stuff for your ears...

 

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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.

An elderly couple was driving cross-country, and the woman was driving. She gets pulled over by the highway patrol.

The officer says, "Ma'am, did you know you were speeding?"

The woman turns to her husband and asks, "What did he say?"

The old man yells, "HE SAYS YOU WERE SPEEDING."

The patrolman says, "May I see your license?"

The woman turns to her husband and asks, "What did he say?"

The old man yells, "HE WANTS TO SEE YOUR LICENSE."

The woman gives him her license.

The patrolman says, "I see you are from Arkansas. I spent some time there once and had the worst sex with a woman I have ever had."

The woman turns to her husband and asks, "What did he say?"

"HE THINKS HE KNOWS YOU," the old man yells.

Maybe it's just me, but May feels like the longest month the year has to offer. I suppose that - given its combination of warm days and short but cool nights - it has so much to offer that its bound to feel welcome and like an obligation all at the same time. After all, the planting season is pretty much past us and I NEVER have all the seeds in that I planned for. Further, it seems like a very long stretch which just started today wherein my daughter is out of school and I'm still the only one working full time.

(Which I would never dream about complaining about, BTW. This is how we planned things, how we - I wanted things and how we've made things happen. If The Wif and the kids get to sleep in on Monday and Friday, well I get roughly 25% of that action and that's how it's got to be if I get my way. Noted.)

Of course I also suppose that I'll be writing that July is the longest month due to its unbearable "Global Summer" conditions. Or that August is the longest month because we're having to suffer through exhibition football before digging our teeth into the real thing. Or that Septober is the longest month because we haven't yet seen a trace of snow...

But for right now? May takes the prize. Just because we're going through it, I guess.

At any rate, while there's plenty to complain about going on in the world, I would guess that I'm just tired of complaining to the wall about everything, so instead I'll complain to you about a couple of things.

I'm pretty sure I've written about the fact that Janus Funds (de-capitalize, mentally), wanted me to write a check to my local bank in order to provide routing and account numbers in order to fund my daughter's college fund - with JANUS FUNDS! What I'm not sure that I said was that I wrote a check basically cashing out our mutual fund with them, (leaving about five dollars that they'll have to service for the time being and I won't mind eventually losing), so I'm pretty much done with them. I think.

I researched other funds and am sold on the Coverdell option, but I'm having quite a time getting it all together: some funds don't allow for online fund setup, others won't allow electronic transfer of funds and the second-best-capitalized fund family in the U.S. got testy when I tried to fund her account.

That is, their code sucked the wax tadpole: I told them I was setting up an ESA. I put in my daughter's information, then MY information as 'custodian,' the bank information and then when it came time to choose my investment, I chose one of the higher-returning funds, (natch), and was told that the minimum initial investment was $25,000!

Now this might seem high, but not so for a large-returner in one of the country's most successful investment houses. The problem is that -- if I'm setting up an ESA, BY LAW the maximum annual investment can be no more than two thousand dollars. If you can do math, you'll easily see that a 25 thousand dollar floor is more than my total investment would legally be over the next 11 years before My Lovely Daughter is ready to go to college.

I'd like to have a word with their code folks, and may yet do so.

In the meantime I'll just complain about having finally - MAYBE - correcting my withholding to reflect 7 dependents and ZERO additional dollars to the Feds, and maybe at last correcting my State withholding to include an additional ninety dollars every two weeks. Should that fix it all? I have no bloody idea; I'll find out next April.

For now I'll have refuge in the idea that - should it be allowed - now that I've deposited our tax refund check, we could very nearly meet the investment minimum.

Then again, that's only for one child...

Well it's all the news that's fit to rage over yesterday: the little o selected the first Latina, the third woman, the second salsa-dancer, (just listen to those who tried to keep Thurgood Marshall in his seat!), the 86th right-hander, the second woman who wore black in a casual fashion, the ninth Justice to hail from either the first, second or third circuit, the first to want to own/drive a hybrid, the twenty-seventh to maintain every other Tuesday as "hot dog night" for the family, the eleventh to buy a blu-ray DVD player, one of only 6 who will admit to ever owning a Beta-Max, the first to publicly denounce Byron, "Whizzer," White's elevator shoes and - in agreeing with the Justice she's slated to replace - agrees that silk undies are JUST! THE! BEST!

(It's an insult any way you choose to see it. And BTW - some facts may have been manufactured in order to prove a point. A point that little o fanatics will whistle past as they enjoy their Mickey-D's breakfast. Fine with me, but if you want to believe a lie, couldn't you do better than this guy?)

Those of us who listen to people in the know - if on the outside for the time being - have already heard her name and heard her stating that courts build policy. UH. No. Courts exist for a single reason to those of us who bother to read a little document we call The Constitution; to uphold the law of the land. Hasn't anyone wondered why Lady Justice wears a blindfold? It's because she's supposed to be blind to character, creed, race, class, economic circumstance and all the rest, (sorry, but it's a Biblical thing that I'm just not willing to budge on. Thankfully, I shouldn't have to if you're even the least bit intellectually honest).

Justice SHOULD BE blind(!) to all circumstance, condition, skin tone, economic status and any undue influence.

I'm afraid that Lady Justice's blindfold had been both lifted AND soiled. Let us hope that we never have to sue a rich person - because the "stated purpose" is not always what happens in court.

ESPECIALLY a court which is seemingly swayed by the conditions of it's respondents...

Well a grand Memorial Day was had round these parts and I'm still burping up steak, so that's a pretty good sign. Although I never got around to having corn on the cob, but that's probably OK because it means I won't have to see it again tomorrow. If you know what I mean.

On other fronts, I'm happy to report that I'm far more mobile than I have been lately and in walking through my Mom's house I was able to navigate things fairly well. This may have been due to the fact that I took 2 vicodins when I went to bed on Sunday night or just the simple act of healing. (Perhaps both?) Whichever, I was able to move and lift and carry and interact and dinner was great.

