Possumblog

Okay, that's it for the day.

Time to head for home, pick up Oldest, and make our jaunt over to the Pauperizer.

See y'all tomorrow. And I'll try to have some cool Halloween photos for you as well. I'm going as Raquel Welch. I thought about Sophia Loren, but I didn't think I could pull off the Italian accent.

Anyway, all of you have a safe Trickrtreat time.

Sympathy for the computer guys.

No, really.

I got an internal e-mail a few minutes ago that obviously was in error. Looked like someone was trying to do a test of how to send a message to the whole building, and it messed up. Subject? "Hopefully this is a city-wide distribution" Only message? "Hope this works for you."

Now, the recipient wasn't intended to be me, so I just deleted it. No use replying, in that it's not to me, and was an obvious error.

Which never seemed to occur to some people. Started getting strings of snotty replies, which obviously meant the stupid people were hitting "reply to all."

After a few minutes of this, the MIS guy just sent his own building-wide message:

Once again, someone has sent a message to everyone that should not have been sent. Now people are responding to it using “REPLY TO ALL”. As we said the last time this happened:

STOP RESPONDING TO THIS MESSAGE! PARTICULARLY, STOP USING “REPLY TO ALL” TO RESPOND TO A MASS MAILING!

All the responders are doing is propagating this essentially empty e-mail.

Thanks for your consideration.

Poor guys.

UPDATE: Two hours after the MIS guy sent his plea to every single e-mail address in the building, everyone on the distribution list got this message from one very particularly stupid person:

"Whaaaaat is it????? An empty email. Please resend."

Idiot.

Plugged up!

A new crazy screaming guy's out in the park this afternoon.

He's standing at the top of the big flower bed shaped like Alabama. Big guy, dressed in a big orange shirt with a baseball cap and shorts, and carrying a portable microphone with speaker.

He's just a'screaming. Can't quite tell what about, although I heard something about "dressing up" and a hallelujah. I figure he's probably got something against Halloween, but you know, if you look like a big round orange pumpkin, it tends to dilute your message.

Even if you do have a portable speaker and microphone.

Well, except for...

the orthodontist.

Oldest today at 3:30, meaning today will be yet another one of those short days, full of money being thrown to the four winds.

Sunday?

Church, and then some.

Had our usual fifth Sunday get-together, quickly coming on the heels on the get-together we had two weeks ago that was for some other reason. So, up early, went through the house resetting all the clocks, put the lasagna in the oven, showered, got dressed, got everyone else up, drove to church, unloaded, went to class, went to preaching, ate, cleaned up, and went right back into the auditorium for afternoon services--the nice thing about those fifth Sundays is we go ahead and have our evening worship at 1:00 rather than 6:00, meaning the whole rest of the day is free to go do stuff without fear of getting dirty or being late.

After worship--which was very difficult to stay awake through due to the ingestion of a bounty of fine foods (and I don't feel too bad because I caught the wife of our assistant preacher going to sleep as well) it was off toward home.

Went and got mine and Boy's hairs cut (not by Miss Alisha, sadly, but by a large Weeble-shaped woman who kept rubbing herself all over my arm) then went to the bookstore and got him the newest Lemony Snickets book and myself a newspaper, then we went and got the van washed, then we went home, where I was called upon to TYPE SOMETHING for a girl of mine. (Oh, by the way, I got a 100 on my notebook about The Watsons Go to Birmingham.) Luckily, this latest assignment was done in only about fifteen minutes. The complaining took much longer.

Finally got them all in the bed, read my paper, turned the lights out, and eventually went to sleep.

AND, before I forget it--PUNKIN CARVIN'! This actually happened Saturday, but in my football/car-fixing delirium, I forgot it was time to dig the guts out of another poor defenseless gourd. Just your typical one this year--slitty triangle eyes, triangle nose, and pointy teeth.

Sure, it's not one of those elaborate silhouettes of Nancy Pelosi or other such creatures, but that's okay--sometimes there's something to be said for the old standards.

And that's about it.

SATURDAY!

Well, Saturday I got up full of boyish enthusiasm--LAUNDRY DAY! WOO-HOO! Not really--well, yes, it was laundry day, and I had successfully managed to convince Miss Reba NOT to start trying to do clothes on Thursday but rather wait until Saturday when we could get ALL of them washed at once--but that wasn't the REAL reason for my happitude.

It was DASHBOARD PAINTIN' DAY!

Warning: Volvo-related content following. Parental Discretion is advised.

See, my new Ebay dashboard that I have spoken of in the past is black on the top, with two tan areas at the bottom corners. It's from one of the later model 240s that went with a two-tone dashboard, unlike my beloved 1986 pile of iron that uses a color-coordinated version. In my case, a rich, luxurious, deep blue the color of the Swedish flag. Or the interior of a mid-'80s Buick.

Anyway, the one in the car suffers from a terrible case of Grand Canyonitis, with fissures and cracks and separations and spalls across the top surface of the pad. Although the cragginess is common in 240s, it's still not attractive, and reminds one of driving around with Edward James Olmos's face in front of you. So, I was anxious to get that one final cosmetic thing fixed, even if it meant buying a mismatched dash and painting it blue.

Which is exactly what I set out to do. Got me some of the proper color vinyl interior coloring material (95% Volatile Organic Compounds--MMmmm!) and some surface prep spray that smelled like lighter fluid.

And Saturday was just a great day for such things, seeing as how I had to do it outside. This is NOT the thing to do indoors, unless you've got a big area and some big fans. But it was gorgeous Saturday, with bright sun, and temps above 60, a tiny bit of wind, but no humidity. Just perfect.

But first I had to go get breakfast and some groceries. ::sigh:: Took Rebecca with me for some company and dropped down to the foot of the hill to Winn-Dixie. And had an idea! (Yes, it hurt.)

We were walking by one of the inexplicable displays in the freezer aisle--scrub outfits. I guess there's a market for scrubs bought from a grocery store, and the frozen food aisle is the best place to put them. Anyway, I turned to Rebecca and said, "Hey, how about this--how would you like to dress up like a veterinarian for Halloween, and you could get one of your stuffed animals and put a bandage on its head, and wear Mom's stethoscope?"

"Hm-okay."

She actually seemed much more excited than her duosyllabic answer. She picked out a top that had teddy bears on it, and some blue pants. We got the rest of the stuff, including a big pan of lasagna for the pot luck on Sunday, and went and got breakfast, and came home.

I bolted down my prepacked faux Mexican/Scottish food and ran outside to start setting up my dashboard for its new look.

First, some old folding chairs to set the thing on, then the big plastic molding itself--the maneuvering of which from the garage, through the kitchen, to the backyard was fraught with peril, and potential droppage.

Took off the trim bits, propped it up just so, sprayed it down with the fireball-waiting-to-happen prep spray, and then it was time to color. WHOA--man, that's some more bright blue!

Well, no turning back.

I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and got it all done, and then thought I might better see just how badly this thing was off from the actual color. Because it was BRIGHT blue. I went inside and got the front off of my old glovebox, figuring I could always paint that and have it all match. Brought it outside, and lo and behold--it was an EXACT match. Whaddya know!?

I went ahead and sprayed the front of the glovebox just in case, and after it was all over with, the dashboard looked like it came from the factory. Next step was the defroster vents and the speaker grill. They were newish, but still a bit dirty, and the speaker grill was actually not as good as the one I got a couple of weeks ago out of the junkyard. I cleaned the vents and popped them in, and went and got my other grill, which also had the benefit of the fiberboard backer on the inside of the grill to keep the fragile plastic ribs from breaking and falling inside the dashboard. I carefully swept out the dirt from between the tiny fragile closely-spaced ribs with a cloth and ::snap::

AGGHHHFF%$!&^^*!

A quarter inch long bit of one of the ribs clicked cleanly out of the middle of the speaker grill. Trying SO bleedin' hard to be gentle, and the silly thing STILL broke. Danged Swedes.

So, out with the epoxy while the dashboard continued to bask in the cool midday autumn sunlight. Toothpicks, glue, stink, swirl, dab, dab, pliers to hold it in place, done. For now.

Clicked the grill in place and stood back to admire my work. Very nice. Now the big thing is going to be getting it in place--there's a website with a good explanation of the process, and so far everything's gone pretty well. We'll see how this goes when the time comes--maybe this upcoming Saturday? I dare not hope for such a thing.

AND THEN, there was THE GAME. Well, not really THE game, but A game. Two things--if Auburn plays Georgia or Alabama the way they played Ole Miss, they will lose. Two lost fumbles, two sacks, several dropped passes, and several stupid personal fouls do not an SEC champion make. Second, Ole Miss played good strong ball, and I shouldn't have been so hard on them.

Thankfully, Vaughn is back on his game, and there's Kentucky to beat up on this upcoming Saturday before taking on the Bulldogs, so hopefully the offensive line will get some more blocking practice, and everyone will settle back down and play like good players and not make stupid freshman mistakes such as late hits.

Instant replay seems to be working pretty well this year, and I haven't had any complaints about it. Finally, Jefferson Pilot stinks--whether you pulled for Ole Miss or Auburn.

Sometime in there, Mom took the kids to Target and came back with a Darth Vader costume for Boy. Somehow, a 50 inch high Lord Vader is not nearly so impressive as the one in the movies.

Baths, supper, and to bed.

Friday?

I was forced upon my arrival at Casa de Possum to put back on my shoes and accompany the family to Kmart.

Why?

SOMEone had the idea that we needed to go pick out a costume for Boy and for Middle Girl. And it was not Boy's or Middle Girl's idea, but rather Mama's. And as we all know by now, 'IMAH,ANH.'

Wound up with a few Christmas presents, but no costumes. Although I did get to see about the last ten minutes of Robotz. It was pretty good.

Home, and to bed.

What can I say?! Friday just wasn't one of those Great Days in Possum History.

But SATURDAY, whoo-BOY! Now SATURDAY...

Downside of riding by yourself?

No one to blame when you're late. Although I think I could justifiably blame all the slow stupid people who keep running into each other. Then again, I don't want to jinx myself and wind up in a small crushed pile of metal while others pass by and call ME stupid. So, let's just leave it like that.

GOOD MORNING! And Happy Halloween! Yes, of course I dressed up this year! But I must give all the credit for this to Alan K. Henderson, who has his very own Firefly/Serenity-Themed Blogger Costume Party going on over at his place. LOOK! A BADGER (substitute)!

Anyway, the weekend was full of stuff, some of which I even remember. And will write about in just a moment.

And what would the weekend be...

...without more to do that I can get done?

Well, it wouldn't be the weekend, that's for sure.

Anyway, I have vague notions that there is a lot to do this weekend, so I will be careful to avoid it all as much as possible and possibly even be able to recolor my fancy junkyard dashboard since my paint came in last night. I will have to figure out if it's going to be warm enough outside, though, because this paint stuff I bought is just a giant splodey thing waiting to happen. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'd rather not have to call the fire department to put me out.

Oh, and there's that stupid time change thing Sunday morning. I've decried all this horologic tomfoolery in years past and it's gotten absolutely NO traction. But I would be plenty satisfied to just leave the stinking clocks alone. Sure, Benny Frank thought it was a good idea, because he didn't have a gazillion things with clocks in his house, and for the ones he DID have, he probably had a servant woman or two to go around fixing them for him. I like him a lot, but I think he'd been better off just coming up with aphorisms and chasing French women.

Anyway, all of you have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you on Spooky Day!

And what would Friday be without..

POSSUMBLOG SPORTS CENTER!

Probably no different.

Be that as it may, it's still time to cue the music and let's get into talking about important things. FOOTBALL! And not just football, but that brand of smash-mouth, three-yards-and-a-cloud-of-dust, we-better-score-a-TD-cuz-we-can't-kick-a-field-goal brand of football played by the Auburn Tigers!

This week the Gentlemen of the Plains (5-2, 3-1 SEC) return to the Loveliest Village to take on the Rebels of the University of Missississippii, who with a record of 3-4, and 1-3 against fellow SECers, appear to be Rebels less in the mold of Lee on July 1, 1862, and much more like Lee on July 3, 1863. I try not to beat up too badly on the Tigers' opponents with taunting and the like, but it's difficult to see how Ole Miss is going to be able to pull this one out.

Even with Ole Miss's lingering heartburn over letting Tuberville get away in the first place, Auburn will still have the advantage of the home field, and of trying to redeem itself after last Saturday's overtime loss to LSU. Theoretically, Auburn could still pull out an SEC West title, IF they win every other game they play, so there is still much incentive to pull out all the stops on the Rebs and grind them up into a fine paste.

In addition to the fact that Ole Miss has no cheerleader photographs to speak of, there is also this insistence on spelling OLD not with an apostrophe to indicate truncation, vis., "Ol'," but rather to spell it as if someone should be expecting a bull to come charging by--to whit, "¡Ole!". By the way, speaking of the Spanish language, the movie Legend of Zorro, starts today in theaters everywhere.

BUT, aside from that, it is that time the whole world looks forward to, the PIGSKIN PROGNOSTICATIONS, scientifically calculated by Possumblog Sport Center's very own Football Pickin' Chicken! We still have not been able to come up with a suitable name for our plucky barnyard fowl, although I have been thinking that with the coming bird flu pandemic, maybe we should call her Avi.

Say hello to everyone, Avi!

I wish she'd quit running toward the door like that.

Anyway, in order to arrive at this week's prediction of the score of the game, our scientists have developed a new scientific protocol to insure even greater accuracy in the prognosticatinog. I have asked Chet the E-Mail Boy to give her back her cell phone, and she will be allowed to peck out her predictions on the keypad. (Avi's cell phone is graciously provided by T-Mobile.)

Okay, let's see how she does...

9

1

1

OOOOH, wait a minute--can't let that one go through or else the police will come knocking and I still haven't gotten any Halloween candy for them.

Let's try that again--

Okay

AUBURN 42 OLAY MISS 13

Thank you all for tuning in this week and all of you have a fun and safe weekend! Unless you're Ol' Miss, in which case I want you to lose.

Obscure Architectural Term of the Day!

Well, it's been a while, and it seems like today would be a good time for something. Although not the least bit obscure, today's word is nonetheless interesting. Not that I know everything (it's TRUE!) but I had always assumed wrongly about the derivation of the following:

BELFRY. Generally the upper room or storey in a tower in which bells are hung, and thus often the bell-tower itself, whether it is attached to or stands separate from the main building. Also the timber frame inside a church steeple to which bells are fastened. Derived from the old French berfrei (=tower), the word has no connection with 'bell'.

From the Penguin Dictionary of Architecture, Third Edition.

Well, I'll be. All these years of assuming the wrong thing.

Since everyone knows what a belfry looks like, I'll dispense with the usual accompanying graphical links, and instead will make do with the movie poster from Legend of Zorro, opening today in theaters everywhere.

Well, there goes my "Perpetuating the Stereotype" schtick...

Darn that Cecil Adams and his tireless work at restating the obvious! "[...] In the recent indicators of national intelligence I can find--eighth-grade math scores and what all--southern Appalachian states aren't conspicuously clustered at the bottom. On the contrary, notwithstanding the blue-state-smart-red-state-dumb malarkey you sometimes hear, I'd say stupidity in our society is pretty uniformly spread around."

Of course, the original questioner is from Canada, so he probably thinks he's safe. Despite not knowing his geography, and being silly enough to demonstrate it.

From the "Warning, Cape Does Not Allow Wearer to Fly" File...

Harry Potter's "flying" car is stolen

LONDON (Reuters) - The "flying" Ford Anglia used in the Harry Potter films has been stolen from a film studio lot, police said on Friday.

"For those who have not seen the Harry Potter films, this is the car that flies in the movies and is very well known," a police spokesman said.

The blue Anglia went missing from South West Film Studios at St Agnes in the southwestern English county of Cornwall.

"The film prop was being stored under a tarpaulin. It was not in good condition and could not have been driven away under its own steam," the police spokesman said.

Of course, no one would DRIVE it, you big silly policeman! It's a FLYING CAR!

I would start looking at the bottoms of nearby ravines.

The voices in my head?

Oh, sure, they're screaming today. You know what they said?

"GET TO WORK! You've got WAY too much junk to get done, and you can't sit there and read about grown men named 'Scooter' all day and bother your new, as-yet unnamed, quite statuesque, Football Pickin' Chicken. You have GOT to get something productive done, or else."

And you know, that particular voice is probably right. Hate to say it, but it's true. So, what else CAN I do?! I mean, aside from getting one of the other voices to challenge it to a pistol duel. I just hope they do that outside or my ears will be ringing for hours.

Anyway, I think I'll work quietly on my menial clerical duties while they work things out. Stay tuned, though, because there might be something really cool here!

Or not.

Fortune Cookie Wisdom of the Day!

Nothing like some kung pao chicken on a chilly day to make your insides all toasty warm like a blast furnace.

Why don't I order something else? Sometimes I do, but whenever the female half of the husband and wife team (who are not Chinese, by the way) who own the place is there, I forget everything else--kung pao is sorta the default order. If the husband's there, I can think better.

And while I'm thinking of it, unless you eat with chopsticks all the time, don't think you have to use them for Chinese food. I saw several folks out in the seating area struggling with them, and all for naught. It was especially painful to watch the young guy trying to show his mad stik skilz to his ladyfriend, because it was obvious he wanted to appear worldly and cosmopolitan as he ate his chain-outlet, downtown Birmingham Chinese food, and he was bedeviled by the fact that two sticks are the least efficient way to get food to your mouth ever invented. (Neglecting for a moment the use of trained gibbons to put food in your mouth for you.)

You know what the first Chinese guy who saw a fork said? "We invent the compass and gunpowder and paper and noodles, and you mean to sit there and tell me we've been eating with STICKS when we could've invented a FORK?!"

Yes, that's what he said. Of course, now they've all gotten in the habit of it, so to them it's no big deal either way, but over here, use a fork. Although they are less exotic, sometimes that's not a big tradeoff for keeping food off your shirt.

ANYWAY, that's not why we're here--today's fortunes are:

A single kind word will keep one warm for years.

I wonder if that means if I heap praise upon people I don't like, they'll burst into flames?

The constructive use of riches is better than their possession.

Hmm. Sounds like a good experiment to try. First, I need riches. All of you send me all your money. I'll see how that feels, then I'll use it for something constructive, like, say, a mansion, and then see it that makes me feel better. Okay, get to it! "Chop-chop," as they say!

TODAY'S LUCKY NUMBERS:

3 15 28 36 42. 17

5 14 25 36 40. 15

Hoozier Daddy Update

The Commissar has updated and expanded his original blog lineage post, with a handy chart to see who all's related to whom.

Thanks to Janis, Jim, Dave, and Nate for claiming me, but I sure thought I had more kids than that. In case you want to claim me as your blogdaddy (remember, it's all about ME!), be sure to go to this post and leave a comment, including your blog name, month and year it started, and if you yourself have sprung any blogoffspring.

Now then, time to go eat.

Say it ain't so, Jö!

U.N. report: Volvo, DaimlerChrysler paid illegal surcharges to Iraq in oil-for-food program

ASSOCIATED PRESS

UNITED NATIONS — About half of the 4,500 companies in the U.N. oil-for-food program, including Volvo and DaimlerChrysler, paid a total of $1.8 billion in kickbacks and illicit surcharges to Saddam Hussein’s government, a U.N.-backed investigation said in a report released today.

The report from the committee probing claims of wrongdoing in the $64 billion program indicates that about 2,200 companies participated in extensive manipulation of the U.N. oil-for-food program in Iraq. [...]

Must I now divest myself of my lump of iron so as to remain ritually pure from the taint of corruption!? Maybe not--

[...] The report said, for example, that Brussels-based Volvo Construction Equipment paid $317,000 in extra fees to the Iraqi government on a $6.4 million contract. Volvo Construction is part of Swedish-based Volvo Group, which referred all questions to Volvo Construction Equipment’s headquarters in Brussels. The group is separate from Volvo automobiles, which is owned by Ford. [...]

Danged Belgians.

Publius.

Or, as I like to call him, Jimmy the M. Without whose work (marked today by the 218th anniversary of the publishing of Federalist Paper #1) the United States would be immeasurably weaker.

And he's even got his own cheerleading squad!

And now for something compleatly different.

Dapper Don and Dickie Bird Before the Dock Again!

Former Alabama governor and ex-HealthSouth chief indicted

What's so very interesting is the odd confluence of cases that intersects right at Doug Jones. Jones is Siegelman's attorney, and rightly got up and denounced all this in the most paid-spokesman fashion possible. However, he also is (or was as of a year ago) part of a class action civil suit against Scrushy (NOT part of the Fed's case against him). Here's what he said in a CBS interview in August of 2004 about the case against his current client's reputed co-conspirator--

[...] ”He benefited more than anybody from this fraud. There's no question about it. One hundred times fold,” says Doug Jones, a former U.S. attorney in Birmingham who has filed a class action suit against Scrushy on behalf of his stockholders.

How did Scrushy make hundreds of millions of dollars from the fraud?

“In his stock options, his salaries, and his bonuses. And he has for years cultivated an image that ‘This is my company, I'm the one that brought this company up. I have my finger on the pulse. I know everything that's going on in this company. I know the numbers,’" says Jones.

“He doesn't have to be an accountant to direct this fraud. Other people may be the ones sitting up there late at night, crunching the numbers and cooking the books. But that doesn't mean that when he says ‘Fix it,’ if that's true, that he's not as much responsible for engineering that train wreck as anybody else.” [...]

Now, I suppose it's possible to think such things in one case, and then be able to defend someone in another case, but when those two parties become entangled due to circumstances drawing them together in one big tangled mess of allegations of corruption, you have to wonder how strongly Jones will continue to pursue information against someone who might actually be in a position to turn against the guy he's fighting for.

