Jesus H. Christ!!!

On a stick.

I remember the raids of the Gibson Guitars factory in Nashville from a couple years ago.
It came on the heels of severe flooding in the city and put the double-whammy smack down on the company.

Now, there's more to the raids than it seemed at the time.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The CEO of Gibson Guitars is reviving a claim that his company was unfairly targeted by the government, on the heels of the scandal over the IRS targeting of Tea Party groups.
Gibson boss Henry Juszkiewicz, who has donated in the past to Republicans, told Fox News on Wednesday he doesn't know whether a series of raids on his company were tied at all to his political leanings. But he said "I clearly believe that someone targeted our company inappropriately."
Gibson was the subject a high-profile investigation involving disputed fingerboard shipments. Juszkiewicz said the legal fees and seizure of merchandise cost his company roughly $5 million.
"We were not high on the list of people you would go after, so clearly there was something else there," he said. "I think there is a system problem. And I've committed myself to fighting back for years to come."
Juszkiewicz is retelling his story after the IRS acknowledged it improperly subjected conservative groups to additional scrutiny for a period of roughly 18 months. The case has prompted lawmakers to give prior complaints of unfair treatment at the hands of various federal agencies a second look.
On the Gibson case, though, the company already reached a resolution last year with the federal government.
Gibson entered what was called a "criminal enforcement agreement" under which Gibson would not be charged. The company agreed to pay a $300,000 penalty and pay $50,000 to a federal conservation fund.
The dispute centered on a law known as the Lacey Act, which since 2008 has made it illegal to import plant products, including wood, exported in violation of another country's laws. The law was updated in an effort to target illegal logging.
However, the series of federal raids on Gibson factories in 2009 and 2011 were prompted by an issue that went beyond conservation.
The shipments of wood from Madagascar and India were deemed illegal because they were unfinished -- something those countries prohibited.
However, finished fingerboards presumably would have been legal. In the Indian case, court documents said one intercepted shipment was "falsely" labeled as finished when it wasn't.
Juszkiewicz said at the time that the U.S. government essentially went after his company because the work wasn't being done in India.
The Gibson CEO also has a history of donating to Republican candidates, including Mike Huckabee for president in 2007 and Republican Rep. Marsha Blackburn on several occasions. Juszkiewicz also gave to Democratic Rep. Jim Cooper.

http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2013/05/29/gibson-ceo-revives-complaints-over-government-raids-in-wake-irs-scandal/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+foxnews%2Fpolitics+%28Internal+-+Politics+-+Text%29

I would like to be the first to welcome our new giant pink slug overlords!

Giant, fluorescent pink slugs found living atop a mountain in Australia

Seriously, though?
Does everything weird, woolly, slimy, and dangerous come from Australia or is it just me?

http://www.treehugger.com/natural-sciences/giant-pink-cannibal-slug-discovered-australia.html

High on the dew-dampened peak of Mount Kaputar, in New South Wales, Australia, there exists a world distinct unto itself, an alpine forest populated by organisms found nowhere else on the planet. There, in that isolated mountaintop ecosystem, only a lucky few have chanced upon its most colorful inhabitant -- this giant, fluorescent pink slug.

Michael Murphy, a ranger with the National Parks and Wildlife Service, was one of the first to get an up close look at this remarkable creature, which was only identified just recently.

"Giant pink slugs are about 20 cm long (7.8 inches), only found on top of Mount Kaputar," says Murphy in an interview with Australian Broadcasting Corporation. "On a good morning, you can walk around and see hundreds of them, but only in that one area."

"As bright pink as you can imagine, that's how pink they are," he added, noting that each night they crawl up trees in large numbers to feed on mold and moss.

But giant pink slugs aren't the only squishy inhabitants unique to that particular mountaintop. According to Murphy, the forest there is also home to several cannibal snails, battling it out in slow-motion to see who can eat the other first.

"We've actually got three species of cannibal snail on Mount Kaputar, and they're voracious little fellas," says Murphy. "They hunt around on the forest floor to pick up the slime trail of another snail, then hunt it down and gobble it up."

Scientists believe that the distinct biodiversity of this particular region are living relics from a bygone era, when Australia was lush with rainforests, connected to a greater landmass called Gondwana. As volcanic activity and other geological changes over millions of years transformed the landscape into one more arid, Mount Kaputar and its inhabitants were spared.

As a result, such unique invertebrates that might have dried out to extinction remain alive today, tucked away in a world all their own -- and that's just how Murphy prefers it:

"It's just one of those magical places, especially when you are up there on a cool, misty morning.''

I love these people so very much!

Look at this picture.

Stare into it.

Accept it before it destroys you.

This is what "embracing life" really looks like.

These are the people who are alive.

That are "in the moment".

Good God, I love these guys.

So very, very much.

From the Drive Nacho Drive blog/website.

http://www.drivenachodrive.com/

Mary wrote in with "Dogs and babies sleeping" this morning.

It's awful damn cute.

(Stop looking at me like that.)







http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/24/dogs-and-babies-sleeping_n_3332420.html?ncid=wsc-huffpost-cards-headline

Joe Bonamassa with Beth Hart - Sinner's Prayer

This is great pairing.
Joe Bonamassa on guitar and Beth Hart belting out the blues.
So good.

Joe Bonamassa - Slow Train LIVE at Beacon Theatre

Beth Hart - Bang Bang Boom Boom Official Video

I like Beth Hart.
Her first full studio album Screamin' for my Supper is really good.
Good Lord, that woman has pipes.
Look up the studio version of Sky Full of Clover.
Great tunes.

Enjoy.

Josh Ritter: Hopeful (opbmusic session)

I found this video and the bit of interview on the NPR website.
They have a great music section and the Studio Sessions are something to see.

I really like what Ritter had to say regarding lost love, heartbreak, broken relationships, and all the rest.

Josh Ritter: Coming Out Of The Dark Clouds

April 20, 2013

The charming singer-songwriter and his Royal City Band recently performed a sold-out show at Portland's iconic Crystal Ballroom. During soundcheck for the concert, Ritter let in video cameras from opbmusic for a gorgeous rendition of "Hopeful." Watch the video, then download the MP3.

"I always felt like I was being stalked by that feeling of heartbreak." That's Josh Ritter talking about the beast that exists in the title of his seventh and latest record, The Beast in Its Tracks, an album written in the wake of his 2011 divorce from singer-songwriter Dawn Landes. To the extent that these new songs were written post-divorce, this is Ritter's "divorce album," but that's where comparisons to the likes of Blood on the Tracks and Shoot Out the Lights stop.

