Jimspeak

I am not a guy who fits the metrosexual definition in any way, other than having a penis. It brought a tear to my eye (ok, more a grin to my face since guys don't cry) to get onto Malkin's site this morning and find a link over to Jennifer's site. She has coined the term (I think. I don't feel like looking around to see if anyone else has used it) "Retrosexual". That is my kind of list! Check it out. Living the ideals she has penned will bring manliness back into the fold. Some highlights below:

Real men of the world, stand up, scratch your butt, belch, and yell "ENOUGH!" I hereby announce the start of a new offensive in the culture wars, the Retrosexual movement.
 
A Retrosexual does not let neighbors screw up rooms in his house on national TV. A Retrosexual, no matter what the women insists, PAYS FOR THE DATE.A Retrosexual opens doors for a lady. Even for the ones that fit that term only because they are female.
 
A Retrosexual doesn't worry about living to be 90. It's not how long you live, but how well. If you're 90 years old and still smoking cigars and drinking, I salute you.A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need an endcap (possibly 2 endcaps if you include shaving goods.)
 
Crying. There are very few reason that a Retrosexaul may cry, and none of them have to do with TV commercials or soap operas. Sports teams are sometimes a reason to cry, but the preferred method of release is swearing or throwing the remote control. Some reasons a Retrosexual can cry include (but are not limited to) death of a loved one, death of a pet (fish do NOT count as pets), loss of a major body part. Retrosexuals do not cry for movies. They can get a teary lump in their throat under a few notable exceptions, such as when "the guy" heads out to die and save the day or the flag goes up on Suribachi.
 
Thank you, Jennifer. If I didn't have a girlfriend who thinks as you do (at least as far as she tells me, or as far as I interpret her), I would propose to you right now. Well, I might if I weren't a commitment-phobe and wildly 'irresponsible'.

UPDATE: Ok, I looked around a little and was directed to this by Zombyboy. Thanks, dude.

The University of Michigan conducted a study to try and determine how widespread abuse of Arabs is in America right now. Michelle Malkin links the Wash Posts story on this report as well as some other reports conducted on the same topic. It's interesting. What's more interesting, is a comment she pasted in from Ed at Captain's Quarters (I'll piggyback her efforts on this one. Thanks, Michelle);

"Well, excuse me, but no s**t, Sherlock! I guarantee you that 60% of all Americans worry about the future of their families since 9/11. I worry about it every time I see my granddaughter, the Little Admiral. In terms of respect for their religion, it would help if groups like the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) and other such organizations would worry less about namecalling and more about urging American Muslims to cooperate with law enforcement. Instead, we mostly hear how our foreign policy led to 9/11 and our need to listen to the terrorists rather than hunt them down and kill them.
And now we have this ridiculous study that claims 15% have received serious harrassment, only to find out that tasteless jokes count in the survey. Gee, can I start a survey among Irish-Americans that count every alcohol-related wisecrack I ever heard?"
 
Hm.

In January, a character in the Simpsons will be coming out of the closet.

Someone is going to have to email me and let me know. I'm not sure the Simpsons gets much airtime in...wherever the hell I'm going to be.

KNRC is clsing its doors? That ain't right! It was a great station. And Darren was a real nice guy as far as I could tell after a few too many drinks. Pisser.

I think I may be in love with Zombyboy. No, I don't know why. Why not? Because I have a girlfriend and I am not even latently gay? Whatever. Leave me alone, dude.

Is 2am too late for some Grappa? I haven't decided yet. I am thinking it's not, but I can't quite decide. I know I only have 8 days left of work, but I'd like to have some brain power tomorrow. If I have some Grappa now, I may have nothing tomorrow. I guess there's only one way to find out, right? A splash won't hurt. Besides, after the night I had I deserve it. What happened? Ok, I'll tell you.....

