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  • Nerds!!

    I want Rock Band.

    I have a Wii.

    I have been told it's tons better on the XBox360.

    I need advice!

    In all seriousness, I am concerned. I don't want to shell out for a 360 just for one game, but I don't want a miserable Rock Band experience. A friend and 360 enthusiast claimed that the download capabilities of the Wii were not good enough for RB, but was too busy playing RB to elaborate.

    My kids often play MarioKart on the Wii using the worldplay feature, and can play for hours without getting booted off the wi-fi. Does this mean that our download experience won't suck as much as others, or simply that we can play MarioKart for hours?

    I have the right television for it, along with the wireless internet connection.

    Should I just shell out for the 360? And before you ask, the answer is no, I will not be buying other games to play on the 360. I really enjoy the Wii, and I play my gory shoot-em-ups online anyway.

    Feel free to enhance my knowledge and/or sway my decision in the comments section.

    Break Stuff

    Today is just one of those days. Crabby, unhappy, and generally unrepentant.

    I am not feeling like pleasing anyone today, and I really don't care if that hurts anyone's feelings. It's really too bad, because the sun is shining, and the temperature is trying to warm a little. But no, I'm cranky.

    Feel free to vent in the comments.

    May The Farce Be With You..... Always!

    This morning while driving to The Girl and The Boy to school, we were chit-chatting. The Boy wasn't really paying attention, only butting in every few sentences or so. And then we saw him at the midway crossing: Mace Windu.

    Mace Windu works at The Girl's high school. Tall, dark, shiny dome, and forever pointing a finger, he's in charge of discipline, and the kids say he's mean. The Girl supposed he was even in the military.

    "In the military"? What does that mean, I ask. She explains that military people are, you know, like that. Like what, I inquire. The Girl says that military people, you know, are just mean.

    I reminded her that her dad has 18 years on active duty, and he's not "like that."

    The Boy perked up and asked, "What, bald?"



    Mace Windu vs Mister, or
    Like that vs. not quite like that!

    1984?

    Allegedly, there is a war going on somewhere, one in which the United States is heavily engaged. You wouldn't know that, if you had watched Fox News for the first time ever yesterday morning.

    Over the weekend, a soldier murdered several fellow soldiers in theater. Also, the rates of drug use and misuse among soldiers is increasing. More jobs and homes are being lost every day. Governmental spending at every level across America is grossly bloated and unsupportable. One might hold up California on the brink of bankruptcy as an example, but because this happens on a regular cycle, we'll skip that and move on to other things, like the college professor who murdered his wife and several others, and then committed suicide. Or the rampant use of performance-enhancer drugs in professional sports.

    And this is just the stuff going on with the USA. We don't have time to carry on with the rest of the planet.

    On the whole, things are not lovely. Really and truly, the only silver lining is that our reservoir is now at full pool, and the weather is still cool enough to keep the windows open to catch the breeze. The rest is crap.

    However, what qualifies as a news alert for Fox News is none of this. No, the channel has decided that a beauty-pageant contestant and her under-age nudie photos qualifies as an "Alert!" with the same level of saturation one might expect if a plane full of Congressmen crashed in a ball of fire into an orphanage hosting a dog show.

    So a pageant contestant gets to keep her crown because nude and semi-nude photos she had taken back when she was 17 were not meant to be published but were instead for a modeling portfolio. Big whupdee doodles.

    Come on, Fox. The USA may often appear to be full of proles, but it's not, unless you help make it so. Raise the bar, freaks. Raise the bar.

    Swamp Thing

    Over the last year or two, I stood back in horror as I watched my mortgage company get rightfully pilloried for being at the front of the national (and then worldwide) housing crisis. Being the #1 issuer of questionable mortgages, Countrywide became even more infamous thanks to a series of television ads that told clients they could "get help" through them, but then denied nearly every applicant.

    Unfortunately, sensible people like me were the real victims. I bought only what I could afford on one paycheck even though I was urged by one real estate agent to buy twice that ("You're military--you'll get the credit easy!"). I have made every payment on time. I paid extra into the escrow when I knew the my property taxes were going up. I haven't taken out a home equity loan against my house.

    How does that make me a victim? I don't get a share in the "bailout," but I can certainly fund it.

    Home buyers are as much to blame for this mess as mortgage lenders. People know when their credit is questionable, or even downright bad. Add the temptation of loose mortgage regulations and we have bailout soup. Irresponsible lenders and irresponsible borrowers are getting a helping hand at my expense, and I'm supposed to be okay about this.

    And then, adding rock salt to this festering wound, I log in this week to pay my mortgage only to discover that one bad apple has been changed for another: Bank of America bought out Countrywide's mortgages.

    My first thought was, "How could I possibly make it any worse for myself?! Jehovah! Jehovah!"

    My second thought was, "Super. F'n super."

    It takes a real man to wear tights!

    Please, someone explain to me why I belly-laughed until it hurt over this:





    Thanks, XKCD, for another great day!

    Happy Star Wars Day!

    Yes, I know what you're thinking. But just because I think badly of George Lucas it does not mean that I have turned away from the entire franchise. I just said he's not getting any more of my money.

    And so, without further ado, May The 4th Be With You, Always.

    It's our boy with no pants!

    I live in a quiet residential area that is, but isn't, a subdivision. One main drag that winds its way between two connectors, there are no signs indicating you are in [name redacted] subdivision. We're just a cluster of similar brick ranch dwellings, all but one without a garage, and popular with teenagers because it's fun to race through here, apparently.

    This morning I was off to the hardware store to buy a machete. As I was weaving my way through the maze of cars no one likes to park in their private driveways (?!), I noticed two adults and some kids crowded around the back of a minivan. I slowed down even more for safety--one never knows when those little kids will decide it's a good time to dart into the street--when I noticed that the man was wearing some seriously tight shorts.

    voice in my head: "Dude's way too tubby to be wearing bike shorts. Spandex at your size.... OMG those are underpants!!"

    Yes, my neighbor was wearing a pair of tight-fitting boxer-briefs out in the sunny public on a lovely Sunday at noon. But wait! There's more! His waistband was rolled down and his butt crack was peeking out.

    What has been seen, can never be unseen. I may never sleep peacefully again.

    1D10T

    Just this morning, I have read two separate cases of people buying sealed electronics only to get robbed. How did this happen? At some point between initial construction and the sale, the electronic item was replaced with rocks or a brick and then the package was sealed or resealed.

    1. Anyone who thinks a seal cannot be removed and then replaced without anyone noticing is grossly naive and/or has never hired a professional mover.

    2. Are people really that optimistic these days, or have I been a pessimist all these years and just not been aware of the fact?

    Open your electronic items before leaving the store, people! Even if it is a gift, at least you will spare some poor kid the pain of discovering that the DS he thought he was receiving was in fact a pile of rocks. By opening your 'sealed' electronics in the store, even at walmart, you will get instant satisfaction rather than have to go round in circles between seller and manufacturer, because each will do whatever they can to avoid issuing a refund. It is probably easier to return an automobile than it is to return electronics. (I've never returned a car, so I'm just guessing here.)

    Honestly, I wish they'd just set up a table right at the door for just this purpose, especially the electronics retailers.

    It's just like those bloody peasants

    I attended the funeral of my beloved step-grandfather, the only "grandfather" in my life who acted the part. Both my "real" grandfathers had died long before I was born, and both my grandmothers had remarried. My father's mother married a bitter man whose soul was completely cheerless. My mother's mother had married again twice, first to a friend of her first husband who was a greedy, thieving bastard, and then to Earl, who was The Last Real Gentleman.

    Everyone loved Earl. The whole community, most of whom are related to me, embraced him, an outsider, as one of their own, adopting him as their own grandfather, uncle, or brother. I have had occasion to wonder if this did not perhaps perturb my grandmother a bit, a woman who was not well-liked even by her own children.

    It was a lovely service. The rain stopped just enough for us to return him to the earth. The sun had even blessed us a bit, encouraging us to smile through our loss. I felt reassured.

    And then, I became a tourist back in my home county of Guernsey. I snapped pictures of our local library, a gift from Andrew Carnegie. I also took pictures of our courthouse, a triumph of architecture back in the late 1880s, placed not in the county seat but in the biggest town in the county. (The seat was moved to accommodate the courthouse location later, and the original seat dwindled away to just a village.)