"When I initially started writing," he tells us, "I thought, 'I'm going to steer these songs in a really vicious direction.' But then, when I wrote those songs, they just felt like zombie songs. They didn't really feel like they had any humanity in them."

Eventually, Ritter began to see his experience differently: "I couldn't force myself to forgive," he says, "but I could intend to forgive somebody." The result is a collection of songs that are informed by the divorce without being defined by it — by the end, "Joy to You, Baby" sounds like anything but a breakup song.

Josh Ritter and The Royal City Band recently played "Hopeful" for this opbmusic soundcheck, recorded at iconic Portland venue the Crystal Ballroom.


Credits
Video: Ifanyi Bell
Photos: Ifanyi Bell
Audio: Steven Kray

These thoughts collide.

Free Will Astrology
May 23-29
by Rob Brezsny

CANCER (June 21-July 22): 
Don't take yourself too seriously.
The more willing you are to make fun of your problems, the greater the likelihood is that you will actually solve them.
If you're blithe and breezy and buoyant, you will be less of a magnet for suffering.
To this end, say the following affirmations out loud.
1) "I'm willing to make the mistakes if someone else is willing to learn from them."
2) "I'm sorry, but I'm not apologizing any more."
3) "Suffering makes you deep. Travel makes you broad. I'd rather travel."
4) "My commitment is to truth, not consistency."
5) "The hell with enlightenment, I want to have a tantrum."
6) "I stopped fighting my inner demons. We're on the same side now."

Sheryl Crow - Can't Cry Anymore

NPR had a recent story on Sheryl Crow.
Her new single, "Easy", is a bit more country.
Not a surprise given some of her previous work and the fact that she lives in Nashville now.

I've been a fan since her first album and this has always been one of my favorites.

I am so disappointed.

There's a book called, "I could Pee on this", and no one thought to mention this to me!?!

Hurt, my friends.
Really hurt.

Messerschmitt Bf109E White 4

I was reading and listening to stories on the NPR website about Memorial Day and found this audio recording of Sir Hilary in 1940 describing his thoughts on his first day in air combat.

There's also a fascinating story about the Lafayette Escadrille - a group of American students who formed one of the very first fighter pilot groups in France during WWI.
They were studying in Paris when war broke out in 1914 so they decided to lend support to their adoptive home.

It's worth a look see.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lafayette_Escadrille

http://www.npr.org/2013/05/27/186752528/france-pays-tribute-to-first-u-s-fighter-pilots







Ed. Note:

Funny.

I was laying on the couch yesterday watching "The Dirty Dozen" with Lee Marvin and here's a story about the real guys who inspired the real story.

From NPR -
http://www.npr.org/2013/05/27/186273553/jake-mcniece-wwii-hero-and-self-described-troublemaker

Sixteen million men and women served in uniform during World War II. Today, 1.2 million are still alive, but hundreds of those vets are dying every day. In honor of Memorial Day, NPR's All Things Considered is remembering some of the veterans who have died this year.

The Dirty Dozen was a Hollywood hit, but it was based — loosely — on a true-to-life WWII paratrooper regiment. Jake McNiece led the group, whose exploits inspired the 1967 movie and earned the nickname "The Filthy Thirteen." McNiece died in January at the age of 93.

While the movie took liberties with The Filthy Thirteen, the real-life McNiece was no less colorful than Maj. John Reisman, the character played by actor Lee Marvin. As McNiece recalled in an interview a few years ago, he considered himself "the head troublemaker" of a group of troublemakers.

On the eve of the Normandy invasion in 1944, his men jumped behind German lines. Some called it a suicide mission. For the D-Day jump, McNiece shaved his head and painted his face — and the look caught on with his men.

"So I started cutting their hair and I put markings all over their face for camouflage," McNiece recalled in a 2008 interview. "And it looked like a bunch of war paint with Indians."

Enlarge image
McNiece received four Bronze Stars, two Arrowhead Bronzes and was appointed a Knight of the French Legion of Honor.

Courtesy of the McNiece Family
"It was a morale booster," says McNiece's widow, Martha. "And it not only scared the Germans; it scared the Frenchmen when they landed in France."

McNiece's son, Hugh McNiece, says it wasn't just the unorthodox haircuts that earned The Filthy Thirteen their name. "They didn't take a lot of baths and they didn't keep their barracks very clean," he says. "And that went along with just a lot of disregard for military discipline."

In a 2002 interview, Jake McNiece said The Filthy Thirteen got away with a lot of stunts.

"We went AWOL every weekend that we wanted to, and we stayed as long as we wanted to. We stole jeeps; we stole cranes. We blew up barracks; we blew down trees. And we stole the colonel's whiskey," he said.

That sort of misbehavior was a long way from the The Dirty Dozen portrayal of a team comprising murderers and psychopaths. But the Hollywood spin stuck.

"The Filthy Thirteen had to live down the fact that they weren't criminals for the rest of their lives," says Martha McNiece.

Understandably, Jake McNiece never was a fan of The Dirty Dozen — yet the movie, in a scene where Lee Marvin portrays Maj. John Reisman, captured an element of truth about The Filthy Thirteen: "Look, they might not be pretty, but any one of mine is worth 10 of yours," says the major. "My contention is that my men are more than able to handle any job given them."

After D-Day, McNiece helped resupply troops in the Battle of the Bulge and took on other tough assignments. He received four Bronze Stars, two Arrowhead Bronzes and was appointed a Knight of the French Legion of Honor.


__________________________________________________________________________________

http://www.npr.org/2013/05/27/186286259/after-wwii-a-letter-of-appreciation-that-still-rings-true

In the fall of 1945, my father was honorably discharged from the Navy. He was one of the lucky ones. He'd served on a destroyer escort during the war, first in convoys dodging U-boats in the Atlantic and then in the Pacific where his ship, the USS Schmitt, shot down two kamikaze planes. My dad always kept a framed picture of the Schmitt above his dresser, but, like most men of his generation, he didn't talk a lot about his war years.

One story he did tell me, because it haunted him, was about a shipmate who was lost on duty one night. That sailor had told the other guys on watch that he was going to the galley to get some cherry pie and coffee; while he was crossing the deck a wave smashed into the ship and washed him overboard. The captain, against regulations, ordered the ship's lights turned on to search for the sailor in the black waters. That poor guy was never found. Like I said, my dad was one of the lucky ones.