I made it thru work no problem. I had to talk about my trip over and over, but that is fine. There are worse conversations to have. I arrived home at 5 (in time to see the Simpsons!) and left at 5:30 for my Tuesday night volleyball league at Wash Park (a 20-25 minute bike ride away). Exercise hasn't made my top 5 list of post-work activities lately, so I figure riding to volleyball would count as me getting off my ass albeit briefly. Donning my backpack and minidisk player (Grappa is made to peel the paint off of anything. In case you are wondering), I headed down the street. The ride was going well. I had more than enough time to make it a relaxing ride. The weather was perfect-not hot, but warm. Kenny Loggins cranked out hit after hit into my waiting ears. It was not meant to last. Less than 10 minutes in, as I belted out the words to "I'm All right" (Caddyshack song. And yes, the belting was not silent but at near to full volume in my very poor singing voice), I heard a loud pop followed by hissing. Assuming the sprinklers at the Denver Academy were being cleared out (no, I don't know why anyone would do that in July) I rode on. Until I was forced to grab the handlebars (riding no-handed is always advised when possible) due to insufficient control. Wrestling with the handlebars I made it up onto the sidewalk in time to smash into a 2x4'ed garden border which tossed my over the handlebars into some zucchini. Giggling, I picked myself up and surveyed my hissing tire and newly broken pedal clip. A cursory surveillance showed me why my front tire blew-being a cheap ass and having not purchased new tires in years allowed the rubber to wear away leaving skin-thick rubber to protect the tube. Not smart. Fortunately Performance Bike was a mere 1/2 mile away. I scooted over and had them replace the front tire/tube as well as the rear tire (why take chances on a second blow-out?). While they shop guys serviced me, I called my team captain to let him know I'd be late. He didn't seem to care and mumbled something about hoping my bike would finally be the death of me. Hm. Walking out of the shop with my new gear, I reassembled my bike, and proceeded to strip off my shirt (and almost my shorts at the same time. Don't ask.) while little kids walked past, awe in their eyes. I mounted my beast and rode down the middle of Colorado Boulevard, elated at my new wheels. I made it to the park having missed only one game (not that my asshole teammates noticed), which was pretty good given my issues. I think my tooling in barechested (except for the fur coat my Italian genes provided me) and sweaty and out of breath impressed the girls on the next court over. They kept looking at me, pointing and giggling. That's good right?

After all the above rambling there must be a point/moral to my story, right? Yup, there is. Here it is:

Grappa, no matter the quantity, is not needed at 2am.

 

 

My resignation was announced at our staff meeting this morning. An email was also sent out letting everyone know that my time here (and hopefully my time as an engineer) has come to a close. It feels great to finally be able to talk about it and let people know instead of trying to keep such a big secret. Everyone I have talked to thus far has been great and very supportive. And of course there is a touch of jealousy from some, but there ain't much I can do about it. 

It feels pretty weird to be giving up my life as I've always known it (ideals, philosophies, job, etc), but at the same time it's exhilarating and freeing. I suggest everyone tries it (if you want)! I was talking with one of my soon to be ex-coworkers about all this, and he couldn't be more supportive. As we discussed, he mentioned how hard some people would perceive leaving a life as comfortable as mine as being. Well, it's not. I made a choice, I've realized some things, and leaving behind the 10 years I've dedicated to engineering (school and work) is not hard. It's something I need to do at this point in my life so it would be harder to not do this. Ya know?

Enough for now. I do still have some things to get done, and I'd like to get out of here soon today. I'm starved!

Posting has been pretty light lately, but I have a good excuse that I can now finally reveal.

In the past year and a half, my lifestyle/beliefs have made a drastic change. As a result, I sold my full-size Dodge pick-up, motorcycle, a lot of cds, I've given away a lot of my excess clothes and crap, sold the house, cut way back on spending and waste. Now I have no debt at all and own very little (and will be getting rid of more).

Oh yeah-I also gave my 2-week notice at work this past Friday, which I am hoping brings to a close my time as an engineer.

What now? Good question. I leave for Nepal at the end September and then will be traveling for a while. My itinerary is not set yet, but I am looking to spend most of my time in SE Asia, and I'm working on making some contacts at organic farms in Hawaii in an attempt to set up work.

