Congratulations to the winners of this past weekend's 2008 Firecracker Couples Golf Tournament in Santa Barbara.

Left to right: Eric and Jen Lovette, Holly and Brad Emerson.

I'm pretty sure that's the biggest trophy my brother has ever had his hands on.

Today is the first day of my work week, and, boy, has it started poorly.

Sometime yesterday evening, my upstairs A/C ceased to blow cold air. I didn't really notice it until I had to go downstairs... the temperaturre differential was immediately apparent. So, I left a message for my HVAC guys requesting service ASAP.

They called me at about 9 this morning. I was, of course, pretty groggy after only a few hours's sleep, but I got the message loud and clear: they are booked solid today and tomorrow.

Outstanding. It's supposed to get up to 95° today.

And I couldn't get back to sleep. Superb.

So, I headed over to SCOTUSblog to see if the Heller 2nd Amendment decision was published today. Nope. They're really drawing out the drama on this one.

Signs seem to indicate that Heller will be a win for those of us who support 2nd Amendment rights. The question, it seems to me, is how far the Court will go in our direction. I'm hoping to hear the words "strict scrutiny" somewhere in the decision.

I'm considering celebrating by acquiring another firearm. Maybe a nice (and inexpensive) Yugoslavian SKS from Classic Arms. Good place to do business with, if they have what you're looking for. Over the past few years, I got my Swiss K.31, Czech VZ.24, as well as some accessories there. Good outfit, yep.

And though it seems unlikely at this point, if the Heller decision goes the wrong way, I'll get two. And a bucketfull of ammo.

I don't know what I was thinking.

Today being the day of the week I set aside for chores and errands, I got started at the crack of noon. Up, shower, dress, feed the cats, and depart to run errands.

I didn't have that many things to do — pick up cat food and litter at the Petsmart, get Mycah's meds and prescription food at the vet's office, and pick up some carpet cleaning supplies.

I think I bit off more than I could chew. Kitty litter and food are, of course, all the way at the back of the Petsmart.

Carpet cleaning supplies are all the way at the back of the Home Depot.

And since I was passing by, I stopped at the Target to pick up a cheap-o DIY bookcase, since I have way more books than shelf space.

Furniture is alllll the way at the back of the Target.

Then home... to unload all the crap from the pickup. And then take the trash out and wheel the bin down my treacherously steep driveway to the curb. Dragged myself up same driveway.

Then fed the cats again. Then hauled myself and my acquisitions up the stairs.

Going up stairs ought to be easier for me now than in February, but it isn't; I'm still having strength issues.

I've spent more time on my feet today than I have in a couple of years. I'm absolutely whupped, and I pretty much need to hit the shower again.

And I still haven't done any actual housecleaning. Sigh. I guess that's my day tomorrow.

At least I haven't fallen down.

Via Ace o' Spades HQ:

How did it get to be Friday so soon?

I guess Fridays would be a bigger deal if they signalled the end of my work week. As it is, I still have tomorrow and Sunday to look forward to.

I rarely get fan mail... of course, there's little enough reason for it. But when I do, especially first thing in the morning after a terrible night's sleep, it's a Very Good Thing.

Let's hope the rest of the day goes as well.

There is an age after which birthdays should cease to matter as occasions for anticipation and celebration.

That age is twelve.

Sure, there are noteworthy exceptions — landmarks, if you will. 16, 18, 21, 40 (maybe), 65 (or whatever retirement age is these days) and 100.

I suppose that in my case, attaining 46 was perhaps the littlest teeniest tiniest bit in doubt a year ago. Well, I made it. I think I'll celebrate by having a steak, or maybe pizza... if I can squeeze in a break from work. It's just another work day (second shift) for me, though it is also another a chance to again thank Mom for everything.

I'll skip the cake and ice cream, though.

I'm off from work Mondays and Tuesdays; they have become my "errand days."

Because of the night-shift work I do, I am usually comatose until about noon. [Due to a minor episode of insomnia, I was out until about 2 today. Ugh.] After I wake up, I have the three priorities that all right-thinking people have first thing in the morning: brew up a cuppa joe, feed the cat, and clean myself up such that I can go out in public without disgracing myself or bringing shame on the family name.

Mycah insists on being fed the moment I step out of my room. I almost have her trained to the point where she knows that nothing will happen until after I've had my coffee.

Once those three things have been done, I have the remainder of the afternoon to get done all those things that that can't be done from the comfort of my desk. Trips to the grocery store or to the Post Office, physical therapy sessions, occasional visits to the veterinarian... anything that requires I leave the house. And I only have a few hours to get everything done.

Still to do today: grocery store, Post Office (sorry Mom, I'm slow), gas station, pharmacy, and Petsmart... not necessarily in that order. And when I get home, I have a couple loads of laundry to do, and the weekly Running of the Vacuum.

It's good to be able to get out of the house again. By forcing myself to do a lot — go, go, go — I'm improving my physical condition and speeding my recovery.

But it sure makes for a busy day.

I hope everyone is enjoying their April 15th.

I talked to my Mom last night, and told her I'd mail some packages to her today. Then I remembered the date, and called her back. There's no way I'm going anywhere near a Post Office today. Except perhaps with a camera to record the annual day of carnage.

Having done my taxes early this year, I've noticed feeling a great sense of relief at not having to struggle with a deadline.