Of course, once I got home things took an ugly turn; I felt as if I had been hit in the ribs by George Frazier in his prime. It hurt in general and then, just as a bonus, that site would start spasming and would cause me to cease other activites. Things like breathing or moving or talking.

I'M NOT EVEN SURE WHAT I DID TO ANGER IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!

In the end it doesn't matter, natch; the injury doesn't care what introduced you two, it simply shows up and gets to work. And oh, man is that true in this case. I lean, I bend, I twist, I turn and I get a shooting pain across my ribcage. Sooner or later this WILL end, I keep telling myself.

But what's likely to stay around is the ever-widening chasm in the democrat party. I mean, as the radicals in congress try to further their agenda, they're running up against some rough truths, (such as, Americans don't want our most serious enemies moved from Gitmo into our backyards), and the radical-in-chief is likewise running into his own hard truths, (such as, North Korea, Iran, Pakistan and Turkey - among others - don't give a crap that he's half-black).

It's an interesting thing to watch - as my own party scrambles to re-group from the vast wilderness of political impotence - as the party in power rends itself in an effort to rule from the fringe. I'm absolutely loving it, frankly. It's completely entertaining in an I Love To Watch The World League Of American Football sense.

I would have said, "XFL Sense," but the games aren't available on DVD yet...

I was looking back and examining my life, family and friends this Memorial Day Weekend, (as is appropriate), and I'm happy to say that I can't recall that a single one of them has fallen under battle conditions. That's not to say that I won't be reminded of someone who has, but as near as I can remember, the closest I can get is a neighbor kid - many years older than I - who OD'd on the eve of his entry into the service, (or so the story went).

Don't get me wrong: my Grandfathers, several uncles, cousins, a bunch of friends and even my brother have served/are serving my country. And God Bless them for it. The good news is that none of them fell to the circumstance. And God Bless us for that.

But today, at 3:00 PM wherever you are is a time set aside to observe a moment of silence and reflect upon those who gave their all in the defense of our country. Pat Tillman leaps to mind, but I dare say he's the only one whose name we'd know - short of a family member.

Think about it: aside from Tillman and anyone known to us personally, do you even know the name of someone who died under the flag and in service to our country? It may be a personal fault, but I can't come up with a single one.

So today, at 3, please take a moment - and explain to your kids if you have any - in reverent silence to honor those heroes who went and fought not for honor nor fame nor glory nor fortune, but just for you and me.

Our freedoms are vast, unprecedented and sometimes unfathomable, but they didn't fall on us by accident. Brave men and women fought and died to allow us to Twitter, Facebook and grow tomatoes. And everything else we take for granted.

Rest well and easy, our sainted protectors...

...And that's when the fight started. (NOTE: none of these are autobiographical. I suspect many of you already know that, but I feel obligated to say so for the sake of The Wif's reputation.)

I rear-ended a car this morning. So, there we were alongside the road and slowly the other driver got out of his car. You know how sometimes you just get soooo stressed and little things just seem funny? Yeah, well I couldn’t believe it…. He was a DWARF!!! He stormed over to my car, looked up at me, and shouted, “I AM NOT HAPPY!!!”
So, I looked down at him and said, “Well, then which one are you?”

And then the fight started...

My wife and I were sitting at a table at my high school reunion, and I kept staring at a drunken lady swigging her drink as she sat alone at a nearby table.

My wife asked, ‘Do you know her?’

‘Yes,’ I sighed, ‘She’s my old girlfriend. I understand she took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear she hasn’t been sober since.’

‘My God!’ says my wife, ‘who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?’

And then the fight started...

My wife and I are watching “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” while we were in bed.

I turned to her and said, “Do you want to have sex?”
“No,” she answered.
I then said, “Is that your final answer?”
She didn’t even look at me this time, simply saying, “Yes.”

So I said, “Then I’d like to phone a friend.”

And then the fight started...

(Ha Ha and all, but can someone explain this? I hit the "guide" button on my satellite box just now and got the schedule for Saturday afternoon -- a schedule I could never download in a million years from this box even if I wanted to. It's pretty much a first-generation box and it takes forever to download the program information just for today, much less for a day-and-a-half into the future. In case you're wondering, golf will be on two local channels and "relieve back pain" - something that might still Weigh Important in my life - will be broadcast on at least two cable channels.

For the record, it listed the shows starting at 3:30PM on Saturday. So if I kick the bucket anytime soon, could someone first check the time of death and if it's a match, could you come and remove the haunted satellite box from what was once my bedroom? I'd really appreciate it.)

Are you all ready to pay an extra $5K for a new car? Especially for one that's much more likely to kill you should you ever be in an accident? I sure as Hell hope you are, because that's what 52% of you voted for...

In announcing the new CAFE, (Corporate Average Fuel Efficiency, he typed without having to Google it), standards this week, the little o has guaranteed more highway deaths in the coming years. Oh, that's not how it was sold - natch - but that's what going to happen.

See, there is this little triffle of a thing known as "the law of unintended consequences" that always - BUT ALWAYS - trips up the left and the feeble-minded, (but I repeat myself). The law of unintended consequences might sound like something complicated but it can be summed up in a simple sentence: if you don't think about what will happen AFTER you take some particular action, you have no way of knowing if the action that made you FEEL good will actually end up DOING good.

And that, in a nutshell, is the difference between Conservatives and liberals; the ability to think ahead and actually consider future consequences of actions versus the raw desire to feel good about yourself because of what you say or do at any given moment.

Which very neatly brings us back to the CAFE standards. On the surface, (that is, without any further thought), raising gas mileage standards sounds like a good thing and it can be sold on any number of levels. For example, you can be told that it's a drive towards "reducing our dependence on foreign oil," or that, "you'll make up the extra expense in the savings on gasoline," or other such nonsense.