A drastic change? Yeah. I just heard that Ricky Williams is retiring from football to travel and "find himself". My goals started out that lofty. However, I've come to decide that I am not out to find myself. If I do, great, but I don't want to taint my experience with such high expectations. There is a lot I need to figure out (since most everything I have thought/believed thru most of my life up to this point has been turned upside down), and hopefully I achieve some clarity. We'll find out. Who knows, maybe the elephant of my dreams will crush me, negating the need to figure anything out!

I have no plan for when I get back, and have no idea when I will get back. Is it scary? In a way, I suppose. With the announcing of my 'retirement', it's become much more real so I am sure my feelings on the matter will change. It's exciting to have no idea where my life is going to go or what my future holds. I'd like to survive this trip and maybe figure life out a little in the process (if that is even possible), but whatever happens happens.

Is this irresponsible? Probably. But so what? I have no true responsibilities so why not? I'm tired of all the 'restrictions' placed on me because of what our society dictates is normal, expected, and necessary for a happy life. Bullshit. I know too many people who are unhappy with life but refuse (or 'can't') buck the norm. Screw that. I am tired of being restricted, and I'm out. Maybe I'll end up getting married while I'm gone. Or finding god, or being left behind and ending my days alone. Maybe senility will hit early and I'll end up on a beach somewhere walking in circles talking with myself (I'm at least half way to this conclusion). Maybe I'll decide to return to engineering and come back to Denver and 'settle down'. Maybe I'll be killed/die on this trip. Anything is possible. You'll just have to wait and find out. I'll be doing my best to get on here and keep people updated on my travels, hopefully with some pics to supplement the babble.

We'll have to wait and see what happens, I guess.

This made me giggle, and I'm not even awake yet!

For those who love Krispy Kreme donuts, now you can drink your fat!

The point of drinking is to get drunk? Those darn Germans. What's wrong with them? The point of drinking is to look more attractive, be funnier and nearly irresistable to the opposite sex. Duh.

I am going to link Michael King's blogsite. Not a specific post, the whole page. He has quite the plethora of stories today, and all of them are pretty....wow. Let's take a look see:

UPI is reporting that 3 missiles with nuclear heads were found in Iraq. This has NOT been confirmed yet, but if it is?

Baghdad, Iraq, Jul. 21 (UPI) -- Iraqi security reportedly discovered three missiles carrying nuclear heads concealed in a concrete trench northwest of Baghdad, official sources said Wednesday.
 
The official daily al-Sabah quoted the sources as saying the missiles were discovered in trenches near the city of Tikrit, the hometown of ousted Iraqi President Saddam Hussein.

The report could not be authenticated by the interior ministry or the national security department, but the paper noted Iraqi Foreign Minister Hoshiar Zibari made a surprise request recently to Mohammed el-Baradei, head of the International Atomic Energy Agency, to resume inspections for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.

Next we have the discovery of Paul Johnson's head in a freezer. What the hell is that? What is wrong with these people? I am pretty sure the Koran does not condone saving an executed person's body parts (nor anyone else's for that matter).

Finally, there are rumors that Michael Jackson is surrogately fathering 4 kids (is there any other way for him to have kids? Who'd want to sleep with that scary lookin' mo' fo'?). 

Aw hell, after a morning like this, I'm ready to go home (can I blame those stories for wanting to leave my cube? Even though the real reason is that I feel lazy and would rather go take a nap?).

Ouch. Hard to believe he's to stay out of the operating room for only 2 months-pending the results of an investigation. Um, I would think it's pretty obvious what happened.

Bill over at INDC posts letters, and links to others from men who served in Vietnam in and around Kerry. Pretting damning stuff.

If the tales from South Park are to be taken sans the enormous grain of salt, then maybe Mugabe is sitting in a warehouse with Sally Struthers?
 
Or maybe he's just an asshole

It's 1:30AM. Loud music appeals to me like tater tots late Saturday nights.
 
Do you think the sleeping people/animals in my house would mind if I cranked the stereo?
 
What kind of music do you think they'd prefer? I'm thinking....The Legendary Shack Shakers. Yeah. That oughta do it.

