Wm. Tell Overture Performed by Your Mom

I am so totally yanking this video from my favorite Bean Counter.

My son weds a week from this Saturday and, although he's way too old to be fussed at by his mom, we both laughed at the video below. He's sitting here next to me while I play hooky from work this afternoon.

We're remembering, watching silly YouTube videos, talking about his career; I'm telling him he's marrying up, (he is!), and just having some slack time together; listening to Leon Redbone and laughing at this:

Fixed the title. Thanks, Jimbo.

Eyewash for Previous Post Blindness

Presented Without Comment

The Slanket.

Update:
*snort!*
*Ack!* (Oh, just keep clicking "next".)

Absinthe and Moonshine

Just spoke with my blogging Soul Sistah, Erica.

She says she survived the Etowah Excitement, played some mean-ass billiards, recited a bit of Robert Service poetry, and slept soundly among friends... absinthe will do that to you. For a Jooette, she seemed quite taken with the back hills of Tennessee.

Meanwhile, she's stuck in Atlanta waiting on her 8:00pm flight, and prolly won't get home until very late. She says she was a good girl, behaved herself, and had a great time.

I'm waiting on the evidence.

What Is Liberation?

Don Surber is quickly becoming my must-read in the morning. Especially when he writes things like this:

Liberation is when we free a people to enjoy the very rights that the left in America demands for enemy combatants at Gitmo.

Brief and to the point. Makes my day, too!

The Carnival of Slack

My dog won't let me take pictures of her without her expressly being unaware of my camera. So, the Ark is out.

I don't garden.

I don't cook much anymore. After a lifetime of cooking from scratch, I've come to embrace the joys of a grilled hunk of flesh and SteamFresh veggies. A bit of chipotle salsa and, ya.

I don't think there's much call for a Carnival of Ghost Stories, but maybe I should investigate that.

So, herewith, I create The Carnival of Slack. To participate, just send me a link with proof of your slack-blogging, rope-pushing, beach-walking, navel-gazing, hammock-napping and non-posting, and I'll post it when I get around to it.

That's it. Don't complicate this thing.

Some varied examples:

• First entry is the Prince of Slack-blogging, Zonker.
• King of the Esoteric Slack, Inspirational Emperor of Inervated Nirvana, High Priest of the Hairshirt, and all-around Raccoonteur, Bob.
• Honorary Mention: 'mouse. My favorite liberal, west-coast ambulance chaser, one-sentence playah. Who refuses to write on his blog with anything approaching a schedule.

Some examples of Slack-posting:

• MizzE proves her Slack creds by partying with Dennis Quaid, that slacker. Plus she travels a bunch, so you know, she has all sorts of spare time and money for slacking.
• Geckofeeder provides a perfect example of what I'm talking about, here.

So, when you're tempted to get too busy and need some inspiration to goof off, or someone to aid and abet your armchair schemes, I'm you're huckleberry.

Update! Inaugural Post submitted by Kim, at Frothing at Le Mouse. All honors, perquisites, accolades and exciting amenities are yours, Kim! (Offer not valid with other coupons.)

Music City Madness

Okay, I usually keep personal stuff to a mysterious minimum. *cough!*

However, the Jolly Roger's cousin has landed a spot on CMT's Music City Madness contest! Cool!

So, let's have some fun and rack up some votes for the Georgia (er...North Carolina) side of the family, if you're so inclined. (For a blog about "slack" it seems I promote nothing but work for my two dozen readers! Maybe I'm management material...)

Anyhow. You can go here-- and unfortunately you will have to read directions else you'll be stumped as to how to even see anyone's name, much less hear their song. But if you're so inclined, listen to Greg Griffin's audition. He's listed on the right side of the list, about two-thirds of the way down. (You can zoom the page to actually see the names a bit easier.)

I may talk a good game about this or that, or talents I possess, but Greg's out there, daring himself to make it happen. Apparently, CMT felt he belongs in the Selected Sixty-Four. Give it a listen.

Lots of other good folks out there, too. Go! Bzzztt!!

Skateboard Bubble Bath

It's stuff like this that tells me that no matter what the politicians and panic-mongers would have us believe, the U.S. is still doing just fine, and is still on the cutting edge of important social evolution:

h/t haha

Sculpted

turned torso
reclined
sans arms
or limbs
or face
but full of
life
just the same

not whole
yet desirable
cool to the touch
yet warming the senses
when all that is seen
is all that there is
it is still enough

one imagines
so much more

Radio Interview

Every time I think I want to work in the radio biz, I remember the early hours the morning drive team keeps.