And how special he must have felt in late December of 1945, when a letter from Washington, D.C., came for him at his sister's house in Llanerch Hills, Pa. My father was living with his sister and her family because, by then, both of his parents had died. The letter, signed in fountain pen, was from the Secretary of the Navy, James Forrestal. It began:


Click here to see the letter James Forrestal sent to John Joseph Corrigan.
Courtesy Maureen Corrigan
My dear Mr. Corrigan:
I have addressed this letter to reach you after all the formalities of your separation from active service are completed. I have done so because, without formality but as clearly as I know how to say it, I want the Navy's pride in you, which it is my privilege to express, to reach into your civil life and to remain with you always.
I found this letter about a year ago in one of the many boxes of stuff that people leave behind when they die. My dad died in 1997 and I'm still finding stuff. The beauty of the letter's opening paragraph literally took my breath away. This may have been a "form letter," but there was a compassionate presence behind those words. Someone, either James Forrestal, or an anonymous aide serving under him, had the humanity to think about the hundreds of thousands of sailors who were going to have to adjust to civilian life; many of them, like my father, had been in the Navy since right after the attack on Pearl Harbor. In that pre-computer age, clerical staff would have had to hunt up all those former sailors' forwarding addresses and mail this letter out to them. The letter goes on to list some of the achievements of "the greatest Navy in the world." And it concludes with these words:

For your part in these achievements you deserve to be proud as long as you live. The Nation which you served at a time of crisis will remember you with gratitude.
The best wishes of the Navy go with you into civilian life. Good luck!
I've tried to find out what I can about this letter. It seems that it was sent, as it should have been, to all discharged sailors; the fountain pen signature on my dad's letter is probably a facsimile of Forrestal's handwriting, made with an "autopen." If you go on eBay you'll see this same "vintage" letter for sale, for as low as $14.99.

Also sad is Forrestal's own post World War II history: He became the first-ever secretary of defense under President Truman, but Truman later dismissed him in March 1949. Suffering from depression, Forrestal committed suicide two months later by jumping from a window on the 16th floor of Bethesda Naval Hospital. Many conspiracy theorists still allege that Forrestal was murdered.

Here's what I know for certain: I know that when my 25-year-old father received this letter, it meant the world to him. I'll bet that, in 1945, most other discharged sailors around the country felt the same way. I've asked a couple of friends who served in Vietnam whether they ever received a letter of gratitude and they say "No."

One vet I showed my dad's letter to printed a copy to tape over his desk, so that other vets in his office could read it. Almost seven decades later, that letter conveys something special to ex-service people. I know Memorial Day is about honoring those who've died in service to this country, but the tender grace in that gesture from an earlier age reminds us that gratitude to those who've served and continue to serve doesn't need to be rationed.

If you haven't figured it out yet I am a big fan of the absurd and non-sensical.

Which is why I am posting this photo of a giraffe watching a giraffe on tv.

http://anokaything.tumblr.com/post/4141605253/i-posted-the-first-pic-of-my-giraffe-watching-another

This is a great example of why I love the podcasting world;  the long form interview.
You get an hour long interview with, in this case comedienne Morgan Murphy, in which you get to know a little about someone.
Morgan Murphy is a comic, writer, and pretty good photographer.
Her interview with Jay Mohr is worth a listen.

Also, people loved this photo so much that sent in their own versions.

Friday, June 15, 2012.  New Orleans.  

File under, What in THE Hell is going on Here?

I'm not sure what the hell's wrong with people (and when I figure it out I promise to post it here) but I had this conversation this morning:

EPPdF. "Good mornin'.  Are you riding that bike out there?  I just rode in from Gulf Shores, saw the Georgia plate on another Harley and was wondering if that was yours?"

Dude in flannel shirt with sleeves cut off - (long pause while he stares at me as if I had just asked if it was cool for me to sodomize his mother while pouring sugar in his gas tank).
"NO."(You dick - implied but not stated).
"I don't believe in them." (motorcycles)
(I'm assuming he meant that he finds them to be a dangerous mode of transportation and therefore doesn't like them, as opposed to doubting their very existence visa vis, ghosts, aliens, the baby Jesus,  cel phone batteries that last longer than 3 hours, etc.).
"I had a cousin who died on one.  He went over a 90 ft. cliff outside of San Diego.  He lost control on a sharp curve while riding his Ninja 750 Hellfire & Brimstone motorcycle, plowed thru a steel guard rail, sailed 75 ft. out over the Pacific Ocean, then dropped ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY SEVEN FEET to the rocks below, where the bike landed on top of him and burst into flames.  The force of the explosion having completely severed all his limbs from his body and throwing them HUNDREDS of feet into the air, still burning, where again they landed with TREMENDOUS AND VIOLENT FORCE upon many barnacle-y rocks, AND THEN, rabid, amphibious, salt-water, and sea-faring badgers crawled from their watery caves and chewed on his eye-sockets and pinky-fingers until his lifeless remains were discovered by a deaf mute, who was forced to wait several weeks for a translator to happen by the broken guard rail on the side of the cliff, on a dangerous mountain road, outside of San Diego, at which time he started twitching and fidgeting and throwing his hands into the air with such an excited fury, in his vain attempt to communicate the  universal sign language sign for "man on motorcycle, who has ridden off cliff, suffered violent and fiery explosion, and is currently being eaten by rodents".  But the translator, fearing for his or her life, had run off to alert the authorities to the fact that there was an insane, father-raping, homicidal, and probably tax-dodging maniac, roaming the steep and treacherous mountain roads and valleys outside of San Diego, lurking by broken, steel guard rails, waiting for unsuspecting civilians, who, thru no fault of their own, could find themselves in a terrible predicament.  BUT, because of an internal, bureaucratic SNAFU at the San Diego Police Department, and an inter-organizational disagreement about exactly WHO (and/or WHOM) has jurisdiction over mountain lurking, homicidal, father-raping, maniacs - the San Diego Police Department, not wanting to bear the full brunt of the financial burden of launching a full scale beach landing to "SEEK AND DESTROY" the aforementioned maniac, complete with special ops veterinarians,  trained in all of the arts of both war and removing the fangs of rabid, amphibious, salt water, and sea-faring badgers, thereby clearing the beach head for the commandos who, under the cover of darkness and using air supremacy, would sneak from the frigid waters of the Pacific Ocean, up the ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY SEVEN foot cliff face, using THE BUDDY SYSTEM the entire way, and deploy explosive charges to confuse and stun the mountain lurking, father-raping, homicidal, and tax-dodging maniac, now known by the CODE NAME: MLFRHsTDM in all official, inter-departmental transcipts.  BUT, between waiting on a SEAL OF APPROVAL from the president of these UNITED STATES, and the special-op's veterinarians having been previously deployed to undisclosed locations to protect innocent whales who, at that very moment, were being kicked in the face and snout by disagreeable, eye-patch-wearing,  Guinness-addled, and anti-environmental contrarians,  (see previous post), that my cousin's body, or the remains of which, sat on those salty rocks for nearly a year before we could collect the parts."

