Wil Wheaton and the Truckload of Money

As you all know, I am a "born again" fan of Wil Wheaton's. His "Wesley Crusher" was my favorite Star Trek character ever, mostly because McCoy was so damn crusty and Dax disappointed my imagination when she fell for Warf instead of Bashir (actually, I fell for Bashir and couldn't understand why no one else adored him as I did). I enjoyed the films Wheaton made in his younger days, although missed most of his more recent films because I lived out of the country for awhile. This lapse caused me to forget that I thought he was awesome.

I found Wheaton's blog quite by accident about a year ago and renewed my fansome ways by checking his blog nearly every day. About a month ago, Wheaton presented his readers with a short-lived opportunity to help him test a new payment system for ordering his newest book not yet published. For only a few short hours, those who wished could purchase a professional photo and he would personally sign it then drop it into the mail. The only caveats were that you couldn't live outside the US because he didn't want to deal with bizarre postage and that you absolutely could not pay any other way than PayPal.

Naturally, I spent my $15 and purchased my photo right away. I may have been within the first 10 purchasers, unless not all purchasers left a comment (my comment was 6th, I believe).

Afterwards, I thought to myself that if he only sold 10 photos in that short time, he at least grossed enough cash to pay for dinner and a movie with the clan. However, given the comments throughout the day, many more than just a mere 10 fans were delighted to have been able to purchase this "exclusive" item, while many, many more were disappointed they missed the boat.

I felt bad for the second group. There I was, anxiously awaiting the arrival of my first piece of fan memorabilia, and there they were, sad and pathetic. This made me wonder exactly how much Wheaton could have made if his primary goal had been to fill his garage with cash in exchange for losing an entire weekend and feeling in his hands signing photos of his own face and then stuffing them into envelopes.

I've figured it this way:

$15[(Sign + stuff + peelandstick)X] - (Y + Z) ,

X=# photos sold, Y=total postage, Z=photo print cost

Granted, all he wanted to do was test the payment system to determine it was suitable for his needs as a small-time author/warehouse middleman. The Italian in me, however, saw the potential in the bigger picture, no pun intended.

No matter what the overall financial outcome for Wheaton regarding this little experiment, the only part that matters is this:

I got my picture finally! Woot!!eleventy!

And I have discovered that my kids are not Trekkies. Where have I gone wrong?

Strange things are afoot *Updated*

My cat snores and talks in her sleep.

Just thought you'd like to know.

Update!
PS--apparently, this particular post is
my official 100th post, once unpublished
drafts are taken into consideration.

You can't handle the flute!

OOOH! This is totally awesome! I swear, sometimes teh interwebtubes is just wicked cool. I grew up on a steady diet of The Muppet Show and being woken up at about 4 am every morning to my baby brother turning on Star Wars.

My dad had a video-disc machine and this DJ system of four six-foot speaker towers (one per corner) and an amplifier/equalizer system that took its own circuit in the fuse box--serious sound. The den was directly underneath all the bedrooms, and when Mad Dog would get the urge for some Star Wars, saying "this one goes to eleven" doesn't even touch getting jolted out of sound sleep to the sound of the Fox Studios drumroll. Hell, reveille wasn't that impressive.

But this is... Gad, I love this guy. The fact that this guy not only blended the two main themes from my two favorite non-Star Trek televisimatic funtime, but adding the beatbox is fantabulous.




This is the guy's home page. Lots more video fun to be found.

And also for your viewing pleasure, a truly funky white boy, playing music (sort of).

STFU Museum... Wait, what?

Found this through the good people of Fark:

The great State of Arkansas has opened a museum in the quaint little town of Tyronza celebrating an organization which brought together the sharecroppers of the region in order to better protect their jobs and job safety. Oppressed tenant workers and day laborers across Arkansas joined, both black and white, and invited women to join, encouraging them to accept some leadership roles.

This organization was run on Socialist principles, which ultimately led to its downfall during the 1950s McCarthy era. During their 20-ish years, they endured heavy criticism, arrests and even a few beat-downs. But endure they did, until advancing technology, subsequent mass migration of farm workers to the cities, and the anti-Communist/anti-Socialist mindset of the 1950s made the group "increasingly irrelevant."

The organization called itself "Southern Tenant Farmer's Union." The museum is named for the group, and the article shortened the organization's name into a quaint acronym: "STFU."

Hope you enjoyed this little foray into history. Now GBTW!


Many thanks to the Arkansas Times for posting a well-written article.

It's my birthday! *Updated*

Today is my birthday!

Here was me, back when I was 17.



Here's me, 17 years (and 3 kids) later:



I'm on the left. I'm also the only one who's sober.

update: Tom on mySpace declared my birthday as being the highest traffic day for mySpace ever. I totally rock.

This hardly helps.

You Are a Christmas Sweater!

Over the top, colorful, and totally flashy. You're not afraid to be a little tacky.

What Crappy Christmas Gift Are You?

A damn christmas sweater. Further proof that if there is a god, s/he does not like me. This is so very wrong, wrong, wrong. I am not tacky! I am... Ummm, uh, well...

As you were.

Oh, the irony

Kill da wabbit, indeed. Click this, read, then scroll down to my previous post.

the one about a very big pain and the boy who looks like a chick

Peeps, I have misplaced the notes I made for my compendium site "Jackass: The Research." I had watched both movies--within 24 hours, mind you--and had made a note of every joke, every stunt, every bad prank and at what time in the film they occurred.

Recently, I engaged in a bit of "Home Makeover." My dining room's far wall was a literal bank of technology and looked a mess. I bought cabinets to replace the desks and downsized a ton of junk. One does not realize the massive amount of rain forest one accumulates over the years until one has to remove 90% of it en masse.

And now the notes are gone.

What this means for you is that you will have to wait longer for my research site to be ready. What this means for me is that I will have to watch those damn movies again. I think this time I will actually watch the 'unrated' versions, since that is what most teens and young adults are watching. The plan is to also eventually watch the regular seasons as well, at least until my brain explodes.

By the way, has anyone invented the Brain Cleanser Brush yet?

---

On a side note, I wanted to point out that while Swangirl's Cygnet no longer looks like Ty Pennington, he now looks like that little yellow chick from the Loony Toons cartoons. You remember the one with Foghorn Leghorn in the rickety henhouse who decides to schmooze up ol' Prissy because her henhouse is all nice and cozy--"I need your love to keep me warm!" But Prissy says she can't marry him unless he makes nice with her son, Egghead, Jr. The kid proceeds to outwit, outmaneuver, and blow up Foghorn until he declares, "I've got my bandages to keep me warm!" as he stomps off into the sunset.

Check this out:



Maybe it's just me, but...

It probably helps (me) that Egghead, Jr was my absolute favorite character from the Warner Bros/Loony Toons stable of cartoons ever. My favorite individual cartoon, however, will forever be the "Spear and Magic Helmet" bit with Bugs and Elmer doing the opera.

It just keeps growing and growing...

For your viewing pleasure, Swangirl sent me an updated photo of her little Cygnet. Boy is he getting big! At least he doesn't look like Ty Pennington anymore.

And just think, pretty soon, he'll be driving! I'm thinking he's gonna get tired of all green pretty soon. You might want to start planning for the revolt, Swangirl!

















Today and when he came home from the hospital

************

PS: Confession time: this particular post is actually my 100th post, not the one previously posted as the 100th post. I'm a dork, and that's all I have to say about that.

100th Post

In celebration of my 100th post, I am inviting all of my lovely readers to first check this article about a couple who met at a bar and decided to get naked on a rooftop. The reason this made news is because they fell off the roof, did not die immediately but were unable to get up, and then died enroute to the hospital.

I'm waiting for the laughter to taper off before continuing....

....