Sigh. Later, peeps. I have to go entertain the commuters.

[Ghost stories!]

And yes, I do have a face for radio...

Update: I survived the Sports Talk guys trying to make me talk about all the local teams while trying to stick to my reason for being there. Twenty minutes of fun! I did earn some coolness cred on sports, however, when I told them that my nephew played for the Packers last summer.

Yeah, they couldn't touch that!

Boarded by Pirates!

On my two-mile commute home I recognized the truck in front of me as that of a competitor in town, and the car in front of him was another competitor, and the car in the forefront was yet another player.

They all pulled into my condo complex, parked across from my place, and emerged as...Pirates! Now, it can never be a good thing when three small players get together for a photo-shoot as these did. Nor does it help that the Swedish interlopers are behind this.

An alliance of pirates on the cusp of one of the busier "locals" weekends in my little town? Nothing good will come of this. It doesn't help that, earlier in the day, a warning shot was fired across our bow by yet another pirate, a Menorcan, demanding that we heave-to.

We returned the volley by way of a nicely worded parley asking for their proof of territory within 15 hours or else we would continue on our way.

Time to put the skull-and-crossbones necklace back on! Argghh!

Small towns are such fun!

Update! Fifteen hours have come and gone with no response. Hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats!

The Big Bang of Political Theory

I had the occasion to post this comment on Bill Quick's site this morning and I liked it so well, I thought I'd put it up on the wall here and throw mental darts at my theory. Or allow you to:

Neither [party] has a “center” anymore. There is no gravitational mass in either to truly draw in the voting public. Thus they devolve into a galaxy of little ass-teroids desperately seeking something to revolve around them and lend them the credibility of being able to sustain political life.

Next time: steal a smarter identity

What a tangled web...

You can steal the official Digimarc document printer, but you maybe shouldn't ask for help in setting it up.

Doh!

The New! Huge Phone Company. Sucks like the old one.

Check your phone bill.

Some 3rd-party billing company named IDL Teleservices (update as of 7/16/09 that link no longer works. Seems IDL has hacked my link and changed it to ILDtelecom. I never changed it! It used to go to a half-ass, deadlink-filled website. I shoulda done screen-caps!) has attached a charge to my phone bill with The "New!"Huge Phone Company.

They're acting as a billing agent for a company called, IntegrItel Wireless Communications. For webhosting services. Right. Except their dubious and/or suspiciously fake website with dead links advertises a wireless security camera monitoring service. Every product link just goes to an email to sales.

I have so many problems with this, I don't know where to begin. Last month, I tried calling IDL and the phone was never answered. So I called the "New!" Huge Phone Company and got the very friendly "New! Huge Phone Company" customer specialist who said that they didn't bill us, but that I was being billed through them.

Nuance. She hoped I wouldn't catch it, I guess.

"No," I replied, "we're not going that route. You are going to collect my monthly bill, and YOU are going to expect the extra 40 bucks for a service I never ordered or received, and you are going to put a bad debt reference on my account if I don't pay it, so YOU are going to investigate and fix this."

She assured me that it would be a contested charge and should be resolved in 30 days. Cool.

Fast forward to today. I'm still getting billed. Call again. Another sainted and sweet Southern Belle answers my call and begins the spiel. "Sorry," I interrupt, "We're not going there. Get me a supervisor."

Super Supervisor with the "New!" company has never heard of IDL. "Hmmm... we have so many 3rd-party billings," she offers.

"Not good enough. I'm the only one in jeopardy here and IDL doesn't answer their phones and I don't have any web services with IWC." So she instructs me to fax her the bill and she'd have some department investigate.

In the meantime, I'd had my phone on hold for almost 20 minutes waiting for IDL to pick up. When they finally did, the young man was extremely forceful and unpleasant,denied that they provided any services or products but were merely billing agents (sound familiar now?)and assured me the charge had been reversed by their client, "as a courtesy," although I've never seen any credit. He upbraided me for interrupting, so I upbraided him for lying to me. Nowhere. Going nowhere.

So, I faxed the "New!" Huge Phone Company the following:

• the #1 Google Search for IDL TeleServices. Heh.
  
• The Consumer Complaint website noting hundreds of complaints.
• the WhoIs lookup for the IDL website.
• the likely phony website for Integritel Wireless Communications, noting all the dead links and unanswered phone numbers. (Not to be confused with IntegrEtel, btw, which is also a 3rd-party billing company. Fun, huh?)
  