    Tucked into a parking lot, I found this sign, and thought you all will laugh as mightily as I did:



    I hope this post finds you well and in good spirits. For those who embrace the possibility, there is a most excellent man watching over you, purest of heart and soul. Do much to deserve the honor. For me, it is enough to know that in life, my grandfather was well-respected and loved not because he demanded it but because he earned it.

    a bleak and rimey day

    In November of 2007, my mother's mother passed. I hardly noticed. I no longer cared for the woman. She was greedy and cruel to us, her grandchildren, when she should have been kind, at a time in her life when she did not need the money she took from us but we were hungry and with holes in our shoes.

    Today, her 3rd husband and the only "grandfather" I ever knew, passed. The news was such a great shock to me; I've never--never--felt such a pain. It gripped my heart and my guts, my mind went completely blank, and I had no words, not even to comfort my mother who had loved him as much as she had loved her own departed father.

    I will be taking about 11 days off from writing to you, my dear readers. I need time to myself; I just can't bring myself to share more. This weight I feel, I can't describe it. I feel a certain selfishness, a need to withdraw. Please accept my apology and my promise to return, hopefully refreshed and ready to engage you in [whatever].

    Tender regards,

    Soo

    And the winner is....

    I'm overweight, but we've discussed that before.

    In two days, I'll be among the unemployed. That'll be okay, because I've managed to use most of my pay wisely. It's a lovely feeling.

    I'm going to have some time on my hands, and I really don't want to do a lot of what really needs to be done: final unpacking and jettisoning useless crap.

    Instead, I've decided to exercise a film away every single day. I bought Mister a stationary bike with my first paycheck, and plan to "bike" my way through a new film every day. I'd like to watch films I've never seen before, although watching all the Star Trek films in order must be done, as it's never been done (by me) before.

    Mister has lists of films I've asked him to produce, based on the American Film Institute's "top films" list, as well as access to lists of Oscar winners and nominees for best film. Before I troll those lists to kit out my netflix queue, however, I'd like to ask my lovely readers for their input.

    Which films would you recommend? I do have some "don't go there" issues!

    1. No extreme comedy. Giggling + biking = big girl falls.
    2. No extreme weepy stuff. Let's just say I'm an moody rollercoaster and Mister gets disturbed when he returns home to a weepy blob.
    3. If it's anything like The Big Chill, I probably won't like it.
    4. Videodrome is right out. No exceptions.
    So go on. Challenge me. Perhaps your film will help me shed some cushion.

    PS... One more thing: no porn. I'm just not a porn-before-lunch kinda person, you know?

    Eleventy minus thirty eleven equals.... ?

    It's a two-fer-Tuesday!

    Learn more about me, in twos, than you ever wanted to know. And then, if you want, cut-n-paste and then do one of your own. Link me, if you'd like, just as I linked The Beav, who brought this up in the first place!

    Two names you go by:
    1. Soo
    2. Suzanne

    Two things you are wearing right now:
    1. a smile
    2. glasses

    TWO OF your favorite things to do
    1. Compute
    2. Sing

    Two things you want very badly at the moment:
    1. silence
    2. another Date Night

    Two Pets that you have or have had
    1. Sarah - the psycho kitty
    2. Gigi/Jigs - The girl cat that turned out to be a boy cat.

    Two people who will fill this out:
    1. Beav already did
    2. Possibly Keith

    Two things you did last night:
    1. Watched my son kick ass in soccer
    2. logged in to facebook

    Last thing you ate:
    1. chicken-bacon-swiss from Arby's
    2. meatloaf

    Two people you last talked to:
    1. The Baby
    2. Mister

    Two things you’re doing tomorrow:
    1. Work
    2. Trivia/karaoke

    Longest trips taken:
    1. Plane/Distance: US - England
    2. Car/Time: Atlanta, GA - Monterrey, CA (took us 6 days, thanks for DFW & its 10 miles of malls--tks, Mister!)

    Your favorite holidays:
    1. Halloween
    2. Thanksgiving

    Two favorite beverages:
    1. Pepsi
    2. Pepsi

    TAG, YOU’RE IT!

    Maxwell's Silver Hammer

    **editor's note: after first publishing this post, I realized how totally offensive the title of my blog is. I have chosen not to change it because I think censorship sucks, but do apologize for not actually thinking that one through properly.**

    This past weekend, the in-laws came for a visit. At one point someone noticed that a little up the street there were several police cars with lights going. I brushed it off because I was aware of two things: another police officer lived in that area and that in one of the houses in that area the couple did not exactly get on peaceably.

    Earlier in the week, a news report informed the local area that in a neighboring town, a woman was bludgeoned to death when she interrupted an alleged burglary in her home. There were no suspects at that time. Her neighbor/coworker was very concerned and disturbed by the event.

    The day after that, the concerned neighbor needed medical attention after being shot by an alleged burglar that she interrupted. There was a crime wave in the making, and it was quickly getting very violent!

    Only it wasn't a violent crime wave. Turns out this concerned neighbor was [allegedly] covering up for her son, who [allegedly] committed the robbery/murder. She [allegedly] allowed herself to be shot and her house ransacked in order to make it look like another crime scene. The irony was that in fact it did become a crime scene, just not the way she anticipated.

    And so mother and son were arrested, him for murder and her for conspiracy, plus a few other things. Only he lived just up the street from me. Two houses up, as a matter of fact, exactly between me and the resident police officer.

    Holy crap.

    In which I proposition a dinner hostess

    Back in March, Mister and I created a fantastic chili recipe which won 2nd place in a contest. First prize was a gift card to an electronics chain store for $100. Pretty nifty. We won a one-night stay plus dinner for two at a local ultra-posh hotel. We guestimated the value of that to be over $200, if one used the 'government' rate instead of the 'civilian' room rate.

    And so we went.

    We checked in, dropped our bags in the room and checked everything out. I don't know about anyone else, but I've traveled a lot and first order of business is to lay down on the bed to determine how badly I'm going to sleep. Second is to check out the bathroom.

    Well, I can say with complete confidence that for room 407 of the [name redacted] Hotel, the bed is ultra-soft, the duvet is so soft you will never in your life experience a nicer blanket, and the bathroom is a dream: super-size whirlpool tub and a roomed-off loo. It is also a two-room suite with a little living room, and they gave us the most delicious, warm chocolate chip cookies as a treat for staying with them. Woot!

    We dressed for dinner. I really felt like making it special and so we went posh. I even wore nice sandals! I'm so glad we did, because it really was a fancy dinner, even if it was a buffet, only occasionally marred by the locals who came just for the dinner in their sweatpants and flip-flops. While waiting for our table, the dinner hostess, a pretty young woman, chatted with us. I mentioned it was our first time at the hotel, and she asked us how we liked it.

    Our conversation went something like this:

    H: ...Welcome to [name redacted]! How do you like it?
    S: Wow! The bed is so soft and the room is just great!
    H: That's what I had heard.
    S: You really should check it out. It's fantastic!
    H: ... Um, /hushed voice/ employees aren't really allowed...
    S: Oh. Maybe not tonight, but some other time. It's really nice.
    H: Perhaps you go to Hilton Head? We have another hotel there that's right on the beach.
    S: Oh, I love the beach! I really miss it. I've heard Hilton Head is lovely. /to Mister/ We should go this summer!
    M: I think you need to stop.
    S: ....?


    As we were sitting down to dinner and ordering our wine, Mister explained what he got from the conversation, but said that I showed good taste, considering she was very attractive. I, on the other hand, was mortified. I really had no idea.

    George Lucas is a whore

    George Lucas started a good thing with Star Wars, A New Hope back in 1977. Things went well with Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, in spite of the Ewoks, and is hereto known as TOS. There were a few hiccups with the Ewoks cartoon and an unfortunate "holiday special," but fans like me were willing to forgive and forget.

    And then, Lucas loses his ever-loving mind. He developed episodes 1-3, hiring some of the best (McGregor, Jackson, and Neeson) and some of the worst (Portman, Christenson) actors available. The plots of 1 and 2 were sketchy, although eventually 3 was intense and in line with episodes 4 through 6. In the meantime, he digitized TOS. Oh, and then he added extra footage to the digitized versions of TOS. By this time, we had 3 different versions of TOS, some on VHS, some on DVD.

