big cliché

What a day! I absolutely love rainy, cloudy days like this. In fact, I had to take the laptop out of the office and put it right here on the dining room table just so I could see the rain falling ever so quaintly on the deck through the sliding doors. I would much rather be sitting out there under the awning, but there is just too much rain making its way into the seating area to have any semblance of confidence that it will not hit the laptop. One thing I don't like about this kind of weather, though, is driving in it. Having to do so must've left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth because I just finished an uncharacteristically curt post over at SITD. Aw well, that's how it goes, I guess.

I was hoping to be able to have lunch with Jefe today, but when I was able to reach him, he was coming back from someplace waaay out in the sticks, as he put it and cursing the very road he was driving. We figured it best if he concentrate on the driving and ended the call. So then, what to do with myself and this extra hour? (Aimee and I forgot to set the clocks back) Easy--go to the range! I had 150 rounds in the safe, targets in the garage and an itchy trigger finger so all that was needed was to get in the big black truck and head north.

Last time I was up there with Rob H., we figured out one of the, if not the main, reasons why I was shooting so much better than him. Well, aside from the fact that he had only recently purchased his Walther, whereas I've had almost a year of practice with the Beretta. It has to do with trigger action. You see, the Walther P99 is a striker-fired, double-action only pistol. The Beretta 92fs on the other hand, is a hammer-fired, double-action/single-action pistol. Translation? If I rack the slide on the Beretta to place a round in the chamber, the hammer is cocked for me and the resulting single-action trigger pull takes about 6, or so, pounds of pressure to get the weapon to fire. This is usually how I do things. Rob's Walther, by contrast, is double-action every time the trigger is pulled. Result? A loooooooong, heavy trigger pull (somewhere around 12 pounds) when compared to the relatively short, light break of the single-action trigger on my pistol. So the last time we were there, just out of curiosity, I tried firing my pistol double-action on every single shot. All of a sudden, I'm all over the paper! Mystery (well, kind of a mystery) solved--but I'm still a better shot than Rob. HA! So, with all this in mind, today's exercise was to fire every single round in the double-action mode until I either ran out of ammo, or could shoot a pattern I was happy with in either mode. I ran out of ammo. Some of you may be wondering why I would go through the hassle of firing a round, decocking the hammer, then re-aligning the sights, firing another round, then deckocking...etc, when the pistol atomically cocks the hammer anyway. The answer is very simple: I am that kind of crazy. Well, actually I just want to know that I can hit what I am aiming at in either mode with every shot. Obviously, more practice is required.

Something that occurred to me a while ago, but I was reminded of last night, is that I must be getting soft in my old age, at least when it comes to music. Allow me to explain: back in the diz-ay, if it wasn't recorded by a very select group of death metal or industrial bands, I didn't want to hear it. Period. I don't care how good it was, or who wrote it. If it wasn't 180 beats per minute and just plain brutal, forget it. Fast forward to 2004. Rob H. (who travels a lot for his job) gets a Sirius tuner for the van. Of course, he hips me to its commercial free musical goodness and I must have one. So we pop for the tuner, the home kit and two car kits after we decide it is just that good. Slowly I realize that my favorite channel isn't Hard Attack or Octane, which both play the aforementioned types of bands, exclusively, all day, every day. No sir, it is First Wave 22, which is Alternative Classics! Who ever would have dreamed that you could put those two words together and not have Robert Smith or Morrissey smack you right square in the mouth. As the moniker implies, Sirius 22 plays those alternative hits from when I was coming up--stuff like The Cure, Morrissey, Duran Duran, The Cramps, Dead Milkmen, The Cars, David Bowie, etc, etc. But the thing of note here is that when these bands were all the rage, I hated them. No, maybe loathed is a better word. It was weenie music of the worst kind and if you listened to it, you may be compelled to do weenie things like peg your pant legs, tease your hair and put on black eyeliner. Remember, growing up in rural OK, all of these things were grounds for the jocks or rednecks to kick your weenie ass. But that wasn't the reason I avoided music by those bands. I genuinely did not like it. In fact, I figured I could do the world some good if I could just get Rik Ocasek, Simon LeBond and Tone Loc (yeah, I hated his music too) all in the same room at the same then set off a stoopid grenade that would provide each one of them with a full-on frontal lobotomy. That way they could never, ever pen another lame song. So then, how is it that 20 years later, I find this to be some of the best music out there--especially when compared to today's pop-machine crap? Have I 'grown up'? Were the bands and their songs always this good? Or is it just that these songs are, despite my low opinion of them at the time, the songs I grew up with? I believe we always hold a soft spot in our hearts for the songs we grew up with. Otherwise, how could so may people still be digging on Frampton's "Do You Feel Like We Do"? Now, I actually find myself enjoying The GO GOs, Blondie and dare I even say...gasp...The Cars and INXS. Oh, the horror! If my old buds from school ever heard me say this...well I guess it really doesn't matter since I lost touch with that group about 4 minutes after graduation. Although I must note, I still hate Ton Loc's music. That will never change.

