TERROR ALERT LEVEL:

This krep was posted:

January 2010
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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.

The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it. The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories.

Kathy said, "My father's a farmer and we have a lot of egg-laying hens. One time we were taking our eggs to market in a basket on the front seat of the pickup when we hit a bump in the road and all the eggs went flying and broke and made a mess"

"And what's the moral of the story?" asked the teacher.

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket!"

"Very good," said the teacher. "Now, Lucy?"

"Our family are farmers too. But we raise chickens for the meat market. We had a dozen eggs one time, but when they hatched we only got ten live chicks. And the moral to this story is, don't count your chickens until they're hatched."

"That was a fine story Lucy. Johnny do you have a story to share?"

"Yes, ma'am, my daddy told me this story about my uncle Bob. Uncle Bob was a Green Beret in Iraq and his helicopter got hit. He had to crash land in enemy territory and all he had was a bottle of whiskey, a machine gun and a machete. He drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn't break and then he landed right in the middle of 100 enemy troops. He killed seventy of them with the machine gun until he ran out of bullets, then he killed twenty more with the machete till the blade broke and then he killed the last ten with his bare hands."

"Good heavens," said the horrified teacher, " What kind of moral did your daddy tell you from that horrible story?"

"Don't mess with Uncle Bob when he's been drinking."

Well. MLD - as I thought she would - is progressing through karate belts. She learned a ton of stuff just by being there to watch her brothers and that was great, but tonight she actually learned and then demonstrated one-half of the form she'll need to know in order to progress. And, (perhaps unrelated), as the only white belt in her class when she displayed the parts of the form she'd been taught, she earned her first stripe. I'm impressed. I'm VERY impressed and I told her so.

But there's the difference: I didn't tell her I loved her more for earning her first stripe or for doing well in karate; I told her I was impressed with what she had done, because I was. I had no interest in Impression via achievement. (There's probably a Latin phrase for that but I'll be switched if I can be bothered to track it down.)

It's the philosophy I carried into parenting from Day One; achieving or following the rules does NOT make for a good child. So we've tried to stay away from saying, "Good Boy/Girl" and tried to coach my parents and others to say, "Good Job" instead on those rare occasions they actually follow instructions.

It may not be popular, but when have I worried with that?

At any rate, My Lovely Daughter now has her first stripe and is well on her way to her Orange Belt. A few more to go to be sure and she may not be eligible to test in February, but she's started and garnered the attention of the instructor. So that's cool. WAY COOL. I hope I can see how this ends, because this could really be interesting...

In politics, I of course couldn't be bothered to watch the State Of The Union (SOTU) speech because all of them - even from the guys I like - bore my buttons to death. (I should note that the last SOTU speech I almost had to watch was a bill clinton speech. I was working part-time at a second job and one of the managers brought a television into the workspace. I left and found another place to complete my work. He was surprised.) (Of course, this also reminds me that I haven't had to hold a second job since that time. Interesting that it's been that long, frankly. Fifteen years can pass so quickly...)

Anyway. I've already read some analysis from the SOTU and there are two things that already came to mind ahead of the speech: this bozo is doing what he always does. There is only one play in the playbook and the Saints (Naw'Lins) should be glad he's not planning their SuperBowl game. Each and every time - almost - the little o's answer is to set up a podium and his teleprompters then go out and raise his chin to the cameras. Same thing here.

Of course, the Constitution requires the President to report annually to the Congress as to the "State Of The Union," but nothing requires a speech, much less a televised one. And I've said this about Presidents from both sides of the aisle and couldn't be bothered to watch even a one since I was an adult. I always considered them great works of dreams and fiction and I like to live in the real world. Were I ever President (HA!) I would send a one-page, 'Homer-esque' letter to Congress that contained a single sentence: "Doin' Fine." (Actually, Homer's page said, "Feelin' Fine" but that's not really the State Of The Union, is it?")

Early analysis seems to indicate that The One kept his speech to Lower-Than-Clinton-Standard-Length, but that's not exactly a high bar, is it? The problem is that the little o seemed to used the word "I" 96 times during that speech. If it was only the hour they promised, well, you do the math...

Problem? Give a speech. Crisis? Give a speech. Trouble? Give a speech. The left used to complain about when Bush took a vacation and said he was neglecting his duty. Heck, I love it when the little o is on vacation; we finally get a break from having to hear him hem and haw...

Well, I took a big step -- but the step I had been threatening to take for some time now - today. I actually went ahead and started the steps to apply for a new mortgage. The guy I talked to wants to try this-N-that, as is their wont, but I'll take a look at the final numbers and decide if it's a good deal. We're looking at cutting a decade off the loan term and that thrills me no end.