    And then there was Clone Wars.

    First, Lucas created a little serial sketched out by the Samarai Jack team. Presented on Cartoon Network, this was a hard-to-follow series simply because it was run in three-minute segments sporadically throughout certain regular shows on the network. First, one had to enjoy the regular show enough to stay focused. And then one had to remember it was on in the first place. Oh, the joy when it was finally put out on DVD. The whole series, on one DVD. Yay!

    Next, Lucas decides that the orginial cartoon series, hereto known as TOCS, just wasn't enough. He created a CGI film, and the actors from episodes 1-3 voiced their animated counterparts. It caused something of a geek squee in anticipation, but did not entirely live up to its expectations.

    And then, Lucas decides that the film must also have a CGI cartoon series to fill in the CGI film, introducing new characters that were not part of the live-action film series, even in flashbacks, or even part of the TOCS. This new series, hereto called Teh Stoopids, was also hosted on Cartoon Network as a regular show, rather than the ill-advised three-minute serial. Shortly after the last episode of the first season finished airing, a commercial reminded us to buy Teh Stoopids on DVD the following Tuesday. As this coincided with the release of the next installment of Daniel Craig Walks Shirtless On The Beach, I decided to surprise Mister with the next addition to his Star Wars collection.

    I bought Daniel Craig. I did not buy Clone Wars.

    Why? Because instead of the entire series of Teh Stoopids on one DVD, only the first four episodes are available at this time. And so in order to get the entire series, we must shill out $14.00 per DVD for a total of six DVDs. Nearly $100, if you include tax and then round up, for one flaming cartoon series, and it's not even the end of the story.

    And so I say, George Lucas is a whore.

    Editor's note: Daniel Craig Walks Shirtless On The Beach part 2 did not in fact feature Daniel Craig walking shirtless on the beach, unfortunately. He did in the first of his James Bond films, and I was really hoping for a repeat. What a disappointment in that respect, although the writers, with much kindness, did find other ways for Craig fans to glimpse his well-tanned features, bless their hearts!

    To Thine Own Self, Be True

    Last week, I had a discussion with The Girl about her key ring. Collectively, it weighs about 3 pounds, and holds one key. I asked her to remove one "chain" from the ring because it looks, at first glance, like a weapon sometimes seen in martial arts movies. The last thing anyone needs is to get a school administrator's knickers in a pinch because of a toy that looks sort-of dangerous.

    This morning, after The Teens dashed off for the bus, I remembered her key ring had been sitting on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, along with her art portfolio. Hoping she remembered her key, I went to check.

    "Oh good! She remembered her key.... Gah! I forgot about that damn throwing star! I hope she took that off.... Oh for the love of... Will those kids ever clean up after themselves? [The Girl] left her Gwee dragon and her coffin candy case *right there.* I'll have to talk to her about that..."


    Yes, mine is a strange household. Someday I may tell you how The Boy spent this weekend piecing together old audio equipment using masking and packing tapes to make a headset for his XBox.

    that'll leave a mark

    I try to mind my own business. I just don't want other people's problems weighing me down. I've got my own baggage, thank you just the same.

    I also believe there is a time and a place for everything. Certain discussions just shouldn't be public. One example was the wedding proposal from a few weeks back.

    Yesterday, I was minding my own business in the grocery store, checking my list to make sure I'd bought everything I'd intended. A raised female voice floated toward me from behind, and my radar ears perked up. This is what I heard as this young twenty-something couple strolls by:

    "...blah blah even before we started dating, I thought you waddled..."
    Really? Wow! I'm sure glad you shared that with the world, miss. I'll bet he is, too!

    I got me a Chrysler, it's as big as a whale!

    Being the busy worker bee that I am, I have not had much time to peruse my favorite haunts lately. Especially the blog of Wil Wheaton, aka Ensign Wesley Crusher of the USS Enterprise. Wednesday, I made time for him, and found that not only had he changed the layout of his blog, he had also designed a t-shirt for sale at Woot.

    I'm not a t-shirt buyer, although I want to be. I'm large and forever thinking that "someday," I will be thinner, so why waste all that money on stuff I won't be able to wear without looking dumpy, later? However, Wheaton's shirt is so full of win, I decided instantly that I. Must. Have. It.

    The deal was sealed when I learned two things: one, it was only $10, and two, for another $5, I could have "overnight" shipping.

    And so I ordered one yesterday (Thursday morning). I'd never before purchased anything from Woot, so I was unaware of this lovely little caveat of theirs that warns its customers after their cards are processed that the actual processing of their order may take as much as five days.

    WTF?!

    But guess what was on my doorstep today? Uh-huh, that's right. My. Very. Own. Wheaton. T!

    **Will be updated with the photo of me, wearing my Wheaton Shirt, once I find that damn camera!

    Perhaps not.

    Back in Ole Virginny, Mister was into karaoke. He had his favorite place and his favorite KJ. He even had a list of all the songs he'd done before, and, for a while at least, on which nights he sang them.

    Here in the asscrack of America, Mister is into trivia. There are literally a dozen or more places to go, and there's trivia every flaming night of every flaming week. He even has a favorite trivia master, a guy who used to be (or may still be, I can't get a straight answer) a radio DJ.

    We used to go out on Wednesday nights for "miscellany" trivia to this restaurant that specialized in Argentinian cuisine. It was open for precisely one year. Unfortunately, being the buckle of the bible belt, the liquor license was more than they could take, and they closed rather than renew.

    A few weeks later, Trivia Man finds a new Wednesday spot, a little redneck dive on the south side of town, past the "Motor Mile" and just before the ghetto. They host karaoke every night as well. Yes, even Mondays. Mister likes this, because on Wednesdays he can get both trivia and a song! This bar also serves food, but after this week's fiasco, I think they just need to stick to beer, even though their beer list can be recited by the waitress. Yes, it's that short. You better like Michelob.

    This past Wednesday, I was witness to a horror no one should ever experience. It was such a nightmare! There was pain and humiliation, a big chick and Ichebod Crane, bad food and an announcer giving a play-by-play as the whole thing unfolded.

    At the half time of the trivia game, Trivia Man gets everyone's attention as Ichebod goes on one knee and produces a ring box for his girl. She immediately responds with, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! OMG!! STOP EMBARRASSING ME!!"

    There was absolute silence in the place as Ichebod just looks at her like a deer caught in the headlights. A few moments go by, and he finally accepts the situation. He gets up, puts the box back into his pocket, takes out his wallet, throws some money on the table (I assume for their meal) and walks out.

    The silence is now very heavy. Big Girl gets up a few minutes later, says a few words to Trivia Man, and leaves as well. Finally, people start talking, and the game slowly resumes.

    That was, most definitely, OMG.

    spit take **possibly NSFW language

    You know me. I'm always on the lookout for badly-planned license plates. My favorites are the personality plates that people think up themselves, thinking they're cute, cunning, or funny but really aren't.

    On the other hand, occasionally the state can think up a few doozies themselves.

    I was following a car recently whose license plate read, among other things, "DPSH9X."

    Obviously, I thought it meant to say, "Dipshits."

    Considering that the plate was a disabled-driver plate, that actually pissed me off initially. I got over it, however.

    I will say, though, that while Virginia's need to encourage everyone to think up their own plate went too far, Georgia practically stifles the creativity of its citizenry. I'm so bored on the road now. No sense in going out some days.

    Interrogation Room

    My friend, The Beav, offered up himself for information slaughter. In honor of his sacrifice, I have done the same. These are the questions he asked, and my responses:


    1. When you were a little girl, what did you want to be when you grew up?

    Happy.

    I wasn't, but I wanted to be so very desperately. My parents hated each other and fought constantly, vicious battles that always ended in a visit from the police or my father storming away, leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere with no help from neighbors who kept themselves to themselves, even when my mother lay helpless and damaged.

    I wanted what was advertised on television: parents who were in love, who adored their children and lived to sing their praises, a happy family. It never truly happened, but we got close enough when my parents split, and finally we could breathe without fear. We were cold and hungry most winter nights, sometimes we went without power or water for a few days, but it was better than the fear and disappointment.

