Mother Nature thwarted us again. Depending on which newscast you watched, we could expect rain/hail/downpours/flooding/scattered light showers. Or a tornado. Or hail the size of taxi cabs.
We ditched the beach idea and ended up with a house full of kids and Krispy Kremes.
Now we are nature's special effects as lightning blazes across the sky. As I write it has started pouring and I swear to whoever is in charge of these things that this rain better be taking the humidity with it when it goes.
Between the heat and two 12 girls giggling furiously in the next room, I'm ready to bite the head off of a live chicken or kick a dog. Come get me, PETA.
And I knew something was off about my ExtremeTracking stats when I compared them to my Dreamhost stats. For some reason, ET doesn't track all my referrers. Turns out I had over 300 hits from MeFi yesterday. Weee! So I added a new stats thing because, besides being a stats whore, I like to see where my hits are coming from. This way I know what people are saying about me. And I can plan accordingly. Like, buy extra chainsaws. (note to self, up Paxil dosage)
I had some interesting conversations about the pledge today. Bottom line is, stop making such a damn circus over it. Like I commented on a trillion blogs today, just give the people the right to say it or not say it or at least not say the god part without fear of being chastized by teachers, and it's all good. The one man army that pushed this into the courts was on CNN today and I wanted to bitchslap him. Just something about him. I don't say the pledge because I don't believe in god and I don't believe that there is liberty and justice for all in this country.
And if you want to know how the pledge started out as a marketing tool for some Socialist businessmen, read William's finely tuned rant.
Speaking of finely tuned, I'm still off in summers past, going through the years and listening to music to match the memories. Right now I'm on the summer of 87 and I've got The Cure's Why Can't I Be You running in my head on repeat.
I'm thinking of the day in 87 when I was working for the Yankees and I walked into the locker room thinking it was empty, but it wasn't. Rickey Henderson and his extra large dick were facing me. Let me tell you, that thing needed its own zip code. It was almost as thick as his thighs. That year the Jehova's Witnesses had their annual shindig at the Stadium. It was about 100 degrees and all these little future door-knockers were running around in suits and dresses. I was able to escape the madness by hiding in the archives room, where I spent hours looking through pictures and boxscores and mementos of Yankees past. I gazed at the picture of Thurman Munson for a long time.
That was the summer of 87. The Cure and Rickey Henderson's schlong.