One final note from this cool, rainy Sunday: Stay away from Gothika. It was crapika. Well maybe not crapika, but certainly "predictika"--pure formulaic ghost/horror story. You'll see the 'twist' coming a mile away.

FOXNews.com - Foxlife - School Board Cancels Halloween

Could it be that the PC Police have finally out PC'ed themselves?

Outstanding work by the folks at the OU College Republicans on coming up with that sweet design and even putting it on T-Shirts. Now, if I can just get out of bed early enough to get one sometime soon.

Yeah. Right.

Oh good googly-moogly that was out-freaking-standing! Everything was de-lish and worked well together--including the duck recipe turkey. As I sit here sippin' the after-dinner coffee, I have to say that was our best food day yet. The only question is what can we do to top it? Oysters Rockerfeller and lobster thermidor?

Once again, it is Food Night here at the HD. Which is why you didn't get a peep out of me last night after the Sox post. After the trip to the grocery, I worked on the stuffed turkey breast from about 01:00 'til 05:00 or so, counting gravy time.

It is a variation of a duck recipe that Andy showed me out at the Royal Bavaria, so I have absolutely no idea if it is going to work with turkey. I guess we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed. The turkey breast was boned, then stuffed with 1 granny smith apple, 1 red pear, 1/2 an orange and 1/4 of an onion. The inside and outisde were lightly salted and peppered, then oven roasted at 375 for about an hour and a half or so, I think. The meat itself tasted fine; I had to cut off a tiny piece to get the picks out.

With that, we will be enjoying Jason's special green bean casserole, Chris' so-good-it-will-smack-you-down-and-call-you-Susan broccoli-rice casserole and Neil's sweet, sweet cornbread. Rob bought some off-brand rootbeer (ha!) to make floats with, and Paul-Diddy, the Bizcochito Bandito brought the world's most perfect ice-cream--Blue Bunny Bunny Tracks. I can't wait to see what kind of a float that makes!

Congratulations, gentlemen. You've earned it.

I just put up one of the "Dubya is MY Homeboy" fliers (at my workstation) that the College Republicans (at OU) published in the daily rag.

I'm thinking about starting a pool to see how long it is before it is vandalized or I'm 'asked' to take it down by my supervisor.

Jeez-Louise! Finally, the blogger server has deemed me worthy enough to allow me access to post. But now it is too late to start a real post, and I've spent too much time fuming to even remember what I was going to put up tonight. I think I was going to go on about how excited I was that we have only 1 week left 'til election day. Woo-ha.

You know what these chowderheads need? A blogger client you can download and keep on your own machine. I'd pay for some of that action just to avoid the server issues--'cause it seems like they always want to be doing some maintenance just when I sit down to get my rant on.

I think I'm going to have to shoot something this weekend. Who's down with a trip to the range?

Two days, two movies. Saturday we checked out The Ladykillers with Tom Hanks and one of the fifteen Wayan's kids. It was directed by the Coen Bros. and adapted, also by the Coens, from an earlier novel of the same name. It was funny, but really funny in only a few places. It was good, don't get me wrong, but just not Fargo, Raising Arizona or O Brother, Where Art Thou? good. I'd say the best characters (and subsequently the best reason to watch the movie) are Tom Hank's "Professor" and J. K. Simmons' IBS-afflicted "Garth Pancake".

This evening's choice was much more lowbrow. We went with Broken Lizard's Club Dread. Having been absolutely floored by the unexpected hilarity of Super Troopers, I really expected a bit more from this one, but I knew it wasn't going to be an Oscar contender--if you catch my drift. It was mildly amusing but took a while to really get going. By the end of it, I must admit, I was actually curious to find out who was killing the resort's staff. The premise is as follows: a has-been Jimmy Buffett wanna-be (Coconut Pete) buys an island and converts it into an alchohol powered, drug induced, freaky-deaky sex-party island. But all is not well in paradise, as the staff members begin turning up dead! GASP! They never give a solid clue who it might be until the killer himself reveals why he is doing it. But even when he explains it, the reasoning is rather weak. What he should have said is that they wanted to make a movie that would be an easy vehicle for lots and lots of gratuitous nudity. Overall, a bit of a disappointment when compared to their first outing. Maybe they'll do better next time.

So, which one of you is looking for a nice, used 9mm? Well then, it just so happens I have one for sale! Check out this sweet bit o' gunbroker goodness and buy it now. You know you want it. Or, you could buy a Beretta 9000s, D type and I'll trade you straigt up. Provided you are not a felon and can legally own a pistol, that is. Don't want to give the jackbooted thugs any reason to come kicking in my door, now do we?

Didnt' really do much else this weekend, except run a few errands yesterday and have a fantabulous dinner at Nino's on the south side. By the way, Jefe reports that the north side version is just not up to snuff--so steer clear, mkay?

Speaking of Jefe, I got up at the crack of 11:00a.m. and drove up to the ci-tay to have brunch with the man himself. We ended up at Bellini's up on 63rd and Penn. Not being a big "brunch" person (keep in mind that my normal waking hour is waaay past the curtain call for brunch) I can say I was duly impressed. By the food, anyway. Our waiter was trying a bit too hard to be the cool guy, yet somehow managed to forget three different items. Dork. Thanks again, Jefe.

