Flatworms Demonstrate How to Break Left

Because they understand the consequences of unsuccessful penis fencing:

Flatworms Penis Fencing | Movies & TV | SPIKE.com

They make it sound so violent, and then so... sad.

It's a cruel world, baby.

h/t Yabu, Velociman, and my new job.

Things I've Learned While Doing the ChaCha

In order to fully establish my geek cred, I've decided to work from home. Note that I did not decide to get rich quick. I just have a plan, and in the meantime there's little wonderful service called, ChaCha.com to keep me amused.

And what do I do? I spend my now-massive amounts of idle hours telling people what they don't know. Tell me I don't know how to pick a dream job! Well, I don''t, apparently. More on that later. Or not.

But my esquincle son told me about ChaCha, since he thinks I know everything. So I signed up, took a test or two or ten. Passed the evals and now I'm a professional know-it-all. Feels right. So, while I wait around for the winning Lotto numbers, here's what I'm learning:

... how old Brett Favre is.

... how many people have died on rides in Disney since 2001.

... whether or not cracking your knuckles hurts you in any significant way.

... which is considered the worst shark attack ever.

... that jelly fish don't have bones, a brain or a heart. See also: Politicians

... where the name for "dominoes" comes from.

... who Feigner was and why he is significant in Major League Baseball History.

... a lot of clinical facts about sex.

... why guys like blonde jokes.

... and how many Presidents we had before George Washington.

Yeah. I'm officially insufferable now. About time it paid off.

Stirring the Gypsy Imagination

I don't know why I must have one of these. I just want a Shepherd's Hut.

See more of these beautifully crafted Plankbridge-Dorset works of art.

I suppose it would lose its appeal parked in driveway of my marsh-view condo in the summer. But it causes me to dream of rolling green hills dotted with placid sheep and blessed by cool breezes. And it's fully insulated with sheep's wool, as well. Cozy in winter. Just need a wi-fi connection and it would make the perfect blogging hut!

Seriously? I worry about myself sometimes.

Seriously. When you finally reach the age that you can detect the dysfunctional patterns in your own life, your sense of self-righteous outrage and judgment of others loses all its appeal.

Which makes for a better moral character... and really bad blog fodder.

I'm sure if I sit quietly, all this introspection will bore me and the need to gnaw on some new idiocy will return. Stay tuned.

Five Minutes of Fun

Not your everyday Air Drummer:

Don't Hope For More Energy...

Vote for it:

h/t The Corner

Fiddlers on the Roof!

Daredevil Crustaceans invade my porch! Which wouldn't be too noteworthy except that my porch sits about 15 feet above the marsh. This alien invader had to scale 8 feet of porch screen below my balcony (upper floors aren't allowed to screen in the porch) and a few more feet of stucco wall to arrive on the hand-cut India tiles, which he then tap-danced across to my door screen.

A blowing rain and high tide must have made life unbearable in his hidey-hole. This happens every few years, like Christmas Island. We'll be invaded in the pool, parking lot, mail kiosks and even the grass. Valiant little Napoleons feinting with their claw, and scuttling away if you take them on the dare:

It drives the Pepper Dog nuts! And I can't leave my porch door open for her, as the little critters will find their way into my living room and parts beyond. None of them get much bigger than your thumb, but they can sure put a pinch on you if you provoke their wrath. This guy in the picture lacks the large claw. Maybe it's a she-crab? Soup anyone?

Another bonus to living here is knowing that your hair-stylist-- she of the multi-colored hair and sweet-as-pie disposition-- can also tell you where the best fishing holes are. When not cutting hair, she's tending bar, so it's like I've hit the weekend jackpot of a new best friend!

Life is good in the South.

Jobs I Won't Be Applying For:

I just have to post this one in its inglorious entirety:

JELLYFISH SEPARATORS Golden Island International, LLC seeks 40 temporary Jellyfish Separators from 09/25/2008-05/30/2009. Principal duties include sorting, separating, washing and cleaning, salting and package jellyfish. Workers will weigh product and put on conveyors, then separate umbrella from manubrium and route to appropriate raceways for cleaning process. Cleaned jellyfish will be hand salted in trays. Fish are transferred to rinsing vat, excess salt removed, and air dried in drum dryers. Dried jellyfish are weighed, packed and labeled. Moving and handling of packed product will be performed manually. Clean work area after. No min edu/experience necessary, 5 days a week, Mon-Fri 9am-6pm, 40 hours. Base salary $9.46 p/h, OT $14.19 p/h applicants to apply in person or by resume; letters of interest to: ....

