Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

I Need Answers

About six times a week, a Capital One credit card application comes in the mail. Or maybe it's an actual credit card. I don't know, since I throw them out. Will someone please explain to me ... and believe me, I know I'm not the brightest bulb on the block ... what the fuck is it with these Capital One credit card commercials with the stupid fucking Germanic Warriors/ Vikings/ Normans/ Barbarians running around? Is there some connection between Capital One and warrior tribes?

I don't get it. Now, they have these fucking freaky Huns trying to be elves or whatever for Christmas. I don't get it.

These fucking stupid-ass commercials annoy me. And how many cable channels do they run the commercial on at the same time? I change the channel, and the same fucking commercial is on. Fucking annoying.

I have been bombarded by Capital One credit card inducements nearly every day for longer than I can remember. Why the hell would I get a Capital One card if I haven't gotten one by now. Had how is some dumb fuck Celt going to make me get one?

I'm writing this post on my tablet PC, using the handwriting recognition thingy to input the text. You would think that the computer would recognize the word "fucking" and all of its conjugations by now. I've had it almost a year, and it hasn't picked up on the proper spelling of the word.

The word is not "flicking." The word is not "facing." The word is not "faking." Or "trucking." Or "braking." Or "tucking," "tuck," or "tucked." Is this censorship by Microsoft or whatever company wrote the program? Bill Gates doesn't like the flicking word ... See? Dumb tucking program ... See? Mother tucker. Damn it! See? It does "damn." Why not flick?

Can someone please answer these questions for me? After all, it is the holiday season. There might be something in it for you. Hand-dipped chocolate-covered Double Stuff Oreos, cashew brittle, stuff like that.

A Word About Slavery and Death

Bush is on the trail touting his temporary guest worker program, which would allow undocumented workers to stay in the country, penalty free, for up to six years. He is trying to divert attention from what is happening in Iraq and in his own house.

Bush said back on January 7, 2004, "Some of the jobs being generated in America's growing economy are jobs American citizens are not filling. Yet these jobs represent a tremendous opportunity for workers from abroad who want to work and fulfill their duties as a husband or a wife, a son or a daughter." In other words, this pool of workers is a cheap labor force for non-union contractors and the like.

Of course, this amnesty program for illegal aliens is mentioned in conjunction with those who cross our southern border with Mexico; however, it would apply to any foreigners who are in the country or who want to get into the country. As Bush the Lesser pointed out, "a new temporary worker program ... will match willing foreign workers with willing American employers, when no Americans can be found to fill the jobs. This program will offer legal status, as temporary workers, to the millions of undocumented men and women now employed in the United States, and to those in foreign countries who seek to participate in the program and have been offered employment here." Why not bring a few shiploads of potential workers from the Ivory Coast, Nigeria, or Zimbabwe, who would work for much less than those from Mexico. And there could be large communes built at or near work sites where these "immigrants" could live at low cost, serving those employers who offered jobs.

This type of arrangement sounds suspiciously like the slave trade that brought cheap labor to our shores for many centuries. And it sounds suspiciously like the French Muslim housing situation of today which has resulted in the extreme segregation of those peoples and the recent nightly rioting. As is the rule with citizenship in the U.S., France bestows citizenship upon those born on French soil. Why will the result be any different in this country? Perhaps, sterilization will be required as a pre-condition to entry under the Bush immigration plan.

I'm no expert, mind you, but it is my opinion that the 13th Amendment outlawed slavery and involuntary servitude in this country. The 13th Amendment says, "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States ...." That's pretty clear, but since the Constitution is being ignored anyway in other important respects by our present government, abridging our personal freedoms, what difference does ignoring this little Constitutional prohibition make in the scheme of things. It is consistent with the view of the rule of law taken by the Bush Administration. Who, after all, wants a repeat of 9/11? Who wants to contribute to a repeat of 9/11 by not waving the flag and being four square behind the President and his henchmen?

