All fun aside.

Today is Memorial Day (previously known as Decoration Day). The holiday itself was officially observed for the first time on May 30 1868 when, at Arlington National Cemetery, the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers were decorated with flowers (though many of the Confederate states had their own specific days of remembrance and chose not to recognize the federal holiday until after the first world war, when the scope of the holiday was expanded to include Americans who had died in all of this countries wars, not just the Civil War). The current date for this holiday (the last Monday in May) was set by congress in 1971 (see the National Holiday Act).
For most people today is a day to go camping with friends, to go to the lake and party, or to fire up the back yard BBQ, and to enjoy the freedom that this country affords us. For some families though, it is a day to mourn, to worry for the safety of a loved one, to pray for their safe return. And while we do enjoy talking in this country, and bandying around phrases like "Liberal" and "Conservative" and "Righteous", and "Traitorous", it would be nice if (at some point today) we could all take some time away from our motorboats, and our BBQ, and our nonstop bickering, and remember.
As long as there have been people there has been fighting, and as long as there have been countries there has been war. No matter what your personal political leanings, today is a day for us to recognize the sacrifice of the few for the sake of the many, and to give thanks for the freedoms we have.
So today we mourn those who have fallen (and are still falling) in service to our country, the men and women who were willing to sacrifice everything; not because they necessarily believed in the politicians, or the media, but because they believed in the Ideal, and were willing do fight for the Idea of America in spite of the practical flaws.
And for those currently serving overseas, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Bosnia, in Macedonia, in Haiti, and in a dozen other places that most folks don't even know about,
God Bless, take care of yourselves, and try to come home in one piece; your family's miss you as much as you miss them.

Things I think about when I can't get to sleep.

Do you need a silencer to shoot a mime?
If the majority of the universe is made up of nothing, why is there never enough space?
Paper or plastic?
Scented or unscented?
Regular or extra crispy?
Do I really want fries with that?
Who really shot J.R.
Does this tuna contain dolphin; does dolphin count as brain food?
What do they make the low carb bread out of?
Whatever happened to baby Jane?
Why is there a "Property of Nookie Monster" sticker on the telephone pole up the road?
Why does all the produce these days taste like styrofoam?
Am I Rock, Paper, or Scissors?
Where has all the cabbage gone?
When ships were made of wood men were forged from iron, when ships were made of iron men were carved of wood, what are men made of in the age of plastic?
How many people own address books without any names in them?
What the hell is that smell?
Is the moon waxing or waning?
If there are dogs, why wouldn't someone let them out?
Do you think Ghandi ever got athletes foot?
Who was the first person to eat an oyster?
Is that my foot or someone else's?
Is there really such a thing as too many file cards?
Do city people know what the stars look like?
What if my nephew's cat really did run off to join the circus?
If God made man, who made God?
If man made God, who made man?
Would knowing the answer make me a better person?
Would knowing the answer make me not have to get up early and go to work tomorrow?
Would knowing the answer make the world a better place?
A safer place?
A more beautiful place?
Would it make a difference?
Would it spark a war?
Bring peace?
Both at once?
Would anyone really give a shit?
Would it be enough to snuff out the small spark of life on this otherwise insignificant chunk of cosmic debris?
Would our passing be noted by the larger universe?
Or would the legacy of our species pass quietly into oblivion?
A solitary flash of consciousness to be extinguished without pomp or ceremony, uncounted by even the most anal retentive auditors of a cold and uncaring universe.
Has anyone seen my socks?

Who are you and what are you doing here?
Would you like a candy apple?

Another Day in Platyduce

This weeks lesson to live by: Never eat anything that is older than you are.

Todays Rant:
Why is it that people feel the need to park where you are working? I'm not talking about the folks that accidentally park somewhere that happens to be in the way, I'm talking about these mental defectives that seem to get a kick out of being where they shouldn't be. You all know the ones, those yuppie types in their big SUV's. The ones who will run over your traffic cones and drive straight though your hazard tape, and then sue you because they smudged their shiny yuppie toy in the process. These are the same folks who drive 30 miles per hour, until you try to pass them (then they can usually manage to get up to 70 or so). I don't know if this is due to some sort of masculine insecurity, or if they are just basically rude and inconsiderate, but there seem to be a lot more of them lately. That's why, deep down, I harbor a desperate secret hope that some designer of seat cushion warmers is working on a diabolical plan to make all these assholes impotent. That's what we need, some way to sterilize these people before they can reproduce and raise another generation of unpleasant asshole kids. That's what the world needs, more deranged geniuses with a bend toward passive eugenics.

Its Craptacular

An empty bottle of Moosehead,
A pocket knife,
A pair of chopsticks,
An opened bottle of generic aspirin,
An alarm clock,
A table fan,
A pocket calculator,
A pair of sunglasses,
An ultra fine grade whetstone,
A clock radio,
A water canteen,
An outdated wildlife calendar from 2003,
A three foot long x two inch wide strip of copper chain mail,
A paisley shirt,
A pink rubber ball,
A J.W. Speaker Corp. 1951 Pat. No. R.E. 22934 can opener,
A box of "Ideal Clamps" paperclips,
A gum rubber eraser,
Needle nose pliers,
A 2004 Franklin Almanac,
An emergency fallout ration pack (Circa 1972) with accessory packet,
A partial roll of duct tape,
A harmonica,
Dental floss...

Things that clutter up my desk.

Saturday night and nothing to do.

There are thousands of these things on the internet. I have no doubt that there are some people who would take this as a challenge, and would attempt to distinguish themselves in the eyes of their fellow net mollusks by going through some quasi-creative gyrations, I suffer no such impediment.

Today's rant:
What's up with people saying that they want to be writers? I hear this all the time; "Someday I want to be a writer...". I have news for you people, if you can write you are a writer. You may not be very eloquent, you may not be very good, you may not be able to spell correctly, you may not be able to write anything more creative than a laundry list, but you are a writer. This doesn't mean that you will be published, or that you deserve to be.
The reason most people say that they want to be writers is that they think it makes them sound more interesting. The problem is that they don't think of all the other interesting potential goals that they could have. You almost never run into an aspiring bonsai sculptor, but I think this is due to the fact that we all harbor a primal fear that god is actually a tree, and that there is a very special hell reserved for those who torture plants purely for pleasure.