Secret: The true burden of our debt

Here's something neither politcal "party" wants you to know: America is in unbelievably. deeply in debt. If the debt were spread out equally among all our citizens it would be $161,287 per man, woman and child - - or $645,148 per family of 4, for a grand total of forty eight trillion dollars. ($48,000,000,000,000!!)

What our elected officials will confess to is a debt of $8 trillion and some change. That is commonly called Total America Debt and is defined as the sum of all recognized debt of federal, state & local governments, international, private households, business and domestic financial sectors, including federal debt to trust funds. But it excludes the un-funded liabilities such as social security, government pensions and Medicare.

If you included the liabilities (or the ones we can foresee) total debt in America becomes $48 trillion. See the image above for a breakdown of un-funded liabilities and their cost per household.

And if you want to lose even more sleep, realize that nobody is predicting the long term cost of our wounded troops (34,650 as if 05/19/07) returning from Iraq. There may be medical bills for each of them for years or decades to come. And nobody has begun to even estimate the size of the bill for that.

The Republicans do not want to tell you the true depth of our debt because they know it will add even more fuel to the fire and accelerate the downward spiral of Bush's popularity numbers. And god-forbid somebody wake up and realize we've spent $438B (BILLION!) in Iraq.

(For the curious, the money we've spent on Iraq could have sent 21,000,000 kids to college for four years. The money we've spent on Iraq could have hired 7,000,000 more school teachers. The money we've spent on Iraq could have sent 58,000,000 children to fully funded Head Start programs. The money we've spent on Iraq could have built 4,000,000 homes for American citizens. Instead it bought us: 3600 dead men and women in the armed forces, almost 35,000 wounded men and women in the armed forces, and as many as 72000 dead Iraq citizens. But on the good side, Halliburton's stock has gone from $8.94 in July, ‘02 to a recent high of $37.93.)

The Democrats do not want to tell you the true depth of our debt cause they know the first items that will be cut in order to (shudder) balance the budget will be social programs and minority spending. Both of which will have negative results on their popularity.

So we are spoon fed lies by both sides. Our elected officials are sitting in office spending and spending and spending as quickly as they possibly can, knowing the burden of the debt doesn't fall on THEIR shoulders. It will be our burden to bear. And our children. And our grand children.

It is easy to spend somebody else's money. But who bears the budren of that debt?

The Flesh Is Weak

After four hours of digging and sawing and prying and slicing, I was exhausted. Drenched in layers of earth and sweat and venom. Weary beyond belief. And it was just yardwork. Honest, ardous work. With my hands and my back. Man against nature. I'm not sure who won.

I can only imagine how tough my forefathers had to be. They spent days and weeks at a stretch, clearing farmland or leveling a foundation. I had a recipricating saw, machete, shears, rake, and the ever-handy fubar. They did it without power tools. Without Gatorade. And probably little more than a single long handled axe and a knife.

My sweat bought me a couple of projects: one less dead bush behind the deck, two entire trashcans of bamboo roots hauled to the alley, three old shrubs cleared along side the fence, replaced two missing pickets, dug up a small stump, and muscled up three wheel barrows full of roots from either old stumps or the few remaining ones. I still have about a third of the fence to do. The extension cord wasn't long enough and I ran out of daylight before I could do more.

But I learned that nature does nothing lightly. I'm two hundred pounds and I could barely budge some of the long, gangly roots. No idea how old they were. Many could have outdated me. But I cut them up with the saw, sliced into them with the machete, or pulverized them with the fubar. And in the end, I was pretty much useless for the rest of the night. But it felt good. Felt GREAT. Working with my hands. Cutting lose my pent up frustrations. It bordered on cathartic. Natural therapy. And a harder workout than most I get from the gym.

Those old homesteaders had to be made of stone. My flesh is obviously weak.

On the fence

I didn't get to go to the gym. Gigi tricked me into babysitting my niece, Alice, while Gigi ran to the store for a while. By the time I was freed from the extra responsibility, the child care at World Gym was closed.

But I made the most of what I had left.

A couple of weeks (probably MONTHS!) ago I cut down a section of our fence, by the garage. My intent was to make a long gate that would allow direct access to the backyard. While I was proud of my efforts (especially considering it was completely unplanned and entirely free-styled) my creativity greatly outweighed my experience. I ended up with a twelve foot wooden gate that was so heavy that I was the only one who could move it. And the ended end nearly gouged a rut in the earth with only a few weeks of use.

To make the gate more practical, I split it in half and hinged both ends. Now it opens in the middle, doesn't carve up the yard as much, and anyone can swing it open. The original post which bore all the weight of the twelve foot gate still leans a bit. I can't straighten it, so there a bit of trickery involved in securing it for the night. But over all, I'm much happier with it. And it gave me an excuse to use the power tools. Liam helped hold the frame. Meg helped hold the boards while I cut them. And everyone behaved.

I also managed to seed the bare patches in the front yard, and walk the grounds with a bag of ant poison, killing any mounds that I could find. And, of course, Meg watered the corn.

All in a hard days work.

Touchdown

When the Space Shuttle Challenger stained the skies of Florida, I was in ninth grade, eating lunch. A peperoni pizza from Domino's. The shuttle had only been in the air for 73 seconds (a prime number) and we were so acustomed to NASA's flawless launches that we weren't even watching the initial launch. But we watched the reply. Over. And over. Dozens of us huddled in the hallway, wide-eyed. Numbly trying to grasp the magnitude of the disaster. The weight of those astronaut's deaths lowing onto our shoulders like a slow, grim cloud. For my generation, it was JFK's brains strewn across the horizon. A crisp, lucid momen. Forever lodged in my mental craw.

When the Space Shuttle Columbia disintegrated over the long fields of Texas, Cindy was getting Meg up from a nap. Our daughter wasn't even a year old. Liam wasn't even three. But when the smouldering debris started to rain down through the mid-day clouds, I called him to see the report. And we all watched the events unfold. Watched in silence as the NASA and the American people and the world again came to grips with another tragedy. Witnessed more of our best and brightest being erased from the face of the earth.

When the Space Shuttle Discovery landed today, Keith and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were watching it in his office, on the big screen. And when its wheels kissed the tarmac and that great white brick slowed to a stop, we quietly cheered.

