New Source of Schoolyard Taunts

From Ananova:

Dr Michael Salzhauer, from Miami, wrote My Beautiful Mommy book, which comes complete with cartoon-style illustrations.

He says it's to help four to seven-year-olds prepare for their parents' plastic surgery so they aren't shocked by the results.

Is it okay if they're shocked by stupidity?

Big Plans

If there were some way to illustrate to my 10 readers what it's like to live in my little town, this picture would be my best response to the challenge. Except that it is a lie; she is actually a coiled spring of endless energy and thus, like me, the picture of potential. Yeah, that's it.

While outwardly she seems the epitome of inactivity, inwardly she is dreaming bigger dreams and making bigger plans than a large percentage of the population around me. She has plans for laying in the sun on the back porch and sniffing all the critters just below her in the marsh. Then, she has plot to perform a "Dog-a-lanche" down the stairs when I return from work.

Next, she'll run outside and chase lizards and hateful squirrels around the condo to prove to me that it's 5:00 and she really is hungry, because that is her motivating force in Life: Kibble.

Then, she'll try to convince me that there are birdie-butts that need biting; lazy little skimmers and gulls that need to get a move on, and get off of her beach. This is her biggest, most well-thought out plan for her day. When that plan is foiled, she reverts to The Slack and assumes the proper attitude of the world around her, "hope deferred maketh the heart sick..."

But all the while, she has a plan to bird-herd, surf, swim and run until I rattle her bowl with kibble. Yep. When that desire is realized, her life is pretty well complete. It's a dog's life, after all.

LOLDog Caption update: Sleenkie. ur doone it rong.

A Baby Shower in the Classroom

No kidding. My co-worker's little sister is in 11th grade. She called from school yesterday to tell her big sister (and legal guardian) that her teacher was in the middle of throwing a baby shower for another student during class. Gifts, cake, silliness, all for a 16 year-old who was knocked up.

Phone calls to the school ensued. Big sister is NOT happy with the implied message being given out by the teacher, nor the fact that the curriculum was tossed out the door to celebrate the unfortunate child that will be born to a soon-to-be welfare mom without a baby daddy around.

It's a rite of passage, I guess. The stupid cow gets to quit school and get government money, housing, food. She gets to play "dress up" like real adults!

While real adults pay for it.

Yeah, homeschoolers are a horrible cult of folks for not wanting their kids exposed to this sort of social acumen.

You There, Scott McClellan! May You Live Forever.

Really, I hope Scott makes a bunch of money on his book, because who's gonna hire him after this? I mean, besides Arianna Huffington?

What a piece of work. If this stunt doesnt prove he's an outright whore for money, he would at the least have us believe him to be an embittered, underpaid prostitute the whole time he was in the White House. An inglorious set of choices.

Miscreant ingrate.

This... means something...

You only thought you were a geek. Your geek creds are so outdated the Golden Girls are hittin' on you. All the cool kids are down with Mentos as an art form:

But the totally sold-out geeks have organized a Mentos religion of the blue raincoat:. Yeah, you're gonna want to click the links.

Could you imagine drinking a Coke and downing a Mentos? Well, yeah, I can imagine it, but I can't imagine surviving it. Somebody Google it for me and let me know. I have other, important stuff to do.

h/t haha.nu

How Then, Shall We Live, In Light Of So Great a Sacrifice?

"Contemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen, and then say, 'What should be the reward of such sacrifices?' ... If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude than the animating contest of freedom, go from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains sit lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen!" --Samuel Adams

"War is an ugly thing but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feelings which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself." -- John Stuart Mill

"You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life." -- Winston Churchill

Note: for a more perfect meditation on the somber holiness of this day, go here.

Just Right

Saturday night in Daytona Beach they had a bit of a street party and fireworks, so we met up with some new friends, and for the first time in my life, I participated in a pub crawl, down Main Street. Does having only two drinks the entire night make me a wuss? I think it makes me the designated driver.

