LAND O’ LAKES, Fla. (AP) – A nudist community on Florida’s west coast wants to establish the first clothing-optional polling site. The Caliente Resorts, located in Pasco County north of Tampa, has approached election officials about the idea.
Overheard at Florida’s clothing-optional polling place:
On a withered bough
A crow alone is perching,
Autumn evening now.
The wild geese take flight
Low along the railroad tracks
In the moonlit night.
We’ve got plenty of mirrors in the house, but for some reason, our son has come into our room to comb his hair in our mirror . . .
“What a handsome boy!” his mom says.
I say, “Like his pappy.”
“He’s got me in him too,” she says. “My dad was handsome. And my uncles are very handsome. You haven’t seen them.”
I can’t resist mentioning that her brother, who I have seen, is anything but handsome.
“I don’t know what happened to him,” she says.
There is no accountability without volition, you’ve noticed, right? You can’t go “You got to ship that by November 1st and I am holding you accountable.” It doesn’t work that way.
You can’t hold someone else accountable, you’ve got to hold yourself accountable. It’s just like you can’t motivate someone else; you got to motivate yourself. And the more that you motivate people and hold them accountable, the more infantile they become.
One thing that I resent about our computer culture is that they say we are nerds and that nerds don’t get along with people. I think that’s just insane. We are not just nerds — we are nerds, I mean, look at us! But we are not just nerds, we are like the priests or something in the Middle Ages, we are the Lords and Ladies of Logic. We are in charge of rationality for our era. We are bringing common sense and good practice and sound judgment and aggregated wisdom and glory to everyone.
That’s our job.
I posted this quote on a blog at work and IT people were calling each other nerds all day.
Good morning, nerd! How’s it going, nerd?
Being a nerd felt like, like being a hero — just for one day.
One of my co-workers came to the office today with an obvious hickey between her neck and shoulder, but she thought I was juvenile for noticing it.
“How old are you again?” she asked.
“Old enough to remember hickeys obviously.”
“Don’t you mean ‘Not too old to have forgotten hickeys’? You think young people don’t know what hickeys are?”
Maybe I should have said, “Old enough to remember when hickeys were a standard element of the teenage repertoire.”
But actually, I don’t think kids know what hickeys are. I haven’t even heard the word “hickey” in years. I think hickeys, like plaid pants, are a relic of a bygone era.
Girls are much more forward now, if the messages in my son’s yearbooks are any indication. If girls are offering oral sex in junior high school, what are you going to say? “Can I give you a hickey first”?
P.S. As I suspected, my 15-year-old son has no idea what a hickey is.
In the process of rearranging things in the house last weekend, my wife found a box of pictures of me as a boy and showed them to our son.
“Dude, those were funny,” he says. “There’s one of you sitting on a motorcycle –” He makes an angry face and pantomimes driving a motorcycle. “Vroom! Vroom! And you’re wearing — ha, ha — you’re wearing a pair of –” Now he’s laughing so hard he can hardly talk, but he manages to spit out “– plaid pants!” before collapsing in a coughing, sputtering fit.
I explain to him that plaid pants were popular in the 1970s.
“Mom!” he yells downstairs. “Where’s that box of pictures of Dad?”
“Under the desk in the den,” she yells back.
“I’ve seen those pictures,” I say, “so if you’re planning to show them to me and laugh about it, you’re wasting your time.”
“I’ve just got to see them again myself . . .”
Firstly, I’d like to thank Paul Epps for giving me this space on his web site to express my humble views. He is a real American.
What concerns me today is that a candidate for president, Barack Obama, has said that he wants to “spread the wealth around” in America.
It was a long time ago, but let me remind those of you who didn’t pay attention in history class that we founded this country as a rebellion against a too-powerful government. We believed in — and fought for — self-reliance and freedom, including the economic freedom to earn a dollar and spend it any way you want to.
When someone tells you that he is going to decide how much money you can earn before he starts taking it away from you and giving it to someone else, that man is a scoundrel.
And when Americans — the descendants of rebels and revolutionaries — can listen to this and fail to rise up in dissent, it makes me want to vomit for what this once-great nation has become.
FATHER: Would you take out the trash please?
SON: Are you KIDDING?! I’m doing homework! I’ll take out the trash if you read To Kill a Mockingbird and tell me what each chapter is about.
FATHER: I’ve read To Kill a Mockingbird. You want to know what it’s about? ‘Racism is Bad.’ Now take out the garbage.