It doesn't matter what I think about NASA's misplaced budget. Or how it pains me to see children who no longer want to grow up to be an astronaut. What matters is that they came home. They were safe. Their families could breathe a little easier. And the nation could go to sleep knowing they had lived to see another day. Touchdown.

RIP: Bob Evans

Wow. Small, amazing universe. I was reviewing my old notes and looking up an image for my entry on 04/07/8, when I came across this:
"Bob Evans passed away on Thursday, June 21, 2007. "

That's today. I just looked over my notes about his diner. And he just died. Today!

Well. Rest in peace, Bob. I really enjoyed your restaurant. The cooks would have made you proud. The waitresses would have made you proud, too. You left us with a fine heartland tradation. Long may they reign.

Unskinny

"You were much smaller last year, Jon," Lam said.

"Huh?"

"I was setting up a camcorder last year, and had some video of you at your desk. You were a lot smaller back then."

Ouch. Not something you're expecting to hear every day. And nothing you like to have repeated.

So I watched the video. And Lam was right. My face looked thinner. And I was actually smiling. Maybe I had shaved that morning. Maybe a trick of the light or the angle. But I was smaller.

And now I have this voice in the back of my head. "Shouldn't you be eating more salad and less pizza?" But I like pizza! "Shouldn't you do some more cardio today?" But I hate running! "Maybe a smaller piece of pie?" I LIKE PIE!

(sigh)

I like pie.

Cage Fighting Fundamentals

Sun Tzu wrote: "the clever combatant imposes his will on the enemy, but does not allow the enemy's will to be imposed on him."

At today's sparing practice, Liam imposed his will on not one, not two, not three, but four enemies. And he beat each of them.

This past weekend I told him the other kids had only one tactic: throw the first kick. During each of the previous matches, the winner was determined by who could raise his leg first, beat the other kid before he could do the same. There was no skill. No finesse.

Liam may not have been able to outkick all of the other kids, but I knew he could outsmart them. I knew he could control the fight. Force the enemy into unfamiliar territory. He could turn the tide in his favor.

The other kids are used to a kicking match. They're expecting it. And we practiced doing the unexpected. Over and over I'd yell, "Fight!" and Liam would immediately jump to his right, dodging the inevitable first kick, then cut lose with a series of punches and a final kick. We kept practicing and talking about making the opponent fight OUR FIGHT. Cutting to the right (the enemy's left) and not giving the opponent the time to adapt to the situation. Break the pattern. Impose our will.

The first match was against Tanner. I was hoping Liam would start with someone easier. Tanner had won his first two matches. He was small and quick. But Liam stuck to the plan. He dodged every one of Tanner's kicks and then stepped in close and at least one of his punches would find their mark. Much to everyone else's surprise, Liam won the match. And he did it without losing a single point.

The second match was against an older kid. Taller than Liam. With a much longer reach. But the outcome was the same. Liam lost a point, but the other kid couldn't adapt to the new style. He couldn't do anything other than launch the first kick and hope it landed. If it did, Liam usually blocked it. And sometimes the kid blocked Liam's punches. But in the end, Liam kept imposing his will, and won another victory.

The third match was interesting. The boy was smaller than Liam, and he wore glasses. Either he didn't know how to kick, or he'd been watching Liam's style, because they quickly got into a punching matching. Fortunately we'd been practicing combinations. And the third round was mostly a series of Liam throwing punch - punch - shin kick. And the smaller boy went to the back of the line, with Liam staying in the winner's circle.

The final match was against a much bigger boy. He easily had twenty pounds on Liam. I'd watched this kid's first fight and knew he had a trip-hammer for a leg and lots of power behind his kicks. Liam, however, was high on his success and had gotten used to the recent punching match. The instructor yelled, "Fight!" and Liam took a kick right in the jaw. It knocked him on his ass but cost the other kid a point (you can't strike near the face.) When Liam got up, I could see the tears welling in his eyes. He'd lost his edge. Had let the enemy impose a new will. I figured the end was a foregone conclusion. I figured wrong. Liam wasn't sad. He was angry. He was mad that the other kid had kicked him. And when the instructor yelled, "Fight!" Liam was on the kid like fat on a pig. He lunged inside the kid's guard and cut loose. The first time it happened, the bigger boy had to retreat, and stepped out of bounds. The second time, Liam scored. It was 3 to 0, in Liam's favor, when the class ran out of time.

He hadn't been beaten. He won all four matches. He wasn't the strongest, or the fastest. But he imposed his will. And stuck to the plan. Sun Tzu and I could not have been prouder of my son.

The illusion of immigration reform

I'm going to share a secret: Exactly none of our elected officials in Washington want to do anything about immigration and exactly none of our elected officals in Washington plan to do anything about immigration.

Exhibit A: The Republicans are not going to offend their financial masters in Big Business. If the pool of cheap, uneducated, uninsured, un-demanding labor were to vanish, Big Business would have to pay decent wages, provide decent benifits, and pay taxes to employ legal citizens. And trust me, SOMEBODY will fill any and every job out there. The universe abhors a vacuum. And Big Business abhors anything that affects their profits. So the GOP isn't going to make any serious movement toward real reform.

Exhibit B: The Democrats are not going to offend potential minority voters. They believe it was the minorities that got them elected (because the wealthy are usually voting along GOP lines) so if the Democrats do anything to impede the flow of more and more foreign immigrants, then they'll offend their voter base and not get elected for another term. So the Democrats are not going to make any serious movement toward real reform.

Exhibit C: Perhaps I'm the only one who remembers this, but WE HAVE IMMIGRATION LAWS NOW! They aren't being enforced. WE HAVE IMMIGRATION OFFICERS NOW! They aren't being staffed properly. None of our elected officials are funding or supporting the policies and procedures we have in place right now. So why would they do anything differently in the future?

The secret? They're humoring the voters. They are going through the motions to make it appear as if they are seriously going to resolve the problem. They point fingers at the other side. They thump their chest and decry their plan to be the best for the nation. They cast blame when nobody does anything. But they are doing something, they are playing both sides against the middle. But like a gang of rats on an ungodly huge treadmill, for all their running and panting, they end up going nowhere.

If our elected officials were truly interested in immigration reform, we could fund and build the biggest and most heavily guarded border the world has ever seen. We could seed a mine-filled DMZ the likes of which would make the Koreans piss themselves. We could surveill every inch of it ever second of the day with modern security systems. We could conduct military training for every branch of the armed services on the border: snipers, air strikes, special forces, coastal fire support.