*** If you even know what a resume or a letter of interest is, you're overqualified. And who eats dried jellyfish?

__________________________

This one reads more like it belongs in the Personals catgory:

PRIVATE SECRETARY INTELLIGENT hard working person needed as private secretary and personal aid for newly relocated corporate president and CEO. Requires some computer ability & light house cleaning and errands. Must be able to travel internationally, plan board meetings and social events. Career position pay begins at $35,000/yr. & car & retirement, & 100% health benefits, send recent full length photo & resume to Personal Aid 830-13 ...

*** cheaper than a trophy wife, I'm guessing.
_____________________________

Here we go. Just read the job description. Exhaustive and exhausting. There's not a man in his right mind that would take on this much, but some woman will do all this for $30,000 year or less:

EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT: Job duties and responsibilities:
Provides routine daily administrative support services:
Prioritizes, screens, routes and answers routine correspondence not requiring supervisor’s attention to ensure timely and accurate responses; flags all critical information for supervisor’s attention.
Takes, transcribes, composes, edits, and sends a variety of correspondence on behalf of supervisor;
monitors office supply levels and orders as needed; maintains conference room schedules.
Maintains and updates departmental files, records and publications in accordance with company policies and procedures; maintains confidential files and materials.
Maintains spreadsheets and databases input to track information for incoming and outgoing paperwork and reports.
Creates folders, files, books, and binders; faxes, copies, and sorts mail, among other delegated support needs.
Continues to build an in-depth knowledge of company and departments policies and procedures. Researches, compiles, and produces numerous daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly, and yearly reports and spreadsheets utilizing Hyperion and PDI; reviews, adjusts and highlight areas for further review and consideration by management team; (sounds like you'll do the exec's job, too!) creates Power Point presentations for Region Directors and District Managers. (PPT must. die.)
Performs other duties and special projects as assigned.

***Disclaimer: I've unwittingly taken on such jobs, although never with such an honest description up front. At my last abusive job, just a few weeks after I left, my boss got fired. They discovered that he was a moron when he couldn't give a quarterly report without my help. Small, pointless victory, but I'll take it.
_______________________


Honorable mentions. Simply because the titles sound bizarre:

Castings Cleanup Person - which sounds like the Hollywood job from Hell.

Sign Spinners - The next step down from burger wrangling.

Fab Welder - mediocre welder need not apply.

Mate - well, it is a sea-town after all. Call Mr. G---- He says it's a Pleasure Cruise.

Riggers and Torchmen - I don't care what they do, it just sounds dangerous. And illegal.

I guess I'll keep my current job, if I can ever recover from the bronchitis my new boss gave me.

Friday Fun: She's Done This Before, I Bet...

h/t glumbert

Report Says Up to 75% of "Homeless" aren't.

In San Francisco, no less:

The mayor and others are now admitting what the grand jury reported - that a majority of those on the streets are not homeless. The head of the city's homeless program, Dariush Kayhan, estimates that 50 to 75 percent of street people live in supportive housing.

"We just warehouse addicts," said the grand jury's Stuart Smith. "Granted, it is a nicer place for them, but it doesn't address the problem."

But go ahead and keep giving money to the shift workers at the corner of your daily commute. I've been watching the 5:00 shift change in action in this pirate town, and taking pictures. Regular as clockwork, these homeless know how to show up for a panhandling job, quickly disappear when a cop car shows up in the queue at the light, and re-emerge after another cycle or two of changes.

One middle-aged lady has taken on a new tactic of standing in the street, dangerously close to the traffic as it turns the corner. You're looking left to check traffic and she stands very close to your right. You're not watching out for her, you're monitoring oncoming traffic. Turn the wheel too hard as she teeters with her sign, and voila! Lottery winner!

