Not because they're affecting me other than making me pay through the nose for produce. No sirreee. We could not have picked a better time to go car-less. No, what I am referring to is the new and somewhat unusual habit of everyone and their brother of driving mopeds around town.

This is annoying.

Now, I don't mind the new little Vespas. These are actually cute and they don't make noise. But these Vespas have, it seems, started a trend wherein people are pulling long unused, twenty-year-old Honda mopeds out of their garages and are firing them up for transportation purposes.

It sounds like people are driving chainsaws up and down my street.

Now, I can understand why, with gas at $2.20 a gallon, it would be nice to have an alternative---and cheap---form of transportation with which to accomplish your daily running around. Particularly when the weather is agreeing with the desire to rattle around on a moped. But seriously, folks. If the thing is put-put-put-putting along, you might want to get the engine checked, ya dig? You might also want to---and this is just a suggestion, mind you, so don't shoot the messenger---get the engine checked if said moped is emitting loads of black smoke. You're burning whatever small amount of oil it takes to keep one of those things running and it STINKS.

Also, it might behoove you to learn how to drive the stupid things. Just because you have a small moped and can whiz around with ease, does NOT mean you get to jump a curb and drive along the sidewalk when traffic is heavy. This also means if you're going to turn right on a red, well, don't mow down the people in the crosswalks, thinking we can get out of your way more easily than you can get out of ours. PEDESTRIANS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY. Learn this or I will not be held accountable for my actions, ya dig?

Ok, I feel better now.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:54 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I might be a wee bit precipitous in this and I might earn myself a big spanking from my Maximum Leader for the trouble expended, but, it looks as if The Naked Villains FINALLY have completed their site redesign. Looks sweet, kids. Lovin' the gargoyle. (That is a gargoyle, isn't it? We all need more gargoyles in our lives. And particularly in the blogosphere, too. They're a necessary evil to protect us from moonbats.) I sense the fine and accomplished hand of Sadie in all of this.

But, really and truly, what's really important in all of this is that...

AHEM

...THEY FINALLY HAVE COMMENTS!

Let me speak for the entire blogosphere when I say, "Thank 'Effin God." For there was no more frustrating of a blog than the "old" Naked Villainy. All that debate and no bloody way to get in on the action other than to email.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:49 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Well, not my family, because guns scare the crap out of me, but Chrissy's family would dig this article, big time.

{Super Sekrit Note to Chrissy: Note that one of the camps is near Vegas. Take your mom. She could get her blackjack and shooting grooves on at the same time!}

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Hurricane Dennis may not have wreaked as much havoc as the media was hoping for, but it did wreak some havoc nonetheless.

Go and help if you can.

If you've never lived through a flood, well, I can only say that you should be thanking your lucky stars. It doesn't matter if you live in a flood plain or not---the water can, and sometimes, will find you.

And it's a hell of a thing to try and get cleaned up. And that's only if you can clean it up in the first place. Sometimes homes are condemed and people find themselves without a place to live through no fault of their own.

I lived through the 500 year flood in Iowa in 1993: I've seen this sort of damage first hand and it's not the water that's so much the problem---even though it's not really a joy---because the water will, eventually, recede; it's the muck and mire that the water brings with it that doesn't go away and ruins everything you own. Imagine cleaning out a foot or more of mud and river debris from your home. Not to mention all the creepy critters who like living in mud, no matter where it's located. Yeech.

If you can, help Mary Anne and her husband out. They sure could use it. And if you're a blogger, get the word out or suffer Sadie's wrath.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:25 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Like Robbo, I must admit this is pretty cool.

ROME, Italy (AP) -- Decorated cups and fine silver platters were once again polished and on display Monday as archaeologists unveiled an ancient Roman dining set that lay hidden for two millennia in the volcanic ash of Pompeii.

In 2000, archaeologists found a wicker basket containing the silverware in the ruins of a thermal bath near the remains of the Roman city, said Pietro Giovanni Guzzo, head of Pompeii's archaeological office.

The basket was filled with the volcanic ash that buried the city when Mount Vesuvius erupted in A.D. 79. When experts X-rayed it, they saw the objects preserved in the ash, which killed thousands of people but kept the town almost intact, providing precious information on domestic life in the ancient world.{...}

Sweet.

To one up Robbo, here's the Latin version of Pliny The Younger's description of the eruption. Scroll down to entries 16 and 20 and you'll get the whole story in the mother tongue.

(And, no, I can't read it either.)

Posted by: Kathy at 11:02 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Not a big shocker, really. Cate Blanchett and I could pass for sisters.

Really.

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The Kid has been anxiously awaiting the new Harry Potter book.

So, she'll get a kick out of this, being the hawk that she is.

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I watched The Great Escape again tonight.