EPPdF, "So that's not your bike, then?"

*Note*
Actual conversation:

EPPdF: "Good mornin'.  Are you riding that bike out there?   I just rode in from Gulf Shores, saw the Georgia plate on another Harley and was wondering if that was yours?"

Dude wearing flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off:  "NO!  I don't believe in them.
(Terrible pause while he contemplates whether or not to kill me and throw my various and asundry parts in the bayou for the gators, or just wound me as a warning for all others who might commit such an egregious assault upon his character as asking whether or not he owned a motorcycle).
(Staring with a burning hatred not seen since Plessy v Ferguson)
"My cousin was killed on his Ninja.  He was a marine, stationed in San Diego; joined when he was only 16 after his parents signed the papers.  He went off a cliff and down to the rocks below and it was only because of a deaf mute wandering around the beach with some sight-seeing group that had stopped to take pictures, that the body was found.  Of course, the deaf mute had to wait to get back to his people so they could translate for him"

EPPdF:  "So that's not your bike, then?"

DWFSWTSCO:  (wondering how wide the throat of your average adult male alligator is and whether my skull would fit)  "No."



*What is it about these dang people.  I get the part where people on motorcycles can and do get hurt.  I get the part where a large majority of the population would never get on one.  I get the part where, having lost a loved one due to an accident involving a motorcycle, you might have a particularly keen dislike for motorcycles.  The part that I don't get, is the part where these people love to tell their particular horror stories, with the motorcycle, and on occasion you (in this case actually me) cast as the central villain.  Maybe they intend to scare you off the bike or just irritate you enough to ride away.
BTW, the female version of this is the woman who loves to go on and on about how difficult HER pregnancy was, to the woman who is currently 6 and 1/2 months pregnant and already swimming in an ocean of anxieties.  "....at one point, that doctor looked at me, looked at my husband, and said, "If I'm not out in an hour tell my wife I love her and then call Big Steve at the department of agriculture.  Tell him we've reached Code Tangerine.  YOU GOT THAT!?! Code TANGERINE!!!  It'll be a GODDAMNED MIRACLE if we make it out alive."  Then he climbed thru my urethra with a roll of duct tape and a set of tea spoons from Disney World.  I think he had a rusty miner's helmet for light but I can't be sure.  By that time, those special brownies Gerald makes every New Years had kicked in and everything got fuzzy for a few months.  I think I called little Jerry "Emperor Hirohito" until he reached kinder garden, on account of the fact that he refused to leave my uterus until the doctors got out the heavy explosives.  But I'm sure YOUR delivery will just be a regular ol' piece of cake Sugar but, just in case, here's Big Steve's number........"


*  "Sometimes, they're aren't enough rocks" *


Just after the sleeveless wonder left, I went for another cup of coffee and found the Actual Harley Owner inside.
EPPdF:  "Good morning.  Is that your bike outside?  I just rode in from Gulf Shores, saw the Georgia plate on another Harley and was wondering if that was yours?"
Actual Harley Owner (50ish with thick British accent):  "Yeah.  I saw your Springer out there."
EPPdF:  "Yeah, love that bike.  Where you guys from?"
AHO:  "Atlanta"
EPPdF:  "Oh, Cool!  Me too. "
AHO:  (with an attitude that is both detached and irritated, "Yeah.  That's, uh..... that's something."
EPPdF:  "Well, if you get a chance, US 90 thru Biloxi is really a nice ride.  Came in that way yesterday."
AHO:  mumbling something British into his coffee, "yeah, will do, havammmphthhinneworleantmpaohelllmm"
EPPdF:  "Ok, I'll definitely keep that in mind"

I found it really interesting, just how UN-interested AHO was in the coincidence that we had ridden from Atlanta to New Orleans, on Harleys, and ended up at the same hotel in the French Quarter.
Maybe he just needed more coffee.

*Note:  Sometimes you should just stop while you're ahead.  Lesson learned.
**Note:  Probably not gonna do that.

All of this stands in stark contrast to the great ride and stimulating conversations I had yesterday on the ride from Gulf Shores to NOLA.

After a long, tearful goodbye involving many hugs, kisses, promises to write, be safe, and what I think might have been an incomplete, but thoughtful, reach-a-round by Joey (I love you too, Brother!!!) I road out to meet the Ft. Morgan Ferry on what Pam informed me was not, in fact, Hwy. 59, but some other road that I have completely forgotten.  Sunny skies all around, just perfect for a final cruise down the beach highway and out to the fort.


Joey on the left of me, Joey to the right of me: here I am, Stuck in the middle with yoouuuuuuu!!!

I'm not sure why but my most read post is this one:

http://elpinchepirata.blogspot.com/2012/07/still-big-in-russia-but-now-we-add.html


So tonight I bring you:

मेरी प्यारी भारतीय पाठकों के लिए:

हाय.
आप कैसे हैं?
कैसे चीजों को घर में वापस जा रहे हैं?
आप एक बहुत कसरत गया है?
आप पतली लग रही है.

हम पिछले बात की थी के बाद से यह एक समय हो गया है.
कार्य बहुत, बहुत व्यस्त हो गया है.
एक दोस्त को निधन हो गया.
प्रेमिका और मैं अलग हो जाते हैं. मैं दिसंबर के बाद से एक भी आदमी से किया गया है.
मैं अभी भी हर रोज और पाने पाठकों / यह बकवास के प्रशंसकों लिख रहा हूँ.
यह मेरा दिन का सबसे अच्छा हिस्सा बन गया है.
मैं वास्तव में मेरी मेज पर नीचे बैठे और पेज पर विचार डालने के लिए तत्पर हैं.