A benefit concert is being held at the Double Door in Chicago on Wednesday July 21st (Doors at 8, show at 9. $10) in memory of Fran. Check it out.
 
As a sidenote, let me tell you how completely floored I am at the number of people that appear to be searching the internet for info on Fran. The hits on my site that come as a result of people searching Google for Fran are unreal. We're talking double digits most days (which is a lot for me). Since so many people are looking for info, give me what you've got. I will be more than happy to post links, emails, comments, whatever. You can email me or just leave a comment on this post.
 
My heart goes out to all of you.

UPDATE (7/29): Go check out the 'Guestbook' for Fran at the Chicago Trib online. It won't be around much longer, so get over there. Click on "View the photo gallery" to see a picture of Fran tending bar at Delilah's.

I just realized how long I've been neglecting my blog! Very uncalled for! The poor baby called me this morning to express her sadness over my apparent lack of interest and the cold shoulder that had been turned in said baby's direction.
 
My attempts to rectify the situation will be better intentioned and will hopefully involve more follow thru than my efforts to exercise more and eat better.
 
I am not going to get into it now-it's late and the Busch Light is sapping my energy-but tomorrow there will be an update on the Wasp War. It began last summer (see my earlier post) and the battle had to be renewed this evening. Let's just say it involved more fire and chaos than the last time.

"For no death bends big wings over my window, I see it, I hear it, I smell it, I see it in the limp hang of my shirts destined not to be worn, new-old, stylish-out-of-date, neckties snakelike behung I don't even use anymore, new blankets for autumn peace beds now writhing rushing cots on the sea of self-murder-loss-hate-paranoia..."

-Jack Kerouac, The Subterraneans

Looks like DeBeers is going to plead guilty to price fixing (Really?! No way! I thought they were completely on the up and up!) and will probably be able to re-enter the American market. Great. They will be fined a whopping $10 million. Wow, that's terrible.

The settlement of the criminal case will go a long way toward advancing the company's plan to expand into new markets, although a diamond industry executive said that the company had no immediate plans to change its level of business in the United States.

Three years ago, it signed a joint venture with LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton, the French luxury retailer, to open retail operations and market luxury diamonds around the world. As the company has steadily lost market share in the world market for rough diamonds, it has moved more aggressively into the marketing and retailing of polished stones.

The United States is the biggest single market in the world's $60 billion retail diamond business, and the indictment of De Beers was the last remaining obstacle preventing the company from doing business directly here. Executives have long risked arrest because of the case and have generally avoided visits.

In recent years, the company has survived a series of challenges and upheavals. In the late 1990's, De Beers managed to shrug off accusations that it had dealt in so-called blood diamonds - illicit stones used to finance African conflicts - and instead ended up leading a campaign to choke off the supply of tainted diamonds into the world's $8 billion rough diamond market. De Beers controls about two-thirds of the market in uncut diamonds.

(My emphasis)

Thank goodness they'll be back in play in the US. I am sure they will no longer use their monopolish standing to make way too much money on rocks that are not nearly as precious as they make the world believe.

Read Blood Diamonds by Greg Campbell. Very good book.

I can't believe I didn't update you all on this-I found out Tuesday morning that I did in fact pass the Professional Engineer's exam! It only took 2 tries (missed by one freakin' point last time!), but I am now a registered PE in the State of Colorado. How scary is that?

This is an interesting little quiz. How'd I turn out?

You are a WECL--Wacky Emotional Constructive Leader. This makes you a people's advocate. You are passionate about your causes, with a good heart and good endeavors. Your personal fire is contagious, and others wish they could be as dedicated to their beliefs as you are.

Your dedication may cause you to miss the boat on life's more slight and trivial activities. You will feel no loss when skipping some inane mixer, but it can be frustrating to others to whom such things are important. While you find it difficult to see other points of view, it may be useful to act as if you do, and play along once in a while.

In any event, you have buckets of charisma and a natural skill for making people open up. Your greatest asset is an ability to make progress while keeping the peace.