For those of you so inclined, those who are as un-thrilled as I of having to hand over large percentages of income to the most wasteful money-handling institution on the planet, I recommend "celebrating" Tax Day by also making it Buy a Gun Day. It's empowering.

While I was in the midst of my medical problems, I received a lot of support from quite a few people. Mom, of course, came and stayed here in NC — bored out of her skull most of the time, I don't doubt, between rounds of driving me to the doctors and doing those things around the house which I was incapable of doing for myself. My sister, too, made a few stops here to help. The two of them were invaluable; without their help, I'd have had to sell my house and move to some sort of single-story assisted-living facility.

No kidding. I was unable to fend for myself.

Many others provided moral support. I can't count how many emails I received, all full of encouragement. And there was at least one church congregation praying for me regularly.

The medical care I received was top-notch. My regular doc was and is as good a GP as I've ever dealt with. The neurologist I went to is one of the best in the country, and the neurosurgeon who drilled me is arguably the best neurosurgeon in the world. Plus, there were really cute nurses all along the way. Hey, I'm a man... you didn't expect me not to notice, did you?

Further, when I had a fundraiser going here to help offset my massive medical bills (which so far have added up to over a year's pay... egads) more than just a few people made donations to help out. It made a difference.

Now I'm in a situation where my past medical bills are all paid up, where the minor ongoing treatment (physical therapy, mostly) is relatively simple for me to handle... and I have my tax refunds in the bank.

I've always tried to be a charitable guy; I could do a lot better. I want to do better. So, I've recently seen a couple of situations where maybe I could directly make a difference, where I could give someone with insanely high vet bills some of the same sort of support that I was blessed to receive when I was down.

Moki is a tough little fighter with an undiagnosed neurological condition. If you think this reminds me of my own situation, you'd be exactly right.

LillyLu is another cat with enormous vet bills... particularly since her human is getting ready to have twins of her own.

Both those linked sites have orange "Donate" buttons in the sidebars. Go on, hit them. Every little bit helps. Big bits help, too.

For those of you who are charitably inclined, but feel the need to have tax deductability, there is the newly-founded Cat Friends Helping Friends. There are plenty of people-oriented charities, but as far as I know, there's just this one that helps people with big veterinarian bills. Go help them out.

I got my tax refund checks, state and federal, in the mail this week.

Plus I got a letter from the IRS saying I'd overpaid on my 2006 return; they're sending me another check (a whopping $137) in a few weeks. Why they bothered with a letter without including a check is beyond me.

Despite my detestation of the IRS, its employees, their families, their friends, and everyone who has ever spoken nicely or had a kind thought about them, it sure is nice to be getting money back from them.

Am I being too unkind to IRS employees (their families, etc.)? I don't think so. Go read Ezra Levant's thoughts on denormalization.

There is nothing "normal" about a federal agency seizing a part of your income before it ever passes through your hands. There is nothing "normal" about the government laying claim to the product of your labor. There is nothing "normal" about being taxed on your productivity.

When someone other than you has a prior claim on the fruits of your labor, it's called slavery, which historically may be "usual" but it certainly ought not to be "normal."

IRS bureaucrats should not feel any more comfortable in their positions than Levant's inquisitor was made to feel.

On the whole, I'd just as soon not have them withholding money from my paycheck and then making me explain why I want it back.

Taxing my behavior, sure, I suppose can deal with that — because I have a choice. I can choose not to buy a new car this year. I can choose to buy guns instead of butter... literally... if I want. On the other hand, choosing to have a job with a paycheck isn't really a choice, given the alternative, is it?

I'm beginning to think those various flat/fair tax proposals have some merit.

Tuesday's post was, in part, less than the truth.

In point of fact, while I wrote it my Mom was already in the air on her way back to California.

After she had been here for such an incredibly long visit — since June, you may recall — she thought it might be nice to surprise everyone with her arrival back home. The only one there who knew of her arrival was my sister; someone had to pick Mom up from the airport limo drop-off point.

I had promised, though, that I wouldn't spill the beans to my brother and his family, or to any of my Mom's friends who have been checking the site here for status updates.

I am pleased to report that the surprise was complete.

It's been just six days since my corrective surgery, and I think I'm ready to go back to work this afternoon. I'd have gone back last week had it not been for the complication.

I wonder how many emails I have waiting for me?

I wonder if I can remember any of my passwords?

Good riddance, 2007.

2008 has got to be — will be — better.

Happy New Year, everyone.

The Gospel of Matthew, verses 18 through 25:

Now the birth of Jesus Christ was as follows: when His mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child by the Holy Spirit. And Joseph her husband, being a righteous man and not wanting to disgrace her, planned to send her away secretly.

But when he had considered this, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. "She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins."

Now all this took place to fulfill what was spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

"Behold, the virgin shall be with child and shall bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel,"

which translated means, "GOD WITH US." And Joseph awoke from his sleep and did as the angel of the Lord commanded him, and took Mary as his wife, but kept her a virgin until she gave birth to a Son; and he called His name Jesus.

There's no sadness like the sadness of waking up on Thanksgiving morning to discover there isn't a turkey- and stuffing-filled stocking hanging near the chimney.

On the plus side, I don't have a sudden surplus of coal, either.

My little sister is having her ??th birthday today.

No, I'm not telling.

I've just read that Mike Hendrix of Cold Fury lost his wife in a motorcycle accident last Friday.

Condolences are not enough.

Just how, will someone tell me, did the past week go by so quickly?

"Time flies when you're having fun," they say. Apparently the same holds true when all you do is work and sleep.

