Quitting time! Yay! Other than a little indoor soccer and excavation of my desk, I have no plans for the weekend. Maybe I’ll try to fit in the half hour of exercise per day I missed Mon -> Fri this week. Nah, kicking back and reading whilst ignoring the screams of the short ones sounds like more fun. Still no word on whether I am spending next week in Denver. Hmmm . . . do I just ignore the whole thing and hope it all goes away? Probably not. Damn. Okay, quitting time in ten minutes. Somebody please queue the band.

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Well, he’s a bit more cranky than I am about it, but it looks like George Tenet wants security slackers off the ‘net as well.

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It doesn’t pay to start work early around here. After my long commute from the bedroom out to the study, I plunk myself down in front of my monitor and try to get an early start. All systems go, I begin the daily despamming of my work email. A few minutes later though, I see him out of the corner of my eye; four years and thirty-something pounds of anti-work are heading to my desk. It’s just the quickest flash, but I know he’s behind me and prepared to attack. I try to ignore the inevitable for just a few minutes.
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Maybe not, but at least the end of the day. Mission Nothing Accomplished for me. I may be heading out to Colorado for a week or two, starting next Wednesday, or I may not. Should be fun; I can hear the screams from home already. I’d better start moving the laundry mountain now if I expect to wear anything clean next week. Although, that could provide me with a bit extra space on the flight over . . . Blah. I’m burnt out.

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And thank goodness, because it is better to do something on-time than to do it right. . . maybe we could fly a Mission Accomplished banner for this one too.

Oh hey now, more Scott Peterson. Screw it, not even worth the link. People are judged by their worst actions, not there best, so sorry, I don’t care how good Peterson was up until the time of the murder of his wife and unborn child. There’s no sympathy from here (of course, there’s also no push for the death penalty from here either, but that’s just because I am unamerican enough to believe human life is supposed to hold value. Damned humanist philosophy!- you’ve ruined my enjoyment of a perfectly good execution! Why couldn’t I be a good Christian and cast some stones here?).

Okay, enough flame-baiting — time to get back to work. Really.

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Ugggh! I shouldn’t make lunch when I am in a hurry; I ended up choosing a chocolate-chip bagel for this afternoon’s turkey sandwich. I thought they were raisins. If I weren’t so hungry right now, I’d turn thisIt could have been worse — I could have selected the moldy bagel. Mmmmm!- chocolate and turkey. Anybody want to trade?

In other news, I think we’re down to the last ten pounds or so of turkey, and the oyster stuffing has vanished. Either someone else finally decided to experiment, or the chickens are eating well today. Okay, time to quit procrastinating and get back to work. The mind-numbing code I face today isn’t going to write itself . . .

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Unless it is a hoax, I am pretty confident this guy voted for Bush.

What else? How about some random stuff I found . . . Religion and politics

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Well darn, I lost my original link on Condoleeza Rice’s Senate confirmation. That’s sad, because the original article mentioned that some folks might be concerned that Ms. Rice might not be willing to provide even the token of opposition that her predecessor did. Oh well, can’t let a small thing like the whole basis of my rant being missing stop me from venting.
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Hey hey winter’s coming! The lawn is frozen, there’s ice on the boat, and the swarm of fruit flies in the hitchen has finally died. I knew there was a reason for this season! Now I need to find my ear-flap hat so I can take a walk. Brrrrr — my nipples are tiny ice daggers. Look out, world!

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Ah, the joys of parenthood! This morning I awoke to the sounds of laughter, followed shortly by the angry voice of the girl-child:
“Say you’re sorry!”
“No!”
Trying to be a bit more forceful, she uses a calmer, more determined sounding voice: “Aaron, say you’re sorry.”
“No! Mo-ommm, dad! Help!”
“say you’re sorry or I’ll pee on you!”
That was my cue to get out of bed, I think. Moses had his burning bush, and I have the urinating girl-child. This is all going to be a real chum-bucket of fun when they hit their teen years, isn’t it?

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