    I know this isn't what you meant. And so, to answer that question, I wanted to be an astronaut. I was very good in science and math, with a thirst for knowledge of the universe. Enter my parents, or more specifically, my father. "College?! Are you nuts? What the hell does a girl do with a college education anyway? You're just gonna get married..." My mother never contradicted him, and I was never praised in my math and science achievements until they began to not matter anymore. In the end, I only wanted to escape and be "something, anything, but married and pregnant."

    Irony is a bitch.

    2. What person whom you have never met has influenced your life the most?

    My father's father. He died in a car crash of his own making after having had a few beers at the bar with his workmates before setting off home. My grandmother always blamed one of her sons for denying her husband much-needed sleep by being an obnoxious little asshole--and he probably was; all of her sons were--but in truth he bought his death on his own. Unfortunately, he also bought the deaths of innocents.

    I will never drink and drive, and I will drive to the ends of the earth for anyone who calls me to their rescue. I also will never forget that I am part of a family, part of a team, and that there are many people who depend upon me; I am not an island, nor am I more important than anyone else.

    3. What is your biggest life-goal/dream?

    To never go hungry again, or to be cold and miserable, or dirty. And to also find myself at the natural end of my life without an arrest record. That would be spiffy, I think.

    4. Choose a moment in your life that you feel set you on your current course, and describe the moment and what it meant to you.

    The quiet afternoon hours of a Spring day in 1991, I saw my dreams of college wash away with the dawn and the receipt of a denial of financial assistance. A few days later, I lied to a police officer to protect a person dear to my heart from getting arrested for drunk driving. Hypocrisy, thou art an unkind mistress! I knew then I needed to escape my life, or I would never be more than my upbringing--a kept woman, dependent on the generosity of my partner, and forever pregnant.

    In a very low, morose state of mind, I scruffed on the sofa for the entire day. At one point during my wallowing, a commercial for the United States Air Force Reserves came on the television, slowly filtering into my foggy brain until it fully registered that here was my out: employment and a college education, in a land far, far away.

    The very next day, I went to the recruiting station, and before the week was out, I was delayed-enlisted into the Active Duty Air Force, awaiting that call to get me the hell out of Dodge. I told no one, afraid someone would guilt me out of my plans, as was the usual routine. Even the day I left, I still kept my secret. No one knew the truth until I was safely tucked away in Texas, a thousand miles (literally) from everything I knew and everyone who could influence me.

    I was free!

    5. If you could choose your name, what would you choose? Why?

    When I was in elementary school, I spelled my name every which way I could think of, because I hated it. I wanted to be called "Tracy." It just seemed so pretty and girly, and I was anything but. My name was old-sounding, old-fashioned, and it made everyone want to start singing one of several insipid songs. Plus I was chubby, and many people would point out the similarities between me and a certain snack cake that (sort-of) shared my name.

    However, as an adult, I prefer my name as it is, because it's old-fashioned and very rare among my generation. I am relatively unique, and old enough now that most people don't bother busting out in song because it would just make them look pretty stupid.

    I've come to terms with me, even Fat Me. I'm good, you know?

    ---

    And now, here's the deal: If you, Dearest Reader, would like me to interview you, just leave me a comment and I'll send you your very own five (5) questions. But you have to follow Da Rules (see below).

    Thank you for reading my blog.
    Soo

    Da Rules:

    You have to link back to the original post (http://immoralmatriarch.com/questionsagain) and include the following in your post:

    Want to be part of it? Follow these instructions:
    1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
    2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
    3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
    4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
    5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

    Found a Peanut

    In the these great United States of America, we are in the midst of a conundrum. Most people agree that we have "too much government." Unfortunately, American businesses have shown that they will not check themselves against greed and stupidity. If certain businesses were not greedy and stupid, they would not have asked the American taxpayer to bail them out of the messes they created.

    Another example of stupidity is the Peanut Corporation of America, a factory in Georgia that makes peanut paste among other peanut butter products and which is in the midst of yet another massive salmonella outbreak which is linked to eight deaths and hundreds of poisonings across the US.

    Obviously, it's causing no end of hysteria among peanut butter consumers. However, PCA does not produce all the peanut butter used in our nation's peanut butter-based products. This fact has done little to allay the concerns of our nation's peanut farmers, who feel that this latest outbreak is going to cripple their industry.

    A father-and-son farming team in Burke County, Georgia, was interviewed by our local news channel, and expressed their concern about the overall price of their harvest. The rumor mill has reached them that the nationwide price of peanuts is going to drop nearly 30% per ton, all because of this one factory. The astute father had this to say about it: "Truth has nothing to do with perception."

    I thought that that one statement was probably the most profound thing I'd ever heard. Granted, that was at about 5:30 am this morning, after a rough night's sleep dreaming of geriatric vampires trying to gum me to death. Again. Still, I think that statement is accurate for nearly every situation.

    If it's all right with you, Mr Farmer, I'd like to borrow that phrase. It's one that needs repeating regularly.

    newslink credit the the Los Angeles Times

    ...or a flying pteradactyl

    There is a store at the mall called, "Hot Topic," which caters to the emo and goth crowds.

    ...

    ...

    It's just so... I dunno... Ironic.

    I'm "IT"

    I'm a self-taught computer fixer-builder who has, unfortunately, lost touch with her programmer roots thanks to a rather unhealthy reliance on Windows. It's like smoking--once you start, it's hard to quit. It can be done, but the withdrawals are a bitch.

    Mister's old laptop was taken over by the children, since I've been a lazy cow and not replaced the power supply to one of our desktops. The Boy is a dabbler who's afraid of nothing thanks to the fact that his mom is the household's I-T Guy. He's also known as Mister Impatient around here, because of his massively annoying super-clicks when our systems slow down.

    Not too long ago, he decided that Ye Olde Laptop was running very slowly because of all the games installed and the "extra files" Mister left on it. Obviously, he should start deleting stuff because he's so smart with computers for a 13-year-old, and then it would just go-go-go. The end result was no-no-no.

    In fact, the problem wasn't with the stuff his parents had installed, it was with the stuff he was installing without our permission. Even with pop-up blockers and anti-virus software, he managed to download a trojan which infected the system--thankfully it didn't escape across our network--and annoy the hell out of anyone who used that laptop.

    And so I spent a lovely Saturday saving individual files to CDRs (no, it's old enough it's not a dvd writer) so that I could wipe the hard drive and start fresh. My adventures began just after breakfast and carried me well into the night before I paused the operation in favor of a little sleep.

    Morning found me installing the second recovery disc, the one full of drivers and additional software. The rest of Sunday was devoted to installing security patches, technical updates and a new anti-virus program.

    Unfortunately, this is only System One of the Great I-T Confabulation of 2009. I have two other systems to repair before our network is running tip-top.

    And people wonder why I don't do this for a living.

    imagine all the people

    I was sitting at my little counter today just staring off into space and time, thinking about nothing in particular and feeling nothing in particular, when something caught my attention.

    A short distance from my office is an overpass, and I noticed a police car moving slowly with its lights on. There was a hearse following behind, and, for some reason only known to my subconscious, I started counting the cars between the hearse and the tailing police escort.

    It was a short count.

    There were five cars in the procession. There was no limousine, no fancy funeral home car, just the hearse and five vehicles belonging to friends and family.

    After fielding calls from people "absolutely desperate" to get their refund back, people willing to risk hefty fines and possible jail time because they insist on "borrowing" someone else's kids so they can get certain tax credits, that sad little procession reminded me that life is too short, too precious, too full of other pains for me to worry about "small stuff."

    So the Mom-mobile needs new tires up front? It'll be all right. The engine light keeps popping up on Mister's car. It's not overheating and the oil light is not on, so just keep smiling.

    It's a cruel thing, is life. One day at a time, that's all we should ever need. Nobody is more important than anyone else, but neither is anyone less important. If you have nothing else, then just smile and wave, because no one can take that away.

    In the can? Yeah, probably.

    And so I began my temporary employment. The actual location is not the most secure in town, and its clients are not the most upstanding. In fact, this is an area of town in which certain of its residents are not so modest they use euphemisms for having been sent to prison, and most lack the modesty to keep the reason to themselves.

    I am keenly observing The Great Human Experiment and my part in the grand scheme. My fear is that, by the end of my contract, I will have become jaded toward the indigent and cease to care for their plight. I have seen a cynicism that was, at first, rather shocking to me. Unfortunately, after just a few days, that cynicism is slowly beginning to make sense.