But the truth is obvious to anyone who understands even elementary physics: if you want something to go further on less fuel, certain things need to change. Such things might include only driving downhill, hoisting a sail, chaining oneself to a big rig or - and much more likely - dropping the weight and size of the vehicles in question.

So we'll have many more smaller and lighter cars polluting our highways. What happens when they hit the guardrail? What happens when these tinfoil cars flip? How many more people will die in these accidents -- and don't even try to tell me that seat belt laws will equalize the process.

As for me? Well, I'm now especially grateful that I spent 6 grand on a new engine for the Death Star. That means I can keep it for all that much longer, (and will spur me to maintain it all that much more). In fact, given this weeks madness, I probably would have paid 16 grand to get my beloved truck back up in running. Heck, I may break into our emergency fund (OH! do NOT get me started on that!), in order to buy something like a 1989 Dodge Ram and then rebuild THAT engine!

You want your little o? You want the Socialism he's bringing? You want to only be able to buy cars with 3 cylinder engines that could be lifted by the Lollipop Guild? Fine. But not for me. And not for my family. We're going to drive huge, heavy chunks of steel and God help you if you sputter in front of me on the highway...

Whatever happened to "Let Freedom Ring?"

Auugh. I SO hate pointing out the obvious, but sometimes I feel as if it's left to me alone to do so. So here goes:

Does anyone remember the big "news" story of a few years ago? (Yes, I know I need to be more specific) You know, where some media watchdogs discovered long waiting lists, inadequate care and even unsanitary conditions at Walter Reed Hospital? Remember that? And further, does anyone know/remember what Walter Reed Hospital does? That's right - it's one of the Army Hospitals that treats veterans wounded in action and helps to oversee the initial rehabilitation of those same vets.

Now, I usually come to praise - rather than bury - the Army, (or any of our Armed Forces), but I have a question for you little o supporters out there: did you believe the story? Honestly, did you accept the "facts" as they were presented to you? Did you believe that vets went untreated or under-treated due to patient volume? Did you believe the docs there weren't paying attention to what they were doing - or that filth, grime and insects were the norm rather than the exception?

These are NOT rhetorical questions: they require answers. Did you believe the stories?

If yes, you cannot possibly support a gubermint-based health care solution. Mainly because you've already bought into the fact that it doesn't work. After all, if our own gubermint can't take reasonable care of its veterans, what hope do you and I have?

Further, I have a personal anecdote; Foster children, (or 'wards of the State' as they were once known) qualify for and receive Medicaid. (In fact, most adoptive children also qualify for Medicaid; it's our childrens' secondary "insurance.") As such, whenever one of our kids (pre-adoption) needed care, we would show the doc's office the Medicaid card and they would put a special sticker on the paperwork.

Initially this frightened me, because I feared it would lead to a lower level of care. As usual, I was wrong: what the sticker eventually led to was an increased number and intensity of screenings on the child in question. "Skinned knee? Do a throat culture, too!" "Possible bronchitis? Full CAT-scan!" "Chest cold? Do a body cast to be sure!"

At first glance, I thought, 'man, this is cool! They're testing for everything and being very thorough.' But like everything else, I started thinking about it and quickly came to another conclusion. Namely that of, "they're padding the bill."

And why wouldn't they? I mean, they're not paying for it and I'M not paying for it, so what's to stop them -- Ethics? HA! Any one of those docs could easily say that they were simply looking out for the best interests of the patient. So they order test after test and the patient (and his/her parent) is tied up for the rest of the day while waiting to go from room to room, and we (they) get out without paying a cent while the doc gets to leave early and hit the first tee.

Human nature, people. Can't have this world without it, no matter what you'd like to believe to the contrary...

It's amazing how much you can learn from spending most of a day on your back and under heavy sedation. For example, I've become increasingly curious as to why I would devote even so much as a dollar to HBO, given their vast anti-American tendencies. I mean, maher and gumbel -- why aren't they broadcasting con al-jezera? And the so-called, "comics" out there, well why don't they find out how well they'd look in traditional muslim wear? Criminey, they're already half-way there already.

And even if you're able to find something decent/humorous to watch, it's likely that you've already seen it about a dozen times before - if not more. For example, tonight I tuned into The Road Warrior and I immediately got the impression that I'd first watched it about 2 years before it was released. Yeah, we get it - gasoline is the ultimate resource in the post-apocalyptic future. Thanks.

Of course, a modern metaphor can be found in that message, but I'm guessing that the second most of us see a muscle-bound guy in a jock strap patrolling our streets in an armor-clad dune buggy, we'll open fire on him. Aiming for his large but inadequately-protected chest. So, game over, Humongus!

But despite the familiarity and repetition, as I had it on tonight I couldn't help but notice the one thing I'd never noticed on the "liminal" level before: the soundtrack COMPLETELY rocked! It was well matched and shared both the highs and lows, climbed as the action did and rested just. when. you. thought. it. was. safe. to. It was both glorious and subdued...

And in the bluntest segue ever;

Much like those of you who still stand - stubbornly - behind your decision to support the little o. No, I don't expect him to come swooping in from the skies on an ultra-light to save the day, (but the citizens of New York City may differ only by degree), but I certainly don't see him as either the muscle-bound hulk, the unknowing hero-decoy nor even as the child-hero who would eventually save the nation from destruction.

You o-bots are free to make your choice now. 2 out of 3 is acceptable, but 3 out of 3 is too much. Even for you guys.

Did you see where even the little o's administration was forced to admit that the National Debt would be FAR larger than they predicted it would be? Well, that came as no surprise to those of us with at least 2 brain cells, a single synapse and the ability to read history. After all, we've been down this road before.