Okay, you feel better now? Me, too.

Alrighty, then. Here's the situation: I put my feet in my mouth at the Obscure Store by stating that there are tons of adventurous places to get busy without the added threat of dying with your pants down. I've thought of a few; I'd like your suggestions as well. Feel free to post comments anonymously if you need to.

My ideas:

• limo
• tent
• sailboat (docked or open water)
• elevator
• supply closet
• public restrooms (beware of police)
• corn field (beware of harvest and cow-tippers)

I'm sure mine are rather mundane compared to getting the sexy on a rooftop, especially a roof that slopes. However, the point is to get the sexy without the death.

Which brings to mind "Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are Dead," a fantastically great movie which has absolutely nothing to do with this particular post, or even anything in particular:

You can have the love and the blood without the rhetoric. You can have the blood and the rhetoric without the love. But you can't have the love and rhetoric without the blood; blood is compulsory.

It's just one of my favorite quotes, and I love to toss it out whenever it makes the least sense.

I only hope my Veruca don't want one

Oh, Fark, you are so magnificent. Being a lo-skilz geek, I check out the articles posted there as some are not "not news"-worthy enough to make the main page, but are still relevant to geeky Farkers. Take this gem, for instance:

Sony is busy creating a television so thin, it's bendy and can be sewn into clothing. Mister will be so pleased!

Just imagine it: you're walking the dog, and suddenly you recall that rerun of Will & Grace you wanted to catch was starting in 5 minutes. Damn! What to do, what to do! No problem, you've got your Sony t-shirt television charged up and ready to go!

Somehow, just like that other technical marvel, the mobile phone, I anticipate that this will only end well.

Drunken Dumbass-the newest "DD"

In March, Vivica A. Fox was sentenced for driving while intoxicated. She has reemerged into the spotlight to share her story and to offer advice.

Ms. Fox declared that she had made an "unfortunately judgment" and also took full responsibility for her actions, which clearly sets her apart from 99.999997% of all other wealthy and/or celebrity individuals in America. Celebrities are, according to Ms. Fox, "...not above the law." She says she has learned her lesson.

But what exactly was that lesson? Did she learn that by traveling 80 miles per hour down a freeway put the lives of everyone who shared the road with her in jeopardy? Did she learn that she put her own life in jeopardy?

Sorry to disappoint, but what started out so well as a turning point really isn't one after all.

The lesson Ms. Fox learned was that all the rigamarole involved with being convicted of drunk driving is a pain the rump. Her regrets fall mostly on her driving record, about which she lamented the conviction would remain for up to ten years.

Bless your heart, you poor thing. I'm so sorry that your error in judgment is going to remain on your record for a decade. On the other hand, I'm sorry you weren't stopped sooner. I'm sorry you weren't stopped before you got into your vehicle. I'm sorry you surround yourself with weakness.

Who are these friends, coworkers, cohorts, people, that they would let you walk away from them knowing you were not in a fit state to drive? Do you still associate with them? If so, why? It's obvious to me that your celebrity has dazzled them into cowed submission, or ramped up their primeval greed. These people are not looking out for you, Ms. Fox. Indeed, they are looking out for themselves: how much can we gain by being with Vivica A. Fox, super-beautiful super-celebrity?

The lessons to be learned from your experience do not stop at keeping a tidy driving record.

Because the mind is a terrible thing

I have officially and irrevocably lost my ever-lovin' mind. How is that possible, you ask, especially when there is much evidence to suggest I never had one to begin with?

This parent, feeling sorry for her younglings who have to miss out on visiting grandparents this year thanks to some war over oil--I mean turrurists, took the opportunity of a sale and a lovely day to purchase a gaming console, some accessories, and a pair of games: the PS2, a wireless guitar, two microphones plus SingStar, and Guitar Hero 2.

I just have to say that if I hear "Shout at the Devil" ONE MORE TIME this week, there will be the devil to pay.

Holy freakin' cow, I had no idea just how damned annoying that game really is! "Shout, shout, shout, shout at the devil!" I disliked that song when it was popular; I detest it now. If I were the praying type, I'd be asking for the gift of hacking so I could rip that damn song off the game.

Plus, the kids just couldn't get enough of it. I think there's a subliminal hypnosis in the game, mostly because when I told them it was time to shut down, I got little opposition, just a quiet, "Oh man..." Is this game why teenagers have such a vacant expression these days?

Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Holy crap, this is funny.

I swear, I laughed so hard. Mary-Mother-of-Jesus, this is good.

Some of you may recall I was a huge, nearly-orgasmic fan of Eddie Vedder's. Gawd, I still go all light-headed just looking at those lovely curls...

Anyhoo, fan that I am of Pearl Jam, I am helpless without a lyric sheet. However, any real fan of Pearl Jam knows that in the end lyric sheets are useless as Vedder really never sings any song the same way twice.

This site, Misheard Lyrics, posted their interpretation of "Yellow Ledbetter" to youtube, and I found it via the blog "Fresh Hell" and through them, VH1's "Best Week Ever" blog.

Enjoy. Just put down that drink first, okay? KTKSBY

Monty Python and the Holy Grail: The French Taunter

Bwahahaha! You must watch until the very end. You must!

Found me some funny

Well I must say, this blog's a real downer. What the hell is going on here?!

So, in the spirit of lifting spirits, no one does it better than Monty Python. Join me whilst we cruise the bookseller's....

Clicky for the website

I have watched The Holy Grail since I was in grade school. I got sent to the principal's office for yelling at a boy I was trying to beat up, "Running away, eh? You yellow bastard!"

I was also quite embarrassed in my teenage years to suddenly learn that spankings and oral sex were nothing to be asking for in polite society. Fortunately, my sister and I talked so fast and with a pseudo-British accent that most people didn't understand us, and those that did simply didn't believe their ears.

This fansite is a compendium of Python fun. I check this place out from time to time if my spirits need a lift but too many kiddies are running about. Hope you enjoy!

:)

the war at home

On Wednesday last, Reality crashed down on me like a ton of bricks, a nine-pound hammer, like the sky is falling.

Mister had called to share his latest karaoke exploits and to ask about the children. Thankfully, no one had been injured or required the emergency room in a while (touch wood!). However, within 5 minutes of the conversation, something new happened.

It was about 10pm his local time. This crazy siren went off, somewhere behind wherever Mister was standing to make the call. Mister said, "Uh, I gotta go," and the line went dead. I sat there on my comfy chair, just staring at my phone.

What did that siren mean? What was going on? Can I call someone? Who would know? What do I do?

I cried for a few minutes, because it instantly occurred to me that the call could very well be our last conversation. But then I pulled myself up hard, because The Girl would be home soon and I couldn't let her see me like that. You see, I have to be strong for everyone: my mother-in-law, who fears for her only son; my mother, who understands all too well that death is a reality of war and that warfare can turn a man's heart to stone; my children, who really have no clue; my friends, who suddenly don't know what to say anymore. There's no one here to be strong for me, so I guess I'll have to save that for later, like so many other things in my life.

All evening and into the night, I stayed by my phone and checked my email, hoping for some contact. Morning came and went. I spent the day with the phone in my hand and my computer waiting whilst I tidied up a bit in the event I had visitors. Finally, around 2:30 Thursday, the phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin. He was fine, claiming "that happens all the time, hardly worth mentioning." Utter tosh, but I was so relieved just to hear his voice I didn't press the issue.

Later that night, I found myself sleepless again. Thoughts of what are, what might have been, what may very well be, kept haunting and taunting me. I know that thousands of soldiers, Marines, sailors, and airmen have come and gone in the theater, but too many have returned not as passengers but as cargo. As soon as my eyes close, I hear that siren again. Sleep is no longer a refuge; my room is no longer a sanctuary.

