Not dead, sleeping...

Rough month.

Much work. Work-work and home-work. Garages to rustle into shape, firings to avoid to keep paycheck coming.

Still not completely dug out, but I am very thankful for the couple of you who keep dropping in.

Talk to you this weekend, I think.

ciao.

Don't be That Guy...

It seems in my old age I'm turning into That Guy.

I'm that guy who can't manage to dress himself anymore...

Here I am at Wife'sCousin #9's wedding wearing one blue and one black sock.



And I'm that guy with the perverted kid...

Here's the grainy surveillance picture of The Boy grabbing his second cousin twice removed's butt during their dance. He certainly likes to get close during the dances with the ladies, which depending upon their station in life (mothers naturally respond to a child at their bosom, twenty-somethings think he's about to do "The Motorboat").



I'm that guy who yells at poor little thirteen year old umpires.

While I did not go to the lengths of the drunken fat guy below (the first 30 seconds, I didn't watch the rest of the clip, don't feel compelled to either), I apparently did give the poor eighth grader umpiring my son's little league game a little bit of a hard time last weekend. In my defense, I thought I was just helping him decipher the play that had just happened in the field. While I can see why calling him a "buck toothed blind little rodent" might have gone over the top, I feel we were just having a sincere exchange of opinions. At least I don't have to go to boring little league games (at least until the restraining order expires)....



And finally, I'm that guy who watches 1980's karaoke on YouTube. Here's Debbie Gibson's lost in your eyes. It was put up by some Filipino guy who's got like 600 of these things up. Majorly lovely time-waster....



Well, that's it for now. I'm off to wallow in my that guyedness now. Ciao!

Wake me up when September ends...

Apparently I've gone on strike for the month of June. It's already the 7th and not nary a post.

Well, I've got an excuse. I've been really busy. (Due to my busy exhaustion, I wrote that as "busty". Yes, yes, I've been busty. But busy too.) Oh, sure, I hear you scoff; we're all busy. But I've been go-to-bed-at-2-am busy. I've been five-baseball-games-in-a-weekend busy. Two weddings, a graduation, two birthdays, and a new and very demanding relationship with a chiropractor who lusts after my hairy back three times a week...

And today it's an all-day staff meeting mixed with "team building" retreat, kickball game, and ice cream social. Now, I'm always skeptical about these forced-fun things. I had a track coach in high school who was the biggest martinet ever and he was all into theme-costume practices and all sorts of mandatory fun stuff. Mandatory fun is only necessary when you're not having real fun. So there you go.

Anywho, gotta run off to the mandatory fun meeting. Be back later tonight, I hope (after kid concert #2 this week....) with a picture of my wearing of two different color socks to the wedding last weekend, and if I can clear it through wifeypooh, another of the boy (age nine) grabbing the ass of his hot, tattooed 21 year old second cousin at that same wedding.

Ciao.

Memorial Day, 2007

The first Memorial Day since a 25 year old from Pleasantville was killed in action carried extra feeling for many in town. A fresh grave in our cemetery, which hasn't accepted war dead in at least a generation.

The war hit home for me this spring as well, as a young man I had worked with fairly closely was killed in action. He had joined the military in 2004, in the midst of the fighting, knowing full well what he was getting into. His father, a West Point graduate and decorated soldier in Vietnam, had turned against Bush's war, but Andrew had joined and proud to had done so.

This was after an evening of talking to the kids about the war, spurred by 60 Minutes' story of the Iowa National Guard troop they've been following since deployment. The Girl just doesn't understand it -- why do we need to waste American lives half a world away? Why can't these people just take care of themselves?

I don't have any answers for her. Some things I used to be very sure of I'm not so much anymore. I can't put a value on Andrew's life. Is all this worth it? Of course not. Not if you're asking me about this one kid I knew who went off to war knowing full well all the dangers and possibilities.

But what if it works? We won't know for years, of course. But are we planting anything that will blossom in the arid desert seas and lush river valleys of Iraq? Is there a child is Basra growing up amongst the chaos of hatred of a sectarian war (for this isn't Iraq against the US, this is Sunni and Shite and Kurd against each other, with bonus points for knocking off an infidel invader or two...), is there a young man or woman growing up thinking to himself or herself; this is crazy, this isn't what Allah wants?

