Two Days

I cut the lawn on Tuesday as soon as I got home. Literally. I changed into the yard pants, grabbed the iPod, and made with the mowing. We're under siege by slow-moving, methodical dandelion weeds, and the weather prevented me from siccing the weedeater on them after work Wednesday. Your Sis ordered pizza for dinner Tuesday, and we ate the leftover for dinner last night. She went to bed early, and I watched "Lost." We're both working on her first round of student papers.

I also started writing a mini-comic for distribution at conventions through my unofficial publisher, the guy who prints the anthologies.

Picture of the Day
This is an obelisk chair sculpture. The chairs are lightweight, and the whole thing retail of more than $8,000.


In the News
The Supreme Court decision on partial birth abortions seems like a ruling that would only temporarily infringe upon those who don't want to carry to term. Even if this particular procedure is no longer available (and how many medial procedures are banned by Congress anyway?), others will be developed to replace it, and the legislative process will have to start all over again. I understand that the decision is seen as the first of incremental steps to make abortion illegal altogether, but I don't see that happening. Not so long as conservative lawmakers' daughters also find themselves with child at inopportune times.

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I have spoken to people who knew one of those killed at Virginia Tech. Jamie Bishop, an artist who taught German there, previously worked at Chapel Hill in the IT department. He was the first person I heard identified in Monday's attack via a message board. NPR presented a small report on him and his hometown friends this morning.

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Secretary of Defense Robert gates visited Iraq today and pointed out that the administration's military commitment is not open-ended. That sounds similar to the Democrats' rallying cry of a withdrawal time table which the administration very vocally denounces.

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I have no idea if you like Nine Inch Nails, but he/they have a new CD out, and it's pretty good. It's his first attempt at making commentary on current affairs as he usually writes about personal business and sexual interactions. Year Zero is his American Idiot, and his resistance to administration policies fits right in with his bailiwick of domination and resistance. It's a sparse production and somewhat light and poppy. He even commands his audience to sing along in one track, the first time I can remember him breaking the journal format of his writing and acknowledging his position as a performer. I loves me some NIN. This was the band I discovered and embraced when everyone else was worshiping Nirvana. When grunge took over, I was marinating in industrial.

It's a Bouncing Baby Toyota

The dealership called back Monday morning to say they could find no Matrix models with side airbags left unless we started looking at electric blue or white cars. We didn't want either, so we agreed to take the car they showed us on the lot Saturday. The still-turbulent wind knocked out power at the office right before 3, and I killed time at Barnes & Noble. I met Your Sis at the dealership at 6, and we emptied out the old Contour before trading it in. It was appraised at $1,000, a shock to both of us. I figured it would maybe fetch $200.

The salesman we talked to this weekend took our insurance information and the Contour keys and handed us to the finance officer for the billing. Then we signed about ten forms for contracts, registration, and warranty agreements, right before handing over the check for the down payment. Then we were handed to the service chief who showed us our manual and warranty paperwork. And he walked us out to the new car. Your Sis hadn't bought a new car before, so I made sure everyone was clear on what they were telling both of us. We moved the Contour contents to her sportscar, and I drove the Matrix home. I'd say we were there about 90 minutes.

It's a manual, and it's has been a few years since I drove one, but the gearbox is nicely built, and I had no trouble getting back into rhythm. It likes to go fast. Really fast. I like this car a lot.

Picture of the Day
The language makes it funny.


In the News
It didn't take long for the usual desperate blame-throwing to emerge on talk radio. It's the media, it's the liberals, it's a national move away from God, it's the anti-gun crowd -- everyone except the gunman. I almost understand the need to assign accountability. We face an boggling amount of mass shootings and have for decades. The California McDonald's shooting, the post office deaths, the office shootings, the school shootings. And the only way to make everybody safe is to also invite more danger. Arm college students? Arm teachers? Insert draconian safety measures (as if students didn't protest authority before)? Likewise the calls to fire the college president are in hopes that someone will face punishment when the gunman has escaped it through suicide. This, like 9/11, happened in the alignment of dark stars. A certain person on a certain day acted a certain way and did certain things. You can't escape chaos. By definition, you can't prevent it.

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The Pulitzer for fiction went to a sci-fi novel, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I have to dig and see if the genre has won before.

Sedaris and A Funeral

David Sedaris, author and This American Life stalwart, came to Mayberry today in what must be the smallest stop on his 36-city tour. It's incredible that he held a two-hour reading just two miles from my house. Of course I attended. Of course Your Sis didn't. She doesn't find him funny; I think the voice annoys her.

Sedaris is a small man who looks like a cross between Anderson Cooper and Ben from "Lost." He read a short story about his Chapel Hill days called "The Heart Is A Lonely Menagerie," and then told us that he had never read it to an audience before. It showed. He was editing as he read, and he became stuck over word flow at points. But it was funny, and it was poignant, and it was good. It just was. Then he read a story published in the New Yorker called "All the Beauty You Will Ever Need" about how a water shortage in his Normandy house made him flashback to buying pot in a trailer outside of Raleigh.

He read a little bit from his diary concerning a recent trip to Japan. Many jokes were made about Engrish. He read some dog poems (The neighbor's pitbull named Cass/Bit the mailman in the ass/His lower teeth damaged his sphincter/ And now his walk's more distincter.)

But then he recommended a book for everyone to read, and it was the Zombie Survival Guide. Not only did he read the Q&As from the book (do zombies digest? how fast can they run?), but he went on to praise World War Z. Turns out, our gay nerdy New Yorker writer is a zombie-phile. Can't get enough of them. But you have to imagine the scene. This is a 500-seat house filled with couples over the age of 50, and he's going on for half an hour about zombies. He finds the book funny, but he's not sure if it's supposed to be. But he genuinely enjoys what each book does. And the audience is laughing in a mix of horror and habit. By this point, he could have read a soup can, and he'd get laughs. His rhythm was established, and he was working the room.

