My Remorseful Wang

I've been spending the last few weeks doing work on another project, which I can hopefully announce (and start flogging) sometime around the New Year. And that's where I've been the last few weeks. I'm trying to leave out the fact that the two of us have been doing some moping around due to missing the Vegas festivities, and I know you're not supposed to say this in the context of poker....but I'm gonna say it anyway--Rooster was due. Big ups.

Pregnancy. My anti-Vegas.

I would have had a picture to accompany that, but the Mrs. prefers not to be pregnant on the Interwebs, and really, who can blame her. Just picture her as you have known her, plus one-third. ETA, two months to Spawn Emergence, and the prospect is a bit more frightening than it was. Frightening, mostly because this kid is ridiculously active, which means that Mrs. H is increasingly getting kicked in the kidneys, lungs, bladder, etc., which increasingly compels me to apologize for the offending penis that launched us into The Breeding Leagues to begin with. Sleep, bye bye. Time, bye bye. Money, bye bye (adjusting to tis should be easier given there was never much of this to begin with).

We also still do not have a name. This late in the game I think it may be starting to annoy the relatives, but there's little that can be done about that. We've largely stopped trying at the moment because everything is starting to run together and we're both exhausted with the sheer amount of intolerably stupid names to wade through in the search for a reasonable candidate.

Seriously, fucking Stokely? That's not a name, it sounds like a brand of vegetable.

How about Golden Palace.com? If there's going to be a stupid name, I'm of the mind that it should be to the furthest reaches of stupid and we should be paid. After all, it won't be that many years and she could have it legally changed. Perhaps a yearly fee could be negotiated....mmmm, recurring income......

***********

In further news, Mama Nature is busy making me realize just how out of shape I've become.




That's close to two feet of snow, in the last day-and-a-half....with another 9-13 inches to follow the rest of today and tonight. I'm in awe. I haven't seen this much snow since I was 7, or so. I'm keeping the Audi dug out, but as you can see I basically left the Honda to be buried. It's dead weight.

I spend three hours shoveling snow yesterday, and will have clocked nearly four today after it's all said and done. My forearms are hollering at me as I type, no thanks to the circa 1937 snow shovel I've been using. It's all wood and metal, weighs in at about 6 lbs, and that's with no snow sticking to it, which it does since the metal scoop is rusted. It is completely kicking my ass.

I'm enjoying the hell out of it, although it is entirely possible this outlook could change as it persists. I wish I could say the same for Mrs. H, as it seems late stage pregnancy and snow aren't pairing up too well, but she's being awfully stoic considering she's being internally beaten and having her life force ceaselessly being sucked away.

I should probably stop here and go apologize for my penis again. Back later.

MP's Behaving Badly

MP's behaving badly in front of their new supranational masters.

Daily Mail--

"British UKIP, Eurosceptic Conservatives and Polish far-right MEPs today brought the hooligan behaviour of the football stadium into the European Parliament", Graham Watson, leader of the assembly's Liberals told Reuters.

"They are a disgrace to their countries."

Translation: Be polite to the new bosses. No, it doesn't matter if the people of Europe don't want to be ruled from Brussell's, that decision was made back in the 50's. Newer, improved, and more free "constituional" rules state that people are allowed to be displeased, but only if they voice that displeasure in a polite manner.

Still though, pretty cool of these MP's. I'm looking forward to seeing this kind of demonstration from Congress on a variety of issues very shortly.

To go with the billion dollars I'm looking forward to seeing underneath my pillow.

Which I will place in the saddlebags of the magical pony set to ferry me over an ice cream rainbow.

You're not dying fast enough

Mein Gott im Himmel.

Truly unbelievable. Don't take to long to eat your mound of saturated goodness. Here's the real kicker....

Several weeks later, he received a letter from Civil Enforcement demanding £125, or £75 if the charge was paid quickly.

Okay. So. If I go up to a guy and demand $250, for sitting too long (in written citation form, or course. You can't just say things like this, someone might think they're being robbed), but offer to halve it if he pays me now instead of in two weeks...I can use that as a business model? That's not seedy mafia extortion shit?

Here's another one.

Civil Enforcement=Ampco's Ambition

No, everything is not fine.

Not even close.