Anyone feeling lucky today?

I haven't been out to see a movie in months, not since last August. I can't really go now, until my condition improves, which is a shame — there appear to be a number of big-screen-viewing-worthy flicks this year.

I've never been a fan of the franchise, but check this out. Awesome, indeed.

Jerry Falwell died, and his detractors on the Left went insane with glee. Had the situation been reversed, I don't think we'd have seen anything like glee from Rev. Falwell. Regret would seem more likely.

And that's the problem with the Left. (Well, one of the problems....) They cannot or will not make the distinction present in the motto "hate the sin, love the sinner."

To those on the Left, hate is to be directed at their opponents personally, rather than to their opponents' positions or behavior. And then they have the audacity to call those of us on the Right "mean-spirited" and "hate-filled."

Amnesty? No thanks. I'm with Bob at Confederate Yankee... though I'll hold my re-registration until after any voting.

My brother is in the auto finance business. From him:

I made a special arrangement yesterday with a Honda dealership that allows me to offer 2007 Honda Accords that he has in stock at incredible prices. I can definitely get these cars for LESS than dealer invoice. I would like to help this dealer friend of mine clear his inventory, and help anyone who needs or wants a new Accord get one at an outstanding price, without the haggling process. Please feel free to share this news with friends if you like. (Please note - this is limited to the dealer's stock in inventory!)

So, if you're in the market for a cheap 2007 Honda Accord, drop me a line. Tell your friends.

This is my brother. Yes, he's reputable.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given:
and the government shall be upon his shoulder:
and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor,
The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6

How did I go all week without posting anything?

Oh, yeah. I've been working on a project that has turned into something more difficult than I had anticipated. Well, I hope to be done with it within 4 or 5 days.

At which point, I'll have no more excuses for not posting.

Sick. Sick. Sick.

That's all. I'm going back to bed.

Mmmmmm... watermelon.

I haven't been posting much lately, though not due to a lack of anything to say. I'm doing plenty of writing. The problem is, it's all for work, and it's all company confidential.

I just spent an hour writing an email to my management, detailing the perceived problems with a new and hugely unpopular automated system we have here, and making a number of suggestions for improvement.

I'm getting so loopy from looking at this problem, I actually suggested, using an "Old Yeller" metaphor, that the project be taken out behind the barn and shot.

Maybe I need a vacation.

It's late. Too late. And I have a headache. But aspirin might give me an upset stomach.

I wonder if there's a remedy out there that doesn't involve taking pills. Maybe something I could apply directly to the forehead...?

I can't think of any such thing.

• An old friend of mine from college days, Colonel Mark Inch, recently assumed command of the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth. There couldn't be a better man for the job.

• Be careful to whom you give your blog's keys while you're away.

• It has occurred to me that I had better not be required to evacuate a building in a hurry any time soon. The broken foot is something of a hindrance.

• Bill Whittle keeps teasing us. Have patience, grasshopper.

• How about "My boot. Apply directly to your ass." I'm with Beth: yet another product I refuse to buy because their commercials suck.

• Victory is sweeeet.

• Steve has too much money. Or time. Or both.

Gigolo Kitty has a Very Special Holiday Message.

It's been pretty busy around here with the family visiting. So much on which to comment, so little time....

They're leaving this week, which takes away my excuse for not posting. And it's not like I'm going to be out training for a marathon....

The barbecue was good, though I think I overcooked the brisket. Bad, bad me.

The visiting family members are off doing things for a few days — my brother is golfing at Pinehurst, the rest of the family is off to Asheville.

Me, I'm just tired.

So... how 'bout them 'Canes?

I'm home from work. I haven't slept yet.

See "Pooped."

Yes, it's 3am.

Yes, I'm still at the office.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do want to soundly thrash the people responsible for my still being here, thankyouforasking.

Yes, I'm cranky.

I do not, in fact, have the answer to the question:

does bird flu start from blowing in chickens butts?

There are some mighty strange people out there.

Here's a great story.

Senior Jason McElwain had been the manager of the varsity basketball team of Greece Athena High School in Rochester, N.Y.

McElwain, who's autistic, was added to the roster by coach Jim Johnson so he could be given a jersey and get to sit on the bench in the team's last game of the year....

Go read the whole story, and be sure to watch the video.

I hope selling the film rights will set the kid up for life.

New Year's resolution: stop procrastinating.

Happy New Year!

OK, enough cheeriness... I have to get ready to go to the office.

The following exchange took place earlier this week between my sister and my young niece.

Sister: "So, honey, what would you like for Christmas this year?"

Niece: "World domination."

*sniff* She makes her uncle so proud.

I've been overlooked for the Supreme Court yet again.... I figured third time might be the charm. Well, Alito looks like an exceptional pick.

My truck died today, too, so I'm thinking I might as well go for the "bummer, dude" trifecta.

What will be next, I wonder?

My broadband has been out all afternoon and evening. Just got it back. Someone at Time Warner Cable needs to walk the plank.

Yarrgghhh.

Yes, it is indeed International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Now, where in North Carolina might a fellow find a dead man's chest and bottle of rum at this time of night?

In naval parlance from the age of sail, the term "pooped" is used to describe what happens when a ship is struck from the rear by a large wave – travelling faster than the ship itself, obviously – which breaks over the poop of the ship.

Ha-ha-he-said-poop. Grow up, people. Think "poop deck."