    How does one break one's heart day in and day out when one is a constant witness to willing failure yet remain whole?

    I am not religious; you all know that. I do not believe that one must trust to some higher power in order to find meaning or truth. We are our strength as well as our weakness. When we lose our ability to empathize, when we cease to be affected by the obscene misuse of public trust and funds at the expense of those who are easily and quickly pushed aside by those who misuse our trust, then we cease to be. To lose our connection with those who are left behind by society is to lose our connection with our inner goodness.

    And it's clear to me that humanity could use more goodness.

    At least she has a pretty face

    I've been enticed into joining the big, bad world of Facebook. Thanks a lot, friends.

    I've reconnected with one lost friend as well as with my nestlings. The love I feel is tremendous and reassuring. I miss my nest. I rarely let people in, and when I do, it's forever. Some nestlings will be lost to me forever; although it hurts, it's for the best. Sometimes you just can't go home again.

    I noticed that some of my nestlings are "fans" of other people. I quickly discovered how to become fans of my own favorite celebs. Here are some quick stats so that you may judge me at your will:

    First fansite joined: Monty Python's Quest for the Holy Grail
    First American fansite joined: Wil Wheaton (fan #444)
    Total Brits and Scots on my list: 14
    Most unusual search: "Weasley Twins," resulting in my becoming Fan #69 of James & Oliver Phelps' fansite

    Why was my search of "Weasley Twins" unusual? Well, go to facebook and use those two words in the upper right search box to see what you get. If your first option was the same as mine, I'm sure you'll wonder along with me why anyone would create a group called "I wouldn't mind if I was double-teamed by the Weasley twins," as well as wonder twice as hard over whether you've got the balls to find out what is on that site that might make someone want to unjoin the group.

    For the record, I don't, so I didn't.

    I'll be searching my photo files to upload a history of me, although anyone hoping for a fast response time will be sorely disappointed. I'm a bit lazy like that.

    ...and a happy new year!

    I just wanted to say good luck, we're all counting on you!




    Happy Happy Joy Joy!

    The Well-Known Dutch Author

    From about 4th grade, I'd been a regular feature in the principal's office. This was so not because I was a bad kid, a trouble-maker, or a slacker. No, this was so because I'm a Quoter. I may not ever remember your name or my birth date, but I'll usually be able to lay out some obscure (and not so obscure) movie quote that fits whatever situation I'm in.

    For instance, my first trip to the principal's office was because of a little playground tiff with the kid who sat in front of me in class. He was always pulling my pigtails at recess, which according to my mom was a sign that he liked me. Complete balderdash, but I digress. One day I decided enough was enough and I warned him that if he pulled my pigtails again, I'd punch him. He pulled, I punched, although it was more like a nip than a punch. He pulled again--and then took off running.

    I ran after him shouting, "Come back here, you yellow bastard!"

    Ah, Monty Python! How you'd get me into more trouble throughout the years! And what fun it's been, too.

    There was a later incident when I explained why the castle in my story was named, "Anthrax," and another over a silly little ditty about a lumberjack. In high school, my friends and I were all big fans and so we all went down together my senior year after getting caught in the midst of a rousing "Sit On My Face" during drama club. It didn't help that I was the only female in the, um, "choir," that's for sure.

    (I got our punishments redacted after I blamed my dad--he ran a video store from his home on Main Street, and so the principal inferred we had discovered said 'illicit' material there, which was sort of true since it was he who accidentally introduced his kids to Monty Python in the first place.)

    Oh, and there was the unfortunate Freudian slip my junior year. The entire class read "A Tale of Two Cities," by Charles Dickens. We were all given a specific angle, and using that angle we were to present an oral report of about 5 minutes in length. My report was cut short within the first few moments, and I was sent yet again to the principal's office along with a furiously-written note from my teacher who was so red in the face, I thought she might be having a stroke. Poor lady. She really needed to get out more.

    Being the good parent that I am, of course I have shared my joyous love of Monty Python with my children. Well, not all of it. I do keep it relatively age-appropriate. The last thing I need is for my son to be sent to the office because he announced that he liked peril!

    Now, if they'd only embrace Airplane! as well...

    Wait... What?!

    I'm a news junkie, but I don't watch television news regularly, except for the morning's local broadcast. For "proper" news, I go online. I check Yahoo, BBCA, BBC UK, and others to get my fix. Sometimes it's reassuring while at other times it's shocking or depressing. Today, however, I'm left completely and utterly [insert any synonym for 'gobsmacked'].

    Check this out:

    Israeli officials say the strikes were necessary to force an end to the rocket attacks from Gaza... Palestinian militants in Gaza have long launched Kassam and other rockets at Israeli towns across the border, and in the past six weeks the number of attacks has increased dramatically. After the attack, Israeli officials said the number of Palestinian rocket attacks could now spike to 200 a day.
    Let me see if I fully comprehend what just happened:

    1. Palestine is launching rockets into Israel, upsetting the Israelis. I can see that; I'd be pissed if a rocket slammed into my house and all I was doing was watching the news.

    2. Israel decides to spank them into submission, knowing full well that it won't work and that what they will accomplish in the end is a lot of dead people plus angry families and communities who will demand revenge, causing an escalation of the rocket-launching the mass bombing was supposed to suppress.

    ....?

    I swear by Pete's dragon, the governments in charge of these two countries--yes, the entire governmental bodies: presidents, VPs, legislators, lackeys, the entire lot--need to be removed from office. How do they sleep at night, knowing they are causing their people untold grief and fear?

    I know the standard policy of any nation is to not negotiate with terrorists. I get that.

    On the other hand, if my lax governmental policy towards militants living in my country is causing some other country to pound my country into oblivion, then I should be working towards getting those asshats to knock off the random rocket attacks from my country.

    Also, if some butthead militants from a neighboring country are lobbing rockets randomly at my country, I need to figure out why they're so pissed off (or perhaps they're just bored) and work to fix that. And by "fix," I do not mean "drop enough bombs to cripple the other country's police network thereby increasing the opportunities for those butthead militants to continue lobbing rockets at my country."

    It seems to me that in order to be a politician in the Middle East, one must also be a stubborn jackass devoid of empathy and completely incapable of envisioning the bigger picture.

    ***I added the emphasis in the quote above.***

    Look kids--Big Ben! Parliament!

    Mister's parents presented us with our very own GPS device for Christmas.

    I'm rather disappointed that it doesn't allow you to choose the voice. I mean, why does it have to be a woman's voice? Why not a man's? Or Harvey Fierstein's?

    We're trying to name it. I thought of Majel Barrett, in honor of the late Mrs Roddenberry, but then Mister says it would be more appropriate to just call the thing, "Computer." It makes sense, though. My van is built for long-distance travel, requires regular maintenance, and is silver, just like the Enterprise.

    Unlike Computer, however, my GPS system knows sarcasm. You should just hear it announce its need to adjust the flight plan when I don't go the way it wants me to: "Recalculating." Pure derision.

    The bonus of this device is that I can upload audio books, MP3s, and Google Maps to the thing. The audio files can then be played through my car's stereo system via one of three FM channels. Neat!

    It's just like those bloody peasants

    I'm on a quest.

    I saw a movie on the Sci-Fi Channel which got me uber-interested in medieval fantasy movies. Movies with dragons, swordfighting and such, and more than a touch of medieval themes instantly became my latest mania.

    I currently have an extremely short list of "dragon" and/or "medieval" films. Please help me fill in the list. Surely there's more to Hollywood than "First Knight" or that Kevin Costner travesty, "Prince of Thieves."

    I do have another quest--to watch every Oscar winner ever, along with the other nominees for the year. Yes, that's a lot of films. But I've decided that I watch a lot of crap, and that I watch that crap repeatedly. I felt that perhaps I should attempt a view more like Viggo Mortenson's: that life is too short to watch the same film twice. Obviously, that's not going to work 100% for me, but I'm going to at least watch better films while watching crap less often (but with no less glee). I must give Mister a boatload of credit for working that list for me!

    A clock isn't time

    I met with my new nephrologist yesterday, a Col. So-and-so of the United States Army. Nice guy, appreciates my wit and forthright attitude.

    He gave me a lot of information I already knew, and thanked me for being the most-educated kidney patient on his list. He says most people don't want information, they don't look anything up themselves, they just want drugs and a to-do list. It's my opinion that he's got a chart full of idiots.