He mentioned that Night of the Living Dead was so good that it changed his life, but he was frustrated with those holed up in the house. He said he still gets annoyed that they didn't think to go upstairs and then destroy the stairs. The zombies couldn't climb. They'd be safe until the zombies got bored. He also complained about a woman from an earlier reading declaring that she'd be a vegetarian zombie. He was incredulous that anyone could think a zombie would have a choice. What would be the problem if we had zombie vegetarians? We could cut of their legs, chain them to the fence, and use them to cut the lawn. We'd sell them in garden centers. I tell you, the man has given this much thought. Somewhere in him lurks a definitive zombie story.

He went on to gripe about a recent letter to the editor in our fishwrapper. His publicity photo ran a few weeks back, and in it, he has a cigarette behind his ear. A reader complained. He's setting a bad example, she said. He'll be the funniest man with cancer, she said. And he went off. How dare anyone prohibit cigarettes in pictures, he asked. And he noted he's been smoke-free since January only because hotels are going smoke-free.

The two hours flew by, and I'm glad I saw it, but I can't believe that this guy was this close to my house.

Just as I left, Dad called to say my uncle Ray had died. He was my mom's oldest brother, I believe. He was diagnosed with cancer while back and beat the life-span estimate. He was a good and decent man. Retired Air Force too. His funeral was Sunday, and this was the first chance to catch up with some family for years and years. He received a full military funeral with taps and the flag given to his widow. I can't say I was close to him -- the family fell apart when my grandfather died 20 years ago, but the military honors and ritual hit me hard. I visited with my parents for a bit and drove back up the mountain during a small hurricane. The storm you're getting now hammered u for two days with big wind. It howled all night and driving through it was like hitting air turbulence. I don' recall being in a sustained storm like that before. There were reports of snow here and there.

We tried to buy the car on Saturday, but they didn't have a model with side airbags. A regional search turned up nothing, and I think we're going to break down and buy a model they have on the lot. By this time tomorrow, we may have a new car.

Picture of the Day
A most bridge-aceous bridge.

Let's Get Newsy

The Imus scandal has crafted a national dialogue on race and free speech that quickly became an abstract argument on propriety and fairness. "Why can they say those words but we can't? Isn't this the creeping fascism of political correctness?" The most often repeated argument I hear is that it's OK for rappers to say this stuff. That's a question that removes all context. You can't say that stuff on broadcast radio music. All such words are edited out on my local radio channels, anyway. MTV certainly removes it. If a rapper uses it on a CD or single, and you hear it, chances are you paid to listen. You know what kind of language to expect in that rap. You know what the intended audience and message is. Chances are you paid to hear it because the radio stations bleeped it out. If you hear it in concert, chances are good you paid to attend.

But free broadcast, syndicated radio like Imus -- whose show was also simulcast on MSNBC -- has two things rap doesn't: media credibility and a predominantly white audience. Imus's show, while it does feature broad humor, plays host to journalists and politicians. He has a cache of respect that, say Howard Stern, doesn't. And, yes, Imus has said similar things in the past while still retaining this clientèle of guests. It could be easily argued that Imus didn't go one step too far with his comments about the Rutger's team but that his cumulative commentary finally caught up with him. And let's not forget he said this during a news segment, not a comedy skit. Context is vital. A 19-year-old black rapper lives in a different realm of obligation than a 40-year white veteran of talk radio.

I still say this is a matter of chivalry. These women did nothing to earn such remarks. They didn't hire a stripper, they didn't throw a kegger, they didn't do anything that college kids could do to garner national news and catch flack from comedians looking to score easy laughs. A 70-year-old man taking potshots at a women's college athletic team is rude. But would the backlash have gathered such career-ending momentum had he called them lesbians? I doubt it. He played the race card, and he got bit by it. You put your neck in that guillotine, you can't whine when you get cut.

And, you know, if a double standard does exists -- "those people" can say "those words," but "we can't" -- I can live with that. The civil rights act isn't 50 years old yet. We're not that far removed from federally-approved separate facilities. I can live with consensus-mandated separate vocabularies. I don't feel in any deprived by a polite inability to call someone a crude slang word. This is hardly a cruel yoke which we can deem a white man's burden.

To all those talk radio people who decry such censorship and call out for a universal patois, I say this: If you think your shtick is hampered by a lack of access to such language, you're in the wrong business.

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As mentioned here a few weeks back, the administration has employed a shadow email server to avoid federal laws denying the deletion of official communications. Some of these emails apparently dealt with the prosecutor scandal, and despite White House claims, the Democrats say those emails haven't been deleted. They still may exist on a Republican party server, they say, and should be subject to subpoena. This expands further the argument of executive privilege and Congressional checks and balances. The administration claims previous White House staff as have done the same, an obvious admission of guilt that one usually outgrows after elementary school. At the center of this growing ugliness is whether the justice department and White House discussed the firing of prosecutors because they were investigating Republicans connected to lobbyists or voter fraud.

Picture of the Day
Everyone needs a home-security octopus.

Small Stuff and Death

I ran a soil test yesterday, and I'll spare you the nit and grit to say that we have passable food-growing dirt. Chicken alfredo was made and devoured and "Lost" was watched and beloved. We checked the regional inventory of the Matrix that we want to buy, and only two popped up. We may have to pick another color, but I believe we're going tomorrow morning to put in the order. None of the cars on the lot were what we prefer, but we might be tempted to buy one if we get a good offer.

The rehearsals for Romeo & Juliet start Saturday, and the auditions for Much Ado are next weekend. I want to do the latter much more now that I'm relegated to spear-carrier for the former. I'll read the play starting tonight, and get ready to have a more successful try-out. Maybe I can move out of R&J to do Ado.

Picture In The News
Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday. His works have stuck with me, including a short story from our seventh grade lit book. I remember reading Slaughterhouse Five on an airplane, and that must have been while I was flying to Michigan so often in college. As I mentioned a while back, he had a great cameo in Back to School.

His legacy is one of fierce cynicism, and he may be the closest thing to Mark Twain that the science-fiction genre could boast. His material was fundamental in reshaping literature after World War II, along with the Beats and the Northeasterners (Mailer, Caopte, etc.)

Thwack!

