I got back from yet another business trip this Friday and spent Saturday watching soccer, prepping the yard for winter, stacking firewood and finally putting the new front brake on my scooter. It wasn’t that difficult, but I did have to disassemble the entire front end to get the damned thing in there. That done, I slapped all of the panels back on, put on the left mirror, started to put on the right mirror and discovered that either the threads were stripped in the new brake cylinder/mirror mount (brilliant idea, combining those two items. Dammit, where’s my sarcasm tag?), or the manufacturer had made the brilliant move of switching thread counts for the hole. Son . . . of . . . a . . . um, scooter? A quick search of my toolbox showed that I’ve misplaced most of my tap and die stuff over the years (most likely somewhere in the yard, used by the boy-child to practice his golf swings). So, off to Sears to pick up some new tools. Once I tapped out the hole, the mirror mounted perfectly and I finally got to take my first real ride on my scooter. Which ended abruptly when I decided to test out the anti-lock brakes on some wet grass. The brakes locked, I took a dive, and now I have no windscreen. Oh well. I am following Jennie’s lead and switching to a motorcycle next year — too much plastic and too low a center of gravity for me to feel comfortable on this thing.

I noticed that Idaho made the news again last week. My town, even. Seems we’ve got a fellow up here running a landscaping business who misses the good ol’ days. The good ol’ pre-Civil War days, that is. His rebel flag flies high, and his big sign out front (which seriously needs some editing) is a beacon of ignorance and intolerance. Oh how I love the common folk (yes, you Blazing Saddles fans can continue on with the line).
His sign: Peds, fags and queers your in Idaho now
I guess that is in case anybody crossing the state line missed the big “Welcome To Idaho” sign. I could be wrong about my earlier intolerance conclusion; maybe he really likes pedestrians, small burning sticks and odd people and thought he’d give them all a shout out. Um, yeah.

So, the title. Where did it come from? Well, I spent one night this week comforting the ill: Holding her hair back while she puked, bringing her water to drink, turning off the light, putting her into bed and trying to correctly decipher her statements. The ill asked me if I’d turn on the shower if she climbed in the toilet. I agreed. She then climbed in the tub. So confusing for me. Later, after I rolled her into bed, she fell into a fitful sleep, punctuated by frequent odd outbursts. My favorite was the following, made in a rather upset voice: “Oh no, Jesus has no penis!” Which begs the question: What was she doing with naked Jesus?

And let us now end this thing on an uplifting note from Donald Rumsfeld regarding the Iraq war:
“The enemy has brains and knows how to use them.”

Well gee. I thought we had brains as well. Perhaps it is time we start using our brains.

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