I'm thinking JAG, season 4. Yeah, I doubt the job is That exciting, but I confess that the show is a guilty pleasure.
If you get a chance, I recommend "Stardust". It actually had some good messages, and I enjoyed watching it. I don't think it will be out much longer.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
I'm thinking JAG, season 4. Yeah, I doubt the job is That exciting, but I confess that the show is a guilty pleasure.
Friday, September 28, 2007
I'm sorry if I been a little cryptic and whiney this week. I suppose if it really bothered you, you wouldn't read any more, and it IS my blog afterall. It would be safe to say there is some serious stuff going down in this life o mine, and after the week I've had, emotionally I feel like a well-rung washcloth. The good part is I think I know more clearly where I stand, and that seems to have given me a certain measure of tranquility I didn't have before with everything that's going on.
It gonna be OK, whatever the final outcome. Thanks for bearing with me.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Heirs One and Two are staying the night with Papa and Nana tonight. Mrs. BiW is working late, so I decided to stay here at the office for while, do a little extra work, and waste time until traffic doesn't suck. I wanted to see how everyone's day at school progressed, so I called over to my in-laws.
"Hi [Heir No. One]!"
"How are you doing?"
"GREAT! We're eating dinner!"
"What are you having?"
"Yeah, and [Heir No. Two]has Ketchup all over his shirt."
"That'll happen. How was your day at school?"
"Great! I got a green day! Here, say hi to [Heir No. Two]
sound of fumbling
"Hi [Heir No. Two]!"
"DA! unintelligible, uninteligible, unintelligible DA! BA!"
phone goes back to big brother
"I gotta go back to dinner. See you tomorrow Dad. I love you."
"I love you too."
I love the fact that they both are always happy to see or hear from me. It is great comfort sometimes. Now if we could just get some more progress on the little one's diction...
I understand that pain generally is a component of spiritual growth, and feel like have been doing a lot of growing, but I'm starting to have my moments where despite faith and praising thankfulness, I feel like I just might crack. I feel like I have been living James chapter 1 for over a year now. If anything I trust God more, even though things seem to be getting worse. I simply cannot let go of the idea that things are the way they are for a reason, and the reason wasn't so only the difficulties are there, but that there would be something better...the blooms after the flood, the green after the fire, things of that nature. I believe that God has always intended something better, and that part of the reason for the landscape I reside in for the moment is the lack of faith, trust, and obedience I had in him earlier in my life. That doesn't mean he is done, but all actions have consequences, and I may not be done receiving mine. The trick is recognizing it, and remembering thankfulness for the things that go right, even if they may not remain. There are certainly enough biblical examples. I just hope that I don't have to live the entire chapter of Job to get to where I'm being guided.
For all the change that I have experienced in myself for the last year, I still am a work in process. I'm a better person now, but there is always something to do, and somethings simply cannot be renewed and revitalized by my will and act alone. I think I am learning that is the hardest part about faith. The acceptance that there really are somethings that you will fall short on and that you have to rely on God to finish, if that is part of the plan. That is where I live right now, and it comes with its own set of issues. Humility becomes a daily staple. I have apologized twice today for two separate things, when I reflected on them because I could see how much they hurt the person involved, who just happens to be the last person in the world I want to hurt, and now that I can see that it has been like that for a while, I begin to understand why things are the way they are, and I can see how much faith it took to deal with it this long. There is a lot to answer for.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Occaisionally, I go over to Grouchy's Liberaltopia, just to scope out what the BDS-inflicted are ranting on this week. Today, I stumbled upon this gem from the author named "damspot":
"Aside from their [Iran's] poor opinion of Israel, which most everyone in that area of the world seems to have, and their opinions on the Holocaust, which for good or bad, many Western Scholars are beginning to look at as well, they have not militarily threatened to bomb anyone."