Yahoo! News - World Photos - Reuters

Eeeewwwwww.

Now just so yous guys know I am not a Republican robot, blindly accepting everything Bushy does as A-OK, just because he is Bushy, here's one that I still can't figure out: disallowing cheaper Canadian prescription drugs into the country? The FDA's own website says the reason is this:

A growing number of Americans obtain their medications from foreign locations, often seeking out suppliers in Canada. But FDA cannot ensure the safety of drugs bought from these sources.

Does the FDA really think that legitimate Canadian businesses are out to kill their own customers? Of course they aren't. The FDA could, if it wanted to, seek out reputable firms who would provide samples for evaluation and approval, which would save mom and pops enough bread to be able to eat and take their meds in the same month. Shame on them. And Bushy.

State question 713, on the ballot for November 2’s general election, would abolish the sales tax on cigarettes and replace it with a 4 cent-per-cigarette tax, effectively raising the tax on your smokes by 55 cents-per-pack. Of course, I am all about this one, but I have to laugh at the adverts, both pro and con.

As usual, the pro-crowd is using “the children” to push their point: if you don’t vote for this, you obviously hate children—because part of the money is earmarked, supposedly, for programs to educate children against the evils of smoking. The rest is supposedly to keep our only level 1 trauma center open.

The antis are trying to pass this off as a tax increase for the poor and they even go as far as to state that there is a “tax cut for the rich” built in to this. Now I’ve read the text of the matter, and I don’t see where it indicates a tax break for anyone—unless of course you don’t smoke. In which case you weren’t paying sales tax on smokes anyway, now were you? The best part of the antis’ ad is the tiny, almost indiscernible text on the bottom of the screen for all of 2 seconds that informs you that the ad is paid for by some coalition that includes Phillip Morris, R. J. Reynolds and a few others. Truly a classic.

You can read all the state questions here. (warning: huge .pdf)

For me, the funniest part of this whole thing is that even before the ads started airing, I was telling Rob the same bunch of guff: that if he didn’t vote to increase the sales tax on the cigarettes he smokes, he obviously hates children and was a despicable scoundrel who was more concerned with his comfort level than the well-being of our state’s children. Of course, I was mocking the now well-proven “it’s for the children” tactic, but they are dead serious—and that is just plain wrong if you ask me. Children should be out doing kid things, worrying about kid problems, like whether or not they can make it to base before they are tagged, not making big sad eyes at the camera for the purpose of swaying voters. Using kids as political play-things is disgusting to me and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth anytime anyone conjures up images of children suffering because you didn’t vote the way they thought you should. Equally so when Republicans do it. Although this tactic is most frequently used for education, health care, and of course my personal favorite, gun control issues, it seems to be gaining popularity in other areas as well.

I'm not naive--I know it isn’t going to stop--I just wanted to take a few minutes out of my day to complain about something that isn’t John Kerry.

Double-dang, that was good. I just finished eating lunch (and I have 8 minutes left on my offical lunch break) and I have to say that marinara is the best I have ever had. Well, since the last time she made it.

This delicious taste of heaven is acutally Alton Brown's recipe for roasted tomato red sauce, but it Aimee has changed it just a bit. And it is good. The oven-roasting of the tomatoes and onions with the garlic makes the whole house smell delicouis and gives you a hint of what's to come. Meanwhile, the tomato juices are reducing on the stove with all the seasoning; concentrating all that goodness. Finally, you combine the two after deglazing the roasting dish with wine.

Oh My Goodness. I'll put up the recipe on the recipe page sometime soon.

However, one should not look for too much from me this week, mainly because I am useless. But also because I have once again assumed the mantle of NSA agent and all-around badass, Sam Fisher. Which means I have finally gotten around to installing that copy of SplinterCell, PT that my sister-in-law gave me for my birthday. Back in April.

Yahoo! News - Angelina Jolie Named Sexiest Woman by Esquire

I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for a recount. Obviously the men responsible for this choice have a strong penchant for skank, or are completly blind.

I get home from work today, and I notice there is a package for Wayne on the writing desk in the office. What could it be? I haven't ordered anything lately. Oh yes, Rob W. was going to have his wife's birthday present sent here, as to maintain secrecy. Strange though, it isn't from the correct company. I better open it to see what these people have sent me by mistake. DANG, that was fast! It is two brand spanking new, FULL capacity magazines, compliments of Beretta USA! Aaaaah, I love the smell of CLP in the evening...it smells like...free magazines. I guess I should also give props to the fine men and women of the US Congress, who did not re-authorize that stinker; the ill-fated and most vile AWB.

Speaking of the AWB, did anyone catch that bit about it on the last debate? It was kind of like this: Moderator asks Bushy why he let it sunset when he campaigned in 2000 that he would support it. Bushy says he could see that the support just wasn't there. To that Kerry says he would have gotten the votes needed and given law enforcement officers the extension they so desperately wanted. Then he made some obscure reference to hunting and a drug house where they found an AK-47 on the bed when the local boys served a warrant or something.

