The Great Depression

You remember those goofy mix tapes we used to make back in the good old days--you know, the 80s--filled with sappy love songs or bootleg crap that would uncurl our mom's curly perm?

The Girl is taking World History 2, and for a fun assignment, her instructor paired up people at random (they have no say) in order to create a CD depicting an event in history. Pick an event, any event, from WW2 to 9/11 (but please, no more 9/11s--too many have chosen that already). Then select popular music (or any music) that "speaks" to the event.

The girl mentioned a debate in class of the definition of "war," that her instructor shared his opinion that the current so-called war would be very much like Viet Nam by the end, and that like Korea, Viet Nam wasn't technically a "real war." My first comment on that was, "Not a real war? Tell that to my dad."

So we got to talking about why Viet Nam happened in the first place, what happened along the way, and how it ended. I told her that we have truckloads of music not only from that era but also tribute songs written afterwards, and that slapping together a fake CD would be a snap. She agreed, provided I help her out.

Help her? WTF? Then she drops the other shoe: her partner will most likely be getting suspended from school this week, thanks to some particularly bad behavior that went unmentioned. At the time of the assignment discussion, the boy was already in the principal's office. And so, not having anyone else available, she was given permission (!) to do the project on her own.

As a compromise, I told her I would make her a playlist and print out lyrics. She had to listen to each song, review the lyrics, and then write one or two sentences about why or how the song relates to the Viet Nam Conflict. She has to design the CD cover herself with no help from me, either. Plus, she has to endure my random quizzing her on general history questions.

So I've put together the playlist, and I gotta tell you, it's pretty damn depressing. It's also agitating, because it brings forward a lot of emotions regarding the ongoing military situation into which our current administration has engaged us.

For your consideration, the playlist:

Star Spangled Banner; Hendrix
Traveling Soldier; Countdown Singers
For What It's Worth; Buffalo Springfield
Imagine; John Lennon
War; Edwin Starr
The Times, They Are A-Changin'; Dylan
Ohio; Neil Young
Give Peace A Chance; John Lennon
Paint It Black; The Stones
Turn! Turn! Turn!; The Byrds
War Pigs; Black Sabbath
We Gotta Get Out Of This Place; The Animals
Veteran Song; 'Native US'
Taps; US Air Force Band
19; Paul Hardcastle
Goodnight, Saigon; Billy Joel
Still in Saigon; Charlie Daniels Band

I would like to mention that when the idea about a war event as the focus of a music CD was verbalized, The Boy blurted out, "Hey, how about 'War Pigs'?"

I do believe I've raised my kids appropriately. Yay, me!

Captain Obvious Strikes Again!

The headline proclaims "Number of troops diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder jumped roughly 50 percent in 2007."

Clicky to read

Huh. Makes you wonder that maybe there's a war on or something. I mean, you can't really tell with all the coverage of this year's political primordial soup.

Buffalo blues

Today I had lunch at a new chainstaurant called "Buffalo Wild Wings." It's just another sports grill, but with a metric assload of wing flavors available, including a few that seemed, well, unpossible.

While walking through the parking lot towards the building, I saw an average car with a pretty blue paint job. In admiring the color, I noticed the car was one of those Chevy Cobalts. I thought, "Finally! A Cobalt that's really cobalt!"

Although this was the first time I'd ever seen a cobalt Cobalt, it wasn't the first time I'd wished I'd had some business cards that merely said, "You. Are. Awesome." so that I could leave one under the windshield wiper. I've also thought about making other cards that say things like, "Congratulations! You win the 'Biggest Asshole in the Parking Lot' prize!" "Please remove your trailer hitch before entering The Big City," and "Clearly, your mother did not raise you right."

the one in which I lose geek points

This past Sunday, I attempted to fall into an online video game. This would have been a fantastic way to hang out with friends with whom I had developed an excellent relationship over the past few years. Unfortunately, the day was mostly full of fail, and I have slipped in my geek rating.

How could I possibly slip? Stupidity, with a smattering of laziness.

I've spent so long just building and tinkering, content to be a slave to the Microsoft God, that I've forgotten some of the basic tenets of programming. Like a noob, I blindly downloaded and re-downloaded, deleted and reinstalled, until I wanted to just put a boot straight through my brand-spanking new laptop. The lame-o geek in me forgot to actually install the damn patches after downloading.

Obviously, I need to get a brian, because I'm a moran. Or drink less kool-aid. It's a toss-up.

Sometimes, All I Want To Be Is A Missing Person

Warning: Totally and completely Not Safe For Work.

Or reality, for that matter.

Unfortunately for many, I am easily made to feel uncomfortable. For example, graphic depictions of sexual relations in movies and television programs make me want to hide my eyes. Sometimes I am outright offended, as I was while watching the most recent episode of Family Guy.

Today, however, I laughed and said to myself, "Oh, that was so wrong." I may need therapy again.

Thanks, Fark, for abusing my brain with this:


This was posted in comments forum after Fark linked to a Wheaton blog post in which Wheaton shares his view of the Democrat primary candidates, particularly Mrs. Clinton.

I'm not sure exactly what prompted Meatzilla to post this. Perhaps those smarter than me might help me out a little.

I can has tattoo?

WayBack, I had the urge to get a tattoo: a cute little Sonic, The Hedgehog, with flaming shoes. Part of this was because I was healthy for the first time in a long time and able to run more efficiently than ever before, but mostly this was because I was seriously into Sonic, The Hedgehog. I chickened out, which is fine, because Sonic, The Hedgehog obsessions are pretty lame.

So I'm cruising Fark, and found a new reason to get a tattoo: Hello Kitty as Darth Vader!

Click the link and enjoy! From what I can see, it's pretty SFW.

Speeling is speshul

As you all know, I adore personalized license plates. I especially love the ones that make no sense, and play a little game of "What the hell...?!" Some of you have played along with me.

Today's plate issue isn't about plates that make no sense, but ones that do. Why am I bugged by plates that make sense? Because occasionally, they are misspelled in such a way that you just know the dolt had a cute idea but no clue or dictionary.

For instance, this plate:

Villian

Now, this person may be claiming to be a bad guy, in which case the spelling should have been "villain." Or this person could be claiming to live in serf-like conditions, in which case the spelling should have been "villein." Or perhaps it's a name thing, in which case I'm sure the spelling should have been "Vivian."

I hope the person isn't really an idiot who can't spell but in fact changed the spelling because their idea was already registered. However, this should never be done. For god's sake, change some of the letters for numbers: two 1s instead of ls, for instance. Don't be publicly stupid on your permanent record.

on the road again

So I take the family campster for an oil change. The dealership had changed the van over from regular to synthetic, and so now the price of a standard oil change has doubled for me. Yes, this fills me with ultimate joy.

The service I received today from a private oil-change company was fast, friendly and excellent. The interior was even vacuumed out, which I did not expect. My van runs well. You can feel how happy it is to have clean oil and a topped-up transmission. However, I think they made a mistake.

According to my window sticker, I don't need to return for a new oil change until July 22, or 135,000 miles, whichever comes first. My current odometer reading: 73,000 miles. I'm supposed to drive 62,000 miles by July 22 before my next oil change? Awesome!

I can't turn left here--there's no road!

Mister wants a GPS. I've finally found one that will make me laugh enough to justify the expense:

Courtesy of XKCD.

Chivalry is not dead

....But it may just be barely breathing.

I'm trying to raise my kids to be a bit old-fashioned. I think it's important for younger people to help out old people. I also remind my son to hold open doors for ladies. Mister was raised all right, and so were my brothers and I, but I saw something happen today that I've never experienced.