It just seems like it makes it much harder to say your client's innocent, when he gets tied to someone you're suing for thievery.

It's going to be an interesting few months.

A Bellicose Weevil Woman Goes to her Reward

I just found out this morning that one of the most fascinating women in the blogworld has passed away. Heather Bare, known to most of you as MommaBear, was quite a character, and I am proud to say she was a member in good standing of the odd little world of the Axis of Weevil. Here is the post from when she was inducted (along with Miss Meryl) back in January of 2003. One quote in particular says about as much about her as anything probably will--

I have two side-arms that are my 'carry guns'...tools...all the rest are my "toys", although they require a hell of a lot of care when handling!!

I really am 68...well, the chassis is, but I know I'm still only 43, which was one of my best years! So there!!

Indeed so.

All our best to her family.

Just when we were all warming up to her...

Miers Withdraws Supreme Court Nomination

Well, I'm not one of the folks who've been breathlessly following this, so it really doesn't make that big of a blip on my radar, other than to note to conservatives first that this might have been part of a grander strategy to discredit one person in particular. Remember one of the reasons she was put forth? That Bush supposedly went looking for advice from the Democrats beforehand, and she turned up on whose list? Senator Harry Reid.

He was just as high on Ms. Miers as Mr. Bush was, or so it seemed. But poor Harry--he couldn't get any of the Democrats to come around to his thinking on this. Although the Democrats were content to sit back and let Republicans and conservatives eat each other over her less-that-stellar potential, Reid's credibility took the greater hit, because his putative "leadership" was absolutely worthless.

Although the whole thing looks bad, and in fact, IS bad for the Administration, it seems they have managed to effectively neutralize anything Sen. Reid might ever again say. By entangling him in the same mess, he's lost his ability to be the guy who swings the big raw partisan steak in front of the base.

Look for the next nominee to be more Bork than you ever thought possible. Look for the Democrats to squeal about evil non-inclusiveness, look for the Administration to say that they had their chance, and should have fought harder for Miers instead of reflexively opposing her because she is Bush's choice. Look for Harry Reid to try to act like Big Harry and thunder and spew, and in general look like a washed-up weakling.

Be interesting to see who gets the nod this time.

Oh, sure--laugh at the weather guy get blowed away real good…

But don’t tell me YOU’VE never done stuff just as dumb!

Boy, I sure hope you have.

BECAUSE, today just happens to be Thursday, and after a long e-mail exchange with the always engaging, self-proclaimed weather junkie Sarah G., she just happened to hit upon an idea for a certain every-Thursday game we play around here. After witnessing Mr. Al Roker’s foolhardiness and subsequent fall-down-go-boomage during the late passing of Hurricane Wilma, Sarah said: “The Thursday Three should be about the most idiotic things you have done in bad weather.”
NOT BEING ONE TO TURN DOWN A REQUEST FROM A BRUNETTE WITH FOUR CHILDREN--we herewith offer you

The Axis of Weevil “Great Big Moron Against the Elements” Edition of the Thursday Three!

[polite applause]

Now then, we want you to name the THREE most idiotic things you’ve ever done to prove yourself against the forces of Mother Nature. This doesn’t have to be just weather, though, even though Sarah would probably like it that way, but can be any of the forces of Nature--gravity, weather, earthquakes, electromagnetism…

Was it that time you decided to practice being a Acapulcan cliff diver by jumping off the garage when you were 11 years old? Was it the time you ran naked through the dorm parking lot just to prove to your idiot roommate that you could do it in three feet of snow? Was it the hurricane you stood in to get a dramatic shot for television?

Well, whatever they were, either leave your three answers in the comments below, or a link to your blog entry per the subject at hand. Extra points will be rewarded for those instances where you required assistance to extricate yourself from your predicament.

As for my battles…

1. First, gravity. I’ve told this before, but when I was little, around 7 or 8, I had a condition called Legg-Perthes disease in my hip, causing me to either have to wear a leg brace or walk on crutches (this went on from the time I was six until I was nearly 10). Anyway, one day I was in the backyard of our house, and our house had a big hillside right behind it, maybe 10 or 15 feet high, that leveled off to a driveway up above. When I had been younger, I had been able to run down the hill and catch myself against the house.

ON this particular day, I stood there on my little crutches and wistfully remembered running, and got to thinking I could probably still do it. After all, I could get going on a pretty fast clip on level ground. So, I started running down the hill on my crutches.

Badly.

My forward motion caused me to nearly go tumbling head over heels, and I would have made it if I’d had about ten more feet of horizontal space for my crutches to catch up with my body.

As it was, I smashed my face right into the back wall of the house. Which was covered in rough split cedar shakes. Busted my lip open right under my right nostril by hitting it on the hose spigot on the side of the house--and still have a scar there today to prove it.

I didn’t tell my parents what happened until after I was grown, because I was afraid they’d get mad at me.

2. A stupid weather thing I did once was in college when I followed a long line of low-hanging hail and thunderstorms nearly to Tuskegee hoping to see a tornado. One never dropped down, but I am at a loss to explain why I thought I should be doing this, nor what I would have done had one suddenly swooped down.

3. Well, let’s see. Number 3 would probably be another weather thing, namely all those football games in high school we played out in the middle of thunderstorms. That was back before anyone really cared about kids getting struck by lightning.

So, there you go.

UNO!

No, not that kind. This kind involves food, so it's MUCH better. From the lovely and talented Kenny Smith, this notice of a right worthy cause:

Hi all,

My apologies for the legitimate-good-cause-psuedo-spam and ESPECIALLY if you've already seen this ... but we should consider passing this along to those that are well placed to pitch in.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE – Oct. 24, 2005

Contact: Jack Duggan (504) 430-8943 or (601) 484-6574

UNO Getting Cooking Again Fundraiser Heads to Auburn Saturday

(Oct. 24, 2005) – In an effort to raise money for its student-athletes, the University of New Orleans athletics department has put together the “Getting New Orleans Cookin’ Again,” campaign which has made stops at college football games this fall. The tailgating campaign makes its next stop this week at Auburn, Ala.

First, join the UNO Athletic Department for a New Orleans Style Pre-Tailgating Party at Touchdown’s on Friday, October 28 at 7 p.m. Representatives from UNO will be on hand serving up chicken and sausage jambalaya for donations to the Privateer Athletic Foundation Hurricane Relief Fund. Also, register to win a New Orleans Style tailgating kit, which includes the Cook Me Somethin? Mister Cast Iron Pot and Burner Combo.

On Saturday, the “Getting New Orleans Cookin’ Again” tent will be located inside Tiger Team Village next to Beard-Eaves-Memorial Coliseum and jambalaya will be served by representatives to support the Privateer Hurricane Relief Fund, before and after Auburn’s 11:30 a.m. football game against Ole Miss. The UNO PAF is taking pre-tailgate orders now until noon on Wednesday. All proceeds go to help UNO student-athletes stricken by Hurricane Katrina.

UNO athletic director, Jim Miller believes that despite the devastation suffered by the city, "the critical element that has survived this tragedy is our people and our collective resolve to endure."

The fundraising effort has already made stops at Lafayette, La., Jonesboro, Ark., Troy, Ala, and Birmingham, Ala., this fall.

Paul Preau, owner of Ad Gas Outdoor Cooking Products of New Orleans, will serve as the head cook of the campaign. For more information or to reserve your order of Jambalaya, please call John Barranco at 504-289-0779 or email him at jbarranc@uno.edu.

SO, y'all go eat!

Lions and lions and lions, oh my!

I had a nice meal last night--Oldest's had her Leo Club banquet at the fancy Mexican place over by the not-quite-so-fancy Chinese buffet place over by the locked-in-a-death-spiral K-Mart. Frankly, I had forgotten we were supposed to go, but was reminded. Several times, in fact.

And thankfully, this year Reba was able to go along as well. If you recall from our chat last year, I had to attend this shindig (at the swank barbecue joint down the road in the swank Target shopping center) with just Oldest and Me, which meant I had to endure a total lack of Adult Interaction, and sat across from two young ladies whom I call "ladies" only to be painfully polite, seeing as how their table demeanor would actually remind Miss Manners of a pack of rabid curs. At least last year, there was room at the table.

This year, we were placed in the back "room" of the establishment, which seemed to actually be more of a dead end corridor. Or torreador. Or something. But it was narrow, and dim, and loud, yet remarkably heighty, with several strings of festive multicolored Christmas lights, and a mural on the wall that provided a nice cautionary tale about trying to paint a mural while vision-questing on mescaline. A long line of tables were set up end to end, and pressed about six inches from the wall of the "room," meaning anyone who sat with their backs to the wall, or in the center, were trapped like, like--BADGERS! [Insert joke about not needing no steekin badgers here]

Wisely, we sat on the outer side of the tables, which was just as entertaining, seeing as how scalding hot plates got passed between and over us to the people on the other side, who actually dared not eat for fear of not being wedged in by their gullets and not being able to get up afterwards.

The across table view was nice, though. Which is wrong of me to say, so forget I said it. But my goodness, I don't ever recall girls looking like this when I was young. Although, the view was somewhat disturbed by the fact that one of the young ladies from the past year was across, and still had the most intriguing method of using dining utensils and conveying food to her mouth that I believe I have ever seen.

MOTHERS! FATHERS! Would you PLEASE teach your children how to hold a knife and fork! And how to use them! And how to chew properly! Holy Emily Post, Batman, can you not SEE what they're DOING!?

Anyway, food was brought, which consisted in our family of a beef and a chicken chimichanga (whatever that is) and a dish called Veracruz enchiladas for me, containing two corn tortillas full of shrimp and covered with melted cheese. Mmmm. Also had rice and gooey bean goop.

As for Adult Interaction...well, since Oldest was on the other side of Miss Reba from me, and since Oldest (having as she does the same attitude at school as at home) has very little to say to any of her compatriots, Miss Reba's entire time was monopolized by said daughter, leaving me to sit and eat and try not to act like I just came by myself.

I must admit that there was not a TOTAL lack of Adult Interaction--pressed together as we were, I was constantly jabbed in the ribs by the highly attractive and needle-sharp right elbow of my bride, whom I believe thinks that she was attempting to qualify for a position in the WNBA with her under-the-basket, elbows-flailing, rebounding skills. And doing a darned fine job of it.

Obviously, I could not allow this thought to break free of my lips, so I merely stuffed in more shrimp and tried not to grunt too loudly when another blow came my way.

After a fine meal, it was time for the installation of officers by the Exalted Lord High Muckety-Muck Gabby-Jawed Leonine Prince of Clubby Get-Togethers, which was nice, aside from the fact that the officers were unable to stand, given that they'd all taken seats on the wall and were passing out from lack of oxygen.

Despite my ill-spirited snarkiness, it was actually not bad--nice, even, in the way that such civic club meetings are. Everyone's in a pretty good mood, and you pretty much know everyone, and it's for a good cause, and no one fights, and you get to eat. I just wasn't in the mood for it, I suppose.

Nor for having to go next door to Kmart afterwards.

Seems Boy is doing some kind of weird social studies thing at school with a group, and they're making a silent movie of all things, and Boy is supposed to be an Old West undercover lawman, who tends the bar and overhears stuff and is able to nab the robber, or some such stuff. I knew nothing about this until last night, and Reba had already talked to one of the other moms who's helping out the boys, and Jonathan needed a hat, and a badge, and an shirt with sleeve garters and handcuffs, and Reba was nearly feverish with desire to go get all this stuff from a costume place or something.

"I have a hat. We can make a badge out of foil. It's not like it's the Great Train Robbery, for Pete's sake. We can use a couple of the girls' pony tail holders for his sleeves, and he can wear that blue-striped shirt we bought him for church. It has big sleeves."

The let-down was palpable. I will never figure this out--she always rushes in and says we need all this junk, and when I suggest that we already HAVE most of the junk, she pouts and acts like I'm some sort of beast. Which I am, obviously.

Anyway, after convincing her that my straw hat would be JUST FINE, we still needed some little plastic handcuffs. I was going to relent on the badge for the sake of peace, but we couldn't find the OFFICIAL one--in her mind, it HAD to be the shiny Magen David with balls on the tips, or else it wasn't a REAL Old West sheriff's badge. [Again, enter with the steenkin badges jokes, if you please.] But, they didn't have one, so we got a little cheapy set of stuff that had some plastic cuffs in it, and wound up getting all the other kids from her parent's house around 8:30 or so.

Meaning, yes, they were up late getting bathed and put to bed, and since I had an early meeting this morning, I'm certain they were a handful to get out of the house this morning.

As for the badge? Well, I printed out a big 400pt six-pointed Wingding star from MSWord that I had added the requisite round tips to, taped it to a heavy disposable aluminum roasting pan, cut it out, rounded the edges a bit with a pencil, then used the pencil to engrave "Sheriff" onto the front of it. The final thing was the attachment--in my haste, I had thought we had some pin backs, but didn't. So I grabbed a pair of extra-strong magnets off the refrigerator and glued one on the back, and mated it with another magnet that will be worn inside his pocket.

I suppose we'll see how this turns out. For my sake, I hope well.

What a lovely meeting.

It was one of those that only a suphuric acid and ground glass enema could top for giving one that refreshed and uplifted feeling.

And thanks to the tenacious efforts of one of my co-workers, I now have even more stupid crap to do each week. Seems she thought the outrageous idea of having staff present cases, which she seemed to think would be SO outrageous that it would make Those In Charge sputter and spume and beg her not to do such a crazed, maniacal thing.

Of course, in the Rules of Living, it says right there on Page One, "Be Careful What You Ask For, Because You Might Get It."

They loved the idea. Keeps down the idle chitchat, makes sure that things get presented expeditiously. Creates a tremendous amount of work for us. Meaning me. Meaning I will have to figure a way to make sure I successfully avoid being slathered with this creamy layer of stupidity.

That indoor Volvo junkyard of my dreams is looking better and better all the time.

LOOK! A BADGER!!

MAKE THAT TWO!!

(Thanks to Dr. Smith.)

Where have I been!? What have I been doing!?

Well, first of all is stupid work--everyone wants something today, and they keep wanting me to do it. I keep trying to tell them I have important blogging things to do, but it is no use.

And I've also been helping Cletus get some things in order this morning--he's invited Luther to help him out around the garage, and of course, Luther is like a hog in slop (more literal than is really necessary), getting to hold forth to a captive audience without actually doing any substantive work. He's okay to have around, though, which is why I let him hang out at Revolvoblog, too.

Anyway, I've got a meeting to get ready for, and we have one tomorrow morning to get ready for, and there's all kinds of junk and stuff and silliness to prepare.

Dumb ol' work.

Hmph.

Good morning!

Finally left last night around 7:15, but that's just fine, because it meant I got to stay here long enough to make sure I won a couple of pieces of Volvo plastic on Ebay. Yay.

AND IN OTHER NEWS--

In the increasingly incestuous world of blogs, it should come as no surprise that one of Possumblog's children's friend's uncle's nephew on his mother's side blogs has spun off YET ANOTHER offspring. A Moron Project Blog about Moron Projects!? Well, it was bound to happen.

Just got a note this morning from a certain fellow who has decided to start a general interest blog about car repairs and restoration. Cletus (possibly not his real name) comes to us via the B-B-Q Emporium at Compleat Redneck, where he hangs around with Billy Joe Bob and Elroy and Bubba and several other regulars and rocket scientists from Redstone Arsenal.

Striking out on his on, Cletus has started Cletus' Car Corner (and gets extra points for proper apostrophe use!), about which he says--

Well, it's been a long time coming but I finally started my own blog. Seeing as I am as at least as good a mechanic as those NPR guys, if not as rich, I decided that this would be the Internet equivalent. This is how it works. You write me your car related questions and using the crack research team down at the BBQ Emporium, I give you the answer to your problems and at the same time maybe even tell you what your car needs. The big difference between me and the Car Talk boys is you don't get to hear my maniacal laughter while I look up the answers on the Net.

I happen to know Cletus in real life, and despite his homespun ways, in addition to wrenching a variety of makes, he's been in the Army and currently does all kinds of smart-guy stuff up in North Alabama. I won't say much more in order to allow him some sense of mystery, which is so necessary to the proper demeanor of the best auto mechanics. You don't expect a magician to tell you his secrets, do you?! Of course not!

Anyway, if you have a question about car repair and life in general, be sure to say hello to Cletus. Obviously, Luther, Possumblog Garages/Revolvoblog's chief mechanic, is all up in my face wanting to help out, too, so you might see him wander by, grumble, spit tobacco juice, hem, haw, and leave without fixing anything, just like he does around here.

Downside of carpooling with your wife?

When she has to stay late, YOU have to stay late. It is now 6:51 p.m. and I am no closer to home than I was when I was dropped off this morning at 7:51 a.m.

Upside? UNINTERRUPTED SURFING ON A T-1 LINE, DOOD!!

Am I Your Daddy!?

Your blogdaddy, that is. The Commissar over at the Politburo Diktat is running a quiz to see who all is related to whom in the nasty writhing snakepile of the blogosphere, all of which was brought to my attention by Miss Jordana (whom I claim as distant kin).

Miss Janis was kind enough to admit parentage via Possumblog, and I know there are at least one or two others of you who delved into blogging so you could have as much fun as I do. SO, if you would be willing to claim Possumblog as your blogdaddy, trotsky on over to the Commissar's site and leave a comment for him and I assume it'll get updated soon enough, possibly in the next Five Year Plan.

And my blogdaddy? Well, I suppose that would have to be Mr. Lileks. (The backstory of my birth can be found in the dusty old Blogspot archives.) Believe it or not children, I've been around so long that I used to be able to swap e-mails with him on a somewhat regular basis before he got so tremendously famous and I got so tremendously not famous. ::sigh:: Such is life.

Anyway, go see the Commissar, and it wouldn't hurt you to write your blogdaddy every once in a while! And my grass needs cutting! And your brother said you forgot about your sister-in-law's condition and that crack about her fat butt made her cry! And get a haircut! And a job!

There now.

That's what he gets for losing all that weight.

From the lovely Sarah G., this photo show of formerly chubby weather guy Al Roker as he does battle with some woman named Wilma.

There's much to be said for ballast.

No, we don't have one.

A kitty. But more about that later.

First up was to get to church, which we did, and where I found out that I would have to sub in Rebecca and Jonathan's class for their regular Sunday teacher. I teach them on Wednesday nights, but since the Sunday teacher has a different book, and since I didn't know about it until I got there, even though I COULD have looked over one of the kids' books before class, I COULDN'T because I didn't know, so I was stuck with winging it.

Looked it over for a minute or two--the topic was Job, and how ol' Bildad the Shuhite was a self-righteous hypocritical crank, and how you have to beware of hanging around with such people, because they're wearisome and tend to make you less faithful.

Bildad was one of those sorts who believed anytime someone got smote upon by bad things, that they must have been doing something bad themselves--in his mind, he figured since his family didn't get their trailer hit by a tornado, and all of his herds were fat and happy and didn't have the spavins or the epizootic or the mange, he was doing pretty well by the Lord. Which is pretty much what a lot of people seem to think about what goes on today.

The best thing I know to refute such thinking, both by Bildad and various modern idiots, is Luke 13: 1-5, and Matthew 5:44, 45. Natural calamity happens, both to the good and the bad, and so it's best not to try to justify the way you live just because you've managed to avoid trouble. Likewise, just because trouble comes doesn't necessarily mean it's something you did. And be careful who you choose as your friends.

Of course, I can never tell how much of that they actually heard, and how much just sounded like "blah blah blah GINGER" but maybe they got something out of it. I always make a point after class when everyone else has cleared out of asking Rebecca and Jonathan what they learned--Rebecca: "Bildad was a jerk."

Well, there you go.

After church, on to the other side of the county to visit Ashley's other grandparents, made more interesting this time by the addition of a kitten they had stuck in a cage in the back yard. Catherine, our resident cat-wrangler, could barely be restrained from bursting through the door to go mess with the little thing, but we did manage to get her to wait until after lunch.

After which, out the door she went.

Seems the little thing was a stray, but obviously one that had been around people. It stretched and played in the sunshine, and Catherine, and then Rebecca, both came out and played with it through the cage. "Can we have it?!"

"Well, it's not OUR kitten, and second, we don't have a place it can stay, and keeping it in a cage sure isn't the best thing for it."

"Can we have it?"

::sigh::

"No, Catherine--did you not hear what I said?!"

"Yes, but I want a kitty I can keep at our house."

"Well, this ain't the one--let's keep it here and you can come visit it."

"Awwwww."

Pretty soon the other stray cat that calls the place home came around and flopped down, so Catherine went and messed with it so it couldn't sleep, and I went on back inside after a while to read the paper.

Sometime later, Catherine and Rebecca came in and watched some television, then went on back out again, once again to vigorously rub the kitties.

I got up (after dozing off once or twice) and went out to see what they were doing--Catherine was sitting on the swing with the kitty in front of her, holding the poor thing around its ribcage and under its arms and appearing to squeeze it like a bag of icing. Pitiful thing looked like it was going to pop from the pressure. "Cat! Sugar, hold the kitty nicely so you don't hurt him--er, her, whatever it is. Look, hold under its little chest and let it sit its feet down in your hands--See?" I demonstrated the proper method of not squeezing the life out of a cat, and she said "Awwwww--it's so CUUUUUUUTE!" Upon reestablishing possession of the feline, she proceeded to squeeze its upper chest with one hand whilst bundling its hind legs together and squeezing them together tightly. "CAT! Ease up a bit!" I moved her hands a bit to give the kitty some room, which allowed it enough breathing space to squall and grab hold of the back of my hand with its little precious needle-sharp claws.