(Well, not actually. But I'm sure you knew that.)

Of course, thanks to gubermint intrusion the appraisal will be completely different as will the so-called "truth-in-lending" statement. Grand. Count on the gubermint to screw things up and then try to work around it.

As for the appraisal, he's going to try to get us with a mortgage that doesn't require one. I'm not holding my breath. As for the "truth-in-lending" page, well, it now seems that the gubermint doesn't require close-as-can-be numbers anymore: they now want a best guess AND IF THAT GUESS IS WRONG, they go after the lender, PERSONALLY. How STUPID is that?

Well, gubermint stupid I guess. Who's for state health care?!?

So we're about to receive a truth-in-lending statement that really contains no truth. The good news is that my guy also said they'd include the "old" form that actually has numbers on it.(That's an amazing thing, if you give it any thought: you'll be punished for giving incorrect numbers but you're not allowed to give any numbers. WTH?)

We'll see where this goes and where we end up, but I'd be happy to get away from the morons currently servicing our mortgage. But if the new loan isn't up to snuff, we'll gladly walk away, pay an extra 8K in the middle of the year on our current loan and keep looking.

I mean, who's left these days?

I tweeted about how there's a new little blonde girl in my boys' karate class and about how I expected she'd be all over him before the end of class.

It didn't happen. To my great surprise. But there's this new blonde Mom...

(Just kidding, OF COURSE.)

Alright. I can talk about politics, the family or personal finance. This is what my life has pretty much boiled down to, which explains why I focus on politics so often; My Lovely Daughter - love her as I do - could talk the house off the foundation. The Knuckleheads? They could knock the house off the foundation. Especially since the boys recently earned their orange belts. Of course, I have to constantly remind MLD that while she's in karate now, she's just a white belt and her brothers are a step above her. She doesn't think it matters.

For now...

So we'll visit matters of money today. As you probably know, we have no personal debt beyond our first mortgage. No car loans, no furniture loans, no personal loans and we haven't used a credit card in almost six years. We're debt-free and loving it!

Except that, perhaps, that allows me to focus more closely on our only remaining debt: our mortgage. It's as useful as any other theory, I suppose.

I wrote earlier about how the idiots holding our mortgage didn't pay the insurance bill, then sent us a check for the escrow overage. (I honestly don't know how dividing by 12 is so frickin' difficult.) Well, I'm still waiting for the official bill/notice - and will have to follow up on it tomorrow. But, well, I guess that's not exactly right: I'm not waiting for them. I'm waiting for about March or so.

I have to do some research on available rates, terms and companies but I'm sick to death of our current company. (If anyone has a mortgage company they're extremely happy with - including their website - I'd love to hear from you and check them out.) Actually, I've already checked out the company associated with our credit union and things seemed OK, at first: no more than a 20 year term. Fine. No closing costs. Fine. A rate of 5.75%... WHA?????!?

In this market??!!?! No. Not a chance. Not a snowball's chance in a very hot place I'd do that. First off, a 20 year loan should have a LOWER rate than the going rate for a 30 year loan. So too for a 15, 10, 7 or 5, natch.

We're out of here, but not to there.

Also speaking about money, on January 4th we fully funded the kids' college funds. The first business day of the year and each kid's account was hit with 2K. And yes, I'm proud of how we set up our lives in order to make that happen. Of course, it drained our savings, (but not our emergency fund), but we're already back to a 4.3K balance there. A mere 3 weeks later and we have 4,280 dollars back in savings - from a balance of $5.00.

I am proud, but I'm not trying to brag: I'm trying to lead. If you pay off the debt, you'll have a little something called money. And having that gives you options you didn't have before. It's completely possible and I'm here to tell you so. A small amount of suffering yielded a HUGE amount of benefit for us, and it will for you, too.

Of course, there's not joy without a little 'OY; MLD is really, seriously, honestly TICKED OFF that her next-younger brother has about $75 more than she does in her account. It doesn't matter that she and her youngest (here) brother have the EXACT same amount. She's fretting over the seventy-five dollars that she doesn't have there. And never mind that she has ten dollars more in the bank than they do. And never mind that she has at least forty dollars more in her "piggy bank" than the boys do together. The jealousy is rich in this one...

There is a completely rational explanation, BTW, for why my eldest son's account has outpaced the other two's: the website crashed while I was attempting to set up their accouns, and for some reason my Child From Space (CFS)'s account didn't happen. Three or four days later I discovered this and went back and set up his account. Of course the price had dropped and 2K bought much more than it did a week prior.

