The Kennebunkport Files

...But it'd make great TV! It's violent AND it has lawyers!

2006-04-21T11:28:00.000-07:00

In fact it has violence against lawyers! What's not to like? There's almost nothing to add here, except that I, too, wish the fistfight had been allowed to take place. Alas, the judge apparently has no sense of humor.

You know you have a WOW addiction when ...

2006-03-31T07:52:00.000-08:00

1)Your 9 mo pregnant wife awakes you for her STRONG RECURRING PAINS; and you announce that so-and-so's gaming self got totally trounced by horde last night. Then you roll over, and go back to sleep.

2)You awaken in the wee hours to find (to your dismay!) your wife has no health bar over her. Odd, that.

3)You inquire (at4am!!) if she's in your ZT(ct?) raid group? If she's not, that would explain it...

BirthDay: take 3 (sorry, the story has to go somewhere)

2006-03-14T13:14:00.000-08:00

I dreamed that I was experiencing someone else's labor pains. (Hey, denial runs deep here.) I woke up. I discovered the pains were mine. I got up, went to the bathroom, and back to bed. wow. Pretty painful. I decided to inform the Administrator of the SERIOUSNESS OF THE SITUATION.

He in turn informed me with slurred tounge that the Horde overran "so-and-so". I informed him that I didn't CARE about "so-and-so", OR the Horde that trounced his gaming self; I. WAS. IN. PAIN.

Whereupon the Network Administrator bestired himself to rub my back and ask if this was really labor? And was I sure? Should we go in? I said I didn't know. But after a few more increasingly painful reflections on the matter at hand, I decided that if this was false labor, I still wanted an epidural for it.

The NA called grandma, who told him she'd be over in about 15min. Insert conniption of laboring woman:
"Fifteen Minutes! We don't have fifteen minutes! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU PEOPLE THINKING!!!!" forte

I threw on my sneakers and coat. No time for socks. And in my pajama bottoms (it just had to be the ones decorated with fat penguins in scarves) and whatever shirt I had on, I waddled for the car. The NA followed. Who informed me, amidst the increasing crescendo of yells and moaning, that no matter WHAT HAPPENED I was NOT to grab the wheel of the car. I told him I had no intention of doing so, and to please GO FASTER! AND RUN THAT RED!!

Well. We made it to the mommy and baby section of the hospital. I hobbled up to the door. First doors opened. The second doors did not. I panicked and started pounding and shouting like the sensible college graduate that I am. What did I shout? Umm, well it was something along the lines that I didn't want to have my baby in the entry of the hospital, and would someone be kind enough to help. Only I said it loudly, and I failed to use my happy voice.

The NA, blessed icon of stunning calmness, reached over and used the intercom: "Could a person please let us in? We're locked out."

Cheery not-in-labor person: "Okay! I'll be out there in just a few minutes."

Me(screaming): "I don't HAVE a few minutes!!!! I DON'T want to have this baby in the VESTIBULE!!! Is she a blithering IDIOT??"

And so after waiting a little while I got on the intercom and begged. And pleaded. Please, please could they let me in? I tried to find a remnant of my nice voice.

A nurse finally came and ushered us in. The staff were determinedly cheerful and bouncy. "My! Somebody sounds like they're in pain!" as I passed the nurses' station. That, and "It looks like we're going to have a BABY here!" No kidding, Sherlock!

Meanwhile, I was singlehandedly creating the impression that China (to paraphrase the NA) had decided to outsource its interrogations to the American Midwest. (And let me simply say that there's nothing worse than yelling, "I can't do this!" knowing beyond a shadow of doubt you're going to anyway.) Minutes later 3 of 3 was out and squalling nicely.

Glad we made it. But wouldn't it have been hilarious if my husband, may he live forever, had to deliver it himself? HA!

.........Yeah, you're right. Probably wouldn't have phased him.

Affordable or Overvalued?

2006-03-14T12:50:00.000-08:00

Real estate has been touted in our area as "very affordable". Therefore, goes the reasoning, no bubble exists. I contend that it is affordable but still overvalued.

Let's think about buying a car. There are lots of used cars at the dealership. The median price is $15,000. Pretty inexpensive, huh? What if I tell you that they are all older, rusted Ford Tempos that don't run so well. Overvalued? Most definitely. So here we have affordable, but overvalued. And just for fun let's add in a steadily increasing finance rate and an average income just above minimum wage. How many "buyers" would you expect to attract to this dealership? Hmmm. Few to none. Thusly, as of last fall we had close to 6 mo. of inventory sitting on the market.

But it's so AFFORDABLE!!! Yes, there are a lot of very affordable Ford Tempos out in the real estate world. Do I want to buy one of them? NO. I can rent-a-wreck for less.

What if?

2006-01-31T06:43:00.000-08:00

“What if your dreams and fears existed in the same place?

What if to get to heaven you had to brave hell?

What if everything you’d ever wanted would cost you everything you’ve ever achieved?

Would you still go there?”

I queried my husband in all seriousness. Deep, man. Like heavy, dude.

His response?

"What if I could slap silly anybody who asked stupid questions?", to which I burst out laughing.

Never take anybody, especially yourself(or any surfer from California), too seriously. It's why I married the NA and not somebody else.

What to Do in the Event of a Hurricane

2005-10-12T22:28:00.000-07:00

...in Illinois. It seems the local tv news crew has got yer tailfeathers covered. But I'm nervous: no tsunami advice ANYWHERE on the website. Horrors! No high ground to run to. WHATEVER will I do?! You know, just in case - got to have a disaster plan...

/sarcasm

Kids

2005-10-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

I love my kids. The comic relief is absolutely priceless. As I am now getting rounder by the minute, I like to take breaks and rest on my bed occasionally. I was taking one such rest the other day, and I heard kersplunk, kersplunk. [A university should research the amazing talent of mommies to pick out different sounds with such incredible accuracy.] It's not a sound I normally hear; and in my business (as in yours I'm sure), anything new or unexpected generally portends bad things. The kersplunk sounded like...a plunger or other firm object getting repeatedly dunked into the toilet. Not good.

"1 of 3! What are you putting in the toilet? ...... What's in the toilet?"
"Nothing, Moooom."
Don't tell me nothing, kiddo....
"WHAT is IN the TOILET?"
"Nothing, Mom, just poop."
We have taken a definite turn for the worse...I thought the plunger was bad enough. We have now established that the toilet is poop-filled AND that someone has been sloshing something in and out of it. God grant me patience. I am now in the bathroom with the child.
"WHAT were you dunking into the toilet? The plunger?"
Or was it my toothbrush? Please let it be the plunger.
"Ummmmm. My hands?"
Oh yuck...
"Wash NOW. Thoroughly. With soap. And scrub. For a long time."
You can hug me next year...