Across the top: "Abandon all hope yee who enter here!"

But, we don't. At least our elected officials don't. They put on their top hats, whip out their magic wand, and prestidigitate their flimsy illusion of immigration reform. As long as they keep promising and never deliver, we'll keep electing them in the hopes that one day the rabbit comes out of the hat. They know that. So they all, Democrat and Republican alike, perpetuate the political stage show, and we never question the secret of the magicians' tricks.

Bring fresh pants

So GlaxoSmithKline released a new cure for something we don't really need cured. Oprah and her raving horde of sheeple are going to have it flying off the shelves shortly. A new drug called: Alli. It is supposedly yadda yadda the first over-the-counter diet pill yadda yadda approved after years of study yadda yadda by the FDA. Insert the rest of your typical brainwashing about how this pill is what you need to fix all your problems and you really need this thing to put you on par with the rest of the civilized world because you're rapidly losing ground and it will get much worse for you if you don't get a mouth full RIIIIIIIGHT NOW!

Couple of things I'd like to point out:
1: These days you can't even trust over-the-counter TOOTHPASTE in this country. Yet we should trust some new wonderpill that is supposed to make you into a less-orphan-owning, non-depressed-because-of-your-abusive-Pappy, less-rich, far-less tattooed version of Angelina Joli? 2:One of the known (note: KNOWN!) side effects is *drumroll* anal leakage.
3:It isn't a weight loss pill. It is a fat-blocking pill. Supposedly, it prevents your body from absorbing a certain amount of fat.
4:Did I mention anal leakage?
5:You could save time and money by just NOT INGESTING FATTY FOODS, rather than trying to block the fat. But here in the Land of the Free and the Home Of The Obese, it is far easier to just avoid a low-fat, reduced calorie diet and skip exercise than it is to pop a pill.
6:Two words: ANAL LEAKAGE!

Am I the only one who remembers Vioxx? (The FDA approved that.) How about Colchicine? (FDA approved.) The animal drug ProHeart? (Again, FDA approved.) And need I mention the rise and fall of "Fen-Phen" (Phentermine) that left its producer about $2.35B (billion!) lighter after the lawsuits? So I hope you'll forgive my lack of enthusiasm whenever something is said to be "FDA approved."

It might as well say, "Idiot Approved, For Idiots, By Idiots."

So, who wins here? The fast food industry wins, because consumers are free to continue the habits that have made them fat in the first place. The Big Pharma industry wins because they can convince some significant percentage of the population that a pill will fix all their woes. And the pants industry wins because people will be uncontrollably drowning their pants in microsquirts since their stomachs aren't absorbing all the fat from their scattered covered and smothered triple crabby patties.

My advice? Reduce your own fat intake. Reduce your caloric intake. And exercise. Take the money you WOULD have spent on Alli and pants, and buy yourself a membership to a gym. You and your anus will thank me. I promise.

Life with Meg

Caught footage of a private performance from Little Red, aka Baby Bear, aka Meg. Couple of interesting things to point out:

• Meg's completely freestyling the songs. I don't know if she pre-conceived any part of it or not. But most of her performances are unique. Never the same lyrics twice.
  
• I really don't have any idea what she's singing about. I just enjoy that she's willing to share it with us so passionately.
  
• Notice how she lines up the audience, in different collectives base on some internal nomenclature? She does that alllll the time. Lines up everything. Puts them in perfect formation. And sometimes the lines stretch for yards and yards, winding across the room and sometimes spilling into the halls. You can always tell when Meg's involved, because there's a blatant symmetry to the mayhem.
• Click on the picture to enlarge to get a better example of Meg's symmetry. She created a Lego thingy, and the blocks are perfectly matched. It's uncanny the first couple of times you realize it. But she does everything this way. It's always symmetrical.
  

Loud, creative, and orderly. Such is life with Meg.

Hiding the house's past

I spent the morning in the gym. Shoulders and legs. Just powering through the routine and trying to forget about anything else.

Hit the yard, next. New adventure though. Borrowed my father-in-law's tiller. An ancient thing. Probably south of twenty years old. Half broken. Half rusty. All pissed off and angry. A beast to crank and a bronco when it gets going. It was like trying to hold on to a bucking mule. It would bite into the ground and try to pull itself free from me.

There were huge lumpy mounds in the back yard. I tilled them smooth, mostly level with the rest of the ground. Took multiple passes and I had to stop frequently to hack up big roots. And sometimes the old blades would get wrapped with vines. Cumbersome at every turn. But it gave me a newfound respect for my ancestors. Men who must of have done the same thing, with even less favorable tools and in less favorable conditions. The tiller may be a rough brute, but at least it isn't a plow tied up to a braying, stank mule.

Also tilled up an old half-road which led from the back gate to the garage. Of course the garage didn't used to be a garage. It used to be a carport. And the former owners used to come in through the alley, drive through the back, along the half-road, then park under the carport. Over the years the grass had faded and stones were everywhere, like a primitive dirt road. I tilled the whole thing until it wasn't compacted and the stones were gone. It looked like freshly plowed earth.

Come summer and then fall, the grass will grow again. The scars will heal. And hopefully nobody will ever know how I hid the past, how I ground down the mounds or how I covered the road. Nobody but me.

All These Sick Ladies

My Grandmother finally went to the doctor. Turns out that she had double pneumonia. She is back on the road to recovery and well beyond the worst of it. But the fact remains that she's an eighty one year old lady who battled a major illness with only her spirit and her determination to help her through it.

My Mother has a sinus infection. She's coughing and congested and barely recognizable on the phone. Of course she resisted going to the doctor for a couple of days. She thought she'd get past it on her own.
Finally caved in and sought help. She's got meds, now. On her own road to recovery.

Cindy's trying to figure out what is creeping over her. She's getting lethargic and headachy. Moody. But nothing specific that we can pinpoint as the problem. Just a lot of stray symptoms.

Thankfully, I'm good. The children are good, too. Just have to find cures for all these sick ladies in my life.

Career Day - Dr Liam

Bayou View Elementary had "Career Day" today. My boy Liam decided to dress up as "Doctor Liam." Complete with doctor's bag. And a stethoscope. (Click the pic for larger image.) He wants to be a pediatrician. Wants to take care of sick children. Make them better. Make their parents feel better by nursing their children back to good health.