"Why's it doing that, Daddy?"

"Ow--oooh--because it's uncomfortable in the way you've got it held and it's trying to get away!"

"Oh."

Ashley's grandmother was sitting outside and taking all this in, and after the kitty got calmed back down some related that earlier while I had been inside, the bigger stray cat had been playing with the kitten--"Oh, they're big buddies--Blackie come up and started playing with it and grabbed it up with both its paws and just licked it and loved all over it!"

Well, that's nice.

I went back in and it got about time to leave, and so I started rounding everyone up to go, and went back outside to the back yard--"Watch, Daddy! Watch them play!"

Catherine had put the kitten down beside Blackie the big cat, and sure enough, Blackie grabbed up the kitten with its paws, and drew it in close, and started licking--and biting, and scratching, and generally trying to consume the kitten as if it were a chipmunk.

"CATHERINE! MOVE, baby! He's not playing, he's trying to hurt the kitten!" The kitten was mewling and crying and trying to fight back, and the bigger cat started doing the back-leg-rabbit-hopping thing cats do with their claws, so I broke up the little lovefest and Catherine scooped up the smaller kitten and said she was going to put it back in its cage. "MEAN OL' CAT!" Boy, if looks could kill--she shot that mean old cat a look that would peel paint.

"Can we take the kitty with us?

Persistent little cuss, isn't she?

"Catherine--"

"I know--I just thought I would ask more times."

And thus ended yet another trip across the county, one bright side of which was I filled up with gas and it only cost $2.559 at the Pilot truck stop at East Thomas. Lowest I've seen it anywhere in town lately, and really makes me wonder why fifteen miles east on I-59 it's $2.759. Sure, we maybe all uptown and high-tone now, but I really prefer cheaper gasoline.

Anyway, back to the church building so the kids could do some kind of activity. I hung with them for a little while, but finally had to go off and meditate quietly in the auditorium. I.e., sleep. And couldn't break out of it very well at all. I kept nodding during the sermon, too, and I know it's very noticeable. I try to make it look like I'm looking for something on the floor, but when I fall into the floor, I think people suspect it might be something else.

Home, supper, bed, and now, here I am.

It was quite a weekend.

Most comfortable tractor EVER!

After doing everything but laundry, it was time to get ready to go up to the church building. Showered, changed shirts, gathered up the junk we were taking consisting of hot dogs, chips, drinks, candy, and ourselves, piled in the van, and were on our way.

Big topic of conversation amongst the children? What to do about a tractor.

As I mentioned, the old tractor we had to pull a mower deck was traded in for a nice riding lawnmower. Nice for mowing grass, but useless for pulling a trailer full of hay and kids. And I hadn't heard what was going to be done for a substitution. "I don't know kids--I reckon someone will come up with something."

And sure enough, just as surely as there was a ram stuck in the brambles to substitute for Isaac, we had a substitute prime mover. One of our members agreed to let us use his hunting truck, a mid-'80s 4WD Isuzu P'Up.

While the rest of automobiledom might scoff at the lowly Isuzu, and use such adjectives as "agricultural," that is JUST such a thing as was required.

I never thought I would see it, but there actually is a vehicle that throbbed and rumbled more than the old 40 horse Massey Ferguson diesel we used to have--BUT--this one had a nice cushy seat, and a RADIO, and power steering, and power brakes, and a roof, and an exhaust pipe that didn't exit right in my face. Yes, friends, the little four-pot engine might shake more than Ted Kennedy having the DTs, but the little bugger pulled that trailer all over the place with not a single bobble or scary incident. AND, I got to listen to the Alabama-Tennessee game, AND it even had a CUPHOLDER! Sure, it might have looked better to have a tractor, but from the driver's perspective, it was hard to beat. And really, isn't that all that counts? Of course it is!

The kids had a good time--there was one of those inflatable trampolines, and enough sugar to keep Brazil solvent for several years, and fun, and games, and a pie toss, and coloring contests, and balloons, and, did I mention sugar? Well, there was candy, cotton candy, candied apples, and probably candied marshmallow candy with candy sprinkles.

I suppose with all that, we probably could have dispensed with a tractor and hitched a couple of the more hyperactive sorts to the trailer. Like, for instance, the two little miscreants who kept getting limbs and chasing people. I hate to sound like such an old coot (not really) but I do recall a time when parents would have grabbed up child and limb and used a portion of the latter to blister the bottom of the former. As it was, seeing as how their parents were much more concerned about being invisible, I was left to shout out the window of the truck for them to put the sticks down before they jabbed someone's eye out. Because, sadly enough, although their parents are all for boys being boys (and go do it somewhere where the parents won't be disturbed by it), they're also the type who would like nothing better than to find someone to blame should their precious little dears injure themselves.

::sigh:: Takes all sorts, I guess.

Anyway, no one lost a limb or eye, so I suppose everything went hunky-dory. Helped clean up some, then went and filled up the truck and brought it back, then we headed home to clean up and get ready for bed.

Next--Job and Kitties!

Springtime!

(This post goes for a long ways--if it cuts off at the bottom, remember to press the F11 key twice to clear things up.)

But I get ahead of myself--first off was to get Oldest up out of the bed and to school to take her test. I am still a bit sketchy on exactly WHICH test this was, but it was a pretest for one of the standardized tests she'll be taking later on--I think it might have been the pre-SAT--the only thing I was sure about was that I had to get up early, and she had to get up early, and we both had to be to the school building by 7:30.

Which we did, remarkably enough.

After which, it was off to the hardware store! YAY! The garage door was still unrepaired, and although we had just about gotten used to going out the front door, the lack of an operable garage door (even if we can't park in the garage) was a big inconvenience. So I got permission to make that the morning repair project. Little did I realize just how much of the morning it was going to take up.

Got to Home Despot, strode manfully back to the garage door doodads, looked, looked, looked, ahh--springs!

Oh.

Ummm.

Drat.

For some reason, during my haste to leave that morning, I had neglected to bring along a representation of the spring I needed. I had no idea what to get.

I figured maybe a pair of hundred pounders, but had no real way of knowing.

::sigh::

Back up the stately heights of Talladega Hill, where after parking the lovely Volvo, I ran in the house, out to the garage, and retrieved the broken end of the spring from the safety cable, then sprinted back out to the car (manfully, of course), and set off down the hill again back to Home Duhpot. Once more, manfully strode, got to the spring display and...

Hmm.

Well.

Uhhh--well, it's too big for an 80 pounder, and a bit too small to be a 110 pounder. Well, it won't hurt if it's a bit stronger, but...

Only one 110 pound spring. Not a single other 110 in the entirety of the store.

::sigh::

Down the road to Lowe's.

Walked in, feeling much less manful than earlier, wound up having to ASK where the garage door stuff was. Pitiful. Just pitiful. "Well, if we have 'em, they'll be over yonder on aisle 17."

I refused to ask where they would be if they didn't have them.

On to aisle 17, and upon arriving, the heavens parted and light shone down and angels swelled in song, and there they were--95 pound springs. I grabbed two and headed to the cash register, once again confident of my manly male masculinity.

After donning my disguise of an ancient wheezy Volvo, it was back to the house with me and time to start trying not to poke out my eye with flying springs.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:

I am a moron. Do not attempt to replicate anything I do, because you might could get killed or even injured, and I have no way of paying off you and your lawyers. So don't even try to change the springs in your garage door.

But, if you do, it's handy to have a garage door opener hooked up already to help you lift the door. I got one of the kids to push the button while I helped hoist the thing up. "WAIT--WAIT! WAIT TILL DADDY SAYS GO!" After it was up and, it was handy to have a couple of Vise-grips to clamp on the tracks to hold the wheels in place. I thought I was being all bright and genius-like for thinking of this, but when I opened up the instructions, it said to do the exact same thing.

Broken spring off, new spring on, test, works fine. Old, unbroken, but no longer matching spring off, new spring on, test, works fine. Finished! Actual time of repair, about fifteen minutes. Time of repair with travel time--close to an hour and a half. Moron factor=75 minutes.

Now then, that done, it was time to go help do laundry, except the lure of the open garage door was too great of an inducement to working on the car instead.

So I did that.

The headlights still had one niggling thing that needed attention--the rapidly flashing turn signal over on the passenger side was very bothersome, so I needed to fix that, and there was the issue of exactly WHICH light was supposed to be flashing. I found out from my various online sources that the upper, clear light is the always-on marker, and the lower amber one is the turn signal. Which is not the way the lights came wired from the factory, which is, in fact, the exact opposite.

So I opened up the hood, and grabbled around for the connector on each side, opened up the clip, swapped the two wires, and clicked it back together. Also made sure the wires were shoved all the way down into the connectors--plugged them back up, and hooray! No rapid flash! And the amber ones were flashing! Apparently, the signal light on the passenger side had a couple of wire connections that were just barely touching--enough to get a bit of light, but not enough to provide full resistance. But now they work just fine.

But what of that filthy engine?

I had some engine degreaser I had bought a while back for when I was selling Moby, and never got to use it. Hmm. An oil-covered B230F just doesn't look nice--maybe a spritz or two of this stuff...

Despite the stupidity of spraying the engine compartment of an old 240 (which in their dotage have the electrical finickiness of British-made cars, meaning it isn't one of the better ideas of 'things-to-do'), everything thankfully worked out just fine.

Pulled over into the grass so as not to stain the driveway, popped the hood, covered the distributor with aluminum foil, sprayed the foam on there, got the hose, and...

"DADDY! Ashley says she's through and wants you to come get her!"

But! But!

"Okay."

Off to school--extra time to soak probably wasn't a bad thing anyway, considering just how much oil was everywhere. Picked up Oldest, took the car up to Sam's to get some gas, got back in--"Hey, you wanna drive back to the house?"

It's been a while since she'd had a turn behind the wheel, and since there was no one else but us, it wouldn't have the added stress of trying to protect her tender psyche from a carload of backseat drivers. I hadn't told her I was going to let her drive ahead of time, though, so the sudden nature of the request put her back a bit. "UHHHH..."

"You want me to get us down to the service road and let you take the back way home?"

"Umm, sure..."

I'm actually glad she said yes--the main north-south drag through town is daunting even for a geezer like me. We went back down the hill and onto the side street, swapped places, and we were off.

Thankfully, not off the road. She did pretty good, but still has that tendency to hug the edge of the lane. She made it home fine, though, and so did I. I still think I need to have a big STUDENT DRIVER decal for the backend of the car, though. She's still a bit unpredictable in her movements, and I could tell several folks on the outside were a bit unnerved when she would stop short or turn wide.

Anyway, she was tickled to drive some, and I was tickled to be back home where I could finish my cleaning chores. Sprayed the engine down and saw things under the grime I didn't even know existed. Cranked it, and oddly enough, it fired right up. Thank goodness.

Still not quite clean, however. And I was all out of foam. Meaning?

Back down to the foot of the hill for more dingderned stuff. And paper towels. We'd run out, so I thought I would be considerate and get another crate of them. And figured I could probably pick up some engine cleaner while I was there--alas, twas not to be. STILL had to go by the parts place. And stand in line. Forever.

It was running up toward noon, and I was still putzing around with the stupid car, and we had the Fall Festival at church to get to and I needed a shower and, and, and...

Whatever.

No use to get too stressed out about it--aside from the fact that someone was not quite happy with the lack of laundry help.

Got back and spritzed everything down again, and this time did the underside of the hood, which had a fine coating of baked-on hydrocarbons. Most of which remain unto this day. I don't think I have ever seen such tenacity by mere oil.

ANYWAY, it was time to put up the toys and go do hayrides.

NEXT: HEY! RIDES!

Date Night!

Hooray!

The idea here was that we had to go out and spend up the gift certificates we got last week during the sale at Parisian. It's a very clever way to get you to come back and spend more money. But we had 28 $10 coupons, and they expire today, so we had to get them spent or else it would be like losing 280 bucks. I do not wish to do such things.

Anyway, off to the Summit again, and this time without the children. Stopped by Johnny Rockets again (another coupon, dontcha know) and got our burgers from a very nice young lady. She complimented us on our table manners--she'd just got though serving 20-some-odd high school girls, so it was a relief to have someone not quite so demanding. She got a good tip.

Off then to Parisian, and for once, it was all about ME! I get clothes at Christmas, and that's about it. But Reba asked if I'd like to get something, and you know what? I need a belt. So I got a nice brown/black Perry Ellis belt that was on sale. And you know what else? I even got three TIES! Just went WILD, I tell you! Of course, I got concerned because they were so stinking expensive, so I was going to put one back. "Well, you know, you could let one be a Christmas present--you never remember when we've gotten something anyway."

Hard to argue with that. She'll buy stuff and put it away, and by the time Christmas rolls around, sure enough, I've forgotten it. So the three ties stayed. (And it turns out they were all on sale--one was marked down to $6 from $35. It pays to be unfashionable, I guess.)

Now then, off to the upstairs to find more stuff for her, because for girls Christmas lasts a lot longer.

Found several suits and other stuff, some of which even fit, went to pay, and HEY! What's going on here!?

I don't know what sort of scam either Parisian or the saleslady was trying to pull, but the deal was that you couldn't get change back from the certificates, which is fair enough. But the way the saleslady started doing this was rather than total up the purchases and then discount the certificates, she was going through each item, and taking off only a coupon or two at the time. An item that might be $22, she would take off two coupons. Next item, $38--three coupons. Obviously, what this did was make the coupons worth less than their face value--if you add up $22 and $38, it comes out to $60, NOT $50.

Again, I have no idea why the woman was doing this, and I wasn't necessarily in the mood to fight about it, because it could have been that was the way she was told to do it. By the time we got all finished, we still had $20 in coupons, and wound up paying a bit over a hundred dollars.

I didn't really feel ripped off until we got downstairs and Reba bought a couple of sleepwear-type items, and the girl rang up the whole thing THEN took the discount. Grr.

SO, if you shop at Parisian, be sure to tell them to take the discount after everything's totalled, and if they refuse, raise a big holy stink about it. Or blog about it and tell people that Parisian used to be a very nice place that cared about their customers, but now apparently doesn't mind if their sales staff figures out a way to game the system so as to make a larger commission.

I stayed angry all the way home and all the way until bedtime, at which time Reba modelled her new sleepwear-type apparel, and I forgot all about everything else.

Well, if nothing else, that sure was some good chicken.

Strangest bird, though--four big drumsticks, but no wings. ::sigh::

ANYway, despite the results of the big game being so unpalatable (and remember, I told you it'd come down to the performance of the special teams), the REST of the weekend was quite pleasant. Allow me a bit of time, and you shall hear all sorts of lurid suburban tales such as Eating; Shopping; Going to the Hardware Store; Going to the Hardware Store; Going to the Hardware Store; Springtime; Headlights: Epilogue; Damaging Mother Earth; Say, THAT'S Not a Tractor!; The Patience of Job; Kitties!; and, I Need Painted-On Eyeballs.

Be back in a moment or several

The Weekend?

So glad you asked!

Even if you didn't.

Well, tonight will be shopping again, this time to spend up the rebate coupons we got the LAST time we went to Parisian. I am hoping with a great many hopes that we will be able to leave the children in the care of Grand-mahmah and Grand-pahpah this evening so Reba and I can have the rest of that date we were supposed to have last weekend. It might not be the movies, but it might be watching her try on clothes, which is pretty fun, especially when she lets me peek through the slats in the changing room door! (Not really.)

Then tomorrow, Ashley has a test to take at school and has to be there at 8 a.m., meaning I won't get to sleep late, and then she has to go help clean up after the Maple Leaf Run, and then later on in the afternoon we have a Non-Halloween, Non-Pagan Influenced Fall Festival at church, where I will (hopefully) get to drive the tractor for the hayride again. It is in some doubt because we sold the old Massey Ferguson and bought a new zero-turn radius riding mower.

Then, church Sunday, and the monthly trip across the county, and then back again.

Somehow, I doubt I'm going to get to play with the "I Am a Moron" Project any at all. Oh well.

Anyway, all of you have a great weekend and I'll see you again on Monday.

"Hold that ti-GER! Hold that ti_GER!"

"But only the one that doesn't wear orange and blu--OO!"

Yes, it's time once again to fire up the lights and cameras here at the Possumblog Sports Senter and bring you yet another fine week of big-time college football prognosticating!

As you recall from last week, the glorious Plainsmen continued their march by marking off yet another one of the weak and puny schools on its "'Merry Christmas' schedule", having a nice batch of barbecued Hogs for supper.

This week, however, the Tigers (5-1, 3-0 SEC) (.pdf link) face someone worthy of the name 'Tigers,' that being the Bengal Tigers of LS Ewww (4-1, 3-1 SEC).

A road game, to the legendary Tiger "Death Valley" Stadium down on the bayou, to play the current 3rd ranked SEC West team (Auburn being in 2nd), and the Purple'n'Gold looking for redemption from last year's heartbreaking loss to Auburn at Jordan-Hare--it all promises to make for a very exciting game.

LSU is favored to win this one by more than a touchdown, and they've managed to acquit themselves quite well this year against other SEC foes. Expect them to take the same route everyone else has against Auburn this year--go after QB Brandon Cox hard and often in the early going. This is especially effective in a loud place like Tiger Stadium, where if the quarterback gets rattled, the confusion and noise make it even harder to get things done. The solution? Well, Auburn can't wait until the second quarter to adjust like it did last week against those cute piggies. They staged a remarkable comeback based upon adjusting to the blitz and running past it, which finally broke the field open enough to take the pressure off Cox. Their superior depth then kicked in as the game dragged on, leaving Arkansas flat-footed on their little trotters.

LSU cannot be done that way. Even though their cheerleading photos are pitifully lacking in number (thank heavens for Norwegian golfers), the football team still has some talented players. I'm not too worried about Auburn's stellar defense being able to keep LSU's scoring down, but the question is whether Auburn will be able to get enough points offensively to make up a win. Meaning it'll come down to special teams, as it so often does when these two teams play. Punt and kickoff returns, field goal blocking, and skillful punting I believe are going to be what decide things, in what I think is going to be a low-scoring knock-down, drag-out sort of game.

BUT, THAT IS NOT MY DECISION TO MAKE!

NO! For that honor (that is, predicting the actual score) belongs to none other than Possumblog Sport Cinter's Football Pickin' Chicken, Edward M.! Chet the E-Mail Boy is just now leading Edward M. into our offices after giving him a nice warm sponge bath. Chet remarks that Edward M. seems like an awfully big chicken. And friendly. I must agree. Several have asked what breed of chicken Edward M. is, and sadly, I cannot say for certain. We got him from a lovely seaside hamlet in Massachusetts, and that's about all I know.

ANYway, last week, Edward M. was very accurate, predicting a score of 38-21, when in fact it turned out to be 34-17. Pretty good for a chicken, I'd have to say, and especially for one who used a '67 Olds Delta 88 shop manual from which to select numbers. This week, Edward M. will be using a selection of liquor bottles we found inside of his coop, pointing with his beak to the numbers he believes will accurately predict the score.

And now, let's see--

It appears to be Tigers 17--Tigers 16.

There you have it folks! If you have ESPN, I guarantee it will be the best game you've seen all year. If you don't, well, listen to it on the radio like I have to do, and I guarantee it will be the best thing you've heard all year.

Odd. And ¡Bienvenido!

Before I went to lunch, I noticed a sudden spike in visitors, and so I went over to the referrer logs and found that starting around 10:45 local time, Possumblog began being bombarded by visitors from Mexico, and then from other places in South and Central America. Probably had close to 40 in just over an hour, and they'll still coming by in dribs and drabs.

And I have no idea why. Even more odd is that they were all coming over from the old blogspot blog. Even more strange is that they were only staying for less than a minute.

Is there some Mexican version of Glenn Reynolds out there who linked to something over on the old site to account for this Mexilanche? Did I say something that's making people mad? Happy? Was it that picture of Catherine Zeta Jones I linked to?

Well, I just don't know.

SO, first, let me say hey to all y'all, and second, would someone PLEASE hold on for just a minute or two and let me know what's so interesting? I might want to recycle it here on mu.nu for those slow days.

Fortune Cookie Wisdom of the Day!

Once again I sallied forth to the AmSouth-Harbert food court, this time for a TOP SECRET assignation with none other than Sugarmama (not her real name)! Due to a variety of circumstances, Miss Sugar has withdrawn from the blogging world and now lives a life of quiet obscurity, excepting for those occasions when I mention that I had lunch with her to make everyone jealous. Like, oh, today, for instance.

As usual, I wore my casual blue checkered button-up shirt and blue polyester pants that make me look like a 14 year old math club geek, parted my hairs just-so, made sure I had a suitable number of pens in my pocket, and headed out.

As usual, SM was looking quite fetching and professional, aside from the shoes with the needle-nose-plier toes. She says they're comfortable, but they sure did hurt my feet.

Not really. I...I mean, I didn't try them ON or anything...REALLY!

Lunch was from the magical Chan Lee, who provided us with tasty hot styrofoam plates full of kung pao beef and kung pao chicken. Supposedly. I mean, who knows what it really was. Coulda even been bologna. Anyway, it was all very good and mouth-scorching.

Luncheon topics included school, work, school work, dealing with insensitive geniuses, Hooters, crawl space insulation, natural gas, biking, Daylight Savings Time, computers, and The Blizzard of '93, amongst others.

It was all very convivial, and quite nice to catch up on how she's been doing since giving up the glamorous blogging life. And yes, I got a hug out of the deal. ::does taunting NFL endzone dance::

BUT, the thing I know you're ALL waiting on--the FORTUNES!