    He also gave me some information I didn't know, like my 'number.' It's my GFR, which here refers to overall successful kidney function and not Grand Funk Railroad.

    On a scale of 0-130, with 130 being 'super awesome hyper monkey kidneys' and 0 being 'dead as a doornail,' I'm a 73. There are also 6 stages of PKD, which starts with '0=identified as at-risk and requires education' and ends with '5=trying not to die today.' I'm firmly in stage one, which one enters after kidney function begins to deteriorate. Unfortunately, stage two begins when my GFR number drops below 60. That's 13 points away.

    He also gave me permission to have an occasional glass of wine. As an Italian and a wine aficionado, this is good news indeed.

    But there's the dilemma. In my opinion, 13 is too close for comfort for me to risk doing any damage. On the other hand, I cannot find any evidence to support the hypothesis that one glass of wine a week or even a month does any damage to the internal organs.

    What to do, what to do? On the one hand, I don't want to do anything on purpose that might hurt my survival rate. On the other hand, all they have to do is step through the clock to reach the red bull's lair.

    Now, about that wine...?

    "A man's dreams are an index to his greatness."

    Or so says Rabbi Zadok HaKohen Rabinowitz (1839-1905) of Poland.

    An interesting thought, that. To embrace one's dreams as the guideposts of one's journey to greatness has its appeal. Unless those dreams are mine, in which case I would want to embrace the therapeutic assistance of a really good psychiatrist.

    My dreams, generally, move from one obvious plane of existence to another; they seem to leap from one "movie" to the next with little or no discernible segue. That is hardly new or troublesome in the realm of dream theory. But the stories told by those little 'mini-movies' is a bit troublesome, even for me, if one embraces the notion that dreams are an index to greatness. Let's use last night's joyous dreams as an example.

    My dream ended with me and some small child I did not know living in a bizarre refugee camp, a tall, imposing Army barracks-style facility. There was no furniture to speak of, and no one was allowed to sit down. I'm sure that there is some meaning behind that, but that's not what troubled me at all.

    The troublesome part of my dream was the mini-movie immediately before the end, the one that still has my oldest child laughing so hard, I fear for her bladder. That segment starred Kim Woodburn of BBCA's "How Clean Is Your House" as the housecleaner in an all-marble mansion, and her sidekick, Daniel Radcliff, who was wearing standard teenager clothes and a knitted cap with string ties.

    After chatting about nothing important for a short while, a pair of skateboards magically appear under their feet. The two gently set off down the hall, where they are stopped by the master of the house. He asks Ms Woodburn what she is up to, and she replies, "Just skating through life, sir."

    He looks at the boy and asks, "Who are you?"

    Daniel tugs the strings of his cap and replies, "Hatty Potter."

    And then the two skate back into the kitchen. As the kitchen door closes, that portion ends and my movie jumps immediately into the refugee camp.

    I do believe I may very well be insane. Either that, or I watch way too much British entertainment for one person.

    It's a jump to the left

    A few nights ago, I watched a documentary about Star Trek. This got me to thinking about the films, in particular "5: Undiscovered Country."

    At the end of this film, the crew are directed to return the battered Enterprise to be decommissioned. Kirk and the rest of the bridge decide to take the scenic route home, delaying the inevitable as long as possible.

    Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't there be a thousand or so other crew members whose opinion on the matter might actually mean something?

    Suppose the Deck 14 replicator repair man has a special party set up for his granny that he'll miss thanks to this decision. Or the coffee hostess in the lounge made arrangements to have a boob job done and put a deposit down already.

    If it were me, I'd be totally pissed.

    W.F.S!!

    Last night, I enjoyed something I rarely ever indulge: a talk show.

    William F. Shatner debuted his talk show last night, "Raw Nerve," with Valerie Bertinelli as his guest. A short 30 minutes later, and I was ever so glad the second episode (featuring Tim Allen) was next. Shatner is amazing, and he was able to get his guests chatting. I really felt like I was sitting in the living room with them, just listening in on a couple of friends hanging out and swapping stories.

    I can't wait to see more episodes, and I never watch talk shows. Who knew?

    You're only making it worse for yourself!

    A week or so ago, the Big Three CEOs got themselves spanked by Congress and crucified by the press for traveling in luxury whilst begging for money.

    This week, these clowns hoped to improve their image by attempting some "good press." One arrived in DC driving a hybrid his company makes. Another brought along a model that is so full of fantastical gadgets and safety features, I can't list them all because it's all just so fantastical and gadgety!

    The problem with all this is that it was for naught.

    The hybrid model not only cost $4,000 more than its non-hybrid brother, but it only got 2 miles per gallon more than its non-hybrid brother. Compare that with a certain non-domestic hybrid model with its 48 city mpg and its rather cheap price tag (under $25k).

    The "loaded" vehicle was rather nice and dreamy, but its fuel economy was actually worse than most models in its class. Also, its price tag will keep it right out of the hands of those who do not meet or exceed "upper middle class" status. These are the very people who need fuel efficient cars for less.

    I wonder what it feels like to have your head stuffed firmly up your own rear end?

    Troll! In the dungeon!!

    I am so bored. I have nothing to talk about, and no desire to do so, even if I did have something to say.

    Many apologies.

    Oh, I know. You can all discuss amongst yourselves in the comments if you think bailing out the auto industry will work or not, with or without an adjusted business plan, and/or what your ideas are concerning this latest ass-up of the Big Three.

    Enjoy your weekend.

    monologum interruptus

    Many, many moons ago, there was this lovely but preachy show about a coroner on the cutting edge of forensic science. In the midst of determining that yet another suspicious death was in fact a murder, he'd monologue a bit, explaining the whyfors and the whatnots as well as occasionally making us all feel bad for generally not being better people.

    During the next two decades, multi-lead formats were developed for dramas and the monologue/diatribe took a back seat to edgy dramatics. At least, until Homicide, Life On The Street. It was a multi-lead drama that where the detective pairs would sound off ideas with each other in order to solve the crime. This was an excellent plot device, and was utilized to the best effect on this show.

    Crossing Jordan expanded on that as Jordan, a coroner, would reenact the suspicous death with her retired-detective dad. Later, CJ expanded again to include other members of the cast in her reenactments and soundings. Because the others were coroners or a very high-strung but not clever FBI agent, it didn't work as well. That did not deter writers on that show or in the future.

    The current crop of dramas has strongly suggested that the monologue requires the services of a coroner, too.

    I enjoy watching dramas, especially when they are not so formulaic. Numb3rs is an excellent choice for me because it blends geeks and detectives. I also enjoy Criminal Minds, mostly because of the excellent cast and gripping plots, but because it's far enough from the CSIs and Law&Orders to be unique. House is formulaic, but not of other shows, only of itself. But they all have the same drawback, and it's one that has gradually grown into a serious peeve with me.

    None of the characters in any of the new crop of dramas seems to get to finish an explanation all by themselves. One will start explaining something, and within a sentence or two a colleague will butt in with the next one or two sentences, and then another will butt in, and so on until the situation has been explained. Oh, and they all seem really pleased that the others chimed in. The thing is, generally, the characters are speaking to each other and they are all experts in the same field. The explanations are obviously for the audience, but bouncing from one to another is downright annoying.

    Please, will someone cast a Resurrection spell on the monologue?

    Legendary Status

    Not once but twice since we've moved to the delightful state of Georgia, USA, I've received some interesting mail from the United States Marine Corps.

    According to the two letters I've received, they want to talk to me about my options. Perhaps I'd be interested in a new career. A new career with the United States Marine Corps.

    First of all, let me say, "Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!"

    Secondly, of course they aren't going to know me, or anything about me. It's just a mass-mailer aimed at a person at an address.

    It's just funny. Me, at my age, with my health issues, being recruited by the Marines, an organization I had thought was restricted to just men. :P

    Wii will wok you

    A friend living abroad recently acquired a Wii gaming system. I have one, but I haven't played since The Great Wii Olympics Incident of Christmas 2007. This friend has asked that I link up so that we can share emails via the Wii. We already keep in touch via email and blog posts. However, I'm a giving sort of person, and would do as much as I could to help any friend feel more at home no matter where they are in the world.