I was at the grocery store on the military base. It was drizzly raining, and I was hurrying back to my van. As I walked past one car, a young adult got out of the driver's side and crossed to the other side of the car. He opened the passenger door, held out his hand, and helped his wife out of the car.

And she wasn't even pregnant.

It was so sweet. It's okay to hurl now.

Yes!

I know, it's a second post. But I swears it, Precious, you'll love this one!

The Lord of the Rings MMORPG posted an update to the game today. You must see it.





BTW, I love Fark--that's where I found this. I don't actually play MMORPGs. I just don't have the time right now, although I'd probably play this one if it wasn't a one-off joke.

Smack that

Holy cow, was I in a panic today!

I had forgotten to check XKCD yesterday (I know!) so I went looky-look today. But it was gone. In its place was some other cartoon. It was okay, but it wasn't my 'webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math and language.' And it wasn't even slightly PG.

And then I realized it was April Fool's Day.
[insert facepalm here]

What was that?

Well, here's a headline you didn't expect:

Oral Sex And Pot Linked To Cancer

clicky

Who knew?

Game On! Again.

Okay, I've finally got another license plate for all of you. This one really has me perplexed. It really doesn't seem like one of those his-n-hers plates, but I can't figure out if it references anything, either.

So, here you go, peeps:

CAXAPOK

No spaces, either. Good luck with that.

Package Story

I was standing in line at the grocery store when a misplaced magazine, GuitarEdge, caught my eye. The magazine was proclaiming the 30-year anniversary of the rock group, Van Halen. The band's main guy, Eddie Van Halen, was splashed on the cover, playing his guitar.

I appreciated how good he looked for being in the neighborhood of 50. Selling your soul to Satan has its advantages. If, in fact, he did not sell his soul to Satan, then Botox works just as well.

But then I noticed It.

Yeah, you see it, too. That can't possibly be his car keys in the side pocket. I nearly dropped the magazine. I mean, my thumb was right there!

Shiver me timbers!

Snow Day with Edmund

I found this guy, Edmund, through Rinda's Question of the Day. He's originally from Floriduh, and experienced his first snow in an unexpected place: Atlanta. His video diary really appealed to the shrink in me.

I grew up in the Great White North. I never really thought about all the people who live in snow-free zones. I honestly never wondered if they knew what they were missing; my mom had instilled in us this universal truth: if you never try It, you'll never miss It. Granted, that was her way of gently denying us things she couldn't afford, but it really does apply to a lot of things: illegal drugs, street racing, sex on park bench, swearing at the police, and so on.

Mister, originally from 'Bama, did not enjoy snow, but I think that was down to location. We were living in Maryland, just outside of Washington, DC. Traffic was insane no matter what the weather, except that bad weather multiplied the insanity to the power of -10. He hated it there. Moving to England actually provided less snow, and since England lays down more salt during the 'cold season' than can be found in the Dead Sea, Mister really wasn't so bothered by snow. Since leaving England, we haven't experienced much of any snowy weather.

I've been missing it, but I will not move back to The Corridor just for the snow. I'd rather crucify myself even though I can't hammer in the other nail. No, I'll have to vacation for the snow, but that's okay. Most mountain cabins come with hot tubs!

Thank you and good night

I was watching a national morning news program and became upset by the tosh that's being reported as news, but really isn't.

This is the real news: now-former New York Governer Eliot Spitzer broke the law. He arranged for money to be sent to pay for an illegal activity. Sending money to someone isn't illegal itself unless that money will be used to pay for illegal activities, hence the scandal. It's news also that the money hired a prostitute. This isn't what I consider tosh; it must be reported.

What is not news is the identity of the prostitute, which is now being divulged in excruciating detail.

What should be news but isn't is who was running the so-called 'escort service' which employed this and several other prostitutes.

Think of it this way: Suppose I manage a service in which my employees will, for a fee, spoon-feed a client. Unfortunately, paying for spoon-feeding is illegal everywhere in the US. The governor of some state sends me money via bank transfer to pre-pay for a spoon-feeding, and then travels to my location in order to partake of the spoon-feeding. Afterward, I pay the employee who participated in the event. Who's the bigger criminal: my employee, a wage-earner (illegal or otherwise), or me, who started the business in the first place, knowing full well that paid spoon-feeding is illegal?

I argue that the news is incorrectly focusing on the lesser criminal, the prostitute. Sure, she deserves some note, because at any time she should have said, "Hey, this is illegal! I need to quit and get myself a real job!" but didn't.

Instead the news outlets should be shouting loudest about the individual who started the "escort service" in the first place. Escort services and brothels are run by people who are, in fact, nothing more than pimps, and pimping is just as illegal or even more so than prostitution.

What we are being bombarded with instead is the prostitute's history, from her aspirations of a singing career right down to old classmates from elementary school. How the hell is that news?

I'll paraphrase the news this morning: the prostitute in the middle of this scandal was a great kid, an interesting teenager, had problems with her parents and so ran away from home to become a famous singer, fell on hard times and then became a prostitute, with strong inference that if you run away to New York City but don't make it in the Big Apple, obviously you'll turn to prostitution.

Yep, that is so newsworthy! Thanks ever so much, ABCNews!

What else has been in the news this morning? Other clients of the escort service. I'm beholden to you, NYDailyNews!

Meanwhile, we still haven't been told who employed this woman and others, or with what that person might be charged, if indicted. And that, my friends, is criminal indeed.

--
Side note: I also find it amusing that network news has censored itself from referring to the woman from the 'escort service' as a prostitute, instead preferring the term, 'call girl.'
--
Also, because I'm so pissed off at the media for their shenanigans, I refuse to hot-link my sources. I did list them, but I won't link them. They don't deserve such attention from me.

Luxury!

There was this discussion at the Obscure Store about a certain prostitute who garnered $5,000 per visit. A regular poster there offered up a new quiz, and so I took it. Here's the results:



Powered By Womens Toys



I'd say Mister's pretty darn lucky he doesn't have to pay for that!

What sad times are these

Found this on Fark:

This is an image from Amazon.com for a Playmobil product called 'Security Checkpoint.'

These are two reviews, probably the funniest, but still...

The most helpful favorable review The most helpful critical review 313 of 333 people found the following review helpful: Educational and Fun! Thank you Playmobil for allowing me to teach my 5-year old the importance of recognizing what a failing bureaucracy in a ever growing fascist state looks like. Sometimes it's a hard lesson for kids to learn because not all pigs carry billy clubs and wear body armor. I applaud the people who created this toy for finally being hip to our changing times. Little children... Read the full review › Published 8 days ago by Zampano › See more 5 star, 4 star reviews 976 of 995 people found the following review helpful: Great lesson for the kids! I was a little disappointed when I first bought this item, because the functionality is limited. My 5 year old son pointed out that the passenger's shoes cannot be removed. Then, we placed a deadly fingernail file underneath the passenger's scarf, and neither the detector doorway nor the security wand picked it up. My son said "that's the worst security ever!". But... Read the full review › Published on September 9, 2005 by loosenut › See more 3 star, 2 star, 1 star reviews

And to think the most exciting thing I had to play with when I was a young tot was the Mickey Mouse Tree House Weeble Wobble set and some play dough. I can't decide if I'm jealous, or simply saddened by today's state of affairs.

Meh, it's Friday. Enjoy your weekend.

That's not in the rules!

Gary Gygax has died. Clicky.

I doth quote Slashdot:

Mearlus writes "In the recent past co-creator of Dungeons and Dragons Gary Gygax has worked with Troll Lord Games, a small tabletop RPG publisher. Their forums have up a post noting that Mr. Gygax has apparently passed away. Gygax was known, along with Dave Arneson, as the Father of Roleplaying."