Here they are--first up is Sugarmama's, because she's a girl and all:

Someone has complimented you today in your absence.

She said this was true.

And mine--

Happiness always accompanies with you.

True, and in exactly the inverse proportion of proofreaders who follow Chinese fortune writers.

AND YOUR LUCKY NUMBERS!

6 11 19 37 40. 25

and

7 16 23 36 38. 19

So there you have it!

Okay, okay--I'll give you a hint.

C₁₂H₂₂O₁₁

But that's it.

OH, okay--to be a bit more specific

alpha-D-glucopyranosyl-beta-D-fructofuranoside

But I promise you, that's IT!

Yes, I AM here today...

...but it's much more like a Monday than a Friday. Thankfully, Boy's teeth are doing fine, and the Volvo started and ran like a champ today. (Yesterday's drive was marred by the sudden proof of one of Murphy's Laws.)

Anyway, I intend to complain about all of the work-related intrusions to Dr. Rice when she gets here, and see if I can swing a high-paying State Department blogging gig.

And no, despite what you might have heard, Dr. Rice is not my secret lunch partner today.

Now then, back to the swamp.

And Friday?

Boy gets taken to the orthodontist first thing, meaning I will not be here until much later in the morning. Meaning I will not be playing with the dinging computer bell NOR blogging until even much more later. But stop by and check every so often anyway, because you just never know.

One of the benefits of having the speakers hooked up correctly.

I don't ever have the sound turned on on my computer at home unless it's absolutely required, so I have missed out on all the silly Windows XP chords and buzzes and clicks and other whale noises the machinery makes when things happen.

But here at work, where it is cold and lonely and something must be done to supply entertainment to me so I won't go stark raving mad, it was nice to hear all that after I got my speakers plugged into the correct jack.

One thing I noticed is a particular sound that happens when you try to do something without closing a dialogue box. It's a short, pleasant ::bing:: sound. It reminds me of the old department store bell pagers from back in the olden days when I was young. I always was mystified by the tones, and thought whenever we went into the big downtown Sears store that this must be what it's like when people go shopping in New York City. It just sounded very cosmopolitan and swanky, before I even understood the concept of swanky and cosmoplitan. (Admittedly, my understanding is still a bit weak, confined as it is to department store paging bells and the Dean Martin Show.)

Anyway, it's a nice sound, so sometimes I'll open a dialogue box in Word and click all around it just to make the ::ding::ding-ding::ding:: sound.

Well, maybe.

I just now went downstairs to get a bottle of refreshing Diet Crack and was coming back up the corridor when I noticed a visitor walking toward me. I knew it was a visitor because he had a yellow sticker on and looked lost. Regular employees do not have yellow stickers.

He was a giant of a man, with two carpenter's pencils stuck up under the band of his ball cap, big clomping brogans, and a belly that looked like a lava flow pouring down between tightly-stretched suspenders that looked as wide as seatbelts. "Is this where you get permits?"

"No sir, that's up on second."

We walked back around to the elevators and he began to relate in that way you do with strangers about how he thought he pushed 2, but it wound up here, and how he was just trying to get some work, and you know what? It was really them that shoulda gotten the permit, because they are the owners.

Things like that. I smiled and commiserated in the way that strangers do, and as the elevator dinged, we both got on. He kept on talking.

"Just been all kinds of busy, and trying to get that all done, and the city people came and stopped me--but you know what?"

"Sir?"

"You know, I been so busy, that might just be the Lord's way of telling me to slow down some. Just wanted me to take a little rest. That's one of those invisible blessings, you know."

"Yes, sir, I suppose so."

Two. Ding. The doors slid back and I pointed down the hall to the permitting counter and as he gently swayed out of sight, all I could think was that the Lord must be telling him to take a LOT of rest. And several fried chickens.

When in the course of human events...

Uhh, well, some more stuff, and all that, and then it's time to wish someone a happy One Year Blogiversary!

That's right, our very own Skinnydan is having cake with a single candle on it today! Go wish him well!

And I deny all responsibility for anything.

Fun With Referrer Logs!

The search string is something we get a lot around here--"axis of weevil"--so that's not what was so interesting.

It was the server the request came through: state.gov

Yep, that's right, the Newnited States of America Department of State has someone who wants to know about The Cotton State Pixel Guild! Was it our reference this morning to that hottie Madeleine Albright? Was it our plans for world domination? Was it my plans for opening the Condi-minium, where all of the residence units have artwork of Condi Rice hanging on the walls? Was it the recipe for grilled manatee steaks with Key lime chutney? Was it my repeated requests for billions in foreign aid so I can get some cool rims for the Volvo (which, was, after all, made in Sweden)?

I do not know. I have instructed Chet the E-Mail Boy to send a message to further explore this phenomenon.

I'm going to lunch now.

When I get back, there better be a whole bunch more questions for the Thursday Three, or Larry's gonna get his feeling hurt. Because the whole thing was his idea. Not mine. No way.

Hurricanes

You know what? I'm tired of the Weather Service using the names of people for storms.

If it's a bad storm, and it has your name, the first time you introduce yourself to someone, they will invariably say in the clever mocking way clever mockers have, "OooooooH--Hurricane Camille!" I used to go to church with a girl named Camille, and the first thing that always pops in my head when I think of her name is the hurricane. I went to college with a girl named Katrina, and now if I ever see her again, I'll probably think about Hurricane Katrina. Andrew, Charley, Hugo, Ivan, Frederick--and now, Wilma, beloved wife of Fred Flintstone.

Anyway, I really am serious--they should quit naming them after people, and start coming up with goofy names like the drug companies do with new medicines or comic book writersdo when they name villains. A'gustin. Blowina. Cyclown. Deepcee. Stuff like that.

Of course, what'll happen is people will start naming their kids after them.

Important Dates.

In all of the recent flurry of non-blogging, I neglected to make note of an important event in our history--yesterday, October 19, marked the 224th anniversary of Cornwallis' surrender at Yorktown, effectively putting an end to British rule.

It might be worth remembering for those folks who wonder why Iraq is taking so long to fix a constitution to remember that it was eight more years after the victory at Yorktown before the United States came into being in its current form, with the ratification of our own Constitution. Also, believe it or not, France was actually instrumental in advancing the birth of a democratic, constitutional republic!

And speaking of our friends the French, October 20 is the 202nd anniversary of the Louisiana Purchase. That was quite a good deal, I must say, and I am quite grateful for it. Because, you know, if we had a bunch of states like Quebec just across the Mississippi, well, you know.

Anyway, there's your old-timey stuff for the day.

I am a moron.

But that's okay--I'm in pretty good company.

Last month our preacher went up to Anderson, Indiana to preach in a gospel meeting for a congregation up there and before he left, he e-mailed me to tie up some loose ends. In passing, I wished him success and asked him to be sure if he had some free time to get me some photos of the architecture there in the town.

Why?

Well, you see, I'm a moron. There is a town in Indiana named Columbus, and it is quite famous for the fact that despite its small size, it has a great many buildings designed by famous modern architects. It proudly, and rightly, boasts of its recognition by the American Institute of Architects as the the sixth among American cities for architectural innovation and design; a list in which it is surpassed only by Chicago, New York City, San Francisco, Boston, and Washington, DC. That's some firepower, my friends.

But the name of the town is Columbus. Not Anderson. Anderson, while a lovely and hospitable town with a nice allotment of historic buildings, is not on the AIA list. It has a Carnegie library built in 1905, and a Paramount theater built in 1929. (The historic Alabama theater in Birmingham was built in 1927, and is equally rich in fantastic "Moorish style" ornament.) Still, it's not quite up there with Columbus.

BUT, not to be outdone, our intrepid evangelist went on and preached his meeting and took many pictures. Since this was last month, I had more or less forgotten about it all until Sunday, when he stopped and told me he'd gotten several shots of interesting buildings, but that he'd had a bit of difficulty with explaining my enthusiasm to his hosts. He walked around a bit in downtown Anderson, found someone from the local historical society, and had a nice tour, but he wasn't sure if he found what I was looking for.

Sometime in the middle of his recitation, it gradually dawned on me that it was possible I had told him the wrong town. 'Hmm--was it....ahhhh, hmm--seems like it started with a C instead....' Bad thoughts! I finally fessed up that I might have misdirected him to the wrong town, but I wanted the photos anyway and that I would be quite grateful for them.

I neglected to get them Sunday night, but that gave me time Sunday evening to get on the magical Google machine and type in a couple of words about famous Indiana architecture, and BINGO! Dern it all. Columbus! Stupid me.

So, Monday I wrote him a long apologetic e-mail (no, the OTHER kind of apologetic) and told him of my error in geonymics and that I was a moron and that I would get the photos from him last night after Bible study.

And I did. He showed me his photos, including one of the old post office and a lovely old church, and the Paramount. Looking intently at the marquee, he noted that a coming event was billed as "ASO FRIENDS PRESENT..."

He studied it carefully for a moment, and said, "Hmm--you know, I wonder if that could be something by the Alabama Symphony Orchestra?" Around here, that's the way the Orchestra bills itself--"the ASO."

I just stood there for a half-second, turned to him and quietly said, "Well, maybe, but it probably stands for the ANDERSON Symphony Orchestra."

He just closed his eyes and shook his head--even though it was unspoken, the mental "D'OH!" was plenty loud.

But it sure made me feel better!

To the Past!

Let's travel back in time to around 3:00 yesterday, and catch up on the most exciting post of the day that you never got to see--unless you did. This is the post that I would have posted here yesterday to complete the story arc of my weekend and the frustration of dealing with people who can't seem to figure out electrical cords.

GRRR! If people don't quit interrupting me with inane requests to turn on the laptop, I'm not EVER gonna get this junk posted! PLUG! IT! IN! TURN! IT! ON!

Sounds like some kind of hippy chant. I'll stop that now. But I'm still mad at them for being big technobabies.

ANYway, FRIDAY.

Reba and I went to Wal-Mart. Nothing quite like a date with your wife where you wind up at a large purveyor of low-priced merchandise. But, one takes what one can get--we had a thing at church Sunday we needed to prepare for, and Saturday was going to be full of me working on the car and her being otherwise indisposed ceramicking with the girls, so it was the only time we had.

We made the best of it, though.

I took particular pains to direct her through all the frozen food bins and cases. Juvenile, yes, but entertaining for me nonetheless. Especially since she just thought we were looking for frozen chicken. We also took a moment for me to go get some stuff to work on the car, and then it was outside to the garden shop to get a couple of pots of chrysanthemmousmmsmms for the front porch.

Home then, and to bed, then up again early for my first treat of the day--uninterrupted, guilt-free time in the junkyard! Yay! Found a couple of unbroken defroster vents and radio speaker grilles for the dashboard. The new dash has these as well, but seeing as how it's taking forever to get it installed, I figured there'd be no harm in the old dash looking just a bit better with newer vents and grilles. The old ones look like a small pile of plastic shreds. Also found a couple of glovebox locks that don't fit, and another lighter with the cigarette image still on it (even though I don't smoke, I still want the knobs and such to look presentable), and another armrest out of which I will get the foam so I don't have that big ugly gouge that mine has. And I just played in amongst the junkers. One tip for folks--if your car is in a wreck, do everything in your power to get all of your personal papers out of it before it gets to the junkyard. It is absolutely amazing to me what people leave in their wrecked cars--credit card receipts, security system codes, Social Security cards. A) don't carry junk like that in your car, and B) if you do, don't leave it in there after your wreck.

Home again, picked up Boy from Grandmom's and Grandad's, and off to home with him to start my headlight project.

"Want to help me work on the car?!"

"Well, I was going to read my book."

Oh well.

Off then to do that, which, as I noted this morning, is amply covered in loving photographic detail elsewhere in the Wonderful World of Possum.

The girls got home sometime in there, then went back out, then came back. We ate supper and I spent the rest of the night trying to get the grease out of my fingernails before Sunday. Not much luck, actually.

Up early Sunday, got all of our foods together for the eating deal at church, went to church, had an excellent service, got to see a whole bunch of people for lunch, ate our fill, cleaned up some, left, went home and read my newspaper, went back Sunday night, had another good lesson, went home, ate, and went to bed. Then came in Monday and I was shackled to the rest of the chain gang and broke rocks for a while.

AND NOW, mostly done with the paying work, aside from having to wetnurse a bunch of people who can't seem to use a computer, despite the fact that they use one continually at their desks, and have ones at home, and talk about the cool computer stuff they bought for their kids.

But, at least things have slacked off somewhat. Tomorrow is still Mailout Thursday, though, so I'm still not completely free of silly old bothersome work.

There now. All is right with the world.

Except for this disturbing news story from yesterday--

These Days Are Ours: 'Happy Days' Musical To Spin in Los Angeles Debut

Yep. Happy Days, the Musical.

It's hard to believe it could get any worse. Then again, I suppose there is always the possibility of a movie deal...

Frozen, eh?

In the tropical paradise of Niue? NOT LIKELY! Anyway, this post from the exalted Pixy Misa of Munuvia says that the servers suffered damage from a freak ice storm and quit working, disabling everyone who wanted to read about my trip to Wal-Mart, and didn't think to go see if I had posted it at Revolvoblog. Which I did. As well as a warning sign of the Apocalypse.

Anyway, to add insult to insult, although you couldn't get into Possumblog (or any other mu.nu place) the SPAMMERS could! Bad spammers!

BUT, all is not lost. Sometime yesterday they put some heat tape or poured warm water on the servers to get them unfrozen, and they seem to be working again, and to make matters even better, someone's getting a new gift of servers for Festivus! Yay. Just remember, though,

"During the move, which will take a few hours, blogging and comments will be disabled, although people will still be able to read your blogs."

I'll try to warn you when the changeover will occur, and will be using Revolvoblog as a backup.

ANYway.

“World’s Most Enjoyable Game.”

And the question is, “What are people saying about the Axis of Weevil Thursday Three?”

Yes, it’s time again for the most funnest thing in the entire world, the Thursday Three--this week with an exciting new twist that’ll have everyone talking!

Or not.

Taking the suggestion of one Larry Anderson from Kudzu Acres, Alabama, this week the T-3 will break with its traditional format of asking three probing and insightful questions, and instead will offer three pithy and cogent ANSWERS!

That’s right, this week will be the KARNAK THE MAGNIFICENT Version of the Thursday Three!

SO, donning my satiny, befeathered turban, I will now take this envelope which has been kept in a hermetically sealed mayonnaise jar on Funk and Wagnall's doorstep and which contains a question (or three, or whatever), hold it to my head, and tell you the three answers that come to me...

--Madeleine Albright

--A 16 ounce framing hammer

--Snowcones

There you have it! Now then, go off and either make up a question that ties all three of those together in a HI-larious way, or just make up three questions that each thing is the answer to. An example might be “Name two things ill-suited to conducting American foreign policy and something you would find in a carpenter’s tool belt.” Just remember, though, unlike the example, hilarity is required! Or suggested. Or not.

IN any case, just leave your questions in the comments section below, or post your questions on your blog and leave a link. I’ll save my question(s) until later, because I have my paying gig to attend to at the moment. Also, so very sorry for the sudden dearth of possuminess yesterday afternoon--apparently the Munu servers blowed up real good again. Maybe they should have hit them with a framing hammer. Or Madeleine Albright.

So then...

We went to Wal-Mart. Nothing quite like a date with your wife where you wind up at a large purveyor of low-priced merchandise. But, one takes what one can get--we had a thing at church Sunday we needed to prepare for, and Saturday was going ot be full of me working on the car and her being otherwise indisposed ceramicking with the girls, so it was the only time we had.

We made the best of it, though.

I took particular pains to direct her through all the frozen food bins and cases. Juvenile, yes, but entertaining for me nonetheless. Especially since she just thought we were looking for frozen chicken. We also took a moment for me to go get some stuff to work on the car, and then it was outside to the garden shop to get a couple of pots of chrysanthemmousmmsmms for the front porch.

Home then, and to bed.

Yet more unsolicited marketing advice.

Just went out for lunch, and after successfully running the bum's gantlet, I noted two people up on the corner of 20th Street wearing sandwich boards handing out literature of some sort.

::sigh::

All of the intrusiveness of people begging for money, combined with personal signage.

Oh well.

Got closer, and found that they were with the downtown YMCA, and were handing out free passes. Which was kinda nice. But.

See, one of the people was a pretty young slim blonde girl of the sort who would look good wearing anything, including two corrugated-core plastic boards.

The other person? A guy. But not the macho, rugged sort of man who likes the Y for its wide selection of exercise opportunities and naked men, but a fellow who was the exact size and shape of a barrel. It seems that if you're trying to tout the benefits of joining a health club of some sort, it would be good to have folks who look less like a giant meatball sandwich.

Just saying.

After turning down the coupon (I don't feel so bad about that, seeing as how the bum who was following me turned it down, too), I went on over to AmSouth Harbert to get some lunch.

Went back to Wall Street Deli for the second day in a row, with the intent of getting a salad. (Not prompted by the need to look less like a giant meatball sandwich myself, mind you--I knew what I wanted beforehand.) As I was walking in, I noticed the sign above the salad bar, in particular the line in red letters above the big price numerals:

Good Things Last FOREVER!

Well, that's nice. But you get to thinking about it, and a salad bar probably isn't the best place to display that slogan, given that the average lifespan of chopped lettuce is about two days. If good things last forever, bad things must not, therefore lettuce and its little salad bar friends must be bad, too. With the exception of the tiny ham cubes, which have enough nitrites and BHT in them to last well into the afterlife. THOSE are good things.

So, I filled up my plate with ham cubes.

Well now--

--that was like upgrading from 5 horsepower trolling motor pulling an aircraft carrier to a TEN horsepower motor pulling an aircraft carrier!

The laptop, that is. It's not quite as sluggish as the other one, but there's still plenty of lag between slides, and it actually does make a pleasant chugging sound as it begins the initial startup to run the show.

Oh well.

NOW THEN, as I was sayin'--

Friday we were kidless, but sadly, due to the amount of time we had to wait before we could drop the older girls off at the spend-the-night-and-giggle party, there was no time left to be able to go see a movie. Not that there's that much out there right now. I would like to go see Serenity, just because I always like Firefly, but Reba wasn't in the mood for anything with any kinds of splodey stuff. The spooky crap neither one of us like, and after you take out all that and the REALLY stupid stuff, we had gotten it down to either Wallace & Gromit or Elizabethtown. Obviously, W&G was my pick. And yes, I realize that E'town has Kirsten Dunst in it, but she's not dressed up like Mary Jane, so who cares.

BEGIN DENNIS AND BUNNY WASHBURN TRANSFORMATION

So, we dropped the younger two at the grandparents, finally made our way to the drop-off point of the older two, and then took ourselves to Costa's newest barbecue and steak place in Trussville. (And yes, of course you can order sauce.) This is a nice place built in the shopping center across from the new Kohl's store, and so I was a bit surprised when we were seated almost immediately, and the place was probably only about half full of diners. On a Friday night, shank of the evening, and there's not a line out the door? Even the mundane chain places have trouble seating everyone, so this seemed a bit off. Maybe word of mouth will help out, because the food is good.

We walked in and one couple was in front of us, and it seemed the hostess and the take-them-to-their-seat-guy were having some sort of competition. I don't know what it was about, but the girl asked the couple the usual "how many" question, and then he rushed over and looked at the chart and asked how many, and then grabbed menus and ran off.

After those two were gone, we told her "two, non-smoking" and she had no sooner written it down, told us it would be fifteen minutes, and given us the flashing beeper thing than he was breathlessly back at her side demanding to know how many we were. "Two," and he grabbed two menus--even though we already had two menus to look at, and demanded we follow him. I don't know what was going on there--maybe he was trying to justify his job or thought that since she had a Spanish accent she must not understand something. There was certainly no reason for them both to be there since the place was so unbusy. He seemed a little too on edge, which was just sorta off-putting. Recommendation? Can him, and let her do her job without interruption.

After we were seated, we both had the pork plate--chopped, inside--with slaw. Reba got the baked potato and I got green beans. Service was good enough, although our waitress seemed, well, not inattentive, really, but distracted or something. I blame her mullet. It makes people act that way, you know.

But the pork was just right--tender and hot and just enough sauce. The beans were good, too--obviously, flavored with Mr. Other White Meat, along with some pepper and onions. Mmm. We couldn't eat it all, so we eventually managed to get a takeout box, and, well, took it out. About 35 bucks total, including a much larger tip that was necessary.

And thus ends my Dennis and Bunny Flashback. On then to Wal-Mart!

But right now, it's lunchtime!

Just when I thought...

...I had a break, I have to go do something ELSE stupid. Seems our old laptop is chugging hard pulling along a 130Mb PowerPoint presentation train, and so we requisitioned the Big Boss's laptop, and being that I seem to be the only one who knows how to plug an electrical plug into an outlet, I have to see if the thing will work.

Please put down the rocks!

Yea, verily,

didst the people wander in the wilderness of the Ether, and didst cry out with one accord, Give us the rich goodness of the Possum, and let us hear his words, which are oft times many, and confusing, and cause us to cast up our hands in exasperation.

But lo, evil wast about, and caused the Possum to have to labor, and toil, and travail, and complain, and kvetch,

And caused his hands to not touch the keys of his keyboard, nay, not the period nor the tilde, nor even the space bar.

And the people grew weak, and couldst not tarry long at the well of the Possum,

For there were other wells to drink from, and they offered sweet waters, and didst occasionally have items of interest to read, and coupons, and such like.

And the Possum didst weep, for he knew his readers were longing for his words, filled as they were with joyous recitations of self-injury, and malaprops.