Is there a teenager somewhere dedicating themselves to a future of bringing his or her country together around a shared vision and rejecting the destructive and nihilistic hatreds of the present?

How will this end? For too many American young, it will end in death. But will their sacrifice mean more than some writing on a marble slab in a cemetery; festooned with flags a flowers once a year? I hope so.

But I don't know.

Yup, still alive

Sorry I've been away for a couple of days. I'm writing something that's a little difficult (plus I'm fat and lazy. Just so you know.)

I will leave you with the one thought:

Chicken Curry and an english-style pub for a business lunch = Bad Idea.

Smellingly yours,

Kal

Ewww....

 

Meat free chicken? Well, if you're the kind of person who's strict about definitions and says "chicken is poultry" then why feel the need to tell me it's meat free? All poultry should be meat free, right? I mean, you're not slipping porkchops in with my poultry, are you?

And if you are the kind of person that says anything with eyes is "meat", then what exactly is "meat free" chicken made of? Bananas?

This is very troubling...

Pot (Belly) Purri

As a special treat, I'm train-blogging today via the Treo and my spiffy magic wireless keyboard, so if this post degrades into gibberish, blame my inability to type on a tiny keyboard perched on my shoulder bag (plus the keyboard has a nsty habit on not synchingup with the Treo until you type your first letter, so if I miss a bunch of first letters of words, you know why.

(Note: I went back and edited when I got to my desktop. Couldn't take all the errors.)

Anywho - on to today's subjects.

1. Crash

Saw Crash over the weekend. Going to Sandra-ize it in a later post, but, man, what a movie. After it came in the mail I really thought we'd hate it, and the first ten minutes filled me with dread, but, wow. This could be the one that rewrites the rules. More later.

2. Fat@ssedness

My back has been on strike since about Saturday, and as much as I'd like to blame some crushing yardwork or fantastic accident, I woke up with it this way. So unless ninjas attacked during the night and I sleep-fought them off, there's no good reason I've been schlepping along like an invalid for the past three days.

There seems to be one solution: my back has finally decided that it's tired of lugging around my fat gut, and has gone on strike until further notice,

There's a lot of merit to this possibility, as I have reached yet another level of fat@ssedness I never thought I'd get to. The two of you who've been around for a couple of years may remember that I hit 250 a couple of New Year's Eves ago and went on a dieting and exercising binge that saw me drop 30 pounds, back to to marriage-day weight of 220.

And 220, you mqay recall, is about 40 pounds heavier than my woo-ing weight of 180. (But that was high school, back when I had a metabolism..)

Well, recently we've been flirting, aw, hell, when been completely molesting, 260 pounds, with the number 264 actually being spotted recently.

So this is completely out of hand. It's time again for an epic quest to dump off a pound or 50.

But I need incentive. (Oddly enough, "Not dying" isn't incentive enough.)

Last time I had the incentive of a contest with Brother-in-law #3, who himself was weighing in over three bills and needed to lose some weight for a wedding.

Plus, I was trying to look good for a certain young lady who I was sort-of mentoring and totally chasing after.

(Before you think me a cad: I am very happily married. But that doesn't mean I'm completely inured to the charms of the fairer gender. And it's kind of like a dog chasing a car: like the dog, I have no idea what I'd actually do with it if I were to catch it, so it's harmless, okay?)

Anyway, I need a potential victim love connection unsuspecting lass to chase after to get the old testosterone focused in the right direction. (Otherwise the testosterone says "screw the treadmill, let's play Madden tonight"). I'm going to start perusing the local health-food store to see if I can find a suitable person. (I have a wickedly horrible thing for hippy-chicks... They're my krypotite.)

And Bollix, occassional commentor and long time reader has volutneered to accept the challenge and enter into a gentlemen's wager as we both try to lose weight.

Since he's about 40 pounds lighter, we'll be doing it on a percentage basis. He's one of those crazy bicycle nuts who dress up in tight clothes and cycle all overr the place (lunatic), but I think with the proper incentive (find that hippy chick soon), I can give him a run for his money.