• The WhoIs lookup for the IWC website. Aw... New Jersey! What a surprise!
  

My phone company rep will be so excited to hear from me every day of the year until this is resolved. The "New!"Huge Phone Company doesn't /or pretends to not understand for whom they are collecting money? *ahem* I'm pretty sure they're earning some fancy interest on the holdovers until consumers wake up and question the charges.

But hey, until then, it's $40 here, $30 there. Pretty soon it adds up to real money. I'm sure it's all just an innocent misunderstanding.

Autumn

It hasn't arrived in North Florida yet, but Eric's beautiful post of October reminded me of my Muse:

Autumn stays and brings a tender hurt
to things that need to change or rest or turn,
gives to us what's offered from the earth
and leaves us leaves to rake or bag or burn.

With smell of smoke a muse arrives as well--
for poets who would prattle, pose, or preach--
to make me glad or sad, I cannot tell,
but Autumn's grasp seems to exceed my reach.

Conversation

What worth, our words
when deeds stand tall
then seems our poetry
a plaything, small

yet find we here
ourselves among
our own selves' mirror true
words make us young

brave deed, indeed
to capture youth
with magic metaphor
transcend our truth

what worth, then words
those fair half-lies
must mirror what is seen
by loving eyes

Wal Mart at 3:00 a.m.

Crystal, the funniest blogger alive, has riffed on crazy people in Wal Mart. And you may have to count her among the crazies, but at least she takes good notes while being "out there".

Now, she doesn't say she was in WM at 3:00 a.m., but I posted that title because that's when I go to Wal Mart, and I totally am going with a mini-meme here, ripping it from the Boobster. I call it, "mini-meme".

Why shop at 3:00 a.m.?

I do it to teach my hormones a lesson.

Lately, they've taken to waking me up, for no good reason, at around 2:30 a.m. and not letting me go back to sleep until around 4:30 a.m. I don't take any of that sort of abuse from my internal systems. They throw down an insomnial guantlet, I take it up and say, Ha! You want some of this? Do you really want to be awake, sister? I gotcher "awake" right here.

Usually, I'll get up and do housecleaning or work of some sort, just to show my innards who's boss. Actually, I think I treat my inner clock like my mom treated her eight unruly kids: "you wanna run away from home? Here, let me pack!" and we'd wail as she shoved us out the door with a little forlorn paisley suitcase in hand. Never one to be blackmailed, my mom. God bless her for that.

So, I refuse to let me hold myself hostage to insomnia. Just watch sleeplessness get all reticent and shy when I give it what it wants, in the form of Shopping At Wal Mart at 3:00 a.m. Air-talkers, Ambien-walkers, and lonely stalkers all arrive about that time. I am careful and armed with big scary words and phrases that sound legal. Or I just answer their over-interested queries in Spanish. "No entiendo. Favor de dejarme en paz, cabron."

I actually buy things I need, get back home and sleep until about 7:30 a.m., thanking the job-gods for a 2 mile commute.

Then upon another night's turn down to turn in, I warn my recalcitrant innersprings of my plan to go to the carwash tonight, should I find myself awake again.

Yeah, it works. Thanks, mom.

The Highest Cost of Political Incompetence

Monkeys take their politics seriously, man.

Draw your own parallels.

(h/t TwentyMajor)

PR Rule: Always Break Bad News on a Friday Night

Update: Nevermind.

The inimitable Velociman has hung up his spurs, cashed in his chips, and waved goodbye as he rides into the sunset of the Blogosphere.

For real, for keeps.

Post your favorite reactions from his last dozen or so threats to quit, here in the comments.

With apologies to Dax: Just Damn!

It's Friday Night

What the hell are you doing here?

Go! Play! bzzztt! Shoo!

I just love bossing my readers around.

Horse Race

It's like this.

I'm up against a military wife's blog whose husband is in Iraq. I don't know what to make of her blog's name, but just damn if I don't find myself wanting to support her in her quest to be Best New Blog.

And then there's deputydog, who is nominated in two categories and is even kicking some stupid MittRomney bloggy butt with 129 nominations. The dog goes around finding interesting photos and posts them on his blog while sneering at punctuation rules. It's apparently a Big Deal to not capitalize. So like, don't point it out, okay?

But for my money, Motel Zero is so original and lovely, that you feel right at home. Well, you would if your home was a zen-like palace of peace and beauty. And for a photo blog, well, the pics are his. Don't miss the slideshow on the sidebar there.

