some pictures of the house all newly painted. Here are some shots of the outside:

This is the nursery with Lauren's new headboard leaning against the wall

This is a shot (sort of) of the trey ceiling in the Master

This is the guest room. It's tough to tell, but the color's the same as the Master...

This is Lauren's new (but not yet installed) dresser

This is the guest bath / where I will spend the next 15 years cussing at the mess my girls make

This is the garage. It looks amazing from outside, and really does a good job of hiding a lot of our crap.

Although I am a huge fan of The Family Guy and Reno 911!, for my money, there's not a better show on television today than Penn and Teller's "Bullshit." Sure, it's funnier if you are line with some of their politics, but they do a nice job of attacking everyone, which is nice.

*****Subject change alert *****

I had a lot of stuff I was going to say about this show, but then I got an email from my lovely bride.

Before I tell the story, let me backtrack a bit. Our house has a nice 150 square foot, T-shaped room over the garage with a window that looks out the front of the house that, since the day we saw the house, I KNEW would make a great office / man-room for yours truly.

Anyway, the project to finish said room has been a relatively slow one. We got it insulated, powered, cabled and phoned pretty quick with the help of B-I-L Jeff. Then we got 90 percent of it primered, but never painted. Finally, this last week, while getting the rest of the house painted inside and out, we got the room painted nicely and said B-I-L built me some access doors for the storage areas inside.

Anyway, my point for this room was a nice (but cheap) desk, bookshelves for all of my books, a wall containing photos of great Americans (I'll get to that later), my x-box, playstation2, tv, a vcr/dvd for race recording and sports watching, and finally a home for my La-Z-Boy.

Those of you that remember us pre-Urchin (and immediately after her blessed arrival) might remember the La-Z-Boy. It's a beautiful, functional, very comfortable chair that provided brief periods of peace amid the hoopla that was Lauren's early time on this spinning rock. Even when she didn't want to sleep or couldn't sleep, Ole Trusty Chair would let me sleep holding the urchin, and she too would sleep.

Bottom line: It's a special chair.

Anyway, fast forward to new home time, and suddenly the chair is "that old chair" and no one wants it anywhere near the living space. So I say "fine." My plan was to not share it anyway.

Now, since the painting's done, we've put a rug down in the man-room and have decided that, rather than buying and installing flooring, we'd go the rug route.

So, last night, days after assembling my great new desk and moving in my bookshelf and tv stand and a nice lamp, I brought up "the old chair." Getting it into the man room thru its 2/3 sized door was sort of like a birthing event in and of itself. But then, there she was. In all of her glory. My La-Z-Boy.

No more fighting for chairs or sofas or room on the floor. Come football season and Sunday nights (or any night after the urchin(s) were asleep) this room and this chair were mine, all mine. And then today, the wife sends me the following pictures:





I mean, what the fuck does a guy have to do these days to get a little privacy, huh?

Before I start this rant, I want you to know that in 99.9999% of cases involving professional athletes and their salaries, I say "more power to you, players. Get all you can, while you can and when you can." You make the sport an attraction, not the nerdy owners sitting in the luxury boxes jumping up and down and awkwardly high fiving their ass-kissing lackeys.

That said, Philadelphia Eagles wide receiver Terrell Owens can go fuck himself.

That's right Terrell. I said it. Fuck you!! Fuck off, you fucking fuck.

Why am I so angry at Terrell?

Well, it seems that TO is holding out on the Philadelphia Eagles and wants a new contract. No, not for less money silly readers, but for much more money.

"That seems reasonable," you might say. He had a great year last year.

Yes. It would be reasonable. If his old contract were up or if this upcoming season were a contract year. But it's not.

Care to guess where Terrell is in his contract? I'll tell you.

HE JUST FINISHED YEAR ONE!!!!

OF SEVEN!!!!!

The god damned greedy arrogant shitass cocksucking prick was not even thru 15% of his fucking contract, and he wanted it redone!!! Yep. One year.

"Hey Eagles management, I know I begged to be traded here, and we worked long and hard to get me paid like I thought I should be paid and to get me out of awful San Francisco. But see, here's the thing. Fuck you. Fuck you and your fucking contract. I want more. I want mines."

Here's what I hope the Eagles do. The GM will call you and say "Hey Terrell. I know how you feel about wanting more money, but see, here's the thing. We (collectively as owners) have had an ass-full of prima donna shitasses like you signing contracts only to decide it wasn't enough and ask for more after one good year and well before the current contract was up.

You had a good year, hell a great year last year. But that's why we paid you $49 Million fucking dollars for seven years including your $10 Million dollar signing bonus.

Now, if you're numbers had been shitty, you wouldn't have liked it if we asked you to renegotiate and take a pay cut...would you? Of course not.

That's the same reasoning we're using to not give you more money. If you were in our shoes, you wouldn't be paying us back for a bad year, so you're not getting a new deal for doing what you were extremely well paid to do.

But here's the kicker. We aren't trading you either. And we aren't cutting you. Yes, we'll suffer in the short term. We may suffer for the length of your contract. We'll eat the contract and take the salary cap hit. But we'll keep looking to find good young receiver talent that doesn't act like a cock-head all the time and make everyone else around them miserable.

And you know what? We might just find that person after this year. And then what will you do? You can't play anywhere else. We own your fucking ass. You can sit and rot and not get paid and hope against hope that your last episode of Cribs wasn't you showing the world your last thin dime.

You have been saving...right TO? Because you'll be what...32 this December? If we just eat your contract for six years, you'll be thirty fucking eight big boy. How many NFL teams are going to sign a 38 year old arrogant prick to a seven year deal?