I have to admit to being a bit ticked at MLD for her attitude about this. I even went so far as to ask her to ask all her classmates if they had college funds. I didn't bother checking up on it because I think she got my point. But still...

But still... she has a college fund.

And in further finance news, I absolutely LOVE and honor the idea that The Wif calls me to ask permission to spend an extra hundred dollars on something, but it can be a bit insulting if you let it be. After all, our combined bank accounts come to over 15K at the moment, so if she wants to buy a new vacuum or toaster oven or whatever, I think we'll survive. It is - as they say - a tough row to hoe. I think I'll stick with things the way they are now and just rest easy on the idea that we've got the cash. For almost whatever we need.

Not that that's a challenge, thank GOD.

And in Family news, we've started a new routine around here: at about 7:20 we used to have the kids do "Jammies" and then we'd do snack. Since all the kids are in karate, (actually taekwondo), we now do 5 "rocketship/soldiers" (jumping jacks), 5 situps and 5 pushups before sending them up to change. It's been interesting and has certainly let me know exactly which muscles need the most work.

On me, anyway...

Off the seventh tee, Brian sliced his shot deep into a wooded ravine. He took his eight iron and clambered down the embankment in search of his lost ball.

After many long minutes of hacking at the underbrush, he spotted something glistening in the leaves. As he drew nearer, he discovered that it was an eight iron in hands of a skeleton!

Joe immediately called out to his friend, "Jack, I've got trouble down here!"

"What's the matter?" Jack asked from the edge of the ravine.

"Bring me my wedge," Brian shouted. "You can't get out of here with an eight iron!"

A guy stood over his tee shot for what seemed an eternity, looking up, looking down, measuring the distance, figuring the wind direction and speed... driving his partner crazy.

Finally his exasperated partner says, "What the hell is taking so long? Hit the dang ball!"

The guy answers, "My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse. I want to make this a perfect shot."

"Give me a break! You don't stand a snowball's chance of hitting her from here."

After a particularly poor game of golf, a popular club member skipped the clubhouse and started to go home. As he was walking to the parking lot to get his car, a policeman stopped him and asked, "Did you tee off on the sixteenth hole about twenty minutes ago?"

"Yes," the golfer responded.

"Did you happen to hook your ball so that it went over the trees and off the course?" the cop asked.

"Yes, I did. How did you know?" the golfer asked.

"Well," said the policeman very seriously, "Your ball flew out onto the highway and crashed through a driver's windshield. The car went out of control, crashing into five other cars and a fire truck. The fire truck couldn't make it to the fire, and the building burned down. So, what are you going to do about it?"

The golfer thought it over carefully and responded, "I think I'll close my stance a little bit, tighten my grip and lower my right thumb."

Oy. The Wif went off on her own - again - and found a chair that she wants to put into MLD's room so she'll have someplace comfortable to read. She wanted an "overstuffed" chair, (which, BTW, who exactly decides when a chair is "overstuffed?" I don't think such a thing is possible, frankly), and something in an unusual color that will fit her current theme of bright pink and obnoxious orange.

And of course I realize that the colors will change in a year or so: meaning that the chair would no longer match: meaning that her current furniture will have to be changed out. Meaning that the bed will have to go. Meaning that the carpet will have to be changed. Meaning that her clothes will have to be changed. Meaning that...

Well, you get the idea.

(I SHOULD NOTE that it sounds as if The Wif is either sweeping without taking care to avoid crashing into things, or hitting the kitchen cabinets with a hammer. I guess I'll find out tomorrow morning and that will dictate the activities of my weekend.)

So she's shopping for a chair on craigslist and - to my misfortune - finds one. IT'S LIME GREEN! IT'S CLOSE! IT'S FREE! You remember how when something sounds too good to be true? Well THAT'S TRUE.

We go pick up the chair - and "free" is "free" for a reason. Ugly chair with wite-out on one of the arms, plus a stain on the cushion. Now to be fair, what I imagined to be wite-out could possibly be a drop of white paint, but I think I've got it nailed.

We pick up the chair and thankfully it's not only on the main level but in the room closest to the door. It slides out like a charm and rides the dolly right to the back of my truck. Sweet.

Upon returning home, on Karate night, I carry the chair upstairs as everyone else is eating dinner. I should have eaten dinner. Because it would take a large power saw and about 22 man-hours to get this chair into MLD's room. So then I got the grand pleasure of carrying the chair - overstuffed, that is - back downstairs.

The funniest thing is that we still have our Christmas Tree up and The Wif imagines she'll find a space for this big chair once the tree is down. Of course, that only means one thing and that's that I will be dragging the chair out to the back of my truck in order to drag it off to Goodwill.