Why is it that every single time I see this movie I,

a. Come in late. I've seen it at least twenty times and I've NEVER seen the beginning of the stupid movie.

b. Always think that Steve McQueen is going to make it over the fence and ride off into Switzerland. I mean, I know he doesn't make it. Yet, every single, solitary time I see this movie, I get to thinking that maybe, just maybe this time HE'S GOING TO MAKE IT! No, no, the Nazi's won't catch him this time. Really, they won't. He's going to make it past those fields of clover and into Switzerland. He's going to jump the second border fence just as beautifully as he did the first and...

...of course it doesn't happen. He winds up in the barbed wire, crashed bike straddled between his legs, with gasoline from the bike soaking his pantleg.

It's just bloody disappointing.

Could someone explain these two things to me? I'd appreciate it.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:25 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Is there anything better than a camp song in the summertime? I didn't think so. Remind me sometime to write out the words to "Magalena Hagalena" one day. I still have that sucker rolling around in my head.

Anyway...

Good Morning Ladies and Gents. It is, of course, Thursday, which means it's Demystifying Divas Day. Our topic this week: the best ways to avoid rejection and to deal with it.

Ahhh. The joys of dating. Another reason why I'm very glad I'm not single. I've often told Mr. H., after listening to his stories of singleton life, that I am ever so thankful I'll never have to deal with the dating world EVER again. And other than the fact that men, apparently, expect different things in bed these days than they did when I was single, rejection is the main reason I don't ever want to be single again.

Because it's not fun, is it? Someone judging you by some completely arbitrary set of standards that you, upon first or second glance, do not meet. I got this a lot when I was single. You want to know the main reason men did not flit my way? The fact that I'm nearsighted and wear glasses. Yep. They're really that shallow. Until their own set of spectacles---ones that magically appeared after a few pitchers of beer---got slapped on. Then, evidently, men really do make passes at women who wear glasses. Then I was fair game.

Now, I moaned and whined about this a bit to my friends and they offered a simple solution: get contacts. No one can see your eyes with those things they said. You look so much better without them they said. Ok, that's fine and dandy. I do look better without them. But, and herein lies the problem: I can't bloody well see without them. I need them. And, at that point in time, with the astigmatism in my left eye, contacts would not have been fun. (Hard lenses---yeesh!) Besides, I have this thing about sticking my finger into my eye. That's gross. So, I decided I'd just have to learn how to deal with the rejection. Because the rejection was plentiful. But there were times when I wasn't rejected because I was nearsighted. There were times when I was walked home by a guy whom I considered to be nice, friendly, and attractive...

...and there were times when I dished out my own form of rejection.

There's this thing that some guys did that drove me absolutely insane and I had a rule about it: if you, a man, decided to take my glasses off when you moved in for the goodnight kiss, you would automatically be rejected. Some guys thought removing my glasses was romantic, that this is what Bogie did in the movies---instant makeover time---so, of course, I would appreciate it. BZZZZZZZZZZT! Wrong! What parting gifts do we have for contestant number one, Bob? Well, we've got a long, lonely walk home without having received a damn thing, Fred! See, the thing is, these guys did not realize they were BLINDING me. They were putting me in a position where I had to trust them, quite literally, with my life and limb right off the bat. So, I generally grabbed my glasses right out of their hands and walked myself home. I didn't feel the need to explain. It was obvious I wasn't good enough, as I was, to them because they removed the one thing I'm very much dependent upon in this lifetime. For me it was the equivalent of taking a wheelchair away from someone who is handicapped, and telling them they'd be ever so much more attractive if only they weren't stuck in that silly chair! Would you want to be with someone who did that to you? I didn't think so.

And therein lies the solution---for lack of a better term---to rejection: for every person that rejects you, you're going to reject someone else. It all comes out in the wash. Hence, I don't think you can go out, looking for a potential mate, thinking if you've got everything under control, no one will reject you. There is always going to be something about you that does not ring right with someone else. Sometimes you will be rejected because you deserve to be rejected (like if you have a big hunk of spinach stuck in your teeth, or you have really bad breath or b.o.) sometimes, you'll be rejected for no particular reason that you can ascertain other than that, apparently, you didn't fit someone's idea of a dream companion. Once you take that into account, and adjust yourself to the idea, well, it makes it a. very easy to find the people with whom you'll probably get along and b. it doesn't sting so very much when you are rejected.

And that's all there is, folks. Now run along and see what the other Oh-So-Fine Demystifying Divas have on offer this morning. The blog kid is up at bat in the Guest Diva game today, so make sure to go over and read what Phoenix has to say. Then, when you're done with that, well, flip the coin and see what the Marvy Men's Club---comprised of Stiggy, Phin, The Wiz, and Our Beloved Maximum Leader---have coughed up.

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The NHL Lockout has ended!

Posted by: Kathy at 02:35 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Go watch it.

{Humongous Kudos to Stiggy for pointing that one out!)