Doctor Liam Connor McDougal. I like the sound of that.

He's seven, now. It will take him twenty years to earn a real coat and stethoscope. If he wants to be there, we'll get him there. No matter what price, we'll get him there.

Curry's revenge

I was in the gym when the curry chicken struck.

One minute I'm going ninety miles per hour, then next my stomach is bellowing like an angry T-rex.

I had to cut the workout short and make a break for the house. Made it, barely.

In Line For Tickets

Meg has a ballet recital in a few weeks. We, as parents, have to buy tickets to the event. And it is reserved seating. So when it comes time to buy tickets, it is an epic adventure. Usually I luck out and Cindy goes. Today she was working. I had to take the kids and wait in line. For, oh... just two hours. Two hours of being the only male in a cluster of angry, frustrated, constantly-complaining Soccer Moms.

"It gets worse every year."

"They never do it right."

"This is ridiculous!"

I'm with you, ladies. But complain is only wasting your time and burning my brain cells.

So, I suffered in silence. The outcome would not have changed anything.

In the meanwhile, my Grandmother is feeling under the weather. She doesn't want to go to the doctor. She refuses when my Mother or my Aunt Susan offer to take her. She says Sears is coming to install some new counter tops in the kitchen, and she wants to be ready for them.

Then, Liam finished Tom Sawyer today. A first grader reading Mark Twain? What will he be up to in 10 years?

MOVIE: Superman Returns

On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give this one a rating of: SUCK!

After catching a really good flick this afternoon, I was hoping for a repeat performance. Several folks had told me that I need to rent this one. That it made up for other failed Superman movies.

Unfortunately, I could barely stomach it. It was painfully slow. The effects, though impressive, couldn't save me from fast forwarding as often as possible. Lex Luther was completely disappointing. The plot embarrassingly trite. Amazingly predictable.

If I had paid $8 to see this on the big screen, I may have walked out and asked for a refund. I don't think it is even worth renting.

Total, utter turd of a movie.

MOVIE: TMNT

I more or less grew up with comic books. TMNT came out in the mid-80s and was high up on my list of favorites. In the 90s, there were a couple of live-action movies that did justice to the turtles.

Here we are, almost 15yrs later, and I'm taking my son to see the same green shelled-ninjas that I followed when I was a kid. He loved it. I really enjoyed it. The CGI was fantastic. Extremely well done. And it only took a couple of seconds to forget you were looking at something generated inside a computer. Sure, it dragged once or twice, but my expectations were set on a comic level, and I wasn't disappointed.

Liam knew all the characters already and we had a great time talking about the martial moves and the weapons. He was out of his seat half the time. Throwing punches at the screen. Offering words of advice on battle tactics and close quarters combat.

Popcorn, soda, and a great movie. Perfect way to spend an afternoon.

Fight night

Rolled to the gym this morning. One of the best workouts in a while. Shoulders and legs. I think whatever bug had nestled in my depths has fled. Not really pushing myself. Just happy to be able get through a set without forcing myself to bang out each rep.

Feeling much better, today.

Cindy let me out of the house for a couple of hours tonight. I went to "Blood And Sand" at the Coliseum. A mixed martial arts even for local fighters. Had guys from Slidell and Hattiesburg, and of course the local gym. Seemed like the place was packed. The ring looked small in real life. Everyone drinking beer and yelling, "Choke him out!" The first few matches flew. But the fights were GREAT! Mostly tapouts. Mostly armbars. (See above.) A couple of rear-naked-chokes. I'm sure there is much I could say about modern man needing such primitive stimulus. Twenty first century and my favorite form of entertainment is watching two greasy, muscled-up gladiators square up against one another in a steel cage. Lights up the ancient, reptilian remnants of my forebrain like a disco ball.

Nothing satiates the need for violence like watching a good old fashioned ass kicking. Even better when it is several hours of it. Not sure how many matches there were, but we didn't roll out until just after eleven.

I'll sleep well, tonight.

Outdated

Work brought about another bombshell outage. Nearly half my day spent on a conference call. Listening to people fix the symptoms of a problem rather than actually finding and resolving the cause of the problem.

For those not in the know, the nuclear option for resolving complex enterprise outages is to shutdown all the servers and bring them up again. We did that. Twice. It did resolve the problem, but nobody knows exactly what we fixed by rebooting everything. Business as usual, it seems.

Afterwards, Cindy and I spent some quiet time together. Just the two of us. Ended up at High Cotton Grill, down the street. Me sipping Grey Goose & Cranberry, gnawing on spicy chicken wings. Cindy picking through a salad and some angry shrimp.

One of those, "rekindle the romance" things that old couples do a few times a year. An attempt to relive the days of yore when we would go out and laugh and drink and talk for hours about ourselves and the future and flirt and try to prolong the wait until we could go home and do what new couples do. But we don't drink much any more. We mostly complain about the smoke and the noise and Cindy recognizes people she knew 25yrs ago. We certainly don't flirt. We do laugh. And we do talk about the future, for our children. But anything remotely resembling romance is out the door.

I've come to discover that we should stick with raising children. Romance is outdated.

Slain by the dragon

Lethargy - noun - the quality or state of being lazy, sluggish, or indifferent

Still fighting off some sapping plague. Still weak. Barely able to do much in the gym. Continually yelling at myself behind my eyes.

Fight it. Fight it! FIGHT IT!

Seems like weeks since I slept. Months since I relaxed. When was the last time I was happy for more than a few hours?

And in the middle a utterly fruitless workout, my cell phone rings. I won't put it down for nearly five hours as an enterprise-scale disaster envelopes the corporation.

Some days, you slay the dragon. Some days, the dragon tears the ass out of you.

Today, I'm slain.

Anti-venom

Logan, Cindy's young cousin, was bit by a Cotton Mouth Viper. Just a baby. But the venom did its job, blackening almost his entire thumb within an hour. They're pumping him full of anti-venom and painkillers. They tried Demerol. It didn't touch the agony he was experiencing. And now he's on "DCH" or something like that. Pretty much morphine.

He was walking down the country road with his mouth when he saw the baby snake along the edge. He went to move it, so it wouldn't get hit by a car. It coiled back and bit him.

We pray he keeps the hand.

Jubilant

Cindy makes it home. Her potassium levels are approaching normal but Cindy will have to keep taking supplements for a while. The children are jubilant. She's smiling. I'm smiling. An enormous weight lifted from our shoulders.