And of course that's "funny" provided you're NOT me. Heck, my muscles are still twitching.

My Knuckleheads are pregnant. (Sorry - I'm watching "Cheaters" at the moment.)

My Knuckleads are now officially Orange Belts. The ceremony was ultra-cool and they did "their thing" for the instructor, then brought their old belts to us, (Mommy, actually - they've already figured that out), and sat down with their new belts on their uniforms. WAY. TOO. COOL.

MLD will have to "earn her stripes" - quite literally - before she's can catch up with her brothers, but when she gets there, you'll see the pics here.

Promise...

As far as politics go, the "ted kennedy" seat has seemingly fallen into the hands of - GASP! - a Repulican. As I write this, anyway. Things are always open for change - especially where the voter fraud of the left is concerned - but it seems to be a done deal. Could be a decent job and send a genuine message vis-a-vis little 'o' care, (ironic, since teddy was a sponsor of the bill), but they'll spin it as needed:

"Sure, but the guy who sponsored the bill and held the seat for almost 5 decades couldn't clearly communicate his message." Or some such nonsense. (And by the way, if democrats can't, "communicate their message," then they're incompetent. Given the fact that they have the LSM in their back pocket, they really shouldn't have to try that hard. Can't communicate their message? Really? You can't have one of your 1,500 press agents take care of that?)

I'm learning that the best thing about living down the hill is that when you make a phone call to someone to come out fix something, the answer is usually, (so far), "sometime this afternoon?" instead of, "two weeks from Thursday." "Maybe."

The people I've had to call out - even dating from the movers - have been fantastic. Quick response, reasonable rates, great work and they do what they're asked to. EVERYTHING I've expected to get fixed has and who can ask for more than that? I mean, "clean/prep my evaporative cooler," and it's running that afternoon. "Fix my garage door," and he's there in an hour and a half and fixes everything for $115. I may have said this already, but I'd gladly pay that each and every month just to make sure that the door works: goes up and down as The Wif needs it too, but closes securely as need be.

And then this week the furnace died. Actually, the furnance died right as the batteries in the thermostat died. SURELY ONE CAUSED THE OTHER!

Well, not so much. New batteries did NOT bring about a new burst of power. Nor heat. But we had hot water, so I know we still had gas a credit with Excel, so that was of little hope. I reset the mains and the furnace, (yes, I can find the link), and without a response I then opened the furnance. The answer was exactly what I thought it was without being what I thought I was. I thought/hoped it might be a thermocouple: I have a spare and I know how to install/light them.

That would have been pretty cool. I would have saved myself the call charge, the installation charge - heck, all of it!

But the guy comes out, replaces the part I thought was bad - while thinking it was the thermocouple - and then tunes the furnace beyond anything I would have asked for. He chastised me for not being as neat as he would like, but got the danged thing running.

Which is what I finally paid him for in the first place...

Wow. Just WOW. Almost all I can say at this point, but you know I'll manage at least a little bit more, as always...

I'm enjoying The Wif's Christmas present beyond words, even though I have no understanding of the full range of it's powers. I've "taped" the kids doing karate and recorded and shot most of MLD's first lesson, took a pic or two at karate that made me wish I'd read the directions on how to delete images, and have finally connected the thing to my computer.

It's really pretty sweet.

I've gotten and responded to a message from the person I spoke about earlier. So those of you who offered advice, I thank you very much. But apparently I'll screw this thing up on my own. At least that's how I've done things in the past.

Actually, we seem to be progressing fairly slowly and that's fine by me; after coming on so strongly I backed off and allowed him time to breathe. After all, he and I each remember his sister differently, so let's try to see what we have in common. Right?

He's already impressed me...

Oh, and my Knuckleheads were awarded their orange belts on Saturday. Pictures (at least)to follow.

A famous art collector is walking through the city when he notices a mangy cat lapping milk from a saucer in the doorway of a store and he does a double take. He recognizes that the saucer is extremely old and very valuable, so he walks casually into the store and offers to buy the cat for two dollars.

The storeowner replies "I'm sorry, but the cat isn't for sale.

The collector says, "Please, I need a hungry cat around the house to catch mice. I'll pay you twenty dollars for that cat."

And the owner says "Sold," and hands over the cat.

The collector continues, "Hey, for the twenty bucks I wonder if you could throw in that old saucer. The cat's used to it and it'll save me from having to get a dish."

And the owner says, "Sorry buddy, but that's my lucky saucer. So far this week I've sold sixty-eight cats."

