Wow. Just, wow. So while trying to figure out how a man who brings his mum with him to his political rallies can be considered a maverick (Maverick: -noun 1. an unbranded calf, cow, or steer, esp. an unbranded calf that is separated from its mother. Has to be this, since he’s definitely been branded Republican and sure as hell isn’t a loner or dissenter), I decided to flip through the local entertainment rag and came across an ad for a Foreigner concert at one of the local casinos. Foreigner, presented by the AARP. I’ll only admit to owning a single Foreigner album (hey, it was the eighties!), but that’s the music of my teen years, not music for the elderly! Next they’ll be sponsoring Journey, Styx and Billy Squire and I’ll just have to add tennis balls to the legs of my walker and accept that I am no longer up and coming but on the downhill slide. Sigh.

I feel icky. I tried watching Giuliani’s speech at the RNC, but couldn’t make it through. It’s hard to believe people actually look up to this fuckface. In the few minutes I watched, he claimed that the phrase “Islamic terrorist” was an insult to terrorists, that John McCain’s skill in crashing jets and committing adultery made him an American Hero, that the budget-busting borrow and spend approach of Bush somehow equates fiscal responsibility and that being the mayor of Wasilla, AK made you ready to take on the role of Commander in Chief on day one.

He apparently hasn’t read a newspaper or watched the news in the past 7 years, because he also thought Bush was battling terrorism rather than fucking around in Iraq, a country that had nothing to do with the 9/11 attacks that Giuliani so gets off on. Calling him a rat-faced bastard is an insult to rats and bastards. And anything with a face. As bad as Giuliani was and is, though, he isn’t half as bad as the sycophantic turds in the audience cheering him on. If this is the face of America, we are thoroughly screwed.

The season, barely begun, has unofficially ended. Fall is here, in fog and rain and a heavy coat of grey. The pool, infrequently used, is leaf-blown and much too cold to swim in. In a normal summer, if there is such a thing, we open in mid-May and close in mid-September. Our last good swim is on Labor day. Unless there is a sudden upswing in temperature, we will be hot-tubbing for Labor day. I missed the summer this year. Both weeks.

The kids did all the cool things I never did as a kid: Went on a cruise to Alaska with grandma, went to camp, lounged by the pool (on the few warm days) and played way too many video games. I wanted to go to camp as a kid, but never did. Now that I am older, camp has a weird association for me. I think not of kids run amok, but of those lovely camps that clipped off so much of my family tree on my father’s side during WWII. Makes sending the kids off to camp somewhat creepy. Fortunately, the focus these days seems to be on crafts and playing, not forced labour and finding new ways to kill people en masse.

It’s 5:15pm and my beer is only half empty. Must be Friday. Ah, that explains why I am watching Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog and not working. If only I’d thought to order a Wine Rack, I wouldn’t have to go upstairs in five minutes for another drink. I have two new books to read, but here I sit in a slightly dazed haze of booze (yes, I am a cheap drunk these days, having started to go glossy with one beer). Books will have to wait until tomorrow — I need to find out if Billy gets Penny, or whether she sticks with hammerpenis.

And finally, don’t forget to Get Your War On.

I missed a good time yesterday. While I toiled away in the sweatshop that is my basement office (I need to get my fan back from the dwarves), Jennie and the kids went to Silverwood. The only low point was Aaron’s roller-coaster ride, which ended with a bloody nose and black eye. Apparently, tucking your head and letting your face slam repeatedly into the safety bar while waiting for the ride to be over is not fun. Poor little guy. After getting off the ‘coaster, he pointed to the top of the ride and said “I left my stomach up there.” He’s done with roller-coasters, I guess.

Sorry to get geeky here, but thanks to Matt, my Bookmarks Order Widget is a bit less buggy now and available here.

Considering Bush has been selling America to the Chinese over the past seven years, it makes sense he’d ask for SOMETHING in return besides loans for our Global War of Terror. Funny, I always thought one of the pillars of the conservative movement was personal responsibility. I guess that doesn’t extend to war money.

Sigh . . . if only the pretzel plot had succeeded . . .

Why did I think electing a Dem would bring back the illusion of the separation of church and state? I wish I could quit you, Obama, but there’s still no way in hell that McCrone is getting my vote. Hey Barry, quit compromising, dammit!

I have built an awesome BlackBery speakerphone amplifier. Unfortunately, marketing may be a bit difficult. If you are like me, you are not happy with the tinny sound you get from your BlackBerry speaker. Well, be unhappy no more! With my miracle amplifier, you will have a fuller, deeper sound for your calls.

Step 1: Grab a roll of toilet paper.
Step 2: Put the roll of toilet paper on your desk with the tube standing vertically.
Step 3: Put the BlackBerry on the toilet paper roll, speakerphone pointing into the tube.

Yay! You now have a Nathan Oliphant Original BlackBerry Amplifier (NOOBA). Amaze your friends and family with the improved sound quality! Impress your co-workers with your creativity! Just make sure you replenish the toilet paper holder before your wife steps into the bathroom if you didn’t grab a fresh roll from the supply closet for step 1.

The joys of owning an older home are many-fold. I am learning all sorts of skills I would have never considered before just to keep this thing from collapsing around our ears. I am able to stimulate the economy frequently with my trips to the hardware store, checks to various contractors, and extra booze from the liquor store to provide an occasional sense of oblivion that lets me escape the question “What’s going to break next?” Over the past three years I have replaced every toilet in the house (two by necessity, one just because it was too damned hideous to keep), replaced the roof and the occasional window (yes, single pane glass seems a bit silly in a climate that ranges from 0f to 110f), dealt with various plumbing nightmares and have been constantly reminded of the previous owner’s (or PO for the rest of this) love of PVC. When I am not repairing something, I am usually out trying to eradicate the noxious weed sanctuary that is our yard. Five acres of knapweed, milkweed, thistles and more! Joy.

This week, two months and two years late, I decided to learn how to maintain sprinklers. Sure, I’ve replaced the occasional sprinkler head, had to replace a hundred yards or so of PVC in the lawn when the tissue-thin variety PO so very loved burst under pressure, the occasional shovel strike or the sheer weight of boredom, discovered how NOT to wire automatic sprinklers and replaced the occasional solenoid. But beyond blowing out the lines at the end of the season, or replacing something when a sprinkler quit working, I’ve never really maintained my sprinklers. Turns out you can get them to work better if you clean their filters, or at a minimum, clear the gravel from the pipes when things clog. Now our sprinklers are clean and working properly. The sprinkler system is, in fact, better than it was when we moved in, as long as you don’t count the one we can no longer find in the front lawn and are really hoping we didn’t install the fence directly over it. Hooray!

Well, almost hooray. It seems someone has stabbed one of the sprinkler lines, so now we have a beautiful fountain on watering days. Fuck. I am ready to move to a condo. No sprinklers, no mowing, and no knapweed. At least I have something to do this evening beyond read and weed.