I am devastated.


Edit: I was finally able to put into words how I feel; originally posted to Wheaton:

It's never easy being different, but Gary Gygax and his fantastical D&D filled our void by giving us dorks, geeks, freaks and losers a calling. With dice in hand, we found each other, banding together to form a tight-knit community.

Sure, we're still pretty weird compared to whatever society claims is 'normal,' but I'll take us over them any day.

I'll miss Gary forever.

Why Georgia Sucks and Why Preston Smith is My Hero

Some things are private. A person's body weight is one of them. Yes, there is an epidemic of overweight children, probably driven by busy or inattentive/self-absorbed parents who have forgotten it really is OK to send the little buggers outside in the sunshine. Sometimes even in the rain!

Here's my beef, courtesy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:

Senate mandates weighing Georgia kids twice a year
New law would requires schools to track weight and BMI

By ANDREA JONES
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Published on: 02/29/08 Georgia's elementary school children will be weighed and measured twice a year by school officials under a bill that passed the Senate Friday.

The legislation requires schools to track kids' body mass index, a combination of height and weight used to determine whether the child is healthy. The bill, sponsored by Sen. Joseph Carter (R-Tifton) requires that schools post the aggregate BMI information on their Web sites and follow state regulations on offering physical education classes.

Carter said the bill would work much like test scores, with schools reporting their data so parents could check out how they measure up to other area schools. Children would be weighed in a confidential office setting and their personal data would not become public, he said.

"Sally, step into the office, step up on the scale, that's about as invasive as it gets," he said. More than one in three kids in Georgia is overweight, he said. "The presence of childhood obesity is staggering."

Arkansas was the first state to implement such a rule, in 2003. The bill, which mirrors legislation in several other states, passed 37 to 13 after a heated debate.

Sen. Preston Smith (R-Rome) said "the long arm of the government" should stop reaching into peoples' private lives.

He said worries that schools will pressure children to lose weight and stigmatize them, mimicking what he worried school officials would say: "Come on, pick it up fat kid, we're not going to get money if you don't!""

As he left the podium, refusing to engage in a debate, Sen. Renee Unterman (R-Buford) who supports the bill, shouted "chicken!" at him.

It's not the first time lawmakers have tried to take up childhood obesity. Carter introduced a bill in 2006 that would have required more PE for Georgia elementary and middle schoolers, but the measure failed.

I find it interesting that a state, whose department of education allowed its elementary schools to eliminate unstructured recess and sell off playgrounds, is now trying to curb its obesity problem. Irony? Probably, but not MY irony.

If my children are fat, my pediatrician will say so. And I will take the steps necessary to slim them down. My tax dollars go to pay the salaries of educators. So they better damn well stick to educating.

I promise, I'll sell my soul to organized religion in order to homeschool my children before I allow anyone other than my chosen medical team to track my children's body weight.

PS: I added the bolds and underlines in the article. That's the most important part, in my opinion.

Strait and narrow

I am sooo happy.

Years ago, I was dragged along to a music festival in Greenbo', Ala-bama! to see some guy called Keb Mo. Turns out he's a blues guy. I don't like the blues, actually. However, he wasn't the only star there; there were stars all over the place, including my all-time favorite non-country band, Live. It was freakin' awesome!

Last night, I got to see the only country artist I truly like: George Strait. Sweet holy Jesus, was that an awesome show! And now, I can die without regret. But not too soon. I'd like to be old first, thanks.

Here are some highlights:

Mister is awesome! Thanks ever so much for the tickets. We really did have completely awesome seats. I'm a short stack, so floor seats were out of the question. Most other seats had to deal with people standing up. But the seats I got were front-row of the "arena" seats, which put us up about a foot or so higher than the floor seats, with no one else in front of us. We were able to sit for nearly the entire show and still see everything! Woot!

Oh Fark, How I Love Thee

Without Fark, I would not find such gems as this. But rather than force you to clicky, I'll sum up.

Georgia needs water, and thinks reassigning the border with Tennessee is the answer, since Alabama won't give them any water. Tennessee kindly disagrees. However, they do so with grace, and even goes so far as to send forth a peace offering, a truckload of bottled water, to prevent hard feelings, along with this declaration:

PROCLAMATION

WHEREAS, it has come to pass that the heavens are shut up and a drought of Biblical proportions has been visited upon the Southern United States, and

WHEREAS, the parched and dry conditions have weighed heavily upon the State of Georgia and sorely afflicted those who inhabit the Great City of Atlanta, and

WHEREAS, the leaders of Georgia have assembled like the Children of Israel in the desert, grumbled among themselves and have begun to cast longing eyes toward the north, coveting their neighbor’s assets, and

WHEREAS, the lack of water has led some misguided souls to seek more potent refreshment or for other reasons has resulted in irrational and outrageous actions seeking to move a long established and peaceful boundary, and

WHEREAS, it is deemed better to light a candle than curse the darkness, and better to offer a cool, wet kiss of friendship rather than face a hot and angry legislator gone mad from thirst, and

WHEREAS, it is feared that if today they come for our river, tomorrow they might come for our Jack Daniels or George Dickel,

NOW THEREFORE, in the interest of brotherly love, peace, friendship, mutual prosperity, citywide self promotion, political grandstanding and all that

I, Ron Littlefield, Mayor of the City of Chattanooga, Tennessee,

Do hereby Proclaim that Wednesday, February 27, 2008 shall be known as

“Give Our Georgia Friends a Drink Day”

Dear Lord, but that was funny.

Courtesy of the Chattanoogan newspaper.

Ta-da!

I have had many "roles" throughout my life. I've been a student, a parent, a wife, a babysitter, a safety chief, a paperwork shuffler, a volunteer, a lunch lady....

Today I got to be something few Americans get to try: freaked-out civilian caught in a war zone fire fight.

My local military establishment is conducting a training exercise this week. I've experienced these before, and they've been nothing special. Today, however, was different.

Shortly after I entered the base, I was directed to follow an impromptu detour by a person in costume. Eventually, I made my way to an intersection, blindly following the cars in front of me. I thought they knew where they were going.

I found myself with a second-row view of a mock fire fight between "us" and "them." I was absolutely panicked at first--I didn't realize right away it was an act. There was no one directing the civilians wandering the base, and I had also never read any directive on how to act during these exercises. It finally occurred to me that they were firing blanks, but that still didn't take the edge off my panic.

I now have a deeper understanding of how warfare can affect civilians, of how terrifying it can be for them. I also have a better grasp of just how difficult it is for our soldiers to maintain control of an area, since civilians can and often do behave irrationally and unexpectedly.

I'll take "Liberty or Death" for $1000, please.

The family loaded up and went to Washington, DC for a spur-of-the-moment, whirlwind tour this weekend.

Here's a not-so-quick recap of almost everything we did:

Day 1:
-Archives to see the Constitution, my favorite work of art (line too long, time too short, we'll catch it next time)
-American Art and Portrait Gallery
-Ford's Theatre (under construction and not open until 2009!)
-Petersen House, where Lincoln died
-Homeless people at Cleveland Park, which prompted a discussion about homelessness
-A panhandler, which prompted a discussion about panhandling and how to deal with it
-National Cathedral and President Wilson, which prompted a discussion later about the schism of the Catholic church, Luther and his 95 Theses, and why I think Catholic cathedrals are what heaven is like, if there is such a thing as heaven.

Side note: we walked through a very nice-looking neighborhood to get from the subway to the Cathedral. It was so posh, they not only had regular ol' gray squirrels, but also the ultra-fancy super-puffy-tailed black squirrels. Nice!