It is indeed going to be a long war, and apparently we need to start at home, with those who are self-loathing.
pol·troon /pɒlˈtrun/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[pol-troon] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun 1. a wretched coward; craven.
–adjective 2. marked by utter cowardice.
[Origin: 1520–30; earlier pultrowne, pultron, poultroone < MF poultron < OIt poltrone idler, coward, deriv. of poltro foal < VL *pulliter, deriv. of L pullus young animal; see foal]
—Synonyms 1. dastard.
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006.
I'd start using it, but then my speech would be oversaturated with the word. Still, I'm sure you could find a suitable application in your everyday speech.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Owen slowly opened one eye. Deciding that he wasn't dead, he tried to sit up. Pulverized concrete and dust left his mouth dry. Slowly, he surveyed his surroundings. Apparently when the Convention Center caved in, he was thrown clear. He couldn't explain why being thrown to the concrete three stories below hadn't killed him. He didn't even appear to be seriously injured. He then remembered what he had been doing when the floor dropped out from beneath him, and looked for his phone. The slim Motorola didn't appear to have fared as well as he had. I lay in two pieces, 10 feet from where he came to. The display was shattered. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, a breeze cloaking him in the smell of smoke, and death. The phone seemed to be a symbol of everything that had happened that day. Nothing would be the same. He looked toward what remained of the Convention Center. How many people had been in the building? How many now lay entombed in the rubble surrounding him?
He snapped back into the moment, his reverie cut short by the falling temperature. The sun was settling over the Puget Sound, shimmering behind the smoke and dust. Above, a few helicopters buzzed about, lights flickering, as they flew back and forth over the city. As he started to walk, he heard no shouts, no cries for help, no screams of pain. The bodies, and parts of bodies that he saw appeared to be lifeless. It took him nearly an hour to travel two blocks, climbing over the pieces of concrete that used to be fill the skies of the city. In the back of his mind, it seemed that a helicopter was following him, but it was a million miles away from his mental state of mind. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and something very primitive had been let loose from a cage. Thoughts now filled his head that didn't prompt any mental response at all. Bloody images, murderous acts performed with an emotionless, mechanical precision. The kinds of things that would strike terror into the heart of the most committed jihadi, executed with no more feeling than mowing the lawn, or taking out the trash.
After what seemed like hours, he walked onto an undamaged roadway. National Guard vehicles blocked passage through, and a nervous looking sentry, who couldn't have been older than 19 drew his weapon and trained it on the dirt and blood streaked man, who now loped toward him with a look of pure hatred on his face. Owen was so consumed with rage that he did not even notice the spotlight from the helicopter overhead. The soldier, who had enlisted six months before had never seen devastation like what lay before him, and could not fathom how anyone had survived. "Halt!" he shouted. Owen advanced until the rifle poked him in the chest. He looked down, looked up, and batted the rifle away, still oblivious to the spotlight focused on him. His expression softened slightly, as if the feral instinct recently unleashed recognized that the soldier was nothing more than a kid who was out of his depth. Through clenched teeth, Owen growled "Next time you point a weapon at me, you better be ready to use it." He continued walking past the sentry, as another soldier ran up and grabbed him by the arm. "Where did you come from?" he asked. Owen stopped and looked at him for a moment. "I was in the Convention Center. I was thrown clear. Do you have the keys?" as he nodded toward the Humvee. The second soldier was not so easily dismissed. "Is anyone else alive? Did you see any policemen, or firefighters?" Owen sighed. "I didn't see anyone else who appeared to be alive." "What happened?" Owen turned and looked the second soldier in the eyes. "There were buildings exploding, shouts to Allah, more buildings exploding, and then more buildings exploding. Give me the damn keys."