Would that I could speed time along, but like so many other things, I'll just have to wait for that, too.

And now for something completely different

I'm losing sleep again, and have had something of a 'downer' weekend.

• had to cancel a mini-vacation because the money was needed elsewhere
• worked my ass off in the garden only to find my ass is still right where I left it
• cleaned up my living room only to have that fixed for me by The Mess Brigade
• Memorial Day... 'nuff said.

So I decided we all needed a bit of cheering up, so here's one I prepared earlier, saving it for a rainy day (or mood):

Original title: Lift! I need lift!

Saw this on a Caturday thread on Fark. Wanted to share with you. Hope you laughed as much as I did. If not, get a sense of humor.

It's a homemade pet carrier!



The rest of this guy's blog is just damn funny, and informative as well. I don't know this guy, but I thought you should experience his blog. Reminds me of a program I saw on PBS once, "The Red Green Show." These two guys were members of a hunting lodge, and their slogan was "Duct tape: the handyman's secret weapon!"

Memorial Day; Yorktown, Virginia

Today I visited the Civil War federal cemetery in Yorktown, Virginia. There are soldiers from both sides, white and black, buried there. I had been there before; it's just up the road a bit, off the beaten path and quite serene. I returned at the behest of my fellow OS&RR peeps who were interested in learning whether the parks department allowed flags on the grave sites of CSA soldiers, as well as Union soldiers. The answer, to a small degree, is yes.

*Clicky picture for embiggened view*

As you can see, it's not that big for having over 2100 buried there. Only about 750 are identified. The stones contain the plot number for the stone, and any known information about the interred. Far too many of those buried, over 1400, are unknown. Many of the unknown are buried together. This particular cemetery also did not "segregate:" Blacks, Whites, Union, Confederate, are all buried together inside the walls of this somber site, although there are only 10 CSA soldiers here.

There is a second cemetery for only CSA soldiers at a "nearby" location which is not on any map to which I have access.

***

I took the kids with me on this trip for a history lesson. It was very hard for me. Our lesson ended early; I could not carry on. All I could do is allow my heart to cry for these men. I cannot be prevented from hoping for peace during this strange era of aggression and fear, nor can I keep myself from feeling a sense of loss as I look across the rows of flags and stones.

Will my soldier's mission end like this?

***

Yorktown is the scene of a few military "firsts":

• first land mines (planted by CSA)
• first aerial reconnaissance (conducted by Union)

Yorktown was also the scene of the last siege during the Revolution, and the first siege of the Civil War. Initially, the Union attempted to keep their war dead buried in a uniform fashion with as many details as possible carved into wooden headboards. As the war progressed, soldiers from around the peninsula were sent to be interred there. After a fast-and-furious skirmish, many were buried where they lay with nothing more than a large stick to mark the location.

About a year after the war was over, the war department decided to exhume the war dead and give them proper burials in a federally-funded cemetery. Not all could be identified. In some cases, several soldiers were buried together. Soldiers from about 50 burial sites around Virginia were also re-interred here.

Only 10 of the soldiers interred in the "official" cemetery are Confederates, and their stones are marked as such. There is no official list of the war dead buried in the Confederate cemetery, nor is there a burial count. According to the historian Jim Bishop in his 1955 book, The Day Lincoln Was Shot, he states that the US "would never official count the Confederate dead, would never even keep records of the Confederate wounded." Although private historians have these numbers, the United States of America does not recognize them.

Why this is so is simple. The United States of America never did recognize the formation of the Confederacy, and never looked on the seceded states as being anything other than anarchist militants. In today's terminology, the Federal government exercised martial law in order to stamp out the rebellion. Those who engaged in the rebellion, therefore, deserved no recognition for their part.

This is rather cold-hearted, in my opinion. The Confederate soldiers were of two groups: draftees with no choice and volunteers who believed in their cause. This mirrors the state of mind of the Union soldiers, who could have been divided into two identical groups. I hope none of them died in vain.

***

There are many ills that are still injuring this great nation: racism, religious bias, poverty. Worst of all is apathy. Visiting this cemetery has brought to mind that there is still hope out there, if only we'd look into ourselves to find it. The saying really is true: it only takes one person to change the course of history. Let it begin with us.

I can bring it!

In honor of the Third Annual Towel Day as well as the 30th anniversary of the greatest sci-fi movie evar--Star Wars, I made a two-in-one photo. I'm half hitch hiker, half evil.

Now it's back to the fjords! Happy Towel Day, everyone!

PS to Beav: I may have not posted about Towel Day first; you are definitely a more organized Geek than I. However, I do believe I posted my towel photo first. I've shown you mine...

Oh yeah, and if any other hoopy frood would like to post their Towel Day fun, send it in an email. If it's SFW, I'll upload it for you.

Geeks of the world, unite!

The answer is 42. Don't forget your towel. Join me!




My very own Vogan poetry; you have been warned.

Fleetly brazen wood carving
Do not want
Shelter theoretical melodrama
Read the manual, stupid

"So long and thanks for all the fish."


*edited 25 May 1:15pm

Brave little toaster

I decided to shirk work, eg finishing my flower garden, to go try out The Griffon divecoaster at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg.

Oh.
My.
F*g.
Gawd.

That was absolutely awesome. I got to go in the front row, and it was amazing. I really thought I'd be scared, but while I was in line I took stock of all the really crazy things I've survived (see list below) and kept calm, even as I "dangled" for a few seconds face down and parallel to Earth.

Crazy things I've survived:

• rolled a car down a hill with no seatbelt on
• walked on the roof of a one-story house
• the third floor of our townhouse in England (eventually)
• hanging my own christmas lights on my house
• rollercoasters:

Cedar Point

• Millenium Force (front row)
• Wicked Twister
• Magnum XL
• Mantis
• Wildcat
• Raptor
• Meanstreak
• other rides I can't remember
  

Busch Gardens Williamsburg

• Alpengeist
• Apollo's Chariot (do NOT sit on the far outside ever again)
  
• Big Bad Wolf (okay, that one's not so scary)
• Loch Ness Monster

King's Dominion - Richmond

• Drop Zone -Yes, I did that.
• Anaconda
• Berzerker -Yes, I did that, too. I think I actually went unconscious for a moment.
• Hurler -a wooden coaster that totally kicks your ass.
  
• Rebel Yell -a wooden coaster that totally kicks your ass frontwards and backwards.
• Ricochet
• Volcano
• Italian Job Turbo -okay, the only "thrill" about this ride was the start--the rest was way lame, and the line for it was completely exposed to the hot, hot sun.
  

About that Griffon. Woo Hoo! Unfortunately, there is no good warning about the g-forces that pull on the internal organs as the coaster swings out of the dive. At the end of my very short ride, two fellow passengers were hurling into the nearest trash bin, and many people were checking their pants to see if they'd wet themselves (including me).

Info to shelf for later: there's a restroom right outside the ride's entrance. Either use it before taking the ride, or be prepared to buy an extra-long t-shirt from the kiosk next door to the restrooms. Or simply go on water rides until you're soaked first. Just a thought.

*Edited 8:25 pm EST

People with teenagers

I meant to blag about this last week, but I forgot. I do that alot.

Hear ye, hear ye, people with teenagers!

We discovered the hard way that here in the lovely state of Virginia, anyone aged 14 or older can deny medical treatment at any time.

My teenager was knocked off her bike by a slow-moving minivan whose driver was clearly being stupid (but wasn't charged; I'm still not over that). I was in another part of the county attending a soccer game as I am a single parent this year. Neighbors took charge, some staying with her while others took off in hopes of finding me (have I ever mentioned how much I love my neighbors? I do love them, they are the best!).