The Interwebs have become a rather interesting thing, to say the least. Things like Google and Wikipedia have made it possible to gather a large - although reasonably suspect - amount of information about pretty much anything. IMDB can give reliable information about current movies and those yet to come while zabasearch goes through public records and can track down just about anybody, anywhere.

So too with Facebook. Oh, it's a "social networking" site but all that really means is that you can tenuously "link" your page to people you know; they can read the comments you make, you can read theirs and then further comment on each others' comments. You can join groups and become "fans" of bands, organizations and groups - even ideas and causes.

The good thing about Facebook is that you can track down long-lost friends and catch up with them. I've done plenty of that with completely positive results: I found a woman I've known since the 3rd grade and we've started to socialize our families together, (which is a bit odd because one of her daughters is a Marine and the other is in high school while my youngest - for now - still wears diapers to bed). I've also tracked down former classmates and some have tracked me down. It's an interesting site.

Now, to the present. I recently re-discovered letters I received in the mid-80's from a girl I was completely hot for. Completely. I'm ashamed to say that I pursued this girl for all I was worth in spite of the fact that I already had a long-term girlfriend. I'm proud of her to say that she resisted me almost completely for the same reason. Sorry, but that was the situation and I'm not going to lie about it.

So I found these letters and as you all well know, the old feelings came rushing back. But one in particular moved me; she had just married, mailed me, (no Internet nor email back then), and told me she'd gotten married. He was her high school crush, they'd dated off and on and once she came back from college they connected again. They dated again. They married and left the small Western-Colorado town for California. She wrote that, 'even though they've only been married for seven weeks, it was the best seven weeks of her life.' She also said that I should feel free to continue writing to her.

I never did again.

After re-reading the letter I'd nearly forgotten I flipped it to the back of the pile and re-read the copy of her obituary. From 1989. At the age of 23 and a mere six weeks after the birth of her daughter. It pushed to the front of my mind everything I remember about it: she had MS and it was rumored that the birth complicated things for her body. I remember hearing that a blood clot had become dislodged from her leg and entered her heart. I remember the stupid male-model-wanna-be clerking where I managed asking me, "have you ever heard of [insertcityhere]?" after accepting a check from a young college student in the shop. I asked the student if she'd ever heard of my friend.

That's how I learned of her death. Days before Interwebs, remember?

After breaking down - and of all stupid things crying to my girlfriend over it - I eventually contacted the small town's newspaper, (long distance, natch), to ask for a copy of the obituary. I even remember that the note accompanying the obituary notice said that should I require another copy it would cost me two dollars. I actually thought that was pretty funny: was she going to die again? I'd keep them on speed-dial, (if such a thing existed back then).

It shook me up pretty bad and I had a hard time getting over the grand tragedy of it all. I mean, not my loss of her - that was already accomplished - but the world's, her husband's and especially her daughter's loss of her. In fact, for quite some time I kept a picture of her on my desk at work. (Don't get all creeped out; it was a wallet-sized Senior Pic I put into a small frame and could still probably find in about 4 minutes.) I missed her - without ever hearing another word from her - and finally tried to keep her close.

...

That's the history and heartbreak. As I re-discovered these letters I kind of wondered if maybe her widower wouldn't want to read that letter. I mean, if I meant that much to someone I think I'd want to know they said it. The thing is, she's been gone long enough that her daughter's now nearly as old as she was when she passed, (if all's gone well). Would anyone care to read that information now? Would they want to know that or just continue on with the life they've built? I was torn, so I went to an authority: The Wif.

I told her that I think I'd like to know that and she agreed. So, back to The Interwebs, with all her letters in hand as I searched for clues. She mentioned the graduation prep for what must be a younger brother, (obviously). I started there but came up mostly empty. I say mostly because it was that search that somehow, (I forget exactly), took me to what is likely her older brother's name.

SO! Onto Facebook, Robin! I searched for the name and what I thought were reasonable parameters, given her DOB and what-not, and out of something like 115 search results I narrowed it down to 2 people. I emailed them both, asking if they were from [insertcityhere]. The first responded almost immediately saying, "never heard of the group." Yeah. The second got back to me the next day and said, 'yes, but do I know you?'

I gave a thumbnail sketch of how I "knew" him. He responded with the obvious, "do you know" question. I assured him I knew, told him I'd bug off and figured that would be the end of it. Since I'd seemingly brought up a tender subject - one since long dealt with, apparently - I certainly didn't want to rub salt in the wound. That wasn't my objective, obviously.