Oh wait!! I know. Zee-fucking-roe.

So you see, Terrell, it's in your best interest to report. Have another good year or three, and maybe we'll talk about a bonus or an extension or maybe even renegotiating. But as long as you're holding us hostage and pointing your dick at us in the media, well, suffice it to say that you better find a hobby. You are staring down the barrel at six years of free time with no income.

Hope to hear from you or your cocksucking agent soon.

Man, do I feel better.

I am sitting at work with our entire internet and network connectivity not functioning, so I decided to submit a blog (GASP!!) via dialup connectivy.

As I wait for the simplest of things to occur, I wonder if this is what Abe Lincoln felt like while writing on the back of a shovel with a lump of coal.

Lance Armstrong is leading still and is, short of a stroke or sabotage, going to win the Tour on Sunday. There's not much action in the broadcast since all the guys with any hope know that they can't escape him, so they all just ride together through the French countryside chatting. It's quite surreal.

I don't have much today, other than to say it's gonna be a busier than shit four days. We are getting the deck treated and stained, the outside of the house painted, and six room inside painted, as well as some electronic equipment installed and moved. This entails frequent moving of much furniture, and I still have my usual yard care to complete tonight.

We are also researching the purchase of a 3-input switch for our home that will allow us to have 3 closed circuit cameras (one for the nursery, one for Lauren's room and one for the front door or possibly above the Egg on the deck) that will allow us to check any or all of the cameras from any tv in the house. If it comes with a remote control. I'm all in.

And if you don't agree with that, all I have to say is "Welcome to my home, Big Brother. Sit down and stay a while. Can I offer you a cold beer?"

There was an interesting story on ESPN.com today about SuperAgent to the Stars and equally super asshole-dongboy extraordinaire, Drew Rosenhaus.

Updated: July 19, 2005, 8:09 PM ET
Agent gives CPR to 4-year-old pulled from pool

By Len PasquarelliESPN.comArchive
In the new logo that emblazons the front of the T-shirts often worn by the few employees of Rosenhaus Sports Representation, the "S" is large and exaggerated, reminiscent of the famous crest worn by Superman.

On Tuesday afternoon, for one imperiled toddler, NFL agent Drew Rosenhaus, who collects superhero figurines as a hobby, became a real-life Superman.

Orange County (Fla.) Police confirmed that Rosenhaus, acting quickly in a moment of crisis, saved the life of 4-year-old Maurice Hill, who had essentially drowned in the pool at the Grand Floridian Hotel in Orlando. Rosenhaus administered CPR to Hill, who had no pulse when he was yanked from the pool, until paramedics arrived and took over the treatment of the youngster.

"He basically brought [Hill] back," said Cpl. Carlos Torres, public information officer for the Orange County Police Department. "The kid was gone and [Rosenhaus] saved a life. It's legitimate. Who knows how it would have turned out had he not been around? The guy was a hero today."

Said Cpl. Bob Leben, the deputy who commenced the investigation of the incident: "[Rosenhaus] certainly stepped up."

Hill was transported to Celebration Hospital, where police said he was listed in stable condition. Hospital officials did not immediately return messages, nor could the Hill family be reached. A spokesperson at the hotel also confirmed the events.

Rosenhaus was in Orlando for an appearance at the ESPN Club and to meet with some of his clients. He took a short break from business to honor a promise he had made, to take his girlfriend to the pool, when the incident occurred.

"When I was in high school, I was a lifeguard, and had learned CPR," Rosenhaus said. "In a situation like that, instincts kind of take over, I think. Let me tell you, this is the happiest day of my life. To save a little boy like that, who has his whole life in front of him, it's incredibly gratifying."

I mean, that's good stuff. Hell, that's great stuff. I am just left wondering how long it will be before Tom Cruise ups the ante and saves yet another boy in England or France?

Has anyone seen the new seasons of "The Surreal Life" and also "Celebrity Fit Club?"

Best. TV. Ever.

Or worst, depending upon how you see it. On The Surreal Life, self-titled supermodel Janet Dickinson travels with and won't start a day without her two-man homosexual hair and makeup team. It's comical. Bronson Pinchot is a fat cartoon of the Balke he used to be, but he is funny and continually corrects Omerosa for making up words and denying they're made up words. Then, Dickinson and the rest go bowling with some special needs kids, and Janet proceeds to call them retards to their faces.

Jose Canseco is the nice guy of the bunch, which is the ultimate surprise. During a book signing, everyone is stunned at all the shit he takes. One guy steps up and says "can you sign it To Matt, sorry I killed baseball." Another says "were you on roid rage then?" Canseco just lets it roll off his back. Amazing.

Now, for celebrity fit club, we have a few funny things.

Willie Aames (from Eight is Enough and Charles in Charge) is a fat christian superhero that is covered in tats and wears bad underpants.

Janie Lane from Warrant is 6' and 190, and looks like an orange between two toothpicks (thanks Mike Myers). I mean, I've seen better legs on a walker.

Phil Margera (Bam's dad) is 353 pounds and thinks cotton candy is better for you than an apple because it's lighter.

Gary Bussey is crazier than a shithouse rat, spouting every 12 step culty acronym "TEAM: Together Everyone Achieves More" and so many more.

Jackee is on, as is the Snapple broad who was on LAST SEASON!!! Add in Victoria Jackson and a plus sized supermodel, and it's entertainment ahoy.