I've NEVER instigated a 'discussion' between me and a girlfriend because of any inane matter....not me!

I got home from work last night, and decided it was time once again to mow down the burgeoning collection of weeds in my yard. The front yard was not bad, but the back yard was neglected the last cutting. Therefore, the weeds were arrogant and thought they owned the back yard. I got the mower out and took them to task. However, as I was slaying the largest weeds in the back corner of my yard, I felt a sharp pain in my side. My hand instinctively went to my side, and came away with a handful of wasps! Somehow, only one of the little bastards got me, but I began swearing loudly as I threw them off, ripped my shirt off and ran across the yard, my side a burning knot of pain.

Now it's been a while since my last bee sting. The last time was during a cross country race. Somehow the bastard got into my jersey and stung me on the nipple. Painful, but I did go up a cup size for a few days. And got some dates out of it.

But I digress. As I'm standing by my back door, swearing and wondering if I am allergic to stings, I notice the hole in the ground (stupid things even build their home in the ground!) that is the source of the flying devils. The neighbor behind me comes to the fence to find out what's going on, and I tell her. She checks out my side and offers her condolences-while laughing. She said it was kinda funny watching me run around in circles tearing my clothes off (literally, as the t-shirt was one that had "1990" on it and did nothing to hide what I had underneath) and yelling. Offering advice on treatment, eradication, and taxes, she blathered on for a while as if I cared about anything but revenge. I finally cut her off and told her not to worry about the wasps because I'd found their nest and was about to take care of it. She looked worried, I grinned devilishly. I told her that maybe she should grab her cat (the damn thing is always in my yard harassing the poor birds. I wish it'd at least be useful and take out the woodpecker so it would stop pecking on my gutters. Stupid thing. Doesn't it know that gutters are metal and there are no bugs in there? If it weren't illegal, I'd use the 12-guage on that damn thing and then it'd leave my gutters alone) and wait inside a while. She clammed up, finally, and went in her house, though I saw her watching from behind a curtain.

I went inside. Turned on some Metallica. I dressed in my cowboy boots, jeans, a long sleeve shirt, motorcycle helmet, and my Kevlar cycle gloves. I went to the garage and got my can of gasoline. And some matches. I went back out into the yard. I could see the little buggers flying up out of their nest/hole, demonic little miscreants that had become the bane of my existence. They flew around as if taunting me to come nearer, flying in patterns that said: "we're not scared of you, you pufda!" I smiled knowingly. The song "Blackened" blared in the background. I could now see the neighbors on all 3 sides watching from their homes. The kids to my left looked ready to cry. I didn't care. I had to do this. I walked over to the hole. There were 5 of the devils flying around me, bouncing off the helmet, and I could see more in the ground. I took the nozzle off my Can of Liberation. I dumped the full 2 gallons into the hole. I wasn't going to lead a trail away from the hole to light. It doesn't work, and I wanted to watch the bastards die. I tossed the can to the side and got out my matches. As if able to read my mind, the 5 cretins flying around dashed back to their hole as if to help their drowning compatriots. Good. I'd get them all. I brought out the matches. I lit one and dropped it in. There was a loud WHOOSH and I was knocked back by the fireball that erupted. The paint on my helmet cooked off, the front of my clothes were BLACKENED, and I watched one wasp try to fly away in mimicry of a firefly. I grabbed a nearby slat from the fence (it's in bad shape, it's falling apart) and smacked that f*cker like a flaming tennis ball. It exploded into pieces. It was done.

2 hours later, when the gas finally burned out (I watched the whole thing), my neighbors came out to chat. They looked at me differently than they had before, but thanked me for taking care of the problem. I told them if they had similar problems to let me know and I'd help out. They muttered thanks, then walked away. One kid, however, stayed behind. He asked how it felt to have done what I did. I looked morose and told him that killing is wrong, and that I felt bad. He looked disappointed, so I laughed and told him the truth.

He's coming over next week for fire lessons. Don't tell his mom

I found the diatribe below that I wrote last December in regards to Christmas. Me thinks there may be some not so hidden issues in my psyche....