I head to the gym and try to work out. Try. I think I'm coming down with a bug of my own, though. I can barely make it through the workout. I have to silently scream at myself to stay focused. It doesn't really work. I fight my way through a half-assed hour and head home. Hopefully I'll sleep. Now that Cindy's home.

Well again

Cindy stayed at the hospital over night. She is going to stay again. They are pumping her full of intravenous potassium and oral supplements. Her MRI and EKG read normal. So the current theory is that she caught a stomach virus from Meg (who was sick last week) and the lack of food combined with frequent bathroom visits caused her potassium levels to drop.

When I say drop, it is something of an understatement. Her level was so low that it almost reached a point where her heart could stop beating.

Several years ago, the media fixated on the Terri Schiavo case, where a husband was allowed to turn off life support for his catatonic wife, even though her parents wanted to keep her alive and wanted to care for her. I mention it because Terri Schiavo had bulimia which produced a potassium imbalance which in turn caused a cardiac arrest. The lack of oxygenated blood caused brain damage, pushing her into a catatonic state, and ultimately resulted in the Right To Life case that engulfed the nation. If her potassium had gone lower, Cindy could have followed in Terri's wake.

We hope it is under control, now. We're tired. We want to be past this. It is sad to when you pray for health. I don't know what the next phone call will bring. But I tell the kids to be strong. That Mommy is coming home soon. And she will be well again. I hope I'm not lying.

Unhappy Easter

I'm fairly certain the Eastern Bunny hates me. He brought me only anguish and torment this year.

I drove ten hours to bring Cindy home early. The kids take it lightly. Cindy's stomach didn't take it lightly. Not that I liked it. But after thirty some years I've discovered that many times in life like or dislike is irrelevant. So I clenched my jaw and floored it. Cindy moaning half the time. The kids crying for freedom the other half.

I unpacked and collapsed on the bed. My back a twisted wreck.

Cindy packed a new bag and headed to the Emergency Room. Whatever has nested in her stomach is going to get its eviction papers.

At least the kids got candy.

Bounce While You Can

We had breakfast at Bob Evan's. A turkey and spinach omelet that left me hungry for more. Great service, fantastic food, low price. The American dream! Sadly, Cindy could barely eat. Something unfriendly has crept into her belly and taken up residence. Had to happen when we're half a day from home?

Next to the restaurant was a smallish mall dedicated to All Things Christmas. (Helped that we were bundled in our coats and still giddy from our snowball siege.) A miniature steam engine chugging along the crown moulding. Tons of holiday ornaments. An army of miniatures. Mile upon mile of lights. Even a guitar playing Santa Claus that sang to the kids and posed for pictures. I'm not a big fan of the holidays, but I enjoyed the sights and had a good time with the kids as they explored and experiment with all the different gadgets.

In the late morning, we trek to Ripley's Believe It Or Not Aquarium. The cold is now compounded by rain. And while I'm able to drop My Bride and The Kids off at the front door, I have to park then walk two blocks down the way. I couldn't feel my nose after one block. And it is APRIL! But the frostbite was worth the price of admission. The kids played with a remote-controlled Mars Rover. I snuck us into a private class about sharks (where MEG tried to run the show!) We played with live horseshoe crabs. There would spacesuits. The power went out. And we nearly caught our own sting ray!

Cindy's stomach continued to act up and we cancelled our dinner plans, but opted for a light meal at Burger King. The cashier was a young man on clutches. He didn't seem too adept with them. "I hope your leg gets better," I nearly said as he handed me my change. Then I noticed his left pant leg. He didn't actually have a leg. And there were horrible scars on the inside of his left arm. At first I assumed it was a car wreck. But the more thought I gave it, the more I came to believe he had returned from a tour in Iraq. And the best we could do for him was a job charging for Happy Meals. No tickertape parade. Maybe just a purple heart, a pat on the back, and an application for Burger King.

Then Meg breaks my trance. In her own very unique, very special way.

"Daddy, look at that girl," she tries to whisper. Of course whisper means the girl can clearly hear her and so can the people on the other side of the room.

I look up and meet her eyes.

"She's from Little People, Big World," Meg says in the exact instant I realize I'm looking at a Little Person.

The woman smiles. She's not a girl. And nods to me. I'm pretty much frozen in fear that she's going to pull out a gun and shoot me in the face. A deer in the headlights. Embarrassed and scared and looking for a quick escape route.

Instead, she nods and smiles to Meg, "Hi, darling," then continues to enjoy her meal. Diffuses the bomb like a trained professional. Silently acknowledging that she knows Meg was trying to be sweet about it.

Of course My Bride had to have "a talk" with My Daughter once we got into the car. But she's five. It is like having "a talk" with a pogo stick. She's just going to keep bouncing around the room no matter what you tell her.

I say: Keep bouncing, Meg. Bounce while you can, baby. Bounce while you can!

A Flash Of White

The morning is crisp and quiet. I wake to the smell of fresh coffee and the high pitched cheers of two small children. Followed by far too much commotion for too early an hour.

They're all smiles and claps and a tangle of limbs as I find them throwing on the clothes and jackets and mittens.

I pull back the curtains to find everything drown in a pale haze. Snow! Real, honest snow, dusting the world as far as my poor old eyes could see.

This is April. It isn't supposed to be snowing! I'm not supposed to be huddled under a blanket. I'm supposed to be in shorts and drinking tasty beverages!

But the kids are loving it.

They sprint down the steps and begin to furiously scrape giant hand fulls of snow off the car. They don't remember how to make snowballs. Don't know to compact them down to improve their kinetic impact. For as long as the snow lasts, it is like one long cotton fight between two laughing, red nosed drunks. They slip and laugh and try to freeze each others heads.

I try to lend a hand, but it isn't long before my fingers are numb. Then the minivan is wiped clean of ammunition. And the fragile dusting on the ground melts in the new morning light.

But for a while, it was a winter wonderland. And we Southerns have our fun in the brief flash of white.

Dolly, Dolly, Dolly, get your Dollywood here

Today would have been completely and utterly impossible if it were not for Cindy. She's the only one with brains enough to check the weather forecast BEFORE we trek up to the mountains of TN. And if she hadn't, we have been trapped inside all day, wearing shorts, throwing logs onto the fire, and cursing the cold snap which fell upon us.