This week, my favorite part (although I missed the entire story) was that Janie Lane lost zero pounds (the only one to do this) and thinks he's being sabotaged. Ummmm...yes Janie. Someone is sabotaging your Celebrity Fit Club 2 performance. They would have sabotaged your career but, well, let's be honest. You haven't had a career since Cherry Pie. I mean, is THIS the guy girls swooned over while he sang "Heaven?"





More to come as inspiration hits...

I will just post whatever comes to me as my fingers fly over the keyboard in the modern day equivalent of Evelyn Woods and her speed reading wizardry, except my wizardry is in typing...and knowing everything.

Lance Armstrong has, short of falling into an abyss or being snipered by angry Frenchmen, locked up his unprecedented 7th consecutive Tour de France. You all know the story, but it's no less amazing today.

10% chance of surviving cancer, returning to riding professionally, then kicking the world's collective bicycling ass for seven years, despite being so loathed by the French that he's frequently spit upon during the race, and organizers have even altered the course to minimize Armstrong's enormous edge in the serious climbing stages.

Yet here he is, the most frequently tested (for drugs) athlete on the planet, defying all odds and setting a record that will never ever be approached again, let alone matched or bettered. (that was one of the ugliest reading paragraphs I've ever written, and I've typed drunk before, so I've made some doozies).

I forgot to tell you all about something that happened this weekend that shocked me to the core. The wife, urchin and I were at The Home Depot on Saturday...

***opinion interruption***

I fucking hate that Home Depot insists on "THE" Home Depot. No. You're Home Depot. I go to Home Depot. I do NOT go to THE Home Depot. It's arrogant and annoying that you do that. But at least you were smart enough to allow for http://www.homedepot.com/ to point to your actual site instead of sending me to some hosting site. Thanks for that little gift, Nardelli.

***I now return you to my story***

We were hunting appliance bulbs for that overhead light that's under the microwave and over the stove (40w / 125v, in case you care). And by the way "THE" Home Depot, you don't carry that bulb. Ever. Which annoys me.

Anyway, Lauren and I were sitting upon and fantasizing about the big John Deere lawn tractors at the front of the store (she was sitting and I was fantasizing, in case you didn't figure that out) and all of a sudden, my gerbil -bladdered 3 year old starts grabbing herself as though she's on fire, hopping one foot to the other and yelling "GO PEE!!! GO PEE!!!"

So, in Mr. Mom fashion, I scoop here up and start running towards the back center of the store where the refrigerators and bathrooms are. I'm running because she usually has about a 15 second buffer before she pees. On the way by my wife (who's still talking with the light bulb professional about what "should be right here") I fling the Urchin travel bag at her feet as I fly by them both.

We get to the head just in time to have the uncomfortable exchange of glances between myself and another male patron using the baffroom. Yes asshole, I brought a girl in here. I don't have a choice, since the last time I went in the ladies room, someone called security.

As we returned to the scene of the drive-by bag flinging, the wife tells me that store personnel were concerned by my behavior (running, carrying child, throwing bag, etc) since they had just had to call the cops on a male patron (I will not say father). What happened, you might ask?

Well, apparently the senior penis-haver was upset with the behavior of his 7-10 year old son, so he punched him in the face, bloodying and possibly breaking his nose. We exited the store in time to see the two squad cars (one for the boy and one for the asshole) as the adult was being cuffed and stuffed and we could hear the boy crying. My wife mentioned that the kid would probably STILL suffer, since any man that would fucking punch a kid in the face in a retail store probably didn't have any qualms about kicking the family around when he got home from the pokie.

I suddenly realized that I was flushed and thought to myself, "I'd be going to jail too right now, because if I'd have witnessed that, I probably would have had to have been pulled off of that low-life shitbag by the staff of THE Home Depot.

I am repeatedly and frequently astounded at adults that are all too willing to beat, maime and kill children in the name of "discipline." In the news every day is some story about some shitass, like the one in Florida last week that was worried that his 3 year old was gay, and in "teaching the 3 year old to box," he killed him. Oh, and the boy was returned to this Father of the Year by Florida's DFACS folks after two years in foster care.

Why was he in foster care?

Oh, at five months old, the child was presented to an ER person with multiple broken bones, burns and fractures.

AT FIVE FUCKING MONTHS OLD!!!

These monsters should not and can not be rehabilitated, much like pedophiles can't be rehabilitated. It's time to stop the mandatory drug sentencing for non-violent offenders to make room for shitbags like the man at Home Depot. Otherwise, they'll have to make room for two people: The next man that punches his kid in front of me and me for beating the shit out of said man.

Now, on to lighter fare. Yesterday's quote of the day:

The urchin had gone across the street with my siser-in-law for God knows what. I figured Lauren'd come back in whore's makeup like she has before when left unattended with her aunt.

Anyway, about 20 minutes later, we all walked over as I was to bring her home for the family's evening meal. She had apparently had some success in the baffroom while I wasn't there. In the kitchen were my sister-in-law, my brother-in-law and one nephew.

As we were about to leave, the urchin took my hand, and with only minimal prompting from me, she looked back and said: "Fanks for helping me drop the deuce, hedder." Man, kids are fun to teach stuff. Oh, and in an effort to continue to lighten the mood, here are some pictures of the urchin that were taken since I last posted any. Enjoy.

She found a tree frog on the Big Green Egg

This is the urchin holding a postcard from our friends the Zanettis, who are vacationing in Italy. Oh, the postcard is covered in penises. Nice.

And these two were taken last weekend when the urchin was sick and was up all night two nights in a row. She was so tired, she fell asleep while climbing up on to the couch. As soon as she got to where she was going to pull herself up to look at me over the cushion, she lost consciousness. How cute.

