The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

I hung the flag up at the HQ today. Not sure what else to do. I’ve said in this space before all I feel like saying about September 11. I’ve more or less squeezed that rage into a bitter little ball, and there is really no appropriate time to release it. It would be much better for my own mental health if I could just let it go but for various reasons (One of the reasons is two years old, another is four. One is thirty-six) I have a hard time doing that. Damnit I hate 9/11, and I hate that I hate 9/11. Fucking terrorists.

Oh, and I changed my mind: I will be recounting Summer 2009 in reverse chronological order, starting with last weekend, and ending with a description of my brief encounter with CrazyTown (aka Yakima). Stay tuned as it will be here soon — just not in the mood to write about it right now.

Some slimy scum-sucking bag of pus out there made himself a new enemy on Saturday night. I went out to the car on Sunday to head to the grocery store, and some miscreant had thrown an egg at it and connected. No other cars I could see in the neighborhood had been egged, just mine. I suspect teens and am currently plotting revenge. Plotting more fervently than usual, I mean.

Scene: in car with family, driving to the grocery store. Daddy slightly fuming.

Jr VP: Mommy, why is Daddy so mad?

Mommy: “Because some bad person threw an egg at Daddy’s car.”

Jr VP: We should find that person and BURN DOWN THEIR HOUSE!!

Mommy [rolling eyes and groaning], to Daddy: “This is your fault you know.”

Daddy: I know.

Jr VP, warming to his topic: AND THEN WE WILL MAKE THEIR CAR BLOW UP AND THEY WILL BE COVERED IN FIRE!!

Daddy: That is going a little too far Stinkboy, but if we figure out who did this we’ll get them somehow. You up for a late night flaming-bag-of-poop delivery if we can figure out who to deliver it to?

Mommy: “Please stop talking. Both of you.”

If you are between the ages of 14 and 19 I would recommend not coming by the HQ for a while as you will be viewed as a suspect. Sorry.

There might be some civil disobedience in my near future. “The Red Suby? Uh, it was stolen.”

Portland drivers may face new fee
SALEM — Portland car owners could pay an additional registration fee for their rides — this one based on how much they drive — under a steadily shrinking transportation bill that’s having a bumpy trip through the Legislature. . . If approved, the city would be allowed to set a separate fee for cars owned by Portland residents and charge them based on how many miles they drive. . . Details, such as how much would be charged, how much would be raised and how the mileage would be documented on each car, have yet to be filled in.

Nick Adenhart, a 22 year old kid who caught on with the Angels this year got in a car wreck and died the other night — after pitching the best game of his career and cementing himself as an MLB starter. The more I think about this story the more pissed off I get at the universe. I probably ought to quit thinking about it.

Jeff at Lookout Landing (which for my money is the best Mariner website out there) has some worthwhile thoughts. I’m glad that he can see a possible silver lining, because I am having trouble locating one. You are a better man than me sir.

It’s always weird when a famous person dies. When I got into work and heard about the accident, my first reaction was one not of shock or grief, but of interest. I couldn’t believe it had happened, and all I wanted to do was find out more information. Where did it happen? How did it happen? Did it really happen? It was such an atypical and inconceivable bit of news that for a while it didn’t register that Nick Adenhart was dead, that he was no longer among the living. . .

But after a little while it did begin to sink in. Nick Adenhart had died. And though it’s easy for someone in my position to see baseball players as nothing but machines that generate clumps of data, today’s news issued a swift and forceful reminder that Adenhart was more than a left arm with three pitches and iffy control. Nick was a person as much as I am a person, as much as all of us are persons. Nick kept some of his favorite snacks in his kitchen. Nick had plans to hang out with friends when he got a little free time. Nick had guilty pleasures on TV. Nick had girls that he wanted to see naked. Nick had inside jokes. Nick had bills. Nick had messages he hadn’t returned. Nick had memories of family get-togethers over the holidays where he’d have to explain to his grandparents why he wasn’t in school. Nick had people he loved, and Nick had people who loved him. . .

And now, a week after he got to tell friends and family that he’d broken camp with the Angels, Nick is dead. And while I didn’t know him, and while I didn’t watch him as a fan, it still doesn’t feel like just some guy dying, because he’s not just some guy. Not for me. Baseball is my second life, and as such, the baseball community is like a giant circle of acquaintances that I got to know by watching them play. And just because I don’t interact with the players face-to-face doesn’t mean I don’t develop connections to them. I make time to see them, I tell them to do things, they usually don’t listen, sometimes I get annoyed. How different is that from any traditional relationship, really?

Nick Adenhart died hours after pitching the best game of his life. If there’s any silver lining here, it’s that his death was preceded by his achieving an incredible feat. May he take that memory with him wherever he goes. Nick Adenhart is dead. He was 22 years old. I wish all the best to his teammates, his friends, and his family.

Me too.

This is why:

PORTLAND, Ore. - A semi-truck hauling soy sauce and other food overturned on Interstate 5 near southwest Portland’s Terwilliger Curves Monday morning, causing a huge traffic mess. The wreck happened about 8 a.m. and blocked all southbound freeway traffic. Eventually, officials opened a lane of southbound traffic, but the backup stretched for miles. The northbound lanes were also impacted initially. Some drivers stuck behind the wreck actually got out of their cars and passed the time during the delay by striking up conversations with others.

I locked the doors on the Red Suby.