Visually, she was unhurt, but her helmet was cracked and she had a scrape on her hip. The paramedics offered to take her to the ER, but she declined. Neighbors protested, but she insisted she was fine. Paperwork was produced which she signed, and that was that.

--

No one ever expects their child to be hit by a car. Of all the warnings I've given my kids over the years, it never occurred to me to say, "Oh, and if you ever get hit by a car, even if you feel fine, go ahead and let the paramedics take you to the ER."

On the other hand, no one ever mentioned that here in Virginia, a 14-year-old is expected to know what's best for themselves.

If you have kids, it's in your best interest to check out the rules regarding this issue in your state. Knowing ahead of time that your kid can deny medical treatment will help you determine the best course of action in guiding your kids through their teens. Kids do not think about the future in terms of medical health, and so would not think of this as a big deal. But suppose that a few years from now, The Girl has back trouble, and it's linked to this accident? What recourse will we have then? Probably none.

WTF?!

What the hell is wrong with people?! Does no one ever learn from Springer?

There are a lot of freaks out there. You've been warned, so tread lightly here. The squeamish need not continue; I may get ugly.

I read Dear Abby and the old Ann Landers column nearly every day, because it's funny/pathetic to read true-life stories of how petty or shallow people can be. For instance, in today's column (5/21) in Abby, this guy is whining because "the girl of his dreams" has no desire to become college-educated. Here's how it is, dumbass: if the girl you've dreamed about has a college education, and the girl you're with does not and probably will not, then she's not the girl of your dreams. Step out, move on, give the girl a chance to find someone who truly appreciates her spirit, personality, and contributions to the world at large.

Also in today's Abby column there is a letter from a woman who was fondled by a slightly older cousin when they were teens. As adults, apparently they can't stay away from each other and are now going to have a baby. I'm sorry, if you're smart enough to write to Abby for advice, I assume you're smart enough to know you shouldn't be having sex with a relative, no matter what kind of history or attraction there is. Ew.

After the revulsion, I'm left with pity for that poor child. When I was going through therapy, the one thing that really got to me was this: you can't pick your parents, only how you deal with them. So on the one hand, this child will be able to hold its head up, safe in the knowledge that it didn't ask to be born. On the other hand, this child will go through life knowing that everyone knows his parents are related by more than just having a child together.

Here's the other thing: there are over 6.5 billion people on this planet, over 300 million in the US, Louisiana plays host to over 4 million of that number. And these two idiots could only find each other for booty calls?!

I've said it once, I'll say it a thousand times: you are required to take a test to drive a car, but any schmuck can create a baby.

You're so immature!

Okay, so I'm driving along in the 'hood, and I see a billboard for a local technical college. It got me to thinking about juvenile stuff.

The billboard brought to mind the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, better known as MIT.

The college advertised on the billboard is the Tidewater Institute of Technology. What are they better known as? "TIT"?


PS: for a "technical" college which trains computer nerds and Microsoft slaves, they don't seem to have a website. Irony?

And Leon's getting larger!

Okay, so I'm fat.

With each kid, I packed on an extra 20 lbs that I just didn't bother to remove (except with that first one--I really wanted to keep my job with the Air Force). Then came those birth control shots which packed another 20 lbs on in one month that made me so depressed, I nearly couldn't function for the next 3 years. No parties (and I loves me a party, esp when I'm the hostest with the mostest and everyone adores me for it), no outings, no fun.

Then we moved to Hampton Roads in Virginia (it's a region, not a specific place). There are tons of things to do, beaches, fun fun fun. And here I am, overweight, no energy, and ashamed of recent photographs. I was also diagnosed with a degenerative kidney disease, and my blood pressure is now dangerous without meds.

So I discuss this with my doc, who turns out to be a 0% bodyfat vegan health nut who rides his bike 20 miles per day regardless of rain, snow, or alien invasion. He claims that a woman of my stature (or lack of stature) should be about 100-110 pounds. My response? "Dude, I just wanna see 150 again."

So we try South Beach. It worked for a short time and I lost about 20 lbs, finally seeing under 200. But South Beach was a pain to follow. I quit that, but realized my stomach was smaller and so willed myself to not stuff myself with every meal. I've not seen 200 again.

Then we try 40/30/30, but that's a pain, too. All that counting. I'm good at maths, but damn!

Now I'm trying WeightWatchers. I'd done it before, but had no motivation at the time. Now that my life is at stake, I'm willing to apply myself. I've cranked up my water consumption, which has really improved my skin tone, by the way. I'm not so good at writing down everything I eat, but I'm more conscious now of whether I eat enough veggies each day. Going out to eat has become a trial, especially with my buffet-loving monkey kids, but we're all working together to help Mom get healthy. What I eat, they eat. Nobody's special around here.

My total loss so far is only 5.5 pounds after two months. You might think that's really sucky, but I haven't been this "thin" in a long time. Think about that for a while as I carry on.

Why has it taken me so long to lose just over 5 pounds?

There are lots of things I can blame. I have a torn tendon in my right foot that flares up from time to time. Shortly after beginning WW, my foot began to torment me, so no exercise. Also, I've been trotting all over the county for my kids' soccer events 5 days a week after school as a single parent, so planning dinners has been tricky.

But ultimately, the blame is mine. I could have been doing qigong and stretching exercises until the swelling went down. I could have been packing meals-to-go so that we could all eat in the car. But I didn't.

The good news is that I feel bad about that. The better news is that the swelling has gone down, and I'm ready to start something new to work up a sweat.

I love to dance. Mister and I took some lindy-hop lessons and they were so much fun. I like to boogie around the house while I tidy up. I actually liked "Sweatin' to the Oldies" with Richard Simmons, except he's such an annoying little git. I recently purchased an exercise program which uses salsa dance as exercise, and I'm really excited about trying that.

Plus, summer is here, and my bike is calling me. With Mister gone, the monkeys and I will be doing a lot of family biking this summer to pass the time in the evenings.

Who knows? Perhaps before the end of summer, I'll be seeing that 150 on my scale. Maybe I'll get really lucky and see an even smaller number. Keep up with me while I journey down the numbers.

Food is my life. I love food, I dream of food, I love feeding people, and very little warms me like having someone tell me how yummy my food is. Cheesecake is my vice. I recently made an all-natural, full-fat classic cheesecake that is 3 inches tall in the middle and so creamy, so yummy, it truly is sinful. I've only had two skinny slivers of it, because I know what's in there, and how devastating it can be. Plus, it's so indulgent, a skinny sliver is enough for anybody!

But I need alternatives. I need cheesecake the way a meth junkie needs another fix. So I found this recipe on the Reader's Digest website that I plan to try soon. If you try it before I report on my attempt, let me know about it.

Hmmm...

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

How Weird Are You?

Take this test to see how weird you are. My friend Steve From Canada is 80% weird. The only shocking thing about that is that I was expecting him to be 100% weird.

Celebration time, come on!

3.915
Summa cum laude.
Woo Hoo!

That's me with one associate's degree in early childhood development, one professional diploma, and two professional certificates. So I'm taking the summer off, and will start back up in the fall in order to pursue my bachelor's degree.

I'm planning on throwing myself some sort of party soon, so check back for the details.

Many thanks to everyone who's given me support over the last couple of years, especially my husband who's helped me manage the kids and my mom who never gave up on me.

Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home!

I received this in my cybermail yesterday:




















Do you know what this is?

That's right. It's a clean room and a made-up bed.

You know what else it is?

Proof that Mister is only a slob when he's at home.

I've got only one thing to say about that: Grrrr!

:)

So here is what Eric's "apartment" looks like from
the outside. The facility is called a "CHU" (chew)
but I don't know what that stands for. Anyone?



















I thought they looked like a storage building, but
the kids decided that they look like bathrooms
at a gas station. Either way, Mister's just glad he's
got air conditioning. He had to buy the mosquito
netting for the door. And no, there are no windows
and no plumbing.