And then there's this Slack joint. Seems kinda silly in the grand scheme of things. (By the way, the schematic of the scheme seems a bit blurry this week...)

I know, it's the hard choices that make life miserable, but I gotta go with the Butterfly whose husband is putting it all on the line for our blogging privileges, so go over there and give her a hug and let her know her hubby's appreciated... give her some link-love and a nomination.

The Run-Down

I'm sick of me, so you must be, too.

So go see Erica's blog for a grammatically correct and perfectly readable account of Blogtoberfest. Of course, it took her over four days to write it, so punch-drunk was she over the weekend.

Pictures, links, and true confessions.

It's why the Internet was invented.

Go already. Bzzzttt!

Veiled References

A bit of ghost hunting tonight! Although I'll be out and about in the city where activity can be iffy, it will be fun to usher folks down the dark streets and into a secret garden. There, you enter through an arbor heavy-laden with Confederate Jasmine into a space presided over by ancient oaks and blessed saints. The moon and stars strain their way through the leaves and down upon the tentative adventurers. Even the bravest shudder for a moment at the palpable stillness in that picture-perfect, eerie moment.

The oldest, original moment of European presence in America happened here. Half a century before Jamestown or Plymouth Rock. The weight of centuries bears down on the heady-sweet garden air, and a young girl quietly reaches for her father's hand; boys laugh nervously, retirees begin taking pictures.

"Wait a moment!" I say, "just... wait."

And it begins...

Amused

Of what
do muses
dream?
relaxed and still
considered
rendered
reduced
abstracted...

she is a puzzle
to be solved
and wonders if
there is a challenge
in the expression
of her skin
a rill of flowing mane
a landscape of
hip and waist
rolling down to
a mesa of shins
a scrabble of toes

needing the light
loving the shadow
together contrasting her contours
of dreams and reality
that in their turn
are her puzzle to be solved

she lays along the line of light
playing to her best side
and lives to inspire
disrobes to disarm
sleeps in the warm regards
of Rembrandt palettes
and morning sun

Race With the Devil

Everyone took off from Helen early this morning with blown-eyed alacrity, wanting to get home in time to defend their honor, if at all possible, or do damage control.

Having just survived my maiden blogmeet experience, I can report that it was mostly painless, except for the guitar hand.

Besides the dubious humor of seeing the Jolly Roger in bed with multiple women and a sheep, I think I can safely say he came out of the experience as mystified as ever about bloggers.

In the course of 43 hours I have experienced the Glory that is half-rubber, I've been "Serviced" by Eric while I was under duress and virtually blind at 1:00 a.m.; seen unspeakable acts committed by flying monkeys and inflatable sheep, been exposed to Poetry d'Elisson expounding on tainted warheads, and have met the peerless Catfish and lived to bring you, dear reader, this report.

Erica never followed through on her threats to thrash me, but I think, seeing my age and feebleness, she went easy on me. Zonker is to blame for too many heinous moments and much laughter. Jimbo and the Bodyguard are the best peeps you could ever hope to meet. Denny was irascible and funny and the best guitar player and possessing a fine voice, Holder and Co. brought Science!, Key and Vman were always busy somewhere else, Leslie sang wonderfully, John Cox probably doesn't want anyone to know he was there, but he has tons of evidence that speaks otherwise, Sam committed only minor crimes against humanity while Barbie is the proud owner of a ton of photographic evidence, Recondo and Georgia along with GuyK and his Sweet thing rounded out the usual suspects. There were a couple of others who, in my weak-assed state I can see in my mind and hear their singularly funny laugh, but cannot conjure up names. Just Damn! I almost forgot Dax!

Links may or may not be forthcoming, as the Slack has imposed itself on me most aggressively upon entering the city limits, so screw the linkage tonight. I'm whupped. Pepper Dog has forgiven us and is happily ensconced as Pack Leader, content to watch over us as we recover.

Oh yeah. The Chatham Artillery Punch certainly packs one.

Later, Gators.

Off to Helen, Ga!

Packing List

Important stuff that's going to Helen:

Money.
Suitcase full of the usual weekend getaway clothes.
Bathing suit?
Ipod full of travelin' music.
Guitar. Maybe.

Also, Offerings Suitable for Generating Games of Competition and Skill:

Rum.
Really good cigars.
1 Pirate Flag.
30 Gold Doubloons.
1 Ball o' Bugs.
1 Lava Lamp keychain, collector's edition.
1 Headless Chicken.
5 Flying, Screaming Monkeys.