"What? No. You'll have to come talk to the Major, and tell him what you saw and heard." What happened next surprised even Owen. The combination of rage, adrenalin, and irritation coalesced, and in a lightning quick move, Owen grabbed the soldier by the neck, slammed him against the Humvee, and lifted him of the ground. His lips twisting into a sneer, he said "Keys! Now! I'll give you my damn driver's licence, and your Major can send someone to debrief me tomorrow morning. If you send anyone before then, I cannot guarantee their safety." The soldier handed the keys to the man who held him suspended in the air. Owen tossed him to the side, got in, and drove South on a deserted I-5.
Rebecca sat motionless in the chair, where her coworkers had placed her after picking her up off of the sidewalk, where she lay sobbing. Even though the sun was going down, the authorities had order everyone to stay where they were, since no one knew if the attacks were over, if they were attacks. Her coworkers all sat in clusters around the office, watching the video coverage on CNN on their computers. The reporter stated that a group calling itself the Islamic Army of Jihad was taking credit for the destruction in Seattle and threatened to do the same to another city or town in the United States for each day the United States maintained a military presence in the Middle East. Then the image changed, and a man, covered in dirt, debris, and blood was making his way from the Convention Center area to the the south. The officeworkers spoke to each in hushed tones "Who is this guy? Where is he going?" More and more people watched as time passed. The ambient noise in the room faded, until the eerie sounds of the same newscaster's voice echoed from different locations around the room. When the man batted away the first soldier's rifle and headed for the Humvee, the reaction was mixed, but all were amazed. When the man picked the second soldier up and slammed him against the Humveee, a few people uttered "My God, who is this guy?" As the man climbed in the camera zoomed in on his face. Which still was not clear on the computer monitors around the room.
A few minutes passed and the newscaster announced that they had enhanced the zoom shot of the man's face. The picture cut away from the newscaster and a grainy, blurry image of Owen filled the screen. Gasps immediately fell to the floor. Rebecca's friend Amy shouted "Becky! Its Owen! He's alive!"
Rebecca still stared ahead, but said, almost inaudibly "Alive?"
"Yes, Becky! Look!"
The light of hope filled her face, bringing her back from the place between life and death where she had spent the last few hours. She swiveled toward the nearest monitor, where she was greeted with the sight of her husband. Dirty, bloody, disfigured by a look she did not recognize, but it was him. "Alive!!! Alive she said as the tears streamed anew down her smiling face.
Friday, September 21, 2007
For those out you who do not recognize that phrase, let me explain.
Every fall, Puyallup, Washington, hosts the Western Washington Fair, better known as the Puyallup. Rides, games, junk food, exhibits, sales, animals and more. Heir No. One gets more excited about this than he does about Disneyland.
I took a half day, left work, came home to Mrs. BiW who took the day off, and both heirs, and headed off. Another learning experience. Heir No. Two was a complete snot. Heir No. One did get to ride some rides, Mrs. BiW got her Elephant Ear and Roasted Corn, I got my empanada, and the boys got their lemonade. Heir No. One rode the scary ride, Mrs. BiW freaked out and got worried about him. Hopefully next year, the little one won't make it a chore for the rest of us, so everyone can relax and it doesn't end with everyone getting mad at each other. Hey, I can dream, can't I?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
He turned from the windows as the debris that used to be the restaurant across the street shattered the titanic panes of glass and turned them in to glittering projectiles. He lay still on the floor, with chunks of stone and glass falling on him, the rumble from the explosion fading, only to be replaced by the screams of the dead and injured. Silently, he took inventory, and concluded that aside from the impact itself, he was uninjured. As he slowly lifted himself off the floor, he muttered under his breath about waiting till the last minute to take his CLE courses for this reporting period. As he dusted himself off, he looked at the shattered remnants of his favorite coffee mug, the contents spreading a dark stain on the carpet. "DAMMIT, I HATE COMING TO SEATTLE!" he said to no one in particular.