It seems there are still a lot of people living in a world of confusion about what the ban did and did not do. Outside of piss me off for ten straight years, that is.

The ban was so incredibly ridiculous because it did nothing to stop crime. All it did was hurt manufacturers and importers by banning weapons purely on cosmetics. Get this: a few .22 caliber semi-automatic rifles were banned by this nonsense. Yet somehow, the most powerful civilian rifle on the planet, as far as I know, was unaffected. Just for clarification, if you are unfamiliar with caliber and millimeters, it is like this: anything that is measured in caliber is a portion of an inch. A .22 caliber round is 22/100 of an inch--Just under 1/4". The .45 ACP is around 450/1000 of an inch, or just under 1/2". So it goes with the .357 and .223. You can always tell caliber by the decimal preceding the numbers. Now, millimeter cartridges are just that--the outside diameter of the bullet, measured in millimeters. Some popular rounds are the 9mm, which is used by most modern militaries around the world, as well as the 5.56mm, which is really the same as .223, but is given the designation 5.56mm for NATO. The same can be said of the .308 which is called 7.62mm long by NATO. And let's not forget the 10mm, which is the father of the .40 caliber that is now all the rage. (Right, Kelly?) So, like I was saying, certain .22 caliber rifles, most suitable for small game hunting and plinking, were banned because of their appearance. While the grand-daddy of them all, the .50 BMG, most often used for light anti-vehicle or anti-aircraft roles, was not banned? Huh? Don't get me wrong here, I'm not advocating the ban of ANY weapon, but where is the logic in that?

Another aspect that apparently confuses some people is the difference between semi-automatic and fully-automatic weapons. Let's get one thing straight here: automatic weapons have been effectively banned since the early 1930's. Sure you can still get one, but there is a lot, and I do mean a lot, of paperwork involved as well as an additional $200 tax stamp that has to be purchased in addition to the price of the weapon. You must also obtain a letter from your local police chief stating is OK for you to own a machine gun. Now, the difference is this: an automatic weapon, or machine gun, will generally fire until it is out of ammunition once the trigger is pressed and held. There are variants with "burst" capability that fire 2 or 3 rounds with each press of the trigger, but those are still classified as machine guns because they have the capability to fire in a fully-automatic mode. A semi-automatic, on the other hand, fires one round each time the trigger is pressed no matter how long you hold it. Period. If you want to call that "spray fire" as Chuck Schumer did, you would have to have a pretty quick trigger finger.

I've said it before, and I'll say it one more time: that was bad legislation. With no legitimate basis in fact, the crafters of that bill relied on scare tactics and mis-information to pass it and they still haven't been able to prove that it made anyone any safer. I guess we'll have to wait for the ATF report showing how many crimes were committed over the 10-year span with banned weapons. I'm going to bet the numbers will be pretty low. Here's one last thing to think about: when was the last time a criminal obeyed any law respecting firearms? Do you think any person who is contemplating robbing the local packy is serioulsy going to be deterred by whether or not he is using a legal weapon? No, no, no, people! These derelicts are criminals, they do not obey laws in the first place. The only people these stupid laws affect are people who obey the law, like you and me.

This is the madness that John Kerry said he would've supported when he said "And I'd have taken it out to the country and I'd have had every law enforcement officer in the country visit those congressmen. We'd have won what Bill Clinton won" (1) which is why, even if everything else was equal, I still wouldn't vote for John Kerry.

Mini pocket pepper mill, silver, 2 inches high

THIS is sweet. I think I'm going to have to put one on the Christmas list.

Yeah, right.

In his last comment, Dusty said:

My dad’s opinion as of last Saturday: "I'll never vote for a lying liberal because of abortion and gay marriage." That's a compassionate conservative evangelical for ya.

For that ilk, abortion is a religious issue, not a woman's rights issue. Pretty much any time I try to talk about the rights aspect of abortion with a southerner, I get a bible-thumping, draw-the-line-in-the-sand-and-I-dare-you-to-cross-it retort, along with a vehement glare. That's especially true for males (chivalry?). A funny (too me) thing happened when my wife (a Seattle liberal) spoke to my folks about abortion. As soon as she got them thinking about the health of the mother, they both acquiesced. They both acknowledged the health of the mother is important enough to possibly compromise on the abortion issue.

Roe v. Wade is definite must read. Very well written compromise.

I'm glad Dusty brought this up because it is the perfect segue to something I have been wanting to blog, but didn't really know how to breach the topic, so to speak. Not to mention Dusty is a smart cookie and I have a great deal of respect for what old D has to say, even if it does seem that we disagree, at least somewhat, on this one.

This topic of abortion always comes up in political, as well as religious, discussions--especially in election years--and it is one of my personal litmus tests when it comes to who I'm going to send to Washington and our state capitol.

I have been quite leery of this particular post because of the deep-seated emotions this topic inevitably brings to the surface, as well as the ever-present possibility of being misinterpreted as passing judgement--which is not my intent at all. What is my intent then? Just stick with me for a few and all will be made clear. So then, with all that said, here we go.