This is a blog about nothing more than stuff that's run thru my head over the last couple of days.

I love my daughter more than life itself, but apparently a good night's sleep is a close second. After two nights of getting up in the middle of the damn night, Lauren has returned to her usual sleeping hours of 8pm-7:30am. Hoo-fucking-ray.

I did not watch baseball's All Star game. I will never watch it again after Bud "the horse cock" Selig managed to engineer the worst possible outcome to last year's game: A fucking tie.

Anyway, during the game, Joe Buck (son of one of the planet's greatest announcers) and Tim McCarver (the most hated ex-athlete that announces for a living on the planet) started discussing some sanscrit looking banner in the outfield. They talked and talked and just couldn't figure out what "HHRYA" meant.

Oh, did they forget to mention that they were paid by fucking Chevrolet to talk about said banner? No? They didn't? Really? You mean they tried to lead you to believe that this was a random observation and conversation between two people whose credibility is critical to their jobs? Fox is full of asshats and douchebags and will stop at nothing to be a whore. I hate Fox and everything it stands for and everything they've ever done.

Except Married...with children, The Family Guy (even though all they did is add it since their reality laden tv has left them with no actual shows), Arrested Development, Hell's Kitchen, The Simpsons (even though they tried to fuck Matt Groenig over, despite the fact that he's earned them roughly 15 billion god damned dollars), King of the Hill and That 70's show.

Hockey has decided to settle their little squabble. Oh, did I mention that the player's union not only didn't get what they wanted, they got about half of what they were offered before they left or got locked out or whatever happened. Combine that with the fact that there's no TV contract and a high profile player (Roenick) told fans "if you don't like it...stay away!" and you've got a sport ripe for collapse. Oh, and did I forget to add that commissioner Gary Bettman and union leader Bob Goodenow should be forced to give every male fan that buys a ticket to an NHL game a free hand job at the door because this is entirely their fault?

Kentucky Speedway is suing ISC for bad business practices because they didn't get a Cup race despite doing everything NASCAR asked them to do. Oh, and the fact that NASCAR and ISC are the same thing, run by the same family of idiots like Brian France. Look for the Mattioli and Bahre families as well as the folks that run every other track NOT owned by ISC to watch this one very closely, with an unsigned lawsuit in one hand and a lawyer in the other.

Lance Armstrong is leading and trying to win his 7th consecutive and final Tour De France. If he does, it will go down as one of the top sports records that will never be broken.

I watched the movie about Mickey Mantle last night on HBO, and I was reminded why I liked "the Mick" so much. Yes, his entire career is a big "yeah, but what if he..." moment, and yes he carroused and drank and other crap. But the guy was the face of baseball for a decade or more and he was revered by more kids than anyone before or since. His story was heroic, tragic, wasteful, overindulgent, sad, and ultimately, heroic again. Warts and all, Mickey Mantle is still and will always be one of America's top five American icons.

Dale Earnhardt Jr. won a race he ought not have won and Jeff Gordon ran like shit...again. I could hardly have been happier over a sporting event than I was this past Sunday. My absolute NASCAR fantasy would be that Junior pulls a Jeremy Mayfield and wins at Richmond to make the chase and on the second to last lap, Jeff Gordon gets wrecked by Robby Gordon and goes on to miss The Chase by one point.

Our old friend Kieth Warffel is coming to visit tonight. We know keith from the Sigma Pi house at Wake Forest where my friend Hoss went to college. Keef is one of those people that, even if you never see them again, you will always remember and talk about from college. Can't wait to wolf down a steak and taters with him tonight.

South Carolina's football team is facing NCAA troubles, including five "serious" violations that occured under the "leadership" of Lou Holtz. I hope they get shit-hammered and the old ball coach, Steve Spurrier, suffers because of it.

Tiger Woods made 7 birdies in 13 holes today at "The Open Championship" and finished the first round with a six under 66. No one will catch him. He will win this week. Period.

The wife decided to try to come up with a middle name for the new urchin by combining the middle names of her mom, my mom and my stepmom. Love, Martha, and Ann. Nice sentiment, honey. Good luck with that.

We recently got a letter from our homeowner's association management company after they noticed "a bit of black mildew" on our house. It's one square fucking foot over the front door. Their recommendation is to pressure wash the house and / or painting the house...within 15 days...of our receipt of the letter.

Thanks. We were planning on painting in the spring. But there's nothing quite like getting nine days to pick someone to pay three grand to for something you don't have in the 2005 house budget. However, I'll take this over the ghetto-esque and covenantless neighborhood we left when we bought this house. But that doesn't mean that I can't bitch about it. Because I can. And will.

I was just talking with a "member" of our marketing team about corporate America and corporate Canada's take on our new line of vibrators or "personal massagers." Sales are thru the roof even though grocery and drug stores are torn on whether or not to carry them.

Anyway, we were discussing what products cost to get to market vs. what they cost the consumer, and while one generates about 57% and the other 92%, I was thinking back to college about how condoms used to cost a LOT more than they do now. I mentioned that a dozen (or a year's worth) used to cost between $11 and $12 in Auburn, and how that was a LOT of money in college dollars.

My solution: Buy two cases of Milwaukee's best light and 8 packs of Ramen noodles and get a hand job.

Better birth control statistics and WAY more fun afterwards. I think I am going to start a marketing campaign for this strategy now. If only I could get a beer and ramen or beer and mac and cheese tie in, I'd be golden.