Contrary to what you most likely learned in "school," fdr did NOT "rescue" this country from the stock market collapse of 1929. In fact, (and I'm sure I've said this before), his policies made things much, much worse -- but only if you care about the country. In fact, during this period the rest of the world went through something they called "the depression," while the United States went through something WE called, "the GREAT depression." Why?

Well, for one thing, other countries loosened the money supply. For another, they started de-regulating and dropping taxes on corporations. This spurred research and development and expansion of markets, leading to increased "corporate" revenue which funneled more money into gubermint coffers.

Meanwhile, back in America...

fdr saw this as an opportunity to expand gubermint scope, taxation, power and spending. (I know that none of us learned this in school, but thanks to the Interwebs the information is finally available, if anyone cares to finally learn it). The result? A DEEPER, more SERIOUS and LONGER economic downturn than anyone - even Keynes - could predict.

Let's flash forward to today -- ... -- Ah, to Hell with it. Just go back and learn the truth if you're interested.

"KEYNES IS DEAD! LONG LIVE FRIEDMAN!

So, my son is trying to kill me - maybe. I'll admit that I probably played some part in what happened because let's face it, it's probably not all that wise to hand a pitchfork to a 3-year-old and expect a great result. But let's back up just a bit...

Earlier this spring we started our indoor planting. Flowers mostly, but the kids desperately wanted to grow pumpkins, so each kid put soil and 2 seeds into either cut down milk cartons or large yogurt cups and placed them in the window sill. After a few weeks of tending to them I saw a problem. Namely that Bink's pumpkin plant was nearly as big as he was. A couple of days later D-Man's caught up. Action must be taken!

I had long planned to build a pumpkin patch in the back yard and this seemed like a reasonable incentive. Over a number of days I procured the material and the soil and set out in the hopes of finding a decent location.

I found it in the area beneath the kids' sandbox. It was at least 4 square feet larger than the 8'X 8' I had in mind and was just off the deck, so no problems reaching it with the hose. Perfect!

Well, not quite; between the sandbox and the land was a ton, (probably literally), of large river-rocks and a long-outdated, (and ineffective) weed barrier. These had to go but that wasn't a huge problem either because I was looking for fill to level out my eventual garden area anyway. I'd just wheel them to that area and dump 'em out. In fact, about the only "problem" so far was that my wheelbarrow's wheel was flat and I couldn't find the attachment I needed to fire up my compressor.

I make good progress digging out the rocks and leveling the land we're about to use and was ready to wrap it up and fill the box I'd created with good soil. Towards that end, I issued each boy a pitchfork and showed them how to drive it into the ground and then flip it over, turning the soil. I continued to dig with my shovel and was about to call it done when I decided to further scoop out an elevated portion for good measure. I moved around the mound of earth...

...And tripped over Bink's abandoned pitchfork.

After what seemed like 20 minutes of stumbling around the landscape I was finally unable to maintain verticality and fell. Onto my back. Across one side of my pumpkin patch's frame. Unbearable pain? Check. Scared little boys? Check. Curses yelled that would embarrass a Marine? Uh, fortunately no. I was able to withhold my sometimes colorful vocabulary and managed with loud grunts and groans.

I could not believe how much pain I was in, but the job had to get done. So after a little down-time I got back after it -- although with far less gusto than before. Still, I was able to lay down the peat and the steer and then fill about 1/3 of the box with top soil. I situated it all on one side rather than have simply 3 inches of fresh dirt spread equally across the box. I did this so I could plant the boys' pumpkins before "M" came home.

(I should note that here is where logic and reason will temporarily leave this discussion: The Wif kept telling me I should just stop working and sit and relax. I told her that I had promised "M" that I would be ready to go and have The Knucklehead's plants in the ground when she got home from school. The Wif shrugged and said, "Oh Well." I told her that little girls whose fathers don't follow-through on his promises are far more ready to accept boyfriends and husbands who don't follow-through on theirs. And that boys like I used to be can spot those girls a mile off. I'm sure to catch grief - oddly from women - on this belief, so bring it on.)

When Mommy brought "M" home from school she looked at our new pumpkin patch and seemed less than impressed. I was fine with that because it means she's used to having me live up to my word, (see previous graph). She wanted to play outside and I thought that was a grand idea because it would allow me to go NOT play inside. And I did just that for most of the rest of the day, I'm sorry to say.

The next day, as most of you could probably predict, I was nagged into urgent care by The Wif, who also canceled ALL her plans for the day. We attended the graduation party for an old friend's daughter and I was generally mocked for the order in which I did things, because after we left the party THEN I went to see the doc. I firmly believe my priorities were in proper order, BTW.

After 2 hours at "urgent care," (thank goodness it wasn't ALL that urgent), and one of the most painful x-ray sessions this planet has ever seen, I walked gimped out with a prescription for the good stuff: vicodin.

Having never taken it before I was a bit hesitant. I mean, I'd heard all the stories about becoming "loopy" or worse, addicted to the stuff and I wasn't in a hurry to experience either. The directions said 1-2 every 4-6 hours "as needed." I figured one a day might be OK and besides - what if they work?

Do they work? Oh heck yeah! They make me tired - but not loopy - and since I took my third one just as I started typing this, I doubt if addiction is going to be a problem. But the best part is I can actually do all those complicated things I couldn't do without them.

You know - like breathe...

Let me first start by saying that today marks the birthday of someone I once cared a great deal about (and still do in a certain way). I wish them well and hesitate to contact them online because I'm not sure how I'll be received. And if you know me well and think you know of whom I'm speaking, well, you're probably wrong. (Answers available upon request).

It's also my father's birthday: a date ingrained into my psyche nearly from birth, only to become exactly as meaningful to me as my birthday is to him...

So, lets get to the stuff that matters...

This should be the Joke this week, but such things are no longer uncommon in our current environment, so what's the point?