Tuesday was the big day for Your Sis. After a little under two years of care and delicate pruning, she decided to cut her hair for a cancer charity. I went with her to take scrapbook photos of the process. She didn't show anxiety, but her many thank-yous for support afterward revealed she was feeling it. I think she likes it a lot. I know I do. She's on Spring Break and made a nice stir-fry dish and apple pie for dinner. I could get used to this.

I got home and worked over the tilled garden. We have a number of roots from various weed shrubs, and I spent at least an hour raking the garden and digging out the weed roots. I also gathered dirt for a Ph test. I don't think we're too far from putting something in the ground, be it seeds or fertilizer.

We tried out a new wine with dinner, and after emptying the bottle, the evening drew to a quick close.

Picture of the Day
Ta-dah.


In The News
Don Imus is an idiot. The scandal has nothing to do with free speech or racial sensitivity. He insulted a successful women's basketball team. This is a matter of chivalry. You don't knock college women for succeeding in their sport. Someone as old as he should know better. Unfortunately, morning radio shows seems to exist to create controversy/free publicity with stupid humor and pranks. We're not a year removed from the death of the West Coast woman who wanted to win a Nintendo Wii from a radio station. The local shows here are unbearable, and thankfully, one station (one!) has no morning show and plays music I can handle.

Snow, Movies, Cars

I watched three movies this weekend.

City of God, a Brazilian street gang movie I TiFauxed a year ago. This took two viewings as it's a mighty long film, but it is stylish and energetic. Also, the soundtrack is fuhntaztik. This is Romeo and Juliet without the romance as we watch kids grow up and dominate the slums of Brazil.

Grindhouse, a marinade of every bad film our parents won't watch. The first half, Planet Terror, is gory and camp, and it starts to wear after a bit. But Death Proof decides to forgo mocking the targeted genres of car stunts and female revenge flicks and actually IS a car stunts and female revenge flick. I prefer it much more, and it's a shame Your Sis will in no way watch the first film to get to this, a movie she will adore. Rumors abound that the startling BO failure of Grindhouse may lead to separate releases of both films. However, each film must include all the fake trailers as they brought the house down when I saw them. There's so much to love here, but Kurt Russell as the bad guy is just dead perfect. The combined z-movie glory of Jeff Fahey and Micheal Biehn is almost too pure a dream to capture in the measly flesh of the human brain. This is crap-movie nirvana.

The Host, a South Korean monster movie that brings dignity back to its genre. It's very, very good and in no way shrimps on the monster or the suspense. But it doesn't try to make the monster sad or misunderstood. I liked this a lot and was shocked when Your Sis suggested we see it. She caught the trailer for it while watching The Namesake and knew I wanted to see Host. Maybe the most satisfying monster film since Jaws.

Amid the films, we shopped for a car. On Sunday we hit the Land Rover dealership and laughed out loud at the prices and accompanying gas mileage, but were momentarily distracted by the used BMW Mini Cooper for $18,000. But we need more cargo space not less. We needed a four-door hatchback, preferably not an SVU. The BMW lot was also a herd of cars out of our range and on we went to the Saturn dealership. However, not only was it cold as hell, it had snowed, and all the outside cars were covered. We couldn't even read the sticker prices. The nearby Nissan dealership had a showroom Versa, and it charmed us with a small price and good space. Unfortunately, it has a thin candy shell. We tried the Pontiac dealership to look at Vibes (a car we noticed years back in a mall show), but the cold drove us away. As the snow melted, we enjoyed a fabulous Chinese lunch and browsed for garden plants. We then hit a Subaru dealership for our first look at those cars. We went back to the Saturn place, and the salesman tried to sell us a tank of a car called the VUE. I told him it was just too big for us. Next door was the Toyota lot, and we checked the Scion (too small), RAV (too big) and Matrix (just right). But the lot was closing, and it was cold, and we went home.

On Monday, we went back to the dealerships. Online comparisons made us reconsider the Vibe and Versa. We checked out a Matrix in the showroom and took to it. We tried to find something wrong with it but couldn't. We moved on to the Nissan dealership to see the Muranos, but man are they expensive. We liked the luxury options (such as the rear-view camera), but the price removed it from our list. The Subarus looked rather old inside, like late '90 cars, and the price wasn't comparable to the front-runner Matrix. So they were out. Once more to the Toyota lot and we actually drove a Matrix. Here I have to commend sales guy Allen who talked with us just barely and gave us time and room to browse. The perfect car salesman, I think. He gave us the Matrix key and an hour to try it. It runs great, sounds great, handles great. But we checked a used model for price comparison, and really the used prices aren't that much different. We'd rather spend the extra money and get the color and options we want. But that's for another day. We also looked at a Prius, the Toyota hybrid. It's sharp to look at, but it doesn't seem any safer than a economy sedan. The Matrix has traction control. We killed time at Barnes & Noble and had Chick-fil-A before seeing The Host. And then it was time to go home.

And this morning ... well, that will wait for tomorrow's entry.

Picture of the Day
The Toyota Matrix, a wagon on the Corolla chassis. Palm trees not included.

Plow, Plow, Plower Wheels

I ran Wednesday and again experienced the unusual leg pain. I stretched out well (I thought) and eaten well enough to avoid cramps (I thought). But my shins kill me before I go a half mile. I wonder if my stride was gone out of whack. I also wonder if my weight is more than I thought. The scale says I'm just a little heavier than I was when I ran the 5k. I'm not experiencing the side pains yet, but I don't think I'm running that much slower to cause a paid reduction. I'm confused.

I got home last night to find Your Sis tilling the long-dormant garden. We talked about starting it back up since we moved in, and we even tried to rent a tiller last year but the weather confounded us. She got out of work and decided to plow the ground, and so she did. She mentioned that the renters gave her a full procedure and that she had never even cranked up a lawnmower before. We'll fix that next week. I want her to be able to use all our equipment in case something happens to me. As she tilled, I did my exercises. She showed Unbreakable for the school movie room was was surprised by how many kids didn't know about it.

As we make our way through the last 25 episodes of "Six Feet Under," the characters are currently in a stretch of universal bad stuff. No one is happy, and everyone is getting bitchy. I need a drink after deleting each finished episode.