She does try to be helpful. For a 5yr old. The other weekend I walked in the bathroom to find sopping wet terrycloth towels all slopped on the countertop next to the bathroom sink. My mind flashed back to the toilet episode. HOW exactly did these small towels get so wet? If I were a crime scene investigator... Even so, I wasn't prepared for this one.

"What on earth are all these towels doing in here? Why are they dripping wet? Who did this? Why?...Who???"
"Um. That...that would be me, Mom." There stands my darling princess of toilet dipping notoriety.
"How did they get wet? What on earth were you DOING?"
"Well, I was helping Lars [our substantially sized and lazy feline] to wash himself. In all the places he can't get to with his head."

There are times when I would so dearly like to hear the cat's thoughts: his joy at being helped so generously with his toiletries, the gentle slap of cold wet rag on his fur and in his ears. Not sure I would let my kids listen to those thoughts. heh heh. My husband would probably pay money to hear 'em. The Net admin would probably record the tirade and replay it repeatedly.

A Cindy Sheehan Christmas

2005-09-22T08:13:00.000-07:00

You've got to have heard about Cindy Sheehan. She and her "anti-war movement" marched on Washington the other day. About 30 people marched. 30!

My mom and dad raised (and are still raising) 12 kids. If you count spouses and grandkids, I think we're a movement every Christmas we get together. People used to call us "The Clan". Now they'll have to upgrade that to "The Movement". Ahahahah...my side! my side! Who knows? Maybe someday we'll march on the White House and get our pictures in the paper.

I wonder what we should protest about Christmas.
"Cash, not Presents"
"How many of us have to starve before dinner is ready?"
"George Bush didn't sent me a card!"
"Get the Turkey Out (of the oven) Now!"
"I support the cookies, not the fruitcake!"
"Impeach the datenut bread! Free the cream cheese!"
Or the more serious protest heard at virtually every gathering, "End the occupation of the bathroom!"

It's a Boy!

2005-09-21T19:28:00.000-07:00

I FINALLY, FINALLY got my ultrasound. Blessings on my insurance for letting me have one. Ever so grateful and all that. There is definitely outdoor plumbing installed. He is his father's son...reclined, feet propped up against the side, havin' a good suck on his thumb. Relaxed as you please. If he'd had a Mountain Dew to replace the thumb, he coulda been his dad watching NASCAR. I hope his easygoing attitude stays with him.

I also pray that he'll come a bit early. That little lull between Christmas and New Year's would be perfect. Tax deduction! WOOT!! Plus, I've already met my deductible for THIS year; don't really feel like paying it over again...yeah, I'm that cheap.

Names?? Anyone? Anyone?

Flotsam and Jetsam

2005-09-12T19:08:00.000-07:00

So, I'm gonna guess you heard about Hurricane Katrina. Be amazing if you hadn't. And as everybody has found different ways to give time, money, clothes, rescue expertise, links to donation sites, I feel somewhat redundant recounting what everyone already knows (doubtless more than I do). So, herein I discuss the urgent need for the inevitable commission.

It credits us not to let this horrible catastrophe pass without the politicians valuable insights into what went wrong. We commission blue ribbon panels for the failure of public education, welfare, social security, medicare, and now the response to national disasters. It should be somebody's campaign slogan: "A commission for every failure!" And this being the government of "good enough for government work" there are naturally a lot of commissions.

In the past this bothered me. The process costs a lot and changes virtually nothing. All those staffers typing for hours, the reams filled with printed words which few except journalists and politicians themselves read (But then, I suppose the staffers have family. Look, there's the subsection MY team worked on, Honey!). I assume it only bothered me because I was not the one getting paid.

No good reason to deny my money-saving services as help in time of desperate need. For a couple hundred thousand I write very nice, long reports. Costs more if I blame someone particularly, double if I cover everyone's tailfeathers. Rambling, meaningless phrases at no extra charge. I think it's a deal. Think of the filthy lucre we could save to send to, oh I don't know, somebody hit by some natural disaster or something.

I need to write a letter to my congressman and apply myself to this vital, lifesaving work immediately. :)

From Margi Lowry's Blog: "Third Child"

2005-09-04T21:17:00.000-07:00

A fellow Mom-to-be who retrieved it from a Babycenter thread, all about how parents do things a little differently the third time round.

My favorites:

Your Clothes:
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.

Worries:
1st baby: At the first sign of distress–a whimper, a frown–you pick up the baby.
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing.

Pacifier:
1st baby: If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby’s bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.

Diapering:
1st baby: You change your baby’s diapers every hour, whether they need it or not
2nd baby: You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.

At Home:
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn’t squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.

The last especially. Ha! Glad to hear another mommy likes to go potty...alone...without anyone coming in to soak down a washcloth and inform her (upon polite inquiry) that, "See, I was thirsty, but he said no and grabbed it, and I said grape juice is healthy, and that's why. Don't worry, Mom, I'll get the carpet all better. I'm a helper!"

Margi has more of 'em...

The Stages of Getting a Man to a Non-relative's Wedding

2005-08-20T06:52:00.000-07:00

The Five Stages of Grief.

Getting a man to a wedding not his own presents various difficuties. Weddings are distinctly female in nature. Designed by women, orchestrated by the same, they simply do NOT cater to the needs or wants of men. There are no TV's playing the "big game" at the reception. No putting greens, no gaming consoles, no internet, not even any foosball. Nothing to do but TALK. It is clearly a woman's turf. And yet, year after year, men are bundled up in uncomfortable clothing and brought to these affairs. No man WANTS to be there, he attends because he has to or because he's getting major points with the little woman. There is a defined grieving process though, as he is separated from his beloved schedule and "normal" activities. Today we discuss the Five Stages of Grief.

Denial - He is told by his wife that he is going. But the wedding is far enough away that hey, anything could happen between now and then. A car accident, deathly illness, a sudden business trip, why the happy couple might even break up! Plenty of time, pleeennnnty of time. He might even think of the fabled "perfect excuse".

Anger - This stage typically occurs extremely close to the wedding, often the day of the nuptials, as our now entrapped friend realizes that none of the rosy scenarios he had imagined have come about to deliver him. It's looking like the ceremony IS going to happen and that HE'S going to attend. He naturally feels anger at his choiceless state. Anger that he's going to miss the game. Anger that his normal happy activities must be interrupted for boring social tricks. Anger that talking for several hours (surely a test of endurance for any man) has replaced the far healthier occupation of workin' on the car, defragging the hard drive, perfecting his drive down the 5th fairway, etc. Why couldn't they just elope? It'd save everybody trouble. Extremely selfish of them. And just thinking of all the things he isn't going to be doing leads him to the third stage.