Isn't that always the way of life? I've usually found it to be the case...

Wow. You know how sometimes you batter yourself in trying to come to a reasonable solution to something that should be SO! MUCH! EASIER! than it appears to be? Like you're banging your head against a brick wall because this thing just isn't happening or behaving like it should be. We all know that feeling, right? And then -- just as things seem the darkest -- you stumble over a solution so obvious that you could shave with it and you feel like a total idiot for not thinking of it sooner.

You know the kind of thing -- like when you're trying to make a left into traffic when it suddenly occurs to you that if you just drive through the preschool's playground you could make it to your street without having to fight the other cars and then you slap your forehead. "OF COURSE! It's so easy!"

I wrote last week about trying to open a college fund for my kids, and specifically My Lovely Daughter, only to be stymied by the website. I finally heard from them and it turns out you can't be logged in to your account when you want to set up an account for your kid. Even if: 1) you're the parent. 2) you'll be the responsible party, and 3) you plan on funding the kids' accounts from your own.

Heck no! Why would you want your account to have anything to do with your kids' account?!?

(I should probably announce that I'm never, EVER going to cosign a loan for ANY of my kids under ANY circumstance nor will I allow them to get a loan to whatever extent I'm able to influence that. So as far as that goes, I'm all for "separating" my accounts from my kids' - but only in the sense that they'll never have any red ink on their sheets. When I create savings accounts for my kids, I would hope that there would be some kind of connection. Especially when I'm the one funding them.)

So I tried the suggested remedy and found that I was able to get past "step 2" which had always tripped me up before. HUZZAH! I went on through all the steps and then was crestfallen when I got to the "funding" portion of the questionnaire; "enter bank information," or "rollover an investment," or "transfer from another investment house." HEY! How about, "take some of Mom & Dad's cash" as an option? (Boy - hearing that outloud kind of makes me glad they didn't include it!)

Well, given the fact that we're living on pre-paid utilities until 2010, we're not exactly in a position to shuffle the initial investment, ($1000), from our bank account into her college fund. At least not at this moment, (catch me in a week). So I pretty much gave up on the idea for now and hoped to move things around enough to get started. After all, time's-a-wastin'...

Oh sure, we can afford to wait until we're liquid again: after all, I've got at least 11 years before sending her off to college and given that timeline, a couple of weeks on the front-end won't amount to much more than a value meal at the local Mickey-D's. Of course, the other option is to have The Wif sign a check from the Money Market account so we can deposit it into our savings account, then setup MLD's fund and tell them to take the money that came out of the fund company, is sitting in our saving account, and put it back under the fund company's own roof, but under a different name.

It seems too ridiculous to contemplate, frankly. I think I'll just WAIT A MINUTE!!

(And here's where I smacked my head...)

IF we have an account upon which can be drawn via check, we then have a ROUTING NUMBER and ACCOUNT NUMBER -- which is exactly what the enrollment procedure is looking for! I can eliminate the hilariously unnecessary step of writing a check, driving to the bank, waiting for it to clear and only THEN setting up her account. Brilliant!

Once she's off to school I'm totally going to make her buy me a #2 with the extra money I just earned...

So David Souter is retiring. He's practically the Junior Jurist - given the age of the rest of them - but he's decided that he'd rather spend his time in a robe while secluded at home, instead of being locked behind that big bench and having to listen to strangers who wander before him.

In some circles, this is being heralded as a "major loss" because the little O is sure to appoint an activist leftist to the court. On the other hand, some of us are just fine with the idea of replacing a leftist with another leftist.

And so on it goes: the remaining, "retirement-encouraged" segment of SCOTUS are all left-leaning. Oh, sure Kennedy can usually be counted to vote his conscience from time to time, but not a one of you out there even knows he of whom I speak. The best news in all of the rest of the Presidential term we're living out is that the Courts' "Original Intent"-ers are the youngest members: Alito, Roberts, Thomas... well, OK; I'll yield on Scalia. His teeth are getting a bit long as of this date.

The point is, no matter how far left; no matter how radical the little o wants to shape the court. No matter how far in his own opinion/image/marxist philosophy he desires to move the court, he's really pretty stuck: the left wing of the court is only in need of new blood -- and I'm sure he'll provide it -- but he's not likely to be able to put eleven new Jurists up there.

Eventually, some of you would start to notice. Not to mention the fact that the senate would hate to lose whatever power they dream they already have...

I have a pitchfork. I have TWO, actually. I'll be using one very, very soon and it's going to be an ugly thing; after all, the stupid thing only has a couple of uses and one of them is moving straw from pile to stall.

I do NOT have a pile of straw.

I do NOT have a stall, (unless you count the amount of time it takes me to edit/upload kid pics to my website).

It should seem obvious by now, but I have no horse, so the root cause for most stall/straw ordering is simply beyond me.

And, finally, if I DID have a horse, I would have no place to keep it, nothing to feed it and nothing to collect its poop. As such, I would saw it into dog food in short order.

OK... Now that we've traveled far afield of THAT field, let's get started again.

I have a pitchfork. From a "puttering" state of mind that's a nice enough thing to note because it brings about a certain peace of mind: "We're being attacked by tumbleweeds? I got this!" Anything else is lost outside of a farm setting, but it's still pretty cool to know you could jump on a tumbleweed attack. Probably wouldn't even need any help.

Still, I've discovered yet another use for a pitchfork: tilling the soil. That's right, if you stand on the pitchforks' shoulder and drive it into the ground, you can turn the fork and thereby turn the soil.

I'm going to experiment further with this but I expect grand results. In fact, if it turns out nearly as well as I expect it will, I'll use this method to work some peat into the soil, so that water might actually soak in.

But please -- don't tell anyone: it's patent pending...