We got some surprising news from Your Aunt yesterday, and it's the kind of revelation that knocked me off my feet almost literally. She said she had talked to you as well about her plans, and I'm still not sure I can put into words just what I'm feeling. It certainly will help this here at Chez Debacle.

I'm working today and will be off Monday. I uploaded the Saturday Night Fever CD to my iPod so I can BeeGee my way to work.

Picture of the Day

We Got Movie Sign!

As Spring Break approaches the Mayberry district, Your Sister's school holds its occasional "screw it, we're not getting any work done" day on Thursday. She is in charge of a movie room but doesn't know who's supposed to bring movies. I recommended some of ours, but she reminded me that you can't show Disney movies in schools, or they'll sue you. Yes, they sue over large-scale babysitting viewings. That knocked out Incredibles and Pirates of the Caribbean. I suggested maybe Star Wars or Casablanca. The kids will dig the latter if they give it a chance. It's got Nazis, smart-ass humor, the French Resistance, a venal police chief exploiting the desperation of female refugees, gunplay, gambling, and drinking. It's a family-friendly parade of vice with a hundred quotable lines. I thought about Serenity as well, and I can't think of any major objectionable scenes from that film. I'll let her decide obviously since she'll be accountable. She's buried under school projects (which is why I commandeered the tech display), and this week is gonna be rough on her. She got out of school late yesterday, and we hit the local sports bar for pizza.

Picture of the Day
A new still from the upcoming FF2 movie. I wasn't fond of the first film for a lot of reasons, but it wasn't the blasphemous attack the vocal majority of comic fans would have you believe. I mean, the X-Men film franchise takes just as much liberty with the source material, and most people dig those films (except for those who think it fashionable to be grumpy killjoys). But this FF picture retains the sad resistance to go with the comics' outrageousness. The costumes are needlessly adjusted from the classic designs, and Thing is just too small. He must be broader, more inhuman, so we can immediately acknowledge the difference between being freakishly removed from the rest of us and merely inconvenienced by his new form. He should be CGI. And if I can nitpick, Sue and Johnny's hair don't jibe with what we seen for more than 40 years on paper. But the new film possesses the potential for a big-screen Galactus the World Devourer, and if the producers can just trust that original, cosmic-crazy design, then the movie will get my ticket money.

Victory of Creativity

I met up with Your Sis at the local library to view the technology displays. It was larger than we thought, featuring teachers from the entire district. The dedicated room was packed with displays, laptops running PowerPoint, and students of all sizes. Our display did indeed stand out. But another teacher brought a giant mess of props for her sewing demo, and those items were blocking our display. We simply turned the display around to be read from the other side, a vantage that had more traffic and better visibility. As soon as we moved it, people started reading it. I overheard her talking to another teacher that some students jokingly planned to steal and burn our display because it blew theirs out of the water. The lesson for all: Don't fuck with art majors. We will stylishly bury you. The whole affair was like a mini-convention -- slowly strolling attendees, a corner for heavy food, both vendors trying to make eye contact and hawk their material. Not that I'm slamming the event. I'm shocked it was that well populated. The parking lot was a mess, and folks left their cars anywhere they could find ten feet of asphalt.

After this we went to the recently reopened eatery for bar food. It's just so weird eating a languorous supper and exiting the establishment to encounter bright daylight. And yet I'm surprised by this every year. When will it become old hat?

Picture of the Day
And just how can this be done, anyway?

I Assemble Things

I walked out of the office Friday to discover the back left tire was dead flat. As I walked up to it, I saw the embedded metal shard that caused it. No problem, I thought, I'll get the spare. I had to call Your Sis to find where the jack and wrench are located in the car, and when I finally did replace the tries with the spare, I find the spare is also dead flat. It's almost falling off the rim, and there's no way I can drive it to a garage for a fix. Now it's right at 6 p.m., and tire stores close at that hour on Fridays. There's a tire garage within eyesight of the office, and the garage bay doors are still open. I write down the tire numbers, and run flatout to the front door, nor their posted hours indeed say it's practically closing time, and plead my case. The very nice clerk says they can help me. He looks at my tire numbers and notes they have a similar tire in stock. I run back to the office, grab the dead tire, and run it back to the garage. Yes, I'm running with a flat, wide, sports car tire in my arms. They confirmed it was dead and beyond repair, but sold me a new one and put it on the rim. They clerk then drove me back to the office, and I put the new tire on.

As I'm driving home, I take the back roads to break in the tire and witness, in the opposite lane of traffic, a dramatic arrest involving a running K9 unit, guns, and two shouting cops in all-black gear. So, yeah, my day could have been worse.

Your Sis got home late from work, and my hops for working on the tech fair display were dashed. We briefly talked of my ideas, but shelved it for the next day. I got up Saturday to reassemble the lawnmower. The manufacturers recommend winterizing the mower -- sharpening the blade, changing the oil and air filter, and cleaning the spark plug. I did all that and put the mower back together, and, to my shock, it cranked up and ran fine. But the grass was too wet to mow, and I went to work on the display.

After getting the picture files from her classroom, I showed her my idea on the home PC in a page-making program. We went with a Frankenstein theme, narrated by Igor from Young Frankenstein. I wanted it to be light-hearted. These kinds of display are usually so dull, and I always advocate the use of humor to present potentially dry material. Because she had to work on research papers, this became my project to assemble, but she checked off on all facets. After raiding K-Mart and Wal-Mart for the last 3 bottles of rubber cement and getting Igor images through Google, we started the tight design work. After getting the package ready on the PC, we let it sit for the next day. That night, we went to a local house party, drank some, ate some, and listened to a teacher couple play the gee-tar. It was a good break from working on the display.

I got up early Sunday to make the text. She proofed it after I cut out the header text and images. We ate, got groceries, and went back to the school to grab sound file samples for a CD to play along with the display. I printed out the text with the accompanying classroom pictures and we glued the whole thing together. Then we prepared for the night's WrestleMania PPV party by putting out a spread of eats and cleaning the house. It was a great time. We had four guests, gave a tour of the house, and they watched most of the show before heading out. The short report: It was a good show with some standout matches amid a few utter crap bouts. But the spectacle was worth it. I drank so much that I'm still a little bleary this morning.