Am I missing anything?

Update: Weather Forecast for Helen, Ga

Paranoia Strikes Deep

Anybody wanna 'fess up to owning the IP Address that visited here yesterday and read 112 page views for over 2 hours?

I only have 105 blog posts.

And I'm not THAT interesting. Honest. I worry that all 30 of my readers should be more discriminating...

Meanwhile, the DNS lookup site brings up nothing. And it probably is nothing. But if some member of the Nerd Herd needs something to do, I'd be interested in knowing more about that IP addy, which I won't post here. Don't worry, I've screen-capped this one.

I'll issue a Get Out of Work Card good for one afternoon of Slackin' to the someone who can help.

[Primordial Slack's Get Out of Work Card may not be honored in all states. Check your household or place of business for eligibility.]

Retro-Blogging!

Just go see what Erica's up to now.

Just brilliant.

Lost

The universe may be trying to lure me back to my art. At least Whiskey River's posts the last few days certainly are trying to do so:

"What do drawings mean to me? I really don't know. The activity absorbs me. I forget everything else in a way that I don't think happens with any other activity."
- John Berger

There is a moment, and all the longing of your soul craves it ever-after: a losing of oneself. For the over-active, self-reflective mind, Art is a Balm for the Soul.

I discovered a hint of it in drawing, but that was more a mathematic puzzle at first; a solving of proportion, angle, line. The discipline later brought more freedom, but it's still hard for me to "forget" when I'm drawing a visible subject.

Then one day, I returned to the dust from whence I came, and lost my mind in clay. Literally. I put a lump of clay in front of me and began. When I looked up again a few minutes later, four hours had passed.

I stood trembling, cold fear creeping up my spine for the briefest moment. Where had I been?

Epilepsy runs in my family and for a nanosecond I cast about looking for an anchor of a clue as to what had happened. Out-of-body experience? No, wait. It was obvious in front of me that I had been very busy creating. Yes, I remembered some of it--spraying the clay to keep it wet, keep it moving. Singing and humming, sipping a diet coke.

I hadn't been away from anywhere but me.

Escape, pure and simple. More clay, good music, time alone. Repeat. I wish I had a more addictive personality because it's been two years since I've sculpted clay, played my guitar, sang, or painted.

I fear the same will happen to this blog experiment in writing. I love writing, but haven't found my "voice" yet. I'm hoping the discipline of writing even a little something every day will get me where I want to go. Oh wait. I don't even have a map.

Maybe I just need to lose myself again.

Another Dose

From Whiskey River:

"What one seems to want in art, in experiencing it, is the same thing that is necessary for its creation, a self-forgetful, perfectly useless concentration."
- Elizabeth Bishop

Now there's a perfectly good excuse for playing SuDoKu at work. The restfulness of numbers and calculations frees the mind to soar and discover. It un-jams the mental gears that are gummed up with office politics, logistical deadlines, and email.

Use that the next time your boss catches you playing solitaire when you should be working!

Pic: Sundial. Click to embiggen.

The 4-hour Work Week

Not as good as a pirate book, but intriguing as a Slack book:

"Practice the art of non-finishing: If you are reading an article that sucks, put it down and don't pick it back up. If you go to a movie and it's worse than The Matrix Revolutions, get the hell out of there before more neurons die. . . . More is not better, and stopping something is often 10 times better than finishing it."

Now that's some well-thought-out Slack. I know I could've done a bunch more this weekend, but the constant push just isn't productive. I'll get more mileage out of the slacking we'll do in Helen, come back, um, refreshed and ready to rock and roll at my job on Monday. Or Tuesday.

After all these years, maybe those bumper stickers around here are right:

I say we fish 6 days and work 1.

h/t Instapundit.

The picture is just a bonus. A beautiful Red Sky morning here at the Pirate Palapa.

Nominations, Closet Items Needed, etc.

The the Beauty Contest is on for the 2007 Weblog Awards. See the sidebar.

They're only accepting noms right now, and if you click on the little "plus" sign during the nomination process it's supposedly meaningful.

Now, I'd never been accused of being a sorority sistah or debutante in my salad days; too busy working, too little money. And in this little town, I've hit the high-water mark by being quoted on TV news the other day and making the front page.

So I don't really need anymore self-approbation or attention from my hometown (just a wee bit too scary), but I do need more attention from really good people. Like ya'll. So, when you're finally bored enough to need something to do, go put in a good nomination click for the The Slack.