So it's my short weekend, but there's still much to do. Add to that the fact that it was Mother's Day and that's at least 8 hours subtracted from the total. Combined with sleeping, eating and general kid care as well as article procurement and we're down to a mere 10 hours in which to do about 50 hours worth of work. But think nothing of it! I'm up to the task!

Well, for at least Saturday. And I'm serious: we visited a nursery where we bought weed killer, a dozen pansy plants, (purple, lion-faced and purple-and-white), and Mommy's next Mother's Day present -- a Lilac bush. (Man, I just don't know where to stop, do I?)

Once home - after a couple of different errands - we got to work. I got out the shovels, brought the wheelbarrow around and we began digging out the pea gravel that populated the stretch of land next to our driveway. Along the way we encountered everything you'd expect; weeds, weed-block, weeds, uneven ground and clay soil. And weeds.

Eventually we got most of the rocks moved, (despite Bink's best efforts to the contrary), and a hole dug. The hole was roughly 2 feet in diameter (at the top), and nearly 2 feet deep. I then allowed Bink to try to fill the bottom with "sheep poop" trowel-by-trowel. This took some time.

It was then "M's" turn and she took nearly as long. Eventually, they reached the point where I would no longer have to hold the rose plant, (didn't see THAT coming, did you?), and we moved on to the organic soil I bought last week. I dumped the entire bag into the hole and we smoothed it around the white rose.

I then asked Bink and "M", (for D-Man was with Mommy), to bring around 10 "big" rocks from the back to the container on the front porch. They accomplished half of that as they brought several rocks from the back onto... the front porch.

Uggghhh.

Not quite, I insisted and they dumped the rocks into the container. Not enough, I said and I sent them off after twice as many rocks. Well, that wasn't enough either and we did it again. Eventually we were able to fill the pot with enriched soil and then put The Wif's Morning Glory's and my own Sweet Peas (flower) into the pot. Accompanied by a small trellis and in a position to catch early afternoon sun, (yes, I realize that they're not called, "early-afternoon-Glories"), they should do fairly well.

I also planted half of the Pansies we bought: had to trowel up a section of soil that should have been pliable but wasn't. Great fun, that, but they're in.

And the rose from last year is showing signs of growth, so I got that going for me. Plus, a strawberry, (or "Strawsellberry" plant - as they're known around here), has survived and is teasing us with fruit even at this early date. It should do fine.

So..., just as I'm ready to wrap it all up and head inside, My Lovely Daughter decides to ask me if we're going to work on the Pumpkin Patch. My first thought was, "Well why the HELL NOT?!?" <⁄sarcasm>

So I'm digging in this field...

An old hillbilly farmer had a wife who nagged him unmercifully. From morning until night she was always complaining about something. The only time he got any relief was when he was out plowing with his old mule. He tried to plow a lot.

One day, when he was out plowing, his wife brought him lunch in the field. He drove the old mule into the shade, sat down on a stump, and began to eat his lunch. Immediately, his wife began nagging him again.

Complain, nag, complain, nag - it just went on and on. All of a sudden, the old mule lashed out with both hind feet, caught her smack in the back of the head. Killed her dead on the spot.

At the funeral several days later, the minister noticed something rather odd. When a woman mourner would approach the old farmer, he would listen for a minute, then nod his head in agreement; but when a man mourner approached him, he would listen for a minute, then shake his head in disagreement. This was so consistent, the minister decided to ask the old farmer about it.

So after the funeral, the minister spoke to the old farmer, and asked him why he nodded his head and agreed with the women, but always shook his head and disagreed with all the men.

The old farmer said, ‘Well, the women would come up and say something about how nice my wife looked, or how pretty her dress was, so I’d nod my head in agreement.’

’And what about the men?’ the minister asked.

’They wanted to know if the mule was for sale.’

So I'm at this bowling alley...

No. Sorry. I haven't been in a bowling alley in years. It's just that as I started to write this entry a guy entered my mind; his name was, (probably still is), Jeff Paeper. We used to live with women who worked together and were fairly good friends, (the women. He and I? Not so much), and one of the things we found ourselves doing as a group was bowling. We joined a league, so we saw each other every week.

Sometime during the second game he'd start getting a bit... odd. Funny, but odd. I'm sure the beer had plenty to do with that, but whenever he wanted to break the silence or start a conversation he'd say, "So I'm at this bowling alley..." and I thought it was pretty funny. I'm sure the beer had plenty to do with that. Of course, if we went out to dinner he'd eventually say, "so I'm at this restaurant...".

Come to think of it, without the beer it's really not that funny. Sorry to have wasted your time with it...

In an effort to follow through with the plans I laid out yesterday, I did some quick research of some of the larger mutual funds this evening. I had in mind the idea that I would like to invest the kids' college cash into an index fund. I figured that would probably be a safe - and fairly lucrative - place to put the money and just sit back and let it grow.

So I went to Lipper and Bloomberg - financial "clearing houses" if you will - and came out with bupkiss. Not unexpected. From there I went to Vanguard and they had some good-looking funds and you could sort and filter the search. Cool. I even went so far as to check out how they handled setting up new accounts. Pretty impressive. Me likey.

Then, Fidelity. First impression? Meh. Oh the information was there and they had helpful on screen advice about the different types of college funding accounts, (as did Vanguard), but the search feature was like asking my 14 year old dog to go hunt rabbits. You want Hasenpfeffer? Go to the butcher shop, Bunny Boy. It was pretty much useless for what I wanted to research.

Now that may have been me and my approach, but it may just be a lousy website. Either way, it should surprise nobody that this simple fact was enough to make me close the tab. Even if they sported a fund that promised a 20% ROI, if I have to dig and dig and dig in order to find the thing, it's just not worth it.

So I went to Janus, which is where we already have our Roth accounts and our emergency fund, and was pleasantly surprised to find a "value" fund that sported a 13% return since inception. It sounded good and - since we already had money there - I could set up the ESAs and supply the opening funds with a simple transfer. Perfect!