Throughout history, poverty is the normal condition of man. Advances which permit this norm to be exceeded — here and there, now and then — are the work of an extremely small minority, frequently despised, often condemned, and almost always opposed by all right-thinking people. Whenever this tiny minority is kept from creating, or (as sometimes happens) is driven out of a society, the people then slip back into abject poverty.
This is known as “bad luck.”
-Heinlein

The CEO has been thinking a lot about taxes lately, both personally and at work. Not the best time to be employed by a still slightly profitable medium-sized aggressively entrepreneurial non-bailout-looking-for corporation located in California. And the United States, I suppose. It’s difficult to shake the feeling that we all have a large bullseye painted on our backs. Christ, at this rate pretty soon I am going to be re-reading and quoting Atlas Shrugged. Sorry people, I’ll stop my bitching — I know it is not interesting.

Another quote I am gonna try my damndest to live by (this is one I made up):

Quit being a morose jackass and work harder to appreciate and enjoy what you have now, ya ungrateful bastard.
-CEO

Feel free to quote me on that one wherever you think appropriate. Correct attribution is appreciated.

Sorry everybody. The CEO hasn’t assed out like that in a while and I plan to make sure it is a long while until that occurs again. Big props to JPink for saving my bacon, yet again.

If anyone ever sees me enthusiastically singing karaoke please tackle me and immediately put me in a cab headed toward home — me singing is a certain sign that someone has more whiskey in them then they should.

Kjel.org made it to Bellevue. Note to other motorists: whatever the news is telling you, if you look at the interstate and see bare pavement, take off your damn chains. Now on to Hawaii tomorrow.

I can’t believe it is time for the Apple Cup already. Thank Jebus — the CEO needs a break. It feels like a long time since any team I liked has won anything, and I am afraid that this Saturday I am going to feel the same way. At least the Apple Cup this year is not just a game between two bad teams, but a battle to determine who really is the worst team in the Pac-10. The Crapple Cup, if you will. I envision a fair amount of drinking and swearing on Saturday morning, and then once the game starts perhaps even more.

I am afraid to watch the Beaver game afterwards becuase I want OSU to win.

Monday already. Fuck.

Man, it sucks to be an adult. I really should have rioted the other night. Nobody would have expected that. Oh well — maybe next time.

Even if you voted against him, you gotta admit that the old man gave a pretty classy concession speech. And, damn it, I have to accept that his sentiments are correct:

A century ago, President Theodore Roosevelt’s invitation of Booker T. Washington to visit — to dine at the White House was taken as an outrage in many quarters. America today is a world away from the cruel and prideful bigotry of that time. There is no better evidence of this than the election of an African American to the presidency of the United States. Let there be no reason now — (cheers, applause) — let there be no reason now for any American to fail to cherish their citizenship in this, the greatest nation on Earth. (Cheers, applause.)

Senator Obama has achieved a great thing for himself and for his country. I applaud him for it, and offer him my sincere sympathy that his beloved grandmother did not live to see this day, though our faith assures us she is at rest in the presence of her creator and so very proud of the good man she helped raise.

Senator Obama and I have had and argued our differences, and he has prevailed. No doubt many of those differences remain. These are difficult times for our country, and I pledge to him tonight to do all in my power to help him lead us through the many challenges we face.

I urge all Americans — (applause) — I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together, to find the necessary compromises, to bridge our differences, and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited.

- John McCain’s concession speech

I hold no ill will toward the President-elect himself, and I get the whole hey-look-not-that-long-ago-black-people-in-some-places-were-prevented-from-voting-now-one-is-president-isn’t-that-marvelous? thing, but that doesn’t make me less nervous about his policies. I read stuff like this and am reminded that winning and being right are two wholly seperate things:

U.S. Rep. Marcy Kaptur (D. Toledo) whipped the crowd up before Mr. Obama took the stage yesterday telling them that America needed a Second Bill of Rights guaranteeing all Americans a job, health care, homes, an education, and a fair playing field for business and farmers.

So long as Mr. President keeps the nutjobs like Marcy Kaptur away from any real decision-making, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Also, I’d like it if he made my lunch everyday, gave me a new pony, and built me a shiny new mansion on Gumdrop Lane. I am afraid that there are roughly even odds of all of those things occuring.

I’d like to remind everyone that dissent is still the highest form of patriotism. Question Authority!

The CEO is no economist, and I have no idea whether or not a taxpayer bailout of some sort is the correct course of action. The more I read about the proposed bailout though, the more I am reminded as to why good old Ron Reagan was the best president this country has had in a long time. First, Forbes on the current bailout plan:

The committee’s top Republican, Alabama Sen. Richard Shelby, says he’s concerned about its cost and whether it will even work. In fact, some of the most basic details, including the $700 billion figure Treasury would use to buy up bad debt, are fuzzy. “It’s not based on any particular data point,” a Treasury spokeswoman told Forbes.com Tuesday. “We just wanted to choose a really large number.”

And now from Ronnie:

The ten most dangerous words in the English language are “Hi, I’m from the government, and I’m here to help.”

The Jr. VP sits on my lap before bed time and we watch TV and snuggle and joke and generally have a good time. We do it most nights; it is nice. We play games that sometimes make Mommy mad, like last night when we agreed that if he ever gets lost at a store he will tell the clerk that his name is Joey Jo-Jo Shabadoo and that he’s looking for his daddy, King Awesome. We laughed and laughed at the CFO’s response to that one, and then it was hugging time. There is nothing better in the world than hearing the lad say I love you Daddy, although I love you Mommy is an extremely close second.

Now please read this, by an infinitely better writer than the CEO will ever be. I read it in 2002 before either of the boys joined Kjel.org and it struck me then, but perhaps for different reasons. Now? Oh man.