Well, gosh. My train ride's already almost over, so I've got to wrap this up. I wanted to mention one more thing, but that will have to wait.

Just one warning though: Stay away from the graveyards, okay?

That'll have to be it for now. Chat with you later.

(unless they get me, of course....)

Hello, been a while!

Sometimes when you're up to your ass in alligators it's hard to remember you started wanting to drain the swamp.

It's hearing season up here in Boss-town, so I'm very busy scuttling from oak-paneled room to oak-paneled room, kicking @ss and taking names. Oh yes, the forces of sin and inequity (that is, nasty polluters and perpetrators of sprawl and bad development) quake when they see the mighty Kal and his cohorts coming.

Well, maybe not so much. I am at an inherent disadvantage with the malefactors of great wealth: I can't golf, and I don't like to drink in public...

(My drinking is all done at night, in the dark, while caressing the lovely, cold blue-steeled barrel of my .38.)

So, some personal news: I've become an uncle for the first time, as Brother-in-Law #2 has finally spawned. See, the wife and I are the oldest in our families, and up to now none of our combined five brothers and sisters had seen it fit to settle down and fulfil their biological imperatives.

Wifeypooh has a bundle of brothers and sisters, but the one closest to her age is, at 34, a confirmed bachelor. I think he spent way too much time with Wifeypooh growing up and has seen what a miserable bastard I am -OUCH!- (boy, she moves quietly when she wants to)...

Anyway, he's not going to get us nieces or nephews anytime soon. And Brotherdear is a Stage 4 commitment phobe with a nice dose of LookingForMsPerfect-itis, so while he's been in a couple of fairly long term relationships, I have my doubts (although I like his current paramour... She seems to call him on his shit, which he severely needs...) But I'm not holding my breath with respect to him.

The other siblings are all fairly young (Sister-in-Law#2 was 5 when I started dating Wifeypooh about 100 years ago), so we've had to wait a while, but it finally happened today, with a little girl coming this afternoon.

And I'm so glad it was B-I-L #2 who had the kid, as he was the giver of several loud and obnoxious baby toys for which I now get to return the favor, bwa ha ha...

Well, off to do some work. Thanks for checking in!

And another thing...

I am proud to announce that if you google "Layfette House Foxboro", my "review" of 2/14/07 comes up number one.

For those of you who don't remember it, my opinion of this particularly restaurant (and to reinforce it for any google-bots that happen by):

Layfette House sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks Layfette House sucks....

Thank you for your support.

I am the King of all Dorks!

I was perusing my statcounter today, noting that Gino, the troglodyte, had stopped by a couple of times and not lavished praise on my wonderful bride's fake McNugget making ability, when I noticed something...

You know how statcounter tells you various things about your visitors, like the resolution they're working with, or what browser they're using? Nifty little tool, and useful for professional developers so they know if they're getting all folks with 1200 pixel wide resolution, it's not good to use pictures that only cover 800 as their background... (cough... right, Stone?... cough cough).

Anywho, I noticed that most of my visitors are using XP as an operating system. A couple of Windows 2000, a 98, a few Macs, and a windows 3.0 (that's Gino... he says "winnows 3.0 was good enough for me granpappy, issn' shore 'nuff good fer me").

And then there's someone with shiny new Windows Vista. Who might that ahead of the curve person be? Oh, yes, that's right. ME!

Me! on the spiffy new laptop I purchased yesterday. Vista, baby!

I mean, I know fvck all about how to use it, but it shore does look pretty.

And gives me an excuse to not do any work for the next couple of weeks ("Uh, I can't finish those TPS reports, Vista's acting weird again. Have Milton do it...")

Thank you, now I'm off to go figure out how the hell to get a new document in Word 2007....

Rumors of my demise were only slightly exaggerated...

Sorry I've been away. See, had a little medical emergency. Had discomfort in my lower abdomen. After much medical research (by which I mean looking up every available article on fatal diseases in Web M.D.), I diagnosed myself with stage 4 abdominal cancer and begin putting my affairs in order. Which means I had to come clean with my wife about that girl I kissed in college. (Really, she meant nothing to me... and she had a bit of a mustache. And her name was Fred. And it was really dark in that bar...)