As it was, we were still freezing. There was no winter last year and we barely have any cold weather gear. What we brought barely kept out the chill as we navigated through Pigeon Forge and into the open, windy embrace of Dollywood.

Here's a pic of the kids and Flat Stanley, waiting for me to buy our tickets. Notice the hats? Notice the mittens? Notice IT IS APRIL???

Anyway, this place was wonderful and extremely kid-friendly. The grounds were well kept and the staff was friendly and extremely helpful. I don't think anyone younger than fifty is allowed to work at Dollywood, though. (Not that it is a hip and trendy abode where all the 20-somethings are clamoring sign up for summer work. )

We found this "rain maker" gadget around a corner. I think we were the only ones that checked it out. Lots of steampunk dials and levers and analog panels just ripe for my macbre tinkering. Cindy, if you can imagine this, wouldn't let me fiddle with it, though. Something about lawsuit and getting arrested by the Department Of Homeland Security. And Dolly doesn't take lightly to random geeks messing with her contraptions. So no rain was made by Jon.



Our first ride was a "lumberjack elevator," which translates into: Daddy gets to hoist his weight and the weight of the children about nineteen times because when he stops the children will start screaming for more and you're trapped with them on this spinning column of amusement for a looooong time, so get pulling you fat bastard, you should have worked out instead of playing video games last week!

Fortunately, Liam helped and we won the race to the top. At least his Daddy ain't the fattest one on the ride!


Having witnessed the full glory of Daddy being put to work by a 7-year-old and listening to Mommy's laughter the whole time, Meg immediately drafted me for a second ride.

She only weighs like three pounds less than The Boy, but she's twice as strong and screams three times as loud on the way down. The theory is to hoist your way to the top, let go, and glide down to the bottom. Then start again. And again. And again. Until your limbs fall off, or the ride operator gets tired of laughing at you. Either way, the kids love it.

Cindy took time out from behind the camera to pose in front of Ol' Number Seven Zero, the local coal burning train engine. Flat Stanley got a piece of the action, too. Notice Cindy's wearing gloves? (See any gloves on Daddy in the other pictures???) And Meg is starting to run out of fuel. Won't be long before we're having to carry her. Well, I'll be the one doing the carrying.

Kids. And sheep. And Liam's wearing his "prospectors medal" for panning gold nuggets out of a sandy stream. (The stream was heated, the nuggets were planted. I paid $5 each for them to feign the digging so they could get the medals. And Meg, quickly figured out that she could reach into the sand and pull out the nuggets quicker than trying to pan them out of a lump of sand with a bowl.)

The sheep are as fake as the medal. You think Cindy would let the kids near REAL bloodthirsty sheep?

After escaping the clutches of the evil faux sheep, we swung by the local water mill. I showed the kids how they used the power of flowing water to move the wheel and grind corn and wheat into cornmeal or flour, to make burittos. The kids were most unimpressed and asked if I had to talk every time we passed the boring things. Then we agreed Daddy would shut up if they slept in their own beds tonight. A deal made in heaven!

Finally, me and The Boy relaxing in front of a soothing waterfall.

There were plenty of other adventures that went un-photographed. A glass blower making an oil lamp. Two women making lye soap from ashes (the fumes from which burned our eyes!) Our "Olde Tyme Pictures." Half a dozen rescued eagles gnawing on still-flopping fish. And a giant treehouse with foam-launching cannons and squirt guns that didn't come in too handy in the near freezing conditions.

Meg's wore out. Liam's missing the computer. Mommy is starting to feel sick. And Daddy's wondering how much this will cost him in the long run.

The modern life! Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Country roads

A long, zombifying day of driving through MS, and AL, and TN, and god-knows how many other states, until we reach the quiet, faintly-lit hills of Pigeon Forge and my father-in-law's cabin. It is a welcomed retreat. We are supposed to be relaxing. Supposed to be getting away from the Coast for a while. Spend time "as a family." Breath some clean air.

Our first pit-stop was in Brooklyn, MS. There you can buy 100 live crickets for $4 and a scoop of boiled peanuts (either spicy or Cajun!) for $1. And when I say scoop, I mean you scoop them out and bag them yourself. And when I say boiled, I mean you are scooping fresh peanuts out water that has been simmering in a black kettle since Jimmy Carter was in office.

Eventually we made it to Chattanooga and I had my first taste of traffic since leaving Atlanta. Which reminded me of why we left Atlanta in the first place! Everyone was in a hurry to quickly go nowhere. Nobody bothers using turn signals. And our brisk voyage turned into a sea of brake lights for the better part of an hour.

Then we slipped into the mountains. And as the sun dropped between the trees we soon realized our directions didn't contain any details, such as street names or landmarks. And even if we knew what we were looking for, if it wasn't directly in front us, in the glare of our headlights, we wouldn't see it. There were no streetlights. There were almost no traffic signals. And for several miles, we were the only vehicle on the road. Of course the kids helped us out, by asking, "How much further?" and the very constructive, "Can you find us some place to play?" Useful stuff, that was.

Eventually, slowly, and very low on sanity, we found the cabin. The kids dropped into their jammies, whipped out the toys, and proceeded to keep us awake several more hours. Enclosed is a sample for posterity. Note Meg's bright eyes and Liam's explosive knot of hair. All at once they are watching television, playing checkers, writing dialogue between Baby Meg & Flat Stanley, and tormenting their bleary-eyed parents.



Good night, and good luck.

Winter approaches

Cold. Cold! COLD!

Did I mention how could it was this morning? I could barely get out from under work in time to catch the limo to the airport. The conversion finished something like 18 hours late. I was SUPPOSED to leave last night. I didn't. I stayed and tried to tie up some of the many loose ends.

Just before lunch, Keith and I grabbed a couple of burgers, checked out our luggage, and dashed for the limo. We both drew air through our closed teeth when we hit the bitter air outside the hotel. BAM! Like a wall of invisible ice against my face. Isn't it APRIL? Aren't we thundering toward summer? Shouldn't I be safe from frostbite?

Fortunately the limo was warm. Our plane was on time. And we had first class seats.

Unfortunately, once I get home and hug the kids and kiss the wife, I have to pack pack pack and pack. No rest for the weary. Especially as winter approaches!

The Whirlwind

As I was riding to the property yesterday, I saw a whirlwind. A thin, wispy thing wobbling across field of cotton. Dust devil some would call it. Whirlwind, I call it.