Every year I think that this is going to be the September 11 when the sadness finally keeps its distance. The year that the rage doesn’t boil over quite as hot. The year that the dread doesn’t peek out from its ugly little hiding spot. That could have been this year. But then a perfect laughing little three year old boy sat in my lap and made some jokes and then asked me about what we were doing tomorrow. Fuck. I can’t help thinking about things that could have been and might still be.

I still feel the same feelings, but perhaps even stronger than I did 7 years ago. Dammit. Fucking terrorists.

No offense to the Chief Edumacator, but if I was a parent in Bellevue right now I would be royally pissed off:

BELLEVUE, Wash. - No school again Wednesday for 16,000 Bellevue School District students as teachers strike for a second day. Talks Monday and Tuesday failed to yield an agreement; the Bellevue teachers union and the school district return to the bargaining table Wednesday afternoon. The nearly 1,200 teachers union members are striking over issues of compensation, curriculum and benefits. While salaries vary depending on experience, the average Bellevue teacher earns $58,000. The district has offered a 1.5% raise the first year and a 1% raise the second. It’s important to note, this is on top of the state’s cost of living adjustment which in 2009 will be 5.1 percent.

If I was a high school student? During the teacher strike of 1992 my friends and I all went camping in Cle Elum for a few days during our unscheduled vacation. And we all somehow managed to make it home alive. Awesome.

Not awesome: cousin Chuckles was all geared up to start the first grade on Tuesday. His mom was geared up for it too, but no dice. Thanks Bellevue teacher’s union.

Even though Kjel.org has been at the new HQ for a week and a half, we’re not really fully moved in yet. Mainly this is because I am a lazy bastard: once the move was about 80% done I threw up my hands and said I’m spent. This is bad, and unfair to the CFO, so I am going to make a public promise: by the end of Sunday I will have powered through a significant portion of the remaining move-related tasks. How’s that for a rock-solid commitment?

I blame my lethargy in part on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder:

Some number of weeks ago I suffered an accident. The incident in question resulted from a particular melange of factors: uneven ground outside of a beach rental home, a stairwell missing a railing that I was therefore unable to grab, and a heroic intake of cocktails by yours truly earlier that evening may even have played a role. Suffice to say, I took a nasty fall. I was able to shake off* the resulting concussion, sprains, and other injuries for the most part. The CEO’s thick skull can be a blessing in addition to a curse sometimes. What I didn’t do correctly though was to adequately clean up the injury on my ankle and over the course of the next few weeks I think it got infected. It is finally healing now but I still have an ugly looking owie about the size of a nickel on the outside of my left ankle. And the debillitating flashbacks.

And the Current Traumatic Stress:

Fast forward to last night. The CEO is giving the two lads a bath. The Intern is done, and is crawling around the bathroom while I work on his brother. The bathtub has no non-skid and is really pretty slippery, so when the Jr VP is standing to get washed I keep a hand on his side to make sure he stays vertical, while my other hand scrubs away with a soapy washcloth. The Intern sees an opportunity to strike while I am otherwise occupied. He picks up a bath toy resembling this little fellow

and proceeds to stab the hard plastic tail into a certain healing (had been healing, anyway) wound on my ankle. I screamed like a 10 year old girl at a Hannah Montana concert, all while trying to avoid having the Jr VP slip and trying to evade additional thrusts from the Intern’s improvised shiv. It was touch and go there for 10 seconds or so, but I got the Jr VP seated in the tub.You’ll do well in prison I told the AK as I picked him up and sentenced him to his crib. He’s lucky that the head warden (aka the CFO) disagreed with the solitary confinement and sprung him. The kid is only a year old I guess but still, he drew first blood, not me. Added to the list of rules at the HQ: No Stabbing Daddy. Gonna have flashbacks about this one too I think.

* Shaking off the concussion took a minute or two. I jumped up right after hitting the ground and but was not at all solid on my feet as I climbed up the stairs. Big thanks to JPink in NoPo for preventing an instant replay of the previous unpleasantness when I reached the top.

Mofo is it hot today. KATU:

Heat wave expected to peak today with temperatures well above 100
PORTLAND, Ore. (AP) - Temperatures all over Oregon are expected to shoot past 104 degrees today, making it one of the hottest days in Oregon in years. And relief won’t come until Sunday: 100-plus degree temperatures are also expected Saturday. The National Weather Service has issued an excessive heat warning through late Saturday. A high pressure system creeping up from the desert Southwest is dominating the region and bringing the record-breaking temperatures. Thursday’s reading of 102 degrees at the Portland airport smashed the old record of 97 degrees. Temperatures Friday are also expected to be in record-breaking territory with the old mark at 98 degrees.

Yesterday afternoon. Driveway of the new house at 5:15 pm: approx 102 degrees. Inside? 71. If I make it to my deathbed without having ever truly snapped (ie I never climbed a belltower with sack lunch in one hand and a scoped rifle in the other) I will strongly credit central air conditioning for my lifetime of excellent relatively stable mental health. The CFO and Messrs Tanqueray and Schwepps should get a little bit of the credit as well.

Kjel.org signed papers this morning formalizing the sale of the current HQ. The buyer signs tomorrow. If he somehow screws up this deal this late in the process I am going to murder him. Literally, I will kill him. Full-on take his life. I mean it. I even know which gun I’ll use to do it. I might go home and clean it right now, in fact. Or I might have some sharp words for him and egg his current house.