In those days of yore, being pooped could be a disastrous occurrence. The wave could break through into the stern galleries (which were usually lightly-built glassed-in enclosures, like this) and flood the ship, doing rather a lot of damage along the way.

Not only could the mass of water damage the stern – invariably the weakest part of the structure of the hull – it could also push the ship's stern sideways, slewing the ship around, leaving it broadside to the next oncoming wave.

This is the deadly part. Since the only time swells or waves were likely to be higher than the stern of the ship was during a storm, the next wave striking the ship broadside had a very good chance of being big enough to actually lay the ship on its side, if not completely capsize it.

With the ship laid over, cannons weighing 5500 pounds or more could break free from their lashings – thus becoming the proverbial "loose cannon" – and severely damage the internal structure of the ship or, more dangerously, punch a hole through the side. If the ship happened to be laid over by a wave and a cannon went out through the side, water would rush in and the ship would be doomed.

Even if the cannons' lashings held, and even if all the other heavy objects aboard stayed in place, the framing and planking of the hull could be sprung loose, allowing seawater to flood through the gaps. The ship would be doomed.

Clearly, being pooped was an exceptionally bad thing.

This is the kind of thing you think about when you've gone all night without a wink of sleep.

Man, I'm pooped.

Update: Wow, it's a regular link-o-rama around here. Be sure to check out all the fine blogs that have tracked back.

Update 2: Welcome, MSNBC visitors – glad to have you here. Stick around, take a look around; lots of good stuff in the blogrolls.

And if you feel compelled to hit the Amazon or PayPal tipjars, I'm not going to stop you.

Addendum: If you'd like to learn a little bit about the "Age of Sail" without cracking open a book, I'd highly recommend giving this movie a viewing.

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

Say that five times fast. I dare you.

Update: Floccinaucinihilipilification. I double dare you.

Move along....

Just a test... nothing to see here.

Sorry for the lack of posting... I've been busy this week, and too tired at night to think straight.

In lieu of original content, here's a picture of naked chicks with guns:

At the grocery store, beef was on sale in a big way. Full sirloin primals*, ranging from 10 to 15 pounds, on sale for $1.79/pound. Since ordinary ground beef was selling for $2.59, I figured the worst that could happen was that I'd have ten pounds of inexpensive ground beef. I searched through the refrigerated bin for a small one with minimal fat. No sense paying for something I wouldn't be eating.

I asked the butcher what my carving options would be with such a hunk of beef, and he was good enough to show me the right places to slice to get steaks and roasts, and even a combination thereof.

Armed with this knowledge and, as soon as I got home, my trusty toadsticker chef's knife, I went to work on the sirloin.

I knew I was in trouble when, after trimming off the fat that can never be completely avoided, I realized that half an hour had passed. Half an hour? How did that happen?

Following the trimming, slicing the steaks off was simplicity itself. Separating the remainder into roasts, however, was a challenge. Frankly, I don't know how the guys working behind the meat counter do it. OK, OK, sure — they do it all the time, but still... this wasn't easy. It was like performing surgery while wearing boxing gloves: you can see where you have to cut, and you can see the little bits you ought to remove, but actually doing it is a different matter altogether.

It's a good thing I never wanted to be a butcher.

Suffice it to say, however, that I now have about 8.5 pounds of beef bagged and tagged in the deep freeze, and about 3/4-pound of fat in the garbage.

There was a nice 12-ounce steak too, but it seems to have disappeared.... along with the horseradish. It's pretty odd how that happens, isn't it?

* If you watch Good Eats, you know what a "primal" is. If you don't watch, shame on you. The primal is the large chunk of cow from which the cuts one normally buys — sirloin steak or rib roasts, for instance — are butchered.

I'm half tempted to grab my camera and head down to the post office this evening to observe all the people posting their tax returns at the very last minute. I'd laugh and laugh and laugh.

Sometimes the simple pleasures are the best.

Well, this BBC item is cool:

South Korea's spicy fermented cabbage dish, kimchi, could help to cure bird flu, according to researchers.

Scientists at Seoul National University say they fed an extract of kimchi to 13 infected chickens - and a week later 11 of them had started recovering.

Kimchi is a preparation of pickled and spiced cabbage (radish and cucumber are also popular) which is then fermented (though it is quite good fresh, too.) By "spiced," I mean hot — hot red peppers seem to be the main spice, though garlic is also involved.

I first sampled it when I was a student at the Defense Language Institute back in '86, and there was no looking back. My subsequent 2½ years stationed in Korea were gustatory heaven for me. Korean food remains one of my favorite cuisines.

And now here in North Carolina, I can get kimchi by the jar at the nearby Lowe's grocery store. It goes great on hamburgers, though when I have it I usually eat it straight, as a side dish with pretty much anything.

I am safe from the bird flu. [Not that we humans actually get the bird flu... uh... do we? Oh, dang.]

Just don't stand downwind of me.

Update: I see Kevin at Wizbang has also noted the story.

Is there enough green on this page?

Being Dutch on my Mom's side, I grew up with the notion that we were supposed to wear orange instead of green on Saint Patrick's Day. Perhaps that's a by-product of the intense anti-Catholicism of the Dutch Calvinist camp. That sort of attitude is understandable, given the anti-Reformation persecution conducted by Rome in centuries past.

But those centuries are past. The differences between Catholicism and mainline Protestantism are not actually numerous, though they are doctrinally profound... but burning at the stake does not exactly remain a threat to those of us who dissent.