मैं एक और पार से देश, मोटरसाइकिल यात्रा की योजना बना रहा हूँ.
इस बार मैं समय की अनुमति देता है, कनाडा में और ग्रेट झील के चारों ओर जाने, संयुक्त राज्य अमेरिका के उत्तर - पूर्व के दौरे और करेंगे.
मैं कनाडा में एक बड़ी संख्या में भारतीय आबादी है कि सुना है.
यही कारण है कि मेरे साथ बहुत अच्छा है.
भारत से अपने अनुभव लोगों में एक तरह, संवेदनशील, बड़ी मुस्कान के लिए प्रवण लोगों और बोलने के एक विचारशील, दोस्ताना तरीके से हो रहे हैं.
मुझे यह पसंद है. इसके अलावा, अच्छा भारतीय भोजन मुझे खुश कर देता है.
सबसे अच्छा चिकन vindaloo करता है कि Asheville, नेकां में एक restaruant है.
आप पसीना और रोना तो गर्म लेकिन इतना अच्छा है कि आप खाना बंद नहीं कर सकते.
मैं अभी इसके बारे में सोच भूख लगी हो रही है.

मैं तुम्हें अच्छी तरह से कर रहे हैं उम्मीद है.
कैसे अपने उस दोस्त कर रहा है?
मैं उसके पास से नहीं सुना है.
तुम्हें पता है - हम पिछली बार बाहर लटक रहे थे जब मैं मिला वास्तव में सुंदर लड़की है?
मैं हाय कहा उसे बताओ, क्या तुम करोगी?
वह अच्छा है.
मैं उसे फिर से देख मन नहीं होता.

मैं तुम्हें याद आती है.
कुछ देर लिखें या फोन
XOXO,
EPPdF

The Great Cardinal Martin writes in to us about SuperGroups and all the men he wants to play with.

From Cardinal Martin:

I've been a wee bit bored today. I've got all my bids sent out, all my work scheduled, and all my punches complete. My extreme level of efficiency has left me with nothing to do.

Out of this boredom arose some Spotify searches. And from those searches arose some new playlists. And in those playlists are some supergroups like Bad Company, Blind Faith, Damn Yankees, and The Power Station.

This got my brain a’spinnin and my wheels a’turnin.


Who would be in my supergroup?
I'll tell you who.

Let’s start with the front man.
Or in my case….. Front Men.

Twin vocal powerhouses Chris Cornell and Sebastian Bach. My supergroup is going to be hard rock and I need some boys with the pipes to keep up. If it gets too much for one of them, the other is always there to belt out the tunes.

Now onto the rhythm section.

On bass guitar…. Steve Harris from Iron Maiden. I don’t want anything fancy. No plucking and no slapping. Strictly metal and hard rock. The man on the bass needs to know his place.

On drums…. Styx Zadinia from Steel Panther. Drummers have a tendency to be combustible and explode too much so I need someone who can bring the thunder like the hammer of Thor but can withstand the punishment of rocking/drinking/drugging/sexing on a nightly basis. Plus, he has a great name.

Here’s where it gets saucy. The guitar. The true workhorse of a good rock band. And therefore I have elected to go with the three guitar attack a la Lynyrd Skynyrd.

I need some solid power chord downstrummin’ and I have chosen Malcolm Young from ACDC to play rhythm guitar. The man can't play a solo and I don’t need him to. Great Hair. It should be known that no one can be in this band unless they have great hair. Thus, I cannot be in my own supergroup.

Lead guitarist 1 -  Randy Rhoads from Ozzy Osbourne. A Rock Guitar God. And great hair.

Lead guitarist 2 – Slash. His only job is to get as drunk as possible and stand on stage in his well known wide stance with his hair and top hat concealing his face and rip out some hot tasty licks that will melt your face.

Now I ask you, EPPDF, who would be in your seafaring supergroup?

There's good news and bad.

First:  

To my love, Lauren Cohan, it was great while it lasted hon.
You're a beautiful, talented woman, and I know that there is someone out there for you.
Someone slightly less handsome and charming but someone nonetheless.
But now, our time in the sun is over.
You have to leave with quiet dignity while I replace you with someone newer and better.
It's not your fault.
You do what you do to the best of your ability.
It's the best we could've ever hoped for you.
I'll miss you.
Ta-ta.

 And now:

The good news is that my new future/former wife has shown up.

She's the best.

This time, it's the real deal.

No B.S.

This gal has grit.

She's smart, beautiful, and a real fighter.

http://www.elle.com/news/culture/elizabeth-smart-2013?src=rss&src=sem&mag=elm&dom=tab

And best of all - 

She Showed Nancy Grace Who Was Boss

From her very first television appearance opposite Katie Couric in 2003, Smart has always been able to discuss the details of her abduction without breaking down—and not for lack of provocation. In 2006, Smart appeared on Headline News’s Nancy Grace to advocate for a bill that would create a national sex offender registry. Instead, Grace went for the ratings jugular, attempting to prod Smart into an emotional breakdown—showing photos of Smart in burka-like garb and demanding to know how it felt, for example. After responding to Grace’s questions, with steely stares, one “can you believe this chick?” side glance, and finally, a flat-out refusal to go along with Grace's line of questioning, Smart said, “I really, to be frankly honest, don’t appreciate you bringing this all up.”
Schooled.


Read more: Dear Elizabeth is Awesome - Elizabeth Smart 2013 - ELLE
Follow us: @ElleMagazine on Twitter | ellemagazine on Facebook

Introducing, Spite House.

I love this place!

The Spite House (in blue), built in 1830, is 7 feet wide, about 25 feet deep and a whopping 325 square feet in two stories. It is located on Queen Street in the Old Town district in Alexandria, Va., just across the Potomac from Washington.

http://tinyhouseblog.com/tiny-house-concept/the-spite-house/

"Like the hand of God."

Remember that movie with Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt?

That was a movie.  The cow was fake and he didn't get hurt.
This is scary.
In this video you can see the tornado forming, the winds twisting and slowly reaching down from the sky and touching ground where it gets larger and larger, gaining strength.
It eventually reached a mile wide with winds of 199 mph.

http://www.treehugger.com/natural-sciences/tornado-moore-oklahoma.html







Many people are dead and many more injured.

http://www.redcross.org/news/press-release/Red-Cross-Helping-Tornado-Victims-With-Shelter-Food-Supplies


(Not being all "hey look at me" here but I just sent $100 bucks.  It's something.)