We move on Saturday. Things are a little tense at Kjel.org. I am desperately craving an afternoon of fishing by myself (well, not actually alone. A Super Big Gulp full of Slurpee and Bacardi may accompany me) but it is just not gonna happen in the foreseeable future. Please forgive me if I snap at you. Or completely snap as the case may be.

Available soon, first in the Fine Furnishings department of various upscale retailers. Gourmet grocery stores soon thereafter. Eventually mall kiosks and certain Plaid Pantries. Then, finally, on homeless people and present in the news coverage of various disaster and third world relief efforts.

Kjel.org update: we’ve set a move date of August 9. We’ve finally wised up and are hiring professionals to handle the move. I plan on drinking mai tais on the new deck while those guys struggle to get my bed upstairs. I might close the blinds first I think.

Anyone out there looking to purchase a three bedroom home in far southwest Portland? Price recently lowered. Again.

Coming this winter if the housing market doesn’t pick up: “Señor [CEO]? No lo conozco. Lo siento, me llamo Miguel Sanchez.”

One final note: there is a house on Miles Court right now that is chock full of new presents. I have a key if anyone wants to go over and pick through them. Some of those new towels looked awfully nice . . . Let me know.

You want to know what is awesome? Really? You want to know? Let the CEO tell you what is awesome: owning two houses, but living in the one that doesn’t have air conditioning while the one that has a newly optimized A/C unit sits vacant. Capital fucking A Awesome. Our portable unit (AC-D2 as he is called) is buried in boxes at the other house and a pain in the ass to move anyway, so for now, I am taking my air straight from Mother Nature. And Mother Nature is presently being a royal bitch.

It’s 98 degrees outside my house right now according to the Kjel.org weather station (others might call it a thermometer), but only 85 inside according the thermostat. I got a feeling inside will catch up with outside pretty soon. Great.

Kids these days worry me a little bit.

This thought process today took the CEO about 3 seconds: Sweet! I own two houses! Brief pause. Fuck, I own two houses!

I’m sure everything will be fine. At least until November, when if a certain house in far SW Portland is still unsold the CEO might die in a mysterious boating accident, the body never to be recovered.

“Of course we should pack up the air conditioner. There’s no way we’ll need it in May. This is Portland after all . . .”
–the CEO, April 26th

Kjel.org is finding out that the process of selling a house that you are still living in is really no fun. This piece in yesterday’s Oregonian sums it up pretty accurately:

Real Life: Strange new world of selling your home spurs surreal existence

Sellers, I feel your pain. This week I joined the tribe of nomads known as “sellers still living in their homes” — allegedly at least. I say “allegedly” because, like most sellers in the current market, my house no longer resembles my home, nor is it someplace I can hang out whenever I like.

Yes, my home looks better (for the most part) than it ever has, after three months of work by me and my family; personal organizers; a contractor; window, house and carpet cleaners; landscapers; a home stager; my Realtor; and even my Realtor’s husband.

But it’s also a place that must look perfect every day after 10 a.m. and a place where my son and I can’t be during open houses or showings that can occur at a moment’s notice. That’s where the nomadic part comes in.

Eating has become problematic. It produces dishes that must be immediately washed and put away, crumbs that must be wiped off, toasters and knives that aren’t allowed to be seen . . .

On the plus side there seems to be people interested in seeing the place; now I just need one of them to get suckered into actually buying it.

Alright, what the hell? At some point today I’d hoped to go outside and play with a certain couple of lads. However, despite the fact that it is less than 30 hours away from April 1st it is currently snowing hard (and sticking) at the Kjel.org HQ. Not enough snow to go out and play in mind you, but enough to keep us indoors. Damn you Al Gore! So many empty promises!

In other news three boys are still alive. One is presently asleep, one is on the internet and wondering what the hell to do about dinner, and the other is watching Mr. Incredible and Frozone battle a giant spider-robot. I hope the Jr. VP chooses something good for dinner; when this movie is over I am gonna be hungry.

Did you know that there is a holiday called Easter Monday? Until I was informed that the boys’ ’school’ would be closed on Monday I’d no idea such a thing ever existed. I don’t get a holiday on Monday. Damn Latina immigrants like those employed by the ’school’ — they get all the breaks. Every last one of them, I tells ya!

So the CFO and I had to figure out what to do Monday. Fortunately for us the Kjel.org Chief Future Sister-in-law is coming over to babysit for us for most of the day, so problem avoided on that front. So to say that Kjel.org owes her one is the understatement of the year. This year so far anyway.

Damn. On all fronts it has been a long week or three for the CEO; I don’t recall being this busy or this tired in quite some time. To top it off, instead of the leisurely Friday I might otherwise have had, (Uh, yeah, I got an appointment across town at 3:00. See ya Monday!) I have an actual business meeting in Vancouver (and not the good Vancouver) late tomorrow afternoon. That drive should be fun, let alone the meeting itself. Didn’t Al Gore invent the internet so that I would never have to actually, you know, meet with people face to face? I’m adding tomorrow’s fun to the already long list of things I blame Al Gore for. To say I am maybe looking forward to Saturday would be like saying Britney Spears is perhaps not the finest mother or that the Chief Educator is perchance going to lose a nickel or two the next time we gamble. In short: Saturday, hurry the hell up! I beg of you!