Today we recuperated by the pool. It was like, 95 degrees in the sun and 75 degrees in the breezy shade near the Intracoastal.

Finished up the day by grilling all sorts of yummy things for dinner and watching a movie. I need more weekends like this. Retirement may never be a lifestyle option, so capturing great moments of life, lived in beautiful surroundings is certainly the next best thing.

Required Reading

When he's not too terribly busy being my favorite meteorologist and seablogger, Alan Sullivan wisely spends his time writing. Prolific, profound, and never profane, Alan's posts always educate or inspire.

He's one of the few who are sounding the claxon about Volcanic catastrophe and impending global cooling after such. So yeah, he's a voice in the wilderness, too.

I wouldn't call Alan a political blogger, but he does have excellent Conservative insights about the body politic. Today he's got Michelle Obama's number for sure.

A fine, short essay with good insight and good links. Go.

Update: Sissy Willis has more. Good stuff.

Tuba Players are teh Wicked!

Maybe this will warm the cockles of Ace's heart and make up for that summer at band camp:

Oh click it. It's only about 9 seconds of your life.

.
h/t: haha.nu
.

Who Needs Baseball when Politics is Bloodsport Again?

That cold chill running up Obama's spine-- nothing at all like the thrill running up Chrissy Matthews' leg-- is being caused by a breezy little comment made by Herself. The chilly draft finds its impetus in the graves of Ron Brown and Vince Foster.

As I commented over at Guy's place, "inadvertent" can never be applied to anything that escapes the mouth of these brutes. It's an ill wind, for sure. But extra points to the Clintons for making the most use of their reputation for unfortunate friends. Who says long dead friends can't be useful?

I got questions. Way too many, and I'm no political wonk. But man, what a season!! Hillary slams one down the Left Field baseline and all the umps rightly call it foul.

Were Hillary's inadvertent remarks tossed out there knowing that amongst the madding crowds would be some idiot who would believe it was a voice in their head, urging action?
Were they meant to throw Obama off his game? Draw some stupid remarks from him?
Were they meant to clear Obama's bench and get Michelle back onto the field? Cuz you just know that Michelle's not gonna be quiet about this.

Or is Hillary tired again and we're being treated to unvarnished truth about her thoughts?

Nobody knows arrogant ass-hats like Hillary knows arrogant ass-hats. And Obama's most vulnerable trait is his supposition to power. This little snap should send him right into obnoxious orbit. Because while everyone is seeing "assassination" in her remarks, she knows full well that Obama is seeing himself compared to JFK!, with all the adjunct ascendancy of unchecked, soaring thoughts.

I think this will get Obama so high on his own importance that he won't care what he says. He already doesn't care very much, until the media coaches him to bunt. But he'll swing for the fences anyway, after this.

My wishful thinking is that Obama Unchained will now say everything his illiterate wife is thinking. Do you doubt that he'll feel a mandate to speak in a manner unafraid of consequence? Don't you think his moonbattery will intensify to the point that even the Libtards will recoil?

I dunno. The illiberal Left haven't recoiled at much except the price of gas. And they won't accept the blame for that, either.

Whatever else, within the arena of non-mortal combat, I'd like to think that Hillary's dangerous muse means nothing more than a verbal curve ball. It's up to Obama to make of it what he will.

I'm just sitting in the stands yelling, "swing, batter, batter!" because in my mind he's too weak to ever hit one out of the park.

Socialism's Immaturity

Og, the great Neanderpundit, is celebrating Friday a bit differently than my fire-jumping dog video below. He's breathing primordial fire onto Dave, the Man With No Hap.

Dave, you see, thinks that Og is empathetically nearsighted:

I think you’re missing that most people advocate certain socialist policies out of a desire to help others not out of a desire to be helped by others. That’s not social immaturity, that’s empathy.

