Oookay. three hours of sleep is not nearly enough. I stayed up late last night/this morning surfing the ‘net (much dryer, and doesn’t require a wet suit, although I’m sure there are sites that would encourage their use. And a webcam. And a donkey.), taking advantage of my absent wife. Or, more precisely, my wife’s absence. This does not make for a happy morning.

Right now I am m waiting for my daughter’s swim practice to end so that I can go back to bed for a few minutes. Some people strive for wealth, some strive for power, love, sex or happiness. I strive for a nap.

Yep, definitely feeels like a mocha morning. Sans Maker’s Mark, because really, after 35, alcohol before 8 am is just ridiculous. At this age, you really shouldn’t be drinking anytime before the morning bloody mary.

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This Thursday is “Take Your Daughters and Sons To Work” day. It used to be “Take Your Daughters To Work” day, but the boys must’ve been too pissed off to stay in school. So now, you get them both. As my kids were both too young when I worked in an office (although I did celebrate the occasional “Take Your Daughter To School With You Because Your Babysitter Flaked” day when I was in college), I have never celebrated this event. Now that they are older, perhaps it is time to try it. As a remote worker, they can spend the day in my basement office, sorting papers and cleaning while watching me swear at my monitor and spastically jab at the keyboard. I am sure it will be an education for them.

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Hey hey hey Friday. I should be hard at work, but my head is killing me and sitting up makes me want to puke. Nothing like a spinning world. I wanted to write something thought-provoking, or at least interesting, but after this, what else is there to say? For anyone too lazy to follow the link, I’ll include the content of this incredibly great letter to the editor in the continuation.
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Woo-hoo! I got a new mower today. That may not be exciting to you young-uns, but as you get older, you learn to find excitement in new things. The thrill of a first kiss, the excitement of finally getting laid, the ecstasy of fine piece of chocolate . . . all are now replaced by new lawn toys. Another year or two and I’ll start wearing suspenders. For my socks.

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Today would be a good day for a new episode of BOFH. Of which, dammit, there is not. At least I’ve shaken my headache of the past two days.

So, what are the criteria for being moderately amusing? Do I need to write something amusing, or does my appearance count? How about instead of amusing, I go for creative? Here is my new step-style poetry scheme:

Hawk
flies overhead
floating on thermals
while far below, afraid,
a fieldmouse quivers in fear.

Okay, not all that creative, but hopefully the 1-2-3-4-5 word scheme is new. Or am I just ignorant? It’s like haiku for people who find the whole 5-7-5 syllable scheme to be too complex.

Beer
flowing freely
converted to urine
dribbles on my shoe
I really need to aim better.

The same image of beauty could be expressed in Haiku as follows:
Beer flowing freely
dribbling into my shoe
I need better aim.
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Eh. It’s too damned early and I didn’t make it to the gym today. Time to work out my frustration on the keyboard. Happy wednesday, y’all. Or all y’all.

Scotty quit! Gee, now there’s a shocker. More likely he was canned. You’d think after 2-1/2 years he would have learned to at least fake sincerity and competence rather than sweating like a fat man in Texas and pouting whenever he was asked an honest question. I still wonder — was he so awful because he actually had a conscience and didn’t like lying every time he opened his mouth, or was he so awful because nobody higher up really ever told him anything in the hopes that he wouldn’t blow it by actually saying anything that approximated the truth? Here’s hoping Bush can find a better lying scumbag to pretend to inform the press.
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Sun! Glorious sun!
I’d like to lay out
and tan my bum!
But no, oh foo!
I’ve got work to do.

Still, Spring has come,
and with it,
so has the sun.

Snow-capped peaks
and fields of green,
a dappling of dew,
a pair of deer
doing something obscene!
Oh how I love
this schizophrenic time of year!
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I tried to look myself up on myspace and all I got was this:

“Your search bears no result.”

I prefer “There are no results”, “There are 0 results”, or some derivative of same. “You search bears no result” sounds as if I put more effort into it, and failed. True, I failed to find myself (on myspace — in the world, I find myself fairly easily), but do they really need to highlight my failure in such a depressing way?

So, I’ve added a myspace profile, just to see what it is all about. Other than Susie Felber, whom I usually ogle here, or Rachel Kramer Bussel, who really makes me wish I was a cupcake every time I look at her picture on Susie’s space, I haven’t found a reason to visit myspace.
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a sunny morn
a shaft of light
a quiet room
a sleeping cat
content
in a pool of light

Just as the sun sets in the west, rises in the east and blisters my nose in the summer, I am certain that I have some of the laziest beasts on the planet living here with me. At the moment, farting dog is lying at my feet, making sure I don’t extend my legs too far under my desk and adding a slightly greenish tinge to the air in here. Hopefully the vacuuming will be done in the hallway soon so that I can open a door.

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Oh, the joys of being wise. Or maybe not quite wise, but perceived as wise by those who should know better. I received a call from one of my many brothers-in-law (brother-in-laws?):

Him: “Are you busy?”
Me: “No, just working.”
Him: “Good. Are you near your computer?”
Me: “No, but I could be. What do you want?”
Him: “Look up itidata.org.” (note: I’m not going to include a link, since they appear to be a typical sleazy “Make millions working from home and in your sleep” site.)
Me: “What, is this another one of your “get rich quick” schemes?”
Him: “Just look it up and tell me what you think.”
Me: “Okay . . . yep, a scam.”
Him: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Well, it looks like one, and . . .” tap-tap-tap “yep, per any link I can google, it looks like one. You pay them 99 bucks and they ignore you. Sounds like a scam to me.”
Him: “Oh, okay, bye.”
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