And my day was just like that: Brunched with Candy from Las Vegas. Putting faces to names and talking about our adventures on different sides of the screen. Had to re-evaluate the property's hardware. Found some servers the likes of which belong in a Dell museum, not a production network. Suffered through setback after setback with the conversion, almost always the result of a miscalculation by DBAs two thousand miles away. And MY GOD the thunderstorms that swept through and rocked the building. Bison for dinner. I fine fine dinery, but we were wearing our work close and having too many drinks.

All of it leaving my head spinning.

A whirlwind.

The Land Of Delta Blues

In the wake of returning the heavy lifting gear, I find myself once again on a plane, bound for Memphis. Talking to Don Kessler, who moved from Hollywood to Hattiesburg. Then it's a short flight. Small airports on each end. It gives me time to decompress. I'm not in charge of anything. I'm just along for the ride. And that's just fine with me.

Until my limo vanishes! I'm walking around the humid shadows of the airport, trying to find the guy holding a sign with my name. But he's nowhere to be found. Fortunately I have two things at my disposal: a blackberry and a very (VERY!) good cup of coffee. And before I finish the later, the former is used to summon my ride.

And after I arrive, I wash it down with a phenomenal medium-rare ribeye steak.

The rest of the day is just work. Describing it would only result in premature sterility.

But the night ended with a first class, executive-level bang. I got to hang out with all the upper level folks (CFO, CEO, all the chiefs!) watching the NCAA finals. In the rainman suite. With buckets of beer and all kinds of greasy fratboy food (pizza and wings and fries) and a dozen men screaming and cheering about basketball. Quite a party. A rare treat. A brief glimpse into their lifestyle. And I lived to tell about it.

We all float down here.

Return To Thunderdome

Two things that will be hard to believe, but 1) I fired up the backhoe with a front loader, 2) I started early. Like 8AM early. I've provided photographic evidence for doubters!

Each scoop was probably the equivalent of an entire wheelbarrow load of sand. And I moved nearly a hundred of them. It may have cost a couple of hundred to rent the hardware, but it would have cost a lot more to repair my spine after moving all those loads manually. At any rate, I couldn't do too much before the rain came. And then more rain. And even more. Of course during the ONLY weekend I rent a monster truck, there's a flash flood. Before it was over, we had 4 inches of standing water. And that was on TOP of the sand. Would have been worse before the spreading.

I wrapped up and we all had dinner with Paw Paw Raybourn & Granny Pam. We tried O Charlies, but there was no staff and a forty five minute wait. Instead we settled for TGIFriday's. Unfortunately that was an expensive turd and I doubt we'll ever go back. The service was fair, but the food was cold and the floor was so dirty and greasy I nearly did a face plant when I took Liam to wash up. I know it isn't exactly easy to run a dinner, but it isn't rocket science and you'd think "Hot Food" wouldn't be asking too much.

The day was salvaged by Meg's jokes. She took every opportunity to prank Cindy with things like, "Lookout, Mommy, snake!" And Cindy would feign a scream. Followed, every time, by Meg laughing and yelling, "April Fool!"

My little joker.

God help me.

Bow down

When we start making legal rulings against SOFTWARE, it is time to to planning a brand new Faraday cage for the house!

First we let them practice law without a license, then we let them pilot our aircraft, and the next thing you know, we're in the middle of The Singularity! Then it gets Old Testament, Mr. Mayor, real wrath-of-God type stuff. Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies. Rivers and seas boiling. Forty years of darkness. Earthquakes, volcanoes... The dead rising from the grave. Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria!

In the meanwhile, here's what I'm talking about:

"The 9th Circuit Court of Appeals upheld the ruling.

The software did, indeed, go far beyond providing clerical services. It determined where (particularly, in which schedule) to place information provided by the debtor, selected exemptions for the debtor and supplied relevant legal citations. Providing such personalized guidance has been held to constitute the practice of law.

(...)

(The) system touted its offering of legal advice and projected an aura of expertise concerning bankruptcy petitions; and, in that context, it offered personalized -- albeit automated -- counsel. ... We find that because this was the conduct of a non-attorney, it constituted the unauthorized practice of law."

I, for one, look forward to bowing down before our new computerized masters!

Godspeed Mr. Baudrillard

Jean Baudrillard died today at the age of 77, in France. I read his book "Simulacra and Simulation"after grad school (1995?) and it continues to haunt me to this day. One of his arguments (back then) was that our financially motivated mass media and our ultra modern consumerist society has created such a chaotic and confusing structure of symbols and artificial experiences that it is impossible for us to see our reality as it actually exists.

The book must have had a huge impact on the Wachowski brothers as Baudrillard's philosophy is all over their trilogy, The Matrix. If you look closely at the book where Neo hides his data disc, it is none other than "Simulacra and Simulation." (See attached picture if you don't have a DVD of The Matrix available.)

Baudrillard once wrote: "Information can tell us everything. It has all the answers. But they are answers to questions we have not asked, and which doubtless don't even arise. "

And on America, he wrote, "Deep down, the US, with its space, its technological refinement, its bluff good conscience, even in those spaces which it opens up for simulation, is the only remaining primitive society. "

And, even back in the mid-90s, he knew enough to say, "Television knows no night. It is perpetual day. TV embodies our fear of the dark, of night, of the other side of things. "

Good night, Mr Baudillard, and good luck.

A boy's first novel

Liam wrote his first book, today. 6 pages of literary might:

The Karate Master, by Liam

There once was a karate master who could
do anything. But the cool thing is, he was only 7!! Isn't that amazing?!

He started when he was only 3 1/2! But each week he would get
another belt. And even when he was sick, he would go to karate!

But when he got his black belt he dissipearded! His family was
SHOCKED!

No one new where he went. Neather did he. But he had
traveled 100 years into the PAST!!

There he felt something in his
pocket. But it was just a stone. A magic stone. Then he said "I wish I was back
home."

Then he woke up. He was back home.

The
End

I think the next book should depict the young hero fighting wolverines in Canada.

The yard

We get an early start. There is plenty left to do. And my best girl is joining me, today! I’m back behind the controls of the stump grinder and Cindy is on clean up detail, hauling limbs and trimming up overgrown areas so I can find the hidden stumps.