A Thanksgiving Tale

My wife and I have many times wondered aloud whether the dumber of our two dogs, Stella, if given the opportunity, would eat herself to death if presented with a virtually unlimited pile of food. Is Stella, who purports to be of dog-kind, really more goldfish or shark?

Last night brought us the answer.

I cooked two meals this Thanksgiving, which I thought would be awful. While it required more kitchen time than one would normally want, the positives much outweighed the negatives as it offered two opportunities for wanton gluttony. Ridiculous, really, but no less fun. A lot of people think Thanksgiving is a dead or useless holiday, and while it's true that very few have any idea what it's about beyond the national tradition of gorging oneself, it is definitely not dead in this house. I personally give Thanksgiving more weight than Christmas, as I value a good meal above being given a bunch of crap I never needed to begin with.

I'm relating this because during the course of both Thanksgiving meals, our food-obsessed canine was being driven nuts. You could see it in her eyes since, for the last couple of years, the dogs get Thanksgiving scraps. This year we decided to put the kibbosh on that practice, as the flatulence created by said scraps is frankly intolerable. And of course, the dogs, who can't remember anything beyond the basic command of "sit" and the word "biscuit" (the schnauzer intellect being the polar opposite of "prodigious") sat there and looked like we were carving their hearts out along with the bird because, after all, don't they usually get some?

Which brings us to the minor emergency of last night, or as it might also be called, 'Stella gets into the holiday spirit in spite of the egregious Scrap Denial.'

After a day of feasting on our vast trove of leftovers and wandering in and out of a mellow tryptophan haze, we made preparations to retire, which means it's time to let the dogs out one last time. Normally they get a few minutes and a quick cry of "Who wants a biscuit?" brings them in (that, and the 15 degree temp). Last night though, nothing. And remember, this is the dog for whom no danger is too great in pursuit of something edible, up to and including piles of shit.

I waited, called, went back inside, made sure all the doors were shut tight, went back out and called, went back inside (remember, it's fucking 15 degrees) and started to worry a bit, put on something a bit warmer and went out to smoke and do some real waiting. True to form, and as any smoker will tell you, if you are sick of waiting for something (say, a ride) just light up a smoke and whatever you are waiting on will suddenly appear (unfortunately, this does not work with things like the lottery or a truckload of fine steaks. I'm theorizing that this is likely because these things are never actually expected to arrive, which begs the question, do I simply need to twist my brain around to the point where I really DO expect these things to show up? Shhhh, it's The Secret.). True to this, as soon as I lit my smoke, here comes Stella at a leisurely pace. I assumed she must have been too far away to hear "Biscuit", which normally prompts a full-bore sprint.

Once we got inside where the light was better, she just stood there staring at me with her tail tucked. This had me running through the list of things that she might have just done that she knew she shouldn't be doing...like eating massive piles of dung. She was licking her chops a lot. A shaking of the revulsion of the thought when it also occurred to me that she does the tail tuck thing when she feels bad, which has only been twice in four years. Well, make that three times.

As I stared down at her, I swear I could see her getting fatter right before my eyes. She was transforming into a salt and pepper version of her cousin Lily, a schnauzer of equal height and length, but triple the girth. Truly, Lily is astonishing to the unprepared, as the space she occupies is neither "toy" nor "miniature".

I reached down to feel her belly and truly my eyes weren't deceiving me. She was swelling up. It was like a massive hemorrhage as her whimpers and shaking rapidly began increasing. There are no emergency vets in these parts, and after confirming the fact with the Mrs. who was now downstairs helping to attend, the both of us sat wondering if we were just going to have to sit around and watch the dog die. Seriously, what in god's name could she have possible eaten to cause this.

Enter the Googles. (who now officially tops this years list of Things for which I am Thankful) Time to search for things that will induce vomiting in a dog. The first few sites stated the obvious in suggesting Ipecac, which we don't have. However, a bit more trawling the webs brought another alternative, so if you live with painfully stupid and hopelessly food-obsessed animals take note. Two teaspoons of hydrogen peroxide will do the trick.

Stella was fine within ten minutes. What she left on the floor, however, was not fine. Not fine at all.