Now, I'll grant Dave a small grace, in that he is likely spouting an unwitting Truth, albeit in a clumsy way, so I'll translate: Most people don't have a clue about how the world works, and feel sorry for street-savvy others who know exactly how the Socialist world works and how they can take advantage of it. Which is a sort of ouroboros, when you actually think about it.

Now, I get paid to help folks in emergency situations. I don't work for a government agency, but most folks who come to my office are not aware of what an emergency may actually look like. They only know one thing: the government will pay my bills for me. So, they just pretty much expect that I'm there to pay their last month's rent while they look for another agency to pay the current month's rent. Or mortgage. Or light bill. And on it goes.

Every stereotype of unwed mother of three with another bun in the oven, every put-upon elderly person with three able-bodied adult children living off of her disability payments, every young and over-fed layabout that cannot work because of "anxiety" issues-- is part of the parade past my desk. Stick with me here; it's not too complicated.

Social Service jobs are secure if you can prove the need is out there. So you create victims. Gotta have victims to keep your job. Just like you have to have clients to keep your job. Government jobs will cut your department back if you don't spend as much as the year before. Sweet, secure, jobs could be lost! The secondary Social Services perq: creating jobs for your friends and family; creating a secure position by layering more people below you.

The entire governmental welfare and Social Services system exists for its own benefit long before it exists for its clients. Which thing nobody in their idealistic, Kumbayah dreams could have imagined when they, as Dave notes, felt empathy for the poor. This is not a slam against the hand-wringing folks who feel bad about the plight of others, but it is an indictment of those who took that precious and innocent sentiment and saw a way to make political hay out of it.

It's a self-propagating system of victims, by victims, for the victims it creates. Some employees within it would disagree, because many employees within it are quasi-victims, too. They know nothing else.

They know nothing else.

And for that, I don't blame the folks who arrive at my door. I blame the elitist idiots who created them by taking away their human dignity, their sense of worth, their sense of "place" in this life and gave them pablum instead.

That's not empathy, that's infantile. That's playing House, and Dress-up, and Doctor and Mommy.

With my money.

I don't care how it looks in Norway. Maybe it looks, "cute." But the underbelly of it is a pernicious stunting of human growth. It is a wretched stench of human duplicity, bereft of responsibility or accountability. The very definition of social immaturity.

post scriptum: yes, I've shared my home, my HOME, with the needy. They've shared their LICE with me. That's what it costs, when individuals pony up to help folks in need. Yeah, it's easier to let the Government put them up in a hotel for the night, but then no one would have the chance to hold them accountable for filth, and sloth, and intemperance. Until Dave matches that, he can bugger off.

Jumpin' Jack Flash! It's Friday!

Found this here.

You're welcome. Hey, Velociman has his priorities, I have mine.

What Your Kids Are Spending Their College Funds On:

Bedtime for Blongzo

It only took a moment for me to figure out the little camera on my purty new Asus computer. Now if I can only figure out how to make my little finger find the shift key. It's the deuce on this little keyboard.

And I don't know whose connection I'm surfing on, but I'm getting great wifi action from some stranger, right here in my bed. I know you want to see:

So, the J. R. is downstairs, watching The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly for the umpteenth time, or something, and while Tuco is using up his nine lives I can peacefully peruse the Intertubes from the comfort of my comfy bed.

Frivolous way to spend my incentive stimulus check, you say? Heck, if Bush is going to be frivolous with my taxes, why can't I do the same?

SquEee! PC 900 Blogging!

It's adorable. It's eensy. Yes, I'm fat-fingering the keyboard endlessly, but my hands will adjust quickly. My Asus, after a small hiccup of needing to do a system restore right out of the box, works beautifully, finds all sorts of wifi nearby. It gets a bit warmish under my hands and is way too warm to put on my lap. Not sure if that's good for it.

Let's see if I can get a picture. It has a little camera looking at me while I type. Hmmm. ...

Graffiti Artist

I lament that I leave my best work in the comments, here and in other places. Like some rogue tagger. Or I guess I'm just one of those people who needs a straight man for my funny lines.