Happy Thursday everyone. Gotta go and do some stuff. More brilliant insights to follow...

to really recharge the old batteries. We (the wife anyway) are going to hit the halfway mark in the gestation of offspring number two this very week, and we have been talking a little about stuff like decorating, moving my nursery, middle of the night feedings, errands with a newborn, etc. Even thought it’s only been a little more than three years, you forget a lot of the stuff that was second nature “way back then.”

(I preface this blog with this for reasons you’ll know shortly).

So Saturday, the wife was involved in birthday festivities for her middle sister Caca, and that entailed going to another mom’s house to help setup. She was kind enough to take the urchin with her so I could seriously embark on the process of vacating my current home office (soon to be the bedroom of bambina numero dos) and doing all the things that go with that. You know, emptying and sorting boxes that you haven’t touched since you moved into your last house, trying to figure out why you saved those 5 ¼ floppy disks the last three times you moved, and stumbling across pictures that bring back some great memories. It’s quite a time consuming chore as you all may know.

Anyway, I got two full dressers and one nightstand emptied and sorted (and their contents disposed of when necessary) and got all that furniture moved to the basement, or as I refer to it, the Goodwill collection staging area. Either Goodwill is going to love me or my trash men are going to hate me. But either way, this shit’s on the way out.

After completing (well, nearly completing) this task, the wife got home with the urchin and we finished up the afternoon playing and reading and watching the Busch race.

Molly was leaving around 4pm and was planning to be home “not too late.”

So Lauren and I got Cooley’s pizza, had an ice cream (she did, not me) and watched a little TV before bedtime. She had been a little whiney Saturday, but that happens when you’re three, so I let it go…

Anywho, while cleaning out my office, I had stumbled across a couple of medals from our dart league years ago, and Lauren put one on. I explained that what she was wearing was now called “ba-LING.” She struggles with saying her L’s, so if she rushes it, it comes out “bwing.” By pausing and emphasizing the L, she not only says it right but adds a little flava as well.

So, I’m getting her ready for bed, and she flops down on the bed, which causes the “ba-LING” to fly up and hit her just below the right eye. No cut, but there’s a mouse for sure. To be nice, I give her a little Tylenol and put her to bed. Then it’s off to race-chat and some cold beer and poker online whilst watching the Craftsman Truck race on Speed. (I am one multitasking sumbitch, aren’t I?)

Anyway, I wasn’t feeling my usual chipper self, so I passed on an evening at the Thomas kitchen table and just chilled. The wife got home about 11:30pm, and we got to bed shortly thereafter and I was asleep about 12:30am. Quite the good little boy, if you must know.

Then, without warning, at 2:45am, the urchin is calling me. I go to check on her and she asks “can I sweep wiff you in yoi bed?”

‘No’, I think and then say, “but we can sleep here in your big girl bed”. She graciously accepts and it’s back to sleep…sort of.

She wakes about an hour later, and now she’s really really hot. I mean, hot to the touch hot. So I take her into our room and we proceed to get some cooler pajamas, some juice and some Tylenol, which we give her at about 4:05am. At 4:15am, while laying on her back next to me, she mutters something I can’t understand…and then pukes. On my pillow. Sweet.

The wife hussles for the trashcan, and I sit and try to comfort my now sad and retching little girl. She pukes a few more times, mostly purging the juice and Tylenol and then she seems better. We realize at this point that we’re up for the day on a little more than two hours of sleep, so we shower up, give stinky a bath (to unstuck the Tylenol/puke hair) and head downstairs to start our Sunday.

We watched some Noggin, some Boomerang, and got some Saltine crackers and ice chips to stay down, and at this point I was convinced that what had made her chunder WAS the Tylenol on an empty stomach. We got some more in her, and her fever responded immediately.

A couple of hours later, it was bacon, an egg, and a bagel with butter and cream cheese (her choice). She ate two pieces of bacon, a quarter of the bagel, and drank her juice and seemed to be coming around nicely. Of course, she was tired since she’d been up basically since a little after 2:30am, so I took this with a grain of salt.

The wife and child were resting around 10am, so I decided to take that opportunity to trump Hurricane Dennis and I mowed the front and back yard, blew off the driveway, got about 500 pounds of charcoal moved to the basement, showered, and was ready for the rest of my day.

When I came back downstairs, the urchin had crawled up on the sofa and fallen asleep upright with her face buried in the cushion. It was cute, so I took a picture. (I will be posting the picture shortly).

The rest of my day was “supposed” to consist of a trip to Sam’s to look at some safes and pickup ABT fixin’s for that afternoon / evening. ABT’s are peppers stuffed with cream cheese, some meat (Li’l Smokies today) and wrapped in bacon and grilled until the bacon’s crispy.

These too will be posted as soon as they're off the camera.

We got home from our trip to Sam’s, which was as always, a fun trip, and the wife started the two-hour process of prepping the ABT’s. Lauren watched whatever on TV and I cleaned out the Egg in anticipation of our snacks.

Repeating the Tylenol seemed to keep Lauren feeling okay and kept her fever down, but in her state of tiredness, she confused yawning with needing to vomit, so every time she’d yawn, she’d reach for the giant pail we had placed in the den for just such an event. This was also a little fun and more than a little sad.

I watched the race while cooking the ABT’s and then I walked back thru the den and (GASP) found Lauren asleep at 4:45 in the afternoon. Now I know she’d been up basically for 14 hours and was obviously tired, but this was going to pose a problem down the line. I chose to let her sleep while I cooked, and then woke her (which took some doing) around 6:15pm for some juice, Tylenol, and a dinner of Easy Mac. My thinking was to give her something that wasn’t too tough to chuck up if need be.