    I discussed this development with Mister, because I had no idea how to link up the systems (I have since learned). Our conversation went something like this:

    Soo: Hey, did I tell you Floyd has a Wii now? (I'm calling my friend "Floyd" to protect his identity)
    Mister: No. Doesn't he already have an X-box? How much time does he have?
    S: Well, he plans on maybe keeping in touch with his friends that way. He's already got his Mii up and running. I've got to figure out how to get my Mii out there, so he can see my Mii in the big parade.
    M: You know, I think Nintendo is missing a much wider market. Everyone's got their own Mii online, why not an inflatable Mii?
    S: I don't think Floyd's wife would approve of his having an inflatable me. I mean, Mii. I mean, what?!

    Paging Sarah Connor...

    Here's a pro-tip:

    If you have serious plans for the next day, do not--I repeat, do NOT--stay up way late watching election returns you know--YOU KNOW!!--are going to be talked to death all day long, except for the channels that show soaps.

    Holy crap, I'm tired. And I have insomnia, so it just makes it worse.

    On a normal night, I'll be asleep by around 1 am, if I'm lucky. I get up between 5 and 6 am to start my day. On weekends, I let me sleep until about 8 am.

    But last night, I just had to watch the celebrations and the statistics and such, and didn't make it to bed until still h1 am. I know--you're thinking that it's no different from any other night. Unfortunately, I still had to participate in the required tossing/turning that occurs every freakin' night.

    And don't you know, I just could not make me nap today. So I worked on The Boy's bedroom today, putting his furniture in place and removing junk to take to the thrift store. Five boxes in total were removed from his room and the hallway along with a bag of trash. I've got three more boxes to remove from his room, he's got one to empty on his own, and then his room will be finished. Finally.

    The Girls will be getting a room overhaul starting on Friday. Wish me luck.

    And sleep.

    The Big Throwdown

    We've been friends for a long time. Well, long for me, anyway. We talk about things while not intensely prying into our deepest affairs. I think that's what keeps us civil, don't you?

    But I cannot remain uninformed no longer. I have to know!

    Are you eligible to vote? If so, did you register? If you registered, did you vote?

    If you answered yes to the first two but no to the last, please don't talk to me, I'm mad at you right now.

    If you answered yes to the first but no to the second, please slap yourself rather hard once and then don't talk to me, I'm mad at you right now.

    If, however, you are ineligible, please be patient, your time will hopefully come. And when it does, I hope you do not shirk your single most important contribution to America.

    I voted this morning. I arrived right at opening, and only waited about 45 minutes for my turn. My precinct had 6 running booths and one spare. I wish I could have voted twice, it was so exciting!

    The neighboring county hosted "early voting" last week, averaging over 3,000 voters each of the five days. I'm very eager to read the final national tally. I anticipate that today's voters are going to turn out in record numbers, and, quite frankly, it's about damn time. I've always been of the opinion that as the population grows, so too should the number of people who actually cast a vote. Unfortunately, the opposite happens year after year.

    If you are registered but have not yet made your way to the polls, please go. Brave the weather, wear comfy shoes, take a book, hell--even take a lawn chair. Just go!

    And if you are eligible but did not register, please be aware that in my opinion you have no recourse for complaint if you do not approve of your upcoming government and its policies. You did not help try to shape it, you can't complain about it later if it turns out to really suck.

    But here's to hope that it all turns out well, eh?

    Decisions, Decisions

    I am in a dilemma. I have a choice to make. Do I pick option A, which is a powerhouse but a bit on the reality-challenged side, or do I pick option B, which is smarter but not very strong?

    Politics? What the hell, you say.

    I'm not talking politics. I know who I'm marking down as my candidate. I think I was certain months ago. I'm talking D&D, dammit.

    I gotta make a new character. It's for a 3.5 game, and I can't decide. Not only am I building from scratch, it's got to be L7, to keep up with the others who've been in the adventure for a couple of months now.

    Do I make a Warforged and build him into a Juggernaut, where he'll be uber-strong but rather stupid, or do I create a human defender/fighter who is strong but clever?

    The group doesn't actually have any human PCs, and none of those characters are melee fighters. The DM does not perceive this to be a handicap, although it has caused problems in the past for their other game, which is a standard adventure offered in the 4E book. The 4E game runs different PCs, but no one is a tank and they're regularly starting fresh with new PCs because the dragons are devouring/burning/stomping them to death on a fairly consistent basis.

    And so I ask you, dear readers, to advise me as you see best. Perhaps I should go in a completely different direction. I doubt he'd let me bring in Brenys, with her bag of holding, magical sword, and combat-trained pony, especially since they already have a ranger in the group and my old DM was rather unusual in the goodie-giving department. And so I thought Warforged, since I've never run one, and I am attempting to embrace new experiences.

    What say you?

    Neither a borrower nor a lender be

    I have polycystic kidney disease (PKD). Caused by a dominant allele on an X chromosome, the kidneys (and eventually, the liver) develop water-filled cysts over time. The cysts do not push kidney and liver tissues out of the way; they replace tissue, cell for cell. The cysts can be removed or nuked out through chemo- and radiation therapy, but empty holes left in their place. There is no cure, other than transplant.

    My children will watch me die a slow, painful death, years before anyone really should, unless something can be done about my condition. I have already taken steps to help myself. I was already a non-smoker, and I rarely ever drank to excess, so it was easy to quit alcohol completely. I cut back my caffeine intake dramatically to the occassional Pepsi, limited to one per "event." I eat more vegetables and fiber, had minor surgery to help me get off certain medications, and tomorrow will begin a new gym membership with the help of my oldest daughter in order to shed about half my total body fat (there's more here than I thought!). Without a transplant, however, I will still die of kidney failure, if my bad driving doesn't take me first.

    My sister, who does not have the allele, called me last night. We talked about our father and his sister, who are in advancing and end-stage renal failure, respectively. They are in their early 60s, just a few years older than their mother was when her kidneys failed. My aunt is in far worse shape, requiring dialysis in her home every night. My father, who is older but took better care of his health, is only just starting to "head south."

    Sister told me that Auntie is on the list for a transplant. This surprised me, because Auntie did nothing to adjust her ways once diagnosed nor after her dialysis treatments began. I assumed there were standards for this as well as age limits, but we learn new things every day.

    Sister then told me that Auntie was in fact offered a transplant this summer, but turned it down. I asked if Auntie was examined by a mental health professional, and Sister explained that the kidney came from a deceased HIV patient. I replied, "So?"

    The conversation went something like this:

    Sister: Um, hello... It's AIDS. That'll kill you.
    Me: And the PKD means you're gonna live forever? How long does she want to live, anyway? She's already 60.
    Sister: What do you mean?
    Me: Look, it's easy. At my age (35), taking that particular kidney would be stupid. But at 60, I'd only have 20-ish years left anyway; no one in our family has lived past 84.
    Sister: But you'd get AIDS.
    Me: They've got drugs for that. There's no other cure for PKD. What are you gonna choose?

    And so I started thinking. What would I really choose? If my kidneys failed today, I'd have at most about 15 years left on my life if my body does not reject the dialysis intervention. Dialysis isn't easy, fun, or fast. A transplant would be the best choice.

    But what about that AIDS kidney? According to CDC studies done after the introduction of successful "drug coctails," if I were diagnosed with HIV today, I'd have 11 years before onset of AIDS, and six years after that. Well, provided my treatment regimen was well-tailored to my biology and that I stuck to it with extreme determination.

    Sixteen years without near-crippling dialysis in exchange for HIV/AIDS. I dunno. Seems like a good trade, if the kidney's former keeper was only HIV-pos. I'd be dead anyway, and those HIV/AIDS years are just averages. I could last longer than 16 years.

    Try not to let that thought keep you up at night!

    Daydream Believin'

    This is my dream house. Yes, I know it looks just like the creepy old man's house from down the street where you grew up. That's what's cool about it. Imagine building your own creepy haunted house, but with all the modern amenities and 'green' technology!

    On the market now are solar-cell roof shingles that are practically unnoticeable if you color-match the regular shingles. You can also get solar-power outdoor light fixtures from front porch lights to ornate pole lights. Downspouts can be directed into a rain collection system that stores rainwater to be used later for lawn or vegetable garden irrigation. Tinted low-E windows will help keep the interior cool in the summer time by reducing the amount of sunlight, and warm in the winder by reducing the amount of escaping heat.