But once you send a message on Facebook - or email for that matter - they can find you without any trouble at all. And that's just what happened today: after about a week of nothing at all, I got a "friend" request from the man. I of course accepted as soon as I saw it. Not sure where to go from here. I don't know if he's honestly interested or just trying to build numbers, but among people my age it's pretty rare - unless you're a celebrity - to just try to build a friends list.

I'm thinking about sending him a link to this post in the next few days. Any ideas?

OK, OK. I know that title sounds like this is going to be a political post and The Good LORD knows there's plenty of material out there to support that guess. harry reid going out of his way to confirm the double-standard of the LSM, the senate race in Massachusetts, the governor's race in Colorado, (in which I consider one of the candidates to be a personal friend - I think Code Monkey's wife has met his wife!), and on and on. I will be political only once here:

Go Sarah, go! Drive 'em all out of their minds with blind, stupid, uninformed rage. We're counting on you!

Now that THAT'S behind us, let me tell you what I'm really talking about: karate class. I mean, The Knuckleheads are about to be awarded their Orange Belts, (having already earned them), so we have a weekend engagement for that. And they're doing great. New kicks, new blocks, new moves - they're really learning what's expected of them and actually trying to advance. I hope the attitude carries over and it seems to for most of the week. In fact, I'm thinking of enacting a rule where they have to "bow-in" and "bow-out" of the house or at least our bedroom, (we watch movies and computer videos on the HD screen in our bedroom), in order to reinforce their training. They have class on Monday and Tuesday nights and it makes the early week much easier to deal with, but the rest of the week much more difficult as their training dissipates.

And then...

Tonight was MLD's first karate class. She had been begging to join a class and was rather rabid about it; her jump-rope class had been canceled for lack of interest, (as I would have planned it anyway), but she was incessant about her desire to join a karate class. PROBLEM: She can't be in the same class as her brothers due to age. I would have thought they'd group them by ability, but should I decide to participate in classes, I'd be in with a bunch of 4 year olds, so they have a certain sense of logic going on there.

SO, ANYWAY... her class follows her brothers' class on Tuesdays which makes Tuesdays a rather interesting night. A sort of early/late/fast evening for as long as we can foresee. Which will be just fine because that's pretty much what I signed up for.

Her first class was tonight. I may have mentioned that already.

She was anxious, but nervous. I suspect that's a sensation we adults forget until we're called to a job interview. That's the only comparison I can draw. But she was proud of her new karate uniform and ready to jump into action. Until she HAD to jump into action.

She was a mess; paying way too much attention to what was happening among the parents and not nearly enough to what was being said by the instructor. She forgot her number one kicks and her number two kicks and her jabs and crosses - all learned simply by being around her brothers - and kind of laid low. I was trying to help her, but then I had to remember that this was indeed her very first lesson. Turns out nervous won the battle, apparently.

I'm doing everything I can to let her settle into her new role of "official" White Belt and not expecting her to spar against the Orange Belts, but I'm still the proud Daddy and want to see her do the very best she can. But she'll get there before I will, I suspect.

I took my new camera and have what I think will be is some great shots and videos, if only I can figure out where they are, so you may yet see some of them.

I'm thoroughly disgusted by both the so-called, "Christmas Day bomber" and this administration's response to it. The whole thing is unfit for human consumption, frankly. Well, for American consumption anyway.

Some of you know some of the details, (I count myself among that group), but as Mark Twain once said, if you read the newspapers you're misinformed. So here's what they're allowing us to know so far...

A "radicalized" muslim boarded a plane from Yemen bound for Detroit. No luggage checked and he paid cash for what some report was a one-way ticket. What's wrong with this picture? I mean, this is a chin-scratcher; one-way ticket. No luggage. Headed for the 'new mecca' in America. His own Father called to report that he may be a "problem," to say the least. He's allowed on the plane in spite of the fact that he's carrying enough explosives in his shorts to take down the plane and kill dozens - perhaps hundreds - on the plane and the ground. He manages to set himself alight but - and Thank GOD for this - not detonate his payload.

So to speak...

After which the President refuses to cut short his Christmas vacation - much less comment for three days - one of the main administration security advisors refuses to say anything more than, "single" as he's skiing and the new head of homeland security says, "the system worked."

If this system worked then I wasted over $100 repairing our garage door, because the fact that it was in place was apparently proof enough of it "working" according to our homeland "security" secretary. C'Mon. Are they serious, or are they trying to seriously give us the head-fake?