Anywho, I basically moped around for a few days, sobbing uncontrollably every couple of hours until Wifeypooh got sick of the whole thing and made me go see the doctor.

Now, I like my doctor. First of all, he probably goes two and a half bills, and Wifeypooh used to babysit his kids and tells me their cupboards are filled with junk food, so he doesn't really get on your case about being a fat pig. I appreciate that.

But I think he may be losing a bit off his fastball. See, I was in desperate need of morphine, as that's what Web M.D. says you treat a fatal non-operative cancer like mine with, and Dr. StayPuft was having none of this. He actually wanted to examine me!

So after the traditional social finger or two... Or, I swear, the whole hand (Moon River!) (What the heck was he doing up there? Setting up a parlor?)... He sends me off for various tests. All of which come back negative.

Yup. No cancer. Web M.D. let me down. Then Dr. StayPuft tries to sell me this line about how the discomfort I was feeling was probably due to some type of physical activity I had recently done which was using muscles I didn't normally use. Now, as I try to use as few muscles as possible, I was able to pinpoint exactly the root cause of my horrific pain...

Derek Jeter.



Yes. The captain of the dread Yankees: the chief nemesis of our blessed Red Sox. Mr. November himself. He's the cause of all my sorrow.

You see, Jeter endoreses this torture device sold to unsuspecting parents of little leaugers: the Hit-a-Way. You attach it to a pole, throw the ball away for you, it coils around the pole and comes back upon whence you hit it.

The boy got one for his birthday last year and I set it up for him this week, so he could start practicing for baseball season. And I took a few cuts myself.

Well, let me tell you: the muscles one uses to ride the train, drink coffee, type blogs, and hit on pretty women are not the same ones used to swing a baseball bat. And getting exercise to certain here-to-fore unchallenged abdominal muscles... well... Let me just say for the record I would still like the morphine.

Now I'm off to ice my elbow after playing catch with him for ten minutes. It's either that or I've got a wicked case of elbow cancer brewing...

This is a Test!

This is a test, this is only a test.  If this were a real post, there would be an actual story here.  Maybe funny, possibly profane, but certianly not just this filler text, that's for sure.

Actually, testing if the email posting works, so we can blog from the nifty Treo at meetings, from the train, in the bathroom!

Bwa ha ha ha...

Ugh... February.

Now is the winter of our discontent, the times that try men's souls, if I can mix my historic quote stealing.

So.

February sucks. Can it just get its ass over with please? Were in full pity-party swing over here and need March and the renewal of spring to get moving again.

A list of my grievances:

• Trusty Laptop went teats up; windows ate itself.

• Trusty MP3 player is missing, and feared somewhere in the bowels of the Xray machine at the State House (but, oh, I feel so safe!) (Until, that is, Wifeypooh finds out I lost the MP3 player and chews my ass out to the Nth degree)
  

• Non-winter had been replaced by biting, searing, ice-storm cold. Thanks a efffing lot, Mother Nature. You biotch.

On the plus side:

• Still on the right side of the dirt.

• Nifty new Treo makes it possible to be hounded by email everywhere, even the can.

• Got a new toy:

Of course, this new toy is necessitated by the fact that I weigh approximately 945 pounds and need someone to help me pee by lifting my ponderous gut out of the way of my rapidly disappearing manhood...

Oh Christ, that's a lovely image.

And this goddamn world has gone completely off the rails.

The 2008 Presidential Election is 21 months away, the New Hampshire primary is 13 months away, and ads are already going up? The rest of you are lucky, you don't live in the media market that covers Southern New Hampshire. We're subjected to political ads early and often, and have to put up with ridiculous shit like stories that Dennis Kuchinic is trying to get 42 votes in MooseScrew New Hampshire by taking sides in a local permitting issue that is absolutely none of his business.

I swear, you get your cat stuck in a tree in New Hampshire anytime within a year and a half of the New Hampshire primary and four they'll be four presidential candidates coming over your house with a ladder.

I just can't take it.

Can't take anymore talk about Tom Brady's bastard child, Anna Nicole Smith's body (or that poor soon-t0-be multimillionaire baby and the circus paternity trial), Britney's hair, etc etc etc.