So, what has prompted this amazing self-examination of homelessness issues by the Grand Jury in SF?

But, they ask, can't someone stop the panhandling? And, given all the programs and services, is it unreasonable to ask those who are being given supportive housing to start making some effort to be self-sufficient?

They sound like a bunch of heartless Republicans, don't they? Which reminds me that I need to get a pic of the popular bumper sticker around here: "Better a bleeding heart than none at all."

Panhandling. It's harshing their mellow, at long last. The article goes on to state that most SF residents don't begrudge spending the $186 million annually to house them, they just want value for their money. And accountability. From someone. They look around and, seeing no Conservatives remaining to vilify, finally turn their frustration on the dog that has bitten their generous hand. Imagine that.

You have to love their fresh and innocent dismay at the outcome, and their totally unselfconscious recitation of the problem.

The grand jury members say they were told that "expectations were unnecessarily low for supportive housing patrons" and that at present the measure of success is whether or not residents stay in the housing. Not surprisingly, over 90 percent do. But how many of them are panhandling every afternoon? (emphasis mine.)

As I've stated in other posts that I'm too lazy/sick to link here, (oh, alright: here and here) the solutions will be costly as an after-market fix of the original programs, but it won't mean that anyone will lose their sweet, secure social-services job. Looks like it'll be even more placement for the newly undereducated Masters in Sociology grads who think they know everything.

Everything except how the real world works.

Update: The Poor. A Bigger Problem than You Know...

Florida Rain

The rain is falling like lead. It's heavy and warm and dropping straight down, pounding into the spongy marsh. And the air is as suffocating as my flu symptoms.

We're having one of those unmistakable morning rains of summer which makes me think, "a low is forming directly overhead." I'm such a wannabe weather geek; it's hard to avoid after a lifetime of, "we're all gonna die!!" weather forecasts. So, I toggle over to my favorite site to confirm what I already know. I note that it's such an interesting force of sheer gravity on so many rain drops that makes for the thunderous roar, as there is no lightning, no clashing of air temps.

Seems like an inch of rain in 45 minutes-- and the frogs are still complaining!

Good day to stay home and get well.

Sick Revelations

I hated waking up at 2:00 a.m. this morning because I knew what was in store for me: 2+hours of hacking cough. So, as I sit here with medicinal Courvorsier at the ready, the quiet consumes me.

It's lovely really, and only punctuated by the zen fountain's quiet music. It used to be on the porch, where I never heard it, and now is nestled into an obscure corner of the kitchen where it provides the softest whisper of tranquil worlds and songs... hold on a sec...

::hack!:: ::cough!::

Being sick over the weekend allowed me to sit in the lounger in the living room and enjoy the view of the wild marsh over the course of a few mornings. I've noted a noisy visitor on my porch, frantically hopping and flitting about, and visiting a corner of the porch over and over again. Then perching on a chair or the rail to belt out a VERY LOUD protest song to anyone who will listen.

I was trying to imagine the cause for the agitation. The porch is pristine, having had new tiles laid, it is free of old spider webs and wasp nests, the sort of things that gather dust and pollen, sand and bugs; things to occupy a bird-brain.

So, what was my little bird buddy so adamant about? This morning it became clear to me as the little guy perched on the rail and looked intently into the house, fixated on... the water fountain!

The fountain has been inside for over a month, but had been outside for a couple of years. Has he newly arrived from out of town, like so many denizens of this area, and just now discovered that things have changed since he was here last? I am just now noticing because of his loud and beautiful complaint.

It occurs to me why the water fountain would run dry so fast out there. Besides evaporation, it must have been a watering hole for little travelers, feathers worn to the pin while doing their Holy work of being fed by His hand.

I see now that it it has fallen to me, in His grand plan, to provide the keg for the happy little birds' parties.

So back outside the fountain goes.

Tempted to put some of my bourbon in it. Heh.

The Age of Outrage: 7 Words x 70

Let's just get this over with, shall we? And trust me, some of these have been written up by Serious People. Others are just the likely next step in this idiocracy. I've omitted any obvious euphemisms or pre-identified slurs.