Warm love, hugs and sunshine to everyone!

Because little pitchers have big ears

So I get a call from a friend from WayBack, a guy who I really thought was probably dead since nothing I knew could locate him, and we're yapping about the old times. Suddenly, I'm deluged with inquiries from The Boy. Among other things, he wants to know if I got arrested for "that."

Me: "What is 'that'?"

Him: "What you were just saying. You know, when you kidnapped somebody."

The Voices in My Head: "Holy crap. I need to STFU."

So I found myself explaining the situation, trying my best to edit for content on the fly and failing miserably. In the end, no matter how I tried, the story still stands as was: technically, if you really, really have to be pissy about it, I sort-of kidnapped my friend.

But it was for his own good, dammit! The man was married to a stone-cold slab that made Martha Stewart look like a porn queen and he needed some fresh air, so to speak.

All I can say about that now is that by the end of the night, Brian had a greater appreciation for bath tubs (esp. when full of ice, beer, and a half-naked beer girl), the American flag (esp. when worn as a string bikini by said half-naked beer girl), vodka jello shots (esp. when served by said beer girls whilst on your knees), and his way-cool friends who thought enough of him to yank him out of a mall parking lot (whilst wearing pantyhose masks and not even really stopping the van, no less) and force him to dance and drink the night away at their expense.

Oh, and Brian, sorry for leaving you behind. You wouldn't leave with me, and I felt you were probably drunk enough that either 'it' wouldn't work or you wouldn't remember if 'it' did. Forgiven?

Yippy Skippy

I have survived finals week.

Nothing else is relevant.

Twenty-Twenty-Twenty-Four Hours Ago-oh-oh

There are things in life that are a must-do. I've decided that this one is the ultimate:

I wanna be Forensicated!

Trolling Fark, I found this article about British police and a new service fee: pay us, or you have to risk picking up your stolen vehicle yourself. Oh, and we will only check for clues after your check clears. What? You didn't pay? Sucks to be you. Hope that works out well for you and your insurer.

You only have to read the first three or four paragraphs. The rest is redundant and/or tripe, as per typical British news reporting.*

Just so you know, 105 UK pounds is nearly $200 USD. A fee to get policemen to do their damn job, which is already paid for by taxpayers. Lovely.

Also, FYI: the British do not engage in solid registration of vehicles the way Americans do. When you purchase a vehicle, you get a certificate that lists you as the "keeper" of the vehicle, which is supposed to remain in the vehicle at all times. If you sell the vehicle, you just fill out the tear-off portion at the bottom and mail it into their version of the DMV. And yes, forgery is easy-peasy one-two-threesy. When it comes to who owns what vehicle, possession is 10/10ths of the law.

The Social-Welfare State comes at a price. Apparently, that price is 105 pounds Sterling.

*Compared to US news reporting, however, it's almost downright intelligent!

Swangirl's Cygnet Has Arrived!

Hello everyone! I received this in my email on the 18th, but my system has been down for repairs.

Here is Swangirl's Cygnet, Sean Patrick. He arrived peacefully and in good health, at 7 pounds and 12 ounces and 21" long.

Congratulations, Swangirl and family!
Best wishes from Soo and the entire Obscure Store Gang!

*****
Please feel free to leave a comment. Just click the comments link, say what you want & include your name or your internet handle, and post as "anonymous." You shouldn't have to sign up as a blogspot member just to post to my board. If the site demands it, copy and paste your comment to an email directly to me, and I'll add your comment for you.

edited 23 April

This can only end well, take 2

So I'm trolling on Fark and discover that the Gods of the Olympics Committee have decided that Chicago will host the Olympic Games of 2016. Yes, I can see how this could happen.

Because everyone knows that if China can clean up their act (aesthetically, not morally, of course) then bringing the Olympics to a vermin-infested sinkhole like Chicago will smooth out this rough city like a fresh round of Botox on Joan Rivers.

Let's see about Chicago. What's Chicago really, really like?

Statistics are from 2000
/doodly-doo, doodly-doo, doodly-doo/

• population of Chicago (city only): nearly 2.9 million and growing
• families with children living in poverty: 84,598
• families earning less than $10k per year: 68,431
• adults, age 25+, 9th grade or less education: 225,497
• grandparents caring for minor grandchildren: 41,328

Crime statistics aren't that great, either:
Statistics are from 2003

• murders are 2.70 times national average: 598
• all violent crimes are 2.18 Xs national average: 37,684
• all property crimes are on par, actually: 144,622
• there were no forcible rapes in 2003.

Okay, so there is a bright side to Chicago. Sure, you're twice as likely to get murdered, robbed or assaulted, but you're less likely to be raped.

Yay, Chicago!


PS: You must click on Joan. I dare you. I triple-dog-dare you.

Many thanks to About.Com and CityRating.Com for their lovely statistics reports!

Like you mean it!

There are few things that baffle me more than city folk and their trucks.

Exactly why do yuppies need an Expedition, Suburban or Tahoe when it's just the couple, a kid or two and/or a dog in the city?

Why does my (guy) friend, who lives in an apartment and works only for the military--a very large organization in possession of its own fleet of utility vehicles--need an oversized pick-up truck with 4-wheel drive in the city?

Why does a soccer mom need a truck-like vehicle with enough horsepower to pull the moon out of orbit, just to drive from dance recitals to Wal-Mart?

Exactly when do you need that 4-wheel, or even all-wheel, drive feature in the city?

These are the people who, with a jacked-up truck and 4-wheel drive, will slow down to about .2 miles per hour to drive over a speed bump. These are the people who will swerve to avoid a shallow pothole like they're driving a low-rider pimpmobile. These are the people who take up two parking spaces because they can't maneuver their tank in a modern parking lot, and don't even get me started about parallel parking!

And then today, on my way home from class, I saw it: the first real, proper use of an SUV in the city. It was marvelous. It was stunning in its simplicity. It made me want to trade in my sturdy minivan immediately.

I'm waiting in lane one of a five-lane intersection. The direction of traffic is separated by a thin strip of curb. Up ahead to my left, in lane five, a large, white SUV was waiting in the left-turn lane for the light to change.

Opposing traffic cleared.

All of a sudden, the driver of the white SUV changes his/her mind, turns the wheel hard to the left, drives over the curb and executes a near-flawless illegal u-turn. Impressive!

There is hope for humanity after all.

Never Do It Alone!

**This is a piece I put together some time ago, but didn't have the time to finish. For lack of anything else about which I'd like to rant, I've finished this piece to share with you now. Enjoy.

I am not a drinker. My medical status will deteriorate if I imbibe regularly, which is exactly what I would be doing if I did not have a "medical status." So I am The Driver. I am also the bill-payer, the tip-giver, the arrest-deterrent, and excuse-provider. Occasionally I even break up a fight.

I am also The Voice Of Experience.

I always encourage people to never drink alone, at home or at the bar. It's just a matter of safety. When you go drinking with a sober friend, that person is tasked with "watching your back." No one will tamper with your drink while you're not looking, gross people will not be able to talk you into going back to "my place," and you will be 86'd before the really embarrassing stuff starts.

While it seems more like common sense to me, I read more and more articles about people, mostly women, who find more trouble when they're out drinking alone. Sure, they may be with a group of friends, but when everyone is drinking, then they are all "alone." At least, that's how I see it. The bartender may know you by name, may have gotten to know a little bit about you personally, but it's not their job to babysit every single person in the bar. Crowd control? Yes. Personal shepherd? No.

One more piece of wisdom before I go: always remember that spooning leads to forking.

Must. Read. This.