SON: Mom said my dinner was going to be ready by now and she hasn’t even started cooking it yet.
FATHER: You’re a big boy. Why don’t you make something yourself?
SON: I’m really not happy with the service I’m receiving here.
SON: So was Mom pretty horny when you first met her?
FATHER: Oh Jesus . . .
My owner was telling me about a conversation he had with a co-worker, explaining to her that dogs have a special relationship with humans.
“So do cats,” she said.
“Would your cat save you if you were drowning?” he asked.
“No, but your dog wouldn’t save you either.”
“He sure would.”
“He’s not any bigger than your head.”
“He would try to do something.”
“Exactly. He’d make things worse.”
That’s not very nice and if I ever meet this woman I’m going to growl at her.
I’m not a big dog like Lassie or Rin Tin Tin, but I’m not a cat either, so I would definitely try to save him.
It’s a roll of the dice. I might save him or I might kill both of us, but he was going to drown anyway and I don’t want to be alive without him.
If you want to see how dogs and cats think differently under pressure, read this story about a family with two dogs and one cat. One of the dogs died trying (successfully) to save the family and (unsuccessfully) to save the other dog. The cat escaped unharmed.
Dogs will risk their lives trying to save humans and other dogs. If you’re a cat owner, you’re on your own.
— Lightning 
I get a call at work from my wife, who says, “I logged on to the credit union web site and a message popped up and said ‘Happy Birthday!'”
“Your birthday’s not till tomorrow.”
“And I got a Happy Birthday email from Newport Lexus. Wasn’t that nice?”
“It sure was.”
“I hope people close to me don’t forget about it . . .”
My son’s looking forward to February when his braces come off . . .
“Throw some Crest whitening strips on there and the sky’s the limit as far as girlfriends are concerned,” he says.
“Girls are a distraction right now,” his mom says. “You need to focus on academics.”
“Mom’s right,” I say. “Having a wife or a girlfriend is like taking a 5-year-old to the mall. You can’t go as fast as you want to because the 5-year-old can’t keep up the pace. And you’re not going to be able to accomplish the things you want to accomplish . . .”
“Don’t give the boy a bad attitude,” she says.
“. . . because the 5-year-old is . . .”
“Whatever you’re going to say . . .”
“. . . monopolizing your attention . . .”
“. . . don’t say it.”
“. . . with her juvenile behavior.”
Originally uploaded by Bruno_Brujah
Fingernails on a chalkboard? Doesn’t bother me in the least. But I don’t like the sound of people chewing their food.
Sometimes I have to remind people in my family to please chew with their mouth closed.
Is that an unreasonable request? I wouldn’t think so . . .
“The dog makes all kinds of noises. Why don’t you complain about that?”
“The dog is an animal,” I explain very slowly. “I was thinking we could hold ourselves to a higher standard. Why don’t you take a crap on the parkway in front of someone’s house? The dog does it! It must be okay!”
My wife tells me the Gary’s Island store in Newport Beach is going out of business.
I hope it’s not true.
It’s a great store, but I suppose in a down economy, high-end Hawaiian shirts are even more of a luxury item than usual . . .
October is Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) Awareness Month.
Were you aware of that? I wasn’t.
Now that I am, I’ve got one thing to say to the SCA people: WHO IS ADVISING YOU?! October is Breast Awareness Month! You can’t compete against breasts! Pick another month!
As for cardiac arrest, fuck that noise! I’M A VERY BUSY PERSON! I don’t have time . . . (gasp) . . . I don’t have time . . . for a . . . a herat attardhuhjbzsvggggggggggggggggggggggggg
I’m dropping my son off at the high school for PSAT testing this morning. We’re part of a huge, slow procession of cars moving into the school.
My son’s yelling, “You people are all nerds for taking this test!”
Then a note of realization: “But wait . . .”
My son’s a percussionist in the Northwood High Wind Ensemble this year. It’s an advanced ensemble . . . he’s a sophomore and most of the kids in there are juniors and seniors.
They had auditions last week for section leader. I asked him leading up to the auditions if he’d been practicing his audition pieces because I never heard him practicing anything.
“I practice at school,” he said, “but my chances aren’t very good. There are some older kids who are better than me.”
This kid drives me nuts sometimes with his low-key approach to things.
My approach to an audition would have been very different. I would have practiced like a madman and showed up ready to kick some ass, because I’ve got zero self-confidence and I over-compensate in certain types of situations.
Anyway, the results are now in and the boy made section leader after all.
I guess you’ve got to let kids develop their own style . . .