By the way, the only thing I enjoyed more than the Bud car winning was Jeff Gordon running the way he did. Yes, Mike Bliss wrecked him out, but his day was doomed to being not much better than where he finished anyway. That team is lost about everywhere now, despite having the point-leader as a teammate. I find myself snickering at the possibility of the 24 car not making NASCAR’s Chase for the Championship. (Please insert your own evil genius laugh here).

Anyway, we got Lauren dressed for bed and down at about 7:15 or so, and she was obviously exhausted. The storm was not helping our cause however, as the wind was blowing the rain against her windows so loud that she was actually scared, which she usually is not when it comes to rainstorms or any weather, for that matter.

I comforted her, got her talked into trying to sleep and she finally did just that shortly before 8pm. The wife and I then folded about 67 loads of laundry (hooray for Sunday nights) and collapsed in bed to watch TV and just exist for an hour before falling asleep. I am fairly certain I fell out at 9:50pm.

At exactly 3:45am, Lauren summoned me again. The wife commented that we should know she’s sick when she calls me. She will only call me when she’s not feeling well.

I went to get her and she was burning up again. This made 24 hours of a fever that was (depending upon which device was used) around 101 this time. I got all stuff and brought her to our bed, then got crackers and remembered the juice that I’d brought up before bed and got her some liquid and food in her stomach BEFORE giving her that bubblegum smelling pink shit.

She was obviously not feeling well because soon after, she actually went to sleep (about 4:15am) in our bed. That never happens. We avoid bringing her in there unless she’s sick because it’s not something I want to become a habit. We have a four-bedroom house so the chitterlings have their own rooms to sleep in (on most occasions).

I get up at 5:15am for work, and as I was leaving I realized that I had forgotten something upstairs. When I went back into my room, there was Lauren crying…a LOT, because I was leaving. It’s nice to be missed but seeing that made me quite sad.

So here I am with about seven hours of sleep the last two days typing a mindless, endless blog, and wondering if I should have even come in today at all.

Me thinks not.

Well, after reading the rest of that Spin Top 100 Records list, I decided that any list people have to pay for isn't worth reading, because they've always got an agenda to push.

So I decided that, today, right here and now, for your amusement, I will name what I consider to be MY top ten records of all time.

1) U2 - Joshua Tree (1987)

This is, without question, the greatest record ever made by a band that was, at the time, bigger than any band had ever become. The whirwind that surrounded U2 following "The Unforgettable Fire" and the fact that you knew that you were seeing a band move from one stratosphere to one never before seen on a pre-internet planet earth. If you're 35-45 years old, you remember the songs, the videos (like "Where the Streets Have No Name" and "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For") that shut down streets and city blocks to be made, and how we were riveted to MTV and couldn't believe the energy and the power of the band.

I have listened to this record, I don't know, a blazillion times, and I never get tired of it. The lyrics of songs like "One Tree Hill" (a song written in honor of a friend of Bono's that died) are powerful:

I don't believe in painted roses
Or bleeding hearts
While bullets rape the night of the merciful
I'll see you again
When the stars fall from the sky
And the moon has turned red
Over One Tree Hill

Same goes for the lyrics of "Running to Stand Still:"

In through a doorway she brings me
White gold and pearls stolen from the sea
She is raging
She is raging and the storm blows up in her eyes
She will suffer the needle chill
She is running to stand still

And the concerts were religious experiences. I saw them twice: once for The Unforgettable Fire tour and once for Joshua Tree. If you don't believe me, ask anyone that was at one of the two shows in Atlanta in December of 1987. Here's the setlist from the night I was there:

Where The Streets Have No Name, I Will Follow, I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, MLK, One Tree Hill, Gloria, Exit, In God's Country, Helter Skelter, Help, Bad, Bullet The Blue Sky, Running To Stand Still, Sunday Bloody Sunday, New Year's Day, Pride (In The Name Of Love)
encores: With Or Without You, People Get Ready, 40

Tell me where the drum solo moment or the "hey...wanna go take a piss?" moment or moments were in that setlist? There wasn't one. I was physically and emotionally spent after that concert. We sat for half an hour in our seats, just sort of staring at the stage in disbelief of what we had just witnessed and, to a small degree, been a part of.

If I had a time machine, the first thing I'd do after going back and winning a few lottos and meeting folks like Martin Luther King Jr., Abraham Lincoln and Johnny Cash, would be to follow the entire Joshua Tree tour or possibly be a fly on the wall as that record was being made.


1A) Guns N' Roses - Appetite For Destruction (1987)

This was a tough call, but in the end, the reason this record falls below Joshua Tree is the tiebreaker: Compare the bodies of work of the two bands.

3) Prince - Purple Rain (1984)
This record was beyond great. There's not a bad song on it. Hell, the record was so great that they managed to make a half decent movie based on it. Think that's easy? Ask Kiss how their movie worked out. This was also a top five concert, which adds to its allure.

4) REM - Life's Rich Pagent (1986)
Politics aside, this band has been about 100 things thru their history and they've been amazing at reinventing their sound. I was in college when this record came out, and after seeing all of the frat party bands and bar bands, these guys put out a record that captured that sound that every one of those bands was trying to find.

5) Tesla - Mechanical Resonance (1986)
This record came out the summer I was going to college. A buddy picked me up and had it in the tape deck, we were on our way to pick up another friend, and I mad Ronnie take me to the mall to buy it. I was totally blown away. We then picked up Paul and Tom, and it was back to the mall again. By that night, it sold 20 copies in our neighborhood alone. And the funny part is that it still holds up today. Songs like Little Suzy, Modern Day Cowboy, Comin' Atcha Live, Changes, EZ Come EZ Go and Cover Queen are amazing. I saw these guys at the Fox in Atlanta with (get this) Great White and Kix as the opener. The dueling guitars of Skeoch and Hannon were amazing and the whole show was just kick fucking ass.