Day 2:
-Arlington Cemetery

• John F Kennedy
• Robert Kennedy
• Unknown soldier change-of-guard ceremony
• Robert Todd Lincoln, wife and son, and an interesting discussion about RTL's mom
  
• President Taft (or 'President T. Fat,' if you ask The Girl)
• 5-star General Omar Bradley
• A really weird discussion on who can and can't be buried there, why some stones have names on the back as well as the front, and if Mister would like to be there (answer=no, but thanks for asking).
• at least two soundings of Taps, which prompted a short discussion bugles and of when Taps is played.
  

-The Mall

• Washington's monument
• Reflecting pool and an excellent discussion on how this area is superb for protest marches
• Lincoln's monument
• Vietnam memorial and a short history of the conflict in which my kids asked really good questions
• Women in the Military memorial
• World War II memorial
• Jefferson memorial (we only saw it from a distance)
  

-Really strange people at the subway platform

**

Here's a memorable moment from the tour:

Awesome! (Yes, I cropped out The Baby. She's too cute to put up on the Interwebs, you know.)

We're thinking of e-mailing the photo to Colbert. Incidentally, his portrait is currently located in the Presidential portrait gallery. Specifically, there is a sort of cubby across from Andrew Jackson's (hack, spit) portrait into which restrooms were built. The Colbert Portrait is located inside that cubby, between the mens' and ladies' rooms, and overlooking the water fountain. His place in America's posterior is assured.

Posterior? Posterity? Hmm. I always get those confused.

Anyhoo, I have some other awesome photos from this trip which can only be described as "wicked awesomeful."

We made an attempt to hit Mount Vernon before it closed, but it was pissing down rain as we arrived at the interstate exit. Instead, we went to dinner early and came home. Regardless, we can tick off three more dead presidents on our Dead Presidents Tour guide.

No, there' s not really a guide per se, just that we're trying to visit the final resting places of all the dead presidents before we're dead ourselves. Everyone should have a goal. This just happens to be ours.

Mister will be leaving for a slightly warmer climate in April but will fly back in mid-June so that we can visit Mount Vernon for our final Virginia-planted dead president (Washington) as well as Stonewall Jackson's arm. Why Jackson's arm? Well, why not?

If anyone knows of anything historic and morbid and/or bizarre that might be of interest here in the Grand Commonwealth of the State of Ever-loving Virginia, please feel free to post it in the comments. For some reason, "morbid and/or bizarre" is what holds the interest of kids these days. I can't understand why.

"Helping"

Between my freshman and sophomore years in high school, my mom moved us to a different school district. We went from a "city" school to a "country" school in that my family was of the minority that did not live on a 'farm.' Not everyone actually lived on a farm, but most homes were considered farms due to the enormous lot sizes and the fact that nearly every home could be classified as "located just east of BFE."

In Spanish class, I sat behind a young freshman who was an embarrassingly rabid fan of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. I am not a fan. He and I would gently spar over the legitimacy of The Beatles and whether Yoko should have been drowned at birth. I also predicted that Sean Lennon would have zero talent, especially when compared to Julian.

Fast forward to my senior year. I became involved in the Drama Club and found "my people." Among those people were my Spanish class Beatles buddy and his two closest friends. They were into skateboarding and let me tag along. As you know, skateboarders need an audience, and there's nothing like a girl freaking out over a faceplant.

We all became very close that year, perhaps too close. But I had the opportunity to glimpse into the lives of my friends: A, whose mother was incredibly overprotective; B, whom I was pretty sure his mother didn't like him very much; and C, an emo kid who was always at odds with his father and step-mother. Unlike me, they all had two parents who got along at home, and I found the idiosyncrasies normalizing.

But I did worry about C. Some days, he seemed so much like a ticking time bomb. Other days, he was so sweet and affectionate--even flirtatious. I believed in my heart it was a phase, and that he was just torn up by hormones not quite in sync.

I was wrong. A few years ago I learned he had taken his life. I felt so... We were blood, bound by our friendship pledges to one another. We had shared so much of ourselves--our hopes, our dreams. Although we went our separate ways after high school, I believed our connections were still there, that we would always be there for each other, and that I had failed. I was assured that no one could have 'reached' him, that he was too far gone in his downward spiral, but how could that salve my soul?

And so I simply buried it, refusing to dwell on my feelings of failure, my belief that I had abandoned my friend to his troubles.

XKCD.com helped put my feelings into proper perspective yesterday. I have spent last night and most of today reevaluating everything, and feel as though a weight has been lifted.

"Helping"


It's not my fault, nor is it the fault of my friends or even C's dysfunctional family. Sometimes, you just can't help someone--they have to find their own way. Now I can finally let him go.

No Raptors

Mister was telling me last night about a coworker and her adventures in selling off her car.

She had begun the expedition using minimal advertising, and offered the car for $X. She wasn't locked into that specific number, but hoped to receive somewhere close to that. $X was already below "blue book" value.

She received a few phone calls, but all of them were for a few thousand less than the asking price. Considering it's already priced lower than market value, she was a bit insulted. It is a rather nice car, after all.

So she steps up the advertising and buys ad space. She was rather shocked when one of the first to call about the car was not Average Joe but a dealership. The salesman mentioned the ad and asked if she was in the market for a new car. You see, she could just trade in the car she's advertising and get a sweet deal on something else.

Mister was also rather surprised at the predatory nature of the call, and suggested that in response to that he was going to set up a widow's dating service. The "legwork" of his business model would include the daily scanning of the obituaries for potential clients. After I shared some other examples of predatory businesses, I assured him that I did not find the situation nearly as shocking as they obviously did.

I also urged him to not follow through on his yen for entrepreneurship at this time.

Game Time

Round two of "What the hell does that mean?!"

N4STU

Any ideas? Here's a hint: I have no freakin' clue. My kids couldn't come up with anything, either.

Good luck. We're all counting on you.

So.... Cute.... Need.... Insulin!

Holy surfer cat, Batman! This is just too cute.

I swear, I love Fark.

click here to watch CNN's video of a 4-month-old surfer kitty.

Why yes, I will have that in the can!

How many times has it happened to you --

You're hiking and you get hungry. You're wishing for a cheeseburger but there's no grill in sight. You could start a campfire, but campfires can be dangerous and you didn't bring along any fresh beef.

Never fear! Cheeseburger-in-a-can is here!

And I thought Spam was a product that stretched the boundaries of meat too far.

You can order it here. Please just try to remember that just because you can does not mean you should.

(South)Westward, ho!

Well, peeps, we're moving on, perhaps for the final time before Mister retires.

It's not as bad as it could be. We're not going anywhere new and we're not going to England, but we're also not going to Fort Meade again. That would have been a nightmare for us, and by "us," I mean, "me." We are returning to that fiery chasm from whence we came: Augusta, Georgia.

Logistically, however, it's a bit tricky. See, we have a nice little house there. It's too small for us, but the current mortgage is really cheap (we got an excellent fixed rate!). So we looked at rentals in the area in the size we need.

That is so not going to happen. $1200-1800 per month for a 4-bedroom in the county we want, which is more than Mister will receive in military housing benefit.

So we looked into the cost of adding a 4th bedroom, walk-in closet, and second full bathroom. For $30k over 10 years, we'd be adding less than $400 per month to our mortgage, and will still be under Mister's benefit. That'll be really great especially during the summers when I won't be working.

Mister will be heading southward on or about April 15th. While he's home alone, he'll be ripping up the dining room and kitchen floors so we can install lovely fake hardwood flooring. We'll save about $1k installing it ourselves. We want to install a dishwasher and new exterior doors, too, but I'm no dummy and we'll let Home Depot install those for us. A kitchen island, pantry cupboards, and new carpet will finish the inside.

The final change we're going to make is to the back yard, which needs a drain. This is a weekend-ish project that will cost us next to nothing to do ourselves, just time and muscle.

Wish us luck! We'll probably need it.

On Your Mark....

Today I am starting a little game, which will reappear sporadically as new fodder is discovered. It's a little trivia game that will normally have no certified correct answer, but the person with the most creative, outrageous answer, or the one closest to mine, wins my admiration for the day, as well as an Intarwebs Warm Fuzzy.

The game? It's called, "What hell does that mean?!"

How do we play? Well, as I tool about town in the Family Campster, I spot personalized plates all the time. Most are local, a few are from out of state. Occasionally, the creativity-challenged will have obvious plates with the initials of the two adults in possession of the car. But there are always the plates with the worked-over spelling that makes you just stare until you nearly rear-end them.

I'll post a plate, and anyone can interpret and share their ideas about that plate. Try to be creative, but post whatever stirs your brain. I do reserve the right to delete anything that offends me; if it offends you, stop reading. Remember, I'm the important one here. :)

And so to start this fantabulous adventure in insanity, I give you your first plate:

ARTC KNT

I know what I thought when I first saw it. Go ahead and tell me what you think it says.

Go on. You know you want to.

Also, feel free to email me with any plates you saw that you think would lend to this game. You don't need to say what type of car, or even what state.

I just want to wish you good luck. We're all counting on you.

The time? The time?! Who's got the time?

Maturity is often more absurd than youth and very frequently is most unjust to youth.

-Thomas A. Edison

What is an adult? A child blown up by age.

-Simone de Beauvoir

Grown up, and that is a terribly hard thing to do. It is much easier to skip it and go from one childhood to another.

-Anonymous

Timing is everything. When the time is right, good things happen. If the timing is off, disasters of incomprehensible magnitude can occur. Just ask this poor schlub, who was unfortunate enough to make the decision to move into his girlfriend's apartment on the same day her ex-husband was moving out.

Thanks, Fark, for making my day just that little bit funnier.

What light, through yonder window breaks!

I have a friend who breaks my heart every time I think of him. And then XKCD publishes this strip, and my heart breaks for him yet again:

To Be Wanted



I really do need to find this guy a really nice single gal who isn't a skank or at least not commitment-phobic. Do you have any idea just how hard that is?

Sin Wagon

I was waiting for my lunch to finishing nuking, and I started thinking about food. That's ironic, isn't it?

I started thinking of foods that are often referred to as, "sinful:" cheesecake, chocolate, certain cream-based sauces, black forest cake, etc. Certainly, these foods and many others do deserve some type of exotic labeling, but are they truly sinful? In my opinion, these foods are best described as "special occasion" fare.

To me, the most truly sinful food is bread.

Think about it: warm, fresh-baked bread slathered with butter, a pizza crust dusted with oregano and parmesan, the crust of a cinnamony apple pie, crackers and cheese, even just a slice of bologna between two slabs of WonderBread. You know of what I speak.

Nothing on this planet equals the joy of bread. Sure, a well-made cheesecake from an excellent recipe is a delight, but nothing excites me more than the aroma of bread in any of its many forms.

I often tell people that if I suddenly developed an allergy to chocolate, I'd ask to be put out of my misery. The truth is, I can live without chocolate. There are so many other concoctions that are equally yummy that I'll get over it with time. However, to go one day without bread would be like death itself for me.

nothing left

Today I witnessed the penultimate in dumbassery. It was so fantastic, I doubt I shall ever see anything as idiotic as what happened today. That's really saying something, because I have a preteen son, and he is yet unfinished.

Picture in your mind.....

A spur road, winding gracefully along the length of a college campus, busy with students anxious to begin the new semester.

A young man astride his gas-friendly scooter, driving purposefully along the spur... with one hand on the handlebars, the other clutching his cellphone to his ear.

No helmet.

No safety gloves.

No eye protection.

Backpack hanging too far to one side of his back.


Yes, my friends, I have seen everything. You can all go about your business and stop trying to impress me, because if you're honest with yourself, how can you possibly top that without adding a talking monkey?

Your mother was a hamster!

Top this, Lovely Readers!



Found this fun, um, game courtesy of Fark.

Try this out for yourself. Just draw something,
and watch physics happen! Or something.

Yesterday's tomorrow is now today!

And water is wet. Just in case you didn't know.

A very warm fuzzy and best wishes for an excellent 2008, Lovely Readers! What's in store for you?

I have one more semester of Biology before the most painful series of my college endeavors comes to a close.

I have 2000+ pounds to lose before me move to an as-yet-determined location. Two thousand pounds of household junk, that is.

I will be enrolling the fam at the YMCA. Our local hosts kids' aerobics classes as well as for grown-ups, open swim time in the pool, and ping-pong. My goal is to drop a stone or three and climb their rock wall. Mister's goal is to pass his PT test. My goal for the kids to get them off their butts and try new stuff. Or at least shut off the Wii.

We will more than half our debts this spring, and delete them by the end of summer. Except for The Albatross, but Mister seems pretty keen on keeping that. "Income," he calls it. Whatev.

At some point this summer, I will visit my family. Maybe. :P

And so here's me, wishing you and yours a most excellent and fantasmajestic 2008. As always, mi casa es su casa. The kettle's always ready!

It's my party

Mister and I have been married for 14 years now.

And we still like each other. Pretty good for my family.

Woot!

It's a love thang.

So I'm trolling on Fark the other day and found this little gem: a gingerbread ghetto. I think I'm going to try to make one of my own, maybe a college frat house or something. Check out the other pics--they're awesome!

What's all this?

All right. Enough with the sobbery. Time for some funny.

Was patrolling the Obscure Store as I do during my weekday, and there was this lovely little story about a firecracker nun who got tired of hearing the daily swearfest on the playground. She decided to implement a zero tolerance code for swearing, and just to make sure everyone knew of which words she had banned, she read from a prepared list. There was some panty-bunching among the parents, to be sure, but most approved. How modern!

Wait... Modern, at a Catholic school? Yup. The world has gone mad.

So on the OS, we were tossing about some of our favorite naughty words that would slip under our parents' radars, mostly because they were Britishisms. Well, at least in my house--my parents had no idea what we were saying.

Thanks to the many wonders of the internet, you no longer have to wonder whether you should belt someone upside the chops for calling you a "ginger tosser" or a "watery tart." Click here for a lovely list of my favorite Britishisms, as provided by The Zoo.

Reality Check

I was driving to lunch today, singing along with Mama Cass, contemplating our upcoming move to who-knows-where and the injustice of it all when I passed by a local cemetery. I always try to pause my thoughts and mouth for a few seconds when I pass a cemetery. I don't know why; it just always seemed like the right thing to do.

My eyes were drawn to a small group of people huddled against a bitter wind paying their last respects to a departed loved one. I offered a mental salute and silent wish for better tidings as I continued on my way.

About 45 minutes later I passed by the same place again. As I was slowing for the traffic lights, I noticed the crowd had left, all except for a lone woman seated very close to the smallest casket I've ever seen, her hand resting on the lid and her eyes looking off into the distance.

.

It's only a bunny

You know you're having a rough day when your loaf of bread and the neighbor's blacktop rake don't quite do the job, forcing your neighbor to use his Lincoln Continental to kill the rabid fox in your trailer park.

Click this link.

I am so easily amused. What's funnier is that this isn't Florida, but New York. Priceless!

Nora The Cat

I was vegging on the 'tubes today, and found this little gem on Yahoo. Nora the Cat plays the piano. It's so amazing! She's actually watching people playing the piano and taking cues from them. The neatest 4 minutes I've spent in a long while.