There are so many things at play here that it's tough to know where to start, but when has that stopped me? The most obvious thing is that it took this clown 3 days to comment on the situation. But why is THAT a surprise? I mean, it took the guy nearly 5 months to pick a dog, (I grabbed one out of a laundry basket in front of a grocery store and he's served me perfectly for nearly 15 years), and then one finally had to be chosen for him. Our citizens were being held by a rogue band of "sailors" and it took him 5 days to decide to authorize something to be done. Fortunately, that's all that was required of him and our brave and competent military took care of the details.

And what was the answer? "The system worked." Now I fully understand that he didn't say that, but the one person who was apparently still on the clock said that in his behalf. Which reminds me - wasn't George W Bush constantly berated for taking/staying on vacation? I mean, it's not like the President is EVER on vacation, no matter where he goes or what he does, but George W was constantly catching grief for spending too much time at his Crawford Ranch. This guy? Well, Hawaii will be the second White House. And especially if he takes this much time to respond to something.

And by the way, weren't Presidents supposed to respond IMMEDIATELY to national emergencies? If there's even the hint of a threat shouldn't they be on-site within minutes? What the heck happened to that? Why can this guy continue his vacation, his advisor continue his and his Homeland Security Secretary step out with an outright lie?

Oh yeah. They're democrats; they get a pass.

...

But there were 2 good things from "the one's" eventual speech, (which surprised me that it took so long for him to get in front of a camera): he finally took responsibility for something and he didn't seem to find a way to blame George W for the attempted bombing. For a time I was amazed that he didn't accuse George W for selling the idiot the underpants, but I'll give him a ration of credit for finally seeming to act like a man.

For now.

A young man at a New Year’s party turns to his friend and asks for a cigarette.

'I thought you made a New Year’s resolution to quit smoking,' his friend says.

'I'm in the process of quitting,' the man says.'Right now, I am in the middle of phase one.'

'What's phase one?'

'I've quit buying them.'

I am both happy and proud to say that my kids' college funds are fully funded for all of 2010. Yep, we put in the legal limit and it finally cleared on Wednesday. They're done for now and all is well - no loans, no borrowing, no question. Ahhhh...

I'm forever grateful that I've finally learned that the definition of a "man" is, "one who serves his family." Maybe you have to come to Fatherhood late in life in order to learn that or maybe I just stumbled onto something, but it matters. I earn most of the money, pay the bills, do our taxes and it matters. I organized our finances so we were able to get out of debt, and it matters. We have power and water because I pay attention to them, and it matters. We have the little luxuries of life - like wireless Internet and satellite TV because I've set them up, and it matters. I even provide health insurance - until uncle barak does it - and have to pay union dues, and it matters.

In short, MEN matter. Boys chase skirts and feel as if they have to put notches on their belt. How I pray that I'm able to teach my Knuckleheads that as early as possible. It could save them a ton of trouble.

In other financial news, I've decided that we need a new water heater. The good part is that I can install it myself, but the bad news is that the one we currently have is only about 4 years old. I HATE replacing working equipment; just HATE it. I have to do that at work and it rubs me the wrong way each and every time. "The monitor you have is just fine. You can read it and it shows you everything you're expecting to see. Why should I replace it?"

"But there's a new one here!"

And since I work for the gubermint I just get sent stuff and am expected to replace it and SIT DOWN AND SHUT THE HELL UP!! It's not a good match at times, but again, I'm expected to earn the money and pay the bills so I continue to show up as long as they continue to pay me.

Which brings me back to the topic: my water heater. It's a nice enough and new enough unit to remain in service but it's just not up to the job requested of it. And that is to heat enough water for a family of 5, (Which makes me wonder why - when given the large amount of space available - the former owners would choose to install a 40 gallon water heater in a 3,100 square foot house. Just not gettin' that one). And by, 'heating enough water for a family of 5,' I mean, 'heating enough water for a 'tween girl.

We used to alternate showers for the kids; MLD on one night and The Knuckleheads on the next. Sometimes that worked with our schedule and sometimes it wouldn't. There would be times when we had to do them on the same night and nights when they missed it entirely. Well, tonight was one of those nights we did them both and My Lovely Daughter took her standard 20 minute shower. The math shouldn't be complicated. But she was nice enough to leave a teaspoon of warm water in the tank.

Now, The Knuckleheads generally take about a 5 minute shower, (small bodies don't take that long to wash if you do it right), but we STILL ran out of hot water. We can't continue this way, but it will continue. So I need to do something. Something about either adding or replacing a water heater. I want to go with a tankless one again but until we need the space (adding a half-bath in the basement), I may just add another conventional tank. Heck, I don't know. For now I may just go back to staggering the kids' baths.