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...that's choking on the splinters.

No, don't worry. There will not be some overblown bit of discussion about whether Beck is a musical viruoso or if he's just a skinny dork who's managed to con us all into spending money on his records.

I just really like that line.

Carry on. There's nothing to see here.

Posted by: Kathy at 05:09 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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...around here sometime soon. The polka festival ended with a bang yesterday. The folks are now safe and sound back in Omaha. The sheets have been stripped, washed and put back on the bed. The Cake Eater Pad is straightened up. And I had one mother of a nap this afternoon. (Which was lovely, in case you were wondering.)

So, either tonight or tomorrow, or whenever the spirit moves me, life should get back to normal...until the next set of family arrives.

Which would be my mother-in-law, who is sitting over at the airport right now waiting for her daughter to come pick her up. Then my sister and her family show up at the end of next week.

July's turning out to be a busy month, no?

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I sincerely hope the Llamas redesign doesn't suddenly mean I have to kiss their rings.

Because, despite the fact I'm Catholic and have kissed those of clerical poobahs before, the whole ring kissing thing just doesn't sit quite right with me.

But I don't really want the end product of a horse decapitation in my bed, either, ya dig?

(I should also note that the new Llama site design is courtesy of my good pals Phin and Sadie, who have joined forces in the best Wondertwin fashion to form Apothegm Designs. Wanna spare yourself some CSS hell? Well, then HIRE THEM!)

Posted by: Kathy at 09:32 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 just a test post to see if comments are working

Posted by: Kathy at July 11, 2005 09:38 AM (QKvIa)

2 Will the role of "Moe Green" be played by INDCBill in this version?

Posted by: Russ from Winterset at July 11, 2005 10:32 AM (ywZa8)

3 yay! ......Wondertwin powers ACTIVATE! My comments are finally normal again, and we are free to use such outlandish language as "..." It's very freeing.

Posted by: sadie at July 12, 2005 03:07 AM (7SNDe)

4 wished she'd stop invoking the Wondertwin powers. The spandex outfit is starting to chafe; I'm thinking it's time for a Wondertwin outfit redesign.

Posted by: phin at July 12, 2005 12:38 PM (Xvpen)

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Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes: the car wreck you just can't stop yourself from looking at.

{Hat tip: Jonathan}

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Oh, For Fuck's Sake. Oliver Stone's been hired to direct a movie about 9/11.

{...}NEW YORK - Nearly four years after the collapse of the World Trade Center, Oscar-winning director
Oliver Stone will direct a film based on the story of two police officers who were trapped in the rubble on Sept. 11, 2001.

Nicolas Cage, who won a best-actor Oscar for "Leaving Las Vegas," will star as Port Authority police Sgt. John McLoughlin. McLoughlin and fellow officer William J. Jimeno became trapped during rescue efforts after the collapse of the twin towers.{...}

From Ollie The Drink Trolley's press release:

{...}"It's a work of collective passion, a serious meditation on what happened and carries within a compassion that heals," Stone said in a statement Friday. "It's an exploration of heroism in our country — but it's international at the same time in its humanity."{...}

Great. It's international in its humanity. Does that mean Ollie's going to bring a bit of Asian flair to it? After all, it's not really an Oliver Stone film without bisexual Macedonian princes on horses, readying their troops for battle, or pretty Vietnamese women with those funky straw hats, is it? Is his "exploration of heroism in our country" going to show a wonderful buildup to how, I'm sure, he believes we brought 9/11 on ourselves? Because, you know, heroism always has a price attached to it. It makes for better drama that way, doncha know?

{Insert repeated slamming of head on desk here}

Posted by: Kathy at 10:56 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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The world keeps turning, and even though there is horrible news coming out of London, The Fraters would like you to join them for a beer this evening down at Keegan's to support Soldiers Angels.

What is Soldiers' Angels all about?

Well...

Within a few short months, The SoldiersÂ’ Angels Foundation went from a mother writing a few extra letters to an Internet Community of over thousands of angels worldwide and growing stronger with the addition of new members daily. With more and more merchants donating services, money and items for packages, the Angels reorganized as a 501 c 3 non-profit foundation.

SoldiersÂ’ Angels currently supports thousands of American Service Members stationed wherever we raise our CountryÂ’s Flag and the number is growing daily. We also work tirelessly supporting our Wounded Soldiers, with transitional backpacks, personal visits, phone calls, etc. Additionally, we send our thanks via letters and email to the military of Great Britain, Poland and Australia who serve by our soldiers side in Iraq.

Soldiers' Angels are 100 percent volunteer run and dedicated to ensuring that our military know they are loved and supported during and after their deployment into harms way.

A community of Angels volunteer daily to provide aid and comfort to our military and their families. Join the many SoldiersÂ’ Angels to ensure that no soldier goes unloved.

Timely, no?

