Tiding You Over

First, no news on the goose. I did talk to my brother's girlfriend and we have several placement options lined up. But then my kid got sick and I blew off work, so the capture will have to wait until at least tomorrow, possibly later. As of Friday, it was alive and munching grass.

Second, isn't it great hopw kids go from vomiting to "Can I have McDonald's for lunch?" in 90 minutes. The answer, by the way, was no.

Third, I went to Starbucks for hot chocolate and a pretentious quote. Fortunatley, they had both. The quote was from a playwright warning me to beware of becoming my own worst fears. The example she gave was if I lashed out violently at someone who had done my grievous harm. That would not only harm that person, but would be a "crime against [my] own imgaination" as well. And I thought, "well, OK, but the other guy really gets his ass kicked right?"

New Post

Although I don't really know why. I've grown sort of fond of that shot of Indira Varma pouring warm oil, (or peanut butter), over her head. Still time marches on. There is a wounded goose outside my window. it's been there for a few days now. It looks to have a broken wing. My paralegal has called around to a few wildlife rehabilitation centers and they've either not called back or said that she has to catch it herself and then bring it to a vet's office where they will pick it up.

Now my paralegal isn't going to catch anything other than a cold. But I will. I've got a call into my brother who is dating a woman who makes Soozieq look like someone who kicks puppies. They've got more animal rehab connections than Lindsay Lohon has rehab connections. Hopefully he can stop by tomorrow and we can catch this thing. of course, this involves a frightned goose with one wing, two guys, probably some beer, and a good-sized pond.

That should be a good post.

Sue me. I like the shot.

For Maggie

At the moment I'm preparing for a trial where I will almost certainly prevent a pregnant woman from recovering any money at all for falling down and shattering her leg. Know how I sleep at night? Usually on my left side, like a log. Yes, I am going to Hell.

But in the meantime, here's a little something for Maggie, who is going through a rough patch and could use some cheering up. And since I totally shit the bed with the whole "hot men in kilts" thing, I figure this will cheer her up. And for the rest of you, here's a sort of funny article about why you wouldn't want to have sex with any character Bale's ever played in the movies. Although if it were Jennifer Biel in "American Psycho", I'd totally take my chances.

Rat raises a good point. Why should the rest of us be deprived just so Maggie can gawk at Christian Bale's chest, (and unfortunately, or fortunately if you're Maggie, a rather significant portion of his pelvis), along with Eclectic and Soozie and Tysgirl and any other hetorosexual woman who stops by here? And any gay men, because what the hell, we're all about the equality here. So for the rest of us, here's a picture of Indira Varma pouring what I imagine to be warm oil over her head. I could be wrong, but it's my imagination so screw you. When you post pictures, you can pretend it's Cool Whip for all I care.

By the way, that link for Indira? Close the door and shoo the kids away before you click on it. Also, yes, that is Sayeed from "Lost", and yes, I am jealous of him.

Dear God Why Won't He Go Away?????

Just a short post to say that if I see one more of those fuckwad Dane Cook "It's October" baseball play-off commercials, I'm going to track that asshole down and hit him in the nuts with my trusty hockey stick.

Hard.

And Now A Word About Missouri Wine

And that word is "blechh"!!

A friend of mine got married this weekend at the age of 39, making him the last of my friends to get married, at least for the first time. We flew into Missouri, where the bride and groom somewhat inconveniently live, for the ceremony. The ceremony itself, in which yours truly had a part, was held on a gorgeous bluff overlooking the Missouri River. You could launch hang gliders off the patio where the vows were exchanged, but the bride wouldn't let us.

The reception was held at a local vineyard where they make their own wine. Now I personally know about as much about wine as I do about string theory and the role it plays in quantum physics. In short, both give me headaches and therefore I avoid them. But some friends of ours are quite into wine, and were very excited about the prospect of whooping it up at a winery. Until they tasted the wine. When asked to describe a particular red, a friend of mine, (who actually has my dream job at a major liquor distributor), described it as "grain alcohol with some fruit juice thrown in". Of course, another friend bought four bottles to take home, so perhaps the first guy is just stuffy.