In Ireland, sectarian differences are used as rallying cries for partisans on both sides, though I think it's been fairly well established that the IRA is primarily not a religious group but a Marxist-leaning political group that cynically uses anti-Protestantism as a surrogate for its anti-British agenda. In turn, their political opponents have turned to anti-Catholicism to energize their followers. As a result, honest Catholics and Protestants both suffer.

There is much more that binds Catholics and Protestants to each other than separates them, and many people would be better off if we all started acting like it. Compared to the differences between Christianity and (e.g.) Islam, denominational differences within Christianity are nearly trivial.

You know you're tired when you collapse on the bed and fall asleep while fluffing the pillows.

That's not bad, really, but it always feels weird to wake up at 4:00 in the morning fully-clothed, with the lights and TV still on.

Sunrise is at about 6:30 this morning. I wonder if I should just stay up to go out and watch it.

Ah, yes... it's that time of year again.

I'm either going to have to work up more Scotland-relatedness [if that's possible... I think I used it all up last year], or I'm going to have to invest in more of this sort of thing.

Do I hear The Macallan calling my name?

Why is Darius Rucker doing cheesy Burger King commercials?

Whether you actually like Hootie & the Blowfish or not, you have to admit the man has talent. How he ended up selling burgers is beyond my ken.

Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

— the 8th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States

For many people, the "and" in "cruel and unusual punishment" is read as if it were an "or" — if the punishment is either cruel OR unusual, it fails to pass Constitutional muster. Even the Supreme Court has gone down this path in the past... leaving us with the annual spectacle of Charles Manson's parole hearings.

But the more I consider the 8th Amendment, the more I think the Founding Fathers intended the expression "cruel and unusual punishment" to be used exactly as written, in Boolean fashion; that is, a punishment must be both cruel AND unusual to be Constitutionally prohibited.

In Boolean logic, the AND means that both the expressions to be tested ("cruel", "unusual") must be true for the whole expression to evaluate as true; if one expression is true and the other false, the entire expression evaluates as false. This would give us four ways to evaluate whether a punishment for a crime meets my 8th Amendment test:

Would it be unusual to sentence a petty shoplifter to have to wear a sign on his back proclaiming his status? Perhaps. But cruel? No.

Now, I said all that to say this: despite the qualms of a sizeable number of people in this country, I never have had a problem with the death penalty.

Is it cruel? Perhaps — it is certainly extreme. It would depend on the method used to carry out the execution, I suppose... but we don't have a history of putting people into shredders for their crimes. The needle is alleged to be humane, but I don't see how it is any more humane than, say, a properly administered hanging or firing squad. I will grant that it's not as messy....

But is it unusual? The principle of "letting the punishment fit the crime" emphatically says no. That "no" makes it an acceptable punishment, in my opinion.

Indeed, I would go so far as to suggest that capital punishment ought to be extended to crimes other than intentional homicide. Crimes which ruin lives ought to be liable to the same punishment as crimes which end lives. Violent rape and child molestation come immediately to mind. I suspect a large percentage of people might agree with me on those, and perhaps on others as well.

I'm partial to the idea of treating massive cyber-vandalism the same way we treat terrorism, for instance. Virus writers can all die now, as far as I am concerned.

If you steal a little old lady's life savings, forcing her into poverty for the remainder of her life, I might sponsor the necktie party myself. Horse thieves used to be hanged in this country, after all.

I wouldn't object to a few prosecutions for treason, either.

Or am I totally off-base here?

[Welcome, Wizbang readers!]

I'm not on hiatus, or sabbatical, or vacation, or anything of the sort. I've simply been uninspired.

Actually, that's not quite right. I am inspired — there are plenty of things I'd like to say — but I seem to have some version of writer's block. Shouting poorly-crafted slogans is about all I'm capable of this week, it seems, and that's hardly what I'd call good writing. It's certainly not worth memorializing with a post here.

[OTOH, if I were a lefty bomb-thrower, poorly-crafted slogans would be my stock-in-trade.]

As one who has done rather a lot of rather good academic and technical writing (my professors and customers thought so, at least) I've rarely been unable to gather my thoughts in written form. Indeed, I'm usually far better at communicating serious thoughts in writing than via the spoken word... probably because in over two dozen years of adult life I have mostly lived the life of a hermit, crowded barracks and apartments notwithstanding.

So when I can't string together intelligent commentary despite my sincere desire to do so [Ward Churchill, I'm looking at you] it's like a mental version of my periodically recurring back injury — when bedridden, I can only watch the world go by my window, but not participate.

That stinks.

Steve of Hog on Ice, while pointing out the obvious disadvantages of dating divorced women with kids, correctly notes:

There are worse things than being alone.

He's right.

But there aren't many things worse.

Trust me on this one. I am, after all, an expert on being alone.

Of all the saints on the roster, who decided that Saint Valentine of Rome was the saint we had to memorialize every year?

St. Valentine is the patron saint of:

• affianced couples
• betrothed couples
• engaged couples
• happy marriages
• love

Perhaps it is no coincidence that he is also the patron saint of greeting card makers.

Shocking.

But there are plenty of other saints on call if a holiday is needed. For those who go a bit overboard for St. Valentine's Day, mark your calendars: August 30 is St. Fiacre's Day. He's the patron saint of... well, look it up.

CNN's Jeanne Moos did a report that aired tonight — "Giving the Finger."

[Video is, for the time being, accessible here (scroll down). I don't know how long it'll be there.]