Voting will start later. Remember:

"A vote for The Slack means you just don't care!"

***

CLOSET ITEMS NEEDED: I'm looking for a few more things for my sidebar wardrobe and I'm too lazy to find them.

I'm thinking I need a "Stuffed Shirt" and a "Wet Shirt" (not a wet t-shirt, guys!), a good pair of Flip Flops, Clogs, and a Shrug, for starters.

Any guy who knows what a shrug is will automatically qualify as "coming out of the closet," and will be linked to "Feather Boa."
(Update: NTTAWWT)

Blogtoberfest

So, this time next week will be my first blog meet.

I've been researching, getting ready for this.

I mean, Elisson needs a punchbowl for some sorta sucker-punch drink he's concocting.

Zonker's setting up a water slide. I know where he got the idea.

Holder is bringing a lab experiment.

Sam Moore is bringing ...rockets.

Erica is bringing the attitude, making threats, and perfecting hand farts.

Then, Velociman is a whole other category of dubious sanity.

Worst of all, some are even threatening to bring guitars.

And I've never met any of them before. I hate being the new kid.

Should I worry?

Happy Dance!

There was long and boring post here, for a few minutes. It's gone now.

Instead, let's just dance!!

Hard Day's Night

I got up at 2:00 a.m. this morning.

Well, I was awake and thinking about the long day ahead of me. So, after arranging my thoughts, I got out of bed at 3:00 a.m. to start work on the annual report for my boss. Worked for three hours, slept for two more. Got up at 8:00, freshened up and was at work by 8:15.

Two-mile commutes are mahvelhous!

I just got home at 7:30 tonight, with a four-pack of wine coolers courtesy of the boss. But it's all done except for sitting in on the phone call from corporate tomorrow morning. Then, yippee! Boss man's giving me the rest of the day off!

IF IT WILL EVER STOP RAINING, THANK YOU, I'm gonna spend tomorrow on the beach with my awesome Pepper Dog or maybe go fishing at my friend's dock.

Working is its own reward. SLACKING, is a gift.

Caveman Dietary Advice

Neanderpundit's Og, the original Cave Blogger, gives wonderful insight into diet, and indeed, life:

Me? Wolf. Not a cow. In nature, vegetarians are fat, lumbering, slow. Carnivores are muscled, fast and sleek.

You read now! Go!

What a Woman Knows About Faking It

Faking It is usually a harmless exercise in bravado, gallantry, kindness, or bullshit in order to further one's career, relationship, or used car sale. Venial sins of the flesh and convenience, but usually confined to a moment. Some people get rich from it even after folks discover the truth, which may (or may not) help to explain Ryan Seacrest.

However, the new, fortified variety of Faking It that has cropped up in politics has morphed into something from a horror movie. A collective gasp escapes as a nation watches someone actually bait a hook, line, and sinker--only to watch the media AND Congress! knowingly swallow, process and regurgitate the lie.

It is a thing I'd only read about in Animal Farm and The Last Battle.

And then to fake being a hero, a battle-tested soldier, or recipient of meritorious accolades in order to suborn the credibility of our military goes straight to the category of hellish evil. Oh, I'm sure the means are all somehow justified in the fantasy-driven "ends" that are desired. But the desired "end" of a matter is never what is arrived at with wickedness.

I posted this over at Gateway Pundit this morning:

"It all makes me long for Air Guitars and Milli Vinilli; way back when phony was phunny!

Now we have Democratic Senators who basically lip-synch to MoveOn.org without giving them any cred for it, and spend their time faking being a governing body.

Air Government."

Now I'll just settle for a candidate that can fake being a Statesman.

Now I'm Really Depressed - Updated with Levity!

Everything that I like about myself is pointing toward some pretty unpleasant scientific studies.

"This means that creative individuals remain in contact with the extra information constantly streaming in from the environment," says co-author and U of T psychology professor Jordan Peterson. "The normal person classifies an object, and then forgets about it, even though that object is much more complex and interesting than he or she thinks. The creative person, by contrast, is always open to new possibilities."

Plus, it's raining again.

Go away, all of you. I'm unfit for human company.

Update! Nonny is an evil, fun little piker from Ireland who really knows how to take a negative and make it a positive. I'm adopting her attitude (left in the comments) from here on out:

I wouldn't have said I was very creative now but now I am going to adopt the persona of a creative person so that when I’m an old spinster I can justify making cardigans out of little girls hair and bursting stray footballs that young children may accidentally kick into my garden he he he

I feel much better. Thanks, Nonny!