Tonight, we go to the library to see the other tech displays. There's no way anyone can beat ours.

Picture of the Day
See? The white spaces around Igor's head were cut away in the printed version, and the final topper includes lightning behind the text.

Another Race to Run

Mayberry will hold another 5k race on July 4, and I was sent a package asking for registration. It's a few weeks before the Orlando trip, and I want to get back into the regular running. So, I'm doing it. I now have a definite goal for my exercise. I have almost four months to prepare. This is muy feasible.

Fried up some chicken last night, and we found ourselves, somehow watching a ballroom dancing competition on PBS. It's just like figure skating without the ice. The dancing has little to nothing to do with the music. It was apparently filmed at a convention. A short segment allowed us to watch a guest commentator shop at various booths set up in what appeared to be a hotel floor, and all the vendors were hawking clothing and accessories.

I have a question for you: One of my printer guys has a daughter or niece who's thinking of the Peace Corps. He wants inside info. He wonders if he can get your email address so you can talk to him/her about it. Barring that, he thinks I can give enough dirt to satisfy them. I don't know about that, but I'm willing to try. She's not out of high school yet, so she has some time to mull it over or grow out of it.

Picture of the Day
I know nothing about it, but I found it yesterday.


In the News
It's quite despicable to suggest that Press Secretary Tony Snow timed his cancer surgery and chemo so he could miss out on the media attention on various administration headaches, but, man, did he excuse himself at a good time. Interim secretary Dana Perino has her hands full learning the job amid all these swirling questions on Iraq, Gonzales, Iran, Congress, and the usual crazy questions coming from the back of the press room. But she seems like she's doing a good job. I like her attitude and willingness to concede a "fair point" made by reporters when citing inconsistencies. Snow's going to be gone awhile, and she might talk her way into a full-time gig. By the way, this would be my dream job regardless of who was the president.

Running for the Border (Eats)

I took a day off from exercise Tuesday and made up for it by running last night. I was worried again about my rib cage flaring up on me, but instead my legs started to ache. That never happens when I run. I even stretched out for a decent time beforehand. Anyway, I got a mile run, before I walked for about a hundred yards and ran another half mile. This put me right at downtown Mayberry. Then I walked back home. Well, I walked toward home but saw Your Sister leaving the school, and I hopped in the car with her. She drove us back downtown for a Mexican dinner. I don't know if eating Mexican ruins the benefits of a run, but I was hungry and the food is always good.

Picture of the Day
The U.S. cover to the last Harry Potter book. The book is scheduled for release the same weekend I'm in Orlando for a wedding.

In the News
Because Congress has subpoenaed emails sent throughout the administration, White House employees have started using a different email server, a private server not covered by public access regulations and also possibly exposed to industrious hacking.

WrestleMania: The Sales Pitch

No plants were missing when I got home Tuesday. And since this is a a brief entry, allow me to extol the virtues of watching a four-hour wrestling pay-per-view.

Watching wrestling on TV used to be a big deal. You only got one pre-recorded show a week for each company, and you rarely saw any champions defend their titles against credible challengers. The TV shows were designed to get people to the live events. In the last 10 years, however, TV shows have evolved to sell PPVs. Because, at one time, there were three wrestling companies on national TV each week, the two big dogs (WCW and the WWF/E) started broadcasting live, head-to-head, to outdo each other in the ratings. This included putting their champions in matches on a weekly basis, effectively diluting the appeal of slapping down $30 for a title match on a PPV.

In another way of out-gunning the competition, WCW and WWF/E started monthly PPVs. Each company had their A-level, annual blow-out PPV, and WrestleMania is the WWE's. This is the culmination of months of writing and plot development. Feud end at this show, and new ones kick up in the subsequent weeks. WrestleMania is the season finale for the company. This will be the 23rd 'Mania (I've seen at least 16 of them), nd it takes place in front of an estikated 70,000 fans in Detroit's Ford Field. While it doesn't look on paper like a potential showcase of skill and maneuvers, it does have a lot of intrigue.

United States Champion Chris Benoit vs. MVP
Benoit is an underrated showman. He's attained virtual sainthood from devoted fans of effort and technical skill as he busts his ass in every match. He doesn't phone it in. Never. He's not an acrobat or a brawler or a freak. But the crowds love him because he looks like he can legitimately cripple you with leglocks and armbars. MVP is very new, very green, and not very good, really. He has no beef with Benoit; he just wants a belt. The consensus is that the company will give him the title to see if he can develop into a marketable personality. Benoit's been here before; he put over a guy named Orlando Jordan who was dead weight in the ring. The guy had no charisma or flow, and the title eventually went back to Benoit in a match that lasted about two minutes.
Benoit Finishing Move: the Crippler Crossface, a neck wrench that also incapacitates the shoulder.
MVP Finishing Move: The Play of the Day, a silly-looking neck twist using a leg.
Why You Should Watch: Benoit will often make you think the match is real.

Kane vs. The Great Khali
Kane has gone through a lot of refinement as a character. He originally was the mute, scarred brother to the Undertaker. He wrestled in a bright red bodysuit and mask. Then he was given an electronic voicebox, and his suit was pruned here and there. Then they took his mask, and let him talk. Now instead of an evil, sadistic, depressed hermit, he's now a popular, feisty brawler. He's a little under seven feet tall. He's also a great big-guy wrestler. He jumps off the turnbuckles, he works the crowd, and he's not afraid to make his opponent look good. Khali is a legit 7-feet tall tree of a man. He can't wrestle for shit, but at his size, all his has to do is slam opponents and yell a lot. Kane is being asked to carry Khali to a decent match all by his lonesome. The freak is a tradition in wrestling, and this is a freak parade.
Kane Finishing Move: The chokeslam. Pick a guy up by his neck and throw him to the ground.
Khali Finish Move: The same, but with both hands.
Why You Should Watch: The sheer spectacle of it. But no one's expecting much from these guys.