They showed pictures of a number of web pages featuring Americans who showed their support for the Iraqi elections by inking their fingers and posting photos.

Including this page at GOPbloggers.org.

For a moment, it seemed the eyes of America would be safe. But it was not meant to be. CNN scrolled down the page, and captured this:

All across the land, CNN viewers were driven to the edge of despair and madness — and beyond — by the horrible visage.

Nonetheless, I may be insufferable for a couple of hours.

Not only have I had a writing drought, but I have been pretty lax in my browsing as well.

How else could I have missed the news of a new baby in the family of Brian B. of Memento Moron?

Still, that's no excuse.

So, go congratulate Brian, before the diaper duty overwhelms him!

After repeatedly haranguing James Taranto to start using the

<a name="[insert-name-here]"></a>

Like here.

Full disclosure: I discovered today that there was at least one such tag in the page I last linked... but none at the item to which I was trying to direct readers. And I am shocked (shocked!) to find that the item to which I linked the first time I bloviated on the matter has since had an anchor added.

<shrug>

Thanks, James!

Now, if you guys could make it SOP to have permalinks to each and every item....

While googling and clicking around to try to find out exactly what the blood relationship is between "second cousins" — I never really understood the whole "first cousin twice removed" or "second cousin once removed" thing, or indeed anything more complicated than "cousin" — I ran across Cousin Couples.

For the record: no thank you.

OK, OK, I know that historically and culturally in most places on Earth, there is nothing wrong with first cousins marrying each other. Indeed, in some places in the world, there's no one but cousins to marry. To this day, it is apparently acceptable (or at least legal) in most places in the world, including every country in Europe, in Japan, Mexico, and Canada. Indeed, I have distant Canadian relatives who I believe are first cousins married to each other, though I may be misinformed on the matter.

The cultural taboo against cousin marriage in this country is another thing altogether, perhaps because it is illegal in most (but by no means all) of the States, though maybe the cause and effect are the other way around. Certainly, all the "inbred hillbilly" jokes haven't exactly made the practice much respected in this country.

I have plenty of cousins, and I love them all.

Just not that way.

A glance through my referrer logs can be informative, if not actually entertaining. What is it that brings people to this site? What pages are they seeing?

• The search query which shall not be named — still #1 on Google.

I'm not particularly proud of that one.

• nazi werewolves — also #1 on Google.

That one is a bit out of date. Maybe I should add a link to that post that points to better information.

• unibrow lesbian nazis — #2.

Heh. Sounds like the name of a really awful band. The Bangles' evil twins.

• color changing ceiling paint — #36.

I'm not sure what's more pathetic, people clicking through 3 pages of search engine results to find information from me on color-changing paint, or me actually doing this post.

Yes, I am bored today.... I guess I'll do some housework. That carpet could use some shampooing....

In light of the Indian Ocean tsunami and the damage it has wrought, some ask "why would a just and merciful God allow such a thing to happen?" Here are two columns from yesterday that are worth reading:

Michael Novak: Blaming God First:

What can biblically informed believers reply to those who, contemplating the massive destruction and death in today's Asia, blame their God (a God in Whom those who do the blaming do not believe)?

Confronted with this demand — confronted with it, actually, quite often in my lifetime — I think first of this: Since those who ask it do not believe in God, the question is not what it seems to be. The real point of the question is to get me to groan inwardly by agreeing that the one who thinks he is my superior is correct, after all. The real point is to get me to deny the reality of God.

Cal Thomas: God and Suffering:

Here's another question for those who ask the other questions: If catastrophe proves there is no God, does charity prove He exists? Individuals in Britain have contributed millions of pounds to the tsunami survivors, more than their government. Most of the world's charities helping in the effort are Christian and American.

Indonesia is the world's largest Muslim nation, yet Muslim nations, including the fabulously wealthy Saudi regime, have given chump change compared to those countries with majority Christian populations. Don't expect Christians, or Americans, to gain points with those who believe America is the "Great Satan."

There aren't any easy answers, but Novak and Thomas get the ball rolling.

There is, it seems to me, something fundamentally wrong with taking vitamins and chasing them down with a beer.

Happy New Year.

I thought about doing a "Best of TacJammer - 2004" post, but as I look back at my output here for the last year, I am chagrined to realize that while I doubled the number of posts this year over 2003, I haven't written nearly as much, as well, or as in-depth as I had hoped or wanted.

It's doubly a shame, since I usually have a lot floating around in my brain that I could write about. And, frankly, I'm not a bad writer. Pity the 'sphere doesn't demand much in the way of technical manuals.

Rather than a "Best of," perhaps a few of my personal favorite posts will suffice.

• The Tale of the Late-Night Caller: Just Leave My Oscar in the Mailbox.
• My version of the Weather Channel: Thunder.
• To those who kidnap and behead innocent civilians: a Memorandum — and a followup, Not Getting the Message.
• A reminder that as brilliant as my mother claims me to be, I have my moments of sheer idiocy: Playing With Fire.
• You want controversy? I've got controversy! How about a Note to Ted Rall?
• Surprisingly few thing really make me angry. Stewardship was my response to a case of wanton cruelty to animals.
• The Art of the Smoker: This Little Piggy
• The more things change, the more they stay the same: Current Affairs.
• Whenever I need to lower my blood pressure, I click back to A Moment of Unbearable Cuteness.
• My first and thus far only Instalanche: Could It Be...?
• The election might have gone differently this year without my Endorsement. Ya, right.
• I think this is my single favorite post of the year: Promises.