Bargaining - Maybe he can work a deal. Everybody has their price. If it's his wife, "We'll have dinner out together. Anywhere you want to go." "A long weekend, just the two of us, NO kids!" No dice...he ups the ante, "We can walk along the river, and just talk." Nothing. Big swallow. "Or take the river taxi across the river and ... go shopping in the antique district." This strategy's success depends strongly on her not having a great social or familial attachment to the engaged couple. It also might depend simply on how much she wants to go. (Hey, we just like weddings. I know, I know. Inconceivable!)

Depression - If the bargaining doesn't work, depression sets in. Heavy sighs. Quiet slump of the shoulders. His day is ruined, absolutely ruined. This leads to our last stage. But occasionally, a man will cycle back through some of the stages, denial and bargaining being the most popular.
"I can't find any shirts, Hon." Can't go without a shirt. Hope lives again! YES!!!
"Here's a clean one right here." She just stabbed Hope - right through the heart.
"But it's wrinkled!" in seeming genuine horror. Badly injured, Hope is still beathing, barely.
"I'll get out the iron for you." She twists the knife. You must now iron your own shirt or admit it was all a sham.

Acceptance - Actually, this is more like a depressed resignation, than happy and obliging acceptance. "You want to go to the mall while the wedding party takes pictures before the reception? Might as well. My day is shot anyway." But he is beginning to focus on the positive, "You do realize, don't you Sweetheart? That the points here are racking up like the national debt."

And you thought I was joking...

2005-08-13T19:18:00.000-07:00

This from Reuters via Drudge:

S. Korean man dies after 50 hours of computer games

28 yrs old. No wife to nag him, apparently. Died of heart failure doing what he loved best. The NA said THAT is the way to go. And you thought I was making it all up when I said:

I could use up all the food in the house, disconnect the phone (no pizza), give him the closest thing to a gamer’s barbiturate (Everquest, or maybe World of Warcraft) and leave him to enjoy his vacation alone for two weeks. Come back, and oh my goodness, WHAT a tragedy. “He died doing what he loved (voice breaks; small sob)…but I know he would have wanted it this way. He always said he’d rather die than go shopping (hysterical weeping).”

Turns out the wife is right! Guns don't kill people; GAMING kills people. I think W.O.W. would be first on the lawsuit list, followed closely by Newegg for selling him the components of his computer.

"If YOU'RE going to keep playing those games we need a bigger life insurance policy on you."

Game Responsibly. (This message brought to you by Moms Against Dads Missing Dinner Because They are in the Middle of an Instance)

Marketing ploys and "Back to School"

2005-07-16T07:49:00.000-07:00

This year they jumped me. I just can't get over the reality of school supplies being shoved down my throat immediately subsequent Independence Day. But this year, this year! The obscene marketers that run Walmart, et. al. put school stuff up BEFORE the 4th of July. That surprised me. The pattern subtly leads me down a merry holiday/event path. July 4th, Back-to-school, Halloween, Thankgsgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, Easter, Memorial Day, July 4th. I'm glad we have these blatant reminders that begin the day following any of the above holidays. How else will I know which major event comes next? How will I know what to buy???

The marketing year begins July 5th with school supplies front and center. Aren't you excited. This marketing ploy must be to encourage parents, bring happy feelings, etc. Considering school doesn't start for another 1 1/2 - 2 months, this is incredible. Nevertheless, a funny feeling grips me as I walk past the displays - the feeling that I need to get a jump on my school planning and beat the rush. Absolutely ridiculous.

Kelo v. New Londonor One Small Step for Tyranny, One giant Step for Big Corporations

2005-06-21T01:04:00.000-07:00

Ha! Beat them! I don't have a house to take away and give to a rich developer. So there! Alas. The house hunt enters another wearying month. Resistance is futile. Administrator, our shields have been compromised. They are now at 50% and falling. The evil realtors have upped their demands. What shall we do, sir?

I am beginning to severely dislike the actions of realtors everywhere. They're annoyingly bouncy and full of cliches. If I hear (or read) "LOADS of storage space!" as a descriptor of a dirty, unfinished, concrete hole of a basement, I'm going to have to hurt someone. Well ok. I won't actually hurt anybody.

So maybe I'm going about this the wrong way. I've been dealing with people who have their property for sale. Obviously, the Network Administrator (may he live forever) and I missed the boat. Find a house you like. Preferably in an older neighborhood with big houses inhabited by elderly couples - elderly couples who get senior discounts on their property taxes. Go to the city council, and say hey, you'll get more money out of me than you will out of them; how 'bout it? The city condemns the property and names the "fair" price; you get the place.

See, this way YOU set the price, not them. That is, you set it through the city council or planning board or whatever. None of this nasty negotiating with a "seller". You even get to pick the house! And since the house is never "for sale" or "on the market", you don't have to deal with nasty competing offers or exorbitant realtor fees. It's Utopia!

Let the reappropriation begin!

Little kids and one moonbat

2005-06-19T05:43:00.000-07:00

Wow, sorry it's been so long. VBS, exhaustion, nausea, biopsy, nasty things this week... Well, VBS wasn't nasty, that was actually kind of fun, if demonstrative of how out of shape I have become.

You know you're out of shape when:

- A five year old can catch you halfway around the circle in "Duck, Duck, Goose".
- Action songs during songtime feel like low impact aerobics.
- 15 min. of low impact aerobics exhausts you.
- You demand your share of kids' snacks as "teacher's helper".
- After 3 hrs with 5yr olds, napping for the next 7 hrs seems entirely reasonable.

Had to have a biopsy this week. Somewhat unpleasant. But good news! The tumor is benign.

Wish we could excise Durbin. Talk about a malignant tumor in the Senate. It's shameful to live in the same state with that traitor. Called his office, asked him to write me back. Doubt he will, never has before. Democrats in IL are decidedly cocky. I guess he feels he doesn't need to court my vote.

Mom, where do babies come from?

2005-06-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

From the dentist of course - well, according to 2of3.

Mom: "Do NOT eat your cereal with your fingers. You were not born in a barn."

Giggles: "Mom said I was born in a barn!(Heeheeheehee)"

Patient 3yrold male voice of vulcan reason: "No, ---. You were born at the dentist. And I was born at the dentist."

Dentist? Where do they get these things from? Well, I suppose if you try to approach the problem logically like 2of3...

1) The baby is in my mom's tummy. How did it get there? Well, how do I get things into my tummy? I eat them.

"But Mom, how did you swallow the baby?" (He asked this with complete sincerity and awestruck bewilderment, like I'd performed an amazing magic trick.)

2) How is the baby going to come out? Same way it went in, obviously. (Which is true...) If Mom swallowed it, then it has to come back up through her mouth.

3) What kind of doctor deals with mouths? A dentist! Ergo, the baby will be delivered at the dentist's office.