Ok, everyone.

Stop what you're doing.

HEY!

You.  Yes, you with the nose on your face.
Put the muffin down and step away from the casserole.
We don't want to hurt you.


You all need to go to ITunes right now and download the latest Jay Mohr podcast.
He and comedian Will Sasso do over an hour of what is supposed to be an interview but turns out to be  nearly 80 minutes of fantastic improv.

Go now and laugh a lot.

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/mohr-stories-fakemustache.com/id448795390

I stole this from Tatianna.

I'm not ashamed at all.
Not one little bit.

Enjoy.

Also, I would add (and I am quoting):

"Don't tell your God how big the storm is;
  Tell the storm how big your God is."

I'm not terrifically religuous but I like this quite a bit.
__________________________________________________________________________________

http://www.anonuevo365.blogspot.com/

Just keep breathing.............................

I have been.....................overwhelmed lately.
The new job, the condo, Mom being sick and in a foreign country
I have a need to crawl up into someones lap and just cry.

I don't normally pass along "life affirming" lists, but this one happened to show up today
and it made me feel better.
I think I like this lady.
I really needed to read #40 and #50 today, sometimes we forget.

by Regina Brett, The Plain Dealer

May 28, 2006

To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me.

It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolls over to 50 this week, so here's an update:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others'. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.

16. Life is too short for long pity parties. Get busy living, or get busy dying.

17. You can get through anything if you stay put in today.

18. A writer writes. If you want to be a writer, write.

19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Overprepare, then go with the flow.

23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: "In five years, will this matter?"

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive everyone everything.

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

36. Growing old beats the alternative - dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood. Make it memorable.

38. Read the Psalms. They cover every human emotion.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

42. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.

43. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

44. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

45. The best is yet to come.

46. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

47. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

48. If you don't ask, you don't get.

49. Yield.

50. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift..

That is straight out of the worst horror movie ever!
___________________________________________________________________________________

http://www.treehugger.com/natural-sciences/see-what-its-be-eaten-grizzly-bear-video.html


What big teeth you have got!
Ever wondered what it's like to be eaten by a grizzly bear? Probably not... Except maybe in a nightmare. In any case, it's now possible to see (if not feel) what it's like from the safety of your home.
Brad Josephs was trying to get footage of Grizzly bears for the BBC’s Great Bear Stakeout (I've never seen it, so I'm not quite sure what it's like -- maybe some of our readers from the UK can let us know in the comments below?) when a Grizzly decided to have a closer look at his GoPro camera. The bear seems more curious than aggressive, but it still results in a point of view that we're unlikely to see again unless we're very unlucky (or you just happen to be a bear tamer for the circus).

http://youtu.be/81DCfygJWwU

I know you won't agree but I like this song.
It's saccharin and a bit cheesy but I like it anyhow.

This song came out in 1996 and made a big hit for Deanna Carter.
I remember listening to it over and over again.
It seems to strike those sentimental chords for me.

There is something about that feeling of being 17 and in love.
I remember my young loves very well.
Driving those dirt roads of Middleburg, Florida, on a sweltering summer night.
Parking out in the woods or down by Black Creek somewhere and building a fire even though it was too damn hot for it anyhow.  Leaving the car doors open and the radio on, late at night, laying down on an old blanket and staring at that full moon, wondering where life is going take you, and what the two of will be like then.

Sweet memories.

I'm sorry to be ugly first thing on a rainy Monday but I just do not like this man.
He's arrogant and petty.
He attempts to bully and intimidate rather than persuade.
His policies have been steadily failing for the entire length of his time in office and only recently has the media become aware of that.
John Stewart made comment about giving those people on the right with their tinfoil hats ammunition.
Nice John.
You may want to consider whether or not the tinfoil hat crowd is quite as nutty as you want to believe once you realize that they've been correct on so many issues.

Obama gave a commencement speech at Morehouse College here in Atlanta recently, and in part, had this to say:

__________________________________________________________________________________

PRESIDENT OBAMA: You are the mantle of Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington and Ralph Bunche and Langston Hughes and George Washington Carver and Ralph Abernathy and Thurgood Marshall and, yes, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. These men were many things to many people and they knew full well the role that racism played in their life. But when it came to their own accomplishments and sense of purpose, they had no time for excuses. Every one of you has a grandma or an uncle or a parent whose told you at some point in life as an African American you have to work twice as hard as anyone else if you want to get by.

###

OBAMA: If you think you can just get over in this economy just because you have a Morehouse degree, you're in for a rude awakening. But if you stay hungry, if you keep hustling, if you keep on your grind and get other folks to do the same, nobody can stop you. And I when I talk about pursuing excellence and setting an example, I am not just talking about in your professional life. (Morehouse College Commencement, May 19, 2013)

__________________________________________________________________________________

Ugh.

It's just so bad on so many levels but having a man in the Oval Office who recommends that graduates of the same school that Dr. King went to, keep hustling and keep their grind on, is just pathetic.

It irks me to have such a soulless suit, a big empty nothing, in that position.

Blech.

Dr. King was a brilliant man who risked and lost his life to bring equality to millions of previously unheard voices.  He not only advanced the lives of Black Americans but because of the force of his character and will, because of his moral being, he helped the lives of all other minorities.

"I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Brilliant words by an incredible man.

It's too bad that this president doesn't live up to it Dr. King's example of real hope and real change.

Read Dr. King's "I have a dream" speech.  

It is not only remarkable for the reason's you already know but because of the fact that he doesn't point fingers, he doesn't threaten, he doesn't name call.

Rather, he convinces, he believes, he makes you believe with him, of the righteousness of his cause.

He stands on principles that built this country.

He asks only that those principles and beliefs be applied to those that have been previously denied.

___________________________________________________________________________________

By The Rev. MARTIN LUTHER KING Jr.

Aug. 28, 1963

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.

But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Is the house haunted?

I don't know.

Normally, I don't hold much stock for that type of paranormal, although, I've always held the opinion that if you're going to go to church and pray to God then you must on some level believe in ghosts.
By praying to God aren't you saying that there is an afterlife, a spirit-world, and if those things are real, and also true, then it would follow that ghosts, apparitions, etc. are at least possible.

For the last year or so Mikey has had a strange, irregular, habit of staring over my shoulder in a worried way.
It's disconcerting to say the least to have a nearly 100 pound, bite trained, German Shepherd try to climb into your lap as he stares a hole into the wall 6 inches above and to the left of your head.