Some random stuff from Kjel.org’s trip last weekend to visit the CEO’s parents in Palm Desert, not really in chronological order:

1. Portland TSA officer(s): Thank you very much. The Jr VP is a spirited lad but mostly was a good boy during our journey to California. Except for a meltdown he commenced right at the metal detector. The lad didn’t like being forced to take his shoes off, and (unlike Daddy who just grumbles quietly) got down onto the ground to kick and scream and bang his fists about it. The rules about walking through the detector are pretty clear: if a kid can walk he is supposed to go through the detector under his own power. I had picked up the li’l screamer and was about to throw him through the doorway when the TSA guy told me is was OK to walk through carrying the boy. Another friendly TSA officer helped us with the gigantic stroller and diaper bag, while a third even came over to entertain the crying boy with latex glove balloons and funny talk. Everyone was as helpful and friendly as they possibly could have been. Thanks guys. Next time I have to fly out of PDX there’ll be a bottle of cognac in my carry-on: “Oh no I forgot about it and have to give it up to the TSA!” You guys like Remy VSOP?

2. Palm Springs TSA officer: Fuck you very much. You watched me buy the bottle of chocolate milk from the vendor 20 feet away from the security checkpoint. You might at that point also have noticed a three year old bawling his eyes out, mainly because our need to fly back to Portland late that afternoon precluded a nap for the young lad. Perhaps you even noticed the remarkable restorative properties a humble bottle of chocolate milk had on the boy. Chocolate milk that you watched me buy and open and give to a toddler. An exhausted and angry boy was made happy by that milk. That bottle of milk concretely represented the borderline between idyllic little Happytown and the barren wastelands of unincorporated Tantrum County. Your action forced Kjel.org out of Happytown and into the wastelands. You know goddamn well that there was absolutely no reason to not allow that bottle through security, especially since your own fucking website says that the TSA will make allowances for, quote, “milk” (not otherwise defined) regarding the no-liquids-onboard-the-plane-rule. I hope you enjoyed taking what you knew to a certainty to be completely harmless chocolate milk from a crying three year old boy. The next time I see your ugly mug I hope it is as an attached file photo accompanying an article about the victim of a killer bee attack or a flesh eating virus of some sort. Or both.

3. As we were walking down the jetway at PDX the CEO’s brain chimed in: Hmm. I wonder if the Jr VP is afraid of flying or heights or anything like that? I have no idea. I guess we’re about to find out. It turns out he wasn’t. In fact he screamed with glee as the 727 gained speed on the runway and then took off. He sounded a little bit insane; I hope he didn’t scare any of the other passengers.

4. Once at the Palm Springs airport Kjel.org rented a def Dodge Magnum Sport Wagon from the good people at Thrifty Rent-a-Car. The moment I saw it I knew I was gonna recline that seat waayyyy back. Oh yeeeeaaah.

Just in case they weren’t actually good people at Thrifty Rent-a-Car I took a few pictures of the body damage on said Magnum before we drove off. I was a little worried they might try to stick me for those dents, especially since the salesperson at Thrifty seemed to take personal offense to the fact that I would not purchase the supplemental insurance she kept trying to push. “Sir I really think you are making a mistake here . . .” She was almost proven correct as only the CEO’s cat-like reflexes prevented the Magnum from being sideswiped about 2 minutes after leaving the airport. The CFO was convinced that Thrifty sent an assault car after us. I’m not so sure about that, but then again, I can’t absolutely rule it out. I kept my eyes wide open for the rest of the drive. We made it to my parental unit’s place with no further incident.

Some minor body damage on the Magnum. Damage not inflicted by the CEO anyway.

5. There are giant lizards in Palm Desert. Luckily they are quite tame. We found this one at the Living Desert Zoo, which happens to be just about a 1/4 mile away from the Ironwood Country Club where my parents live. The giraffes at the zoo can occasionally be seen from a certain hole at the far end of the Ironwood golf course; stories abound of guests at Ironwood not being aware of the zoo and coming back to the clubhouse with stories that begin “You are never going to believe what I saw out on #16 South . . . ”

“Don’t give me your crap! You will too stare directly into the sun so that I can get a flerkin cute picture of you. Now look cute! Cuter, dammit!!

“There. That’s better. Cute.”

We took the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway to the top of San Jacinto Peak. I don’t think the lad was expecting to also play in the snow on this trip, but he quickly adapted. It was fun to watch his reaction when going from sunny and 80 degrees to sunny and 43 with 4 feet of snow on the ground. Jr loved riding the tram too; he called it “flying.” Most of the adults on board got a little bit nervous when the tram cars would start to sway after passing one of the towers, but Jr would just laugh and laugh and laugh. I need to take him to an amusement park soon I think.

And finally, The Good Spiderman playing in the morning sun and then eating breakfast on the patio in front of his grandparents’ house. The CEO sat on that very same chair about seven hours later drinking a cocktail as the sun went down. Not a bad way to end the day.

We’ve been back in town for like a week and a half and I still feel like I am playing catch-up. Sorry for the interuption in service. A story about the Jr. VP calling the Chief Educator a “Poopy Diaper Butt!” the other day and the ramifications thereof will be put up here shortly.

If you look at only one other website today, make it this one: www.there-will-too-be-beer-pong-at-the-wedding-or-i-am-launching-a-boycott.org.

For the record, the Seattle Seahawks are not soley responsible for their loss against Green Bay on Saturday. The Chief Educator shares part of the blame: he jinxed them early. At 14-0 for Seattle early, that dumbass started to celebrate. I believe it’s over! came out of his mouth. The Chief Sniper picked up on the jinx immediately; I thought he was going to punch the Educator. In retrospect he probably should have.

I made the comment wow, it’s really coming down now! several times during the game. Every time they cut to commercial and then came back I swear it was snowing harder than before. Finally I quit saying it: I didn’t want to be known decades hence as the man responsible for the worst blizzard in Wisconsin history.

Kjel.org is back from Christmas in Bellevue and Seattle with the families. I won’t give you a full play-by-play, but here are some of the things from the last few days.

1. The lads went to see Santa at Macy’s a few days back. Santa was great, but playing in SantaLand and in the train car was far and away the best part of Stinkboy’s week. A great tantrum came upon us when it was time to leave, but it was blunted slightly by an old chestnut, one also entirely apropos for the situation: “Remember, Santa only brings toys to good little boys.”

2. Sunday the 23rd, heading up I-5 (or The 5, as our California based readers might call it) the Jr. VP initiated a massive diaper filling event. ‘Twas ugly. The wind was howling and the rain was coming down in buckets. We couldn’t wait to get to a rest area to change it, but doing it in a parking lot was going to get everyone involved soaked. Then, salvation: a closed and deserted gas station was spotted from the freeway. We took the next exit and drove right to it. It looked like it’d been recently damaged in the floods from a few weeks back, and was not doing so well now. We pulled in next to the pumps and under the cover and then got out and proceeded to clean up the boy. It was at this point that things started getting weird. Both the CFO and I got what was, as Shaggy might say to Scoob, “a very bad feeling about this” almost from the moment we got out of the car; the CFO later described it as feeling like she was a character in a Steven King book. The CFO was working on the boy in the front passenger seat, and I found myself standing behind her, in a state of readiness, wishing I had packed a shotgun along with the gifts and the luggage. Very weird and very stupid, and we recognized both at the time, but still we were happy to get the boy buckled in and get the hell out of there. Maybe a rabid St. Bernard or an evil clown had been stalking us and we barely escaped, who knows?

3. The drive sucked, avoided-encounter-with-Evil-at-an-abandoned-gas-station notwithstanding. Windy and rainy the whole time, and with a ticked off baby in the back seat and a seeming 75% increase in the numbers of idiots and maniacs on the road. Plus the trucks. Don’t get me started on all the goddamn trucks. Below is an excerpt of a piece of legislation I’ve asked my parents’ Washington State Rep to sponsor:

“It shall be permissible for a motorist upon any interstate highway located within the state of Washington to use a firearm, missile launcher, or other explosive device for the purpose of persuading the drivers of Class A and Class C recreational vehicles and of semi tractor/trailers that they should under no circumstances whatsoever travel in the left lane. It shall be permissible to brandish said devices in a threatening manner should one of the aforementioned vehicles be present the center lane of a three lane roadway.”

I’ll let you know how that one goes.

Upon arrival in Bellevue I was worn out from the drive. CEO’s mom upon arrival: “Hi guys! Hi [CEO]! How are you?” CEO’s reply: Whiskey, stat!!

4. Christmas Eve morning the whole crew is milling around the parent’s pad, watching TV and playing and drinking coffee and such. The CEO’s mom asks me to go out to the second fridge in the garage and bring in a jar of jam. Sure thing, mom!. I go out there and open the fridge. A small bottle of Wilcox Farms (one of my favorite chocolate milk producers) was in the door. Chocolate milk. Awesome. I cracked it open and took four big gulps. Something wasn’t right. Wait a second. . . This is the 2006 vintage!. The May 10th 2006 vintage was excellent when it was released, but didn’t cellar well. Lucky for me there was a garbage can next to the fridge for me to hurl into. I’ve learned my lesson: check the chocolate milk vintage before tasting, not after. My family was amused, but I was not. Who the hell keeps a 20-month-old bottle of chocolate milk in their fridge? I think it was a trap set specifically for me. Touché.

5. The CEO got a Santa suit for Christmas. Years of hilarity are going to come from that gift, I can feel it. Think of all the children I can scar. . . Won’t somebody please think of the children?

6. Many of the crew at my parent’s house took a walk around the neighborhood Christmas Eve Day. Crazy cousin Chuckles came with, and brought along a football. He and I played a running game of catch as we were taking our walk. I nearly killed him on one play: I sent Chuckles deep and then I let it fly. The ball sailed on me a little bit (CEO is not a QB. More of a DT, really) and was headed toward a low fence in front of someone’s house. The fence was perfectly sized and perfectly placed to impale a boy of Chuckle’s size should that boy lay out in a dive for something like, say, an errantly thrown football. I saw the whole thing unfold in my mind as Chuck raced for the ball, tracking it the whole time and not watching where he was going. Oh great, I’ve killed Chuckles. My sister is going to be royally pissed, and now I bet Christmas in Bellevue will be awkward for years. Well done, CEO. Bravo. I shouldn’t have been worried: of course Chuckles was able to both get to the ball and avoid impaling himself. Let’s hope that that’s the last time the CEO’s ineptitude almost kills a young man, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

7. We spent the majority of Christmas Day with the CFO’s family in Seattle, watching the snow come down. In the evening some family friends came over and we had a feast of prime rib: it was “yummy delicious” as the Jr. VP might say. The true dining highlight of the evening though was the hors d’ oeuvres. One of the friends in attendance was an older Filipina woman who likes to cook. Everyone should be so lucky as to know a traditional Filipina chef. Before coming over she’d whipped up a large platter of home-made lumpia rolls. OMG! (as the kids say) were they good. It is her usual Christmas day appetizer; there was a near mutiny one year when she forgot to bring them. I think she now realizes that the lumpia is a requirement if she is to attend the CFO’s parents’ Christmas dinner.

8. Yesterday I drove home by myself, since I had to work today and and the CFO doesn’t. She’s getting a ride down here tomorrow. I hope her drive is better than mine was: stop and go traffic for 50 miles on I-5 when you are out in the middle of nowhere is not fun. At least this time I had blasting rock music to keep me company instead of a crying baby, and a bag of provisions thoughtfully put together for me by the CFO’s dad: the remains of a deli tray from the night before. The pound of deli meat and cheese I ate in the car helped my mood considerably. That doesn’t mean though that I didn’t have any whiskey at the end of this drive too.

Is there something wrong with you if you find yourself thinking about how to most amusingly cause harm to a five year old kid? Last night as we were leaving some punk at the Jr. VP’s ’school’ made a comment about him being a baby and still wearing diapers. I don’t think the lad heard, or if he did, he just ignored it. He’s more adult than Daddy; Daddy wanted to pick up the mouthy kid by his ankles and then drop him. Onto my swinging foot. I could get 5 or 6 seconds of hang time I think.

I could do it, too. It’s been scientifically proven. Him and 23 of his buddies.

24

That number sounds low to me, but then again I’m not in very good shape.

The other night I was leaving Fred Meyer with $250 worth of groceries in my cart when I came upon an old guy ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. An unfamiliar thought occurred to me: “I think I’ll give the Army a buck or two.” (I still don’t know where that came from, but the thought was there.) So I looked in my wallet. No bills. Dammit. I was pretty sure I had some coins in my pocket leftover from lunch so I fished around in there. I had one nickel. I flipped it into his kettle and went on my way. The “Merry Christmas” I received in return from the Major was not the most enthusiastic one I have ever received.

A gambling note from this weekend: it is bullshit to lose a poker hand when you are holding five Kings. It was that sort of evening.

A note to a certain driver on I-5 today: no matter how fast and aggressive you drive, no matter how much you yell and sneer and cuss, no matter how many people you tailgate and cut-off, you are still driving a light blue, wood-paneled minivan. No amount of road rage is going to change that.

Son of a bitch it just never stops. First the City Hall buttmonkeys tried to get me at home. They were thwarted. Then they targeted me at work. Nice try but no dice, assclowns. Now they are trying to turn the whole neighborhood against me. Shit. I’d hoped to be done with this, but if not, well PDX, prepare to have it brung. CFO, find me some clean pants! It’s go time, City Hall style!

Neighbors in Southwest Portland hope forming an unusual tax district will pay for complex street upgrades
People rarely walk Southwest Portland streets. It’s just too dangerous. There are few sidewalks. And bike lanes, common in the heart of the city, are nearly unheard of. Residents have complained for years, but nothing’s happened. Now a coalition of neighborhood associations, intrigued by an idea floated by Commissioner Sam Adams, is planning to sell property owners on something that could change the way street improvements are funded not just in Southwest Portland, but throughout the city. They want to create a special taxing district to pay for improvements on three Southwest Portland streets and have property owners — even if they don’t live on the street — pitch in. If approved by property owners, it would be Portland’s first “halo” improvement district, said Tom Miller, Adams’ chief of staff. In a traditional local improvement district, only property owners abutting a project pay for it. The halo would extend outward maybe as much as a quarter-mile to draw in property owners who also benefit from street improvements and can help pay.

Looks like my debut last week as a crank at the City Council meetings was only postponed, not cancelled.

Kjel.org might be moving to Pullman soon; the CFO is thrilled. Thrilled, I tells ya. I’ve submitted my resume to Washington State University, and, if accepted, next season I will be the head coach of the WSU football team. I don’t really expect to be hired as head coach, and frankly, head coach is not the job I want. I’m doing it just to position myself for the true dream job should it also become available: WSU offensive coordinator. I like to imagine sitting up in the booth drawing up triple reverse quarterback-throwback type plays, most of them run out of either the wishbone or the shotgun. A lot of tackle-eligible stuff in the playbook too, plus a couple of double-secret trick plays that we’ll save just for the Apple Cup. I’ve got one in mind called Dogstomper option right that I am just itching to run some year. Also, we are not going to punt. Ever. The good Lord gave WSU four downs in which to move the football, and by God move it we will.

One more game for the Cougs this year. I hope they show up for this one; on Saturday against the Beavs they didn’t. If you can’t get excited about a chance to beat up on the Huskies, then you probably shouldn’t be playing on my* football team.

* Mine soon anyway. At the least the offense.

I am convinced that were the ladies and gentlemen below to replace the current Portland City Council our local government would improve considerably.

Back from City Hall already. There were 400 people in line in front of me to also bitch at the city council, so my debut as a crank that attends council meetings and spouts off will have to be delayed. There were enough pissed off people there already — I’ll link to a news story about it tonight when the meeting is finally over. My early feeling though? No name change for SW 4th: the folks wanting Interstate to change have too much invested in it to accept anything else.

Guess who’s boss just asked him to walk a few blocks down to City Hall at 3:00 today and bitch about the proposed name change of a certain downtown street?

They couldn’t get me at home with their bogus street ‘improvements’, so now the city is targeting me where I work. Bastards.

New Portland street now in the running to honor Cesar Chavez
It now looks as if the Portland City Council won’t rename North Interstate Avenue for Cesar Chavez on Thursday after all. Instead, there appears to be four votes to rename Southwest Fourth Avenue — where City Hall sits — for the farm worker labor leader, tossing new fuel into a debate that has enflamed community passions in recent weeks. City Commissioner Dan Saltzman told Mayor Tom Potter late today that he has the votes for the Fourth Avenue name change, according to John Doussard, the mayor’s spokesman.