He looked to his left, to see the well-dressed brunette who had made such a spectacle of herself coming in late to the session. He only had to linger a moment on the sight of the huge shard of glass sticking out from the crimson stain on her chest, and her sightless eyes, frozen in a look of surprise, to know that she was dead. He looked around the third floor lobby of the Washington Convention Center, and saw several people around the space, in varying degrees of health. Another explosion two blocks away added to the cacophony outside. Then another, then another.
He knew that he had to try to help some of the injured to safety, if any could be found. He also knew that it must be on the news by now. He pulled out his cell phone, and by some miracle, it still had a signal. Another explosion rocked the building, causing pieces of glass still in the window frames to fall to the street below. He held own the "2" button until it dialed, and he raised it to his ear. "Hello, you have reached the voicemail box of..." This time he could not contain his rage. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" He paused for a minute, and considered calling her cell phone, despite the fact that she rarely heard it ring in her desk drawer at work.
Another explosion rumbled beneath his feet, sounding as it it came from the parking garage. From outside, he heard a fevered cry, the only intelligible word being "Allah". Another explosion rang out from the other side of the street. Realizing that if he was going to say anything, he should act quickly, he rifled through the menu to "Text message", and started to plunk away with both thumbs.
For an hour now, she had been trying to call his cell phone, ever since the head of the department came by and announced that a series of explosions had ripped downtown Seattle apart, and appeared to be timed in a fashion to kill or injure as many of the first responders as possible. After the first call went straight to his voicemail, she logged onto the internet and looked at the pictures posted on the CNN website. Downtown was unrecognizable from the air. The Convention Center had completely crumbled, completely blocking I-5 from both the North and the South. She picked up her phone, dialed again, and again heard his voice telling her she'd reached his cell phone. Angrily, she slammed the phone down, and watched the plumes of smoke curl up from what had been a typical urban center a few ours before. The phone rang. Her heart lept as she practically pounced on the handset and frantically said "Hello???" The voice on the other end was his assistant. "Has he called you?" the assistant asked. Brokenheartedly, she replied "No." "Well, if you do, call us. Please." Slowly, she hung up the phone when the thought came to her.
Torn between the desire to know, and not to know, she opened her desk drawer, and pulled out her cell phone. She took it, walked downstairs, past her coworkers,who were milling about, and talking in hushed tones. Thirty seconds after she walked outside, the lights on the phone flashed, and it beeped, indicating a text message.
Her heart was in her throat as she flipped the phone open with a quivering hand. The message was brief: "I'm OK. I lov"
The headline on Comcast.net?
"Protests harken back to the 50s, 60s"
The story is about Jena. You know, the place ALL the big-name race-pimps couldn't wait to get to. I'm already irritated with this story. The headline ws just the last straw. You can almost hear them in the newsroom: "Man, its JUST like the 60s. We can protest. It will change the WORLD, man."
Newsflash: IT DID. Progress was made in the 60s. And yes, some of it was necessary, but these same activists also brought free love, stds, crumbling families, soaring divorce rates, because they were unable to discern that what they wanted was perhaps not the best thing for society. Kinda like a self-indulgent shop-a-holic with a fist full of credit cards. surround by the bill (in this case a society that has no structure, a zeitgeist that screams "mememememememe....I want it so I have to have it!"), the modern day liberal thinks "kumbaya", protests, and more taking from others is the answer.
I really can't wait for most of these people to die off and leave the adults in charge. I just hope we have a country left when we purge them from society.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
What is everyone's poison of choice?
Back in the day, I used to partake of v'da, and good Canadian whiskey, chased by a good Canadian Beer. In Michigan, Canuck beer is everywhere, and I confess I prefer it to Bud, Miller, or PBR. I used to hang around some Lithuanians, so that's where the v'da comes in. Oh, and the one drinking tip of note I can pass along? When I did my internship in the Canadian House of Commons, I went out drinking with some staff members from Newfoundland. Don't. Ever. I barely remember the trip back to the dorm from halfway across Ottawa (in the bed of a pickup), and I don't remember getting to the 19th floor at all. The next morning, I remember wakng up on the floor, feeling as if my tongue had sprouted a full head of hair.