This is an essay I found courtesy of Fark concerning an upcoming push by Congress to phase out the incandescent light bulb. If this is a joke, it's pretty good; not in the haha sense, but in the overall seriousness of tone. Either way, it's got some pretty compelling information that makes perfect sense to me, and at other times it sounds like utter tosh.

Anyone got any information on this?

Anyway, for your reading pleasure, click here.

edited on 8 Apr.

Once more, with feeling!

Thank you very much, gracious readers and wonderful friends, for all your love and support during the first week of Mister's delightful deployment. Your kindness has not gone unrewarded!

We now have An Address!

For anyone who would like to send Mister some snail mail, but who is not in my email address book, please click the Brand-New Link above! My computer takes me to MSN's hotmail; I am not responsible for what your computer does, just get that email to me! :)

By the way, while you're clicking on this link, please consider why you're not in my email address book and then prepare the depths to which you will sink in begging my forgiveness for overlooking me in your internet exploits. You will definitely be forgiven, regardless--I may be Italian, but it takes a lot more than not emailing me to incur The Grudge!

Mister tells me he has now moved out of his 'tent' and into a 'chu.' What's a 'chu'? Bless you. No, seriously. A 'chu' is a type of camper. Picture a POD container with a regular entry door, a/c, a bed and a footlocker. I suggested that all he needs now is a rusty jeep on blocks and an old toothless hound under the boardwalk 'porch' to complete the image.

As stated above, please email me for more information and to request photo forwarding. I won't send what you don't want, but I also won't post it here. Love, happy chi and excellent karma to all!

S

The goggles, they do nothing.

Dear, faithful readers: I have not abandoned you.

Oh, no.

Nor have I been ill, although I should have been.

I've been recovering from a severe case of big-mouthus, combined with an attack of the stupids.

A short while back a person was severely injured whilst being severely stupid, and the media declared this stupidity to have been 'inspired' by a Jackass movie. No one in the forum was sure if this was true, since only the moderator had seen even one of the movies. I instantly came down with an extreme case of big-mouthus and declared that not only would I watch both movies, but I would also document each act of moronic stupidity and post it on my blog so that we may fact-check any future declarations that a stunt was "Jackass-inspired."

The attack of the stupids occurred a day later when I not only rented both films, but then watched both within 24 hours.

Needless to say, if it were possible to open my skull and scrub my brain clean, it would have been done already.

After watching each film, I felt unclean and morally deficient. Granted, the first film was rather funny in a juvenile way, although I still ended the film shaking my head and wondering just how much money MTV had to throw down for damage control. The second film was simply horrific. There were a couple of skits that had me giggle, but the pain these young men inflicted on themselves over and over again was staggering. Even more worrisome was the genuine fear these guys had about some of the stunts, but then they did them anyway. I can only hope there will never be a third film.

I will be working on my report (and several exams for college) over the next week. Please stay tuned; I am sure you will not be disappointed.

But if you are, keep it to yourself.

This. Is. Wicked!! Star Wars, FTW!! Woot!

Clicky. Oh, please, just clicky!

Okay, click here.

Oh man, oh man, oh man!

I want one! Please? Can I, huh, huh?

I found this on Fark, and the concept is just
so awesomely wicked, I nearly passed out.

Not like you could tell or anything...

I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay

Here's a word for you:

Blastula

It's what makes us humans all the same, no matter what. You remember, way back in the day, when you were just a little egg, dividing, traveling down the fallopian tube (or syringe, if you're a TTB), preparing to implant. In those days, your name was Blastula, and you were fabula! That miracle of birth? Bah. Animals do that every day, every year. Spittin' out a kid (or 5) isn't a miracle.

The real miracle is how the egg and the sperm-two incomplete cells, blend together to create not just one complete cell but a cell that's going to turn into millions of different groups of cells that then becomes a living, breathing, being.

From a joined cell smaller than the head of a pin to a miniature copy of its parents-incredible!

A rose by any other name...

I have developed an extended definition of a common word, and am considering submitting it to Webster's.

Catwalk n: the movement of a feline across a keyboard, particularly a laptop keyboard, esp if the movement involves jamming the keys.

We suffered a catwalk recently when I inadvertently left Mister's laptop open. Didn't matter if it was running, the cat stomped across the keypad, did her little circle dance and then plunked down for a nap. Later I attempted to copy some files using a desktop shortcut. Because the shift key had been jammed, all I managed to copy was about 50 desktop icons three times. Do you have any idea what a desktop looks like with 150 icons crowding around? (Please note, this is not my laptop. You wanna know why there's 50 icons on the desktop, ask Mister. My desktop is clutter-free, unlike the house that surrounds it.)

After much cursing and ugly faces directed toward the cat, I managed to unjam the shift key, delete the excess icons, swear at Mister for having so many icons anyway (and that's after I've cleaned it up a bit, creating folders for certain categories, all of which he blithely ignores), and get back to business. And this time, I won't forget to close the lid!

Mission accomplished, future catwalks curtailed, life goes on.

What it is

Suppose a couple with an emotional history split and then got back together. Is she correct when she assumes that his idea to get tattoos with their names means "forever," especially when he says something along the lines of "Baby, you know we're gonna be together forever."

If you said, "Forever means forever," then how can "forever" mean "until I say so."

See, I'm not a guy (a situation which I'm certain makes Mister sigh with relief) so I don't know how a guy's mind works, or a guy's emotional roller coaster.

Plus, there are different kinds of guys: laid back, protective but not smothering, insane jealous, etc. Just like a woman, it's difficult to put detail to a man's perspective, no matter what type of guy he is. Why does he do/say/think the way he does--a question as impossible to honestly answer as "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

And what exactly does, "I just need a little space," mean? Or, "prepare for the worst, but hope for the best"? Or, "I can't put a time limit on a separation."

I'm trying to help my friends. They have a history of mistakes, tried counseling (he blames it for "[screwing] him up even more and won't go back), split and made up. Now he says he's been "faking it" for the past X years, and he just can't do it anymore. He's told her to find an apartment nearby or "go back home," and has signed a 6-month lease on his own apartment. He won't talk to anyone, including his best friend, and even risked a formal reprimand for being "very ugly" to his OIC.

This has all come out of nowhere and has occurred in the last 4 days. Just this past Sunday, I was over chatting with them, and I couldn't detect even a moment of tension until he mentioned he wanted to spend over $300 on a ticket to a NASCAR race, and she was shocked. I sat up until way past my bedtime listening to her tell her side of the story, and I have to agree: if he's "been faking it," he deserves an Oscar.

I don't get it, and I'd like to help both of them as best as I can. I recommended that even if he doesn't go, she should get counseling, and that her medical plan will pay for it. I offered to kick his arse straight to the moon. I offered to take him out for a beer so that maybe he'll talk to me--we have this "love big honkin' redneck trucks" connection. I offered to keep the kids while she pours her heart out to him (she called today to take me up on that).

What else can I say? What else can I do? I don't understand this "bottling up" thing. I mean, we all do that to a certain degree, even me. But eventually, the rational thing to do is talk it out. How can a person, who's been bottling things up, just walk? How do you just piss away a history, a connection, a family (this has damaged his relationship with his own parents, too), without at least "fighting it out"?

Anyone?

Crow is not delicious or nutritious.

So I'm checking out my daily news which I get not from any so-called "reliable" news source but from several compilation sites which link odd and interesting news when I run into a bit of backpedaling today. These sites are Fark, Obscure Store & Reading Room, and News of the Weird.

So why am I eating crow? Well, the blogkeeper at NOTW asks his faithful readers to join his google group to have the 6-days-per-week blog emailed to them. And so I did. I joined a google discussion group, and now I can leave messages or directly email my horror/chagrin/embarrassment to the blogkeeper. (The main blogsite for NOTW does not offer comments)

Anyhoo, check these sites out from time to time. I'm still Soo on OS&RR and NOTW, but Rollersnake on Fark (longer, dorkier story that you don't want to hear). There are truly bizarre stories to be found on each, some overlapping, most unique. Also, the comments are rather interesting. They range from profound to outrageous to downright trollish and unconscionable.