I’ve decided that this Christmas idea terrifies me. Here’s why:

Let’s ignore the commercialism that has superceded the original reason for being decadent (Christ’s supposed birth) and the sterility that has been forced upon the holiday.

What is the ‘pagan’ holiday? Santa Clause (aka-Kris Kringle, Sinter Claus, etc) brings toys and happiness to all the girls and boys in the world. Spreading messages of peace, love, harmony, blah blah blah. Let’s explore in depth:

Who makes all the toys? The elves. Might this be the original sweat shop? How are they compensated for their efforts? They have to be slaves-why else would they be in the North Pole.

Who pulls and guides the sleigh? The reindeer. Why hasn’t PETA stepped up yet on this issue? A wild animal forced into indentured servitude? That ain’t right.

What does Santa do? Not much.

He spies on people all year (anyone remember the Commie scare and J. Edgar Hoover?) deciding who has been good and who has been bad, essentially forcing his value system (which doesn’t seem so high) on the rest of the world. Not to mention the fact that he is peeking into your window seeing who knows what. Maybe he bases a kid’s goodness based on his parents’ proclivity for undressing and doing dirty things?

He takes credit for the work of his elf slaves. They make all the toys while he sits around, hand in pants, swilling Old Crow looking into peoples’ homes with his extra strength telescope. I’ll bet he doesn’t even shower or wash his “Santa Suit” for most of the year.

He probably beats his wife-why else would she hang around this pervert in a place as inhospitable as the North Pole? Speaking of the NP, what better place to set up shop and ensure low employee turnover? Too cold to run away. Plus, there is nothing to do all year long except slave away at making toys and babies (aka-future employees).

A bowlful of jello? Of course he’s a big fat tub of goo. He doesn’t do a dang thing all year (except the above mentioned atrocities) until the night before Christmas. Then he capitalizes on the birth of Christ (and peoples’ greediness) and goes around distributing the efforts of his slaves’ hard work. In reward for being a lazy slob, he gets to fill his burgeoning gut on the goodies left for him!

My Conclusions

Santa is a slave driving, perverted man, possibly into spousal abuse and child porn. A peeping tom at the least. Perhaps he is also the head of the largest most influential militia in history. Who knows what they are really doing up there, but Santa (rearrange the words and you get Satan) controls the minds of millions. That is terrifying.

Somebody let Bush know. Santa/Satan may have weapons of mass destruction. At the least, we need to invade for the sake of his slaves/prisoners and poor Mrs. Clause, who are unable to speak for themselves. We also have to do it to protect ourselves and our children! We have let him control us for too long! Who knows what evil plans his twisted frost covered mind has constructed! We must act!

I'll bet we can find some oil up there?

Shoot me now. Please

I've been listening to Kenny Chesney's new cd most of the day (when Alegria hasn't been playing). It's pretty rad. The song "When the Sun Goes Down" with Unkle Kracker, is hellishly good. Makes me want to doff my clothes and hunker down in the sand. Unfortunately there is no sand in my cube and my coworkers tend to frown on my naked parades thru the office. Something about it being unprofessional. Kenny ain't country in the strictest sense of the word, but he's good stuff. Check it out (not the Mellencamp song, you dolt!)!

In today's bleat (7/8/04), James Lileks goes to town on F911 and M. Moore. I know "We Hate Michael Moore" week is over, but too bad. This is good stuff.

I'd copy over some text but it's worth your time to read the whole thing, ya lazy sack!

There ain't nothing wrong with sitting around all night drinking Busch Light Draft while emailing and listening to Kenny Chesney sing about having a damn keg in the closet! Is there? I don't think so. I enjoyed myself. Toppered it all off with a late night Neddy Flanders type fog walk (without the fog) and some Sopranos. That Tony. What a cut-up! My brain has short-circuited leaving me with random electrical pulses jetting thru my grey matter bouncing off whatever they can. Typically the harder parts of the brain (where stubborn and sarcasm are stored).
Getting inked tomorrow (assuming it's not pushed back again), it'll be Stu's fault, not mine of course. He is ruining my life, you know? We discussed, and he feels no remorse. Nor do I feel any animosity towards him. If it is fault, I owe him some beer. I'll take care of that this summer. New CD-Alegria. Good damn stuff. Listening to it I feel that I should be improving my physical modalities in order to support my weight and that of another on one hand while we spin around in our skivvies below twirling bouncing jumping writhing supple young acrobatic lasses. This is going to be a long long day. I knew Tuesday going back quickly would not work out in my favor.