Hopefully, with my new arrival today, I can get back to writing something worth reading. Or not.

Oh, and I didn't have time this morning, but I'm gonna be playing around with this site some more. I only noodled for 30 seconds, but there's plenty of fun to be had there, if you like tagging.

The Four Horsemen are Saddlin' Up

Signs that the Apocolypse is upon us:

Dr. Moreau has escaped his strange island.

Who knew the Beast would have a silly name like Google?

Heather Has Two Mommies, er... Daddies, er... Heather's gonna need two psychiatrists.

George Bush grows a backbone, targets Mortgage Lenders and the MSM .

Pit Bulls pronounced "normal" and "safe" animals, unfairly targeted.

And lastly, the appearance of the Obamassiah. In Oregon, of all places.

Lynyrd Skynyrd and other Legends

We're talking NO Degrees of Separation, here. The Jolly Roger scored this little memento straight from the hand of Billy Powell yesterday, just back from the band's triumph in Madison Square Garden.

In the Large City just north of here, this is like having a flake of goldleaf from the Holy Grail in one's possession. I told him this was totally blog-worthy, a Prize of no small size.

It could only be better if you could say you went to school with the original band members, or hung out with them, or jammed with them. (Uh, I can say that a former backup guitarist of the band used to back me every Sunday, does that count?) I wonder if the JR will let me use the pick at the next Helen blogmeet?

The ever-lucky JR never knows who he'll see when he's at work. It was a very nice surprise.

Why, it's almost as nice as the little surprise he brought home Friday night:

Nah. We didn't keep it. It was a bit smallish, so we threw it back. But not before I got to drive it and leave it parked in front of the condo for the night. Suh-weet! It's nice to pretend to the upper echelons of societal thrones, now and then. It's even nicer to just kick back in our little Pirate Palapa and watch the egrets, herons and raccoons wander by through the marsh, and enjoy all the simpler pleasures of being left the hell alone!

Which makes for a perfect Sunday meditation:

"A man's riches may ransom his life, but a poor man hears no threat."

Saturday Slack

After last weekend's mad dash to Charleston and this week's fun at work, I've been totally useless today. A bit of reading, a bit of driving about to take Pepper Dog on some exotic forays into the marsh, a bit of lazing about the pool, a bit of a nap, a bit of rum...

zzzz.....

You Can't Get Here From There

Sylvia winced when she read the paper, knowing that the inevitable question would be trotted out, yet again. It was easy enough to derail Rebecca's overwrought fantasy of a, "marriage" when it wasn't a legal option. Now... well, now Sylvia cursed under her sighs of resignation that this would be the end of her LUG (Lesbian Until Graduation) lifestyle that had spilled over into too many years of her 20s. It had suited her independent Feminist nature; and it kept her out of the competitive hetero dating scene long enough for her to jumpstart her career. She wasn't so cold as to deny that on a very selfish level she enjoyed the sympathies of Rebecca's innocent company. Maybe she even loved her--

She sighed again and surprised herself by saying out loud, "I need a man, a home, a family."

*****

Oh, what? You want an explanation? It's Ben's fault. Some memes never die.

I'm Expecting!!!

...a new arrival will be here soon,

a sweet bundle of joy,

I can't wait to cradle it my hands!

Here's the sonogram:



You know what this means? Blogging from the pool! Provided by Wi-Fi from the clubhouse. With a built-in web cam! We're talking major Slackitude while blogging beneath the palm trees, with sun-warmed tootsies, wide-brimmed beach hats, and stunning views of the wild marshes all around. And small enough to toss into my beach bag or purse without looking like a total geek.

Got the XP Home version pre-installed, too. Vista.Must.Die.

You gotta know that I rarely buy toys for myself, (why should you when you're married to the Stud of Chalet Kristy? -ed.) but this little bit of fun has been calling my name for a month now!

Shipping on Monday. Ha! My Eee PC 900 shipped Friday night! It'll be here on Wednesday!

Squeeeee!!!

Jellyfish Stings...

really, sting. Quite a bit.

Not having learned my last lesson at the beach, both Pepper Dog and I ventured out today after work. She, to bark at and chase birds or swim after them, and I, just to enjoy sunlight. Both of us were barefoot, too. The water was wild, the waves were immense and disorganized, the sun warm and the air deliciously cool.

It was all perfect until Pepper Dog came out of the water dragging her back leg like it was paralyzed. In the end, she seemed to recover mostly, with a slight drag of a toenail. In my worry for her, I didn't notice the pain in my own feet until halfway home.

The surf must've been full of baby jellyfish, maybe even a big one that stung the dog, although she never once complained or yelped.

Florida. A veritable paradise if you don't mind mosquitoes, sharks, fires, bugs, heat, mildew, old farts in slow cars, obnoxious Yankee retirees, hurricanes, and pine sap on your car.

Update: ...and love bugs. Thanks, Stacy!

Points Awarded

...for creativity.

I can be entreated, hard-hearted wench that I am, to consider the plight of wayfarers that arrive at the door of my office. It goes without saying that when certain help is offered, certain people will always be first in line, regardless of any sign clearly stating, "Mon-Wed-Fri" as the correct days to show up. Most Tuesdays I'm inclined to say, "please come back tomorrow," not as a delaying tactic, but as a responsible steward of resources and a process that assures that fakers are kept at bay.

But yesterday, I was masterfully played and enjoyed it so well that I succumbed, if for no other reason than to make sure I didn't have to see them again. The couple fit no mold of predictable clientele, certainly weren't from around here, and their straightforward story of being uprooted and on the road was refreshingly free of the usual lore.

As I take a few minutes to hastily throw together a couple of days' worth of supplies for them, the guy starts saying too much:

"Yeah, we had to drop everything because the State of California's witness protection program couldn't come through for us. We had to ditch and run."

Seriously, Slackers? I stood there, put my hands over my ears, and went, "lalalalalala - don't wanna know -- lalalala!" Which made him exclaim, "No, WE are the witnesses, not YOU!"

I handed them their supplies, smiled sweetly and wished them well. I've had many years' experience in this kind of ministration, and I don't think I've heard that one particular story before. I wonder how long before I'll hear it again...

True or not, it was most entertaining and that scores big with me.

Yelling, FIRE! in a crowded Internet

Florida. It's always soooo jealous of California. It's tried to be the East Coast Hollywood. Northern Cuba. Southern Georgia.

But mostly, it keeps trying to have spectacular fires. Which it's doing fairly well. Still, the place is so flat, making a getaway is usually as easy as driving in a straight line, being careful not to crack the oil pan on the curbs.

Be that as it may, consider this a request for all you Shamans and Rainmakers to focus your attention on blogdom's Queen of Micro-Welding, Ms. Jean.

Our favorite Ponderer-in-Residence needs to keep her residence, so send her your best, soggiest wishes for safety!

Monday Monday

Sigh. No sailing this past weekend as the Perfect Storm decided to roll in right around our sailing time, so our Captain eschewed any further adventures for the day. We did get to drive home Sunday through the tornado activity so, yea, us! 40 mph gusts as we topped the Dames Point Bridge in the Jetta. Yeehaw!

Let's see: Friday afternoon I spent $210 on three little Bits of Lace, per the D.I.L.'s insistence. I cannot think of a better investment in beauty and style.

Friday evening we were feted with a platter of charcuterie, lovingly made by our Personal Chef. The paté, replete with rum-soaked raisins and pistachios was even better than the braised beef ribs over mushroom risotto.

That night, we girls went to a surprisingly well-produced play, "Enchanted April" with a beautiful cast and stunning staging and scenery, presented in a shopping center storefront with about 140 guests. Perfect! The guys hung out at The Smoking Lamp cigar shop and then went to hear some jazz at the Charleston Grill.

So, we girls met up with them there. Possibly the hottest jazz trio, The Quentin Baxter Ensemble, the same as pictured in the link, as I've ever heard. Excellent evening all around.

Saturday was spent on the main square, enjoying the local tent market, eating mini-donuts, crepes, omelettes, and watching the world go by. Another visit to the cigar shop, (they tolerate us because our Personal Chef brings them offerings of paté), a bit of quiet reading, naps all 'round and a very late dinner at the SNOB to round out the day. Just have the Duck Confit. Shut up. You can try the Rack of Lamb some other time.

We raced home on Sunday only to find parts of our area on fire! Eeek! Part of my new job can sometimes involve mobilizing volunteers in such a situation. No phone calls, so, whew! Luckily, Monday morning arrived fairly quiet, but it meant much scrambling to assemble resources and make contingency plans for relief efforts, should they be necessary. All is quiet now that I'm home tonight.

I need a vacation.

Charleston Bound

Jazz, movies, shopping, sailing and fine dining await!

And, the J.R. and I will have time to talk about his latest idea for a Horror Movie. That may be worth blogging, we'll see...

'ta!

Nuggets from the 'Net

Best scatalogical aroma reference:

and that ain't the worst part..the smell will knock a maggot off a gut wagon.

Best AmIdol observation, contestant category:

If you’re pregnant, and it’s a girl, don’t name her Jason Castro. It’s just mean.

Best AmIdol observation, judges category:

Paula makes strange noises that have little to do with the song.

The BEST opening line for a blog post EVAH:

Short Tony gives me a very satisfied look, like an Austrian who has just refastened his trousers having made a careful and contented tick on his clipboard against the words ‘Timmy the Dog’.

Best Mom Defending Her Daughter from Talladega Troglodytes. Just in time for Mothers Day. I swear this woman is teh awesome:

This guy is just talking for awhile and he was ok..kept his distance and all..but he hands me his empty beer can and says.."What do we do with these?" and I tossed it back to him and said, "That is what we do with these, because I'm not your trash wench." He keeps talking for a minute and tries again, with the same result. THEN, the asshole..slides it into my girl's chair, tries to cop a feel and asks for the THIRD time.."What do we do with these?" I snatched that beer can right out of her chair and hit him square in the face with it...and he got pissed. I thought my little ass was gonna be kicked for a minute....but the senior chief walked up behind my chair and just stood there and it all settled down. Tequila does that to me...which is a lie..I'm just that way anyway..but still.

And finally, Best Use of Obscure Animal Parts in an insult:

the polish that other woman put on sucked elephant asshair

Um... I Have No Explanation for This, Either:

But I can think of plenty of titles and captions for this video that would bring me the horrible google-hits from the pit of hell. But you can feel free to submit your own titles for this video in the comments. I have one in mind that is just soooo wrong. Still, this is possibly the most disturbing/funny/awful/weird thing you can see that is still safe for work:

Update already: Who am I to question what is normal?

.

.

I Have No Explanation For This:

.

.

Cold Turkey

It's the only way. Cold turkey. Pretend I don't care, that I don't love or need your blog love. Let the baby cry in its crib for a while, fer cripes 'n all.

It's working, though. I'm getting things done that I've been putting off since I started this mess in August.

And I've lost five pounds in the last five days. The five I put on since August.

The BMI of bloggers who work all day and blog all night is probably wrecking the national average.

What? Are You Still Here?

You're welcome to hang around, but I'm just not that into you. Just so's you know.

Go spread the blog love to those bloggers that have the emotional energy to love you back. I'm just not up for it.

Sure, I'd have more energy if I hadn't been up late the last two nights reading The Sea Bitch and being dragged throughout the Caribbean in a 26' lifeboat disguised as a sailboat, or crawling through the jungles of Guatemala rescuing a hippie. At the pace of the book, I find going to work a relaxing reprieve.

Plus, my Reader is up to about 1,000 posts for me to read. Ain't gonna happen.

Laters.