And saying to himself, Self, I must needs place my hands upon the keys of my keyboard, and press mightily upon them, yea even the period, and the tilde, and the space bar, and possibly even unto the ampersand, and all the keys far and near betwixt them all, and I will write many words, and bestow them upon the people, for they grow weak, and will forsake me if I do not this thing.

And setting out, the Possum didst toil and labor with vigor and might upon the keys of his keyboard, and didst create a new post, shining and glorious, and he didst create a hyperlink, and didst bid all his readers to go forth and read his creation, and to enjoy it, and be refreshed from the fresh waters flowing from it.

And the people didst rejoice, until they realized that the link was to a post on Revolvoblog, and the post was about installing headlights.

And the people waxed wroth, and didst murmur, What is this? Bring he us here to this wasteland to perish? Who dost care one whit for the tidings of Volvo headlights, and their installation, and aiming? And others sayest, He is a moron, and dost not have wisdom, and despite the fact that he didst post a picture of a small girl child upon a scooter, we will not allow him to use this to sway us.

And the people gathered and didst pick up rocks, and stones, and shards, and began to throw them at the Possum, and didst hit him numerous times, and shouted, Why givest us thou this pile of silliness with your car?

So the Possum was greatly and viciously pained, and didst cry out and beg of the people, I will tell thee of my date on Friday with the wife of my youth, and of eating out, and of going to the Mart of Wal, if thou wilst stop slinging the rocks, and stones, and shards at my head.

And the people stayed their hands, excepting for a few, who still continued to fling random bricks and stones, which missed, and didst say unto the Possum, Get thee to work, and tell us of your days, and hours, and use thou the keys of thy keyboard and tell us good stories not of Volvos, and with wry humor, and stuff like that.

And the Possum did agree, and begged the assembled crowd to give him some minutes in which to press the keys of his keyboard, and they didst allow it. Mostly.

Even more disconcerting than not having time to play?

The fact that the amount of visitors to Possumblog is the about the same as usual, despite the lack of scintillating, witty banter.

I'm not sure what to make of that...

F x d =

Work.

Which makes me wonder how I can actually call the crap I've been doing work, because although force is an integral component, I don't seem to be getting anywhere. If d=0, W=0!

In other news--

Uh, well, I don't know. Is anything happening out there I need to know about?

Anyway, back to my wo-- my task at hand.

"EU" is right.

Do not click here.

Eeee--yewwww.

Yes, I realize there's been very little substantive blogging herein today. But, thankfully, you will also be spared tomorrow as well. What a steenkin' day it's been. And will be tonight as well. Work to do at home, which is really no fun at all.

Oh well.

Still stacked up...

Had to edit another PowerPoint presentation, and just now got finished. Going to lunch, and then going to have to go straight into meetings. Why even post this? Well, I did a quick scan of the news headlines and saw this--Mugabe launches tirade against Bush, Blair at UN meeting.

My predictions? Bob gets to go hang out with all the swells in Sweden next year after winning a Nobel Peace Prize. He certainly seems to have the prerequisites down cold.

ANYway, off to lunch now.

Well, hello there!

That turned out pretty well, I'd say--had a semi-date on Friday night and ate large quantities of a well-smoked pig, got to go play in the junkyard, got my headlights changed out, Auburn won, got to read the paper on Sunday, and the kids don't have school this week.

All about that stuff in a while--silly dumb ol' work is still cramping my style, so I have to get some of that shoved out of the way first before I can play a lot. Tune in after while, though, and we'll see what there is to see.

Dagnabbit!

AND consarn it all!

I knew I should have done the Auburn game write-up yesterday when I had the chance. I'm busier than...than...than some guy who can't think up similes!

SO--abbreviated version--Kickoff's at 6 p.m., listen on the radio, On-Field Advantage goes to the Plainsmen, Sideline Advantage goes to the Razorbacks.

Boy, how I hate to say that. But I have ridiculed the Hogs for years for their pitiful NONEXISTENT cheerleading pages, but this year it's a spectacle of great squad (two each of both cheer and pom-pom) and individual roster photos and game day candids and they've got like a whole herd of silly pig mascots. They still have a ways to go before they could compete with vaunted USC, but you have to admire the effort.

Prediction? Well, the newest Possumblog Sports Center Football Pickin' Chicken, Lil' Edward M., could barely be roused from his early afternoon stupor, but once awake, he squawked and ruffled his feathers. Suitably conscious, we placed Football Pickin' Chicken Lil' Edward M. in a small pen with a 1967 Oldsmobile Delta 88 shop manual, which he will peck and scratch on to indicate his choice of numbers.

And the score will be: AUBURN 38 -- ARKANSAS 21

NOW THEN, having dispensed with that, the tale of the weekend.

I have no idea.

The two older girls are going to go spend the night with a bunch of other girls from church, then go tomorrow to play with ceramics. Reba's going to go with them and take Catherine tomorrow, leaving Boy and me at the house as manly male bachelor men. I intend once and for all to install those pricey glass headlamps on the Volvo, and scratch impolite parts of myself and make rude bodily noises when the urge strikes. Well, if it strikes.

But other than that, and listening to the game, I have no other plans.

Somehow, I feel that plans will be made for me.

ANYway, all of you have a good weekend, and I'm going to get back to keeping my nose to the grindstone here in the salt mine.

Okay, folks!

Y'all are going to have to entertain yourselves this morning. I have much silliness to accomplish for the people who pay me, so I need to get that done. And I've also still got to find a new Football Pickin' Chicken.

Be back in a while.

Adventures in Headline Writing!

Offered without commentary--

Big stars are born near Milky Way's black hole

You know what this boring day needs?

The Obscure Architectural Term of the Day!

Today’s entry is:

COTTAGE ORNÉ. An artfully rustic building, usually of asymmetrical plan, often with a thatched roof, much use of fancy WEATHERBOARDING, and very rough-hewn wooden columns. It was a product of the picturesque cult of the late C18 and early C19 in England: an entire village of such cottages was built by NASH at Blaise Hamlet (1811). It might serve merely as an ornament to a park or as a lodge or farm labourer’s house, but several, intended for the gentry, were built on a fairly large scale. PAPWORTH’s Designs for Rural Residences (1818) include numerous designs.

From the Penguin Dictionary of Architecture, Third Edition.

Well, now--a lot of info in that one!

First up, weatherboarding is just your normal horizontal lap or clapboard siding.

Next, the Nash referred to was John Nash (1752-1835) an English fellow you can read all about here. He was famous.

Papworth? Well, that would be John Buonarroti Papworth (1775-1847), and with a name like that (i.e., Michaelangelo’s surname) you figure mum and dad had high hopes for him. My Penguin says in the intro, “Son of John, architect (1750-99), brother of Thomas, architect (1773-1814) and of George, architect, resident in Ireland (1781-1855); father of John Woody, architect (1820-70) and Wyatt Angelicus van Sandau, architect (1822-94).” Not a lot out there about him, other than his really pretty picture book, which has a picture of one of those elusive ornery cottages.

Now then, as for the whole village of these critters it talks about, here’s you a link to the National Trust site for Blaise Hamlet, and some black and white photos, and a bit more detailed description from the Pevsner website.

So, there you go.

Say what?

Well, bird flu is bad. Not only because it's deadly, but because think how insipid "bird flu" sounds. Now, the Spanish flu--that was scary sounding.

Making the bird flu even more unfashionable sounding is the insistence by several local reporters and news anchors around here pronouncing it as if they're saying Evian flu, like the bottled water brand. Something of an unaccented schwa + Vee sound on the front, then a drawn out and stressed AHHHN sound on the end. It points out something I have often wondered about--do reporters not watch other news reporters, and maybe get some clues on pronouncing common words? I remember one local goob who pronounced "rhinocerous" as "rino-SEHR-us."

But avian? A-vee-'n.

Well, it was bound to happen.

The nice lady who stumbled into Revolvoblog the other day has not only been bitten by the Volvo bug, but also the blogging bug as well.

Poor woman.

But, as usual, if her efforts turn out well, I intend to take credit for it.

(Also, be sure and see Jordana's Volvo, too!)

When I took marketing...

...the professor had a favorite saying, "Marketing is everything, and everything is marketing." Meaning pretty much what it says--anything you do or say about your product has an impact on it, and it pays to make sure you do or say the right things, or else you won't have happy customers.

A case in point.

We've recently had a lot of babies being born at our church, and I mentioned that with these additions and with the increase in young couples visiting, it might be nice to upgrade the nursery classroom furniture, which up until recently was a homemade table with holes cut into the top and padded wooden seats bolted underneath. Although it has great sentimental value to all the kids who grew up there, and for the guy who made it, it really looks a bit slapdash, and it's really too low for comfort for the teachers, who can't get their legs up under it.

So, I looked through a classroom supply catalog, marked one I like that had eight bright yellow plastic seats and sat up nice and high so a teacher could actually sit up to it. We ordered it, it came, we put it together, threw away the boxes, and put it in the classroom.

The big debut came a couple of Sunday mornings ago, and as I was in the middle of distractedly zipping around to make sure everyone was in class and all the teachers were there, I got stopped by not one, but TWO of our elders, who proceeded to tell me that everyone was complaining about the new table because babies wouldn't fit in it.

::sigh::

At the moment I had other fires to put out, so I said I'd handle it as soon as I could and contact the manufacturer about a possible fix. Since we'd already thrown all the packing away, the hope of simply returning it for credit didn't look like a doable solution at the moment, and although it seemed as though someone might have thought I could simply wave my magic wand and make the table work, it was going to take more than a couple of days to fix things. If they could be fixed.

Now, not having witnessed the difficulty people were having in stuffing their little bundles of joy down into the chairs, I can't say for certain if it was really as big of a problem as everyone was acting like it was, or not. There is always the "it's new, therefore bad" potential, and maybe people were just unfamiliar and that's all it was. Because these aren't big fat kids going into these seats. They're babies, just old enough to sit up by themselves, up to about 12 months old. And, well, the table is even called a Toddler Table.

Yesterday I finally got around to visiting their website, and although it does say the seats are for kids up to 24 months, they don't guarantee EVERY kid will fit. Which is fine--who could guarantee such a thing? Still, though, these kids aren't gargantuan---they're just regular-sized babies. I thought I would see if possibly the company had some slightly bigger seat inserts available, or maybe something deeper. One problem of fitting the kids in is that the little legholes in the seats are very shallow, making it necessary to bend the tyke's legs oddly to get them in and seated. A deeper seat would help out a lot.

Anyway, I wrote them this note on their website contact form--

Dear Sirs:

Our congregation recently purchased one of your 8-seat tables for our nursery (newborn to 12 months) class. We thought that since the table was listed as a “Toddler Table” in the catalog through which it was purchased, and that since it said it was suitable for children up to 24 months, that there would be no trouble with infants fitting into the chairs.

However, we immediately ran into complaints from parents that the seats were too small for their infants, none of whom are over approximately nine months old.

We obviously had not anticipated this situation, and were wondering if your firm has seat inserts that are larger or deeper that could be retrofitted to the table, or if there is any other way in which the seating space can be increased?

Thank you for any assistance you can give us,

Signed by me.

Got my reply back today--

The seats cannot be increased in size. We do sell a Junior Table which holds four children and is recommened for children up to 40 lbs. There is a picture of the Junior Table on our web site.

I am sure that you read the same reports that I do about Americans and our increasing weight. Today, some children are heavy for their age. Sorry, that I could not be more help.

You know, Tom, it's really not that you couldn't be of help, it's that you did it in a way that was both condescending and insulting.

Tom, despite the fact that I can read, and the fact that the newspapers seem to have gotten on a big kick about obese adult Americans, I also know the size of the babies involved. What point were you trying to make, Tom? That although your firm realizes that babies are bigger now, you don't feel like accomodating them? That customer dissatisfaction--whether valid or not--is their own fault for having such fat kids? You want to talk science? Exactly how were your seat sizes determined? Did you use any sort of anthropomorphic model based upon a given percentile of the intended user population? Or did you just sorta wing it?

Everything is marketing, Tom, and marketing is everything. We're going to see if we can return the table to the vendor, but if we can't, I suppose we'll just be stuck with a table everyone complains about. I will make sure to give them your message, Tom, and point out the company's label on the front of the table, and your firm's phone number, and encourage them to give you a call. You can explain your views to them all you want.

Now then--so what was it exactly I looking for by way of an answer?

Well, I never really expected that they'd be able to accomodate my request. I mean, if they had deeper or bigger seats, I figure they'd be on their website. Wouldn't hurt to ask, but I didn't really have much hope of help.

What I WAS expecting was something along the lines of, "We're sorry that you're having difficulty. We make every effort to design our tables to suit a wide range of child sizes, but as we note on the website, we aren't able to guarantee every baby will fit. We do have a table that is made for larger children, and we'll be happy to work with the supplier you bought our table from to work out an exchange. Again, our apologies, and we thank you for using our product."

That's all.

I needed a good laugh this morning.

Kennedy: I'll support Kerry in 2008 race

Just don't let him offer to drive you anywhere, Mr. Kerry.

Youuuuuu oughta be in pictures…

Or maybe even in the single most entertaining diversion in the entire world, The Axis of Weevil Thursday Three--Entertainment Edition!

Our questions this week were closely guarded as they made their way from the university research facility in Greenville, East Carolina, and the results were tabulated for us by the esteemed accounting firm of PriceyOuthouseScoopers.

We remind viewers and participants that being asked to participate is an honor in itself, and that the acclaim of your peers should be sufficient for you without you getting all huffy if you don’t get some crappy statue or whatever.

THE ENVELOPE, PLEASE!

And the questions are…

1) In the field of television, what job would you most want and why? This includes entertainment, news and sports.

2) If you had to make a living performing live--that’s right, live on stage--what would you want to do?

3) If you worked in the movies, what job would you most want and why?

As you all recall from previous shows, you are asked to either answer the questions in the comments section, or, in a move guaranteed to add useless fodder to your online journal, post your answers on your blog and leave a link in the comments.

NOW, let the show begin! Go off and write your answers, and let us know when you’re done.

As for my answers…

1) If I was going to be on television, I’d like to have my own silly hour-long Friday night variety show, something like what I keep talking about for PossumblogLIVE! It would be something of a cross between the Grand Ole Opry, The Joe Franklin Show, Manimal, Monster Chiller Horror Theater, Firing Line, and that BBC2 special I saw in 1986 on cheese. OH! And I would have Sophia Loren as a frequent guest.

2) Live, eh? Well, I think Number One above would work best with a live audience, so that. Failing finding anyone willing to sit for something like that, I suppose I’d like to perform the one-man show I’ve been working on for several years, “JUNIOR! The Life and Times of Junior Samples.”

3) I think either Foley operator, or key grip. Or maybe dolly grip. Then again, best boy would probably be okay, too. Or craft services quality assurance technician. Or a stunt driver.

But really, I want to direct.

Putting the "fun" back into "funeral"...

Dave Helton sends along this joke.

I know you get along with your inlaws fairly well, but this be funny--

A man, his wife, and mother-in-law went on vacation to Jerusalem.

While they were there, the mother-in-law passed away. The Israeli undertaker told them, "You can have her shipped home for $10,000, or you can bury her here in the Holy Land for $150."

The man thought about it and told him he would just have her shipped home.

The undertaker asked, "Why would you spend $10,000 to ship your mother-in-law home, when it would be wonderful to be buried here and you would spend only $150?"

The man replied, "Jesus Christ died here and was buried here, and three days later he rose from the dead. I just can't take that chance."

Knowing my mother-in-law, she'd get as much of a laugh out of this as I did.

I am so stupid.

The computer guy just came by to update something on my machine, and I told him that for some reason, I can't get any sound to come out of the computer except when I play a CD through the CD player. Nothing else makes a sound.

Turns out that in my haste to plug in the speakers I stole when our deputy director got promoted and left his old computer unguarded, I plugged them in on the front in the headphone jack, instead of in the proper speaker port in the back of the computer.

What a dunce.

BUT NOW I CAN LISTEN TO ALL SORTS OF CRAP DURING THE DAY! WOO-HOOO!

Well, that's okay...

Alabama adds women's rowing as varsity sport, plans boathouse

...but around here I bet varsity bass fishing would go over a LOT better, for both men and women.

Not to be totally dismissive of rowing, though--nothing like a nice set of shoulders on a girl.

::cough::cough::

Survey finds workers faking more sick days

Somewhat interesting article about calling in sick--I don't know if you can believe this or not, but it seems some people aren't really sick when they call in sick! Further, it seems these people tend to call in most often on Monday, or on Friday. Amazing!

Anyway, it's something to read, but most especially for the list of excuses some people use. Certainly tends to bear out the old adage that if you're going to lie, lie big--

I'm too drunk to drive to work.

I accidentally flushed my keys down the toilet.

I accidentally drove through the automatic garage door before it opened.

My boyfriend's snake got loose and I'm afraid to leave the bedroom until he gets home. [And not only that, I bet the snake has no depth perception! Ed.]

I'm too fat to get into my work pants.

God didn't wake me.

I cut my fingernails too short, they're bleeding and I have to go to the doctor.

The ghosts in my house kept me up all night.

I forgot I was getting married today.

My cow bit me. [I imagine it wasn't the bite that was so bad but the continual chewing afterwards. Ed.]

I was walking my dog and slipped on a toad in my driveway and hurt my back.

For all my bad habits, calling in sick isn't one. I rarely feel so bad that I can't come in and infect everyone, and if I stayed at home and wasn't REALLY sick, I can guarantee you that there would suddenly appear a HoneyDo list a mile long. It's much quieter and more restful here.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one really cares...

Gore: I don't plan to run for president

--Says, "Too Busy Not Doing Anything Else"

--Alpha-male clothing still not back from cleaners

--Finds being bitter crank more rewarding

--Sighing, eyerolling, becoming "too fatiguing"

--Voters Ask, "Who?"

In the spirit of fairness to Mr. Gore, I would like to point out that I do not plan to run for President, either, and therefore really don't have any room to point and mock.

Call me crazy...

Professor finds two-headed rattlesnake

...but I don't see how this is going to help them get off the island, even if Gilligan doesn't mess something up.

I really MUST start carrying around a camera.

On the way to Sneaky Pete's across the street, I noticed a very nice Model A woodie parked at the curb over by the credit union that was almost a dead ringer for this one.

I thought I'd go back after I got my food and take a closer look, but it was already gone.

Busy-ness.

One of those mornings, so once more I apologize for the free helpings of blather being so exceedingly small today. Sometimes these things people call "jobs" can be very intrusive into one's secret blog life. But I'm going to go to lunch now, and maybe afterwards I will have something that will be worthy of an entry or two.

Or not.

Well, crap.

I came in with a load of work, but thought it might be worth it to see what all's going on out in the ether, and so after answering some e-mails, I clicked over to Instapundit and saw this link.

I've never met Rob, so all I know of him is what he writes about himself. Loud, crude, profane, given to fits of drunkeness and fornication--but a better man than many I've met who would never utter a single "damn" in conversation.

Why?

Well, if I know him like I think I do, it's because I know that if I found myself stranded by the road and he drove by, he'd help me. If I needed money, he'd tell me to get off my butt and work for a living. And then probably hire me to cut his grass or something. If I needed help in a fight, he'd be there. (Now whether he'd be the one to help drag me outside and put me in the car, or the one to call the ambulance, I'm not sure, but I know he'd help somehow.) And despite his predilection for dangling his bait in many ponds, I know that I could leave my wife in his care and not have to worry about what might happen, because he is an honorable fellow. Many things he might be, but a thief (whether of property or flesh) isn't one of them. And I also know he's not a racist--despite how desperately some people hate him for his insistence on judging people on the content of their character, rather than on the color of their skin. And he loves his mama, as any true Southern man does.

I'm not sure what the proper etiquette for such a circumstance would be, not ever having said goodbye to a dying man whom I don't really know as well as I should, given how much I think I know about him. But I do know what we say around here after we've been visiting and it's time to head home.

Y'all come see us.

And tomorrow?

Off-campus meeting. ::sigh::

Management regret the sudden loss of stupid stuff, and will make every effort to see that any missing or lost stupidity is made up for later in the morning tomorrow.

Must be something in the air.

How else to explain the sudden uptick in people crazy enough to want to fill out paperwork for the Axis of Weevil?!

Oh, sure, there’s all the free junk, like the “Buy One String, Get One String Free” coupons from the House of String, and the good fellowship like our Thursday Afternoons Panhandling in the Streets get-togethers, and the nice pencils we steal from GoofyGolf World, but, still, all that glamour and excitement seems like it would be just too much for most people.

Apparently not.

ANYWHO, as I mentioned yesterday, Mrs. Adams mentioned LAST week that we ought to shanghai both Skinnydan AND Sarah G. to be in the Yellowhammer Computer Guild, and even in all of the confusion of staff turnover, we managed to get Dan all set. Sarah, whom I truly think is in this only to be able to meet Chet the E-Mail Boy, decided to place her signature to the official documents today as well. Poor woman.

SO, in order for us all to be able to get to know her, here is her completed application for us to look at. As Tarheel Marc Velazquez noted, it is occasionally necessary that the Calvinball Rules be applied in some cases. We do not do this lightly, preferring instead for the applicant simply to lie about their qualifications, but if necessary, we will take the appropriate steps to insure applicants are given every benefit of the doubt. Also, this rule-bending makes it much easier to mock them later if they mess up. “SEE!? We KNEW he shouldn’t have let YOU in!” Stuff like that always makes it fun around the office!

Anyway, here we go:

1) Born in, or now live in, or once lived in, or would like to live in, Alabama.