I'll start us off:
Me: No liquor. I'm way out of practice, and a few ciders or beers I feel more than I should.
Dick: Three fingers Jose' Cuervo Black...and only put ice in it if you have a death wish.
Conversation with No. One Son when Papa dropped him off this evening:
"Dad, I had a yellow day at school today. I'm sorry. I know you're really mad at me."
"No, I'm not mad. Everyone has a bad day now and then. What happened that you got a yellow day?"
"I don't remember."
"You don't remember?"
"No. But a bee stung me in the nose at second recess."
"But you don't remember why you had a yellow day?"
Why can't my life be that simple?
It was suggested to me today that I am failing as a father because I don't have a group of guys, or a least a friend or two that I go out and do "Guy things" with, and therefore, I am not showing my son by example that it is ok to have freinds, to do things with freinds, and to occaisonally have freinds over. This is a pretty sore spot since he does have a certain set of social difficulties and could use this example to his advantage.
It was also suggested that I like being on the computer more than I like being with people. I countered that it wasn't true, but that I deal with other attorneys all day and that I think that many of them are jerks. Many of the people I do talk to online I would try to do things with, but most of them live in other parts of the country. The computer simply fits my schedule (work and being Dad) better than cutting "Dad time", which usually only averages a few hours a day.
I need to find a hobby, and connect with a freind who is a lawyer-non-knucklehead here in the state, and figure out if I have been cheating myself out of contact that I need to really be me. And I need to figure out when I'll have time for this. Any suggestions?
Saturday, September 15, 2007
I was doing some upgrading (Haloscan comments!) and apparently the comments got eaten. It was not intentional. I actually like the feedback. Unless you're a troll. Then you can take a long walk on a short pier. With your favorite brick tied around your neck. Thatisall.
I got my new copy of the Bar News this week.
I am purposely not a member of the ABA and the South King County Bar Association because of their tendencies to support poticial causes that I do not.
Earier this summer, I was surprised to hear that a member of the WSBA was admonished for telling an off-color joke in the courthouse while examining some evidence. It appears we have a Rule of Proffessional Conduct (RPC) that prevents such behavior because we might offend someone.
"Freedom of speech for thee, but not for me", apparently. I understand not bad-mouthing the judiciary or the system. If we don't respect it, then no one can. I will gladly abide by that cannon of the profession, but the political pontificating and meddling is tiresome.
There was a letter to the editior of the Bar News this summer from a bar member in another state, who remarked that it was a joke in his office to see who the 'vicitm of the month' was in his latest copy of the Bar News.
Ealier this year, we had an article written by a law student questioning the reason and logic of beastiality laws. (It was kinda topical around here since the discovery of a group that was having sex with animals in a local town. You might have heard about it.) The general gist of the article seemed to favor repealing the laws and letting Paully the Pervert really love his dog, or horse, or whatever floats his boat. I was just so proud that my manditorily paid dues money brought me that fine bit of convincing that I simply am not enlightened.
This month? A series of articles on same-sex marriage, a topic that our state *spit* legislature is likely to take up this fall. Officially, the state bar is not supposed to take an opinion on such matters, but because the editorial board feels that the articles were "informative" and meant to stimulate debate, rather than simply "advocating" a position, that it was OK to do so. Much in the same way any litigator knows that you can say something you want the jury to hear, even though the rules may prevent it because the judge's instruction to strike the remark and for the jury to disregard it is about as effective as using a bucket lettered with holes to gather water. Anyone in favor of gay marriage will be able to quote the "pro" articles from the Bar News as proof that the WSBA supports the topic when some members, such as myself, do no such thing. The rub? Not only did a small group of members determine that it was OK for our organization to whore ourselves out this way, I have to continue to pay dues to this organization. I am not allowed to practice law in the state of Washington without being a member. If I was one of those stereotypical wealthy attorneys, they'd have my resignation Monday morning. However, I have student loans, mortgages, and credit cards to pay, so I may just register my displeasure and ask for the cost of publication for latest issue. I really haven't decided yet.