The bonus from my perspective was that while the bartenders knew about wine, they didn't know about anything else. So when I went up and asked for four glasses of 14 year-old Oban scotch, that's what I got. 4 nearly full glasses. Generally, when ordering scotch one is lucky to get a little more than two fingers in a glass for about $12 if you're drinking the good stuff. In this case it was open bar and the bartender was pouring by the fist rather than the finger. I tipped him $5 and he was esctatic.

But not nearly as happy as I was.

In a related story, we went to a strip bar, or, excuse me, "cabaret", the night before the wedding. The bride gave us directions, and I'm not making that up. Hey, if you wait until you're 39 to get married, odds are you picked a winner. At any rate, the place was bring your own booze, apparently so that the club could get around those pesky "no full nudity" laws. The visit was pretty routine, choking smoke, some fun girls, some not fun girls, too much money spent on dances for the groom and best man. The funniest thing, however, was the table next to us. Apparently taking "bring your own booze" to an extreme, the eight guys at the table had brought in a keg and a bunch of plastic cups. At the other end, we saw one guy walk in with a plastic bucket full of ice and beer. Indeed, the whole joint reeked of class.

Well, it reeked anyway.

Red Flags To A Bull

We completed our office relocation. Of course, we're still covered with cardboard boxes and the smell of fresh paint gets old after inhaling the fumes for 6-7 hours, (although the rush is well worth it!), but all in all things went pretty smoothly. My new office has four windows along one side with a view towards a huge pond with a lot of geese and a few ducks in it. I'm told that if it ever actually gets cold this year, (seriously, it's 10/4 and about 85 out today!), hundreds of geese will hit the pond while heading south. I'm not sure what our office policy is on shooting geese during working hours, but I suppose I could ask.

I'm also not sure what out office policy is on shooting walkers, since we're on the first floor and I'm right alongside the path everyone uses on their lunch breaks. I felt like a fish for awhile, but then I went outside and the glass in my windows is pretty much one-way. You can't see into my office unless you actually have your face up to the glass. Which means its back to working without pants. And yes Eclectic, I still have a solid door.

But the oddest thing is the sign on the door into our section of the office. It's a solid metal door, and obviously you can't see through it. The sign says, "open slowly. one of your co-workers may be on the other side of this door"

And that's not supposed to be a challenge?

Gravity's Done Gone, Sweetie.

There's a song I like entitled "Gravity's Gone" by the group Drive-By Truckers. Good stuff. At any rate, the song has a lot of good lines, like "she woke up sunny side down and I was still thinkin' I was too proud to flip her over", which I consider poetically beautiful. This should give you a good idea of what a degenrate I am, and should also give you pause to wonder why you keep reading the stuff I write. But suit yourself.

The chorus goes "I've been falling so long/It's like gravity's gone/and I'm just floatin" Which brings me to today's newspaper, where, ironically enough in the comics section, (which I do read first), there was a story about a young woman for whom gravity is indeed gone, and who may very well think she's floating, and from time to time might be so fucked up that she is actually floating, but who is going to land, hard, soon. Yep, Britney Spears was ordered to give sole custody of her children to, of all people, the guy on the left, Kevin Federline. Yep, a judge actally determined that K-Fed is the more responsible parent of the two. Who saw that coming a few years ago?

Personally, I think the kids would be better off if the judge ruled that they had to be abandoned in the woods to be raised by the first pack of wolves that took pity on them. At least the wolves would probably not agree to allow a reality show to follow the kids around. "And now little Jaden is poised to leap onto the haunches of the wounded elk, while Sean prepares to take the throat. You viewers will also not that while these kids are being raised by some of the most vicious representatives of the species canis lupus around, unlike their mother, they are in fact wearing underwear."

That possibility aside, I have to think that when the court looks at K-Fed on one side of the aisle, then looks at you and your narco-lollipop on the other side, and decided that the first side of the aisle is the better option for two kids under five, well, gravity's been gone for quite awhile, but it's about to make a sudden and dramatic reappearance in your life. Incidentally, if there isn't a band named "The Narcotic Lollipops", there should be.

Try to land on your feet and roll.

Missed Opportunities

Today's paper brings with it the news that Francis Ford Coppola lost 15 years of writings when thieves broke into one of his studios and made off with some computer equipment. And I thought to myself "It's too damn bad these guys weren't around before Godfather III.