Well I have never been the fair state of Alabama, but I've come close. I would be more than happy to visit if I ever had reason to. A good reason for me to travel would be a wedding or a dog show.

Sigh. Just like with Skinnydan, I believe a little editorial license is in order to make this more convincing. Let’s see…

“Why, of course I’d LOVE to live in Alabama! I love seeing all them huntin’ dogs run!” That’s better. I couldn’t think of anything about weddings, though. Anyway.

2) Not ashamed to admit to #1

Not at all, I take pride in the fact that it is easier for me to list states I haven't been to than those I have. The list of states I've lived in is in between.

3) Staunchly anti-idiotarian, or can at least pretend pretty good.

I have a very low tolerance of idiots, idiotic behavior and idiotic policies.

And yet, she still wants to be a member of the Axis of Weevil…

4) Functionally literate.

I guess so. I read pretty good.

Show off.

5) Don't type in ALL CAPS or all e.e. cummings case or MiXeD.

Lord no! That is one of my pet peeves.

6) Update your blog more than once a month.

Yup! Until I'm totally overwhelmed. Generally daily except for Saturday. That's the Sabbath dontcha ya know.

Indeed so. I do sometimes wonder, though, why God didn’t just make everything on one day and rest for the other six. That’d be kinda nice.

7) Willing to be made fun of.

Sure! Unless I need a nap.

8) Willing to make fun of yourself.

Well I do hang out here and I have a blog. I think that is enough proof.

9) Have a framed picture of John Moses Browning.

No, but I did print out the picture you posted for Dan. I do, however, have a fondness for the Colt building in Hartford, CT

Well, if you have the printout, it should be no trouble at all to frame it! You do have good taste in architecture, though.

10) Personal library must contain more books than you will ever read.

Yes, I have a pile of books next to my bed, a stack of magazines in the corner and I still check books out of the local library.

Speaking of which, did anyone else hear about the terrible fire at the library at the University of Alabama this past weekend? A tragic, total loss--both coloring books were burnt completely up.

11) Must be able to recite Monty Python and the Holy Grail and give an episode synopsis of all Andy Griffith shows from memory.

Python, check. Andy Griffith, well I can whistle the opening bit, I know who is who and I don't like the color episodes.

A very good start, but I believe it might do for you to have some remedial coursework, with an emphasis on Darlingology, and probably Advanced Rock Chunkin’. Also, although the B&W episodes are superior to the color versions, one must be very careful and not watch any of the ones with Jack Burns as Warren.

12) Your pickup truck must be in good working order--use of ether to get it started is not recommended, but will be allowed on a case-by-case basis.

We don't have a pick up truck, but we use or minivan like one. I take pride in the fact that our Freestar was probably the first one to have a lawn tractor stuffed in it. Oh and we have probably done more offroading in our minivans than your average fancy pants SUV.

If I am accepted into this august group I will do my
best to adhere to its principals. Also I don't keep kosher, but I am allergic to shellfish. So please, no shrimp gumbo (but I'm sure my husband would enjoy it!)

Sarah Getzler (hmm maybe I should make a cake)

You say “fancy pants” like it’s a bad thing.

Be that as it may, I think you will find your Freestar will be even more useful once you cut the roof off with a Sawzall. It’s great for those outsized items things that won’t lay down, such as hay balers, and Uncle Ed.

And the shrimp gumbo was Chet’s idea, because he’s not the brightest old geezer around.

BUT, GIVEN THAT SARAH has for some reason decided she wants to move her name down to the lower reaches of the blogroll, and seeing as how she has dutifully filled in all of the required information, AND SEEING AS HOW I am such a pushover for cake, BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME by Tommy Ned, who runs the Plate Press Shop at the Alabama Department of Corrections, I do hereby install one Sarah Getzler of Life at Full Volume as a full and complete member of the Deep South Quilting and Spite Society, better known to all as the Axis of Weevil, and do forthwith move her name from the top set of names to the bottom set of names!

As is customary with all new inductees (even if they are only moving next door), it is our joy to send to Sarah The World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, which is identical to that bestowed upon Skinnydan yesterday, containing a rack of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo’s sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark’s Outdoor Sports for the Freestar, a package of Bubba’s Beef Jerky (according to Dr. Weevil, this is homemade and is available only at the gas station at the end of Highway 82 in Bibb County; a three piece, 24 ounce box of Priester’s Pecan Logs; a box of Jim Dandy grits; a 16 ounce bottle of Dale’s Steak Sauce ; AND a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale!

When Chet arrives, please be sure and give him my cake. Do not tell him it’s cake, though, or he’ll eat it and it’ll gum up his insides.

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! In a stunning turnabout, Jimmy, from next door, who has a condition, seems to have miraculously recovered from his torpor and ennui of the day yester, and has become quite agitated and excited about setting out on a new course of artistic endeavors he guarantees will be both therapeutic and remunerative. In honor of Sarah’s affection for the well-known breed of dogs know for hunting badgers, Jimmy has decided to decorate pine cones with little plastic eyes and noses for Sarah and her family, including any dogs that might be wanting a wonderful craft item. We thank Jimmy for his wonderful willingness to help out, although I think he’s mistaking badgers for prickly hedgehogs.

Anyway, congratulations, Sarah. As you know, be careful about leaving anything in the refrigerator, because Nadine and Misty get very angry and start throwing things away after a week, and they won’t give you your phone messages, and I think they might have been responsible for putting grease in the mailbox, but you didn’t hear that from me.

Fun with Referrer Logs!

Some bright young entrepreneur just visited seeking some information about: pros of being a spanish telemarketer

Right off the top of my head, I'd say one good thing is that those hot-blooded Spaniards have a very low tolerance for being bothered on el teléfono and will hunt you down and get all Zorro on you. That'd be pretty cool.

And though you might not expect it, I hear they still have a lot of junk left over from the Inquisition, and are really in need of someone to test it to see if it still works.

So, you know, have fun and all!

Another Moron A'birthed!

I had a commentor over on Revolvoblog this morning who somehow managed to find his (or her) way in there, and confessed to having started a Moron Project of his (or her) own in the form of a '90 DL wagon. It's certainly nice to know how pervasive Moron Projects are!

Anyway, in honor of his (or her) request, I did a bit of reworking on one of the products in the CafePress shop so he (or she) could order a coffee mug with cogito ergo volvo (I think, therefore I roll) on it. They make marvelous holiday gifts you know. Not that I'm suggesting you go buy any. Or six.

Just sayin', is all.

Well, it's not like it's John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt...

Steevil, famed NASA Rocket Scientist and brother of Dr. Weevil, just sent me the following:

There may be a story behind this bibliography entry:

"[4] R. C. Titsworth [subsequent to publication of this paper, the author changed his surname to Tausworthe], “Optimal Ranging Codes,” IEEE Trans. Space Elec. & Telem., vol. SET-10, pp. 19-30, March 1964."

Hmmm. Probably so. Although I could see his original name as being a good name for a chain restaurant with a more risque theme than, say, T.G.I. Friday's or O'Charley's or Applebee's or Bennigan's.

Anyway, doing a bit of surfing on the Amazon revealed that the R stands for Robert, and under the Tausworthe moniker, he has at least six books of a highly esoteric type dealing with things and stuff and electrical things and junk--things that were I a rocket scientist, I would be able to immediately comprehend. Sadly, saddled as I am with a walnut-sized brain, the titles read more like a random word generator test, which is why he's a college professor and I am, well, me.

As for his titter-inducing former name, looking through Amazon also brought me to this book, which indicates the original version of Titsworth is the Dutch surname "Tietsoort."

As for the rest of the story, well, you'll just have to do your own research!

You know, even WITHOUT carpooling...

...sometimes you still wind up being late. I spent nearly 20 minutes waiting at the 22nd Street exit ramp. Seems there had been a rear-end collision at the foot of the ramp, blocking one of the two lanes. ::sigh::

In our discussion in the week past regarding Moses and barbecue...

...Larry Anderson asked in the comment section if the Axis of Weevil Board of Registrars had ever considered making Skinnydan (who by then had become part of the topic of conversation) an "honorary" member of the Alabama Knitting and Invective Society.

Well, as we all know, there are no honorary members--you're either a Weevil or you ain't. Having said that, though, the only drawback was that there seemed to be no application on record from Mr. Dan regarding his desire to be a member, and as we all know, we are quite the stickler for properly filled out paperwork. Well, there was that, and I had gotten the indication that Dan wasn't really THAT interested in pretending as though he would like to live in Alabama.

Further clamor for the relocation of Skinnydan from one part of the blogroll to another was offered by Mrs. Adams, who suggested bypassing the proper procedures and simply sending Chet the E-Mail Boy via train, of all things, to New York with a World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, and while he was at it, to drop one off in Virginia as well for Sarah G. And then something about an aardvark--whatever THAT might mean.

BUT WHAT ABOUT PROCEDURES, PEOPLE!? WHAT ABOUT TRADITION!?

Then this morning, I walked in and noticed that Dan says he DID send in an application, and that Junior in the mailroom has been messing with it for over a YEAR!

Obviously, everything is just falling apart around here--inadequate internal controls, people bypassing established procedures, people leaving old tunafish sandwiches in the refrigerator--wellll, it's going to stop. Junior has been made redundant (more than he already was) and was escorted from the building this morning. In his desk we found several applications, and as Dan mentioned, one he had sent in so very long ago, but as a courtesy, I asked Skinnydan to fill out another one just so we could have a clean copy that didn't have greasy potato chip stains on it.

Well, let's examine it, then, and see how he stacks up against our high standards and exclusivity:

1) Born in, or now live in, or once lived in, or would like to live in, Alabama

Ummm, I can find it on a map?

2) Not ashamed to admit to #1

Heck no. Why be embarrased by a grasp of geography?

Now, despite the fact that he's already ahead of probably half the population, this first requirement is crucial to establishing what we call "street cred." If you're gonna be a Weevil, you have to be able to rub the Boll Weevil Statue in Enterprise without making a mockery of the whole ceremony. You have to be strong, and committed, and love Alabama with a whole-hearted devotion. Or, you know, be willing to prevaricate a bit. With that in mind, I would like to take a moment here to get out the e-WhiteOut and fix Dan's application so it reads better. "Oh, yes--when I'm not summering in the Hamptons, I'm wintering along the Redneck Riviera. Y'all." There now. Much better. NEXT--

3) Staunchly anti-idiotarian, or can at least pretend pretty good

Now, now. I happen to like some idiots. I like them locked in cages wearing signs saying "Don't point cameras at the liberal senators", but I like 'em.

If anything, Dan gets sympathy points for having to endure representation by Chuck Schumer and Hillary Clinton.

4) Functionally literate

Literate, yes. Functional - meh.

5) Don't type in ALL CAPS or all e.e. cummings case or MiXeD

I wouldn't call what I do typing. I can, however, hunt & peck with the best of them.

A bit like being the world's shortest giant, but I think we can live with that...

6) Update your blog more than once a month

Close enough. I'd like a waiver for October, given the steady parade of Jewish Holidays.

Which the Rules Committee is quite willing to overlook for a batch of raspberry hamantaschen.

7) Willing to be made fun of

Boy, this club has a lot of rules. I suppose.

Just remember, with great power comes great responsibility. I'm not sure what that has to do with anything.

8) Willing to make fun of yourself

Only on days ending in "y".

9) Have a framed picture of John Moses Browning

I got a framed picture of Steve Yzerman and another one of John Vanbiesbrouck. It's not quite what you wanted, but I think I've cornered the market on oddly spelled hockey players.

An admirable goal, and I admire your puckishness. However, John Browning must be paid homage so you must clip this out, frame it, and place it in a prominent location within your home--you'll be glad you did, and it makes his merry eyes twinkle and his mustache twitch.

10) Personal library must contain more books than you will ever read

Check. Lots of them belong to the Mrs., but I can't read all of mine either.

11) Must be able to recite Monty Python and the Holy Grail and give an episode synopsis of all Andy Griffith shows from memory

Pinin' for the fjords? Opie, that possum wouldn't Voom if you put 10,000 volts through it.

Someone's obviously been studying!

12) Your pickup truck must be in good working order--use of ether to get it started is not recommended, but will be allowed on a case-by-case basis

What you call a pickup truck, we call a black '78 Caddy. Tomato, potahto, potato, tomahto.

Fuhgeddaboutit.

Watch your language, young man!

As for trucks and Caddies, now that we have the Escalade, you can have your Caddy and ea--umm. Well, shoot. I had a good pun for "cake and eat it, too," but I lost my train of thought.

ANYWAY, I believe that after reviewing this application, and in consultation with various other voices in my head, that there is nothing here that would disqualify Skinnydan from upping stakes from the upper blogroll and plopping down in the southern half.

SO IT IS WITH GREAT FEELING AND EMOTION, that we, the fearsome conglomeration of persons known far and wide as the Axis of Weevil, do hereby INSTALL, INDUCT, and INCULCATE the most famous man in New York into our proud assemblage, AND BY THE POWER BESTOWED UPON ME by various lunatics, I do solemly bestow upon Skinnydan all of the rights, privileges, taxes, fees, mulcts, dunnages, and coupons pursuant to said membership.

Congratulations, Dan, and as is customary with all new Inductees, we would like to present to you The World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, containing as it does a decidedly non-kosher rack of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo’s sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark’s Outdoor Sports for your black '78 Cadillac, a package of Bubba’s Beef Jerky (according to Dr. Weevil, this is homemade and is available only at the gas station at the end of Highway 82 in Bibb County--although I doubt that it's kosher by any reasonable measure); a three piece, 24 ounce box of Priester’s Pecan Logs--delicious and more than likely not kosher; a box of Jim Dandy grits which are more than likely kosher; a 16 ounce bottle of Dale’s Steak Sauce which is so salty it must come from the Dead Sea, which is in the Holy Land, therefore it could be kosher; AND a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale, which might be kosher since buffalo chew their cud and have split hooves, but then again, the name has nothing to do with the contents of the can, which, as far as I have been able to determine, contains zero grams of buffalo. Or rocks.

Obviously, the World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack presents problems for those on a restricted diet, and Chet's suggestions of catfish fillets and shrimp gumbo were useless.

SO, Skinnydan's first assignment is to assemble a list of clean items from his home state of Alabama which would be appropriate to give to fellow keepers of kashrut. And he thought being a Weevil would be a cushy job!

IN ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT, Jimmy who lives next door, and who has a condition, is feeling quite down in the dumps, seeing as how Junior was his step-uncle on his mother's side, and seeing as how Junior was his source for Victoria's Secret catalogs that came through the mailroom, and now with Junior's sudden departure, it appears that Jimmy's condition has taken a turn for the worse. Usually Jimmy is quite anxious to welcome new members with various arts and/or craft projects that he undertakes both as therapy and as an outlet for what he calls his "muse." Which he pronounces "moose." But with Jimmy having taken to his bed, we were at a loss for that special extra touch that makes everyone want to be an Axisite. BUT IN AN EXTREMELY FORTUNATE HAPPENSTANCE, we found that we still have a lovely full-size "Moorenumental" polyresin reproduction of the Alabama Supreme Court 10 Commandments. This is one FULL-SIZE and will make a lovely decoration in anyone's yard, including Skinnydan's, and it has the 10 Commandments right on the top in the authentic King James text, just like the original!

So, we have awoken Chet the E-Mail Boy, loaded up the company's Mercury Tracer (as if we could afford a TRAIN TICKET! Sheesh!) with goodies, strapped the monument to the roof, strapped Chet behind the wheel, and send him your way, Dan. Please keep an eye out for him, because he has been known to drive into large bodies of water, and has a fear of ferrets and weasels.

What are we, up to 8 now?

Oh, who knows. Anyway, up Sunday, shower, shave, dress--why am I in a dress!? Not really--just making up stuff as I go along. ANYway, dress, get kids up, get wife up, repeat several times. Breakfast, out the door, to the church building, everyone in place which was nice, go to class, have worship, Oldest sat with other teens and actually managed to stay awake! Cat went and sat with the lady who helped us at the store on Saturday, mainly so she could show off her new outfit. Side benefit is that she's much less wiggly when she sits with other people. That left the left side of the fifth pew with just Reba, Rebecca, Jonathan and me. And I actually got to sit beside Reba! So, I suppose that would be the #8 thing, and it was just dandy.

After worship, over to the dumpy buffet up the road a ways, then turned around and went right back to the building to wait for everyone else for the convoy to Pell City. Whee.

Went there, did the questions, and this time our kids got trounced. Someone's been studying! And someone hasn't been. Part of it could have been the questions, which tended to be a bit longish and obscure. Genesis is longish and obscure enough, thank you very much.

Grabbed a snack afterwards and headed back to our building, where we thought Ashley had a meeting. Nope. They didn't have the books they had ordered. So we just sat there. I read the paper, the kids watched a movie on television--it was almost like being at home, except I had on all my clothes, and refrained from scratching myself and making rude noises. Evening worship time finally got there, some tone-deaf chubby guy led singing, and despite a coughing fit it actually turned sounding okay and the selections even went along with the lesson--let's make that #9 of unexpected stuff.

FINALLY, after an exceedingly long day, it was time for us all to head home, where I could prance around in shorts and a tee-shirt, scratch, and make rude bodily noises. And help Rebecca type up her report that she had not managed to work on.

I only stayed up until 1:00 a.m.

I better get an A for this.

Anyway, and now I'm here. And for some reason, somewhat grouchy and sleepy.

Man, I love a parade!

And there's nothing better than having a front row, fifth floor seat to see all the wonders of the annual Columbus Day Parade here in the Magic City!

It must be chilly today, because the John Carroll High School cheerleaders all had on sweat pants. Bummer. But the band sounded nice.

Following them were the Knights of Columbus sailing down Short 20th Street in recreations of the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria. Or, to judge by their prime motivators, they would be better named the Silverado, Avalanche, and Bronco. Not as many beplumed guys in capes this year for some reason. I'm not sure why. But one old fellow on there was throwing out bags of treats like he was trying to break into major league baseball. Nearly took some guy's head off.

Next up was an ancient Volkswagen Baja painted up by someone advertising a candidate for the District 5 seat. Also worked pretty well as an advertisement of the dangers of deliberately concentrating and inhaling paint fumes.

Then a group of motorcycle riders. They seemed awfully uncomfortable, given that their bikes were of the hunched-forward, crotch-rocket variety, which really aren't made for low-speed parading. But, I suppose celebrating the discovery of the New World by a Spanish-financed Genoan by riding expensive Japanese superbikes makes sense. Somehow.

OOOH! FIRE TRUCKS! I like shiny things!

This completes Possumblog's coverage of the 2005 Columbus Day Parade. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

I want to thank all of the little people who made this day so special for me...

I just got the following e-mail from Nate McCord:

I just want to be able to say I knew Terry before he was rich and famous and had one of his silliest Possumblog ideas scattered for the whole world to hear on the silver screen. I really hope you will remember us little folk of the AoW when you move the family to Hollywood to write more silly Possumblog stuff.

What the heck am I talking about? Why, Cornguins are famous! Except they used Bisquick instead of cornmeal, but hey, the penguins from the movie Madagascar are back in a short, showing just in front of Wallace and Grommet and the Case of the WereRabbit. It seems the penguins have a creed, "Don't swim in hot oil and Bisquick." No, not that creed, the other one! Oh, "Penguin's don't swim alone."

That's it! Twice the reference is made to not swimming in hot oil and Bisquick! If that's not a direct theft of your long running cornguin meme, I don't know what is! So you better get the attorney on retainer and set your sights on Hollywood!

For the uninitiated, Cornguins are Possumblog Kitchen's flavorful treat of cornbread-battered and deep fried Emperor penguin on a stick. Corguins are part of a large family of battered, fried, meats-on-a-stick such as the original Cornatee, featuring the rich buttery goodness of Florida manatee; Cornippotomus, with the bold flavor of hippopotamus; Cornutria, the South's favorite gopher on a stick; Cornorca, the only killer whale snack treat you'll ever eat; and our special Jumbo Cornephants, something you'll always remember since it has the tangy flavor of elephant. Each type is lovingly farm-farm raised at our facility in Greenville, Alabama, and after they have reached optimal tastiness, they are placed on a genuine round wooden stick and coated with real, home-made cornbread batter just like Grandma used to make (with the addition of tart and nutritious BHT to preserve freshness!) and then given a brisk dip in our hot-oil batch plant (only the finest plant and animal oils are used--NEVER petroleum products--we CARE about the environment!) and after being cooked to a pleasant nut-brown color, the items are flash frozen and delivered right to your grocer's freezer case. Just pull 'em out of the freezer, heat 'em up in the oven, microwave, or hot oil fryer, and serve 'em piping hot! MMMMmmm! That's tasty!

AND YES! MY IDEA HAS BEEN STOLEN! I DEMAND SATISFACTION! Sure, Bisquick isn't cornbread, but then again, our top secret plans for our new fall line of Biscatees, and Bisquins, and Biscoons were STILL TOP SECRET! Somehow, I suspect industrial espionage agents are at work, and there must be a purge of our Research and Development Department!

And yes, the entire Legal Department is on the way to California right now to demand satisfaction from the cartoon people.

Until this matter is resolved, we do invite you to be on the lookout for some brand-new choices in the frozen breakfast line!

Okay, back to Number 6

I enjoy shopping. Really. I enjoy shopping for clothes with Reba. No, REALLY! I even don't mind going shopping with the kids--as long as it's only one or two of them. But all of us together?