Enjoy!

Blue Light Special

I love K-Mart, and K-Mart shoppers are "my people." I also love Florida.

Why? Because only in a Florida K-Mart will you find flaming lingerie. Yep. You heard me right.

Actual headline: "Flaming Lingerie Prompts K-Mart Evacuation."

**Just to clarify: I was nowhere near Florida on the date in question.**

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

Mister is up for a promotion in a few months, but in the meantime has lost a paycheck perk. He can't compete for reinstatement of this perk for six months. This really didn't matter too much in the grand scheme of things as we have always lived within our means and put back a small chunk of paycheck every month.

A couple of weeks ago, shortly after Mister returned from The Land of the Freakin' Hot Sun, a friend of mine suggested to me that I get a job where she works because it's easy and the pay is good. I considered this, just because I like money and having more is almost always a good thing. Mister, on the other hand, simply couldn't see the point. We don't "need" the money. Plus, I'm still in school full time. When would I have time for me?

However, we had a disaster with our last tenant which will cost us more to fix than was defaulted to us by the security deposit. Still, we have the money to cover it, thanks to our savings.

Then Mister comes home from work yesterday with an odd look stuck on his face. After dinner he explains that with this promotion comes some staggering responsibilities, the most important of which already has begun despite his not yet being promoted: digging deep to pony up.

Becoming a member of The Top Three apparently entails tossing money onto the table at any given moment for any possible cause: fund-raisers for the office, legitimate charity, a round of drinks, and so on. Mister does not have a "mad cash" account, and now needs one. This seems to be not doable on one paycheck.

Plus, there is the imminent threat of a move, possibly back to the fiery chasm from whence we came but hopefully to a foreign clime, which will also take money although we will be reimbursed somewhat eventually.

And so I will get myself employed for the first time in 4 years (although that job was just a temp thing as well). I can't currently work in my field, as I am taking classes full-time during the day. This will be interesting to say the least.

Oh, the huge manatee!

Our local television news crew has posted this story about the Virginia Tidewater and an alarming situation. It's so terrible, I am having a difficult time expressing myself. I think I need a tissue.

Please brace yourself for the awful news. It's unfathomable how this could happen, but it appears to be true. Heating bills have gone up a bit locally, and it appears to be directly correlated to the sudden drop in temperatures along the coastline.

It's just so horrible! How could this possibly happen to us? How are we to ever recover from the shock? Will we ever recover? Is this a trend--colder temperatures and higher heating bills, and in November, of all times?

I just don't think I can take it!

If we took a holiday

:)

Just thought you'd like to know--I'll be away from the computer for about a week. I'm taking a break from the cyberworld in order to enjoy some time with my family.

Take some time to unplug and enjoy some of life's simpler pleasures yourself this weekend. Perhaps we'll chat over some tea when I return.

It's like, you know, totally me.

This is so me, I almost squeaked. Except the "rational" part. I do think before I act, mostly, although few could say I'm truly rational. Most would say "completely nutty."

Try it yourself!

What Your Handwriting Says About You

You are highly energetic. You are a passionate, intense, vigorous person. You are somewhat outgoing, but you're not a natural extrovert. You think first before you act. You tend to be independent, rational, and logical. You are extravagant, over the top, and indulgent. You set trends and influence people. You need a bit of space in your life, but you're not a recluse. You expect people to give you a small amount of privacy, and you respect their privacy as well. You are somewhat traditional, but you are also open to change. You listen to your head and your heart. You are a decent communicator. You eventually get your point across, but sometimes you leave things a bit ambiguous.

What Does Your Handwriting Say About You?

Could it be.... Satan?

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Geeks of the world, unite and take over!

According to Wheaton, November 3rd is World Wide D&D Gaming Day.

WOOT! WOOT!

As per our regular schedule, it's one day before my regular gaming day. I love life!


PS-still no campster.

when you're smiling

I got a little froggy today.

I was going through some old paperwork a couple of weeks ago, preparing to shred a year's worth of junk mail when I discovered two things:

1. Mister's government-issued credit card had expired and I had no way of getting him his new one in less than 24 hours so he could use it to get home [thank my lucky stars I'm a saver (occasionally)], and
2. I had 4 points added to my license for "following too closely" and smashing up Mister's car back in January 2005. (Y'all remember that month: I mailed a clock that was mistaken for a bomb and Mister got put into protective custody by the Army, I crashed the car, the computer and the washing machine died, my living room furniture needed de-puking, and my team didn't make the Super Bowl.)

Discussing this a few days ago with my neighbor who had just crashed her car earlier, she said not to worry, the points will drop off my record after awhile, or I could just take a defensive driver class and get it done sooner.

Before I checked the prices of those classes, I decided to check out the time it takes for points to drop off your record here in the lovely "commonwealth" of Virginia. Turns out that tailgating nets you 4 points for 3 years. That means after January of 2008 (coming up shortly-stay tuned!) I'll have a points-free license!

[time to cabbage patch--bbs]

That was fun! I'm so excited that I don't have to take that class after all. Now, if that dealership would just finish with my van so I could do a celebratory parallel parking maneuver.

"Five" is right out!

Still no campster.

I got a late voice mail today. There are "more problems" with the van/gas tank/economy/world, and I need to call them to "discuss things."

Oh goody.

The End is Nigh!

Wait, what?

Mister has returned. It was a long slog which nearly didn't end. The pre-scheduled airlines couldn't find him a flight out of Baltimore for at least 16 hours. Mister bought a ticket on a second airlines and was home in less than 2 hours.

We dropped off his restricted equipment and then scooted on up to the football game to surprise The Girl, who couldn't go with us to pick up her dad because she had to march. We arrived just in time to see the half-time show. It was fantastic, but then again, I'm biased.

It was a very long week that ended well. A good night's sleep and he's right as rain today.

Feel free to call or stop by to say hello this weekend.

As World Turn

So I get the family campster back today. I notice that the dealership kindly put gas into the new tank that was roughly equivalent to a large loogie, so I stop off at my local "Arm and a Leg" to fill 'er up.

$45 later, and I'm about to pull back onto the main road when I notice two things:

1. an intense reek of gasoline, as though I had spewed gas inside the van, and
2. the gas gauge itself hasn't registered the proper amount inside the tank.

So I call the dealership back and tell them the gauge isn't working. He said, drive for about 250 miles and then bring it back in on Monday, he can't look at it until then. I forget to mention the smell.

Six miles later, the smell is so strong, I have all the windows open and I'm still about to pass out. I make it home, and a neighbor tells me to put something under the van and then run the van for about 20 minutes to see if it's leaking. I could only take 10 minutes because of the smell, but it didn't matter since the gas was dripping out of the tank like crazy.

I call the dealership and tell them to pick up my van, and to do it before 7 pm. The tow truck arrives (I love them, too, btw) and the tow operator puts my van up on the truck. While the van is tipped forward, gas leaks out of the van so fast it's unbelievable. A quick check of the tank reveals that the fuel lines were not put on properly. In fact, one part was just hanging there.

This, after the dealership representative told me he had his "top men" working on it. Top men, eh? As in Raiders of the Lost Ark "top men"?

I'm so ticked off, I even said, "Feck!" in front of my kids. Actually, what I really said while I was jumping up and down like Yosemite Sam was, "Feckfeckfeckfeckfeckfeckfeck bugger!!"

Stay tuned. I should be hearing from them tomorrow.

And stop calling me Shirley!

Today was a trip: bizarre and yet surprising not really too far out of the ordinary.

Journey with me as I go back in time.... /doodly-doo, doodly-doo, doodly-doo/

I woke up later than I wanted to this morning after tossing and turning all night. Just as I'm finally with-it, the phone rings. It's The Girl, and she needs a "please before school starts" rescue of forgotten gym clothes. I get there with only moments to spare, and The Girl is saved. Yay, me!

The Boy gets to the bus on time, but not until he's dumped a bunch of flour on the table (school project) and forgotten breakfast. At least he brushed his teeth.

The Baby gets to the bus on time, but that was because she missed being able to walk to school with her friends. Don't get me started about this bus thing.

I get ready for school and, with absolutely perfect hair, leave early enough that I just might make it to class with time to sit and study a little. Yay, me! Only along the route, I got side-tracked by an errant piece of metal shelving in my driving path that decided my gas tank needed an extra hole. So I missed an entire day of biology, lecture and lab. Boo!

The state patrol sends out their "motorist assistant" who informs me that there is nothing The State can do about it, act of god, blah blah blah, don't abandon your vehicle. My insurance company is very accommodating and sends out probably the fastest towing service I've ever experienced in all 18 years of my driving experience. If you're in my area and need a recommendation, email me--this company rocks!

My lovely friends arrive to rescue me, one still in her pyjamas and with a daycare kid in tow. I love them so much!

A local dealership kindly finds me cheaper parts for my car vs new, while my insurance company kindly reminds me that I have to pony up the deductible first, and then they pay whatever is over the deductible. Boo! If you want to know what a used gas tank and install costs, email me. Put down your coffee first.

However, they'll have it done and back to me by Tuesday at the very latest. Yay, I guess.

Onward home so that I may tighten my budget and squeeze the blood from every last penny we possess, which was not as difficult as I thought since I had forgotten that I had already paid a number of this month's bills. Yay, me!

The Boy returns with his loaner trumpet and says his band instructor insists he is to never return with that particular trumpet again, meaning I have to go get another loaner from the music shop. Before I leave yet again, I decide to check the mail box. I'm expecting packages, you know.

I didn't find my packages, but I did find my grant rebate from the college, which will pay for the van, an upcoming band trip deposit, and our trip to the mountains. Yay, my college! (BTW-the music shop is in possession of no other loaner trumpets, so The Boy must use one from the school until his own is repaired--this is not why I pay $5/month for instrument insurance!)

When I saw the numbers on that check, I hyperventilated. All I have to say about that is, "Yay, my kids!" They remembered what to do for me whenever that happens!

There is hope for the future, and so all is well with my world. Tonight I can sleep (I use that term loosely here) and start my daily drama over again tomorrow.

West Virginia Surf Report

I found this little gem courtesy of my dear friends at Fark. You absolutely must visit this site. If you're trapped in a cube farm or visiting the public library, I suggest waiting until you're home because you might get your sanity questioned or at the very least thrown out of the building.

It's called "West Virginia Surf Report." And it's as funny as you'd expect!

A sample from the post, "Alli Side Effects In Layman's Terms":

While no one likes experiencing treatment effects, they might help you think twice about eating questionable fat content. If you think of it like that, alli can act like a security guard for your late-night cravings

You see, when you think about it, shitting yourself is actually a positive.

Boldface is the company's wording, the rest is Jeff's people-speak.

This site is just so darn funny! There are other funny reports, such as his reviews of KFC's dinner bowls and Wendy's Baconator sandwich. This guy is completely fried. And so therefore, I'm going to add him to my links. Well done!

you like me--you really like me!

To my very special friend, Beav, who inadvertently reminded me to save my changes in order to activate them by offering some html advice, I extend a very warm fuzzy and a cuddly thank-you.

Sometimes, I really am a 1st level Barbarian with a combined Wisdom/Intel score with modifiers of +1.

Anyhoo, it is plain to see that my "new" site is mostly operational. Or at least it's more operational than most NCC-1701's at the beginning of most Star Trek movies. No need for Scotty here, although I could probably benefit from a good night's rest and/or a margarita. Since for me the sauce is a no-go, I'll just grab myself a good kip and call it a night.

Thanks for the patience!

PS: Good news, good news!

I have recently discovered the secret location of my Jackass: The Movie(s) research notes. They were right where I had left them, although I can't actually recall where that was right now. I have them with me now, and will be organizing them in some sort of chart so that they may be posted to the other website, which I have just remembered is not on my links list right now. Dammit! More work. Freakin' Blogger!

Construction time again

Freakin' blogger!

They tell me to pick a new template. I read that they will save my old template, in case I don't like the new one. I pick a new one (exactly like my old one--I really liked the color scheme), and then discover that I had to save the old template, not blogger.

So now all my links are gone. My email is gone. My counter is gone. Hell, I added a properly formatted home link, and it won't even work.

bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger feck!

So, check back with me next week. I don't have time this week to fix this piece o'crap. I'll try to have it back up and running by Wednesday. Until then, enjoy the repeats. Add some comments to some old posts.

That, apparently, is the only thing still working here.

EDIT: Still working on the details. Home link still doesn't work, can't get my countdown clock to load in, etc. But most of the links are back, at least the ones I could remember. Oh, and apparently, I'm no longer Mystique, I'm Spiderman. Great. Just great.

didn't see that one coming

So I'm fueling up the family campster the other day and I notice this ultra-huge mcmansion of a truck pull in to the other side of the pump. The driver's door opens, and out pops... someone shorter than me!

I'm a towering 5'2" and this lady barely came up to my nose. Driving a jacked-up ginornormosity. She was also wearing a name tag which had her last name on it: "Midgette."

Can we say, "overcompensation"?

Bad, bad, wicked Zoot!

Turns out I really am a complete and total idiot.

So I miss Pirate Day because I think it's Dec. 5.

Well, it's not (scroll down).

But you know what is on Dec. 5?

International Ninja Day.

You just know they're making a special place in
Hell just for me right now.

Sing with me now!
"na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey hey hey, you're a noob!"

Bloody hell!

Feck feck feck feck feck.

How the hell did I manage to screw this up? Jesus Christ, you'd think I'm a moran or something.

For some reason, I had it in my head that International Talk Like A Pirate Day was Dec. 5th.

It's #%$&@#% TODAY!


And I missed it. Merlin's pants!

That's it. I'm walkin' the plank.

Your message intrigues me and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.

Iranian leaders declare that one day, lad, all this will be yours.

In all seriousness, Iranian leaders are claiming that in the not-too-distant future, G-Dub and his cronies will be brought up on human rights violations and war crimes for activities in Iraq.

This is interesting on many levels, and I will be watching this closely.

Because the mind is a terrible thing

I do not watch a lot of television, and I haven't watched MTV since about 1989. Thanks to Fark, I was tempted into watching the Britney Spears clip from the MTV music awards held recently.

Never mind that she has agreed that being barely dressed and gyrating around the stage is how she bests sells her music. Never mind how she did look pretty good compared to some who'd given birth to two children in a short span of time, and when compared to some of the anorexic waifs the media has labeled 'beautiful.'

What kept me shaking my head in horror was just how stoned she appeared to be. She could not complete any of the dip-type moves; it seemed as though she had a steel rod inserted the length of her spine. She could barely keep her feet, either, and would stagger in a tipsy fashion whenever she was required to walk from one space to the next. Long before the end, it was obvious she wasn't really singing.

Yes, I know many stars lip-synch at awards shows. I also know that some choose to sing. I'm thankful she was not one of them. Adding 'remember the lyrics to my own damn song' to her mix last night would have been the ultimate disaster, although it's hard to imagine anything worse.

I just find it so very sad and pathetic that a person with so much potential could have thrown her life away for.... What? What did she gain with all the drugs and the alcohol and the head-shaving crazy? If she can't perform live without allegedly doping or being drunk, should she have custody of her kids?