All extremely rational, if completely wrong. I'm amazed he's only 3. He's going to be a programmer like his dad. Someday, I'll have to tell the kids...but not for a long time. It's just too much fun hearing them guess. Wonder what they'll come up with next?

2005-06-06T15:19:00.000-07:00

Ok, so enough with the political rants...I am on a ship - a ship I can't really disembark. It heaves and rolls UUUP and DOWN, UUUUP AND DOOOOWN, uuUP aNd doOOWn. I am understandably sea-sick. There are no Dramamine patches onboard. Occasionally, I feel like spewing my cookies. Such are the comforts aboard Prenatal Cruise Lines. Still, lots better than the first cruise...so far. I have cheerfully abandoned the pants-that-didn't-fit in favor of "maternity" wear, which I think is outrageously expensive, and I alternate between "I CANNOT eat that. eeewww." and "I need to eat that NOW, stand aside or be trampled".

The really awful thing about "morning sickness" is the scarring psychological impact it has on my little world. My first "at sea" occurred several years ago when the Network Administrator(may he live forever) was thoroughly engrossed in "Heroes of Might and Magic". Every time I think of that game, unbearable nausea besets my memory. I'm starting to feel the same way about World of Warcraft. Which is a shame, because if I had to pick a computer game that made me ill, I'd pick something like Tradewars, mind-numbing and dull of its' own merits. Favorite game to watch the NA play? Starcraft, which can be fully appreciated even if you're sprawled on the couch, pregnant and miserable.

We have strawberries! Through absolutely zero effort on my part, except picking. Which is a good thing, because the time a plant spends under my direct care and nurture is directly correlated to severely decreased life span and productivity. I kill plants; call it a dark gift, a charcter flaw, a hapless misfortune. If the EPA had a hit list, I'd be on it. The Net Admin laments each time a new green victim is brought home from the store. The dreams of lush, verdant, mature foliage slowly give way to the reality of brown, dead leaves.

"What did I do WRONG??" I wail helplessly. "Did I overwater it? Was there a draft? Not enough water? Too hot? Was it just the will of the Force? Come back little midichlorians! Come back! Where is Senator Palpatine when you need him?"

I am being assisted in my defoliating efforts this year by the friendly neighborhood rabbits. They ate a number of my tulips, and for the first time in a long time I considered getting a gun, well, at least a BB gun. Which gets me thinking about rabbit meat and why we don't eat that anymore. Why don't we? I have no idea. We eat chicken and cow. And pig. If I saw rabbit meat in the store, I would buy it, if only to make the NA and subjects A and B guess what it was. Ha! Probably wouldn't taste too bad barbequed...I need a grill...

Memorial Day

2005-05-31T06:53:00.000-07:00

And in honor of those who have died in the cause of freedom, I shall fisk an anti-war, pro-peace student.

We get these beautiful non-sequitors courtesy Ianmack commenting on a former soldier's blog.

well said, jack. i firmly believe that most soldiers are pure in their intentions, but they have to question why they were sent in the first place. regardless if saddam was a tyrant, the fact is that the war was based on lies that were made up along the way. the ends do not justify the means.

i sincerely hope that peace returns to the middle east, but extremism breeds extremism, and using violence to deliver 'democracy' is a slippery slope.

We'll start with the glaringly obvious:
"using violence to deliver 'democracy' is a slippery slope"
Would this be the same slippery slope that the American democracy was founded on 200 yrs ago? Yah see, there was this war...and like, we fought the British. Dude, like it lasted for YEARS (bad British exit strategy?) and like, LOTS of people died and everything (Yeah, I know, in a WAR. Who'd a thunk?)

And where does this slippery slope lead? Ianmack leaves that spooky question unanswered. Prosperity? Greater freedom? Individual wealth? Advanced technology? Maybe to umm...oh I don't know, a murderous dictator that kills hundreds of thousands of people with biological weapons? Wait no, that's the guy Ianmack wanted to leave there in the first place. I guess an unchanging plateau of tyranny is preferable to the "slippery slope" of that horrific social experiment DEMOCRACY.

"extremism breeds extremism"
Well, maybe it does. Your little clique flies an airplane into a skyscraper, I would say that was extreme. You vow to topple all of Western civilization and impose strict Islamic law on everyone, I would say that was extreme. You refuse to hand over the terrorists to face justice (think Afghanistan), I would say that was extreme. You use a weapon of mass destruction on men, women, and children in your own country, I would say that was extreme. You refuse to fully cooperate with nuclear inspectors, leave many weapons unaccounted for, and do an end run around sanctions designed to prevent you from making money and spending it on more weapons, I would say that was extreme. But then, I suppose you could make a case that bringing freedom and taking out a murderous dictator is extreme. Democracy is a radical concept, tried by relatively few countries over the millenia of civilization. Democracy and tyranny. Freedom and subjugation through terror. All radical, "extreme" ideas. But not moral equals as Ianmack implies (alas another victim of "mindless moral equivalence"). Just remember, Freedom and Democracy good, Terror and Despotism bad. It's very simple.

"regardless if saddam was a tyrant, the fact is that the war was based on lies that were made up along the way. the ends do not justify the means."
It turns out our friend here is a conspiracy theorist. The conspiracy? Bush planned this whole war/terrorist thing so we wouldn't look at his National Guard record, so we wouldn't look at the economy, so he could lower gas prices, establish an American colony in the middle east, get reelected. Go ahead, pick one.
American presidents do not go to war for trivial reasons. Saddam broke the treaty he signed after the first Gulf War. We knew he was getting around the sanctions. (Remember that line? "Give the sanctions time to work!") As Daffyd ab Hugh writes in Patterico's Pontifications:

It does little good to point out what nobody now denies: that Hussein had many ongoing programs to develop such chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons; they just weren’t as advanced as we were afraid they were. Given how little intelligence we had about that secretive country, the choice was to trust in Saddam Hussein’s restraint and good judgment, or trust in the United States military...

But now we know that it was not just on WMD that the clock was ticking. As Claudia Rosett, George Russell, and others pointed out, the oil-for-fraud program was already starting to produce the nightmare scenario of terrorist groups with their own revenue streams, independent of individual donors and fundraisers. Articles written for Fox News and National Review Online revealed that at least one company linked to al-Qaeda was already involved in kickback schemes to make millions in profits from the U.N. program — money that would be directly available to fund al-Qaeda operations, now that Osama bin Laden’s personal fortune is long since spent. And it was not just al-Qaeda; several other terrorist organizations also wound up with oil leases, right under the noses of Benon Sevan, Executive Director of the Iraq Programme (Oil for Food), Secretary-General Kofi Annan, and his spawn-of-the-devil Kojo (or is that Cujo?)

Had we waited just a few more months — waited until two minutes before midnight — even more high officials in Security-Council governments would have been corrupted; it’s entirely possible that, in the end, even Britain would have bowed to international pressure and pulled out of the Operation Iraqi Freedom. Would we still have gone to war, then? I don’t think anyone can really say for sure.