6) Edwin McCain - Honor among Thieves (1985)

Before you crap on this, ask yourself what you look for in your music. One thing I really enjoy is a guy that, while a talented performer, is a songwriter to the core. That’s Edwin McCain. We went to Chastain to see Hootie and the Blowfish and found these little handbills in our seats about the opening band, so we decided to quit screwing around and pay attention.

What we got was an incredible show both performance wise and lyrically.

Before we left that night we bought the CD, and it’s been with me ever since. Well, I take that back. I’m on my third copy, as I’ve worn out the first two. If you want to hear some stuff that, beyond the production, is just plain powerful, check this one out. You can tell these aren’t songs “bought” from songwriters in some mill. These are songs that matter to the guy with his name on them. (And if you like this one, check out another Edwin McCain CD, “The Austin Sessions.”

7) Hootie and the Blowfish - Cracked Rearview (1994)

Before you even say, just shut the fuck up. This is MY list. Not yours. The Blowfish are a guilty pleasure. I’m not going to apologize for enjoying this CD to the point of wearing two of them out altogether. And I’m not the only one. They sold about 50 gojillion of them. So go listen to your radiohead cd’s and leave me alone. And before you ask, I am NOT drinking, nor have I ever had Chardonnay.

8) Don Henley - The End of the Innocence (1989)

I was tempted to put the Eagles Greatest Hits here, but since I knew it’d draw a shit storm, I did the next best thing: Added a Don Henley record.

This CD is lyrically about half a step behind Edwin McCain’s, and to me that’s saying something. Plus, you had the title track, which to me is a top tenner lyrically. Oh, and if you missed it before, shut up. This is my list.

9) AC/DC - Back In Black (1980)

So, you have a band that’s pretty successful. They put out some kickass records including Highway to Hell, Dirty Deeds and High Voltage, and then the lead singer up and drinks himself to death. What do you do? Do you break up, split the cash, and call it a day?

Hell no. You hire Brian Johnson (who might possibly have been the only guy on the planet that could even hold Bon Scott’s jock) and put out possibly the baddest fucking rock record Australia’s ever seen. Don’t think so? Check out the songlist (and this is yet another Mutt Lange production like Def Leppard’s Pyromania, AC/DC, XTC, Cars, and much more. (Like it or not, that guy's produced records that've sold about 150 million copies). Anyway, here's the list:

Hell’s Bells

Shoot to Thrill

What Do You Do For Money Honey

Giving the Dog A Bone
Let Me Put My Love Into You

Back In Black

You Shook Me All Night Long

Have A Drink On Me

Shake A Leg

Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution

I mean, come on!! That’s a fucking hammer of a record.

10) Kiss - Kiss Alive II (1977)

This is another one of those “I don’t care what you thinks,” but this record changed my life. I was 9 years old and I saw that album cover in the store and I had to have it. And after listening to it, I knew what rock n’ roll was supposed to do. KISS, while thought to be a goof by some, were master marketers, performers, and creators as well. Kiss might well be the ultimate musical guilty pleasure (unless you’ve got a closet full of New Kids on the Block CD’s).

That’s all for now boys and girls. I’ll be back soon with some great pictures of my urchin doing something cute.

I couldn't think of a good title for this entry, so I'm leaving it blank, more or less.

As many of you may know, yesterday was the big day. Oh, you don't know. Okay, sorry. It was the day we were to (hopefully) find out the gender of urchin number two. Right now, it's December 7th, but we're not likely to hit that. We're figuring around Thanksgiving.

Anyway, I never cared a single second whether Lauren had ended up being a boy or a girl. I was so horrified at the myriad afflictions that a newborn can be stricken with that all I wanted was a healthy, ten fingered and ten toed, four limbed child. Gender (and manner of arrival for that matter) seemed so secondary to my first goal that they were almost invisible in my mind.

And then we got Lauren. She was perfect (with the notable and noisy exception of her 121 day bout with reflux and her inability to ride 10 feet in a car until she was one year old), and I was thrilled.

Then, the wife talked me into another one, which for some reason became an easier and easier sell as time went on. I can't explain that, but it was. In the months leading up to yesterday, I didn't care a whit what gender number two was.

And then, when word got out that we were going to find out, folks started asking what we wanted, etc. However, I still didn't care. And I said so.

So we got to the doctor yesterday (complete with Lauren in tow) and she got to hear the baby's heartbeat (or heartbeep as she called it). She was amazed. Everything looked good, so it was off to the other office for the ultrasound.

She sat and waited patiently until we were called back into the room. She was very impressed with the machine, but was very concerned when "the lady put jelly on mommy's belly," but she was ultimately impressed that her "mommy say it not hurt at all!!"

Then, we saw the baby. All the measurements were perfect, and occasionally Lauren would see a hand (or the tech would tell Lauren she was seeing a hand) and Lauren would address the belly:

"Hi baby!! You waved at me!! Hi!! I see you baby!!"

Then, we heard and saw the heartbeat in cool color ultrasonic form. Again, we were all mesmerized and I was relieved. We saw ten fingers and ten toes and two earholes and a perfect heart and brain measurement and limb length and everything else. I was ecstatic.