    Denim is now being recycled into insulation that is far superior to fiberglass. Bamboo, which grows at an alarming rate all over the US, is being harvested and turned into energy-efficient, impact-resistant, low-cost flooring. Fluorescent lighting fixtures just get prettier and prettier every year. And using recycled building materials, such as doors from demolished homes, also adds to the 'green' value.

    Creepy it will definitely be. But haunted? Only if the kids leave the water on!

    My funny bone is broken.

    Attention People Who Are Smarter Than Me!

    Please, please, please, read this and tell me it's a joke. It seems like a joke, only not funny. I found it on Yahoo news.

    McCain cast self as middle-class guardian --By GLEN JOHNSON, Associated Press Writer

    WESTERVILLE, Ohio – Evoking "Joe the Plumber" in his pivotal home state, Republican John McCain on Sunday cast himself as the guardian of middle-class workers and small-business owners who fuel the economy.

    "If I'm elected president, I won't raise taxes on small businesses, as Sen. (Barack) Obama clearly wants to do, and force them to cut jobs," McCain said of his Democratic opponent during a rally at Otterbein College. "I will keep small business taxes where they are, help them keep their costs low and let them spend their earnings to create more jobs. We need that in Ohio. We need it across America."

    McCain was flying from the Columbus suburbs northward to Toledo, near where "Joe the Plumber" Wurzelbacher lives, amid the GOP's push for this pivotal swing state and its 20 electoral votes.

    The Holland, Ohio, plumber was in New York making the media rounds with his family, but McCain has been evoking his spirit after making him the focal point the final presidential debate between McCain and Obama. McCain also mentions Wurzelbacher at his rallies after the plumber was videotaped questioning Obama about whether his tax plan would keep him from buying the two-man plumbing shop where he works.

    While some analyses showed Wurzelbacher faring better under Obama's plan than McCain's, McCain has lashed out at Obama for saying that while his policies may force some workers to pay higher taxes, they were designed to "spread the wealth around" by targeting only families making over $250,000 annually.

    "Sen. Obama is more interested in controlling who gets your piece of the pie than he is in growing the pie," McCain told a crowd of several thousand.

    He drew cheers when he proclaimed he was campaigning "on behalf of Joe the Plumber and Rose the Teacher and Phil the Bricklayer and Wendy the Waitress."

    Earlier Sunday, the senator complained that the vast sums of money Obama is raising risk the post-Watergate financing reforms.

    Speaking on "Fox New Sunday" hours after Obama's campaign reported raising a record $150 million in September, McCain said the overall sum his Democratic rival has raised — $605 million — showed the "dam has broken" for future White House races.

    McCain also complained that the identities of people who contributed more than $200 million of Obama's total take have not been reported, although that is allowable under federal law because the individual donations fall under the $200 reporting limit.

    "I'm saying it's laying a predicate for the future that can be very dangerous," McCain said. "History shows us where unlimited amounts of money are in political campaigns, it leads to scandal."

    The Arizona senator has been limited to spending $84 million for the general election campaign after he accepted federal funds under a program created after the Watergate scandal. Obama initially indicated he would adhere to the same limit, but reversed course and became the first post-Watergate candidate to finance a general-election campaign with private funding.

    McCain, a former Vietnam prisoner of war, also sloughed off Obama's endorsement by one of the country's best known black Republicans and former military leaders, Colin Powell, who was President Bush's first secretary of state.

    Appearing on NBC's "Meet the Press," Powell expressed personal affection for McCain but chided his friend of 25 years for the type of campaign he has run against Obama, who is black.

    McCain said: "I've always admired and respected Gen. Powell," before noting his endorsement by four other former secretaries of state. Asked whether Powell's endorsement undercut McCain's stance that Obama, a freshman senator from Illinois, is not ready to lead, McCain said of Powell: "We have a respectful disagreement."

    Halp!

    Nerdasaurus

    My friend, G.O.D., took a nerd quiz and posted his results on his livejournal page. He's what I would call an uber-nerd. He doesn't have to consult a rule book when we're playing D&D, unless it's to shove it in someone's face just how very wrong they are. He's OCD over Batman, and he's a bit socially backward. (He sometimes forgets that other people have feelings, but he's never deliberately mean. Well, not to chicks with boobs, anyway.)

    G.O.D., I love you, but it's the truth.

    Anyhoo, his results were something like this:



    And so I took the test. Here are my results:


    NerdTests.com says I'm a Dorky Nerd God.  What are you?  Click here!

    Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. wOOt!

    PS--I really need to bone up on my coding. Seriously. I'm totally lame in that department. Time to bust out the Linux, I think.

    Where's the beef?

    I try to live my life with an upbeat attitude, because happiness is just as contagious as sadness, and I'd rather spread joy than pain. But occasionally, I'll come across something incomprehensible that really pushes my buttons. One example is the news articles announcing an imminent announcement, or the contents of an upcoming speech by a celebrity or politician.

    What happened to the mysterious press conference? Why do journalists feel they need to spill the beans? You told me at noon Senator Whats-'is-face would be discussing his affair with the Chilean belly-dancing nun and announcing his retirement from the Senate. Now I have no need to watch his speech at 4:30, but you're going to interrupt my favorite TV show anyway. Why can't the reason be a surprise, dammit?

    I really do get annoyed by this. Back in the early days of CNN, when it was the only 24-hour news channel and The Internet was practically non-existent, I felt rather calmed by the fact that for once in my life I could get "news" any time I wanted it. These days, there is so much news available, it seems that they'll discuss, debate, and infer anything, just to have something to say.

    Just STFU already, and give me back my mysterious press conferences.

    ---

    UPDATE: re--News viewing on TVs in Military offices open to the military public

    Since my last rant concerning the selection of 24-hour news channels for televisions in the lobbies of military-run facilities, I am pleased to notice that miraculously, the number of choices available has risen from one (just FoxNews) to three (FN, CNN, and MSNBC).

    I doubt I had anything to do with that, but I'll take it just the same.

    Some images from Dragon*Con 2008

    Some photos taken during a con in Atlanta that The Girl and I attended this year.


    Sean Astin (we were way in the back)


    DJ Helsing, Gaia Online programmer


    The Dark Side (of the street)


    Kakashi


    I think they're from Bleach


    Voice Actors
    C. Martin Croker, some other guy, and Vic Mignogna (super nice guy, BTW)


    Star Wars costume contest


    lovely Yip-Yip



    geeks after my own heart


    Star Wars Legos

    *Fans: if you want to borrow my photos, please do not use my images for nefarious purposes, and give my website credit. kthxby!

    I'm a pin-up girl. Woot!

    So I took this quiz, and this is what I would be, if fantasies were real.










    Waddah yous knowsit from funny, eh?

    Must... Watch... This...

    Found it on Fark. Lovely site, really. And yes, this is Safe For Work, and you don't need the sound up too loud; it's subtitled.

    I will warn you, however, that the song will get completely embedded into your head, and you'll be pounding yourself in the forehead or trying to poke your eyeballs out, before too long. I would like to recommend a dose of Pearl Jam or a bit from Carmina Burana to cleanse the palate.

    And now, for your viewing pleasure, may I present a "lateral video version" of "Take On Me," by A-Ha, as interpreted by www.dustfilms.com. **The idea is this: What if the song actually reflected the actions of the video?**

    I'll have that in the can

    I'm getting my internet switched from [name redacted]'s most horrible DSL service to [name redacted]'s cable service. We had cable internet and phone from another company when we lived in Virginia, but thought that DSL would serve us better here in Georgia. Not so. At least, not so with the company I chose.

    So the problem we have is that my router is close to the desktops we have in the dining room. The nearest useable cable outlet is in the living room and will require a run of about 100 feet of coaxial cable to make it work. Not pretty and completely out of the question.

    So I delve into the yellow pages in order to find local computer supplies stores so that I may purchase a USB wi-fi adapter for each desktop. Because I'm slightly stunted in the brain, I always look at the right side of any book or magazine before I look at the left. Using the right side of the yellow pages, I found "computers-concrete."

    On the left-hand page, I found "colonic-computers."

    Augusta may be the crackhouse of Hell, devoid of a regular breeze and a 3D Imax theater, but at least you can get your colon irrigated locally.