One of the Farkers likened Ms Spears' life to a train wreck. I would have laughed if it wasn't so very sadly true.

The right help is out there if she really wants it.

I'll have that in the can

Warning:

I am in a strange mood.

___________________

I have a brother named for an obscure Canadian hockey player from the 1950s, a sister with no middle name, a sister named after an uncle's unrequited love, a sister named after a guy my dad met somewhere he can't recall, and a brother who wasn't named after anybody in particular although my dad is pretty certain those are "family names," whose obstetrician during the birth was rip-roaring drunk.

I'm probably the lucky one of the bunch. I was named after the soon-to-be-ex-wife of a "beloved" uncle. The uncle in question was a drug pusher and an alcoholic who liked to wake up to a nice, cold 40 oz every day, and whose skin is such an unusual color it can only be described as 'Christmas red,' and who really freaks my kids out just by smiling at them. The now-remarried ex-wife, I've heard, has long since become a lawyer.

___________________

Well, I did warn you.

Yesterday

So I wake up early on a holiday. Can you believe it?! A whole summer goes by with practically every flippin' day an unintended sleep-in (darn snooze button), and I wake early on a holiday. God hates me.

I decide that the only way to make it worse for myself is to take the monkeys to Busch Gardens. On their last official business day of summer. When it's about 90F outside with only light winds off the mainland and not the ocean.

The kids seemed rather excited to go, actually. They were ready before I was, and even ate breakfast faster than usual. At the toll, we found ourselves one car back from a carload of family friends, so I had some grownups to hang out with, and my kids had someone else to annoy.

The park was divided into must-do's and borings, and then we set off. The really neat thing is that The Baby has finally grown that last half-inch and is now tall enough to ride all the coasters, including the new one. Boy, did she have a great time. We all did. It was a lovely day, which we ended by having a lovely barbeque at a lovely friend's house to celebrate the return of her lovely spouse from an unlovely remote PCS.

Sometimes yesterdays can be so perfect. I'm really glad that happens.

This is Irony

Thank you, Fark.com for demonstrating once again that the true meaning of 'ironic' does not include rain on your wedding day.

The headline: "Lightening Strikes National Weather Service Building."

The clicky: click!

Sometimes, the headlines just write themselves.

Irony has left the building

Here's some bizarre for you:


I'm currently taking "History of African Americans to 1877" at my lovely local community college (cheap tuition, FTW!). The room is nearly full, and I am one of four non-black students. To me, this is sad, because the history of the United States of America isn't just "from whence the white folks came." Having a well-rounded history of all "main players" on the stage of America's development would be cool.

I expect I'll be waiting for that "History of Indigenous Peoples of North America" class for awhile, though. They're still waiting for long-deserved sovereignty, which I think should come first, but that's another rant for a different kind of day.

Where's the irony, you ask? Patience, child.

Every class has a "suck up." Many of my fellow students from previous semesters might be inclined to suggest that usually the suck up is, in fact, me. Not this time. You may be surprised to learn that the suck up in this particular class is in fact one of the non-black males.

A heavily-tattooed white male, with bleached-out hair, earrings, and flip flops, who also happens to be a complete dumbass for a history major. A guy who doesn't know where Mecca is (I think his closest guess was France).

I'll admit that I didn't know, either. The difference between Sucky Boy and me is that I kept my ignorant mouth shut. Bless him, he's young. But I believe it's too late for him to grow more, usable brain cells.

as the brains asplodes

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Once upon my younger days, basic math was so simple. Logical diversification was so logical. I was a geekier geek.

Now I am refreshing the memory, dusting off my skilz, and reopening portions of my brain that have been closed off for over a decade. After a day of consultation, negotiation, and calculations, I not only have character, I also have game.

From now on, I am no longer just Uber Mom, Warrior of Higher Education and Keeper of the Younglings. I am also Brenys, Elfin Ranger, Bowyer, and all-around butt-kicker. I even have a Wand of Cure Light Wounds with 20 hits on it. Take that, Superman!

Yes, my friends, I am embarking on a new D&D adventure, the first in over 13 years at least, and also the first in which I do most of my thinking for myself. Male geeks will understand this, knowing full well the lengths to which they had gone to encourage a nice-smelling female to hang out with them.

Another first is that I am introducing one of the Younglings to the game. Still being a preteen, The Boy doesn't have the attention span for a full day's gaming, but he'll build up to that. He nearly held out for a full character completion (Human Wizard). I am so excited for him. Although he is heavily immersed in the Yugi-Oh! world, I am certain he will enjoy this gaming format so much more than any other he's played. The teamwork and patience required for adventuring will build his own personal character while he develops his D&D character. The creativity that goes along with "old school" gaming will hopefully add fuel to his already active imagination and expand his world.

It's "Game On"!!!eleventy-one!!!

Hi ho, hi ho

Well, it's almost that time again. College.

In less than two weeks I'll be starting another full-time schedule. I have to take additional science and history courses in order to transfer as a "junior" to a 4-year university to complete my Bachelor's degree.

Yay.

Biology, sociology, African-American history. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be needing some serious "down time" by the end of the semester. But then I'm just going to repeat this mess again in the spring with more biology, more history, geography and "advanced communications," whatever that is.

Yessir, That's My Baby

Indeed, today is a very special day for The Baby. She's the only Southpaw in our house, the only Lefty down the family line after my mom. Six children, fourteen grandchildren, and only one Lefty.

No need to feel sorry for the two of them, because while they are part of the 10% of the population that is left-handed, today is their official special day.

Beginning in the 1970's, the Lefthanders International group has annually sponsored a special Lefty Day on August 13. So give your special Lefty a hug today and celebrate!

Damn Legos! Somebody better clean up this mess...

Finally, something older than me: Lego bricks!

Happy 75th birthday to the best babysitter in the world evar !!eleventy!

Zappa-wappa-ker-chowie!

Just in case you haven't heard, today is Frank Zappa Day in Baltimore, Maryland.

Although I don't know much about Mr. Zappa other than he really should have gone easy on the mary-jane while his wife was preggers, I think this is pretty far out, man.

So enjoy today, August 9, 2007, Frank Zappa Day. Do something Zappa. Just don't forget the cheese puffs, dude!

Fun with Bullets!

The actual story is here. But lemme sum up:

A Navy Sailor was trolling online trading insults with an online persona who dared to refer to the Sailor as a 'nerd.' Like that's a bad thing. Anyhoo, the Sailor immediately takes official time off from work in order to visit his family, and on the way there he stops off in Texas and burns the other guy's trailer down.

Interesting, to be sure. But it all sounds so bad, doesn't it?

I think the story has more life if one utilizes a writing technique called "bulleting" to tell the tale. "Bullets" are often used in military performance evaluations. They are not complete sentences, just fragments of ego-puffing fluff designed to make even the slackingest slacker look pretty good. The most mundane and/or unimportant actions are tarted up, turning a boring fiscal year of coffee making and lunch runs into National Importance.

So, in the grand tradition of at least the US military and Department of Defense, I give you:

Fun with Bullets

"posted photos online showing the welcome signs at several states' borders" becomes

-accurately documents time-sensitive mission events

"obtained [the victim's] real name and hometown from [a] web page" becomes

-demonstrates ingenuity in fact-finding
-finds quickest solution to mission problems

"....took leave from his post....and started driving" becomes

-follows protocol and regulations to the letter

"....caught up with [the Sailor] after talking with people in several states and Spain..." becomes

-a real "people" person

"....was sentenced to seven years in prison after pleading no contest to arson and admitting he set the blaze" becomes

-responsible; a future leader

See how fun that is? Bullets turn any bad situation into a great one!