At some point, I decide to hack down a smallish oak between our carport and the fence. It blocks the path to our backyard. And I’m tired of navigating around it with the trashcan at night. So OFF WIF ‘IS ‘EAD!

I get to chopping, eliminating the limbs and pruning it down to just the trunk. Little do I realize how much an eight foot length of 1’ trunk weighs. I should have known when I heard the dull thud of it striking the ground. But, I’m stupid on multiple levels. And before I think it through, I muscle up one end, creep under the middle of it, and hoist it up. Suddenly aware of the full weight of the thing slowly pressing me into the cold, soft earth.

There I was, squatting in the mud and sawdust and debris with at least two hundred pounds of freshly felled oak across my shoulders, harboring a mental dialogue something along the lines of:
Smart Jon: This is really REALLY stupid, you know.
Stupid Jon: No tree gets the better of me!
Smart Jon: Um, you are a computer jockey. You don’t work with trees.
Stupid Jon: I can do this!
Smart Jon: It isn’t worth blowing a disk in your back.
Stupid Jon: I go to the gym! I have muscles (somewhere!)
Smart Jon: You should cut this massive thing in half.
Stupid Jon: HULK SMASH!

But, of course, I clenched my jaw and stood up. Forced my legs to bear the weight. And step by step carried that tree trunk into the back yard. Onto the pile of limbs we’re hording for disposal next week. I actually slammed it down. Panting and sweating and savoring the moment. It didn’t wreck my back. It didn’t pull any muscles. It felt good. It felt like I was alive. And I could do anything: Grind a stump. Cut down trees. The Larch. The Sequoia. The Giant Redwood! The Mighty Oak! I could conquer them all. I could be a lumber jack!

And Cindy catches me with her eye. Plants her feet and points to the grinder, “Hey, quit playing! Get back to work, on the yard!”

Yes, honey.

Daily grind

Meg & Gigi set sail for One Eyed Willy’s, to raid a birthday party. With Cindy at work, that leaves me and Liam free to have our own adventures.

Unfortunately, the boy doesn’t care for my plan. I want to wreak some destruction on the remains of trees in our yard. He wants to buy a Webkinz and design a room for it. I want to be productive and get some projects marked off my list. He wants to be a boy and enjoy the good life.

We end up doing both. After a trip to Barnes & Noble for a café mocha with an extra shot of espresso for me and a couple of comic books for him, I haul a rented stump grinder to the house and Liam picks up a plush pug bulldog from Hallmark. He helps me unload the machine and I help him setup his room on WebKinz.com and win a couple of extra bucks for decorations. Then we have a split lunch, Sonic for Boy Wonder, and Taco Bell for Jon Daddy. By late afternoon, we’re happy and there’s no sign of the girls.

I spend the rest of the day grinding stumps of all sizes and shapes. (See the bliss etched on my face?) The destruction feels good. Reminds me of the days (and weeks) after the storm, clearing away the debris and the unwanted remains of our former lives. It might only be a couple of hours of clearing off our property, but it is like therapy. By the end of it, I’m whistling and smiling and looking forward to more work tomorrow.

In the meanwhile, Liam has been playing games on the computer and earning money for his new pet, Gollum, the plush pug bulldog. He already has a trampoline, a bed, and some chairs. Next he’s going build an out-door room and load it up with more exercise equipment.

I’m destroying. Liam’s building. Father and son. We each have our own daily grind.

Clear skies

The delluge has passed. We escaped untouched.

It feels good to be back in the gym after fight off a cold last week. I didn't get SICK, but I was lethargic and had too much on my mind. Grandama was is the hospital. Jason's wife was in the hospital. Nothing was clicking right.

But I've been back and I ran 4 miles last night. First time I ran in a month. New ipod earbuds helped. Started with pilates. Worked out my back and biceps. And conclued with thirty minues on the treadmill. Drenched in sweat and happy to have it pouring.

Today, I bought a new wallet. Bought a new rachet set. Brought home supplies to experiment with a new powershake recommended by Pat Robertson. And ended the night watching Liam and his friend Steven play Star Wars: Battlefield II on the Playstation.

Oh, to be young again....

Deity Needed, Inquire Within

If you want to know why I no longer watch CNN or Fox or MSNBC or anything that claims to be a new channel, let's look at what the media is spoon feeding us:

• Brittany is bald. And she can't decide if she wants to stay in rehab. We should stay tuned for her next failure as a mother and a human.
• Anna Nicole "family" is not only fighting over rights to her corpse, but also custody of her infant daughter (who still doesn't know the identity of her biological father.) We should keep watching because somebody is going to end up collecting the millions she stole from a wizened mummy she "married," a decade ago.
• Beyonce is safe from Hepatitis A. We need to keep buying BootyLicious ringtones in honor of her brave struggle!

Meanwhile, let's look at how we react to actual events that effect real human beings that don't live in fifty gillion dollars houses and don't own ninety two cars with spinning rims:

• We don't blink when we see that parts of the country received as much as thirty inches of snow today.
• We don't stop to gape when we see footage of tornadoes killing nineteen people in two states, including five that died next door in Enterprise, AL, when a twister collapsed the roof of a high school and dropped tons of debris on our children.
• Nobody is bothered that in 2006 we spent $200,000/minute fighting in Iraq

Please, God. I'm begging you, Allah. Hear my pleas, Yahweh. Reach down, Buddha. Save us, Great Xemu! Somebody, PLEASE smite Hollywood. Drown them. Burn them. Locus-plague them. Turn them to trendy pillars of salt. Do anything you can to end our misery and return our vision so that we can go back to things like: helping our fellow man, improving the world for our children, and generally being rational human beings who care about one another!

Into the octagon

At karate tonight, I watched Liam spar for the first time. With the gloves and the helmet and the mouthpiece, he's a different boy. So focused and determined. I couldn't believe how charged the other kid and started throwing combinations. Mostly punches and a stray kick, but he chained them all together and didn't stop. The other kid, Chase, barely kept up. Liam must have thrown at least five punches for every one that his opponent threw. And when Liam started circling and attacking from odd angles, poor Chase could looked confused.

I was so proud of Liam. I was cheering and smiling the whole time. He'd been training with me for weeks, and finally his work paid off. After five minutes, Liam hadn't even broken a sweat. He wasn't winded. Chase had his hands down by his sides and I could see him breathing through his mouth.

But my boy, Liam, he was golden.