The Rev. Donald Sensing has posted his Christmas Eve sermon.

Nyquil... "the nightime sniffling sneezing coughing aching stuffyhead fever so you can rest medicine."

More appropriate, I think, is "the knock you just far enough on your butt so that the symptoms just don't bother you and you can get some sleep... and sleep you will — far more than you planned or wanted... medicine."

At least I'm well-rested. But I imagine the people down the street are complaining today about the odd coughing noises that kept them up all night.

Is it the weekend yet?

I'm very busy for most of this week. No posting 'til the weekend, I expect.

Until then, click on the blogroll buttons (over on the left there) to visit some great blogs.

Master chef in training, here. Good and getting better. And just for the record: I love garlic.

You may not want to stand too close to me for the rest of the day week.

After driving through territory this week in which virtually the only music on the radio is country/western, I am now convinced I need to change the oil in a dog, play fetch with a woman and snuggle with a pickup truck.

I may have misunderstood what I was hearing.

Thank you. For everything.

Well. That was a journey and a half. More later.

Did I say "intermittent?" Try nonexistent.

I'll probably be back on Wednesday.

If I were the scion of a late 18th/early 19th century Spanish Don in old California, wearing a mask, buckling my swash and protecting the péons from the depredations of the ruling elite with the skill of my blade, but all the while feeling as sick as I do today, I'd be known in myth and legend as El Crappo.

Today, laptop and digital camera in hand, El Crappo rides.

I'll be back in a week. Blogging from the road may be intermittent.

My week-long road trip starts tomorrow, and I still feel like slightly warmed-up dog crap. At least, I presume this is how canine excrement would feel if it were briefly held over an open flame.

Someone please medicate me.

On the plus side, if I'm sick today, I might be well again by the time I get to where I'm going.

Ya, right. As long as I'm wishing, I'd kind of like a million dollars, too.

_{[The following is NOT a paid presentation.]}

Once in a while during my daily browsing I just start clicking other peoples' blogads to see where they lead. Not that I'm actually doing any shopping, but I find myself interested and, alternately, amused or appalled by the things people will sell.

Today's find, via Powerline, has a tagline that caught my eye: "Still Bloggin' in your PJ's?"

The advertiser was Sport Kilt. Interesting enough on its own; I think kilts are pretty darn comfortable, and I keep expecting them to "catch on" here in the US. I'd wear one [not commando style.]

It would be much more acceptable nowadays for a fellow to wear a kilt in the course of a normal day than it would have been, say, twenty or thirty years ago... but I bet a guy would still get some funny looks.

As I looked around the Sport Kilt site, something in their "Wall of Fame" really caught my eye: photos of US servicemen, some in Iraq, in kilts.

The only fiddly little objection I have is that many people wear tartans of clans or other groups of which they aren't members. I'd never wear a Campbell tartan, for instance; I'm not a Campbell.

Fortunately, there is a tartan I'm entitled to wear. Otherwise, I might have to settle for Woodland Camo. Maybe I'll do something about it in time for next year's Tartan Day.

Wow. A whole weekend away from the internet.

Last week sure was fun, no? I think I read a novel's worth of blog entries over the course of the week. I probably could have written a chapter or two of commentary myself. Not that it would have been particularly insightful commentary....

It does lead me to believe that the more successful bloggers don't read quite as much — they just have the art, skill and/or magical ability to find the good stuff to read before they write.

I wonder if I ought to spend more of my internet time doing analysis and commentary on two or three things, rather than reading everything that crosses my path every day and commenting on none or one.

If there was an online version of the local weekly paper, then I might be a thorn in their side their unofficial ombudsman, but the Apex Herald isn't... oh, wait.

Talk about a niche blogging market.

A Kerry cousin was a close friend of Lee Harvey Oswald.

Make of it what you will... preferably nothing.

[Though if it were a Bush cousin, you know precisely what the moonbats would be howling, don't you?]

[OK, OK, now I'm leaving.]

I was fresh out of the shower; my shirt, pants shoes and socks were all upstairs with freshly-towelled-off me. Skivvies, on the other hand, were all in the dirty clothes hamper or downstairs in the laundry room, stacked on the dryer, leading to something of an epiphany.

There is something deeply and fundamentally liberating about "going commando."

[Jeff Goldstein's Levi's might disagree.]

Someone in the past two weeks hit my tipjar — anonymously, of course, since that's how Amazon works. Also due to the way Amazon works, I just found out about it.

(No, I do not check it daily. Why bother?)

Whoever you are, thanks very much.

I spent most of the day helping a relative try to fix a hijacked browser. Gads.

Virus writers, spammers, crackers: hangin's too good for 'em. But it'll have to do.

So I've posted nothing whatsoever until now, and I'm still getting traffic at levels comparable to my busier days (which, compared to the big dogs of the blogosphere, ain't that busy.) (Or even compared to the middle-sized dogs.)