Saddam wasn't allowing the inspectors full and unhindered access to workers, scientists, and facilities. He couldn't account for many weapons. Intelligence reports said he was developing weapons of mass destruction. All good reasons to go to war. The decision to go to war was made with the available information.

I think an analogy is in order. I find a lump in my breast. My doctor assures me that it's probably nothing, but I should go get an ultrasound. I do. The ultrasound is inconclusive. It confirms I have a lump, and it looks like it is almost certainly cancerous. However, the doctors will not know for sure until they surgically remove it and biopsy it. Now I could wait, and see what happens, and just hope it ain't cancer. But if it is cancerous, and I wait until things start looking really bad, there won't be anything I can do to fight the cancer. It will have grown and spread, become inoperable, untreatable. It will kill me.

I know that. So I have it biopsied. It's benign. Did my doctors LIE to me? Was it a mistake to biopsy it? No. Very few people would refuse a biopsy under such circumstances; they wouldn't risk their own life like that. Even if the tumor isn't cancerous, you don't take the chance. Only a very disturbed person would sue that doctor for insisting on a biopsy.

Now I'm not suggesting Sadaam is benign, more like precancerous or Stage 1-2. But still, this isn't Vegas. You gonna gamble with something that big? You gonna hope that a violent criminal doesn't (gasp) associate with other criminals (read terrorists) intent on harming us? Some, like Ianmack, are willing to risk every American's life. (He's Canadian, by the way.) Ianmack, bad news: you have gambling issues. Good news: there is help. Bad news: the first step to getting help is admitting you have a problem.

"i firmly believe that most soldiers are pure in their intentions, but they have to question why they were sent in the first place."

Ah, those troops! They're good hearted, but they're just kind of trusting and stupid. Obviously, they don't realize that it's WRONG for them to be fighting this war. They'd agree with us and stop fighting if only they were intelligent enough to understand our argument. If only they weren't quite so naive, they'd "question why they were sent in the first place". The whole statement is outrageously patronizing. Hello? They already asked the question. They already answered it. And the vast majority of them answered it the "wrong" way, according to the anti-war crowd. And considering they have a great deal of raw "boots on the ground" experience over in Iraq, I consider them fully capable of answering it. Themselves. I think they're competent enough. I think they are accompishing noble goals. I think they are brave. I think they are doing the right thing. And frankly, I think these are far more supportive statements than, "I like you, but you're doing something reprehensible".

Last but not least, we have this little gem:
"i sincerely hope that peace returns to the middle east"

This is where Ianmack and I seriously part ways ideologically speaking. Or we would if we hadn't already. He views PEACE as an intrinsic good. I do not. I'm not sure how he defines peace, but if he defines it as many liberals do, PEACE is simply the absence of large scale armed conflict.

By that definition, PEACE is often much bloodier than war. Has he forgotten Chamberlain's famous sellout? "Peace for our times!" That peace cost several million civilians their lives. Stalin promoted this PEACE, too. Cost: 40-50 million civilians. Even our hands are not clean in this respect as we abandoned anti-Hussein Iraqis after the first Gulf War. Several hundred thousand CIVILIANS died in the intervening 12 years between the Iraq wars. We have yet to uncover all the mass graves. But they all died during the PEACE. Well then, I guess that makes it all ok.

That said, I do not blindly hope for PEACE. I hope for FREEDOM. Ianmack is Canadian; so he probably never studied Patrick Henry. There are those of us funny Americans who believe Loss of Liberty trumps Death in the "Worst Fate" category even if it's loss brings PEACE.

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
- Patrick Henry March 23,1775

And "liberty" must be fought for. PEACE must sometimes be sacrificed for this greater good. In fact, any "just" war pursues Freedom.

"The whole history of the progress of human liberty shows that all concessions yet made to her august claims have been born of earnest struggle. If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom, and yet deprecate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground, they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters."
- Frederick Douglass (1818-1895)

...And they are called liberals, people for whom reality has been holding on line 1 for several years now. Poor Ian. No family of his own to ground him to common sense. Nice guy, just hasn't really thought it all through yet.

Well, I feel better. Fisk over. Had a great Memorial Day. Don't want to see pizza again for a while. My lazy writer's thanks to the people from Quotes Exchange for help with exact quotes.

We're back and Mission Accomplished! (j/k)...

2005-05-18T09:26:00.000-07:00

So I have this problem. My pants haven't been fitting as well the last 2 weeks. At first I thought, "I shall have to retrench! I shall have to economize! I'm gonna have to give up chocolate, or maybe just everything else!!!"

Every woman knows that when you get to this point, you end up doing one of two things:

1) Succumb to the near inevitable and buy a new and larger pair of pants.
2) Keep your self respect and go to the mattresses in an almost hopeless rearguard action against the major food groups.

I don't like either option. The first involves the loss of self esteem; the second, loss of sustenance. SOOOOO, I am hereby creating a new option.

Option 3) I shall rename 1of2 and 2of2, 1of3 and 2of3 respectively. (The Network Administrator argues that actually they should be renamed 0of2 and 1of2 as any "real" program operates on a... ummm...hang it all, I can't remember last night's lecture. ANYWAYS.)

This new option enables me to eat lots and frequently AND buy a larger pair of pants, completely guilt free. Unfortunately, it requires the Administrator to purchase a minivan, which I suppose is a big blow to HIS self esteem...

Names? NO gaming characters, please...I put my foot down. The NA said he'd name his kid "Microsoft" if Bill would pay him enough. That idea has been blocked in committee. Chances of making it to the floor for an up or down vote: less than winning the lottery. I yield up the balance of my time for comments....

Realtor Lingo

2005-05-12T20:47:00.000-07:00

In a real estate advertisement your vocabulary and a realtor's vocabulary often differ widely...

COZY - code for "this place is a shoebox too small to chloroform a cat in"

SNUG - see above

LARGER THAN IT LOOKS! - looks like a shoebox, but hey, it's a LARGE shoebox

MUST SEE INSIDE - I love this one. What more blatant way to say, "My house's exterior looks hideously ugly." Ironically, the owners' interior decorating skills are usually non-existant, so the outside is probably the best feature.

ALL WINDOW TREATMENTS STAY - you wish they wouldn't; they've long overstayed any welcome that could possibly have been afforded them 30 odd years ago. I feel threatened. Take them! Take them!

LIGHT AND BRIGHT - there is an enthusiastic, bouncy realtor lurking somewhere in the vicinity, eager to point out that this house actually comes with windows! Only imagine.

The house hunting is going poorly, thank you. Too many "persons of subnormal intelligence" with too much borrowed money chasing a few poorly designed shacks and inflating the price for the rest of us. Time for my WOW fix.

Godiva Chocolates

2005-05-06T19:02:00.000-07:00

The Network Administrator (may he live forever) has once again come through in a big way for Mother's Day. He bought me a HUGE box of Godiva (the ONLY true chocolate, Dah-ling).

Only the shipping department made a mistake, HAHA!, and I ended up getting 2 for 1. They said they absolutely DO NOT want the extra box back. ("Are you sure?? I only licked a couple...") I'm ok with keeping it, except for the fact that my sit-upon will grow 2 sizes. I'm not quite down with that.

Maybe I'll give it to my mom...maybe not...

On being an environmentalist lunatic

2005-05-06T18:37:00.000-07:00

It's official. They have no CLUE what they're talking about. CLEAN THE AIR!!! NOW! Before we all die a horrible death - freezing from the top down into little popsicles in NYC.

(A perfectly ludicrous movie. Did you notice the ironic "Americans desperate to immigrate to Mexico, but Mexico closes the border" bit? Ahaha. I've visited Mexico. Not even the movie scenario of massive casualties could make me move there.)

NO, wait. NO, you don't want to clean up the air. You're making it worse! You horrible person, you. What were you thinking, buying a nasty hybrid instead of an SUV? Sheesh. Gonna kill us all.

The Perfect Mother's Day Present

2005-05-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

Lunch at The Red Oak.

It's Called "Rabid Grandma Syndrome"

2005-05-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

"Rabid Grandma Syndrome", or RGS, is a debilitating disease common to older females with young grandchildren. Symptoms include aggressive and intimidating behavior at yard sales, garage sales, and clearance/discount racks at department stores. RGS strikes both strong and meek personalities, morphing even the nicest grandmother into a cranky wolverine on a bad hair day.

By way of example, let us pretend that I'm standing in a department store. There is a greyhaired lady next to me. We are both looking at the same sale rack of children's clothing. And I know, that if I make a move for that perfectly darling 5T dress, I will draw agro. She will begin making nasty comments. And if things go badly enough, I will start losing health points.

Because if you meet a woman with RGS in the clearance section, she could get mean. She will grab. She is not above shoving you physically out of the way, if the sale is good enough. She is a level 60 elite; and you, my friend, are still in your 20's, or maybe your 30's. That dress does not belong to you. You pass on it. Everybody stays alive and incident-free. Who says shopping isn't exciting and dangerous?

Now this is not to say that all or any! grandma is a "bad" person. My mother-in-law is one of the sweetest people I know. BUT - come between her and something "perfect" for one of her precious grandbabies, and she's liable to get...testy. Which is a good thing and why she and Aunt C. are invaluable if you're forming a raiding party to a sale.

The Big 06 - a rant while high on chocolate.

2005-04-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

Yep.. Double whammy the next two weekends for the Network Administrator: Mother's Day and then Our Anniversary. Number six. It's gone by fast. Wow. I remember just starting out, with the usual college "less than nothing". Fun bein' newbies at it, and all; but, y'know, marriage gets even better the more years ya spend together. Wouldn't go back.

Tonight my husband told me that I was his favorite person in the entire world, right after I set down his milk and donut next him as he gamed. Whereupon I felt highly gratified and consumed his milk and donut for him. Along with my own.

Well because the housing market stinks, young grasshopper. And the donuts had chocolate frosting, that great panacea of feminine emotional ills. Because I finally saw the most beautifullest house, and they wanted way more than we could give them. Because there are 114 listed sex offenders in that town and 2 of them lived within a couple blocks of the dream house.

The chocolate is taking effect, and so back to brighter things. We are considering Chicago as a backdrop for our celebratory gunfire, the children to be left in the care of "let's-spoil-'em-rotten" Grandma and Grandpa. The NA and I will doubtless be traipsing through countless museums and parks, eating saturated fats. Here's to unhealthy eating!

My brain, thanks to a nice sugar-induced insulin rush, has officially become mush. Sadi out.

Cats

2005-04-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

“Dogs have owners, cats have staff.” - Neptunus Lex in "Pet Blogging"

Lars, our cat, doubtless considers the Network Admin as one of his staff. Lars is reclined, “the picture of comfort” on the ottoman. His rounded grey and white body rests as on a field of victory. He has once again defied the cat-killing mongrel next door and made it home alive. Not all rejoice in his laurels, though. NO, indeed! The Net Admin would have preferred Lars had met an untimely demise.

It was not always thus. There was a time when the venerable Admin looked upon that furry lump of fat with goodwill and did not begrudge his servitude. Then one fateful day, Lars hopped up to the table and ate the NA’s spaghetti off his plate in unconcealed contempt for house rules. His life was spared, but just.

Since then he has perforce developed his survival skills. Play cat-fight with him, and he won’t just attack. He’ll go for your neck in what he undoubtedly hopes will be a kill move. Lars can pick out the sound of my husbands’ warm-up pants and judge how rapidly the Admin will reach him. He can find hiding places where I’d never noticed them before. He can outrun and out maneuver the big smelly canine at the farm down the road.

Why does he tempt fate? He is a cat. There are rabbits to be hunted, territory to be trespassed, food to be stolen, things to be sat upon which are not lawful to be sat upon. And, face it, life’s just a little sweeter if you have recently dared the “Jaws of Death” or the “Sweat Pants of Severe Recrimination”. To get nine lives you've got to gamble with the one you've got - and win, of course.

Good cat.

Now THIS is my kind of restaurant...

2005-04-26T08:08:00.000-07:00

via foodfightgrocery, a vegan weblog, of all things. Mr. Foodfight is outraged. I am...actually really interested in eating there - the restaurant, not the website. Those friendly people at Saskatoon think like me.

UPDATE: I want the kangaroo filet. And hey, you can even get t-shirts!

A den of ague...

2005-04-25T06:38:00.000-07:00

...we have become,

yes.

The feverish eyes, sleepless nights,

and O! for a Super-Walmart

just down the street.

A Walmart with that precious sleep-inducing serum - Infants' Robitussin. I must go. 2of2 (still functioning at full speed) has informed me that I am drowning. Not only that, my boat is also drowning. AND I must shoot the bad guys. Anyone know CPR for sinking ships?

Of kids and closers and real estate...

2005-04-21T10:15:00.000-07:00

I've got real estate on my brain. It has worn off on my children. Remember building "houses" in the living room out of towels or blankets draped across furniture? I do. The firstborn has now reached this stage. But is a blanket flung haphazardly from armchair to ottoman good enough for her?

"No, Mom. It's too small. You have to make it bigger. I need at least four bedrooms."

Sheesh. Will you graciously condescend to live with us if we buy a house with only three? I don't even need four bedrooms.

But my needs are irrelevant because we can't find any house of any number of bedrooms that we both like...within our price range. "Price range" qualifies that sentence nicely, because as THE MAN pointed out last night:
"People think that their money is worth more than it is, and other people think that their house is worth more than it is, leading to a discrepancy whereby everbody feels shafted."

Except of course real estate agents and closers who get paid no matter how you feel. At least the closers give you good customer service while it's happening. Leather chairs, soft music, CANDY. Mmmm. Not just any candy - chocolate, snickers, butterfingers, dum-dums, caramels. Can I getcha a soda while you're waitin', hon? Some color crayons and pages for the little ones? Yes, thank you. Will you please tell me when the manicurist gets here?

I wanted to pay them back in kind. I really did. But we had children with us. And in between signing a bizillion papers and trying not to stuff my face with the candy in the middle of the table, I missed the subtle cues. And there was no potty dance. There was simply, "I gotta go, Mom."

And then there was the discovery of pee all over the floor and handsome leather chair. There was the rush to the bathroom to conclude any unfinished business (not much). There was the panic of cleanup before the closer came back to...too late.
Oh, did your child color on the chair? That's ok! No, ma'am. It was worse than that. Did he throw up? Poor thing!

I didn't have the courage to tell her I was cleaning up urine. Do all parents get humiliated like this? Or is it, as I suspect, just us?

And yet, I am ready, even anxious, to spend quality time with a closer again.

"The discussion is over, Mom."

2005-04-18T06:41:00.000-07:00

Granted, 2 of 2 had trouble enunciating "discussion" correctly, to the extent that I had my 3yr old repeat his sentiment over several times. Which he did. With unflagging relish. Eyes narrowed, arms akimbo. Sensing something, somewhere, somehow disrespectful about the whole indecipherable phrase, I took the liberty of disciplining anyway, just in case and for good measure. He was right about one thing at least, the negotiations were indeed over.

Thank goodness for 4yr old big-sister interpreters, or the translation probably would've taken longer than the 24+ hours that it took already.

I SHOULD try not to encourage this sort of thing by laughing outright in their little upturned faces. But I confess, my resistance to this temptation barely exists. The day my offspring, whatever their age, can IN MY OWN HOUSE "make it so" by simply declaring the conversation to be over...well, that will be the day Someplace with chronic air conditioning deficiencies freezes over.

More examples of poor judgement and logical fallacy:

"Mom! Mom! We're SOOO hot. Can we PLEASE have a cookie? We're REALLY hot! We're dying!" And yet, I am unmoved. (I love Jane Austen.)

And one of my favorites: "Oooooh...OOOHHHHH, Mom![doubled over for dramatic effect] I'm SO sick! My tummy hurts so bad, I don't think I'll be able to eat dinner tonight!" This after watching good old Mom prep the veggies.

"Oh, that is a shame, honey. I guess that means you're going to miss your favorite, fried chicken. Oh, that is a SHAME!"

Panic. Sheer panic. (That girl was born in Texas. Ain't nothin' thet comes 'tween her and her fried chicken.) You could almost hear the thoughts racing in that little head. I had thrown her a curve. She was trapped; she knew it. Nothing left but compromise.

"Well. [straightening up] How about I just be sick for the green beans? Ok, Mom?" I ask you, how am I supposed to keep a straight face?

"I feel like I'm having an affair...

2005-04-09T06:52:00.000-07:00

...and you just said it was ok." - The Network Administrator (may he live forever) on the acquisition of a new, much sexier, computer.

Why OH WHY, is the wife always the last one to know??? Fortunately, I had my new PotteryBarn catalog, gently easing the painful news. Alas! I could have bought two, count 'em, TWO new armless chairs in cognac leather for that price.

The NA (may he live forever) went about the house in a euphoric state, busily assembling his newest darling. "I need a power strip. Where's the new power strip? It should be in a little box about so big," in a voice of anxious concern. "They didn't get it here. It isn't here. That means it won't get here until tomorrow," growing irritation now.

"Guess you'll have to make an emergency night run to Best Buy, huh?"

"No, hang it! I paid for a strip, and I'm very well not gonna buy a new one! Where's one I can use around here? The TV! nothin's plugged into the ... you're right, everything's plugged into that one." More desperate searching. Sudden inspiration!

"The microwave! You don't need the microwave do ya, Honey?" No. Nah, I never use that thing. Only, y'know, like a couple times a day. I can make it till your power strip gets here. I think.

Actually, the wise and knowing NA was right. Our strip arrived 24hrs later. I did only have to use the microwave once, and it wasn't a big deal to plug it in - a small sacrifice for love and harmony.

And speaking of love and harmony, we shopped for a new wedding ring last night. The NA(mhlf) accidently donated his to some hotel maid on our trip up here by leaving it in the room.

This new one ought to keep those vicious female coworkers at bay. I confess to some concern on the state of his office's females, but he has assured me on multiple occasions that they are all excessively ugly. I take comfort in this, even though he has loyally said the same of Penelope Cruz.

By the way, we went to see Sahara together last night after shopping and dinner, sans l'enfants. What a great movie! Very rare that both of us like the same movie and laugh at the same parts.

In other news, I have at last selected a "couple activity" for the Network Administrator(mhlf) and I to do together. I play World of Warcraft with him, he obliges me with whatever I want to do. His near-future purgatory bears the title "Salsa Lessons".

Must we repeat ALL the fashion mistakes of the 70's?

2005-04-04T08:37:00.000-07:00

Apparently we must. We are lost mariners, doomed to sail in circles past the same ugly fish.
My prediction: Someday, we will see hoopskirts and corsets back in production.
My take: Anything'd be an improvement.

Pee or Water

2005-04-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

I am cleaning in the kiddos' room. Orange shag needs occasional daylight to grow properly. I am so diligent in my task that I even go Under The Bed - an instance few mothers would tackle single-handedly.

"Aaauuugh!"jumping suddenly. My hand has dipped itself in a pool of something wet. Now, any mom knows that what is going to follow won't be nice. It could be better or worse, but not nice. (Well-watered shag grows a little too many things.)

"1-of-2! Come here this instant!" I have retrieved the offending yellow lego lid, filled with a few inches of water. "What is this?"
No, I take that back. It was more like, "What IS this?! WHAT WERE YOU DOING."

1-of-2: "Ummmmm......wellll, you remember when I was really little, and I used to go potty in my pants? Cause I couldn't hold it?"

New avenues of thought have opened. She is either stalling, or I just soaked my hand in pee. And she's attempting to soften the blow on poor old mom. Correct information is imperative. I decide to interrupt the potty training soliloquy, and in my best serious-no-nonsense tone: "IS it WATER? Or PEE?"

More indirect rambling about her younger days. I smell smoke; it is from my ears. I am now directly in front of her: "IS IT WATER. OR PEE."

1-of-2 breaks. "Water. I...I was making a swimming pool for my Little People. To cool them off. They needed to go swimming (or some such, I forget)." Whew. Very well, 1-of-2, you shall be admonished accordingly. We do not create above-ground swimming pools of any size in the bedroom, and if you should succumb to that particular creative tendency again....yada, yada, yada, "Yes, Ma'am."

MAN, am I glad that wasn't pee.

Pottery Barn Catalogs...

2005-04-01T15:51:00.000-08:00

...are considered by most women to be a Universal Good. The I Ching of interior design. Most men stand aghast, mouth agape, at the prices. Women are undeterred by such trivial matters.

"It's fun to look at, it's free, and if I can't afford their stuff now, I can sure copy it. Let's hear it for spending our ENTIRE tax return on expensive decor! Instead of a dumpy old computer. What say, Honey?"

Actually, the Network Administrator (may he live forever) complains that I have the opposite problem. I am such a tightwad, I can't bear to part with enough money to decorate a utility closet, let alone an entire house. So, we have tentatively agreed to a compromise. We buy a house, inhabited by a fellow Pottery Barn fanatic, and aforementioned enthusiast agrees to leave everything except major furniture and personal photos. I wonder if Mrs. S will agree to it...

picture practice

2005-03-30T19:42:00.000-08:00

"Got me lifted, shifted higher than the ceiling ...

2005-03-30T12:10:00.000-08:00

...and oohweee, it's dah ultimate feeling..."- Baby Bash.

And then the stork sends you some lovely parting gifts. The Network Administrator and I have two. Male and Female we have created them, and here in this blog they are called 1of2 and 2of2. I'd post their pictures, but I don't know how...YET. The Net Admin is going to give me another lesson in HTML tonight, if he can be spared from his online gaming duties.
And she answered and said unto him, "Am I not worth more to you than seven World of Warcraft characters? Hold me! Kiss me! Make me learn HTML!"

I've always liked Cal Thomas...

2005-03-29T07:19:00.000-08:00

...he's a sensible man. I contemplate his take on Schiavo, and I am convinced that he is right about the courts. They have usurped power not given them by the electorate. Anarchy almost inevitably leads to tyranny; judicial anarchy is no exception.

The biggest lesson from the Schiavo case - and it is one that must be sent to as many people as possible - is this: The courts are a mess and need to be reformed. Judges should be appointed who believe not only in the Constitution, but also that our rights are endowed from outside the state. Fundamental rights are not granted or denied by judges who create and eliminate them at will.

Go read it.

Remind me again why we let them out?

2005-03-27T05:05:00.000-08:00

This from Fox News:

Eddie Freyer, a former FBI agent, told FOX News that sex offenders can't be concentrated in one place.

"You just can't put them in one or two locations, they have to go back out into communities," said Freyer, who worked on the case of Polly Klaas (search), a 12-year-old girl who was abducted from her home outside San Francisco and murdered.

He noted that some state laws require convicted offenders to actually return to the county where they committed their offenses once released from prison. "So that essentially puts them in just about every neighborhood in the country," he said.

Forget the silly registration laws, most of them aren't compulsory. I personally think they border on unconstitutional. When a person's sentence is finished, it should be finished. SO, extend the minimum sentence to life in prison, and we won't have any more problems. I respectfully dissagree with Mr. Freyer. Criminals can be concentrated in one place. Think prison, sir.

Hmm...interesting.

2005-03-25T07:09:00.000-08:00

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. --That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security."

So what would this mean in terms of Terri?

Honest! It's an end of life issue!

2005-03-25T05:22:00.000-08:00

Well, it turns out Scott Peterson’s lawyers took the wrong angle. Scotty denied doing it when he should simply have stated, “Yes, I did it, but that was how she wanted it to be.” In fact, come to think of it, my husband stated something not too long ago about wanting to die suddenly at age 30. Yes, yes! I’m almost POSITIVE he said exactly that! Something…something…don’t want to live till I’m old and nasty, er, something like that.

Unfortunately, those nasty insurance companies can be SO picky. I’m guessing the blunt instrument thing upsets them. Alas, the deliberate, slow starvation thing is too emotionally painful for me to watch, I mean, being a woman and sensitive and everything. Wouldn’t want to spend half the loot on therapy, now would we? So, let’s see…ways to legally take out, oops, I mean, fulfill the life wishes of my beloved spouse.

He’ll have to kill himself. I’ve never killed anyone before, and I’m squeamish. A Harley Davidson. Buy him a new one, encourage him to race. Against traffic. On the freeway. Hmm…requires a high initial investment, significant risk (somebody he hits might sue his estate, or he might decide to play it safe), but a potentially high ROI. Double bonus points for life insurance plus the Allstate motor vehicle policy. Throw in a wrongful death suit against Harley Davidson, and I am RICH, baby. Dance, dance, YEAH! Oh, c’mon, what guy wouldn’t want to go that way - young, prime of life, “discovering” 120 mph on a motorcycle? “It’s…(sniff)…the way he wanted to go. It’s a difficult time for me, but I know this is how he would have wanted it (sniffle, sniffle).” Then again, he could end up on a feeding tube and there goes my money.

I’ve got it! He games, right? He’s a hardcore computer gamer – one of those buy-the-Playstation-the-X-box-and-the-PC kind of guys. I could use up all the food in the house, disconnect the phone (no pizza), give him the closest thing to a gamer’s barbiturate (Everquest, or maybe World of Warcraft) and leave him to enjoy his vacation alone for two weeks. Come back, and oh my goodness, WHAT a tragedy. “He died doing what he loved (voice breaks; small sob)…but I know he would have wanted it this way. He always said he’d rather die than go shopping (hysterical weeping).” Then again, he is resourceful - and eloquent. He finds excuses to continue playing long after he should have quit. He could possibly argue his way out of death itself, just to play longer. (I frequently tell him he should have been a lawyer.)

So maybe I’ll be forced to do it myself. Poison works. Well, it does the job, but the insurance companies view it with the same distaste they reserve for blunt instruments. And then, too, you’re subjected to watching contortions of agony, severe pain, blah, blah, blah. Guns – messy, and I don’t know how to operate one. Once I pulled back the whateverthingy on a handgun (under watchful guidance); it took me 15 min and two attempts. My husband (an astute man) might begin to think something was up. Knives – similar evils; I’m the puny type.

Probably all for the best that these last three don’t work out anyway. Convincing law enforcement that it was a private, family, end-of-life issue presents difficulties. “It was what he would have wanted” just doesn’t ring in the same unctuous tones when you’ve slit somebody’s throat. But who knows? Maybe if I got somebody like George Greer who would take my word for it…

“Hey, Hon! Wanna move to Florida? I hear they’re removing the speed limit on the major freeways. We could get you a motorcycle…”