The Rules: These especially don't have to make sense as being offensive on the face of it, they just have to have the ability to be misunderstood by weak minds, or overwrought by idle minds:

Black Jack, Black Magic, Black Gold, Blackouts, Black-and-Decker, Brownouts, Brownies, Renegades, Squalls, TP, Black Sabbath, Black Tea, Blackmail, Blacklist.

Dark Arts, The Dark Knight, Black Moods, Yellow Pages, Yellow Journalism, Chink in the Armor, China Syndrome, Blacksmith, Blackened Swordfish. Shadow Boxing. Shadow Government.

Jungle Gym, Monkey Business, LawnBoy Mower, Yellow Fever, Rice Paper, Slanted Opinion, Black Death, Black Lights, Niggardly, (you lose your job over that word), Spic n' Span, Bean Bags, Bean Ball, Spigot, Latin Vulgate.

Short-sighted, Short-changed, Dwarf Stars, Selling Short (trafficking in midgets, I guess.) Shorts. Midge Flies, Sweet Midgets. Belittle. Jockey Shorts (double-threat), No Small Feat.

Periodic Table, Lunar Cycle, Keeping Abreast, Ragtime Music, Jocular, (can't you just see that as being misunderstood as "tomboy" or worse?) Panty Hose, Garden Hoes and Backhoes. Man-agement, Mandatory, Mandate. Skirt the Issue. Congenital.

Jockey for Position, Dude Ranch, Stud Finder, Condominiums, Homo-sapiens, Fruit Flies.

Unbleached Muslin, Turbine, Gum Arabic, Chic, Muzzle, Towel Rack, Balsamic, Mosaic, Minuet, Terrified, Pigskin.

Cracker Jack, White Castle (h/t GuyK), Plain Vanilla, Cracker Barrel, WiteOut, White-out, White Pages, White Lily Flour, Pale as Death, White as a Ghost, White as a Sheet, Beyond the Pale, Ginger Snaps, Gingerly, Snow Job, Rube Goldberg, Judo, White Lightning, Pale Ale, and lastly, Little White Lies.

::Sigh:: I think this will keep the Language Nannies busy. Not quite up to 490 words yet, but you get the idea.

Update: I'm thinking we can't talk about Obama's "lightness" either.

Did you know...

..that in South American Spanish, the word for "wives"and "handcuffs" is the same? Esposas.

I had totally forgotten that until I watched the video of the hostage rescue in Colombia.

Yet here in the U.S. we have freeborn people who have never suffered the oppression and hopelessness experienced by a much larger portion of the world, getting their shorts in a bunch because of a term they find offensive, "black hole".

Yeah, well, I'm not real happy about Pringles' Cracker Stix, either.

Tony Snow has died.

A fine man has passed from this life to the next:

"Tony did his job with more flair than almost any press secretary before him," said William McGurn, Bush's former chief speechwriter. "He loved the give-and-take. But that was possible only because Tony was a man of substance, who had real beliefs and principles that he was more than able to defend."

Deep sympathies for all of his loved ones. He will be missed.

The Placeholder Party

I've decided that the only way to solvency for me and mine, is to get into politics. If it's good enough for the Kennedy's fortune, it's good enough for my own.

I don't deserve your vote, however, unless I can outline my platform in no uncertain terms and cause you to trust me. Unlike Obama or McCain, I can be straightforward about my ambitions and why I call my effort The Placeholder Party.

Let's see:

I need to make some modest money and have some sort of hope for a pension and a bit of medical care in my old age. That's really all I want out of this. After my first $4 million in savings, I'm done, and the rest of my salary will go to charity. Me and the J.R. will live off of the interest on $4 million quite comfortably. (Update: The EPA places the statistical value of a life at $6.9 million. They have more esteem for my sorry ass than I do!) We have a simple lifestyle and no debt beyond a modest home and one car payment. This is a taxpayer bargain and a small recompense for my having to listen to hours of political drivel.

Oh, and I promise not to provide any press conferences once elected. And no mass mailings or email spam to my constituents. More savings for you if you don't have to hear from me. I can't be courted or bribed, I'm too old to care about eg0-gratification or have my head turned by vast quantities of perqs.