And in further news, I learned that the company who took over our home loan payments didn't exactly make the payments. The insurance payment, that is. I called my agents' office and left a message. I then got a call from the office AND the mortgage company where I learned that instead of paying the full nine hundred something, the mortgage company paid six hundred something, leaving us in the lurch, possibly. Which is interesting but fine; we'll manage, if it comes to that. But of course that leaves the question of what the heck happened to all our escrowed funds?

Ah - but then on wednesday I received a check for a scant 700-dollars from our mortgage company. This raises some interesting questions but I could care less. The money will be socked-away in case we need it and if the mortgage company DARES to send a letter adjusting our payment because of the change in the escrow account, we'll refinance that afternoon.

Best I could do - we get a late mail delivery around here...

Uggh. Sorry about yesterday: I'd actually written something - after being suitably chastised for not doing so every night - but I lost it. Lost it good. Dog Ate My Homework good. Down the Memory Hole, or rather the Wish I Remember Where It Went hole. I turned around and went to upload it to this site and there was nary a new thing in the file.

And it's freakin' Notepad for Pete's sake...

At any rate, what I think I tried to say was that the Open House went great. I got to see friends and family I hadn't seen in quite some time and a grand time was had by most. We had enough Marines here to overthrow a small country - two - and an Army guy or two in reserve, (not counting my own Karate Knuckleheads). The little people made themselves scarce and at one point I was asked by a "new" guest, "where are your kids?" My answer was, "danged if I know," and I meant it.

I mean, I could point to their Uncle or Grandpa or Grandma or Aunt or Cousins but I honestly didn't know where they were either. Normally you can find our kids using either a sense of smell or hearing - depending upon which child you're looking for - but this weekend they just disappeared. Well, eventually. For a time they hung out around the food, grabbed a bowl of chili or a cracker along the way and my boys hung out around Uncle Dood. And then Uncle Andrew. And then Uncle Grandpa.

But they actually spent a great deal of time with a friend from school. This kid is between them so far as age is concerned so he goes from one group of kids to the next. Which is to say one Knucklehead to the next. I honestly suspect that the school has no idea what to do with the kid, but the Knuckleheads are so close in age that it's pretty much a shoe-in: "Oh, the Stone boys? They're already used to each other so just stick 'em in the same room." (Or UNDER the prison as the case may be)

But then, I was at the party too. I got to do a little bit of catching up with Uncle Dood as well as people I haven't seen in a time that can be measured in decades. Or rather could have been if we hadn't spend some time together last summer. Facebook can do that for a person.

Among the Notables was also Code Monkey. He appeared in spite of the cats, showed up long enough to have some food, (I didn't keep track), and enjoy the treats. We may see him again.

I suspect so...

Oh, KREP! I'd just written.... something. And sent the dog to bed and now I'll watch what I'm going to watch and go to bed in anticipation of knock-all.

Best I can do, frankly...

OK. So there's more going on here than I can possibly explain and still have time to sleep in order to prepare to do it. Make sense? Good. Or rather, I hope it does. And if so, I'd appreciate an explanation, because I'm totally lost...

For those of you left wondering, NO! we haven't a fourth child. All the news we've received from that end is good - child is healthy, happy and gaining weight - which is a bit more scary in the end if you ask me. But who ever does? Still, we'll deal with that when we deal with that, right?

The Christmas Emergency this year was a dead garage door. I mean, there's always something, right? It just seems that most years it seems to surround plumbing; after all, that was the main curse as we entered our previous house and it continued to haunt us for years afterward. And especially at those times of year when you'd rather be doing anything else. In fact, I'm wearing a shirt from one of our Christmas Eve plumbing "episodes" which has white spots where it was bleached out by the chemicals, but is otherwise still wearable.

OH - but the garage door. Right. Well, we came home from Sam's and I hit the garage door to close it. It opened again. We let the kids out and emptied the back, then closed the garage. It openened again.

KREP.

KREP KREPITTY KREP.

The garage door wouldn't close. Well, HELL. This is what garage doors are designed to do: close garages. Suddenly mine didn't and that was a serious problem. I got out the ladders and the hammers and the pliers and somewhere in there I got the door somewhat closed. The door was elevated on the right side and I was concerned about whom might allow themselves into our house. So I locked the door from the garage into the house. This meant the van had to be parked in the driveway, the family had to leave the house via the front door and something had to be done.

I called Raynor - with whom I have a long and forgotten history - and the guy came out, answered the call and fixed everything for ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN DOLLARS! It was unbelievable and the guy was great.

As to all of you who remain, I wish you a happy, healthy, wealthy New Year. I wish you everything to everyone but especially, I'd like to wish you good luck in doing your taxes.

Heaven knows how much I'm dreading them...