Friday, September 14, 2007
I watched this earlier this week. I saw the original version of 'Get Carter' last winter. I'm convinced...the originals with Michael Caine are MUCH better than the remakes. Especially "Get Carter". Stalone made that movie suck.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
No, I would not even consider running for office. I love my family too much too put them through the MSM's "Extreme BS Scrutiny."
As for an appointment to the 9th Circuit...Bwaaahahahahahahahahahaha!
I don't think I have been in practice long enough, I believe in the concept of stare decisis, and I am nowhere near liberal enough to be considered for a seat on that bench.
I'll just await the coming Rottie Empire, and graciously assume the USSC Chief Justice Position when Misha sees fit to offer it to me.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
I let myself get scared last night.
I was driving home from the office, listening to the Glenn Beck show. He started his week-long series on "The Perfect Day", which is the moon-god worshipper's euphemism for the day when attacks are launched all over the country against us by the cowards and savages that comprise al-queda and other terrorist groups. The focus last night was the threat to our schools.
Apparently, the murderers got the bright idea that attacking elementary and grade schools---you know kids not old enough to fight back, the dead bodies NO ONE wants to see the and the rape victims that will NEVER recover, would be so inflammatory that we as a nation would be pushed to the point where a violent, bloody retribution on all things muslim would be a foregone conclusion, thus giving them images to shop around the muslim world to "bring the jihad".
I thought about my boys. 7 and 3. I'm naturally hardwired as a cynic. I'm never gonna be a lovey-dovey, touchy-feely kinda guy. Having said that, nothing could have prepared me for the sense of love and protection that I feel for my family (yes, that means Mrs. BiW, too.) The thought of anybody taking these children hostage, and murdering them in cold-blood takes my mind to dark places that civilized people do not discuss openly, even in the face of extreme provocation. This is especially true in my case. As St. Garibaldi once quipped to a bad guy in B5, "I can dream REAL dark."
It started to dawn on me that people really don't learn from history. The Japanese thought they could kick us in the groin because we weren't giving them the stern beating about the head and neck which they had so richly come to deserve. They kill over 3000 of our citizens on our soil, and because we didn't respond in kind, they assume that we are weak pushovers, lacking both the courage and resolve to join them in battle and see it through to the bitter end.
We now have evidence and suspicious events that would lead normal people (not the currently prominent liberalus self-loathus spinelessicus so commonly seen pontificating about dialoguing with our enemies into the nearest microphone) to believe that multiple attacks on infrastructure and our children's schools are being planned, with an eye towards inciting the war that they are falsely convinced that islam will win. This only shows how screwed up these backward savages are. It is possible, indeed likely that a series of schoolhouse massacres will incite Americans to violence against muslims in our midst. I don't advocate it. I don't approve of it, although I wouldn't be in favor of allowing them to live freely among us after such horrendous events, either. A religion that advocates deception and slaughter of your enemies, who just happen to be anyone else simply cannot be allowed to exist free of restraint and surveillance if we are to survive. But it won't stop there. The truthies, the kumbayas, the 'legislators' and 'entertainers' who can't fall to their knees fast enough in their fervent bestowing of complimentary verbal blow jobs of despots and our enemies everywhere would experience a similar wake up call.
It is easy for the muslims to misinterpret the potential effects that such murderous orgies would have. If I wasn't born here, if I hadn't lived in this country all my life, if I didn't know the man on the street from being one, and if I actually watched the news for news, and believed what our conresspersons and senators were babbling, then I might believe that I could touch off jihad with such an unforgivable act. The problem is that I know better. I know that the average guy on the street is getting a little tired of Jamal the jihadi's bullshit. I know that the average guy on the street is slow to anger. I also know that once he gets there, the appropriate response will be meted out in short order. Memo to Jamal: Don't confuse the 'prominent' citizens of this country with the ones who take care of business. You haven't heard from Joe Factoryworker, Ollie Office Worker, and Marty Mainstreet because they are too busy making things work, so the idle rich, and politicians can strut about in the limelight and generally make asses of themselves. You come here and do unspeakable things to our children, and you will get a response. It won't be what you bargained for. The people in flyover country, those sneered at and disrespected by the empty suits wandering through the corridors of power, they are the ones who get up day after day and do what must be done. They are the ones with the will to things that must be done. When you threaten the things they hold sacred, family, home, hearth, then you will find out what the words "terrible resolve" actually mean. We know how to deal with a mad dog, and once the mad dog is dealt with, we KNOW it will not be a threat again. Ever. Dead American children and raped little girls on the six o'clock news will unequivocally give notice to all who see that Islam and all who subscribe to its perverted, vile, disgusting teachings are simply beyond redemption. You'll get a holy war. It won't last long, and you will be 'enjoying' Allah's 'tender mercies', most likely before the sun goes down on your moon rock in Mecca. It will suck to be you. But not for long.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
The day sane, reasonable people have been waiting for finally arrived this week. Fred Thompson officially announced his candidacy for the US Presidency this week.
The following day, a 14 minute video was playing on th Rott, in which Thompson, displaying his trademark directness, did something no other candidate has done thus far: He made a brief statement in which he clearly stated his reasons for running, and by actually saying something, staked out a position.
I have no doubt that if he is elected, the rest of the world, not to mention the mainstream media here, will undoubtedly get their panties in a wad. This is a man who will do what he says and say what he means. No 'nuanced' responses. No continual strings of warnings and admonishments to the world's no-goodniks. If he tells another country to "knock it off", there won't be another warning. Just the global political version of a swat with a rolled-up newspaper.
And no gazing into the eyes of another leader ala Bush and Putin. If Fred looks into Putin's eyes, it'll only be to confirm that Putin understands what Fred is telling him, so there is no "surprise" later on.
Who knows? In the face of such real leadership, even some of the lefies in this country might get motivated to work for a living and stop trying to spend everyone else's money and kowtow to people who would like nothing better than to kill us.
Naaaaaahhh. He'd be a great President, but only God can unscrew-up those malcontents.
Oh, and today?
Holiday Peppermint Coffee in my Warhol-esqe Stich mug. Why Stich? I figure he's a good role model for me. The Shrink I saw last year said I was "stuffing" my emotions too much. Stich doesn't stuff anything. You have a good weekend, y'hear?
Posted by Blackiswhite, Imperial Agent Provocateur at 8:51 AM
Friday, September 07, 2007
Its been busy here this week.
I talked to fellow LC and IB Alex of Alex in Essex over the weekend. Everything seems to be OK in Britanistan.
The teachers in the local district were on strike when they should have been teaching. We found out at 8:00 pm Tuesday Night that No. One son had school the next morning. Yikes!
Kept pretty busy at work. Got some Honeycrisp apples fresh from eastern Washington. The BEST apple on the planet.
The conversation Rott about Starbucks in Moscow got me considering coffee and the magnificent vessels that it comes in.
Posted by Blackiswhite, Imperial Agent Provocateur at 6:53 PM
Saturday, September 01, 2007
I have been watching all the stuff about Lady Diana and the 10th anniversary of her death this week with confusion.
I have have to admit that my age was single digits when she married the windsor mutton head, but I just don't get the attraction. I'm sure she was a kind and polite person, who loved her children, and like many in the limelight, had her own pet causes that she supported. When did that qualify her for freakin sainthood? I confess, I really do not understand this. At all.
My amusing moment? An ad for yet another retrospective was on last night. Mrs. BiW saw it and said "Let her go already! She's dead! Get over it!