silliness

Have you ever wondered where your holiday traditions come from? I think we should make sure our children know the REAL reason for our holidays…

In a village not so long ago (maybe the 1960s) and not very far away (somewhere around Cleveland) there was a brave adventurer who decided to buck the centuries of oppression by cruel dinosaur overlords. Lacking true tools with which to fight, he engendered a cunning way to turn the dinosaurs into fossils using only eggnog and holly branches, thus leaving the Great Pumpkin Holiday in peace and theoretically guaranteeing the sheeplike populace a full month of stress-free retail shopping between the Festival of Halloween and Jewish Guy’s Birthday.

Some days you know early on that you’ve lost your mind and it just isn’t coming back. Some days you also know early on that you have beaten on too much code that week, and that it’s time to walk away, unplug for a weekend, and not look back until Monday.Today is that day.

How do I know?

Tally as of 10:30 a.m.:

I will have more coherent thoughts on this subject later, but I wanted to share this photo with the world sooner, rather than later. This is a real billboard. It is currently in place near the junction of I-565 and Memorial Parkway. Kat and Sean spotted it first, and told us about it last night. I'd planned to wait a few days to photograph it, but when Jeff and I went for lunch today, we saw a camera crew from a local TV station taking footage of the sign. I wouldn't be surprised if the billboard doesn't stay up too long after the news stations start talking about it, so I decided to come home, grab my camera, and take a few shots of it while it was still up. I have the original photos. If you feel the need to make this billboard your computer wallpaper, drop me a line and I'll make it available to you.

(What is the game of ‘seven words’? See this entry for explanations, or to contribute potential words.)

They resist sticks, stones, brandished bones, and - in the earliest of hours when no one is looking - abject pleading and begging. They, the disenchanted teenage brood, resent that it was I - silly, bumbling fool, I - who brought them into existence, and blame me for all their problems.They hurl insults when angered. Technical terms are spat like curse words through the browser, because they know I feel the sting.

It has been seven days since the Battle For Manage-Pings began in northeast Alabama, and I must report that the carnage has been intense. Burned dinners. Insomnia. Ignored cats. Friends who resort to emails in the hopes of actually making contact with my brain.