Women's Champion Melina vs. Ashley
Ashley is the newest WWE gal to pose for Playboy. Melina has the belt and envy for Ashley's new prominence. Neither woman is any damn good in the ring.
Finishing Move of Either Woman: Removing her clothes, screaming.
Why You Should Watch: Because you're a 14-year-old boy who has no access to a Victoria's Secret catalogue.

ECW Originals vs. New Breed
The WWE bought ECW a few years back and has recently revived the franchise for a spin-off wrestling company. But they've watered down the appeal of ECW by populating it with WWE castoffs. This is an eight-man tag match between the castoffs and the old guard.
Why You Should Watch: To see new guy Marquis Cor Vonn unleash The Pounce, my new favorite finisher. This is him nailing Sabu with it. Every time I see this move, I laugh like a child. It is eight shades of awesome.


Money in the Bank Ladder Match
Eight men try to climb a ladder and grab a suspended briefcase with a contract inside guaranteeing a title shot at any time between this match and the next 'Mania. The match includes two daredevil brothers, an Irish brawler, a straight-edge martial artist, a guy from Houston who acts like he's British royalty, a toothy iconoclast, an arrogant weasel, and a guy from Wisconsin.
Why You Should Watch: If any match can steal the show from the title bouts, this is it. The stunts will be amazing.

Battle of the Billionaires
This is the event of the night. WWE owner Vince McMahon and Donald Trump are each betting his hair that a handpicked representative will win in the ring. Vince chose Umaga, the wild Samoan Intercontinental champ, while Donald chose ECW champ Bobby Lashley, a man entirely composed of muscle. Anything goes. The losing billionaire is shaved live on TV right after the match. The match is officiated by WWE legend Stone Cold Steve Austin.
Umaga's Finishing Move: The Samoan Spike, a taped thumb to the throat.
Lashley's Finishing Move: a running body slam.
Why You Should Watch: It's going to be an all-out train wreck.

WWE Champion John Cena vs. Shawn Michaels
Cena is the young-stud kid who loves rap. Michaels is a WWE stalwart from the early '90s. This is a match to prove, simply, who's the best guy on the Monday night show. Cena is polarizing; the kids love him, but the adult men hate him. He's not very good in the ring, but he's got a lot of charm. Michaels is this generation's best wrestler. He can do it all, and he can turn any match into the best match of the year.
Cena's Finishing Move: The F-U, an over-the-shoulder body slam.
Michaels' Finishing Move: Sweet Chin Music, a standing side kick to the chin.
Why You Should Watch: No matter who wins, Michaels will earn your applause.

World Heavyweight Champion Batista vs. Undertaker
The match with the most invested appeal. Undertaker, a tall guy who might be a magical druid motorcyclist, is 14-0 at 'Mania. He's ever held this title (there are two top titles because there are two rosters with their own shows -- one of Monday, one on Friday). Batista is the classic WWE champ, a muscular powerman, and he thinks he can beat the Dead Man in a title match. That's essentially the hook. Can Taker beat this hulk of a guy to win the belt and keep his streak alive? 'Taker is the old proud lion of the WWE, and he's such a good performer, he's made this cartoon gimmick work way past the golden goofy days of the WWF.
Undertaker's Finishing Move: The Tombstone Piledriver.
Batista's Finishing Move: The Batista Bomb, an elevated body slam.
Why You Should Watch: The Undertaker's entrance. Darkness, smoke, organ music. It's like a kick-ass Phantom of the Opera.

Picture of the Day
There's a hexagon on Saturn. It's 15,000 miles across. It's a geometric cloud formation at the north pole. Weird.

A Stern Fern Talking To

After receiving no return call from the suspected plant pilferers, I called them back yesterday as soon as I walked in the door from work. They were home. I asked to talk to the husband, and when he heard "something's missing from the yard," he got his wife on the phone. I explained politely that we discovered a hole in the yard, and she immediately blamed moles. When asked how big the hole was, I said it's exactly as big as the plant that's no longer there.

Then I just said it: we've been told by more than one person that you take plants from this yard you used to own. She shouted it was a lie but then offered a rationale. She said she got permission from the second homeowners' gardeners to take what she wished. I said we are not those people, and we want the plants that we still have. She asked if she could buy saplings from one of the trees, and I said it was a decision Your Sister needed to make. I said we'd call her back to say yea or nay. She said she'd come over, and I repeated, no, we'll call you back first.

I think my point was made, and I think we all knew what happened. The husband wanted clarification from his wife as to who gave permission, so I suspect he didn't know she had not asked us. She did try to use the "we paid for all those plants" card, but I reminded her that they subsequently sold them all when they put the house on the market.

I don't think this will continue to be a problem. I hope not. Your Sis said she would indeed call and work out an arrangement. She doesn't mind splitting offshoots of any of the plants, and she's willing to divvy up the batches of flowers. But we don't want unsolicited pruning. We have plans for the yard, and they don't include arrogant, elderly plucking.

Your Sis has to create a small presentation for a local technology committee about her classroom equipment. She doesn't have to present it to them but instead at a display at the library that the public will be encouraged to browse. She's been given one of those science-fair triptychs to decorate for the project and an absurdly short deadline. So, like the parents of a lazy fourth-grader, we'll slap together a design this weekend. We have some ideas, but the lack of a Kinko's in the area means we have to rely on our desktop printer. I told her I can help as much as possible so long as we finish before 6:30 on Sunday in order to prepare for the PPV party.

I did some small exercises after the phone call, and I intend to run a little tonight. I have a wedding to attend in July, and I'd like to tone up before then. I have plenty of time.

Picture of the Day
From a Russian LiveJournal:


In the News
The Fifth Amendment is a good thing and a necessity at the time the Bill of Rights were created. But today, really, if you plead the fifth, you're admitting guilt by escaping accountability. And a Gonzales aide says she'll do this if called to testify in front of Congress, and then she declared she was taking an indefinite leave of absence. Now that's quality stonewalling. Monica Goodling is the the Justice Department’s White House liaison. Her office is the conduit that makes this scandal noteworthy. A lot of left-wing folks are comparing this scandal to Watergate and even Al Capone's arrest on tax evasion. It's much too early in this new scandal to start saying that, but we are seeing something possibly more offensive than lying to a committee: a steadfast refusal to drop pretense when documents expose a lie. Not that this is solely a Republican tactic, mind you.