Somewhere out there, she evidently got a hold of a goodly portion of a Thanksgiving meal that someone threw out. Even after some thorough investigating today, we still haven't located the source to determine if she got into someone's trash or if someone had simply thrown it outside for the animals and she just happened to be the first on the scene. On our floor lay close to five pounds of potatoes, carrots, turkey and various other food items. That's quite literally one-third of her body weight, and I marveled at the scope of her single-minded gluttony. While we were relieved that the dog was not going to be dying in front of us, the waves of revulsion returned as the stomach contents revealed that for an appetizer Stella had also consumed a giant pile of shit.

Nice. So much for that odor-free holiday we were going for by not giving the dogs any leftovers. And of course, the answer to our question is a resounding "Yes".

Amazing and horrifying, for you on this post-Thankgiving.

Never Question Authority

This morning I woke up and sat down to teh emails and the googles, and BG had sent me this:

You Gotta Ask Me Nicely.

Tasers on Thanksgiving. Hell, they both start with a 't' so why not? A morning screed while I wait on sweet potatoes the size of my dogs (seriously, these things are going to take close to 3 hours).

The taser is everywhere, and each day brings news of a fresh incident. Diabetic coma? Don't speak the native language? In a wheelchair and mentally ill? It doesn't matter, you're getting tased. You will come under the thumb (or should that be fist?). You will submit. You will know, intimately, pain compliance.

These are only three incidents in a pile that grows ever larger. What's missing? That's right. Any meaningful consequences for the bully boy cops that do this kind of thing. Because they 'serve and protect'. Because they wear a uniform, and are part of the fraternal order given leave to wield any authority it wants. Who needs courtesy, or knowledge of actual rights/laws, when you have a taser and "post-9/11" mentality. You don't. You can tase whomever you choose, as long as you say the word 'reasonable' and/or 'suspected' somewhere. Then you can go to Hooters and impress the young girlies with your manly exploits.

How dare I criticize the boys in blue (that aren't wearing so much blue anymore, but rather black tactical gear). To be sure, lest those that are hard of thinking accuse me of vilifying ALL police, there do exist good police, and yes, it is a difficult job. But what percentage of these bully boys running amok and tasering people because they didn't "respect their authoritae" actually see any meaningful consequences? It barely registers on the scale.

Cut to another Drop Dead Gorgeous dramatization:

Gratuitous use of force? Brutality? Shit no. After some thorough investigating we determined that they were acting reasonably in the face of bad vibes. Bad vibes usually means a drunk and/or drugged terrorist. We've given them some paid leave to think about what they've done and how they might have done it better.

What people desperately need to think about, instead of making excuses for rotten, corrupt, ignorant, authoritarian bullies, are the consequences brought on by the lack of consequences. Lack of consequences for bad cops means that the good cops are driven out. A cop doing the job as it was meant to be done cannot survive in an environment where the mantra has gone from 'protect and serve' to 'coerce and enforce'. Every day that this goes on, and with every incident, a good cop gets fed up and leaves, or is pushed out due to his inability/unwillingness to 'get with the program', and the pool of scum creeps outward just a little more.

The argument is made everywhere that the taser is a humane alternative to the gun. Tasers are not a good thing because they are "non-lethal". They are just the opposite. The "non-lethal" (and it's weird how "non-lethal" has killed so many...) is nothing more than an excuse to inflict pain and anguish, and to assert control (justified or not) on a whim. Take some time and think about what kind of person desires to do these things. Replace a taser with a gun in any of these daily 'incidents' and just imagine what it would look like, what the outcry would be (and should be).

But now the collective head turns away, because after all, it's "non-lethal". Point-and-shoot, set it and forget it, not much different than the video shooters. "Non-lethal" means everyone watching can grab their remote, point-and-shoot, set it and forget it. It's difficult to decide which is more horrifying. The police that do these things or the media/mass mind that allows and even encourages (in many cases) it to continue.

By their actions you will know them

Occupational Perception

OMIGODZ! EXIT MEENZ BLUDBATHZ!

In Basra, violence is a tenth of what it was before British pullback, general says - International Herald Tribune

British officials expected a spike in such "intra-militia violence" after they pulled back from the city's center, and were surprised to find none, Binns said.

-Saddam has WMD. Lie.
-We're bringing freedom to Iraq. Lie
-The war will cost practically nothing. Lie.
-Withdrawl will unleash bloodshed and violence heretofore untold. Worse than we ever could have created ourselves. Lie.