I'm not particularly fond of that. The kids who are not directly involved in the shopping process quickly get bored, and want to have some diversion, and for some reason Reba wants me to stand right there to ask me if this one, or this one, or this one is better, and all the while I'm trying to keep the internecine strife to a low rumble and keep the manikins from being disrobed and dearmed, or trying to answer a billion inane questions such as what is this stain in the floor. It's not fun, because I wind up being the babysitter for a bunch of babies who do not wish to be sat upon. The best thing I can do is take a couple and walk them around the store, or do what my father used to do and just go back out with a couple and sit in the car.

But someone--a certain bedmate of mine--had laid down the law before the trip that there was going to be no going off on separate shopping missions. For some reason, she thinks it's better to have all the kids in one compact squirming fighting fidgeting bickering going-off-and-hiding-between-the-clothes mass. I think mainly she thinks this because she rarely has to deal with this sort of mass, herself being distracted by this, or that, or maybe by this thing, which is cute, and goes with that.

So, off to The Summit. First stop, Barnes and Noble, where we had to find a couple of books for Ashley, and thankfully didn't all pile out and go in. Reba went in, and only took 45 minutes. I don't know why it took so long. Then on to Parisian. "Bargain Days," as I mentioned earlier. The sale that all of Birmingham's female population await with an anticipation second only to...ahhh, well, probably something, but I'm not sure what. It's actually a good sale--stuff is marked down to something approximating its actual value, rather than the usual equation of Value X 10.

And we stayed together. More or less. I can only stand and wrangle children for so long before I have to get them to all sit down in one place and amuse themselves. First, clothes for Rebecca, so I had Jonathan and Catherine, and after about five minutes of impatient whining, we sat on an ottoman (a Turk's favorite piece of furniture!) in the junior's section and passed the time thinking up words for each letter of the alphabet. Call a letter, say four words that begin with that letter. Move to the next letter. Almost entertaining. But at least the scenery in the junior department is pleasant.

Rebecca got her stuff, then it was off to find something for Oldest. Did that waiting in the women's department with Rebecca, Cat, and Boy. The girls did endless repetitions of various girly pattycake games. Loudly. Boy and I sat opposite them on another ottoman and just sat. Then it was time for Cat and Boy to find something. For once, I was able to leave Miss Wiggly with Mom and Jonathan and I went and looked for pants. Found one pair in his size, and a nice button up shirt, and a big silly yellow SpongeBob shirt. "You DO realize you can't wear that to church, right?"

"DAAaaaad!"

I suppose he did.

Back to the girls, who were still trying stuff on, then the final stop to find something for Mom. Who did manage to find some things, but not a lot, and therefore was perturbed.

And then we paid. I didn't know how much it was at the time, and it's probably just as well, because I know that I am always uncomfortable seeing a grown man cry in public.

Thank goodness it was all on sale, or else we'd be the most stylish homeless people around.

And then, to eat. Johnny Rockets, the loud bright noisy place where you somehow manage to delude yourself into thinking that the fact that your hamburger is served by some guy in a snappy white campaign hat that it's worth spending nine bucks a head. As you can guess, I would rather have gone to McDonalds. Crap, yes, but inexpensive crap. To make matters worse, I had stopped beforehand to get some cash, and I STILL wound up having to borrow money from the Bank of Boy, who was nearly beside himself in anguish at having to fork over some dough so we wouldn't have to wash dishes. Of course, the moment we left we had to go right back to the grocery store just to get him his money back.

Then, home. Where I found out that Rebecca's English project dealing with the book The Watsons Go to Birmingham--1963, had sat just as she left it on Thursday, and she had not even started writing anything, and it was due today. Which meant Sunday was going to be busy, and late, because we had to travel for one of our Bible Bowl competitions, and wouldn't be getting home until late.

About which, in just a moment--for those keeping score at home, that will make #7 on the list of unexpected changes to plans.

Oh, and before I forget!!

Glenn Reynolds rightly notes that today is the Monday Version of Columbus Day (the actual day being October 12). In honor of this Holiday for the European Oppressors, I often wonder how it is that the despoliation of the North American continent by the evil Conquistadors was carried out by angry Caucasians, but now that everyone south of the Rio Grande speaks Spanish (and Portugeuese--don't want to forget the boys from Brazil), they are now considered brown.

Well, here's the list.

You know, of undone plans.

1. Friday afternoon, I was supposed to meet Reba and the kids at the elementary school to pick up a buncha junk Cat was selling, then get Oldest and go to the game. Got there, they were already there. Fine. Found out Mom had decided to go to game with Oldest instead of me. Fine. Although by then I had worked myself into actually wanting to be there, so I wound up being slightly perturbed. This was made up for by actually getting to go home and vegetate.

2. Went home, changed clothes, started laundry, fed the kids supper of some sort, and vegetated. They watched a movie, and I was in the same room, but kept nodding off and drooling like the old fart I am.

3. Oldest and Mom home early--it was very cold and whiney at the game. Turns out she wasn't working a sales table as I had earlier thought, but serving as a hostess for some prize deal they came up with where a student could have their very own sideline seat on a sofa and have food brought to them throughout the game. Downside for the supposed "winner"? The sofa sat behind the end zone, on the ground, meaning that the only persons with a worse view were the ones who were blind. The student who won wound up sitting in the stand with friends, so the couch was left to her mother, Ashley's teacher, Ashley, and some kid in her class. She and Reba left at halftime.

4. The game itself? Well, let's just say that the Possumblog Sports Center is taking applications for a brand new Football Pickin' Chicken. Hewitt fell for the third year in a row, by a score of 30-14.

5. Saturday--the day I finally get to play with the Volvo! Or not. ::sigh:: Got up and asked Reba what the schedule was for the day. "Well, I want to take the kids to Parisian for Bargain Days," (and if there was ever a misnomer, that's it) "to get Rebecca some church clothes, and Catherine, too. And I need some dresses for work. And Jonathan needs some new pants. And Ashley is down to only one suit for church." ::sigh::

"Well, I have GOT to cut the grass, and I really need to change the oil in the car. Any chance I have time to do that?"

Of course not, but you know, accomodations for my unreasonable demands were made. I wound up taking it down to the oil change place at the foot of the hill, mainly to save time, because my ramp stands were going to have to be dug out from underneath a pile of stuff in the garage, and that would have taken several extra minutes. But doggone it, I DID go ahead and change my own air filter, just to keep them from messing it up. And you get a $4 credit if you bring your own filter, and the guy I bought the car from let me have six.

Oh well, 3,000 miles will roll around again pretty soon.

Back home, cut the grass. I like my new lawn mower. Very relaxing to listen to. And a fine day to cut grass. Cool and overcast, which was nice because the yard was jungle-like in its density and height. And there were TIGERS! Not really.

Got finished and heard all about the ongoing series of "discussions" that had occurred inside the house while I was out. Yet another good reason to cut your grass as often as you possibly can.

And then, shower to remove all the grass clippings from me, and on to go SHOPPING! AND TO EAT!

Number 6 up in just a little while. Staff Meeting Time, doncha know.

Oh, sure--

--survived just fine, but not a single thing I planned to do went off the way I had planned it. And, oddly enough, despite the plans going off and doing their own things, the outcomes weren't so bad. In the greater scheme of things.

Anyway, more about all that later.

Boy, it's been a slow day.

I just hope the weekend is equally full of uninteresting things. The plan is to get up early(ish) tomorrow and once again try to get the oil changed in the Volvo, then cut the grass, then maybe set about to install my sleek European glass headlights onto the front end the Volvo.

I just realized any of these tasks could result in conflagration and/or serious harm to me, so that might interest things up a bit. We'll see, I suppose.

In any event, if I make it through relatively unscathed, I'll see you all back here bright and early Monday morning for more mindless chatter! Y'all have a good weekend.

Well, it's not quite the Iron Bowl...

...but it gets pretty close, nonetheless.

Seeing as how the Tigers are off this week, we'll have to make do with some slammin' high school action with the always entertaining Paws and Claws Bowl, pitting the 5-1 Hewitt Huskies against our next-town-over rivals, the 4-2 Cougars of Clay-Chalkville.

And you know what? I really wasn't that hepped up on going. I really just wanted to go home and go to bed. But Oldest is having to go and help sell red-gray-n-white school tchotchkes, so I suppose it won't hurt me to go. And it's always a good game--the rivalry is intense beyond all reason, so there's always plenty of hitting and stuff. And this year it's at home, so that's okay.

Really, the only question is whether or not to get out Possumblog Sport Center's spindly Football Pickin' Chicken, Nancy Pelosi,to help with the prediction.

Being that she is accustomed to prognosticating for college games, this might be something she is uncomfortable doing, what with how shy and unwilling to go beyond her knowledge she is. I'll have Chet the E-Mail Boy go get her and see how she handles this task.

Hmm. Football Pickin' Chicken Nancy Pelosi seems listless and disinterested. Maybe if Chet holds her.

Nope, not working either.

"WELL, maybe I'll just have to go put on a pot of water to boil and..."

There now--that's better! Nancy Pelosi's much perkier now! I'll place her in the specially-constructed Football Pickin' Chicken Coop with Improved Digital Technology and Live Doppler One Million Feed and we'll see what she predicts.

HEWITT-TRUSSVILLE 24
CLAY-CHALKVILLE 21

Here's hoping she's right, because there ain't much meat on those drumsticks of hers.

And to the person who came here looking for...

...Aardvark Trimming Machine--I think maybe you really wanted to go here.

Now, I'm not about to get into a discussion of why anyone would want to trim an aardvark. "Live and let live," and all that. But still, I am amazed that there is enough interest in such a thing that someone would actually come up with a machine to do it. I mean, back in my day, you just grabbed a pair of scissors and held on for dear life.

Well, I mean, for the people who trimmed their aardvarks. I never actually did anything like that.

Honest.

Pricey things, though--400 bucks!

I have been sadly remiss.

Since Monday, Billy Joe and Elroy and Cletus and Bubba and the rest of the boys at the BBQ Emporium have been blogging up a storm, with selected commentaries from the Good Book, specifically the parts dealing with the 10 Commandments which, as you recall, were carved in stone by God and placed in the rotunda of the Alabama Supreme Court building.

I regret not noticing the sudden uptick in output from the Emporium until today, and so I would like to direct you to go there and read, so you'll be all smart and all.

And be sure to order some ribs while you're at it. Or maybe a jumbo pork sandwich, chopped, inside. Well, that is, unless you are still under the Law, in which case you might want to refrain from eating anything, seeing as how Billy Joe can't seem to find a rabbi willing to certify the Emporium as kosher. And if you're one of those English Muslim folks offended by pictures of Piglets and various pig-themed bric-a-brac, it might be better to avoid the place altogether, because Billy Joe has a big neon sign on the outside of the building that has little animated piggies that look like they're running across the building (when the transformer's working, of course) and they have one of these calendars behind the cash register. And oddly enough, someone left a copy of Animal Farm in one of the booths, which has pigs acting like they're all that.

HOORAY!!

Goody's Family Clothing to be acquired in private deal

By DUNCAN MANSFIELD
The Associated Press

KNOXVILLE, Tenn. (AP) — Goody's Family Clothing Inc. has agreed in principle to be acquired by an affiliate of private-investment firm Sun Capital Partners Inc. in a cash deal valued at $272.8 million, the department store chain said Thursday.

The Knoxville-based retailer "contemplates the prompt commencement of a cash tender offer followed by a cash merger," a company statement said. The deal would pay $8 per share and "would not be subject to financing or due diligence." [...]

My only hope is that this means an end to Goody's CEO Bob Goodfriend doing the television commercials.

I mean, I'm sure he's a super nice guy and all, but he ranks right up there with the Plastic-Headed Burger King as someone who just gives me the creeps. My wife doesn't like to shop there because she thinks he's got cameras in the dressing room that link up to a television in his office.

Okay, not really.

I'M the one who thinks that.

But she still doesn't like to shop there because of his incessant appearances on the television.

How I know prayer works.

Found out that Oldest didn't get a part in the play. I cannot tell you what a relief that was. I have never actively tried to ruin anything for my kids, but I very nearly called the teacher to beg her to choose someone else. As it was, though, there were more than three people for every part, and the parts all went to seniors, making it very difficult for Oldest to think she was being singled out for ill treatment. Especially since a couple of popular girls that she's jealous of didn't get in either. So, there's one less excuse for being sleepy all the time.

And for once, Reba was the one to lay down the law last night about getting into bed on time. The rest of the kids still listen to me and do what I say, but Oldest has been using Reba's unwillingness to nag as a method of ignoring responsibility. But last night Reba wouldn't provide sanctuary, and gee, guess what? Oldest in bed by 9. It has been months since that happened.

Reba also had a talk with Grandmom about not allowing Oldest to say she had no homework then rack out on the sofa. What was happening was that she'd say she didn't have anything to do, then mysteriously remember she had a few things left to finish, which invariably would take her until 11 p.m. to finish. Well, no more of that. No naps. No staying up late. And hopefully no sleeping in history class.

Yes, I'm here!

And no, I wasn't late. I just walked in and had stuff to do. And not much to blog about.

It might be time to play "Ask That Guy a Question"...

Teflon Don

Well, you have to hand it to him--he might be crooked, but he's got plenty of gall to go with it. Siegelman says Moore helps his re-election bid

He meanders around and embraces the potential grand jury indictment using the sort of reverse logic common to politicians being investigated, in which such an indictment is touted not as an indicator of his potential guilt, but as absolute proof of his innocence. And his power. Evil People want to get rid of him because they's SKEERT of him!

Hey, it could be politically motivated, it's not like politics in Alabama is any different from work in any other slaughterhouse--but sometimes there's more to it than just revenge. Believe it or not, there actually are some crooked politicians in this state. As hard as that might be for you to believe. Not that the former governor is, mind you.

He then goes on to posit that Roy Moore's entry to the race would help him, and then in the charming manner we have all grown to love about our pure-as-the-driven-snow Don, he leaps to the defense of one of his potential rivals for the Democratic nomination:

[...] He also said polling data indicate that voters' perceptions of Louisiana Gov. Kathleen Blanco's response to Hurricane Katrina could hurt his opponent in the Democratic primary, Lt. Gov. Lucy Baxley.

Siegelman said Blanco's performance created doubts with some voters about having a woman in charge of the National Guard.

"I want to make it clear those are not my feelings," Siegelman said Tuesday. "I was reflecting on the results of a survey that was taken after the hurricane." [...]

See?

Just reflecting, that's all.

Because people can be so mean to girls. And to point out that other people (of some sort) have doubts about those silly girls, well, it's just his way of showing how much he cares about the injustice of it all. Look, just because he made up a poll, doesn't mean that there aren't some people who would want to judge Lil Lucy based on another woman's crappy performance under fire.

Don wants us all to know that's just wrong. And likewise, there's not a thing wrong with reminding everyone that he's a man.

Baxley's camp had to issue the standard round of "I'm insulted" statements, but I think she'd gotten more traction if she'd challenged him to a duel. Of course, dueling's illegal in Alabama, but hey, I know he'd back down before she would.

None of the foregoing is meant to imply I'd ever vote for Baxley, but at least she doesn't seem to be inordinately crooked and venal like at least one of her challengers.

Anyway, it appears it's time to get on the hip waders--and so early in the season!

Perpetuating the Stereotype, Volume MCCLXVIII

As you read this article, let's all remember what best for Rainbow.

Although unrelated to the main gist of the article (and its completely self-parodying nature), I am glad to see that newspapers have finally gotten away from the practice of shackling reporters to the silly, outdated concept of having to employ good grammar.

Fun With Referrer Logs!

Oh, today things are a bit racy--someone came by earlier wanting to get some free instructions on how to drive your man wild in bed.

Now, I have to admit, this is kinda out of our league, even for Possumblog, seeing as how I don’t usually invite men into my bed, much less with the intent of doing anything like driving them wild. But you know, if someone had a big enough urge to know to come to Possumblog to find this information out, then it’s up to me to try to help.

Because I am a helpful person.

And enjoy giving free instructions.

Now then, being that I am a man (at least on those occasions I am allowed to be by the female members of my household) I can at least speak to the things that would drive ME wild in bed, which you, the general reading public, may try (at your own risk) upon men which might occasion you own beds. I cannot say that these instructions would work on other men, so your results may vary. They are in no particular order as to efficacy, and nothing but your own discretion should prevent you from combining two or more of any of the items. Finally, none of these things have actually ever been tried out on me, so I’m really only speculating here.

FREE INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO DRIVE YOUR MAN WILD IN BED

a) Sprinkle itching powder on the sheets.

b) Start a conversation about curtains while NOVA is rerunning that show about the Enigma code machine.

c) Disallow any flatulence, even if the auditory effect is humorous or somewhat musical.

d) Tell your man that you saw this picture on the Internet today, and that you’re just as limber, and then go to sleep.

e) Clip your fingernails or toenails.

f) Short sheet the bed.

g) Come to bed in a slinky robe, announce you have something really exciting hidden under your robe, then smile and slowly reach inside, and pull out this week’s sales circular from Kohl’s department store and mention that they’ve got some really cute stuff that’s on sale, and when your man notices that Daisy Fuentes is on the cover, angrily ask if he thinks she’s cuter than you.

h) Ask if the stove is off downstairs. After man has gone to check and returned, ask if doors are locked downstairs. After man has gone to check and returned, ask why man seems so grouchy.

i) Just when you’re both about to nod off, quietly ask if what Glenn Close did in Fatal Attraction was really all that bad, “you know, considering the circumstances.”

j) Wait until your man is asleep and put his hand in a bowl of warm water.

There now. Hope that helps!

Next up, we have this request--patricia heaton's rack.

Okay, look--I think she’s very nice, and nice looking, and frankly she is the only reason I ever watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, but isn’t this just a little much to be coming to Possumblog in hopes of seeing?! I mean, come on!

Well, okay, if you insist. But it's down in the extended entry because depending on where you work, it might be inappropriate.

Myth? MYTH!?

Yeth?

(Sorry--old Muppets joke) Anyway, prompted by this headline--Democrats urged to abandon election myths. An excerpt:

By WILL LESTER
The Associated Press

WASHINGTON (AP) — To regain political power Democrats must abandon favorite election myths, adopt a strong position on national defense and pick candidates who connect with average voters, two political analysts from the party said Thursday.

Political scientists Elaine Kamarck and William Galston, both Democrats, warned that the most important first step is to abandon beliefs they describe as "election myths." [...] The [sic] said the current "myths" are:

_The belief Democrats can win if they just do a great job of mobilizing their base. Republicans have improved at mobilizing their own base, so Democrats need to do more than that.

_The theory demographic changes over time will make Democrats a majority, a questionable concept with the Hispanic vote increasingly up for grabs.

_The belief Democrats can succeed politically if they simply learn to talk more effectively about their positions.

_The strategy of avoiding cultural issues, playing down national security and changing the subject to domestic issues. National security is too dominant a concern now. [...]

Well, that's a good start. Might also help to not alienate potential voters by hanging out with folks from CAIR and ANSWER, and quit acting like Michael Moore actually makes documentary films, and quit straining so hard to make various terror groups out to be no worse than the people who fought during the Revolutionary War, and quit blaming America first for every ill of the world, and quit calling everyone Nazis who disagrees with what they say, and quit complaining about how wretched America is and how horrible Americans are, and quit demonstrating their superior intellect and loving inclusiveness by going into apoplectic fits whenever anyone dares mention God within their aural sphere, and quit blaming inanimate objects for the ills that befall people, and quit thinking that the answer to every solution is to throw money at it, and quit jumping on every single conspiracy theory bandwagon to explain things rather than simply looking to their own ineptitude, and quit denigrating people as mindless jingoists who think American government should work to promote the interests of the American people, and quit assuming black people who happen to be conservative are somehow traitors to their race, and quit trying to get by judicial fiat what they cannot get by legitimate legislative acts, and quit "supporting the troops" through the clever guise of actively working to strengthen the hand of our enemies, and quit denying that people might actually be out enemies, or, if we have enemies, it must be because we weren't deferential enough to their goals of a worldwide caliphate, and quit thinking that the automatic gainsaying of something their opponent says is argument.

But, hey, at least it's a start.

And for some reason...

When I saw this, I was reminded of this movie scene.

And speaking of cartoons...

...is it just me, or has anyone else noticed the striking similarity between the grille of the new Subaru B9 Tribeca--

and Squidward?

Someone's been watching Nickelodeon!

How else to explain the similarities between this, and this.

"OHHHHH who lives in a pineapple under the seeeeeeea?!"

Busy Time!

GOOD MORNING, FOLKS! I bet you’re all here wondering what this week’s marvelous collection of Axis of Weevil Thursday Three questions are going to be, huh!

Well, you’ve got good reason to wonder, seeing as how once again all the crush of stupid ol’ work has made it nearly impossible to get anything fun accomplished.

IT IS, THEN, with a great heaving sigh of relief that our intrepid research staff foresaw this eventuality, and submitted a set of emergency backup questions suitable just for such an occasion! ::polite applause::

So, then, from the wilds of East Carolina, we give you the Time Management Thursday Three!

1. Do you usually need a clock to know what time it is or do you have that “time sense”?

2. Can you estimate the time tasks will take or are you always off?

3. Will you do today what you can put off until tomorrow?

There now--and with not a moment to spare! As is always the case, please feel free to leave your answers in the comments section below (if you click on the permalink rather than on the tag that says how many comments there are, it will remember your login data and you won’t have to keep putting it in) OR if you have your very own pretty blog, you can leave a link and answer the questions there. You know, if you have time.

So, go off and think for a minute or two and post your answers. Hurry along now. Go on.

AS FOR MY ANSWERS, eh. I’ll get around to it soon enough…

Like right now!

#1. I have no good time-sense, which is why the house has so many clocks. I can get very deeply lost in a task and lose all sense of time, so it helps to have some indicator of when I’ve got something to go do.