When Mary and I were dating she told me a couple times that she felt as if someone were lightly touching her eyelashes, or sometimes touching her feet.
I've had that experience too.
You're trying to sleep and it feels as if someone is dragging their finger, oh so gently across your face.
It's freakin' weird.  (Man).

Many of us dog owners have had the chilling experience of their dog, who was previously sound asleep, jump to his feet at 11:27 on a Tuesday night and begin growling at something only he can see.
A something that is apparently:
A.)  4 feet in front of him
B.)  Making him nervous as hell
C.)  Invisible

That'll get ya' sleeping on the couch with the TV on for sure.

I say all this because I had another strange experience last night.

Dear "neighbor Fred" accidentally locked me out of my apartment Friday night, which necessitated me waking up the landlord at 4 Saturday morning.  Sorry, dear.

Last night I went to return the keys and we were chatting for just a sec about odds and ends.
The light over my sink has been out for the past 2-3 weeks.
The whole fixture needs to be replaced and I mentioned that I was thinking about getting a better, brighter, LED light to replace the old fluorescent one.  She said she'd have someone take care of it this week and lamented that this is one of those many little things that Steve, her late boyfriend/live in/roommate used to take care of. (I'm not really sure what his title was and I don't have a lot of interest in the love lives of the retired set.)
Steve passed away a couple months ago and it's been odd.
When he was alive he could be a little too "present" at times although he was a good guy and did his best to watch out for everyone on the street.
A couple times when I was really sick with the flu, he dropped in with home soup or stew.
He was solid with stuff like that.
I mentioned to Joann that I still hear his voice on occasion.
I honestly don't know if it's just my imagination or memory or something else but I still hear him chatting about lawn care or fixing some broken something around the house, or whatnot.
We said goodnight after chatting lamps (and me apologizing for waking her so late/early) and I went back down to the apartment and started brushing my teeth.
And then I stopped.
And I leaned out of the bathroom and stared at the light over the sink which was suddenly back on and working just fine.
Chills ran up my arms.
I'm sure dear "neighbor Fred" will have a perfectly reasonable and scientific explanation for this but it does strike me as odd that not 45 seconds after discussing the broken light, and how she needed to find someone else to fix it, and how she did miss Steve, and how I thought that I could hear him on occasion, that the light that not worked once in over 2 weeks, magically came back on.

I got the heebie-jeebies just typing this so I'm going to go walk Mikey.

TaTa.

Turns out that "killer" whales are a bit more sensitive than previously thought.
A photographer caught this whale, who is missing 2 fans, swimming with his pod.
The pod helped feed him by hunting larger whales and letting him join the feast after the hunt.


http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2326868/Disabled-killer-whale-missing-fins-survives-help-family-hunt-food.html


_________________________________________________________________________________

Trained dolphins find a rare, century old torpedo in waters off San Diego.


http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-torpedo-dolphins-20130518,0,7621822.story

And now, introducing my future former wife.....

I almost never talk about my personal life here on the blog but this is kind of a big day, so if you'll indulge me for just a second I would really appreciate it.

You kind folk that read this here thing-a-ma-jig on a regular basis know that I've been attempting get Mike, my very own Rin-Tin-Tin, on the tv show, "The Walking Dead".

I can do one better now:

I would like to formally announce my impending marriage to, and the inevitable divorce from,

Lauren Cohan!

My heart is overflowing with love and possibly full of vitriol.
Not sure of the details of the divorce yet but, as of now it's all flowers and kittens and hugs and things in Casa del Fuego!!

Yep!

It's a big "pull" for me!
No one, outside of Lauren maybe, is more surprised than me.  Certainly her boyfriend is bound to be shocked.
I don't wanna brag but I got her number yesterday so annnnny minute now we'll be chatting in that alluring,
"I'm reeeeally trying to play hard to get but I really wanna be got soon," sorta way.
It's the best part of any relationship.

All that pent up desire and possibility and desire before they get all crazy and slip something into your drink while you're vacationing in Jamaica or you get mad and tell them to get the "F" outta your truck.

But until then, if I don't answer your call right away I hope you'll understand!



Lauren Cohan del Fuego - it's got a certain somethin' dontchayathink!

  plus                                 

=  gonna be some good lookin' babies!!!


P.S.  Lauren is a kind of a sensitive gal and all this excitement is a bit much right now so it's probably best if you don't mention our impending nuptials if you happen to bump into her.
Between me and you, she's a bit of a cryer.
Just give her a wink and nudge and tell her EPPdF says hi.

Welcome to Candler Park.

Did I mention that I've always been a big fan of the Philadelphia Eagles?


Philadelphia Eagles player Evan Mathis showed his disdain this week for the IRS by peeing on an IRS sign and posting the photo of the act on Instagram.
On his Twitter account, Mathis linked to the Instagram photo with the words, "Audit this."

A very large, dumb cat. You'll laugh though.

This put me in a better mood ,))

What a colossal failure.

A brief review of some of this administrations embarrassments:

Obama's involvement with and then distancing himself from Reverend Wright - pick a speech on YouTube and be mad
Obama's speech to a group of African American Pastors - in which he stated that New Orleans didn't get financial aid because racism. Funds had been released two weeks prior to the speech.
Fast and Furious - A convoluted and dangerous scheme that involved selling high power weapons to Mexican Drug Cartels.  A U.S. Border Patrol Agent killed
Pigford Scandal - Are you a minority?  Feel like you might've wanted to be a farmer?  Feel discriminated?  Collect $50,000 compliments of U.S. Taxpayers.
AP - phone tapping
IRS - abuse of power, targets conservative groups
Benghazi
Friend of Bill Ayers - The Weather Underground, American terrorists
180 rounds of gold
3.6% of time on economy
"At a certain point, you've made enough money."  Obama 2008.

I have no doubt that the U.S. Marine trained to fight, kill, and die for his country in the picture above loves holding an umbrella for this man.


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I took this post down and was immediately scolded by Tatianna:

You took it down!!!!! 

NONONONO, you must own your rants!

(also I wanted to read it again for a chuckle)

So, here it is again in all it's glory.

This is a great article.

He compares an addict's ability to manipulate loved ones into supporting and defending their habits to Obama and the majority of the media ignoring his many faults and scandals.
(Until very recently.)