Hehe. This guy's funny

Thanks, Bill

The Family Guy is coming back!

Great. Now our money-grubbing workaholic society is screwing up the rest of the world.

Europe's long siesta, it seems, has finally reached its limit — a victim of chronic economic stagnation, deteriorating public finances and competition from low-wage countries in the enlarged European Union and in Asia. Most important, many Europeans now believe that shorter hours, once seen as a way of spreading work among more people, have done little to ease unemployment.

Ok, that's not our fault. Read on....;

"We have created a leisure society, while the Americans have created a work society," said Klaus F. Zimmermann, the president of the German Institute for Economic Research in Berlin. "But our model does not work anymore. We are in the process of rethinking it."

From the 1970's until recently, Europe followed a philosophy of less is more when it came to labor, with the result that Europeans work an average of 10 percent fewer hours a year than Americans. Germans, with the lightest schedule, work about 18 percent fewer hours.


How nice would that be? To work even 10% less? I'd love that! Maybe I need to move to Italy so that I can enjoy the 3 hour lunches?

Curses!

Check out this rant by Megan Mcardle. No, she is not a Bush supporter, and she does a great job of illluminating why Moore (and his faithful) and his drivel do nothing but cause harm.

Kudos to Michelle Malkin for finding this.

Those people that get a lot of face time (read: celebrities) could learn a lot from Roddick's response.

There ain't no Atkins crap over there! They know how to eat (and not get fat).

I put up a post a couple weeks ago about Fran's death, and have been floored by the number of people that have gotten onto my site after doing a search on Google for her. It shows what an amazing person she was and how much she was loved and is missed. Again, I'm sad I didn't get the chance to get reacquainted with her.

A comment was left this morning in regards to the person that struck and killed her with his/her car. This person has yet to be found. It seems the media gave out an inaccurate description of the car. The person who left the comment has a website set up with a flyer that is being distributed in Chicago to try and find this car and its driver. If you live in Chicago, go here to print out the flyer. Go out and post the flyer around the city to help in the efforts to bring Fran's killer to justice.

UPDATE: Better quality flyers have been set up. Go here for flyers in englsh, here for flyers in spanish.

After a weekend of reading, laying around and.....not much else, I'm back at work. Huzzah?

It was a good weekend, the highlight of which was the 4th of July Parade down in Crestone, CO. Awesome little parade. The Greater Crestone Cosmic Kazoo Band performed flawlessly as usual, and this year I could not avoid the water fight-I was completely doused by the fire engine. What are you gonna do? It felt good in the heat!

Now I have to shift my mind back into work mode. It's going to be tough.

Have a good 4th, my reader. I'm heading out of town tomorrow morning and heading down to the town of Crestone. I have a trailer that needs someone to sit around in for a couple of days. I'd attempt to blog from there, but you can't even get cell phone coverage there, so you are out of luck. I am sure I'll write some stuff that I'll post on Tuesday, but I'll be quiet for some time.

Have a fun and safe 4th!

A big "prompters", to the US and her troops.

Rock on!

House is sold,
Bike is sold,
Pay-off to dad is in hand (ok, technically it's still in the bank in the form of electronicles, not even the cold hard cash variety),
I am wearing clean underwear (at least it smelled that way), AND
I'm back to not sleeping at night.

Where does this leave me? Well, I'm at work so physically that's where I am. That's not what I am talking about. Kenny Chesney has my brain flopped over on a towel on a beach somewhere tropical-not the Cherry Creek Overflow Pond.

Brain's clearing up (liar! liar!) and so's the acne on my bum and that ain't all bad.