I'm getting traffic today from search engines. Everyone does, but sometimes people search for things that can cause a traffic spike. Here are the last 20 search engine queries that have brought people to this site:

   "jonah's military"
   Eugen Armstrong beheading
   beheading of eugen armstrong
   eugen armstrong beheading in iraq
   eugen armstrong beheading
   eugene armstrong beheading
   watch the beheading of eugen armstrong
   spirit of the bayonet
   saddam trial
   emersons lumber
   Eugen Armstrong beheading
   "miserable failure"
   john kerry sailboarding
   iraqi tv
   rico statutes
   "Katherine J. Lopez"
   eugen armstrong beheading
   ACTUAL BAD BABY NAMES
   beheading of Eugene Armstrong
   california bmg cartridge

See a trend here? (Apart from the fact that a lot of people can't spell "Eugene"?) The odd thing is that I haven't written squat about recent terrorist murders of civilians in Iraq.

So if you're one of the snuff junkies looking for video of a real murder: get bent, you perverts.

In other Google-related news, after more than a year at the top, I've dropped to #2 in the search for "Thomas Friedman idiot".

Update, 9/24: Back to #1.

Chief Wiggles needs an assist. It's important.

Roast beef on rye? Are you nuts?

Steve, Steve, Steve... for roast beef it's sourdough, or nothing.

Corned beef, though... mmm... corned beef....

In the previous note about the passing of Julia Child, I neglected to note that she spent her latter years in my hometown, Santa Barbara. [Montecito, actually, but no one knows where Montecito is.] I can't tell you exactly where her home was, but then, I haven't lived there in quite a number of years.

However, on my occasional visits to the old homestead, I frequently hear stories about some of the celebrities who live nearby. Montecito is the home of choice for quite a few of the Hollywood crowd: Oprah's estate is about half a mile from my Mom's house; my nieces and nephew went to school with Paul Hogan and Linda Kozlowski's kid; Kathy Ireland and her family go to my Mom's church; Kenny Loggins used to live three houses down the street, and so on.

Julia Child was one of the folks about whom I heard tales. In the comments to my previous post, Mom writes:

Did I ever tell you about the women at Von's grocery who would follow Julia around just to see what was in her shopping cart? Yep - the meat department and produce were most popular. She was a nice lady and loved going out to other homes for dinner where she would eat whatever was fixed and not complain about it.

If anyone on the planet had the right to criticize other peoples' cooking, it was Mrs. Child... yet she was always gracious.

I also failed to mention the thing I found most intriguing about her, that she had been in the OSS during the Second World War. Many people told stories about her supposed exploits behind enemy lines and whatnot, but she always dismissed those tales and said she had merely been a file clerk. She was that, and a little bit more, but she never inflated her own exploits.

She was the product of a different age, of course. She served her country, and afterwards did much to improve the lives of many people, even if it was something as simple as better-tasting food.

She had real class, and she'll be missed. I wish more people were as classy.

In a way, I got something from her, too. Every time I visit Santa Barbara, I make a point of going with my brother to one particular dingy-looking dumpy little Mexican restaurant in the low-rent part of town, "La Super Rica." Ordinarily, I tend to avoid places which might be called "dives" (or more politely, "shacks.")

But Julia Child once said it was her favorite Mexican restaurant. Now it's mine, too.

I just saw the news that Julia Child has passed away.

In remembrance, I plan to prepare and consume a good dinner tonight.

[Brian has more commentary at Memento Moron, as does Jay at One Fine Jay.]

Are Jehovah's Witnesses getting too lazy to walk door-to-door?

I just got a telemarketing call from them.

OK, granted, it's supposed to be hot and humid here today, but not oppresively so. Just enough that most folks wouldn't really want to walk around outdoors too much, I imagine (I certainly wouldn't want to).

But come on guys, telemarketing?

You'd think they would try harder. Well, at least it saved me the trouble of having to politely but firmly shut the door in their faces.

Been pretty busy the past couple days... road trips (Pinehurst is nice...) and other activities with visiting parent.

Posting will be scattershot at best.

It seems I'm not alone in thinking that modern girls' fashion is, well, slutty.

One girl did something about it.

Bravo, young lady!

OK, maybe I'm too much of a hermit. I mean, it's tempting to stay in front of the computer, but I really ought to get out more often. So I took my Mom to dinner tonight, nothing fancy. Just a country-style buffet place (with steaks!)

But something struck me as odd.

From my observations, I concluded that we have a denim shortage in this country.

What, you might ask, is your evidence?

I saw scores — hundreds, even — of young women strolling around, and their bluejeans simply were not high-rising enough to reach the bottoms of their shirts/blouses. The same applied to the women in denim skirts and shorts. Obviously, I concluded, a market shortage has forced the price of denim so high that clothing makers are skimping.

Then my Mom noted that it's the fashion these days to bare the midriff. Sigh. Yet another setback for empirical observational science.

Mom - 1; science - 0.

That being the case, I have a purely subjective comment or two to make. To those ladies, girls, and other womenfolk:

1) You look like hookers. Unless you really are a hooker, knock it off.

     1a) If you really are a hooker, find some place other than a family restaurant to ply your trade.

2) If your gut sticks out farther in front of you than your boobs do, you might want to rethink the whole bare midriff concept.

     2a) It's just... just... so wrong...

     2b) And it's seriously repulsive — like Spandex at a Jenny Craig newcomers' night.

3) While it may be marginally tolerable for plumbers to do so, flashing butt-crack is not considered de rigeur, nor is it as attractive as you may think it is.

4) What the heck are you doing with a tattoo on the small of your back?

     4a) Is that supposed to mean something?

     4b) Do your parents know about this?

Thank you for your attention.

What is the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything?

42.*

Another birthday. Like I said last year: big deal.

[Update, 25May04: Yes, I got the telephonic rendition of the Birthday Song last night.]