Leaving religion out of this, because one could just as easily say that their god mandates abortions, I see abortion as the termination of a life. I can't call it murder in the legal sense, because murder is defined as the "...crime of unlawfully killing a person..." (1) and at the current time, it isn't unlawful to perform a medical abortion. I have thought long and hard on this, and I see it that way for a couple reasons. First, I see conception as the beginning of life. I say this because, from a purely scientific viewpoint, the moment the sperm is inside the ovum, chemical changes start to take place that signal the beginning of cell division--which may ultimatley result in the life of a human being. I say "may" because there is still a myriad of things that can go wrong even before zygote has a chance to implant. The second thing about pregnancy is that the developing fetus, although entirely dependent on the mother, is indeed comprised of its own genetic material which is part of the father as well, and will become, if everything works as advertised, a unique and individual person. So those who say "it is my body; my choice" are half wrong in my opinion. Yes, it is the woman's womb and the woman provided half of the genetic material, but that zygote is just much an idividual at conception as it will be after birth. Finally, a lot of people say that the developing fetus' dependence on the mother indicates that it is infact a part of the mother in much the same fashion as an internal organ because it can't survive on its own outisde the womb. Dependent or not, that does not change the fact that each zygote has its own genetic material and is not any more of the mother than it is of the father. Each parent contributes exactly half of the required goods. Except in the case of cloning, but we're not going there today.

There are, of course, going to be times when abortion is necessity and I'm not opposed to that, but I feel it should be a medical decision made while under the care and advice of a qualified physician--and a female physician at that. I don't think men should be allowed in the ob-gyn fields. These circumstances would include, but may not be limited to, those times when the developing child, for whatever reason, is just not going to survive for the full term of the pregnancy or would be so severly affected by birth defects as not to survive after birth. Another cause could be if there are grave health risks to the mother during the course of the pregnancy. Then there is the case of rape. Just typing that word makes me want to vomit. If ever there were a case for the death penalty, I think rape is it--but that too is a different post. Who am I to tell any woman who has been raped that she can't have an abortion when the resulting pregnancy was forced on her? I don't even want to think about being responsible for the emotional carnage having to carry that baby could cause. On the other side of that one, that child could end up being the most positive thing in that woman's life and may eventually give that woman the greatest joy she has ever known, but should she have to carry a child that was forced on her?

All this begs the question: what kind of abortion alternatives could we have? I am a big fan of adoption programs. I would love to see some type of program where women with unwanted, for whatever reason, pregnancies are matched with couples who desperately want to adopt. That would be ideal, I think, and if we can remove any stigma associated with putting a child up for adoption then I believe people would participate. Also, and I almost hate to say this, but I think better sex education programs would reduce the numbers of unwanted pregnancies among teens. Let's not be naive about it, kids are going to have the sex--and they are starting earlier and earlier. If having a condom machine in the bathroom at school could elininate the need for a teen to have an abortion then I guess it's time for there to be condom machines in the bathrooms at school. I also think if old moms and pops would have open, honest and frank discussions about sex with their kids then we could dispel a lot of rumors and myths about what does and does not cause pregnancy. I would much rather see that kind of thing in the home than at school or even on mtv, but that would require old moms and pops to get past that "my kid's an angel" crap and talk about the uncomfortable stuff with little Suzy or little Billy.

My point, although very long in getting here, is that I think we can do better than Roe v. Wade, and John Kerry came out tonight and pledged that he would do what he could to preserve it. Infact, his exact quote was "I will defend the right of Roe v. Wade." (2) which is why, even if everything else was equal, I still wouldn't vote for John Kerry.

To the woman who has chosen me to share her life; the woman who surprises me every day and continually makes me want to be a better husband and man; the woman who shows me the good that life can be, I say "Happy Birthday".

I love, respect and admire you more than you will ever be able to know.

Alrighty then. Confession time: I am officially tired of this election year rhetoric. We have two of three debates down and tomorrow will bring us a very welcome and much needed end to the pain. I started out really looking forward to the entire process, but they have just worn me down. Granted, I already know who I am voting for, as do you by this point, but I was really looking for that knockout punch from someone. Anyone. But alas, all we've been given is the same excrutiating catch phrases and vapid slogans from both sides: flip-flopping, winning the peace, records speaking for themselves, wrong war, wrong reason, wrong time and they just go on and on and on and on. And you know tomorrow night we are going to see yet another repeat of the same show. Kerry will go on about how Bushy has lost jobs, made a mistake with Iraq for failing to "you-know-what" and Bush will retort with jabs at Kerry's senate record, his flip-flopping and perceived lack of spine. At this point, I would be thankful if I could wake up, go to the polls and be done with it. The worst part of this whole thing is that for all the pandering, posturing and politicin' we are still in a dead heat! Neither candidate has a consistantly measurable lead! How did this happen again?

You know, when we started this whole deal, There was no doubt in my mind whatsoever that George W. Bush would continue his reign (pun intended) as the undisputed heavyweight president of the world. Now, even though he currently leads in electoral votes, on the eve of the final debate that "what if" feeling is just starting to rear its doubtful head.