#2. ON the other hand, I can usually estimate pretty well how long things will take, unless it’s something completely foreign. In those cases, I tend to overestimate how long tasks will take.

#3. No. If there’s something that can comfortably put off until later, I’ll put it off. I might pick something up and do it early, but not unless I’m really, REALLY bored.

Now then, I’ve got stuff to do--it's Mailout Thursday, y'know!

Now THAT was a fun two hours!

Sorry for the momentary lack of mindless drivel, but I just had a wonderfully zippy joyful funtime with several of my fellow bureaucrats as we were briefed on the shiny new Alabama Open Meetings Law.

It was comical to see so many folks who were trying to come up with as many different hypothetical ways in which notice wouldn't have to be given for a meeting. Why is it so stinkin' hard to post a piece of paper with a meeting notice!? The various off-the-wall loophole probings took up probably an hour of the meeting. The rest was actually useful information.

Always remember, kids, "err on the side of openness."

Yet more numismatic insipidness.

A smile for a nickel: Cheerful Jefferson on new coin

WASHINGTON (AP) — The U.S. Mint is trying something different after nearly a century of depicting presidents in somber profiles on the nation's coins.

The new nickel features Thomas Jefferson with the hint of a smile.

Mint officials unveiled the design yesterday in Washington. [...]

and from the US Mint site--

[…] The forward-looking 2006 nickel obverse (heads side) was designed by United States Mint Artistic Infusion Program (AIP) artist Jamie Franki of Concord, North Carolina, using the Rembrandt Peale painting of 1800, the year Jefferson was elected President. The new nickel obverse will be sculpted by United States Mint sculptor-engraver Donna Weaver. As on the 2005 nickels, the word “Liberty” in Thomas Jefferson’s own handwriting will be inscribed on the obverse. […]

Jamie Franki’s forward-looking image of Thomas Jefferson was selected from 147 designs submitted by the United States Mint sculptor-engravers and AIP artists from throughout the country. Franki also designed the reverse image on the 2005 American Bison nickel. […]

::sigh::

Here's the design--

and here's the putative inspiration--

You know, I would really like for us to go back to having serious money, instead of stuff that looks like Chuckie Cheese tokens. And second, despite the appearance of high relief in the drawing from the Mint, as witnessed by the Sacagawea dollar, all that relief simply doesn't show up when you try to do anything other than a profile. Shallow head-on bas-relief winds up looking weird, no matter what. And doggone it, the nickel looks less like Peale's portrait and much more like Chuck "The Rifleman" Connors--

Anyway, if we're intent on doing this kind of silly mess, why don't they come up with a durable way to do full-color portraits on coins? Now, that would be cool.

Premium Gasoline--What a Bargain!

It occurred to me the other day as I was filling up on some of that refined oil product we've been stealing from the Iraqis that with the increase in gas prices, something funny has been going on.

Back when gas was around two bucks a gallon for regular, stations would sell their midgrade for 10 cents more, and their premium for 20 cents more per gallon. Which, if I can manage to remember how to work my calculator, means that the cost for premium was about 10 percent more than regular.

Now that gasoline is knocking on three bucks a gallon, I noticed that the same $2.949, $3.049, and $3.149 price spread is still there. Premium still costs 20 cents more per gallon, but the difference between the high and low is now only a bit over six and three-quarters percent.

The reason I did all this figuring was because the other day the valves on the Volvo were rattling a bit more than usual on the regular grade, and I thought about getting a bottle of octane booster for it. But it occurred to me that to fill up with premium would only add about $2 to my bill, while a bottle of junk is more like $4. And now that premium is even less expensive relative to regular gas by percentage, I might decide to spring for it more often, just to keep the noise level down.

Anyway, it also makes me wonder about just exactly how much premium gas REALLY costs to make versus regular.

A long night.

Sometimes you find out things and you really didn't want to know them. This comment prompted by open house at the high school last night. Oldest had to be there at 6:15 to serve as a helper for her homeroom teacher, so Reba and I swooped in, picked her up, and headed on over to the school without even stopping for supper.

We got a short intro from the principal and assistant principal and then followed her schedule to each class for about 15 minutes or so, then the bell would ring and we'd move to the next. They also rang the tardy bell five minutes later so parents would be able to see if their student was actually being truthful when told that it takes several hours to get across campus. Thankfully, OUR student hasn't gotten gigged with any tardies this year, although there were a few last year.

This semester Ashley has Business, Choir, Honors English, and Honors History, and each of her teachers makes me feel better about the state of public education, at least in our town. Speaking from the perspective of someone who attended a private Christian school for 12 years, and as the parent of four kids who attended another private Christian school for three years (they got to go because Mama worked there), don't fool yourselves about the quality of those private schools.

I managed to do well enough for myself, but only because I had initiative enough to go learn things on my own. I knew more chemistry than the chemistry teacher we had in high school, and more biology in the seventh grade than our teacher knew. Bless their hearts, because they wanted to teach and be able to do so in a religious sort of environment, but still, it's pretty bad when the students are more capable than their instructors.

My kids got the "opportunity" to experience such a school, too, but thankfully they were able to overcome the intense handicap it imposed on their learning. The delusion of superiority that the place imposed on itself was unbelievable, even in the face of standardized test scores that lagged behind even the middling public schools.

But what of the high moral education? Well, just like every public school isn't a trash heap of immorality, simply plastering Christian on the buildings doesn't make it so. Again, that delusion of moral superiority amongst both the faculty and administration caused the drugs, alcohol, and sexual licentiousness of the students to be completely ignored, or if discovered, to be excused. Can't make those big donors unhappy, you know. Likewise, the favoritism, backbiting, high-handedness, and lack of respect shown by so many of the teachers was reprehensible, especially in light of the lightweight credentials they had brought to the table. I might be willing to accept a bit of that from someone who's a genius--maybe. But not from someone who graduated in the middle third of a class of underachievers.

The point? Well, maybe my experiences aren't typical, but just as you can't paint all private schools as paragons of virtue, you also can't tar all public schools as being ineffectual pits of moral decay. Any school where the parents are committed to superior performance--and are willing to put in the time it takes to achieve it--will be a good school. They might not have any Bibles lieing around, but when it comes to education, I am firmly of the opinion it's better to have good teachers rather than bad teachers with good intentions.

Anyway, enough of the soapboxing. We walked around to all of her classes and met her teachers. The business teacher's been all over the country and has actually worked in a business! (Imagine that!) She seems like a real go-getter. As for the choir teacher, he joked about wearing a tie and not shaving so the parents would believe that he actually was the teacher. Might need to let the facial hair grow a couple of days, there, Junior. He looked about 12 or so. And he went to Ole Miss. I guess all that moralizing about good teachers just went STRAIGHT OUT THE WINDOW! (Obviously, this is tongue-in-cheek. Despite looking like a kid and knowing the Hotty Toddy cheer, he seems like a great guy.) The English teacher was fine, in a way that would have made me unable to concentrate on my lesson were I still in high school, and then there's the history teacher.

An old-school fellow, in the very best way, in that he seems to believe in teaching history rather than being politically correct. And he's a legacy--himself a grad of the school, and the son of a man who taught history there for 30 years. He knows his junk. Bad stuff? Well, he DID have a Jimmie Johnson poster on the wall at his desk. And guess who keeps going to sleep in his class?

::sigh:: He was disappointed, more than anything else, because he knows that Oldest is a good student, and when she's engaged, she soaks up that history stuff like a sponge. But her pigheadedness in defying us by trying to stay up late--bedtimes being for little kids--is catching up with her.

I've recognized her problem for a long time, mainly because of her determination to sleep through church even with me AND mom poking her in the ribs. What we're really going to have to deal with, though, is the fact that Mom isn't helping matters.

Reba, bless her, loves to talk. As I've said before, she talks the way I blog--constantly, and with much hand-waving. This is fine, most of the time. But Ashley has found that if she goes and engages Reba in conversation at bedtime, she can stay up an extra hour or more. Because Reba, not wanting to be mean, or confrontational, simply cannot not talk to her, and refuses to cut it short and send her to bed. I can rant and rave all I want, but as long as she keeps providing an excuse for Oldest to drag out bedtime until midnight, it does nothing but make more aneurisms spray out of my brain like a lawn sprinkler. I'm hoping that having a bit of gentle humiliation at the hands of the history teacher will make both of them understand that something's gotta give.

We'll see, I suppose.

And then?

Well, wouldn't you know it, but YET ANOTHER EXCUSE TO STAY UP LATE! Grr.

Oldest wants to be in another play, and they had auditions last night. Until 10 p.m. Reba and I went and got the other kids from the grandparents, I took them home and set them to bathing and getting in the bed, then went back to the high school to wait on Oldest. I would hate to actively wish for her desires to be crushed, but never have I wanted so badly for her to not get picked for something. That's bad to say, but with her difficulty in getting enough rest, this seems like A Bad Thing.

We'll see, I suppose.

Made it!

Of course, my excuse for today was that since I had to go to the bank, we really needed to go in separate vehicles. But, even if we hadn't, at least everyone was ready to go this morning at the ordained time of 6:50. We'll see how that goes tomorrow...

Odd, but that's okay.

We got finished with supper last night and were cleaning up and getting the kids shooed upstairs to get ready for bed when Cat said, "Daddy, you're still gonna sing the "O Danny Boy" song to me after we read, right?"

I hadn't realized I'd agreed to this, but she tucked her head onto her shoulder and twisted back and forth in a close approximation of various Precious Moments figurines, so how could I refuse?

I got all ready and made her move out of my place on the couch so I could have the light, and we read Chapter Three of Romana Quimby, Age 8 (through much yawning on my part--I'm yawning even typing about it) and then it was time for the recital. "Come on, Daddy--I'm going to get in the bed and you're gonna sing, and then I'm gonna sing." I bundled her up and sat on the side of her bed and sang to her, and she sang to me, and then she said, "Okay, now you said you were going to find the words to O Danny Boy on the computer, and you're going to find Tammy, and print them on the printer on some of your paper so I can sing them anytime I want to and learn the right words to them, right? You said you would!"

Again, I have a feeling this was one of those things she wanted me to do and decided to ask/tell me during the middle of one crisis or another, and I probably said something like "HUH WHA? Yeah, uh-huh," and never thought about it again. But, not wishing to disappoint, I have them both printed out on papers from the computer thing.

As for what got her started on this particular obsession, I don't know. But I suppose it's okay. Singing or being sung to are about the only times she's simultaneously awake and not wiggling.

(She also gets hung on the Peasall Sisters' version of "In the Highways," but she hasn't asked to sing that one lately.)

Fortune Cookie Wisdom of the Day!

I usually do this on Wednesdays, but doggone it, I just thought I needed to get out and go get some encouragement and MSG from Chan Lee. (The joint over in the food court, not the guy named Chan Lee.)

Quite busy today, but obviously it was well worth it.

First up:

You display the wonderful traits of charm and courtesy.

You know, that is just so true. Those mystical inscrutable Chinese sure are something else smart. But I know it's true because friends are always coming up to me and saying, "Hey, Terry." And I say, "Yes?" because that's the courteous thing to do, and they say, "You sure are charming and courteous. Those are both wonderful traits, you know." And I say, "Thank you! I KNOW!" And really, just because they're imaginary friends, that shouldn't diminish what they have to say, right? Right.

Next up--

Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.

Hmm. I suppose we're in trouble, then, huh.

OH WELL, here's your LUCKY NUMBERS!

5 1 28 36 45. 12

and

5 16 21 36 4. 26

And you know what else?

Yep, silly ol' work keeps intruding into my ability to play. Hmph!

Yes, I'm late.

And yes, it's stressful.

I am just about ready to admit defeat and say that if the $5 per day we save in gasoline costs by driving together means being late to work every single day, then it is simply not worth the incredible toll it takes on my usual sunny demeanor.

I mean, sure, if you could see all the tiny little bursting aneurisms in my brain on television, it might be worth it, but otherwise, I think I'd just rather shell out the extra bucks and not have to endure it.

Thank goodness.

Ousted Alabama chief justice to run for governor

Possumblog's stock of mockery and invective was getting dangerously low, so this should be a great help.

Let's see, where did I put that...uhmm...nope, not there. Uhhh--OH, here it is!

Peckerwood.

Road Trip!

As noted earlier, the drive down to Montgomery was very nice on Saturday, even with the detour through downtown. The Sheraton was hopping, that's for sure--race fans, football fans, convention goers, dressed-up kids trying to look like grownups. Wound up sitting out there for thirty minutes waiting on Reba and Ashley, who themselves were waiting for the sponsor, who got there right at 8:30. No matter, gave me another excuse for people watching.

On then to Mungummy, arriving at about 10 or so. Took Reba to my special library place, and she studied as I plundered through the magazines and caught up on correspondence. Lunchtime came quickly, and we stopped off at a Sonic out on the main drag. Which is just what they did. Drag around. We were in a hurry and ordered stuff that shouldn't take THAT long to fix, but after a long wait, I gave up and we left without getting food there. Went next door to the Arby's and were in and out in five minutes. Off to school, dropped her off, turned around and went back to the library and spent more time deciding whether to read Scientific American, New Republic, Air and Space or People. So I just read them all at once.

Got the buzz to come back and pick her up at around 2:45, meaning she'd only been scribbling for an hour. Apparently that was enough, though. She's finished, and now only has to go to the graduation ceremony in December. I promise I'll post a picture.

I sure am glad she's finished with all that. Shoot, I'm glad I'M finished with all that. Most ironic is that the promotion proffered to her had nothing to do with her getting her degree. Hopefully she'll be able to put it to good use in the future. Most people make several million dollars a year in the human resources field, right? Good.

The trip home was good, aside from the earlier mentioned episode with the carload of mo-rons who I was unable to shake until they broke down on the side of the road. And it was a great day for travelling--sunny but not hot, and the colors are just now starting to come into the trees, and that goldenrod. Acres and acres of it. You know, at one time the state flower used to be the goldenrod before some garden society types got it changed to the camellia.

I'd like it changed back, please.

You know... (Number 6,459 in a series of recent internal monologues)

...if you like to sing at work, that's fine, but I would ask that if you are going to sit right outside my office while you eat lunch, and continue to make noises that sound almost like singing except that they are completely monotonal with no recognizable tempo, that you think twice about it, because you are causing me to grind my teeth into nothingness as I am forced to sit here and listen to your flat, listless caterwauling.

And, if you simply must continue despite my dental discomfort, at least do me the pleasure of please picking something other to "sing" than hymns.

If only you could eat it...

In the one month between September 3 and October 3, my Gmail account accumulated 1414 spam e-mails.

That might explain why Chet the E-Mail Boy always seems so exhausted.

Homecoming

What a nice Friday night! Just perfect--temperature just right for shirt sleeves, no humidity to speak of, no wind to make it too cold, and the bleachers were clean! We had to get there early because Ashley and the rest of the choir were going to be singing, so we went straight there after picking up all the young’uns from Grandmom's. Parked at the library, walked over to the stadium, paid our money, found some seats, and immediately had to start listening to Boy whine about not feeling well. ::sigh:: This incessant complaining was moderated by Catherine’s constant inability to sit still for more than one second.

Since we got there so early, we got treated to the parading panoply of people as they filtered in, and once again, I am amazed at the number of women, who, having reached a certain age, still think that they're able to wear the same clothes as their teenaged daughters--and successfully pull off the look. I’ve said it before, but since they don’t seem to have gotten the hint, I guess I can say it again, but all that blotchy, leathery, wrinkly cleavage isn’t really very nice to look at. Nor is the stalky fried blonde hair that is so thin I can see your scalp. And believe it or not, there are some features of your face--impressed as they are through long years spent sucking on Virginia Slims, flambéing on a tanning bed, and dieting on lettuce and Jack Daniels--that even a high-quality concealer cannot disguise.

And yes, I’m talking about you, Lady Who Sat in Front of Me.

Probably 50, looked closer to 80, was trying to look 20. And lest you think her skin-tight jeans, sparkly crop top, and denim bolero jacket is the province of the less financially-secure, rest assured that it was obvious the artfully-distressed, too-tight clothing and just-so hair-frying were purchased for good coin, and the large clunky rings on each finger didn’t come from Wal-Mart. It takes a rich woman to go out in public in a getup like that and be able to convince herself she looks good doing it.

Obviously, I’m not the one she or the rest of them were trying to impress, but it does kinda make you wonder just who it is they ARE trying to impress. Each other? Each other’s husbands? Their daughters? Their daughter’s boyfriends? Who knows. But I do know that youthfulness is more than the junk you put on, and trying to recapture a time in the past when you were pretty and popular by dressing like a kid (complete with an oh-so-scandalous rip in the seat of your pants) doesn’t make you look younger, it just makes you look sad. Youth looks forward, not back.

Even worse (at least for those who play that game), there’s always going to be someone better at at it than they are, like the well-toned petite girl who was sitting in front her, who was probably 30, and looked 18, even after having two kids. She made it very difficult to keep my mind on the game. And that’s even WITH Miss Reba sitting right beside me. My success in hiding my distraction, however, was witnessed by the fact that Reba never once elbowed me in the ribs, nor punched me in the face, nor asked, “What are YOU looking at.”

AS for the show, the choir got to sing the National Anthem and the alma mater, and did a bang-up job on both. Afterwards, Oldest went on to man the booth for her DECA club as they tried to unload various merchandise on the crowd. This included $10 spent by my family. First for a small stuffed $5 husky dog for Catherine, then another small stuffed $5 husky dog for Jonathan, who was jealous of Catherine, and still feeling so terribly ill and sick and unwell and hurtful. Until he got his own husky toy, after which he perked right up.

The game? As you can read in the link from the first post of the morning, it went well for us, and not at all good for the other team. But my goodness, those kids from Decatur could hit.

We left a few minutes into the third quarter, mainly so we would be able to get up on Saturday morning and get going. Anther early start, because we had to get Ashley to a conference at the Convention Complex downtown that her DECA club was having with all sorts of other DECA chapters from around the state. Had to be there at 8:30, which meant getting everyone up and leaving by 7:30.

Which we actually managed to do--with time to spare!

See, I told you it was a good weekend!

Roadkill Report!

As I noted earlier, this weekend offered a bevy of fatally flattened fauna that was quite remarkable both for the variety of species and the sheer number. I'm not sure why there were so many, unless all of the maintenance crews had been diverted to the I-20/I-59 corridor for the twin Talladega/Tuscaloosa set of weekend events, but I counted nine armadillos, four possums, a big racoon, a large bird of some sort, and then about five or six other furry things that could have been just about anything, other than giraffes. And there was one I wasn't so sure couldn't have been a giraffe.

Other item of note? People who slowly, slowly reel you in, pull out to pass you, slowly, slowly pass, then pull in front of you, and slow down. GRR. So you pull out and pass them back on the next small rise in the road, because they slow down even more, because they obviously don't have cruise control, and you pass them, and then speed WAY up so you get farrrrrr ahead of them, and then you resume your normal speed until about fifteen minutes later when they come by again, and repeat the same stupid slow dance. I cannot stand people who do that. So don't do it.

Life Along the Pinchgut, Chapter 843

Well, good morning!

You know, for not having had sufficient time to change my oil in the Volvo as I had planned, this weekend managed to be pretty darned okay, as weekends go. Found out on the way home Friday that Reba had been offered a promotion into a different department that brings with is a substantial raise; the high school team won its homecoming game in a drubbing of the powerful Austin High School team out of Decatur (and by the way, the score does not reflect just how tough Austin is--they have a kid named Rod Buford who is a freight train--you will hear about him when he goes to college. And their band is very, VERY good). The drive down to Montgomery on Saturday was bright and sunny and the fields were full of lovely goldenrod and the roadsides littered with all sorts of interesting roadkill; checked Reba's grades and found that she'd gotten two more As, for an overall GPA of 3.977 (she's had one B); got to play in the library for most of the day and read all about the latest in jet engine technology and the Chesney-Zellweger breakup; listened to the Alabama game on the radio on the way home--let me tell you what, those kids are for real this year. The Auburn-Alabama contest this year is going to be one for the record books. They manhandled Florida, and anyone who does that deserves a hearty pat on the back. It is sad to see Prothro out for the season--he's a tremendous athlete and a good kid. I hope his rehab goes well and he's able to get back and be as good as new. Did manage to get the oil changed in the Honda, even if I did have to take it in to Express Oil Change, where there is nary an Otis the Possum anywhere in sight; got home and started in on laundry and listened to the Tigers maul Spurrier's boys. Heh. Church on Sunday, and all the teachers were in place, on time, and ready to go; then I found out my budget for the year was due, so afterwards instead of getting to clamber underneath a stinky old car, I had to sit and type up my numbers for the upcoming year while I watched the Talledega race--and do more laundry. (Added bonus of Talledega is that Jimmie Johnson was knocked out of the top spot. Downside is that he still got 121,000 bucks.) Got back to church early for a variety of meetings, then afterwards went and had supper at the Chinese buffet, and then on the way home were treated to Catherine singing various portions of "O Danny Boy" at top volume. I do not know why.

ANYWAY, it's been a good weekend, with lots of stuff left undone, but nothing worth getting too upset about. More to follow, but right now I have to get ready for our Super Fantastic Fun Monday Morning Staff Fun Meeting of Fun.

Back after a while.

(OH, and one more thing from this morning's commute. "Hello, y'all, and welcome!" to all of the out-of-state visitors we had for the race. One bit of advice for when you come back for another visit, though--don't try to head home at a time that will bring you through Birmingham at morning rush hour. Leave earlier, or later, but either way, it'll save us all a lot of grief.)