But, seriously, George, lest we forget, and I know you probably skip the page of the daily briefing with the names on it, the last two months have been pretty bloody in Iraq and Afghanistan; and trying to change the subject does not change the reality of the situation over there, even though the government censors bar us from seeing the body bags on the evening news or any list of the 15,000 soldiers permanently maimed and wounded (the cost of care of whom will be a hidden cost of this war for the next few generations):

October, 2005
Sgt. 1st Class Jonathan Tessar, 36, of Simi Valley, Calif.
Spc. William J. Byler, 23, of Ballinger, Texas
Pfc. David J. Martin, 21, of Edmond, Okla.
Pvt. Adam R. Johnson, 22, of Clayton, Ohio
Sgt. 1st Class Matthew R. Kading, 32, of Madison, Wis.
1st Lt. Robert C. Oneto-Sikorski, 33, of Bay St. Louis, Miss
Staff Sgt. Wilgene T. Lieto, 28, of Saipan, Marianas Islands of the
Pacific
Spc. Derence W. Jack, 31, of Saipan, Marinas Islands of the Pacific
Sgt. Michael P. Hodshire, 25, of North Adams, Mich.
Nasser Wa Salaam, Iraq, assigned to 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marine
Regiment, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force, Camp Lejeune, N.C.
Staff Sgt. Joel P. Dameron, 27, of Ellabell, Ga.
Pfc. Kenny D. Rojas, 21, of Pembroke Pines, Fla.
Capt. Raymond D. Hill, II 39, of Turlock, Calif.
Sgt. Shaker T. Guy, 23, of Pomona, Calif.
1st Lt. Debra A. Banaszak, 35, of Bloomington, Ill.
Pfc. Dillon M. Jutras, 20, of Fairfax Station, Va.
Staff Sgt. Daniel R. Lightner, Jr., 28, of Hollidaysburg, Pa.
Lance Cpl. Robert F. Eckfield Jr., 23, of Cleveland, Ohio
Lance Cpl. Jared J. Kremm, 24, of Hauppage, N.Y.
Capt. Michael J. Mackinnon, 30, of Helena, Mont.
Col. William W. Wood, 44, of Panama City, Fla.
Master Sgt. Thomas A. Wallsmith, 38, of Carthage, Mo.
Sgt. 1st Class Ramon A. Acevedoaponte, 51, of Watertown, N.Y.
Sgt. James Witkowski, 32, of Surprise, Ariz.
Staff Sgt. Lewis J. Gentry, 48, of Detroit, Mich.
Spc. Christopher T. Monroe, 19, of Kendallville, Ind.
Sgt. Michael T. Robertson, 28, of Houston, Texas
Cpl. Benjamin D. Hoeffner, 21, of Wheat Ridge, Colo.
Lance Cpl. Jonathan R. Spears, 21, of Molino, Fla.
Staff Sgt. George T. Alexander, Jr., 34, of Killeen, Texas
Petty Officer 3rd Class Christopher W. Thompson, 25, of N. Wilkesboro, N.C.,
Cpl. Seamus M. Davey, 25, of Lewis, N.Y.
Lance Cpl. Kenneth J. Butler, 19, of Rowan, N.C.
Cpl. Benny G. Cockerham III, 21, of Conover, N.C.
Capt. Tyler B. Swisher, 35, of Cincinnati, Ohio
Petty Officer 3rd Class Christopher W. Thompson, 25, of N. Wilkesboro, N.C
Staff Sergeant Richard T. Pummill, 27, of Cincinnati, Ohio
Lance Cpl. Andrew D. Russoli, 21, of Greensboro, N.C.
Lance Cpl. Steven W. Szwydek, 20, of Warfordsburg, Pa.
Staff Sgt. Dennis P. Merck, 38, of Evans, Ga.
Sgt. Jacob D. Dones, 21, of Dimmitt, Texas
Sgt. Arthur A. Mora Jr., 23, of Pico Rivera, Calif.
Spc. Russell H. Nahvi, 24, of Arlington, Texas
Spc. Jose E. Rosario, 20, of St. Croix, Virgin Islands
Lance Cpl. Norman W. Anderson III, 21, of Parkton, Md.
Spc. Daniel D. Bartels, 22, of Huron, S.D.
Spc. Kendall K. Frederick, 21, of Randallstown, Md.
Spc. Lucas A. Frantz, 22, of Tonganoxie, Kan.
Staff Sgt. Tommy I. Folks Jr., 31, of Amarillo, Texas,
Lance Cpl. Christopher M. Poston, 20, of Glendale, Ariz.
Lance Cpl. Chad R. Hildebrandt, 22, of Springer, N.M
Lance Cpl. Daniel Scott R. Bubb, 19, of Grottoes, Va.
Chief Warrant Officer Paul J. Pillen, 28, of Keystone, S.D.
Staff Sgt. Vincent E. Summers, 38, of South Haven, Mich.
Spc. Thomas H. Byrd, 21, of Cochise, Ariz.
Spc. Jeffrey W. Corban, 30, of Elkhart, Ind.
Spc. Richard A. Hardy, 24, of Newcomerstown, Ohio
Spc. Timothy D. Watkins, 24, of San Bernardino, Calif.
Sgt. Mark P. Adams, 24, of Morrisville, N.C.
Sgt. Brian R. Conner, 36, of Baltimore, Md.
Spc. Samuel M. Boswell, 20, of Elkridge, Md.
Spc. Bernard L. Ceo, 23, of Baltimore, Md.
Spc. Robert W. Tucker, 20, of Hilham, Tenn.
Petty Officer 1st Class Howard E. Babcock IV, 33, of Houston, Texas
Sgt. Donald D. Furman, 30, of Burton, S.C.
Sgt. Lorenzo Ponce Ruiz, 26, of El Paso, Texas
Spc. James T. Grijalva, 26, of Burbank, Ill.
Master Sgt. Kenneth E. Hunt Jr., 40, of Tucson, Ariz.
Staff Sgt. Matthew A. Kimmell, 30, of Paxton, Ind.
Spc. Jeremy M. Hodge, 20, of Ridgeway, Ohio
Staff Sgt. Jerry L. Bonifacio Jr., 28, of Vacaville, Calif.
Lt. Col. Leon G. James II, 46, of Sackets Harbor, N.Y.
Sgt. 1st Class Brandon K. Sneed, 33, of Norman, Okla.
Sgt. Leon M. Johnson, 28, of Jacksonville, Fla.
Lance Cpl. Sergio H. Escobar, 18, of Pasadena, Calif.
Staff Sgt. Gary R. Harper Jr., 29, of Virden, Ill.
Sgt. Eric A. Fifer, 22, of Knoxville, Tenn.
Pfc. Nicholas J. Greer, 21, of Monroe, Mich.
Lance Cpl. Patrick B. Kenny, 20, of Pittsburgh, Pa.
Lance Cpl. Daniel M. McVicker, 20, of Alliance, Ohio
Cpl. Nicholas O. Cherava, 21, of Ontonagon, Mich.
Pfc. Jason L. Frye, 19, of Landisburg, Pa.
Lance Cpl. Carl L. Raines II, 20, of Coffee, Ala,
Lance Cpl. Shayne M. Cabino, 19, of Canton, Mass.
Spc. Jeremiah W. Robinson, 20, of Mesa, Ariz.
Pfc. Andrew D. Bedard, 19, of Missoula, Mont.
Petty Officer 2nd Class Brian K. Joplin, 32, of Hugo, Okla.
Cpl. John R. Stalvey, 22, of Conroe, Texas
Sgt. Bryan W. Large, 31, of Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio
Spc. Jacob T. Vanderbosch, 21, of Vadnais Heights, Minn.
Pfc. Roberto C. Baez, 19, of Tampa, Fla.
Sgt. Sean B. Berry, 26, of Mansfield, Texas
Sgt. Larry W. Pankey Jr., 34, of Morrison, Colo.
Staff Sgt. Timothy J. Roark, 29, of Houston, Texas
Sgt. Marshall A. Westbrook, 43, of Farmington, N.M.
Staff Sgt. Jens E. Schelbert, 31, of New Orleans, La.
Spc. Joshua J. Kynoch, 23, of Santa Rosa, Calif.
-----------
November 2005
Navy Petty Officer 2nd Class Allan M. Cundanga Espiritu, 28, of Oxnard, Calif.
Marine Sgt. Daniel A. Tsue, 27, of Honolulu
Army 2nd Lt. Mark J. Procopio, 28, of Stowe, Vt.
Army Spc. Joshua J. Munger, 22, of Maysville, Mo.
Army Spc. Benjamin A. Smith, 21, of Hudson, Wis.
Army Pfc. Tyler R. MacKenzie, 20, of Evans, Colo.
Marine Maj. Gerald M. Bloomfield II, 38, of Ypsilanti, Mich.
Marine Capt. Michael D. Martino, 32, of Fairfax, Va.
Army Spc. Dennis J. Ferderer Jr., 20, of New Salem, N.D.
Army Sgt. 1st Class Daniel J. Pratt, 48, of Youngstown, Ohio
Army Capt. Jeffrey P. Toczylowski , 30, of Upper Moreland, Pa.
Army Spc. Darren D. Howe, 21, of Beatrice, Neb.
Army Staff Sgt. Kyle B. Wehrly, 28, of Galesburg, Ill.
Marine Gunnery Sgt. Darrell W. Boatman, 38, of Fayetteville, N.C.
Army Spc. Timothy D. Brown, 23, of Cedar Springs, Mich.
Army Capt. James M. Gurbisz, 25, of Eatontown, N.J.
Army Pfc. Dustin A. Yancey, 22, of Goose Creek, S.C.
Army Staff Sgt. Jason A. Fegler, 24, of Virginia Beach, Va.
Lt. Col. Thomas A. Wren, 44, of Lorton, Va.
Army Capt. Joel E. Cahill, 34, of Norwood, Mass.
Army Sgt. 1st Class James F. Hayes, 48, of Barstow, Calif.
Marine Lance Cpl. Ryan J. Sorensen, 26, of Boca Raton, Fla.
Army 1st Lt. Justin S. Smith, 28, of Lansing, Mich.
Army Staff Sgt. Brian L. Freeman, 27, of Lucedale, Miss.
Army Spc. Robert C. Pope II, 22, of East Islip, N.Y.
Army Pfc. Mario A. Reyes, 19, of Las Cruces, N.M.
Marine Lance Cpl. Jeremy P. Tamburello, 19, of Denver, Colo.
Army Sgt. 1st Class Alwyn C. Cashe, 35, of Oviedo, Fla.
Marine Lance Cpl. Daniel F. Swaim, 19, of Yadkinville, N.C.
Army Staff Sgt. Michael C. Parrott, 49, of Timnath, Colo.
Army Sgt. Joshua A. Terando, 27, of Morris, Ill.
Army Sgt. Tyrone L. Chisholm, 27, of Savannah, Ga.
Army Cpl. Donald E. Fisher II, 21, of Avon, Mass.
Army Pfc. Antonio Mendez-Sanchez, 22, of Rincon, Puerto Rico
Marine Lance Cpl. David A. Mendez Ruiz, 20, of Cleveland
Marine Lance Cpl. Scott A. Zubowski, 20, of Manchester, Ind.
Army Staff Sgt. Stephen J. Sutherland, 33, of West Deptford, N.J.
Marine Cpl. John M. Longoria, 21, of Nixon, Texas
Marine Maj. Ramon J. Mendoza Jr., 37, of Columbus, Ohio
Marine Lance Cpl. Christopher M. McCrackin, 20, of Liverpool, Texas
Army Staff Sgt. James E. Estep, 26, of Leesburg, Fla.
Army Pfc. Travis J. Grigg, 24, of Inola, Okla.
Army Spc. Matthew J. Holley, 21, of San Diego
Army Sgt. 1st Class James S. Ochsner, 36, of Waukegan, Ill.
Marine Lance Cpl. Nickolas D. Schiavoni, 26, of Haverhill, Mass.
Army Spc. Alexis Roman-Cruz, 33, of Brandon, Fla.
Marine Lance Cpl. Roger W. Deeds, 24, of Biloxi, Miss.
Marine Lance Cpl. John A. Lucente, 19, of Grass Valley, Calif.
Marine Cpl. Jeffry A. Rogers, 21, of Oklahoma City
Marine Cpl. Joshua J. Ware, 20, of Apache, Okla.
Marine Sgt. Jeremy E. Murray, 27, of Atwater, Ohio
Army Staff Sgt. Ivan V. Alarcon, 23, of Jerome, Idaho
Army Spc. Vernon R. Widner, 34, of Redlands, Calif.
Army Sgt. Luis R. Reyes, 26, of Aurora, Colo.
Army Pfc. Anthony A. Gaunky, 19, of Sparta, Wis.
Army Master Sgt. Anthony R. C. Yost, 39, of Flint, Mich.
Army Pvt. Christopher M. Alcozer, 21, of DeKalb, Ill.
Army Spc. Michael J. Idanan, 21, of Chula Vista, Calif.
Marine Lance Cpl. Miguel Terrazas, 20, of El Paso, Texas
Army 1st Lt. Dennis W. Zilinski, 23, of Freehold, N.J.
Army Staff Sgt. Edward Karolasz, 25, of Powder Springs, N.J.
Army Cpl. Jonathan F. Blair, 21, of Fort Wayne, Ind.
Army Spc. Dominic J. Hinton, 24, of Jacksonville, Texas
Marine Lance Cpl. Tyler J. Troyer, 21, of Tangent, Ore.
Army Sgt. Dominic J. Sacco, 32, of Albany, N.Y.
Navy Steelworker 3rd Class Emory J. Turpin, 23, of Dahlonega, Ga.
Army Pfc. John W. Dearing, 21, of Hazel Park, Mich.
Army Spc. Matthew P. Steyart, 21, of Mount Shasta, Calif.
Army Sgt. Denis J. Gallardo, 22, of St. Petersburg, Fla.
Master Sgt. Brett E. Angus, 40, of St. Paul, Minnesota
Spc. Gregory L. Tull, 20, of Pocahontas, Iowa
Pfc. Ryan D. Christensen, 22, of Spring Lake Heights, New Jersey
Pfc. Marc A. Delgado, 21, of Lithia, Florida
Sgt. 1st Class Eric P. Pearrow, 40, of Peoria, Illinois
Staff Sgt. Steven C. Reynolds, 32, of Jordan, New York
Spc. Javier A. Villanueva, 25, of Temple, Texas
Staff Sgt. Aram J. Bass, 25, of Niagara Falls, New York
Spc. Allen J. Knop, 22, of Willowick, Ohio
Sgt. William B. Meeuwsen, 24, of Kingwood, Texas

Bloody Stones

I don't know anyone in Nova Scotia. I always wanted to go there, though. But that will apparently not be happening. If I knew someone there, I would call. Nova Scotia has gone the way of Belgium, and nary a word about Nova Scotia, let alone Belgium.

I am disappointed. I was thinking of going to see the Canadian Olympic curling trials, which start on December 3, in Halifax. After all, the Canadians are the world's best curlers.

I feel a connection to curling. I have, you see, spilled blood on stones that may have been used in the US national championships. It was a hockey game at the Cleveland Skating Club. Instead of the blue lines and the red goal lines and the face-off circles, curling markings were laid out, which was somewhat disconcerting to the hockey fans, most of whom had never seen grown men and women sweeping the ice to direct things that resemble squashed bowling balls with handles, which are called stones.

The stones were stored in a non-cordoned-off area in one of the corners of the rink, where my older, somewhat belligerent son, playing defense, did some of his best work. I must admit that his blood lust was most elevated, and he did his best work, as he jammed any forward trying to camp out near the goal mouth, oftentimes leaving a sprawled body behind as he skated, in all innocence, up the ice toward the offensive end.

But on this evening, he went into the corner with the CSC's best winger, four inches taller than my older, somewhat belligerent son, but a tad on the skinny side. And as things go, I was urging my son on as he stung the big forward with a crashing check into the boards, separating the winger from the puck and some air. I didn't see the end result, which was the pass on a break-out, which turned into an assist. I was down among the stones, having tripped in my zeal, smashing my elbow on a piece of metal framework holding the boards in place, leaving a big, bleeding gash. I picked myself up from among the stones, thankful that I hadn't hit my head, but embarrassed, hoping nobody had seen me take the dive. And then I noticed the bloody stones.

Yes, curling ... and the bloody stones. I now have a certain fondness for the sport.

Jail Visits

Don't ask me why, but the dogs wanted to keep going; we ended up in the park across from the Justice Center at about 5:30 ... visiting hours on Sunday were in full swing.

I now know that a guy named Bub is in jail. I'm pretty sure that a guy named Ace is in jail. "Lady Ace" with her vanity plates and the red and silver reflective letters on the dashboard of the car spelling out her moniker lead me to believe that she was there to see her man, Ace.

And as for Bub, "Bubs Ldy" drives a Maxima, I think, with some big ass chrome rims and wide tires that stick out away from the car.

We can only speculate about what they wore this evening and why their men were in the can.

And something tells me that Michael Plentyhorse better make bond before he spends a minute in lock-up.

Encounter on Frankfort

So, I'm walking the dogs. I haven't been stopped by very many homeless people or others wanting money, but I figured that I needed to like draw the line and not give money to everyone who asks because I'll be broke sooner or later. As I crossed West Third south of Frankfort, a couple, apparently homeless, started to cross Frankfort to talk.
Lady: Sir, can we have your spare change?
Me: No, not tonight.
Lady: Can I pet your dogs. They're beautiful.
Me: Not really, you take your chances with coming near them. I'd rather not take a chance.
Lady: That's a pretty boxer.
Dude: That's a beagle.
Lady: What kind of dog is that big dark one?
Me: She's a mean fuckin' bitch.
Lady: Oh ... thanks for telling us.
Me: You're welcome.

There's a new recipe posted at The Kitchen. Finally. Oh ... and a picture of some cheesecake for all those who might be looking for that kind of thing. We have something for everyone!

The Thrill Is Gone

Happy Thanksgiving.

You would think it would take a lot longer than a couple weeks before the glitter wore off, but I hate to say that is what has happened. The excitement, the anticipation of excitement, all the thrill is gone. And it happened all of a sudden. One minute, everything is cool; the next moment, it's in the dumpster.

This morning, I did not wait for the bag of garbage to fall 13 stories and smack into the big trash compactor at the bottom. I don't know why. As I walked down the hall from the room with the trash chute, I realized that I had not stood there in front of the trash chute, listening for the thud. Maybe it was the excitement of throwing the wooden doors I removed from a small armoire down the chute and listening to them clatter down ... maybe that was the ultimate thrill, and all else is anti-climactic. Yes, that might be it.

I haven't told anyone about my fascination with the trash chute. It's hard to explain ... you know, people would think I'm nuts. But then again, they probably wish they could do it.

You Asked For It

Yesterday, I took the dogs for a stroll at about 2:30 p.m. Here is your dog afternoon picture:

We went to the end of the street. The Browns were in town playing a few blocks away:

Tonight, we walked along the Cuyahoga River:

And we saw the ore carrier, American Republic, navigating Collision Bend at about 10:30:

And I have not been able to take any other pictures of Stacey's knee.

Pronunciation Guide

Yo! I read in The New Yorker that the pronunciation editor of Webster's Dictionary back in the day was John Kenyon; Kenyon's pronunciation of words became the standard American dialect.

He hailed from northeast Ohio, thereby proving what I have thought all along: I'm not the one with an accent.

Nukes and Iran

I heard a report on the radio that plans for a critical part of a component of a nuclear bomb were found in Iran by inspectors for the International Atomic Energy Agency. One of the pages is eerily similar to the information that was given to George W. Bush, which he used as justification for attacking Iraq.

It is with great trepidation that I reveal the third page of the three-page document found by the IAEA inspectors.

Drano

I was going to write about a fucked-up guy I represent, but there are inexplicable, unnatural things I see that drive me close to the edge. It's snowing. It's 24 degrees F. That stands for 24 fucking degrees fucking Fahrenheit. The wind is whipping off Lake Erie at 25 miles a fucking hour. I'm walking the dogs down by the river, where the long-gone malaria-infested swamps killed off most of the early settlers in the area over two centuries ago.

There are two guys running on the sidewalk adjacent to the waterfront rail line. One has given in to the plummeting temperature and is wearing a long-sleeve Old Navy shirt … I am wearing one just like it under my sweater and long sleeve shirt, all under my made for Mt. Everest coat; the other is wearing his fucking tank top. Both are wearing their fucking running shorts.

If there is something magical about running that makes one immune from the fucking wind, cold, and snow, please let me know. I might try it just for that reason.

I was in court, having been called the day before yesterday by the deputy clerk about representing a guy … violation of a domestic violence protection order.

I checked the box at the top of the page for the date of birth of the young woman, and I mathed out her age as 14. The semantics and her cursive script belied her age, looking more mature than the blocky printing of her mother's statement. She witnessed her father's tirade after her mother used the wrong bottle of liquid laundry detergent ... no, not the wrong detergent, the wrong detergent bottle, the bottle labeled with a "2" instead of the bottle labeled "1." He smacked her in the head. Dumb bitch must use those bottles in order!

No big deal. It's not like the time after her mom burned the dinner rolls when he swirled the liquid drain opener in the glass and threatened to throw it in her mom's face to see how she would feel if she were burned.

The judge had again appointed me to represent a whack-o.

Does the Time Cube Exist?

We live in the city. So, when the critters want to go out for a little tinkle, it's time for me to take them out.

I have determined that 2 a.m. isn't a particularly good time to take them out. The bars close down at 2. What possesses drunk humans to think that barking at dogs is funny? What would happen if the barking, obviously irritated Bella somehow got loose?

Ten to six on Sunday morning allows an uninterrupted hour or so to wander around. Also, if the dogs were inclined to trip me, this would be a good time to do so because nobody would see me fall down and scrape my right elbow. Also, people tend to give someone walking three dogs a wide berth. The blood running down my arm added to the don't-fuck-with-that-maniac aura.

Four a.m. It's nice to know that there is at least one place that delivers pizza at 4 in the morning. This is unknown in suburbia. Next time the dogs are up at 4 and want a snack, I can make a call.

Also, on the same excursion, but upon my return to the building at about 4:15 a.m., a police car did that classic pull up to the curb the wrong way with lights shining in my eyes routine with two cops jumping out and asking me if I live in 607. I don't, and I told them that; but what other answer would they expect? "Do they bite?" the shorter, older guy asked, pointing to the dogs. "Not police," I said.

For the record, I did not let the police into the building. The big, young guy grabbed the door before it closed and politely let the pizza guy out. The older one asked the pizza guy if he had any pizza left in the delivery car ... no. Damn. The cops rode elevator with me, petting the dogs.

Stacey mentioned photos ... these are taken with my phone.

Here's a view of the Flats out one of our windows.

This is a view at sunset out the windows.

A female crew rowing at dusk while I walked the dogs.

This is a view out of Stacey's hospital window.

This is a view of Stacey's grotesque, swollen, stapled appendage.

A QUICK ONE

surgery went well.

the move went as well as could be expected. most of the work is done, just a little bit more to go.

THE LOFT IS AWESOME! pictures will be taken and published soon.

sorry i can't respond to e-mails right now. must. take. pain pills. must sleep.

see ya'all latah.

p.s. vicki sent us some pecans -- oh. my. god. they're like buttah. or candy. i just HAD to say the buttah thing.

A Drive in the Country

You got drunk at the office party and decided you could make it home, but drove west instead of east, got off at an exit ramp in the middle of nowhere and apparently did not see the car in front of you. After crashing into that car, you decided that it might be best to leave the scene as soon as possible because your wife will be upset that you're late in getting home; so, you back up and speed across the road, clipping another car in the rear quarter panel, sending it into a lovely spin move, and head down the highway entrance ramp.

As you head onto the highway, you don't bother to look in your rear view mirror at the two police cars gaining on you, but you do notice one of them as it pulls up next to you, cruising at about 85, the cop menacingly motioning you to pull over. So, you decide to see what the boss's Lexus will do on the open road and push the accelerator pedal.

Aaaaah, yes ... the feeling of power courses through you, and you cut over to the exit ramp, slightly miscalculating where the actual roadway is, going up over the grassy incline and crashing into the guardrail. You step on the accelerator pedal because you can; and the Lexus, as if by magic, careens across the ramp and scrapes along the guardrail on the left side of the ramp. It's hard to avoid the big light pole that looms ahead of you just at the end of the ramp, and you hit it. The car inexplicably does not keep going forward. The wheels go around real fast when you push your friend, the accelerator pedal, but the big ol' Lexus isn't going anywhere. And the airbag didn't go off, by the way. All that money spent on this car and the airbag doesn't work. You'd have to tell your boss about the airbag.

A Big Mac is really what you have a hankerin' for, believe it or not, and you put the Lexus in park. You slide across the front seat and get out of the passenger side because you can't seem to get the driver's side door open; and you head over toward the McDonald's on foot, tripping and falling once, but a Big Mac is powerful medicine. You get up and stagger forward toward your goal.

There's a police car that pulls up right in front of you, spraying road gravel all over you, and the police car nearly hits you; and the big cop jumps out and rudely throws you to the ground without even saying that you have the right to remain silent. Is that a gun he is sticking in your neck? You tell him that all you really want is a Big Mac. He tells you, while pushing your face into the mud, that Big Macs aren't good for you, like he's the big expert on the subject.

You think you're really gonna be late getting home.

Where Are All the Flower Children?

I would like to know where all the radical hippie types depicted in the American Express or Ameriprise Financial commercial are. Did they really transform into Republicans?

Someone please explain this to me.