I made a mistake when I told Aimee earlier this year that the debates were important stuff. Remember: last week's debate preempted Third Watch and that just isn't right. The more I think about it I see that the election is the important part and the rest of this crap-ola leading up to it is just sensationalistic media crap. It isn't as if we don't know by now where these guys stand. It is very simple, really. I can cook it down for you in one sentence using my three hot-button issues: If you think same-sex marriages are OK, want abortion to continue to be legal and don't give a rat's arse what happens to your second amendment rights, then you vote for Kerry. Not that Bushy turned out to be a second amendment hero by any stretch of the imagination, but I know he will not press for further unconstitutional firearm legislation and I am beyond sure that he will not sign off on a same-sex marriage bill. I am also sure that he is pro-life all day, every day.

I guess it boils down to this. We all know who we are voting for, can we please get it over already? And if you don't know by now, this next debate isn't going to help because, to steal one from JK, it's just going to be "more of the same".

I swear, if I hear the phrase "win the peace" one more freaking time after this series of debates is over, I will puke.

PUKE I tell you!

Over the rest of Friday and on into Saturday, I was in and out of sleep almost constantly. Getting up early, the pain meds and of course, the surgery, had taken it out of me and I was letting it show.

Strangely enough, they brought me lunch almost as soon as I was settled in my room. Now I can't speak for the rest of America but I was certainly not hungry and not even close to being ready to eat. But I figured I better try to choke something down since it had been almost 13 hours since my last meal of chicken and rice soup. I think I got some of the vegetables and most of the jello down, which was entirely too flavorful. At first, that may sound a little odd, but try to imagine kool-aid made with too many flavor packets. That's what this jello was like. Just too intense for me at that time.

Memories during the rest of that day and most of Saturday are a bit sketchy at best, but I know Aimee spent the entire day with me, save for a few hours that her mom and I sent her home to get some rest and a bite to eat. My father in law came by as well as my folks and my sister, and through it all about 3 different nurses and/or aides who, much the same as their coworkers, introduced themselves even as they were trying to hook up the blood pressure cuff and jam the thermometer in my ear.

Possibly worst part of the whole deal was having to answer the call of nature. My i.v. line was about nineteen feet long, or so it seemed, and was unbelievably tangled. Each time I wanted to utilize the facilities, I had to gather up all this tubing as well as the bag and shuffle off to the gents. The i.v. was only a mild annoyance, however, when compared to the act of actually getting out of bed. I think most people take for granted the amount of work our abdominal muscles are responsible for in the grand scheme of moving our bodies around. That will stop as soon as you have 4 holes punched through these muscles. My back became sore by Tuesday from having to pick up the slack for my abs. As bad as it was, it could have been much, much worse had the surgeon had to switch to the open procedure, so I am grateful for that--lest you think me an ungrateful curmudgeon.

Oh yes, the staples. I almost forgot about those. My surgeon decided to use staples instead of sutures. He told me he was going to do this because I had asked how quickly I could return to exercise after the procedure, which to him indicated an 'active' lifestyle. I guess staples are more secure than sutures. I can tell you, as one who has had stitches before, that these things are certainly more uncomfortable than sutures/stitches. When I stretch or lean forward, they kind of dig a bit deeper into the flesh they are holding together with a sharp, stinging kind of pinch. To be fair about it though, as I sit here typing this early Friday morn, that is the worst of the pain. Who would've guessed the body can bouce back so well. It is absolutely amazing to me that I feel this good after one scant week--but it gets better.

As the doc's promised, I can now eat a meal without The Fear that I had just kind of accepted over the last months. Earlier this week Aimee got down a pasta-roni dinner that we mix with sauteed chicken for an ultimately quick dinner that is surprisingly good and I actually felt a tiny moment of dread when I saw the box. You see it was the garlic and olive oil flavor pasta-roni and it was one of the meals that 50% of the time would cause that pain I had the operation to relieve. Not so any more. I am happy, no extatic, to report that I had it for dinner that night and the leftovers for lunch the next day without so much as a twinge. Happy days, friends. Happy days.

I am grateful. Grateful in many ways, but also for many people. Obviously for the surgeon doing the procedure who did not kill me. Janie and Don, who were incredibly helpful since they have both had this procedure done and were able to tell me what to expect. Especially so for all my family and friends, as well as the many people I will never know, who prayed for my well being--gotta love prayer lists. But certainly I am most grateful for Aimee who always takes care of me, no matter what.

OKLAHOMA STATE ELECTION BOARD

Just in case you needed to know, scroll down to State Questions for General Election to see what all the hoo-ha is about. Thanks again to Chris for finding the goods.

Found this in the inbox, courtesy o' Chris. Enjoy.

Subject: Democrat or Republican

Question: How do you tell the differences between Democrats, Republicans and Southern Republicans?

Pose the following question:
You're walking down a deserted street with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, a dangerous looking man with a large knife comes around the corner, locks eyes with you, screams obscenities, raises the knife and charges. You are carrying a Glock .40, and you are an expert shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do?

Kerry Democrats' Answer:

Well, that is not enough information to answer the question!

Does the man look poor or oppressed?

Have I ever done anything to him that would inspire him to attack?

Could we run away?

What does my wife think?

What about the kids?

Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand?

What does the law say about this situation?

Does the Glock have an appropriate safety built into it?

Why am I carrying a loaded gun anyway, and what kind of a message does this send to society and my children?

Is it possible he'd be happy just killing me?

Does he definitely want to kill me, or would he be content just to wound me?

If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me?

Should I call 9-1-1?

Why is this street so deserted?

We need to raise taxes, have a paint and weed day and make this a happier, healthier street that would discourage such behavior. This is all so confusing!

I need to debate this with some friends for a Few days and Try to come up with a consensus.

Republicans' Answer:

BANG!

Southern Republicans' Answer:

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

As the complete pitch black of the drug-induced slumber gave way to the bright, fluorescent lighting of the recovery room, I was very aware that I was in the hospital. There wasn't any of that "where am I?" nonsense you see on TV. I could see a clock, which read 12:15 or so, or maybe it was 11:15. I don't remember, and as I mentioned earlier, I didn't wear my watch because it would have been a bacterial playground in an otherwise sterile environment. My eyes opened and closed very slowly as I tried to acclimate to the harsh lighting. My mouth was completely dry and filled with a bad taste that I could only attribute to the anesthetic gas. At least I guess it was gas, as I have no recollection of anything fifteen seconds after that initial i.v. push. For all I know that foul taste was a byproduct of the chemical cocktail in the i.v. The room itself was large and all white. White walls, white tile floors and white acoustic ceiling tiles. The little nurse's station was even white, and if I recall correctly, the nurses were wearing white instead of the assorted-color scrubs I had been seeing all morning. I can't be sure--the drugs may still have been playing with my mind. And there was no order to the placement of our beds. I seem to remember being in the middle, but not oriented with any wall or even with the other beds. It was like we were just pushed one last time when the nurse wheeled us through the door and wherever we stopped, that's where we stayed--kind of like the shopping carts in the market parking lot. People give them one final push towards the cart corral after they are emptied, if they even do that, and if they make it great. If not, oh well.

Initially, I wasn't aware of any pain but I could not stop shivering. Before I really had a chance to decide if I was cold or that was just part of the ride, a voice from behind me said "The shivers are from the anesthesia wearing off. They'll stop in a few minutes". OK. One less thing to wonder about. Things were becoming more clear and I started to wonder if the doc was able to do the procedure using the laparoscope or if he had to switch to the open procedure, which would entail weeks in the hospital versus just hours. I tried to feel for any tell-tale incisions, but the blankets and my haute couture gown, not to mention the fog still swirling around in my head, obscured my ability to decipher my very own newly created topographical map.

I was vaguely aware the person behind me was making all kinds adjustments to my bed, which by the way was where I would stay for the next twenty hours, getting ready to wheel me down the hall to my room. He, like all the others, introduced himself and asked how I was feeling. I croaked out a "fine" and for the most part, considering what had just transpired, it was true. He mentioned something about taking me to my room and we were off.

I must've nodded off because I don't remember the trip as much as arriving at room and then being very happy to see Aimee and her mother. My bed was maneuvered into position and the brakes set. I expected to be put in a room, because the nurse who set my i.v. had mentioned that they usually try to have a real room, instead of that little cubicle where I started the day, for recovering patients. What I didn't' know is that I would be staying the night, as directed by my surgeon. Aimee let me know that things had gone very well, but my gallbladder had been very inflamed. As a result, the doc wanted me kept overnight for observation. What they were to be observing, I don't know but I can tell you the nurses came in every 4 hours or so, over the next twenty, to check my temperature and blood pressure as well as assess my pain level.

Every time someone asked me about my pain level, I had a little flashback to that scale the admit nurse pointed out to me in the back of the book provided, which was the 'what to expect' guidepost. It was numbered 1-10, and for each count of two, there were corresponding happy to frowning faces to illustrate the concept of pain progression. I remember her saying that they didn't want patients to ever get above a 5, which was moderate, because anxiety goes up and the effectiveness of medication goes down on an inversely proportional slide. So, even though I was only in moderate pain every time they asked, I figured I was on my way back to feeling the fact that I had been stabbed 4 times, so I was not shy about asking for the pain meds.

Law officers among dozens arrested in drug sting

It's a small world after all...

I went to school with this Officer Sherman guy. And when I say went to school, I mean he was in my graduating class and we ran in some of the same circles ocassionally. Funny thing is that back in the day, this cat wouldn't even look at a drug. Why? 'Cause he wanted to get on the Force! How ironic.

Let's hear it for Lexington grad's!

The alarm clock went off way too eary Friday morning, even more so for Aimee, who had already been up for an hour when mine starting carping at 07:00. Keeping in mind what the nurse had told me during my pre-admission meeting, I put on a comfy pair of shorts and a button-down shirt. I was thinking that the buttons would be easier to manage than a pull over T when it was time to leave.

We arrived at the ambulatory care unit about 7 minutes late, but I didn't really care. These places are never on time, no matter when you show up, so I have taken to ignoring their "please show up 15 minutes early" pleas. About 5 minutes after Aimee's mom arrived, they called my name.