Not to mention if you're a sports fan in New England up until this week your February sports options were watching the Celtics go on an 18 game losing streak, or trying to find the Bruins on some channel, any channel. When did they put hockey in the witness protection program?

But things are looking up, my friends. Pitchers and catchers reported this week; opening day is a little more than a month away. You don't even have to be a rabid baseball fan to appreciate that, pitchers and catcher reporting is, like the return of the geese or those little green eruptions that become your daffodils, a sure sign that spring is on the way.

I'm ready. Ready to renew life and put behind me this winter of my discontent. Ready to face my new life with firm resolution, not dread resignation. Goodbye cruel winter. Hello affirming spring.

Happy Valentine's day to me!

Did our traditional Valentine's Day thing yesterday: Kentucky Fried Chicken by candlelight followed by watching "So I Married An Axe Murderer." This tradition was started years ago after a particularly lousy Valentine's Dinner at the local hoity-toity restaurant where the service sucked, the food was merely okay, and every other woman in the crowd was given a rose when they came in, except Wifeypooh. I won't mention them, as I wouldn't want to kill their business.... oh what the heck:

The Layfette House in Foxboro SUCKS!!! Sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks Layfette House sucks sucks sucks...

There, that feels better.

Well, anywho, got the wife her usual Godiva allotment, and a DVD of Oliver and Company, the first movie we went to together. She got me some chocolates, thus contributing to my future of morbid obesity, and a neat little toy came in the mail:



I somehow hoodwinked the wife into thinking that a Treo was completely necessary for my new gig... bwa ha ha... Now I can blog on the train, in the elevator, in my car, while showering!!! I will be invincible!!! bwa aha hah ha ha --choke choke, sputter sputter---

Alright, enough of that, time to shower...

In Honor of Valentines Day

Av did this one about his gorilla-human relationship. It was touching and all that, so I decided to steal it and comment on my fictional wife...

1. Where/how did you meet?
My best friend's birthday party. She was his date. We bowled. I had a cast on my hand, which I had broken punching another player in the helmet (I never said I was bright). I bowled left handed. She bowled with two hands. I beat her soundly.

2. How long have you known each other?
Well, that party was some time in the fall of 1985, so 21 years and a few months.

3. How long after you met did you start dating?
I chased her three long years before she finally succame, in the fall of 1988.

4. How long did you date before you were engaged?
I was engaged in my heart the moment I saw her. It took her a little longer. We got engaged around Christmas 1990, two years after we started dating.

5. How long was your engagement?
Four and a half years. It was a Bataan Death March engagement, during which we must have broken up half a dozen times, particularly as the wedding neared. This was the first wedding in each family, and we were about 12 years old, and we didn't have jobs yet, so it was a little tense.

6. How long have you been married?
Thirteen years this April.

7. What is your anniversary?
Not telling. Gotta keep something for myself, you know?

8. How many people came to your wedding reception?
I think it was 200, although I wasn't much involved beyond fighting with my wife-to-be, fighting with my mother, fighting with my eventual Mother-in-law.

9. What kind of cake did you serve?
White cake with strawberries and white chocolate mousse, with a butter cream icing. Had to ask Wifeypooh that one, I had no idea... (I think I was still in shock, people tell me we had a reception, but I don't really remember it)

10. Where was your wedding?
The Catholic Church in Pleasantville. The reception was at a golf course the next town over.

11. What did you serve for your meal?
I have no idea. Probably chicken, this was 1994 and normal people were still doing the rubber chicken thing at wedding receptions.

12. How many people were there in your bridal party?
14 total, with junior bridesmaids and the flower girl, and the designated fluffer for later that evening.

13. Are you still friends with them all?
(This is going to be a sore spot should motherdear be reading this, as I didn't have my cousins in my wedding party but I did have a couple of college friends, one of which I haven't heard hide nor hair from in about ten years). I keep in touch with all my groom's men but one, and I think we've lost track of two of the wife's attendents, but since most were family (my brother, and her four siblings), we still see them (I wouldn't push it and say we're still "friends" with them all).