And on and on and on and on and on. Trying to gather in all of the lies of the last seven years (to say nothing of the last 100) would be like trying to catch all of the raindrops in a thunderstorm, so I'm not even going to try. Just these four placed next to one another is embarrassing enough.

But hell, it's not as though Congress, the media, or a very big portion of Amerika cares too much (at least, not enough of the portion that "matter" in this system--hint, it's not "The People" anymore, if it ever was). And why should they? Amerika is too exceptional, too civilized and modern and highminded, and frankly too incoherent (a nod, a wink, and a click click to you Friend Television) to actually do anything whatsoever to put a stop to government funding of unmitigated death, destruction, and suffering. Even as the "soft fascism" head turns its eyes toward us and continues its predatory advance with a speed that, while we were busy entertaining ourselves and apathetically observing, has done little else but gather strength over these many years.

Let's have a pause here for mock-shocked, deluded folks now screaming "You hate/blame America" (or some talking point variation thereof dropped into their empty vessel skulls courtesy the Talking Opinion Box) Grab a refreshement, take a leak--it might be a long pause.

Anyone thinking that the other side of the aisle has finally mustered the courage to save us with this latest fake pullout stunt attached to the $50 billion appropriations drop in the war bucket is also very sadly mistaken. Go read the legislation. The circumference of the loopholes contained within are so huge the outline isn't even isn't within eyeshot. But you'd never know that by reading the major headlines presented. Digressions within a hodgepodge of digressions.

In reading the article, I'm sure many have noticed that the Brits haven't "pulled out", not completely anyway. They've relocated from the palace in city center to the airport. Redeployed. That's a term you'll see a lot of in that appropriations bill with all of the oh-so-firm-and-courageous "withdrawl provisions". Which brings me to one of my favorite parts of the article:

"We've been in that de facto role since we moved out of the palace...but we hope the (December) transfer will symbolize the end of a period many in Basra city perceived as occupation," [Major General] Binns said.

Perceived. The Iraqi's "perceive" it to be an occupation. Really? It's only their perception? Because I could have sworn that "occupation" is exactly what it was, and IS, given its basic and simple definition. Of course nothing in this world anymore should be basic and simple to understand, because if it was, what will all of the experts do with their time if they can't spend it explaining to us the intricacies of changes applied to once simple concepts?

The general, speaking unchallenged through the echo chamber media, wants to make sure you know that it's not exactly an occupation, but rather a perception of such.

Take War, for example. A bunch of people are told by a few people to go kill a whole bunch of other people so those few can impose their will. See? Distilled down it is simple. But we are constantly reminded how complicated and extremely delicate is the geopolitics of it all, and not to worry our pretty little heads, our Strong and Courageous Leaders will handle all of it because they've been doing this their entire lives--their resumes are strong with Public Service Gravitas and General Seriousness. Secrecy and lies? Well, that's just all part of the "game", isn't it? If you were richer, or smarter, or had better connections, or perhaps better genetics (as we will increasingly hear) perhaps you would be in the game. But you're not. You're not a "success" in this system, so better to let your betters handle things. Quick, the next episode of Can the American Idols Dance? is about air and you don't want to miss your chance to text message and vote for your favorite.

Use of the word "perceived" does nothing but make an effort to subtly reinforce the notion that the current illegal and murderous occupation is something other than just that--an illegal and murderous occupation that is genocidal in its numbers of dead and displaced. Occupation is not "perception". Either foreign troops are present and imposing their will, or they are not. Simple.

And now it's being plastered everywhere there's an eyeball or an ear that we now have to take the party next door to Iran. See lie numero uno above, replace Saddam with Iran, and voila--another miscalculation with good faith intent.

The really depressing thing is that it looks as though those who percieve the lies as truth, who perceive themselves as being free, who cannot perceive their own demise because any and all survival instinct has been homogenized and info-tained away, will let it happen.

When lies have been exposed and go unpunished, we are culpable. In the face of past falsehoods, when further lies are swallowed and cheered, we are culpable. We are paying the bill now, and will pay an even harsher tab in the future, and not just physically because of the economics of the thing. We will also pay psychically, when finally the full and uninhibited light of day is fully shed upon our vicious actions. That day that is coming where no one will be able to look away from that empty spot where empathy once lived. No partisanship, ignorance, good intentions, or any other dispassionate and academic sounding adjective will be able to effectively apply.