I was lead to a small pre-staging stall-room-thing with a huge mechanical bed and the dreaded i.v. stand. Keep in mind that this was my first "procedure" of any kind, which includes an i.v. I have always been a little creeped by the thought of a needle just hanging around in my vein any longer than it takes to get a blood sample. Fortunately, she hit paydirt on the first try. I had these horror show images in my mind, probably leftovers from the last blood draw, of her trying every freaking i.v. point on both arms before finally getting a good stick. Thank God it didn't go down like that.

By the time I had changed into the height of hospital fashion that is the open-back gown and had the i.v. established, we had passed my scheduled departure time of 09:15. Shortly after that, but I can't tell you what time because I didn't wear my watch, Courtney showed up to wheel me away to the surgery pre-staging area. I don't know why, but for some crazy reason, she seemed very familiar to me even though I have nevery known a Courtney. As a side note on that, every single person there introduced themselves before they even looked at my chart. I know this is to try to put a person at ease, but all it did for me was make me feel like I had to remember all those names. Irrational, yes, but with every new name they threw at me, I was becoming more and more overwhelmed. About the time the anesthesiologist showed up, I had decided that was it. Which is why I don't remember his name at all at this point.

What I do remember about him is that he was a shorter guy, and a bit younger and was trying a little to hard to compensate for these factors by being extra-hip. When he explained to me how the anesthesia process would work, he even used the phrase "slip you a mickey". Not the level of professionalism I was hoping for, but I could still rest knowing that he was not the guy doing the actual procedure.

There were two other guys in this pre-staging area, so it wasn't exactly a restfull place, but that was probably good, since I didn't have to dwell too heavily on my procedure. The bed to my left was a guy who was about to have a biopsy done on his leg because something wasn't working right. He was placed on hold because the lab wanted the sample on dry ice and the hospital didn't have any. The guy towards my feet was out of it and there was blood all over a pillow they had used to prop up a leg or something. I was able to glean from their conversations that he A) had been stabbed in the wee early hours of the morning and B) spoke little to no English and C) they had him so doped up on the morphine, it wouldn't have mattered if he had been a Rhodes scholar--they weren't getting any information from him. This quite obviously irratated the doctor who was to be performing the exploratory endoscopy on his abdomen to see what damage the knife had done.

Just when things were getting good and heated with stabbing boy, his girlfriend, and the doctors trying to asses his condition, yet another nurse showed up to give me the first dose of anesthesia, which worked like a charm. It wasn't in the i.v. for more than 15 seconds before I started to feel consciousness slip away into nothing. No dreams, no thoughts, just plain nothing.

I been here for years
Rockin my peers and puttin suckas in fear
Makin the tears rain down like a MON-soon
Listen to the bass go BOOM
Explosion, overpowerin
Over the competition, I'm towerin
Wreckin shop, when I drop these lyrics that'll make you call the cops
Don't you dare stare, you betta move
Don't ever compare
Me to the rest that'll all get sliced and diced
Competition's payin the price

This is, of course, the first verse to LL Cool J's Mamma said knock you out!
It would seem I had the quote incorrect, but since Kelly was bored enough...I mean kind enough to look up the lyrics, I felt somewhat obliged to post the correct version. Word up to Kelly for profilin' his mad google skills.

Thanks to all of you who sent well wishes, prayers and positive energy my way. I'm happy to report that outside of a little pain, tenderness and exactly ten staples I am feeling much better.

The whole experience was very surreal for me but the hardest part was coming to grips with the fact that I was giving up complete and utter control of everything that was going to happen to me once I was on that OR bed.

I'll probably blog the whole thing later, so for now I'm gonna wrap it up and get some more rest.

I get to work today and find this taped to my monitor. Granted, I am getting a day off out of this deal, but I think I would rather not be inflated and have an organ removed to get it. I suppose if I were to really think about it, I would rather not have had this uncomfortable, nagging pain in my side for the last 6 months either, but that's where I find myself, isn't it? The funniest part, I think, is that none of us lamers knew where, or what, the coccyx is! Thank God for google.

I am now about 6 hours away from when I have to report the hospital, and all I have to say is "why so freaking early"? I mean, seriously, even if I am able to get any sleep tonight it will be more like a nap since I have to get up so dag-nab-it early. I feel even worse for Aimee because she will have to get up too, but they aren't going to put her right back to sleep and I don't think she's gonna be much for napping while I'm in surgery. Fortunately, her mom is coming for moral support so she won't be sitting alone in that waiting room 'cause we all know how much fun that can be, right?

I have to admit that while I am a bit nervous about the deal--mainly because I have never had surgery before--I am so looking forward this incessant, bloated-feeling and just down right annoying pain being over. Every time I felt that now too familiar twang today, I thought to myself "go ahead and get your groove on, cause tomorrow you're outta here!" Strange that I now feel contempt for one of my own body parts.

So unless you read the cliché very early, by the time you get your second cup and finish that donut, I will probably be on my way to the recovery room to be gently roused from my anesthesia-induced stupor. Who knows, I may even feel like a post tomorrow afternoon, provided I'm not sent to jail for assaulting the cable idiots. But that is a different post altogether.