+ + +

Tony Snow, the White House press secretary, has learned his colon cancer has returned. Hopefully, he'll again defeat it with chemo and return to his job. Although, if he had to resign to fight this, no one would blame him. He's looked a bit haggard lately, and I was among those who assumed the rigors of the job were getting to him. Looks like, instead, his health was declining.

+ + +

This blurb was on my favorite sports writer's blog today:

"I wanted to write you without my name or anything, just as a student of UNC. Our loss last night was tough -- some might say heartbreaking. But what's worse is that it may overshadow the death of a true Tar Heel. Jason Ray, our mascot, died this morning. He was the very first person I met at UNC. He was helping freshmen move into the dorms as a part of Intervarsity (a Christian ministry on campus). The elevators were all jammed up, so he helped me cart a refrigerator, futon, and all my other stuff (and girls have a lot of stuff) up NINE floors in the 100-degree heat. And he did it happily. We became friends and I spent a lot of time around him. He let me wear the ram head one time because I thought it'd be funny (even though I'm sure he wasn't supposed to). You've probably gotten a lot of e-mails about yesterday's game, but could you maybe mention Jason in your article, if only for a second. The world deserves to know who this person was. I don't just want him to be a 'UNC mascot dies' blurb on ESPN.com. He was such a good person. A true friend. What every Tar Heel should aspire to be."

I heard about the injury Friday night. He was hit by a car near his hotel in New Jersey. This was a few hours before the game.

Things Are Gone

I picked up my car from the dealership Friday afternoon and discovered to my utter amazement, shock, and suspicion of reality that the actual cost was lower than the estimate. This never happens. This is the equivalent of finding a nine-leaf clover that plays saxophone. Once Your Sister scooped me off the floor, we drove into downtown Mayberry for an early supper. There, another shock awaited us: A favorite restaurant, closed due to fire last year, had quietly reopened. In we went, and eats was ate. That night we watched some more of Lord of the Rings, and we're halfway through the approximately eight-hour extended cut of the last film. When this is finished, Your Sis has decreed we shall watch the Matrix trilogy again. And who am I to argue?

On Saturday, I arose early for a much needed haircut. I arrived a bit early and walked to the local boulangerie for croissants. They have a chocolate croissant that is light-years beyond 'indulgent'. I got back home, and we prepared our documents for the annual tax appointment in Asheville. Not only was it relatively painless and quick, but we are getting a nice chunk of change back from Uncle Sam. Also, while strolling the town, I showed Your Sis the R2D2 box (see below). She hit Tops for Shoes while I killed time in a variety of stores, including a record shop where I picked up a Nurse With Wound CD I haven't heard since college.

We stopped by some other stores on the way back home to buy her warm-weather school clothes, and, of course, crackuccino. The night ended with a surprise birthday party for Kathy. Travis called me about two hours before to ask if I would bring CDs, and we got in time for me to burn some mix discs for her to keep after the party. It was a fun time, and we invited a handful of folks to our place next weekend for the WrestleMania PPV.

But earlier in the day we noticed one of the roadside plants was missing, and a large hole was where it used to be. We were stumped as to why anyone would take a plant, but I suspected the neighborhood kids. Nothing else was missing.

On Sunday, I bought a New York Times and read on the back porch. It was great weather for it, and after the read, I ran around the neighborhood in my newly purchased wicking shirt. It's the first uniform-like outfit I've worn since high-school basketball. I did pretty well for a long run, but my diaphragm was hurting, and the afternoon heat was killing me. I usually run later in the day. After I cleaned up, Your Sis said she talked to a neighbor about the new lawn hole and was told that the original house-owner would return to reclaim plants. She did this after selling her house to the couple we bought it from. We called them, and they confirmed it. Well, now I was pissed. Vandalism is one thing, but taking items from a property sold years ago is almost crazy. I called the couple and left a message on their machine to call me back. I don't expect to hear anything, but if we did contact them, we have arranged a proposal. When Your Sis is off for Spring Break, she will host the woman, and they will divvy up the plants. She can have what she likes. But this is a one-time offer. Anything happens to our yard before that, and we call the cops. Anything happens after, and we call the cops. And I don't want to call the cops to complain about a plant-pilferer, but what else should we do? The theft is petty, but it's theft. We ended the night watching both Kill Bill films on cable TV. They had some really nice edits throughout, nothing ridiculous at all.

This morning, I sent off the food comic, and that project is now done and over and finished and ended. When the editor gives the OK, I'll post it here.

Picture of the Day
Send this to Postmaster General Kenobi.


In the News
After the weekend revelation that Attorney General Gonzales sat in on personnel meetings he claimed to have never attended, it seems his resignation is inevitable. But Gonzales is a longtime buddy of Bush, and the president may be determined to keep him no matter what. Again, the cover-up eclipses the event, and had these folks simply told the truth about what happened, we wouldn't face a constitutional showdown to force people to 'fess up.

+ + +

The UNC loss to Georgetown wasn't shocking after hearing their game on Friday, but their collapse at the end was. The team seemed to be replaced by randomly selected fans. Also, my brackets are all but ruined. I could still correctly pick the final between Ohio State and UNC with Ohio State winning, but I really hoped to have the Final Four right.

Out to Pasture

The dealership let me know they are hesitant to make another round of speculative repairs on the car and advise me to get a new one. I wasn't thrilled to hear that, and I remember they said the same thing to me when I took in my original car in 2004. It will cost $500 just to get my still-broken car back from them, but the next round of repairs would double the bill. And after talking to Your Sister, it was decided that we'll get a new one. Just not a Ford. We've done tons of research already, and now we're at the budgeting and test-driving stage.

I don't have as much of an attachment to this car as I did to the previous one. This one was a hand-me-down from my parents, and the previous car was the first car I bought new off the lot. That one was repaired (at a hefty price) and handed over to charity once I got the parents' old car. We both had Ford Contours. Apparently they all reach the age of ten and automatically disassemble themselves. We can still use the car to tool around town, but I don't trust it to get me to work and back.