14. Did you or your spouse cry during the ceremony?
No. I did cry after I bought the engagement ring. I had never spend that much money on something I couldn't go through a drive-through in before. Took me a year of loansharking and leg-breaking to pay it off.

15. Most special moment of your wedding day?
Heh heh heh.. (Dirty laugh)

16. Any funny moments?
The wedding party sang the Time Warp. And my 19 year old cousin got to put the garter on my nine year old sister-in-law. He behaved, which was a pleasant surprise.

17. Any big disasters?
Not that I know of, but I was living the Life of Flounder (Fat, Drunk, and Stupid), so the hall could've caught on fire and my father and step-father could've had a duel to the death with AK-47s and I wouldn't have noticed.

18. Where did you go on your honeymoon?
Disney.

19. How long were you gone?
About a week. Both she and I had basically moved out of our parent's houses to get married, so going off alone at 4:30 in the morning to Florida seemed like a big adventure.

20. If you were to do your wedding over, what would you change?
Would've been a whole lot mellower about the whole thing.

21. What side of the bed do you sleep on?
On the right, to the left of the wife. When I shared a bed with Brothergoodson as a kid I had the left-hand side, but when Wifeypooh and I moved into our first apartment the eave was over the left, so to save me from concusssions every morning, I took the right.

22. What size is your bed?
Queen

23. Greatest strength as a couple?
She calls me on my crap, and I understand her better than anyone else. (For instance, I have conversations with her in my head; I know exactly what she's going to say, before she says it. Really cuts down on wasted conversation.)

24. Greatest challenge as a couple?
She calls me on my crap, and I don't call her on hers. But, frankly, everyone else calls her on her crap, so she doesn't need that from me too, does she?

25. Who literally pays the bills?
We do it together, at the kitchen table, every Monday night. We started doing it that was after a certain "secret" credit card with a $4000 balance was accidentially discovered one time... Not good times, not good times at all.

26. What is your song?
"Eternal Flame", The Bangles.

27. What did you dance your first dance to?
"Eternal Flame". Our "last song" at the reception was "You're my best friend" by Queen. That's a friggin' hard song to foxtrot to, I'll tell you what.

28. Describe your wedding dress?
We had matching white beaded off the shoulder numbers. I had me back hair braided for the occasion.

29. What kind of flowers did you have at your wedding?
Edible? I don't know, it was 13 frickin' years ago. Actually, I think she had lilacs in her bouquet, as she loves lilacs, but don't hold me to that.

30. Are your wedding bands engraved? What do they say?
We put our ATM PIN in there in case we ever forget it.

Well, that's it. Have a happy Valentine's Day, even if it's just with yourself... (And don't be cheap, buy yourself something nice first, okay? ...perverts...)

I got NOTHING...

I think turning into a crunchy environmentalist do-gooder has killed my sense of humor. I got nothing... Could just be exhaustion, I guess, or the tragic lack of any readers -- that's always a bummer.

Oh, by the way, wanted to thank the members of the Daily Canon over there on the right who updated their blogrolls to reflect the change in locations. Love you guys.... sniff sniff.

Anyway, I can't figure out if I'm depleted of blog ideas because work has got my a bit bummed out, or if it's just that I'm sad I have to watch Gray's Anatomy tonight and not 30 Rock.

It's not that I don't like Gray's, it's just that I need a little gonzo in my decidedly dour do-gooder life...

Fatboy

Well, two days in the world of do-gooder non-profits and I've come to one conclusion.

I'm going to have to lose some weight.

These people are all so thin. And they never use the elevator. Which could be why they're so thin. Now, over in the government world, I could blend in. There were bigger fatassess and smaller fatassess than me, but there were fatasses none the less. Over here in do-gooder-dom, it's me. I'm the only fatass. And while nobody's said anything yet, I can tell they're thinking it;

"you know, all that extra food he eats could go to starving kids in Malawi...."

"if he'd just not take the elevator all the time, think of all the carbon he'd save from the power not necessary to lift his fatass...."

"what's that thing around his neck?"

Oh, yes, the last thought relates to dress code. I have gone from a place where arguably I was the worst dressed person, to being a veritable GQ cover boy. I've hit them with suits the first two days, worn the black leather wingtips, the whole nine yards. I don't think they know how to take it. I expect to see a sweater vest and a pair of earth shoes anonymously left on my chair one of these days...