At any rate, for the next time, I'll have that crow grilled.

Yes, indeed, the laws of irony yada yada

Well, I took a quiz to see which video game character I am most like. If you guessed I am most like the short, chubby, Italian plumber dweeb otherwise known as "Mario," please stop by customer service on your way out to pick up your prize.

If you'd like to take this quiz to see which character is most like you, then click here. Your choices include Mario, Link, Sonic, StarFox and Megaman.

Yeah, Murphy and Irony, their laws are like constant companions... which barf on your shoes every now and again.

A man's home is his castle. Allegedly.

If this is the case, I certainly hope Mister loses some weight whilst on his deployment. After nearly 10-11 years, we have finally (nearly) completed the 3-D castle puzzle Nanaw sent us for Christmas back in the day.

An attempt had been made once before, a couple of years after we received the thing. Why didn't we try it out sooner? Welcome to Procrastination Central. I'll tell you more about that later. Anyhoo, an attempt had been made but was a rather dismal failure owing to lack of storage and the presence of small rugrats who just couldn't resist touchy-touchy/eaty-eaty.

So we put it away, until I broke down and transformed an occasional table into our family's Very First coffee table in December, 2006. Naturally, the first move by a resident of the household was to put their feet up on it (Reason Number One for why I never had a coffee table in the first place). In brainstorming ideas to combat this problem, I remembered this puzzle. I got it out and started putting it together.

Since its last breath of fresh air we added an extra rugrat, and all are old enough now to touch but not eat the pieces. So, all were welcomed to "help out" putting the puzzle together. This truly was a group effort.

All that awaits is for Dad to return in order to finish what he started all those years ago, because when you get down to the brass tacks, persistence is the key to success. Cliche, anyone?

Further stats and useless trivia regarding said puzzle:

• This puzzle traveled from Ohio to England, from England to California, from California to Georgia, and from Georgia to Virginia, for a grand total of nearly 14,700 miles.
  
• This puzzle is now missing 2 pieces. They are probably still in England.
• This puzzle is of a castle in Bavaria, Germany. My mom bought it because we were living in a country full of castles. In England.
• Mister visited this castle whilst on TDY in Germany about 25 years after his own father toured this castle whist completing a tour of duty in Germany thanks to a draft card during the Vietnam Conflict. He did not know at the time that this was where his dad was stationed.
• We bought a gift tin shaped like a treasure chest full of foodies for Mister's parents. It had a picture of this castle on it, but we didn't know that until years later.
• I bought a boxed bottle of wine celebrating some German anniversary (no, I don't know what for, I don't know German) and it has a picture of this castle on it. And yes, we still have the wine.
• This castle is the one Disney used as the inspiration for Sleeping Beauty's castle.
• The German prince who built this castle is probably the factual basis behind the "psycho prince" story for the "Curse of Darkcastle" ride at Busch Gardens Williamsburg.
• We live right down the road from Busch Gardens Williamsburg.
• I'm done now.

Thank you, Mister Romance!

I'd just like to take this opportunity to personally thank Google for making my Blogger experience decidedly more miserable and difficult than it was before.

Sure, my posts load up with lightning speed. But my sign-in has gone from a quick dance across the keypad to a nightmarishly long email address along with that crazy "at" symbol and yet another password to remember. Was it really necessary, Google? Did I need to create yet another account I won't use just to keep access to the one account I do use?

I"m going out on a limb here. I'm saying this bites. It blows. I'm dismayed, disappointed and disheartened. The pointlessness of the Googlefying boggles the mind. If Bill Shakespeare were sitting through this, his head would explode with the tragedy of it all.

To be fair, I did peruse what Google offered in their "account" they forced me to open. Wow. Let me just say that again: wow.

• I can change my email, or my password (as if I'm not confused enough already, let's change it up some more!).
  
• I can open Blogger. Well, there's a bonus I wasn't expecting.
  
• I can use "AdWords" and find people wanting to buy stuff I'm selling, except I'm not selling anything so that's hardly helpful.
  
• I can get my search results emailed to me (Wait, what? I have time to punch in a search but no time to wait for it? I really am a loser!).
  
• I can create my very own mailing lists (Isn't that what my ISP email program's address book was for? What the hell, I'll do it again!)
  
• I can create my own discussion groups (Uh-huh. Yep. I'm fairly certain anything I want to talk about has already been talked to death, and no one listens to me anyway).
  
• I can "access and manage" my search results at any computer. Manage search results? What the hell does that mean?!

Yeah, I can see I'm gonna be using my Google account every freakin' day. 'Cause it's so useful. I mean, managing my search results is totally gonna rock my world. Maybe I can use AdWords to sell my soul to Satan as well.

Update: Obviously, I was quite the lazy sod and forgot to speelchek. Noted and completed.

Bully!

I have been bullied into updating my blog to the google account. I think we can safely say that just about anything good that google gets its hands on will soon be wanky.

But then again, I think to myself, it's a free blog, what can possibly go wrong?

The Adventures of Sgt Smell of the Mess Brigade

All any parent wants is for their children to grow up into well-adjusted adults who spread their wings, exploring their independence...... Somewhere else.

So this morning we're on our way to school when I mention to The Boy that his hair needs trimmed. He panics slightly because he thinks I'm suggesting I take him to the salon. Poor guy has been traumatized by his grandmother, a hairdresser. She has "trimmed" his hair before, never ever giving him what he wanted, and at least once making him cry about it. Now he won't go to any salon, ever. So I started to cut it because he was driving me nuts.

I'm no trained hair stylist. I was absolute crap when I gave him his first "trim," which was more like what you do with hedges rather than what you do with hair. I have developed a talent for "5-inch, all-over layers." And lately he doesn't look like his stylist is a monkey with seizures.

A thought occurred to me, and I voiced it: "What are you going to do when you grow up and leave?"

All too quickly, he replied: "That's why I'm never moving out!"

Suzy Homemaker Scores Again!

I am the hostess with the mostest!

For those of you who were unable to attend my Super Bowl Soiree, let me say how sorry I am for you. For those of you who were invited but were too lame to attend my Super Bowl Soiree: Bwa HA HA HA HA!

Excellent food. Excellent people. Bizarre game. Phone call from Mister. Chocolate cake.

What more could have been done to make this party even better? I just can't think of anything--except Mister being here for the party as well, but we have to take what we can get, eh?

Here comes the rain again

Maybe it's just me, but I thought January through April was part of the "rainy season" for the area of the planet from the Middle East all the way to the eastern edge of the Asian countries. If I'm wrong, go ahead and tell me.

So I'm checking out BBC's news page, since I no longer watch the BBCA thanks to their dedication to inappropriate timing of raunchy commercials. I find this article about flooding in Jakarta killing people and leaving them homeless.

People are being dragged under by the currents, NINE people were electrocuted (?!), and several more have been lost to 'sickness,' possibly the dengue fever that has broken out due to the high levels of 'pollution' in the floodwaters.

It also seems as though the entire country was taken completely by surprise. However, the end of the article caused me to smack myself:

The central government is blaming poor urban planning for the disaster, our correspondent says.

One Jakarta resident, Elan Manoppo, told the BBC there was "no integrated development plan" for the capital, adding: "Most of the city's drainage systems are not taken care of."

Good Lord! Can you possibly make things any worse for yourself?!

This can only end well...

This is amazingly scary. Oily, yellow snow with a distinctive "rotten" odor to it.