Except that after selecting the type of account and the fund I wanted to fund, it asked for "responsible party" and "student information." Easy enough - I've already memorized all the kids' SSNs, mine (natch), The Wif's and my debit card. I'm ready to roll, BABY!

So I roll, only to find that Janus' website seems to think that there's some mis-match between the SSN I entered to logon, (The Wif's) and the SSN I entered as the "responsible party," (The Wif's). "Let me assure you," I said outloud to the monitor, "they match."

Well, their stupid tech support wouldn't recognize that answer so I had to email them.

I'm still waiting on a response...

In other news of the stupid - this time my own - I have to admit to making a HUGE mistake recently. It seems that, like the rest of you, I have a monthly utility bill. Now in recent years the term "utility" has morphed to mean everything from power and gas, (as opposed to the Powerful Gas proudly exhibited by my boys), to water, sewer, phone and who knows what all else. For purposes of this post, by "utility" I mean, power and gas.

Our most recent bill was $157.71. How do I know this so readily? Well, because my fingers got overly excited and I somehow typed $1575.71. And the bank sent it off with a song in their blessed little steel-coated heart.

Of course, I don't expect to see even a single cent of that back. The good news - if there is any - is two-fold: first, I expect that I'll pay closer attention to the confirmation screen from my bank in the future. Second, since we won't have to pay a single cent to Xcel for the rest of the year and possibly beyond, it makes 2009's budget that much easier to plan.

Oh, and I hope that those of you who are sick and tired of my political rants have been happy with the past couple of days. And for those of you who would prefer more political talk, I hope you recognize that I've been doing it for the past couple of days...

OK. I'm NOT bragging. Honestly. I have no interest in boastful behavior. I'm happy to share my story if it can serve as a good example to my friends, but I'd never brag about something that I - as I believe as a Christian - have only the Lord to thank for. I hope you believe me and understand that I write the following only as informational and perhaps inspirational if it should strike anybody that way...

So as I'm trying to compare some numbers and re-work a long neglected budget and adjust my withholding so we can actually USE our own money throughout the year, I came to a startling realization: our household income for this month will stretch into 5 figures. This is greatly aided by the fact that for we Federales this is a 3-paycheck month, but even in a normal month, we're pretty darned close. Well, within the 70th percentile anyway.

Armed with this knowledge and given the further knowledge that our mortgage payment is well less than one quarter of our monthly income, we've come to an important financial decision. Several, actually.

The first is that we need to get back to a strict reliance upon a formal, written budget. I confess that once we'd paid off all our commercial debt we got a bit sloppy; coasted a bit. But, I suppose that's the sort of thing you can afford to do when you know you can afford to do everything else you want. Still, we should've been more diligent.

Of course, a reliance on a budget means that one has to be worked up. I'll add it to my list.

Next is that we'll have to open ESAs, (Educational Savings Accounts), for each of the kids so they can go to college, (or, in D-Man's case, build a spaceship to take him back to his home planet), and then fund them. As I understand it, the maximum contribution is two thousand dollars per year per kid. SO... We can fund the older childrens' accounts in a single month, then do Bink's the next month, (he's the youngest - he's going to get more interest than either his brother or his sister anyway).

After that? Well, I honestly see no problem in socking away a goodly amount for future needs, funding our retirement AND sending a second, FULL payment on our mortgage for ten months out of every year.

I'll have to crunch the numbers, (or ask Excel or Dood to do it for me), but I think we'll be out from under the mortgage just before our home value doubles. I'm not sure I'll be ready to move again at that time, but I'm sure I'll be able to move at that time.

Again - I'm only saying this to inspire. If I can do it, so can you. I'll mention as a brief aside that Dave Ramsey is again available locally - this time live - on 560AM from noon to three. I suppose that's at least part of what's gotten me fired up again, (and should these guys fold I'll go to XM radio -- I'm sure I can afford it).

Turn it on, tune it in and drop your debt...

(If you got that reference, I'd love to hear from you)

Some of the oddest conversations I ever have with my daughter happen at bedtime. After we pray and kiss and hug and I say goodnight she usually manages to drop a doozy on me. Something like, "Daddy? Today at school Jimmy said that nuclear energy isn't feasible until a suitable method can be discovered for storing the radioactive by-products. Is that true?"

Well, OK. She's only in first grade so it generally tends more towards, "Daddy? There's a boy at school who eats his own boogers. Is that dangerous?" You know - the kind of thing that you want to dismiss with a simple, (and quick - you're tired, after all), "of course not," but you don't want the answer mistaken for, "no problem - help yourself!" That sort of thing.

For example, not long before bedtime tonight "M" came into our room and asked to sit on my lap. I agreed and she watched what I was doing on the computer. As it turns out I was trying to check on our updated withholding status in order to further fine-tune anything that needed tweaking. After a bit she asked, "what's that, Daddy?"

Crud - where to start? How do you explain taxes -- much less withholding -- to a seven year old?

I did the best I could. She knows a bit about taxes because when I have to open or serve her something I like, I take a small portion and call it "Daddy Tax." But how to explain a tax refund? Should I puke on her plate? Here, Babe - this is what I took above what I was supposed to. BBBBRRRRAAAAPPPP! Somehow, I think the lesson would be lost in the imagery.

In the end I think she got the general idea: taxes are a pain, we don't want the gubermint to hold on to too much of our money and we get to keep some money for every person we have to take care of. (The adoption - and her knowledge thereof - will definitely come in handy as regards the comprehension of deductions. I think I'll keep it to myself that she was claimed twice last year. She'll have to know sooner or later - maybe - but not at 7.) It's a heavy-hitting situation, but that's what she specializes in.

Witness her later question: "Daddy, how did you get so smart after being so bad?" HUH?!? Well, perhaps I should backup just a bit...