So looks like we're going on another weight-loss jihad. Well, it was time anyway, holidays being over and all that. Looks like it's no elevator and nightly treadmilling for Kal. Wish me luck.

Regeneration

Well, had to do it. One down, six to go.

Welcome to my world, part three. Part two doesn't count, as that was just a migration to Beta. Part three was necessitated by my secret identity becoming just a little too un-secret for comfort in my (real) professional life, where success does not come from people knowing what a weirdo I really am.

For those of you who just stumbled upon this blog, this will make absolutely no sense. For the three of you who regularly, well, semi-regularly, subject yourselves to that other place, well, welcome back. I could never stop blogging, it's too much of a compulsion. And since the new gig isn't on the public dime, and includes nifty new telecommunications equipment putting me on the grid 24/7, who knows, might just post more than twice a fortnight.

But it was time to regenerate, as I had just left the first job I ever had, a thirteen year association with state government. So how better to cut off one phase of life and start a new one than with a shiny new blog?

So here we are. Welcom aboard, and I hope we'll manage to have some fun and maybe even learn something!

Or at least we'll have a place to bitch and look at pictures of Kate Hudson.

That wouldn't be so bad...

Everything Sucks...

This is going to be a bit disjointed (grain alcohol will do that to you...).

Crap. I'm still using complete sentences. Obviously not enough grain alcohol yet (Gypsy has set the standard for drunken blogging..)

And, by the way, we'll be watching Lost during this post- which is a really bad idea, 'cause JJ Abrams + booze can leave you really fucked up... Like, for instance, I could've sworn I just saw a nice little busdivision,... err... subdivision on the other side of the Lost island... and it's got Kerry Weaver's lesbian lover in it...

Oh, new Career Builder ad, one with the guy and a monkey at the urinal, and the monkey is certainly not dollowing... err...following the etiquitte spelled out in that video a couple of posts ago. This one's not on youtube yet, but here's a montage of Careerbuilder monkey ads... You know, for my money, you just can't get enough monkeyads...



Oh yes, she's back... Buy here she's Juliet... Interesting.

By the way - it was nice to see them not kill off Luka and Maggie's kid on ER last week. They haven't killed a baby in like a year..

Holy leaping lizards... Kate from Lost is in a low cut dress with her womanly parts all bulging out... my goodness..

Anywho, as I was saying, I think, at some point at least in this post, I'm in a crappy mood. Life sucks.

And the worst thing is, I can't write about it at all because too many people I know in real life know about this thing. And the last thing I need is someone from work knowing about my years as a page working for Mark Foley...

So, hyeah;.. Wroks sucks (uh oh - the grain spriitis are kicking in...(),... Politics sucls. The mega-volcano at TYellowstone is 40m,0-000 tyears late for an explosion, there've been four school shooting in the last two weeks, and my daughter is 10 going on 14 and may not make it to 11 if she keeps up her wiseass mouth....

Serious shit is going down, and I don;'t know how I;m supposed to just raise a family and go to work each morning and act like nothings happening.

Well, there's no way to wrap this up. So I;m just going to say good bye, and I;'kll see you all tomorrow...

Ciao

Eat, Drink, and be Merry...

Ah, the wonders of the Internet.

Tonight I found the Death Clock which, when I tell it when I was born, what my body weght index is, and what my general outlook on life is, will tell me how many seconds I have left on this mortal coil.

Entered my info: birthday, mid-30s BMI, and generally optimistic outlook. Contrary to Wifeypooh's consternations and contrary protests to the contrary, I am going to stay on the right side of the dirt until 2065 - well into my 90s.

So, concerned as I am with my slightly marine-mammalian physique I punch in a nice(er) mid 20s BMI. That one has me croaking in 2058. So, forsaking that second ice cream serving at dinner will actually cost me seven years. Cue Burns' voice: Excellent...

Now, change my outlook to pessimistic, and even with a svelte under 25 BMI I'm croaking before I hit 50.

So happiness is the key to longevity. Groovey. You gonna eat any more of that?...