Picture of the Day
Lenin's got game.

Cooking With Stupidity

Let's say, just for the sake of conversation, you were lactose intolerant. This condition, we'll say, emerged in your mid-20s, and you learned recently that this is not uncommon for people of Cherokee heritage. Like you, maybe. And let's say it was your turn to make dinner, oh, last night, and you decided to forgo the bottled alfredo cause to make a fresh batch from a new recipe book.

1/4 cup grated Romano
1/4 cup grated Parmesan (with additional two tablespoons set aside as a condiment)
cup whipping cream
one egg yolk
dash of nutmeg
dash of pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter

And follow it you did -- to the letter, to the ounce -- and gobbled up the final result with Your Smokin' Hot Wife. Would you be surprised, then, when Your Smokin Hot-Under-the-Collar Stomach decided to mutiny? Would you be shocked to experience pains and discomfort not unlike the Spanish Inquisition? Because if you wouldn't be shocked, you are a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

Lesson Learned: I'm fucking retarded. But in my defense, store-bought alfredo doesn't do this to me, and I thought I was safe. Surely, fresh ingredients are safer for me than preservative chemicals. Right? Can I get a witness? Did I make unwittingly add tainted dog food?

Moving Picture of the Day
The trailer for the third Pirates of the Caribbean. I think we'll see it nine times.



In the News
A fantastic question was offered by a CNN reporter to Tony Snow yesterday during the daily pres briefing.

Q Just to follow up on one point earlier, yesterday the President said, and you've repeated, that the principle at stake here with executive privilege is that the President needs to get candid advice from his advisors, right?

MR. SNOW: What the President has talked about is privileged communications with close staff members, that is correct.

Q But earlier you were saying that, when I asked about, well, was the President informed of this decision, did the President sign off on U.S. attorneys being fired, you said the President has no recollection of being informed of all this.

MR. SNOW: Correct.

Q So were his advisors really advising him on this? Is this really privileged communication involving the President and his advisors, if the President wasn't looped in, you're saying, on this decision? So it was other people --

MR. SNOW: Well, that also falls into the intriguing question category.

Q But, I mean --

MR. SNOW: No, you're asking -- you're asking me to -- look, Ed, there are a number of complex legal considerations in here, and I'm not going to try to play junior lawyer. These are the sort of things that people are going to have an opportunity to talk about.

Q But aren't you having it both ways? If you're saying the President wasn't in the loop, but we need to cite executive privilege for the President's communications --

MR. SNOW: No, what you're -- what you are saying is, are conversations that didn't take place privileged? Well, no -- they didn't take place.

Q So what are you protecting, if they didn't take place?

MR. SNOW: Well, no, we're not -- what we're trying to do is to protect the ability of the American people to see folks in Washington get at the truth without, in fact, engaging in the kind of unseemly partisanship that has too often been a factor in recent political life.

+ + +

Internet Radio may be killed off by new royalty regulations increasing the amount artists and labels are to be paid by online stations. While the rate is measured in penny fractions, it's based on the number of listeners, not the number of times the song is played. A station has to pay a minimum of $500 a year. This hurts independent stations the most.

Spring Has Sprung

My car is back at the shop. It's losing power, and the engine tends to stop if the car is cranked after a long sit. I do not enjoy my car's absence nor do I enjoy depriving My Sick Wife of her car. It's possible she got something from the baby Sunday night.

I saw my first R2D2 mailbox this morning, right at the obelisk in downtown Asheville.

Picture of the Day
The comic is almost finished. I've let it sit for a few days and am about to read it over and adjust the script if need be. I'm maybe an hour away from wrapping it up. I talked to the publisher, and he asked that I edit some fine art panels to make them more kid-friendly. This is what I gave him, and he OKed it.



In the News
Bush offered what he repeatedly called a "reasonable proposal" for his administration representatives to appear before Congress concerning the prosecutor scandal. But he wants his advisers to speak off the public record and without swearing in. He says doing otherwise compromises future advisers from speaking freely to the president. But it allows them to say anything they want to Congress without legal recourse or media scrutiny. He made clear he's daring Congress to seek oaths and public hearings and claimed he'll go to court to preserve this adviser secrecy. Again, the cover-up overshadows the initial event. Gonzales seems to have given false testimony before Congress earlier when this scandal began, testimony that now directly involves Karl Rove and other advisers. The crux of the matter is this: Did the administration fire prosecutors who were sniffing around its political allies?

St. Patty's Weekend

We ordered pizza on Friday and vegged in front of the TV. It was a stressful week for both of us. Her classroom roof leaked and almost ruined a bookshelf full of novels. We went to target Saturday and bought a new shelf while those books dried out. We had one drink each at the pub during dinner and enjoyed various libations while we watched some TV. I cleaned by workshop earlier in the day, a chore always necessary when the comic inking is finished. I also had three months' worth of comics to file away.

I got an email from the director of the play, and he said I was the wrong age for the production. Too young for the leads, and too old for the authorities figures. Part of me wants to quibble; I'm sure our Romeo isn't 14 years old. But he at least said I'd have a better chance trying out for Much Ado. And I'm leaning toward that heavily. Also, the Romeo filler roles would require only Sunday rehearsals, which I can do easily. I might even get a line or two and a sword to carry. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm running a March madness bracket on the NY Times website. Of the now set Sweet Sixteen, I picked ten correctly. I'm currently third against Times' 21 sports reporters bracket tournament. I had Winthrop and Villanova going to the Elite Eight.

Kathy and Travis came by last night for supper. She made some divine stuffed peppers and we watched some of the basketball, followed by "60 Minutes" and "Family Guy." Your Sis saw ads for an Axis of Evil comedy special where four comedians of Middle Eastern descent do stand-up. We all watched that last night, and it was good stuff. I don't think any of the comedians could necessarily work a special alone, but together -- talking about a post-9/11 world to audience of fellow descendants -- they killed.

Picture of the Day