So go down to Keegan's at eight tonight if you're in the Cities and give them all your cash.

I'd be there, but I don't think my mom is up for barhopping with the MOB. Have fun!

Posted by: Kathy at 04:19 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I'm way behind on this one. What can I say? My parents are in town and I had to drive my dad to his polka festival.

Life does, indeed, go on.

Great roundups can be found here, here, here, and in the case of the llamas, well, just keep on scrolling for some of Churchill's greatest hits.

UPDATE: Jonathan has some thoughts that are well worth reading.

I, too, was very proud of President Bush this morning. I was struck, after hearing his remarks, by just how much the shoe is on the other foot this time around.

The morning of 9/11 Bush was flying around the country, dodging what turned out to be non-existent threats. He wasn't around for us at that point in time. We were left to the devices of a hysterical media, who then thought it would be nice to show us the footage of West Bank residents whooping and hollering. (Thanks!) Tony Blair, however, was around. And thank goodness for it. He propped us up when we needed it the most. He had our president's back. This morning the situation was reversed, with Bush giving a wonderful statement while Blair was flying to London from Scotland.

I, for one, am glad it was President Bush who was allowed to return the favor. It seems fitting under the circumstances.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:37 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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You want to know why, if you wear glasses, you should always keep a spare pair?

Oh, sure, I know. I don't have to sell you on this one. You know you should have a spare pair. The fright of losing them runs through your mind in a quick rush. Dear God, I can't see without them! I really should get around to getting another pair. I really should. But really, with the availabilty of one hour glasses shops, it's probably the last thing on your mind, particularly when one takes into account how much a pair of spectacles costs these days. If they break, I can get another pair with minimal hassle. Besides, you say to yourself, how likely is it that I'll need a spare pair? After all, that only happens when the worst case scenario comes and visits my life.

My devoted Cake Eater Reader I am here to tell you that, conceivably, it need not be a worst case scenario that would cause you temporary blindness. Provided you're legally blind without your spectacles. Like I am. In something like seventeen states.

Never mind losing your best, most effective pair of corrective lenses in the sea.

Never mind losing your best pair in a car crash.

Never mind losing your best pair on a roller coaster that goes upside down.

Never mind losing your best pair as you run from a mummy---a freshly resurrected mummy, I should add---who's chasing you through Hamunaptra because one of your party had the bad sense to read the Book of the Dead out loud. (Dude! It's small consolation, I know, but pretty soon it won't matter. But you should probably know that your tongue's next!)

Never mind any of those wild rides. Occam's razor, my friend. Occam's razor. The simplest explanation is, most often, the correct one.

Ahem

You could, theoretically speaking, have just washed your spectacles. You could---again, theoretically speaking---be drying them. You could hear a small snap and in your hands you would find that the bridge of your glasses has separated into two pieces, leaving you with a lens and a corresponding earpiece in either hand.

What follows next could, conceivably, be interesting.

You could, conceivably, let out a small yelp of surprise.

Your spouse could, conceivably, ask, "What's wrong?" from the other room.

You could, conceivably, walk into said other room, eyes narrowed as you manuever your way around blurry-looking furniture, saying, "Look, honey, my glasses broke!"

Your spouse could, conceivably, take the two pieces into his hands and he could say, "Oh, I can fix that."

You could, conceivably, nod your head and stumble back into the other room where your spare pair of spectacles awaits their moment in the spotlight. They've been understudying for quite some time, after all. It's time for them to come into the limelight.

Now that you, conceivably, have your spares on your nose after rummaging around your desk for the case, you could, conceivably, go about your business.

Ten minutes later, conceivably, you could find your husband sitting at the dining room table with a lit votive candle, a small tool you're too distracted to notice, and your broken spectacles, looking very much like he's about to perform some voodoo ceremony sans the bloody chicken's head.

You could, conceivably, hold your breath and then say, in a voice loaded with skepticism, "Honey, I thought you were going to glue them back together."

Your spouse could, conceivably, respond, "I thought I'd try this instead."

You could, conceivably, walk away, not really wanting to know.

You could, conceivably, walk back a few minutes later, only to note that the candle has been blown out. It's mysteriously vanished, all except for the lingering smell of smoke from when it was extinguished. Your husband, conceivably, could be pulling himself up from the table, a sheepish smile on his face, and he could, conceivably, say, "Well, that didn't go so well."

You could then, conceivably, turn your head to look at your still-snapped spectacles as they sit on the green placemat your husband's been using as a workstation. When you, conceivably, pick up your spectacles to take a good look at them, you might note that the plastic had been completely torched and melted into something that would now be completely unrepairable by even the least competent glasses technician available.

You could then, conceivably, shrug good-naturedly and say, "It's a good thing I've got the spares, isn't it?"

Posted by: Kathy at 10:17 PM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
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Wee One ponders the joys of being an omnivore.

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