No expensive lunches or entertainment. I have my blog to keep me amused. I'm not going to help any special interests, so no need to bring me gifts or incentives. I have no ambitions at this point.

That's what I call real change and hope for the American people.

What will my constituents get for their money?
Inasmuch as it is in my power, I promise to do as little as possible. See blog title. This is how you know you can trust me. No matter what horrid past scandals of my life, crazy ideas, or emotional moods, you can trust me to do nothing about anything new that comes before my chosen legislative level. No new taxes, no new programs, no renewal of old programs, no new subsidies, no renewal of old subsidies, not even for energy development, although I will do nothing to impede new energy development; nuclear, coal, oil, offshore drilling, whatever.

And no activist judicial appointments.

The only exception will be my guarantee to uphold, you know, the actual pledge of my swearing-in: to defend the U.S. against all foes, foreign and domestic. And to uphold our personal rights to defend oneself. These two things are sacred.

Why the "Placeholder" Party?
Well, it's less than a "proxy" and more than a "conservative" effort. It's a vision for stasis until we can have real leadership. That's the limit of my tenure: $4 million in savings and I'll warm the back benches until someone with the cojones to actually lead the Preservative ideals of anchoring our country back to its foundations comes along.

I know you're thinking, "What's the catch?"
There is no catch. Those are my ambitions. Will it provide me more financial comfort than you? Possibly. But would you really hold that against me more than your local dogcatcher's aspirations and misspent budget? Plus, the unwanted media attention deserves a bit of compensation on par with the dangers of overexposure.

The only thing I need is others who will stand, as citizen-servants, and run for office on this platform. We don't have the luxury of a bicameral system anymore so until either the Republicans can man up and start leading, I think it's better to stand in the gap and hold the fort until reinforcements arrive.

That's it. Imagine: going about your life without hearing what I think, seeing me on television, or worrying about my associations or ambitions. Not so much lassiez faire as it is an act of political preservation.

Join me. Vote for me.

Oh wait. Which office should I aspire to?

Update: Just damn! I've been beaten to it by a far superior choice. ( h/t Don Surber)

Home. Sick.

One of my new bosses (husband and wife team. Pity me.) called me last Monday morning to inform that she was getting a huge shot of antibiotics for her case of bronchitis and would be in later that day. I greatly entreated her to stay home. No dice. She arrived, hacking up a lung, no tissue to cover her mouth or hands. Of course she needed to stand around my desk all afternoon.

Tuesday, she decided she needed to ride in a car with me for 4.5 hours, still hacking up the remainder of her lungs.

I'm home today after being slammed by a late afternoon takedown of viral proportions. 36 hour incubation period sounds about right. Fever and chills, thank you very much.

At this point, I'm due some bio-hazard pay and workers' comp for this unpaid day off. But I care about the office I manage, so I'm not going in to play martyr and share all of my viral joy with people I value.

You thought I was kidding when I said I'd rather have another root canal than go to work. At least the Dentist and his assistant were entertaining me with sadistic Little Shop of Horrors stories about dental school. There's even an old-timey sign as you walk into their office that says, "No whining or complaining allowed." Steve Martin had it right:

Serendipity Do Dah

While reading Suzette's curmudgeonly rant, decrying Dancing Matt --of recent toutage at Jimbo's place--I sought to cheer her mood and went looking for some real dancing, i.e., Fred and Ginger.

Sure, I found The Band Wagon clip I was looking for, but I came across something pretty smooth in the process:

Root Canal Tomorrow

Ive been in pain for two weeks. Tomorrow it's gonna be a scene right out of Castaway. Except with a Dentist, so it'll likely be even more traumatic.

The really sucky part? I have to go into work afterwards. And I'd rather have a second root canal.

So, y'know... Go away and leave me alone.

143 Days

Google it. Come back and tell me what you think. (Updates below.)

Do I have to do all the work on this blog? I already do everyone else's job at my job.

Somebody cut me some slack and leave some sorta pithy comment on this.

*****

Update: My readers are pithing all over this:

Michelle got intense with her googling. Except for the dateline, this could actually work in the context of a political drought: PHOENIX—A good old-fashion downpour in the predawn here today ended a record string of 143 days without rain.

Well, we're knee-deep in something or other, that's for sure.

Pamibe: I'm out of pith, but have plenty of hope. And change.

No need for a pith-helmet then.

LauraB has done yoeman's work in finding this guy. Might best be read in a safe, padded cell: Two-four

Jimbo cuts to the chase: Well, he was "present" for much of it. Nice summary, Counsel.

*****

Aha! I've drawn out the 'mouse! Here's his best pith (empahses mine. prob'ly his, too) :

I would gladly pay twice the taxes I paid pre-W if it meant I could live in a world where California wasn't 48th in education polls (used to be #2 or #3 before that sacred cow, Prop 13 "cut taxes" oh so many years ago). Oh for the days back when they didn't have to scrape with a fucking lottery to pay for essentials like school. Oh, and to have back a world where regulators regulated and you could get a home loan for an amount equal to 3X your annual income and no more.

Do I think a democrat will fix things? No. Do I think deregulating and lowering taxes has ever helped anything? No. I think Ronald Reagan and George Bush II have done more damage to this country in my lifetime than any democrat ever.

I had a long answer and erased it. "A man convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still. And besides, I have a root canal waiting for me in the morning, so politics is the last thing I care about right now.

Basically, I blame all the bankers and speculators who searched for a Messiah and found one in Greenspan. Presidents meant nothing to them. Still don't. The wayward financiers and day traders have a complicated life and want nothing more than a simple word from someone to whom they have ascribed waaayy too much power. Greenspan could walk out on to his balcony tomorrow, Pope-like, and speak ex-cathedra to the market and we'd see a miracle. Bernanke is a lesser god, and we will all suffer for it. So everyone hangs on some other magical thinker, Obama. It's no good.

And there are no guarantees in life or politics. It's never good to shield people on the public payroll from accountability, inevitability, or volatility. Life happens. When everyone can get on that page again, things will improve.

Summer Zen

Why would anyone sit in a house all summer? I envy the sea-travelers who enjoy scenes like this:

Can you even imagine coming upon such a spectacle?

Just awesome!

Obama: The Great White Hope

Barack Obama wants everything both ways. I think that makes him the 2nd Black Woman (Shirley Chisholm beat ya to it!) and the first White Woman to make a serious run for President.

Look, he already hates himself. It's not hard to imagine because if you're white, you've seen it all around you; the self-loathing for despicable behavior you would never dream of doing, but have willfully identified with in a quest for "atoning" for sins that you didn't commit. It's highly dysfunctional, delusional, and narcissistic to believe YOU will be the ONE to heal the hurts of age-old bigotry. But year after year, our colleges turn out guilty white kids who've never done anything more seriously wicked to Black kids than pretend to know how to dance.

I can imagine that Obama's white half, like so many other idealistic young college kids, was indoctrinated with guilt for oppressing the black half. True to the elitist mantra of a social service lifechoice pushed onto students, he becomes a "community organizer" and finds it quite easy to impress the local land-locked denizens with his international background and family history. The Social Service branch of local politics finds him to be a useful pawn for their political ends, and so they reel him in. He's hooked on their identity now and can easily see where the power base resides.

I've left this thought in other comments: how is Obama any different from Ward Churchill, in practice if not in genetics? Churchill decides he's an American Indian and builds up phony creds as a means to his Holy Purpose and tenure. Obama admittedly has more genetic material to back up his Blackness creds, but he still had to actively decide to embrace a culture he was not raised in.

Someone please outline Obama's suffering oppressions for me. Oh, did people look at him askance? Treat him as less than equal? Poor baby! It's as though black people think that skin color is the only factor in social discrimination that counts. Raise your hand, whitey, if you've ever been denied a job, a social entrance, or a membership because you didn't measure up to some arbitrary and pre-determined visual bigotry. It happens. To all kinds of people.

Barry's background doesn't measure up as an identifier. That's really not a problem. But now, he wants to re-associate with his Lost White Twin as he publicly tries to recombine himself into a Whole Person: Live! Today on Oprah! Watch as he hyuks it up with the NASCAR crowd. Laugh as he unashamedly lights up a Camel cigarette and blissfully inhales, while re-setting the 4x4 wheel hubs on his pickup truck. There! See him at the local Country Club wearing a crested sweater and listening to the Dave Matthews Band! Cry with delight to see him, for the first time, find his heart with his right hand as the National Anthem is sung and the Pledge of Allegiance recited... no, he probably doesn't know the words, but we'll let that pass. He is trying, dammit!

Sigh. Very trying.

A Sense of Proportion

Proportion? Screw that! It's the Fourth of July! Our Birthday! You can't outdo that.

The day began by sleeping in late after spending half a tank of gas to get to and from a racetrack where they burn that much gas in just a few miles. And an infield full of $100,000+ RVs with every amenity imaginable. And little swimming pools everywhere. And SUVs and gas guzzlers as far as the eye can see.

This morning Pepper Dog and I were off to the beach, where there was a small-town parade (sorry, no pics! I didn't know that the booming metropolis of V Beach would have a parade.) The Magic Beach Motel was decked out in red-white-and-blue bunting that clashed wonderfully with the seafoam green stucco, pink flamingos and neon rabbits.

The beach was overrun with SUVs and pickups, campers and partyers, skim boarders and fisherman. More than one beer-bellied man was assembling a new gas grill while the wife tried to keep the children from drowning in the treacherous currents of Porpoise Point.

Later, we trekked off to Wal-Mart! We decided we could think of nothing more noxious to the predominantly Liberal crowd in this town than to go slumming with the bitter folks clinging to their guns and religion and discount beach umbrellas.

Dinner was Vidalia Bubba Burgers--fully decked, potato salad, baked beans and salad. The South subsists on mayonnaise, I'm pretty sure.

We just now came in from our lovely porch that overlooks the marsh to the south. We have enjoyed three seasons of fireworks from the 2nd story vantage. They set 'em off just a mile south of here, so no need to fight traffic, just sit back and enjoy. It's a crappy cell phone pic, but you get the idea:

Confused storks left the branches of their cedar tree roosts and circled wildly about the marsh during the spectacle. And our poor dog has disappeared downstairs to stare at the wall and channel whatever her inner puppy fears about the booming noises and flashes.

Let's see, what other excesses did we enjoy? Oh yeah, the AC cranked down to "Arctic," even if it is 10 degrees cooler than last year. Until the sun gets more sun spots, I'm preparing for global cooling with a bit of artificial acclimatization.

Gonna watch more episodes of John Adams and call it a day.

America. Totally Worth It.

What? Huh? I can't hear you!

Can't get much closer to the action than this:

We had a blast. I hadn't been to a Grand-Am series race before. The Jolly Roger used to do club racing, and my only other time at Daytona was when he raced there. That's right, The J.R., up on the banks of Daytona, hard-charging in his jazzed-up Miata. I might have to rummage around for some pics of that. Meantime, this is a re-run of the J.R. at Roebling for my four regular readers:

But last night at the Brumos 250 in Daytona it was sweet, and LOUD. I said... "LOUD!!" But it made you smile to watch the prototypes diving into Turn One and hear the downshifting complaint of the cylinders backfiring, drivers heel-and-toeing their way into the double-apex turn. We had moved down to Turn One after the start, and had a great view of the inside loop as they dove in and then, seemingly just seconds ...and a mile later, flew out.

A few dust-ups and one spectacular rollover by the RX-8 made for a bit of nail-biting. And the restarts after full-course cautions made for some awesome dicing into Turn One. But everyone drove hard and fair, and it made for a great race. Oh, yeah. I gotta see some more of that!

Off to the Races!

Yo, check it out. VIP passes, VIP parking, Pits Grandstands, Free Food. Free Beer. And fast cars. 250 miles of noise tonight.

I'd say that's the way to kick off Independence Day!

Laters.

I'm All About Being Pro-Choice

The Jolly Roger dared me to post the poll question up there. (You may have to refresh to see it.) Update! Results are in: 100% of men agree on which they'd rather live without.

It was prompted by my carping about a stupid poll that asked, "Which would you rather live without: laughter or music?"

Please.

Here's an easy one:

Cake or Death?