GUT CHECK: INTERVENTION

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by GREG GUTFELD 15 May 2013, 1:04 PM PDT 353

When I watch that really depressing TV showIntervention, it’s only to feel better about myself. It’s one of the great benefits of television: it’s personal therapy that elevates self-esteem quicker than a pep talk from a noxious life coach.

If I’m feeling down, I watch Intervention. If I’m feeling really down, then it’s Hoarders. If Hoarders cannot make you feel better about your lot in life - then you might be hopeless. Which, at that point, it’s time to watch Hardcore Pawn.

Hardcore Pawn is an amazing show for one severely disturbing reason: it’s helped to introduce what I now call “city-billies.” See, for the longest time, we've poked fun at the rural folk, referring to them as hillbillies. They’re the gap-toothed inbred freaks who fry squirrels and poop in buckets down by the creek. Deliverance immortalized them - now they’re the butt of every lazy, lame joke about the south. We call ‘em rednecks.

See the recent, stupid study done by Movoto, which lists the most redneck cities, based on number of Walmarts and lack of education. They’re able to commit this sort of lame BS, because, well, no one cares. Essentially, a real estate brokerage firm just whispered, "You don't want to move here," regarding some of America's major cities. Imagine if they had substituted "redneck" with something else.

Funny thing is, hillbillies and rednecks are fewer and farther between. But there are a crapload of city-billies.

City-billies are what’s left in dying cities with diminishing populations. They’re the people left behind... the people who can’t leave. They’re the folks that liberals say they want to help, as they pack up their Subarus and get the hell out of Dodge (or in Hardcore Pawn’s case, Detroit). Hardcore Pawn is a thirty minute tour of the city-billy life: the constant line of assorted folk selling everything from broken computers to beat-up construction equipment in the sprawling pawn shop, reminding you that every city targeted by the helping hand of government ends in abject misery.

Back to Intervention. In case you don’t watch, it’s that show that follows a family as it prepares to intervene on behalf of a drug or alcohol addicted relative. While watching, you notice how families enable much of the self-destruction by simply letting it occur. It’s usually because one parent (the mom, most of the time) fears the addict will reject her if they attempt to get him to stop snorting or shooting or guzzling. So she lets him continue doing his bad stuff, while she looks on, in tears. “Poor moms,” is all I keep thinking when I watch Intervention.

I do not blame the kin entirely for the junkie's behavior. But I blame families in part for not cutting the cord and letting the addict reap the consequences from his own selfish decisions. A junkie survives on a relative’s love, fear of rejection, and money. But it is only when the junkie is forced to live by his own decisions that he can actually rebound and become a better person.

And so while some junkies live, Elvis died. No one had the balls to shout, “Stop," which is why he ended up full of bacon, booze, and pills, a whale beached in a bathroom.

And this Elvis syndrome is, oddly enough, happening again right now, politically. I saw this same enabling behavior happen in the last five years, as the media fulfilled the role of the hopeless mom to the self-indulgent Obama Administration. And now, this week, the chickens have not only come home to roost, they’re freebasing in the garage. The family is fed up.

As I mentioned yesterday on The Five (it features five people, at 5 pm, on FNC), our national hive of hacks are really nothing more than the Memphis Mafia, the folks who protected Elvis Presley through his worst excesses, until his particular administration ended on a toilet.

But why did the media become so much like this mafia? This behavior is caused by a deep desire to be liked and to be perceived as cool.

In fact, the media are so desperate to be liked by Obama that they are willing to overlook anything unseemly. When I look at the multitude of scandals, I cannot blame the President. My disgust is reserved for the media who let him wander so far off the reservation--because they love him more than their own principles. They love him, because they want him, really, to love them back. And the sad thing is--he really doesn’t care. He’s so aloof; it makes them only love him more. This is unrequited love, among wonks.

Here is a simple fact: a liberal president operating with a liberal media leads us to a really unpleasant place--populated with programs, policies, and principles that are woefully inept and corrupt. Obamacare, Benghazi, the IRS scandal, Pigford, and weird euphemisms for terror like "workplace violence" and "self-radicalization"--this isn't a comedy of errors, it's a tragedy of horrors. There is no guard rail anymore when you’ve got the left monitoring the left.

Which is why what is perceived as cool often ends in failure.

Cool gets a pass, even if the cool thing is incompetent. For questioning the competence of the cool puts the spotlight on you, which you don’t want. If you raise the possibility that whatever the media deems cool is troubling, you inevitably end up being mocked by the cool kids. See Saturday Night Live's spoof on the Benghazi whistle-blowers just days ago. We live in a time where the hip kids think it's funny to smear those who simply want answers to the most obvious questions. Like, why did four people die, and the administration blame it on a video? I guess, if you have a team of writers and a week to play with it, you can make that funny, too.

Nobody wants to be mocked by the cool kids. SNL makes it clear that if you step out of line, the velvet rope becomes a noose of ridicule.

The media had sold its soul for a version of heaven on earth, which to them is nothing more than acceptance by someone they adore. The deal came down to one simple thing: finally, I am cool, and I will be liked. I cannot give that up, even if it means I must ignore things I would have aggressively pursued if the culprit were an old white Republican.

Look at the IRS scandal: the Tea Party was singled out, because you could single them out. This is a group that never broke a window but only broke ranks. So while a peaceful group gets targeted, terror tots like Bill Ayers get tenure. And why is that?

It’s simple: a climate created by the media, by academia, and by the Administration, made it acceptable.

How much more does a liberal media type need to reconsider his own biases?

Jon Stewart should be so ashamed of this administration, he might finally add the "h" to his first name.

Like I said, this is the Elvis Syndrome. Metaphorically speaking, the media has let Obama have too many fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. They have enabled him right into his own destruction.

But judging by our President’s demeanor, it’s really no big deal. Unlike Elvis, he’s got an excellent metabolism.

It comes down to a simple question: who decided to go after the Tea party? Something tells me the same person who pushed the Tea Party as a target also pushed the anti-Muslim video. It's the same person who sees Ft. Hood as workplace violence, and views America as a bigger problem in the world than its vile enemies. It’s the same guy everyone thinks is cool; the same guy everyone wants to be near. It’s the same guy who makes you feel good about yourself, as long as you agree with him, and don’t rock the boat.

He’s the guy you’re happy to enable, even as others pay the price.

Greg Gutfeld is a mainstay on Fox News as co-host of The Five and the host of Red Eye. He's also the NY Times best-selling author of The Joy of Hate: How to Triumph over Whiners in the Age of Phony Outrage.