And so much for that (what was intended to be a short post)--what was the point of another anti-war tirade? The points are many, but for tonight, it was prompted by the question of where to be counted. When it all shakes out, where will we as individuals be counted? Will I be counted in the end as one who swallowed the lies? Even worse, might I be one counted as so gleefully ignorant that I didn't care to recognize the lie in the first place? Someone without the will to show a human level of disdain for the constant psychopathic barrenness continually heaped onto our consciousness? Will I accept with the daily redefining of words like "occupation" as something perceived rather than a decidedly real state of affairs?

No, No, and Hell No. The tirades must continue, lest I wake up one day and find that I also have been counted amongst the prevailing emptiness.

Annie Duke testifies for online poker

Also, check the Salon article where this came from.

Strategic Thrusting for Defensive Purposes

From the folks that brought you Total Information Awareness....

DARPA Strategic Thrusts--

Robust, secure, self-forming networks

Hooray! New social networking possibilites with my new uber-handheld. SETI at Starbucks, look at how green and techno-hip I am. Or, possibly...drop a bunch of security rovers onto a sector, let them all link up and find each other, and organize the most efficient patrol routes. Boy, bet you could equip those with all kinds of good stuff (all "non-lethal" of course).

Detection, Precision ID, Tracking, and Destruction of Elusive Targets

Does this one even really need a comment?

Urban Area Operations

Translation: Less war on the sea. Less in the sky. Less in the field. More in the city. Psst...that's where most people live or are being driven to.

Advanced Manned and Unmanned Systems

I'll be able to sleep while my autonomous hydrogen pleasuremobile ferries me to my job in the new 'service economy'. Neat. But the sky full of unmanned surveillance drones makes me sad (I think we should go back to talking about the pleasuremobile--I would fry bacon in mine--actually my Rhoombu [tler] (Rhoomba's parent company by this time has gone with a phonetic branding strategy, you see) will be doing it for me.)

Detection, Characterization, and Assessment of Underground Structures

Does this mean we get to find out what's in Iron Mountain OR does is just mean our Leaders will shortly be proclaiming "We're helping to keep America's basements Terrorist-Free"? My bad, I forgot. It's so we can find the Iranian nukes that are hidden away with Saddam's WMD.

Space

Ummmmmm.....just "Space".

Increasing tooth and tail ratio

From WSJ--

We speak of the tooth-to-tail ratio, though it usually makes more sense to talk about tail-to-tooth: How many men must there be behind the front doing unglamorous work to make it possible to put one man directly into combat? In some cases it's greater than 10 to 1.

Christ, a person could spend an entire day just on the WSJ article. Summary: War is going to increase in cost, as well as attendant size. Not to worry though. This is us "evolving" and is in no way directed.

Bio-Revolution

"Bio", having to do with living processes, and "revolution", a sudden, radical, or complete change. Why does DARPA have interest in funding things that will promote a sudden, radical, or complete change on the living processes in or around us? Well that one could certainly go in some wildly divergent directions.....

Core Technologies

Encompass broad areas much, DARPA?

'Stategic Thrust' Me. We're so 'Strategically Thrusted'.

(I'm hearing "but DARPA gave us the Interwebs!" cries already. Remember, you are given a reason/explanation, and then there's the real reason/explanation.)

A Brief Glimpse

Worth the time to read the entire thing. It helps to clear another smudge from the surface we're given. Keep cleaning the glass.

Metroactive Features | Robots

Part of the reason University of Texas at Austin computer scientist Benjamin Kuipers stopped taking military financing is that he's seen colleagues wind up in places they'd never imagined themselves.



"DARPA and ONR and other DOD agencies support quite a lot of research that I think is valuable and virtuous," he says. "However, there is a slippery slope that I have seen in the careers of a number of colleagues. You start work on a project that is completely fine. Then when renewal time comes, and you have students depending on you for support, your program officer says that they can continue to fund the same work, but now you need to phrase the proposal using an example in a military setting. Same research, but just use different language to talk about it. OK. Then when the time comes for the next renewal, the pure research money is running a bit low, but they can still support your lab if you can work on some applications that are really needed by the military application. OK. ... Then for the next round, you need to make regular visits to the military commanders, convincing them that your innovation will really help them in the field. And so on. By the end of a decade or two, you have become a different person from the one you were previously. You look back on your younger self, shake your head, and think, 'How naive.'"

Coming Soon (Updated)

Georgia to lift State of Emergency--

“I am authorised to declare on behalf of the Georgian government that emergency rule will be lifted on November 16 on all the country’s territory,” Burjanadze told a news briefing.

[...]

Burjanadze’s spokeswoman said later that although the emergency rule would be lifted on Nov. 16, the restrictions -- including bans on public meetings and independent media -- would be lifted a day later.

Seeing those "state of the art" gas masks made me think of this:


And this:



Perhaps there's something to that concept of predictive programming after all....

Internal Editor is Loud

I tried taking to heart the sage advice of Garth. Honestly, I did. The painful process of typing out this post has me thinking specifically of this:

If you pay the Internal Editor any attention you are almost guaranteeing that you are going to self-combust before you hit 10,000 words.

Indeed, it is so very true. My story goes something along the lines of me banging out 1500-2500 word chunks that were completely disparate, relating in only the loosest of ways. Goddamn depressing, but swallowing my bitter pill will at least allow me to return focus to a previous project. Hell, my starting on NaNo was more likely only an excuse to stop plugging away at that to begin with.

(It's here that all I can think about is Homer eating flowers...."Oh! My secret shame!")

Consider me self-combusted, at least for now. It is with no small amount of shame that I must remove my participant banner.

It Has Begun

I find it completely impossible to think of anything but Mortal Kombat when I look at that title.

Indeed, it has begun. NaNoWriMo-the masochist ritual practiced by thousands.

Join me. You know you want to.

I skipped last year for a variety of reasons, none of which are worth going on about here. I achieved the goal of 50K the year before that, but did not finish the project, which I may or may not still have due to a fit of self-loathing that caused me to delete the work (or, what I'm hoping was just one of many copies scattered about, but I'm too afraid to look. If it is truly gone I'll have to beat myself up, perhaps literally this time.)

The idea has finally begun to take some real shape, but any attempts to make me genre-ize it will be met with swift and terrible rebuttal. Trying to make me give it a label and fit in a pen....how dare you, sir!

Excerpt to come shortly. I'm excited about this one.

(and seriously, join me. The more to people to act as whips, the better)

Absolute Poker breach

This has probably already made the rounds, but hell, just in case.

This is, after all, a poker blog.

Heh.

'Geek’ blamed for online poker cheating - Security - MSNBC.com

“(He) can see the cards, and you can put my name on that,” said Roy Cooke, who was head of security at the pioneering poker site Planetpoker.com for six years.

“When people are doing things out of character and consistently doing it right, there’s a reason for it,” he said. “When they’re always playing the hand that has value in a situation and then folding a great hand when it has value, they can see the cards.”

My Special Powers

It's true. It must be.

At elevation 4800 with winter approaching we've been getting "weather". However, it tends to come in fits and starts. Some rain here, a cold wind there, then out comes the sun--for 6 minutes, and then we begin again.

Finally I decided to open my pie hole and hold forth about the weather conditions and how it would be nice if they were a little more consistent. "If it's gonna rain, I wish it would just rain" was the exact comment, I believe.

Evidently, Jesus heard me and gave a call to Shiva the Destroyer. The wheels of the deity-sponsored I-Didn't-Realize-I-Made-A-Wish Foundation turned quickly and beginning with snow yesterday morning, it has been precipitating in one form or another (mostly cold rain, hard and fast) for the last 36 hours straight.

(Hard and fast. I just made myself giggle laugh. I am ridiculously juvenile.)

There is another theory, however, given that the above just doesn't hold water* (and apparently, neither does the yard, anymore). Much more plausible is the theory that I may have as yet undiscovered special powers--specifically powers of calling forth things from the sky. Nothing so fancy as Elijah calling down fire from the heavens to devour the Ba'al worshipers, but still, potentially impressive.

*Because Shiva isn't real. Unlike the Lord of Hosts, you filthy pagan.

The only thing left to do is find out where the connection lies between my comments and the spicy pork dish of two days ago which led to a never before seen poo dance, which I think may have been an ancient and (up to now) long forgotten Precipitation Dance of some sort.

If it starts raining bacon next week, you'll know I figured it out.

You'll also know who to thank.

(this post has been brought to you by the twins boredom and frustration, aka politics and ActionScript)

Compliance

The ground hurts my feet.
These new shoes be sweet.
Just until I can get to my seat.
People bleat. Time to eat.

Everyone must Pay
We’re on the way.
Is my show on today?
People bleat. And then they pray.

What’s on your iPod?
Can’t hear you. Smile and nod.
It can’t be fraud. Feet, ears, and eyes are shod.
People bleat. It must be God.

Credible knowledge floods print.
A handy brain stint.
Arriving places. Where we went?
People bleat. They’re being sent.

Shepherds watch the flock at night.
Waging the War on Fright.
But the accommodations are tight.
People bleat. And say goodnight.

Going places hurts the pockets.
Look, he’s got a private rocket.
Don’t even get me started on the sockets.
People bleat. They won’t stop it.

Who will be bought when all are sold.
Where’s the gold?
Do what you’re told.
People bleat. Few are bold.

More Loss is More Gain.
Use this! to get that stain.
Diagnosis, insane.
People bleat. Ignore the pain.

Sick in the heart.
Don’t upset the cart.
Pay attention to the chart.
People bleat. Don’t get smart.

The Dulling of the Sheen.
It’s your fault. Live Green.
Check out the new brand, it’s Tween.
People bleat. End scene.

Mislead. Not a lie.
The anti-drug gets us high.
Don’t be pessimistic. Don’t cry.
People bleat. Then they die.

It's a girl! **Boo** **Hiss**

Kidding, kidding.

Except for the "It's a girl" part. I'm so screwed (not kidding).

There was a flash of disappointment when the technician blurted out the verdict. The velvet shell of my hopes that a massive package would blot out all else on the sonogram machine were crushed by tiny white lines and then dashed to pieces on estrogen shoals.

I may be overstating a bit.

The disappointment tried to keep speaking. "Now you won't be able to do all of those cool things that Dads are supposed to do--like tossing around the old pigskin, fighting, finding the best deal on a quality hooker, gambling, and/or being awesome in general. You know, GUY STUFF.


[insert sound of vinyl coming to a screeching halt, ala anti-drug PSA--Just Say NO, kids] What!?

Disappointment is an idiot. I never "toss pigskins" (unless, of course, I'm in the mood to embarrass myself).

As for as the other stuff....

Having a girl that can fight may be even cooler. They'll never see her coming. I won't have to threaten and intimidate prospective young men, I'll just have to make sure she's well versed in eye-gouging, tearing out thoraxes and hearts with a mighty Eagles Claw*, and testicular maiming. But I think I will go ahead with the threats, intimidation, and outright violence of my own, just because it will be a good stress reliever**.

*We'll likely start with the Wu-Tang style. Because it ain't nuttin' ta fuck with.

**Tip of the hat to BG for the naming suggestion, "Abstinence Bildergerg"--Awesome

Finding quality hookers? Ummm, Nein. If hookers get anywhere into this mix it will mean that something has gone horribly awry.

Gambling? She will terrorize poker tables, that felted land where the thoughtful and tenacious female can clean house. Thoughtful and tenacious are obviously the key things here and would apply to either sex, but more so when applied to the fairer of the two, I think.

Being Awesome, in general. I don't see that this will be too difficult. The likelihood that I'll be declaring it constantly is pretty high. At least, it will be up until the screaming and crapping everywhere begins its downward pressure on the sanity of the household (which happens pretty quickly, I hear) .

Things are as they should be, I figure. After all, I don't so much toss around pigskins. I cook and clean and hell, who am I kidding? I'm a walking talking Home Ec. class (do schools still have that? I doubt it, you know, now that sexism has been eliminated along with racism and the great many other -isms we are now At War with). There's not a damn thing wrong with knowing the importance of a good crease and why 'I Can't Believe It's Not Butter' should be met at all times with scorn and derision.

It's not what I desired, to be sure. Even so, being informed that she is healthy, with ten fingers and ten toes, I'm sure that it will be all I could ever want.

(Yes, I know. And then some.)

(Also, for the record: When I paint a beard on the baby, it does not mean that I am pining for a boy and am unable to get over it. It's because drawing beards on babies is fun and awesome, in general.)

Naming the Canteloupe

Four more days and, assuming the child is not feeling modest on Monday, the girl/boy question will be answered. Following this, Naming Talks Negotiations will begin in earnest. There's been some trouble settling on any serious contenders.

I blame celebrities and other various idiots.

It's the naming incompetence of these nimrods that keeps me tied down. I can't stop talking about potential names I would never actually bestow. Like an idea I had a while back....

"Hey, let's name the kid Tupac."
"Because you're black?"
"Yeah. And the middle name should rhyme."
"........."
"How about Tupac The Rock?"
"That's awful, we can't do that."
"You're right, but consider that if we did, every time the child poops (shits? defacates? makes messies?) we can inquire of anyone present, "Can you smell what The Rock is cookin'?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I suppose."

I'm pretty sure it would be the most incredibly awesome thing done with a baby-as-comic-prop to date. Even though it is an awesome name, there are some practical reasons that it's just not realistic. I mean, once the child is potty-trained (see: stops shitting itself without regard to location or company), when will you get to ask The Question? Or, will it just transition over to smelly farts? Or, once the child is potty-trained, is it time for it to learn to actually cook?

Decisions, decisions.

Putting that idea on the backburner, there's always The Paltrow Method to consider. The Paltrow Method consists of the following:

Step 1: Look at fruit.
Step 2: Point at fruit.
Step 3: Name the baby.

I tried a few practice runs, but this is also on the backburner due to a niggling question about the use of a blindfold. I've emailed for clarification but have thus far received no response. I think that it might be good to add a pre-Method step bringing in the blindfold for those who may be intrigued by the idea of faith-based naming.

(regardless, leave your brain in the other room for this one. Assuming you carry it around on a regular basis, that is)

There is the similar technique involving the kitchen (the location where I assume most people put their fruit. If you are one who happens to keep fruit in, say, the bedroom, or, in the couch, well....that's just odd.). It's difficult to say whether or not this one is more widely used, given the inherent complication with the requirement of more steps (again, I believe a blindfold is optional here).

Step 1: Open kitchen cupboard.
Step 2: Point to random food or product masquerading as such.
Step 3: Read aloud and slightly change pronunciation and/or spelling.
Step 4: Name the baby

Cocoa Krisp, anyone? Lemongello? Orangello?

Yes, you read that correctly--Lemon Jello and Orange Jello. The knowledge that none of these are fictional is enough to inspire some extended weeping. That, and the fact that the entire thing is at least 25% more complicated.....

How about The Scattergories Method? Write down any store names, occupations, brand names (that aren't already store names), general products, literary and/or television characters (preferably of the sci-fi or fantasy genre), American Gladiators, saints, or emotional designations you can think of in the space of two minutes on small separate pieces of paper. Put the pieces of paper in a closed container, and if you have one of those rotating basket thingies they use at car dealerships and casinos for prize drawings (after you view a sales presentation, of course), so much the better (some people keep these with their fruit, I hear). To complete preparations, throw in a heaping handful of scrabble tiles.

(also, it bears repeating that a blindfold is again optional, but doesn't really seem to serve much more of a purpose than to make things more difficult. Each to his own, though. As an extra BONUS optional step, some may find it advisable to add pieces of garlic with the Scrabble tiles to ensure no conniving evil spirits are present in the naming process. Imagine if the following happened--You could black out and suddenly wake up holding birth certificate that reads "Pilot Inspektor". Hey, waituminute....damn you mischievous ethereal souls!)

Now, simply reach into the bag and pull out one piece of paper, which will be the first name. The middle name will be the second piece of paper. If you or your family likes to have between three and seven names preceding the last name, by all means, just keep pulling paper till you get there. Now, pull out a scrabble tile. This is the letter that must be substituted for another letter at least twice in 50% of the names pulled.

After working out satisfactory substitutions and pronunciations, partners will punch each other in the face, thus concluding the ritual and naming the baby.

How about Glass (pronounced "glaze") Baesyl (which is delicious).

See? It's a sickness. I can't stop.

2007 WBCOP

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