But the tech was having difficulty located the "indicators." I wasn't surprised. I have always joked that in this age of super advanced technology, I could produce an heir that was misidentified gender-wise, at least until the doctor slapped it's ass and handed it to me.

Anyway, after some very thorough searching, the tech said "I can't be sure, but I'd say it's a girl."

The doctor came in moments later, took one look and said "you're having a daughter."


Molly grabbed my hand, smiling as widely as I'd ever seen. I slumped slightly and just stared.

A girl.

Molly asked "What's wrong?"

I sat for a second and said "apparently I did care, and I guess I wanted a boy."

DAMMIT!

For the record, the dammit wasn't directed at the wife or the being behind the placenta, but at myself. I couldn't (and still can't) believe I was so fucking selfish. Ooooh...I want a boy. I have to carry on the family name, blah blah blah.

You know what? That's all horseshit. This isn't the middle ages. No one NEEDS to carry on a family name. There are over 6.5 billion people on this rock, and to assume the end of the family name is a crisis is absurd. I don't have an estate or a fiefdom or some land overseen by serfs and peasants. I'm a computer guy in Georgia that has the greatest daughter in the world and a wife no man deserves. I live well beyond any expectations I ever had (that didn't involve winning the lottery). My firstborn child has seven grandparents that love her very much, and much family that is eagerly awaiting the arrival of her younger sister.

Yet I had the unmitigated gall to sit in that chair (and a couple of times since then) and utter the words "Yeah, I guess I am a little disappointed." Fuck me.

For the record, I am thrilled to have another daughter. Here are several reasons I just came up with off the top of my head:

All the old clothes can still be worn, saving a trainload of money to be used on other stuff. Like more clothes.

I already know how things go with a girl (at least to this point).

It will be VERY unlikely that this child will pee anywhere near my face at any time in her life.

I will spend FAR less time over the next 17 years (or more) standing in urine while peeing in the middle of the night, or anytime I am peeing barefooted for that matter.

Uncle Todd will have another little girl to dote on for a while.

I'm sure this list will grow, but I think you see my point. Besides the very obvious reasons, there are many reasons that us having another girl is great news. I hope everyone that knows me can forgive me for my selfish and shameful pouting.

That's not to say that I won't pout again over something else. I most assuredly will. But that will be another story for another day.

Oh, and before I go today, I thought I'd share a very funny clip with you. Lauren picked up on the sound of the baby's heartbeat during the sonogram and ultrasound right away, and spent much of the rest of yesterday imitating it. Click on the link below and make sure you've got your speakers turned on:

The Amazing Lauren

Pretty good, huh?

As I sit here the morning after my 37th birthday, I find myself pondering a few things:

The first one and most obvious is, why in the fuck can I not sleep? I mean, in highschool and college I could stay up really late and sleep late too. Then, sometime in my mid to late 20's, I started waking up early. And now, on a good day I can sleep seven hours, but most days it's between five and six. So it's either stay awake until 2am so I can sleep until 8am (on the weekend) or go to bed at 11pm and be up doing this and playing in an online poker tournament at 6:24 in the morning on a national holiday?

What's happened to the fourth of July in the last thirty years? Yes, it's a national holiday and yes, folks still enjoy it, ,but I remember the bicentennial, and that was kickass. Since then, it's like people sort of stopped caring. I know that not every July 4th can be like that one, but you would think that someone (like Donald Trump) would put together some sort of proposal or committee or something to put this holiday back on the top of the list.

There may not be much funnier than putting a digital camera in a three year old's hands and sending her off to take pictures around the house. The stuff she comes back with is hilarious.

Speaking of my three year old, there is nothing sweeter than the hugs you get on your birthday because she remembers how big her birthday was to her. Oh, and on a semi-related note, there isn't much funnier than putting a few rolls of crepe paper in the hands of said 3 year old and tell her to decorate the house for daddy's birthday.

My sister in law (who lives across the street) backed out of her driveway and hit my dad's car. That's all I'm going to say about that...

Another thought about the fourth of July here. I thought the fourth was the fourth. Not the second, third or fifth. So why is it that folks are shooting off fireworks in my neighborhood From Friday thru last night? I'm not being a grump, but it's against policy...isn't it?

You can have your beef tenderloins or your filet mignons or your lobster but, for my money, there's no better food on the planet than leg of lamb. Cooked right, it's just amazing.

I don't know who thought of combining fast food joints, but the guy that decided to put Taco Bell and Long John Silver's in the same building near my house deserves a Pulitzer prize.

I put a new front door knob / lock assembly on my front door, and I really think that job is one of the worst around the house. Your margin for fuckup is near zero, and if you mess up, you have to replace the door, then you have to paint the door, and then the door won't match anything really so you have to paint the whole house. Basically the intial cost of $70 could end up costing you about $2700. That's nothing to sneeze at when picking up your screwdriver.

Oh, and thanks to the douchebag that put in our doorknobs. Since you used an electric screwdriver, every fucking one of the screws is stripped, and if they're like the ones I took out of the front door, the ones that aren't stripped will have the heads just pop right off, leaving one to try to figure out how to drill out a broken screw.

Time for a shower and getting ready to get stinky out of bed...

now that's cute as a damn button right there...

You don't have to look at all of these, but since you're here, I figure you want to, so here ya go...

As you are now well aware, I have learned how to post photos in my blog. Since I've learned that great skill, I wanted to post some of my favorite pictures from the dvd my good wife presented me with on Father's Day (2005). This was an amazing gift that Lauren and I watched together and it hit me on the sofa that Sunday how quickly they grow up. Yes, it's very cliche' to say that, but it's true. Just see for yourself: