Yeah, I’d say going two weeks with one-third of the house out of commission was worth it.
Did you have a good weekend? I had a good weekend. Didn’t do anything much, other than reassemble the house, do grocery shopping, attend two soccer games, ride 30 miles or so and finish stripping my oak table project. It’s amazing what you can get done when you close the laptop on Friday afternoon and say, “See you in three days, bub.”
I did see part of “Baghdad ER” on Friday evening, though, which left me in no mood to deal with what has become a hardy perennial of patriotic holidays in blogdom — some weasel telling me What It Means, and How It Must Be Honored. (That link takes you to a TBogg deconstruction of one such example, btw.) I have so little to say to these youngsters it can be compressed into one word: Enlist. I mean, just shut up about doing your part on the home front and hearts and minds and all the rest of it. If you’re so sold on this war, go see your uncle, raise your right hand and make the pledge.
This piece didn’t help, either. Warning: Very long. Very sad.
Forgive me, I’m cranky. It was a very hot weekend, and given the occasion, it had the effect of making every SUV that passed me on the road seem to coruscate. I’m thinking of ordering a supply of magnetic bumper stickers — no, those are too easily removed. Maybe, instead, the ones that go on with Krazy Glue. I’m going to save them for Hummers, which seem to be every third car on the road here. (It’s a proud GM product.) I try to stay evenhanded when considering SUVs; some of my best friends drive them, and many need them. Yes, really. But Hummers? They make my eyes cross with rage, this silly macho pretend Army truck with a kickin’ sound system. It’s like seeing a Vogue layout that puts Kate Moss in camo, one stiletto’d foot up on the running board, touting the hot new military-inspired looks for fall. Just…cross-eyed, I tell you. Anyway, back to my bumper stickers. I think I’ll order two. One will read, THIS VEHICLE RUNS ON THE BLOOD OF U.S. SOLDIERS and the other, IF YOU WANT TO DRIVE THIS VEHICLE, JOIN THE ARMY.
Maybe I should lie down instead. See if this passes.
Well, I have plenty plenty work to do today, and plenty plenty coffee to make the work go fast. In the meantime, a mixed bloggage grill:
Nathan Gotsch steps in to guest-edit Fort Wayne Observed for the next few days. His first big post is yet another story I didn’t see in either of the dailies, about a Fort Wayne girl gone bad, and then gone badder.
Once a craven weasel, always a craven weasel: Pat Robertson claims he can leg press 2,000 pounds. Slate sets us straight on what leg presses really are: Dropping your leg-press numbers in casual conversation is like bragging about how fast you can do the TV Guide crossword puzzle. Simply put, the leg press is an ego boost for the beginner lifter. There’s no easier way to move a large amount of weight.
I have no idea what this comic strip means, but just imagine it running in an American paper. “A Mexican shit bath?” Hmm.
OK, then. Off to clatter the keys for fun and profit. Let the comments be your playground.