Don't eat it, don't even let your mammals eat it. We don't know why it happened, we're doing some tests, and we'll get back with you.

Oh yeah, and we're Russia.

I'm absolutely certain that when the Russian authorities are through with all their testing, the rest of the world will hear all about it, even if it's very bad. Yup. Sure they will. Just like Dubya's gonna finally pronounce 'nuclear' correctly whilst saying something profound that he thought up all by himself.

Oh yeah, one more thing: is it just me, or does Dubya's head make him look like a little monkey?

I'm having a bad joke day.

I'm sorry. I just have to, you know? Here it is:

A Chinese guy with a parrot on his shoulder walks into a bar.
The bartender says, "Hey, he's neat. Where'd you get him?"
The parrot says, "China, there's a billion of 'em."

Found this on a 'favorite joke' website while looking for a joke with the exclamation "Duck!" in it. No joy for me today, except for the gem which is posted above.

Mr President, you need to read this...

This is amazing. And predictable. The Iranian president is losing support. Thank goodness. People who can't get food or conduct their business thanks to sanctions tend to get a bit upset when the reason those sanctions were placed scoffs at said sanctions.

Now, all that needs to happen is for the USA to just back off and let him self-destruct.

Are you listening, Mr President? Hello? //hears the wind whistling again...

The Laws of Irony are Strictly Enforced

I have psychology tomorrow morning, 10 am. Joy!

Seriously, folks, this one's tricky. You see, Friday the prof was away so we had a "supplemental assignment." Since the course is "Human Development Psychology," and we're covering the psycho nature of maturing from birth to death, and since the semester has only just started, we're covering birth right now.

For the assignment, we were directed to the PBS website where we will watch a selected section of The Miracle of Life. The section covers ovulation to embryo, about two weeks. We're supposed to watch this section, give it a decent review, and then mention anything new that we learned from the clip.

Considering I've got three kids and first saw this video when I was 12, I can't possibly think what I might learn at this late stage.

Wish me luck! I think I'm gonna need it.

Some Day Lad, All This Will Be Yours!

Art Appreciation 101. Covers the dawn of man until the 1600s, from cave scratchings to oil on canvas masterpieces to architecture. For me, it's all ho-hum until the architecture. Really! Consider this: 4000 years ago, before the invention of the steam engine but after the invention of the wheel, humans without "machines" built 50-foot tall pillars and erected stone monoliths carved from a single stone (Egypt). Also without benefit of modern machinery, humans carved rocks weighing tons and then transported them the length of a marathon (Wales/England). Astounding!

Although, if I were asked to place a wager, I'd put a fiver on "Aliens" and a fiver on "Leprechauns."

And so we cover the Palace of Knossos, of the ancient Minoan culture, Isle of Crete. I'm listening to Grampa Cook talk about the lifespan of the palace site like he was there, man, its multi-levelness, its grand architecture, its wall art that is for the sake of art and not iconic, when I get yanked out of my reverence for the opulence by a movie sketch.

The Palace of Knossos was built near a fault like that was rather active at the time, 4000-5000 years ago. The site itself shows evidence of occupation from about 3000 BCE, but records indicate the first 'palace' was not begun until 1000 years later. It was destroyed by earthquake. The palace was rebuilt. It was conquered, inhabited by foreigners for a thousand years, then caught fire and burned down, only to be rediscovered 3000 years later and opened for the public.

Which brings me straight to Monty Python.

//paraphrase: Everyone said you can't build a castle in a swamp, but I built anyway. The first castle sank into the swamp. The second castle caught fire, fell over and then sank into the swamp. But the third castle stayed open!

All of a sudden, the ancients just got interesting.

And here's one I made earlier!

A short while ago, I decided I was bored and opened Paint. This was the result. I'm not an artist; my stick drawings are weak compared to a 2-year-old's. But I thought this was sort-of lovely.

It's so sad, I can't even cry

Yesterday, our neighborhood experienced a terrible tragedy. A high school freshman hanged himself in his home and later died.

The details are sketchy, but initial indications are that the child had not shown signs of depression or suicidal tendencies. So, I assumed the child was playing "the choking game," where a person simulates being choked in order to get high. Just like taking illegal drugs, this so-called game is just as addictive, and obviously just as dangerous, if not more so.

If this child's death was in fact suicide and no one noticed "the signs," then this was a grim reminder to us all to show more concern for others than for ourselves. If this was an accidental death, as I think it may prove to be, please let the teens in your life know they don't have to do this, that there is help out there if they can't stop, and that no matter what they will always have your love. Death is forever. You may not be planning your death, but you'll die just the same.

***

And remember: Never ever let your last words be ugly.

***

UPDATE: Authorities have determined that this young teen had intended to commit suicide after an argument with parents. The seriousness of the dangers of the so-called game outlined above is not diminished by the results of the investigation. Please -PLEASE- continue to talk with your kids (or your friends' kids) about how fragile their lives are. Be their beacon of hope, be someone they can trust with their confidences, and be truthful always.

That was SO last week...

I usually don't blather on about my personals unless there's a comedic element to be found, because it's all mostly rather boring. The usual mundane, routine married-with-kids blah-de-blah, with a touch of college-student panic from time to time.

I have decided to apprise my fellow intertubers (ha! I said 'tubers'!) of our current situation which is decidedly less mundane and routine than usual. Mister will be traveling post-haste for training which will enable him to go all medieval in the Middle East, or at least file paperwork with lightening-fast proficiency.

Therefore, I will be spending the better part of this year without the benefit of regular adult company. So I ask you, my lovely readers, when I begin to sound rather more insane than usual, if I have lost my comedic sparkle, to remember that's it's just temporary, and a quick marathon of Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker films of the 70s will perk me back up in no time!

"Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking!"

Window Shopping For Blinds

This is a visual, so you'll have to work with me.

First, find a mirror. Then, put your hands up so that they're about level with your ears. Open your fingers wide, smile really big and then wiggle your hands.

Congratulations! You've just executed your first "Deaf Clap."

You see, the Deaf Community has created its own version of applause. Since regular clapping is an audio thing, for obvious reasons they need something different.

But that got me to wondering as I begin my second ASL (American Sign Language) class: do they have their own Golf Clap, and if so, how does it go?

I'm more a super hero than super villain. That's a good thing, right?

Once upon a time at the Obscure Store, I was compared to a Cylon. I decided to not be offended. Recently, Ensign Crusher... I mean, Wil Wheaton reviewed his year in blogging and included his results from a couple of quizzes concerning super heroes and super villains. I decided that since I'm a Grand Moff Tarkin and a Cylon, I was rather curious to see where I stood in the world of Comics.

If I were a super villain, this is me, which I completely don't understand since when it asked if I was overweight, I clicked the 'strongly agree' dot. If only.... (PS... Looks like I need a jacket, eh?)

Your results:
You are Mystique

Mystique 70% Dr. Doom 55% Riddler 54% Apocalypse 54% Mr. Freeze 51% Dark Phoenix 50% Juggernaut 50% The Joker 47% Venom 47% Magneto 46% Catwoman 46% Poison Ivy 41% Kingpin 38% Two-Face 38% Lex Luthor 34% Green Goblin 30%	Sometimes motherly, sometimes a beautiful companion, but most of the time a deceiving vixen.
Click here to take the "Which Super Villain are you?" quiz...

Of course, if I were a superhero, this would be me:

You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 85% Robin 75% Hulk 70% Green Lantern 70% Wonder Woman 65% Superman 65% Batman 60% The Flash 55% Supergirl 50% Iron Man 45% Catwoman 25%	You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.
Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

The only thing that kept me from punching my computer was the fact that at 3 of the 11 were chicks, and Wonder Woman was in the top 5.

Does this mean I can keep my cool boots and funky utility belt?