There's a boy in her class... - - oh, let's call him - - ... Colby. Because that's his name. This kid misses more recesses than he takes part in and more often than not is found eating lunch in the school office. Above that, as The Wif was describing this child to the broad that does her nails, she asked, "is his name Colby?" So widespread is his fame infamy.

Now, I practically had my own chair in the Principal's office that rarely cooled off, but that was in Junior High. This is the First Flippin' Grade we're talking about, here!

So many over-achievers these days...

Tonight at bedtime "M" said that she wondered why her teacher didn't "go home" given Colby's behavior today. I explained that it was the teacher's job to stick around and deal with problem students and that's why they pay the teachers. I think it fried her little brain that teachers get paid. I then went into a brief, personal history.

I told her that I had - along with a couple of co-conspirators - chased a math teacher out of our school. We were just bad enough, I said, that it drove her away from our school, but she didn't go home. She merely started teaching at another school in order to get away from us.

We talked some and I revealed some more of my minor schoolboy sins. Finally she looked at me and asked, "Daddy, how did you get so smart after being so bad?"

My chest swelled with pride just as my heart sank as I knew I'd have to answer that question...

Man oh man, a guy takes a few days away from the office and all heck breaks loose. And not just within my own lungs/body/head, so I'll spare you all that dreck...

The Little o has overseen the bankruptcy filing of Chrysler. And he has assured -- ASSURED -- us that if you buy a car from them, (Chrysler/gubermint moters), that you can do so in confidence because, "your warranty is backed by the United States government."

Well, that makes it all better, doesn't it? I mean, why worry about product variety or availability of choice, (some of you will get that joke), or diversity of product line, (see above) because the GOVERNMENT is backing your warranty.

Now I can attest that I've never known of a single person who has bought a single vehicle on the sole basis of its warranty. And if I have accidentally stumbled upon someone who did, they have been smart enough to conceal that fact from me.

Oh sure; a warranty may tip the "scale of the sale" in a certain direction, but it is - in my experience - NEVER the driving force, (forgive the pun) - behind an individual purchasing one vehicle over another. A person - a human - buys a vehicle based on their needs for such a thing, their desire to climb the social ladder, their love of the thing or some combination of those.

The worst part of all this is that we, (taxpayers all), already funneled billions of dollars into Chrysler because they were, "too big to fail." Guess what? They failed all the same. SURPRISE! Now they get to see themselves slide into the vast well of decline while looking up at the little o telling them which way to spin in order to lessen the impact. (Which is at least doubly-ironic because his entire adult life has been choreographed so as to allow him never to even glimpse the bottom of a well.)

Mr. Orwell! Call your office!!

JFK is dead.

That's right; as sad as it makes me to report it, JFK is no longer among us. This is depressing on any number of levels, but the most - and the most obvious - is that he's gone. Passed from this mortal coil and gone to join the choir invisible...

I'm talking - obviously - about Jack Kemp. A tiger who - in his later years - had only to test himself. He was a credit to his family, his party and to the NFL and not necessarily in that order.

I'll skip the obvious comment about whom shall be allowed to speak at his Memorial.

Godspeed...

AAAANNNNNNDDDD, Slo-joe is at it again. Last week, that is. During an interview for one of the Fawning Media Outlets, he said that he'd advised - and has already advised - members of his family not to travel in ANY confined spaces. Including trains and subways. Which immediately brought all thinking people to their knees as they doubled over in laughter...

Never mind that this is the guy who has tried to build his "street cred" on the fact that he rode the train home every weekend. Never mind that this is the guy who tried to sell the idea that while he was home on those weekends he visited a small cafe, (closed 20 years ago), and a Home Depot, (where nobody there could account for his presence). No, this is a guy who never met a private junket he didn't like.

Which brings to mind an interesting question for the rest of us: would you rather be locked into a steel tube with 179 of your fellow citizens, or 20 US senators?

I think you all know my choice...

Two antennas met on a roof, fell in love and got married. The ceremony wasn’t much, but the reception was excellent.

A jumper cable walks into a bar. The bartender says, “I’ll serve you, but don’t start anything.”

Two peanuts walk into a bar, and one was a salted.

A dyslexic man walked into a bra.

A man walks into a bar with a slab of asphalt under his arm, and says: “A beer please, and one for the road.”

Two cannibals are eating a clown. One says to the other: “Does this taste funny to you?”

“Doc, I can’t stop singing The Green, Green Grass of Home.”
“That sounds like Tom Jones Syndrome.”
“Well, It’s Not Unusual.”

Two cows are standing next to each other in a field. Daisy says to Dolly, “I was artificially inseminated this morning.”
“I don’t believe you,” says Dolly.
“It’s true; no bull!” exclaims Daisy.

An invisible man marries an invisible woman. The kids were nothing to look at either.

Deja Moo: The feeling that you’ve heard this bull before.

I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day, but I couldn’t find any.

A man woke up in a hospital after a serious accident. He shouted, “Doctor, doctor, I can’t feel my legs!” The doctor replied, “I know, I amputated your arms!”

I went to a seafood disco last week… and pulled a mussel.

What do you call a fish with no eyes? A fish.

Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says, “Dam!”

Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the raft. Not surprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can’t have your kayak and heat it too.

A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel, and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office, and asked them to disperse.
“But why,” they asked, as they moved off.
“Because,” he said. “I can’t stand chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer.”

A woman has twins, and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt , and is named “Ahmal.” The other goes to a family in Spain ; they name him “Juan.” Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Ahmal. Her husband responds, “They’re twins! If you’ve seen Juan, you’ve seen Ahmal.”

A dwarf, who was a mystic, escaped from jail. The call went out that there was a small medium at large.

And finally, there was the person who posted twenty different puns for his friends, with the hope that at least ten of the puns would make them laugh. No pun in ten did.