Do the raging assclowns at City Hall not know that there happen to be other businesses and organizations on SW 4th, or do they just not give a shit about all the hassle this would cause? For all the same reasons this was a stupid idea for Interstate it is a stupid idea for SW 4th. And I’m not even going to attempt a discussion as to whether this street or any street in town should be renamed after Mr. Chavez. To even obliquely attempt to raise that topic in the People’s Soviet of Portland will get you branded as a member of the KKK, and I got enough problems in this town as it is. Anyway, if this thing goes through I predict that this city is going to see some ugliness. Me, I’m going to confine myself to launching a campaign to change the name of whatever cross street City Hall happens to sit on. Rumsfeld Avenue has a nice ring to it I think, but then again so does Karl Rove Blvd. Or maybe just W street. Hell, I’d be happy with Ichiro Lane. Anyone else got anything better?

Tuesday night I went to a huge outdoor reception at Sony Picture Studios in Culver City honoring Vint Cerf, a man widely hailed as one of the founding fathers of the Internet. There were speeches from various luminaries, all effusively praising and thanking Mr. Cerf for his accomplishments and acknowledging the truly world-changing effect his work has had. There were video tributes from important people all over the world saying much the same. Everyone was falling all over themselves to honor Mr. Cerf, and with good reason — he’s done a ton of good in his time and everyone who’s ever known or worked with him thoroughly loves the guy. As far as I can tell he deserves all the accolades that have come his way.

Then there was the video tribute from one Mr. Albert Arnold Gore Jr. “The internet has been invaluable to my efforts to inform people world wide about the climate crisis. My organization . . . I am able to . . . When I was the Vice President. . . We should all be thankful this teaching tool is here for me to use to educate you about global warming.” At the end of his “tribute” to Cerf you could hear the crowd grumbling a bit. Socializing afterwards nobody wanted to just come out and say the former VP made an ass of himself; you never know someone else’s politics and no one wants to inadvertantly offend. Even so there were plenty of comments like “Wow that Al Gore sure knows how to stay on message, huh?” or “Uh, well, I guess it’s nice to see that Al knows it didn’t have to be all about Vint tonight.” The thing about it is that it was supposed to be all about Vint that night. Everyone knew that, except a certain blowhard ex-senator. Al, here’s an inconvenient truth for you: you are a ginormous grade-AAA douchebag. And a shit sandwich too, now that I think about it.

Another thing: somehow* I ended up seated at a table right behind Mr. Cerf’s VIP table; he and I were almost back to back. When the actual speechifying and such started I spun around to face the stage and was directly behind and to the right of the Man of the Evening. He was getting a lot of attention from both national and international media. I was his unintentional wingman: I am now present in roughly 1,000 pictures and some number of hours of video footage taken that evening. I wish I’d combed my hair. Or worn a clean shirt. Or at least a cleanish one.

* CEO’s brain as I am sitting down: “Reserved sign?” I don’t see one. Weird they’d have a table this far forward unreserved, but oh well. I guess I’ll sit down. Why is everyone looking at me funny? . . .

Come on humans, wake up! Now they’re targeting our leaders!!

NEW DELHI: A senior government official died Sunday after falling from a balcony during an attack by wild monkeys at his home in the Indian capital, media reported. New Delhi Deputy Mayor S.S. Bajwa was rushed to a hospital after the attack by the gang of Rhesus macaques, but quickly succumbed to head injuries sustained in his fall, the Press Trust of India news agency and The Times of India reported. . . .Over the years, city authorities have employed monkey catchers who use langurs — a larger and fiercer kind of monkey — to scare or catch the macaques, but the problem persists.

That last part is just an excellent example of putting off dealing with a medium sized problem until today’s half-assed ’solution’ becomes a larger problem. Mark my words: your grandkids and mine will someday contemplate the merits of launching a war to liberate our human brethren on the Sub-Continent from their evil langur overlords. I hope they do.

I read the headline five times thinking it was from the Onion. Nope. Yahoo news:

As violence falls in Iraq, cemetery workers feel the pinch
NAJAF, Iraq — At what’s believed to be the world’s largest cemetery, where Shiite Muslims aspire to be buried and millions already have been, business isn’t good. A drop in violence around Iraq has cut burials in the huge Wadi al Salam cemetery here by at least one-third in the past six months, and that’s cut the pay of thousands of workers who make their living digging graves, washing corpses or selling burial shrouds.

Things over there are really going to hell all right. Next thing you know the last remaining Iraqi baby-crutch factory will be forced to cut back to only one shift.

1. I’ve been having a real hard time limiting the language that the Jr. VP is exposed to and subsequently repeats. Loudly. And repeatedly. Just when I think I’ve got my defenses firmly established something new comes in under my radar. I know “Rocking Ring of Fire” well enough to quickly mute it during certain parts of the song (and really who doesn’t want their two year old yelling “let it burn, motherfucker!“) but sometimes I forget about problems in other songs. The beginning of a particular Sublime song is the case in point. The song is entitled “Smoke Two Joints” so I really can’t say that the possibility of a problem just came at me out of the blue. Anyway, spoken at the beginning of the song, a snippet from some old-timey film about bad teens I’m guessing:

“She was living in a single room with three other individuals. One of them was a male and the other two, well, the other two were females. God only know what they were up to in there. And furthermore Susan, I wouldnt be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them habitually smoke marijuana cigarettes… REEFERS!”

Of course the lad immediately starts yelling Reefers! Reefers! I was very glad that we were headed away from ’school’ instead of toward it; the ladies and other parents at his ’school’ look at me suspiciously enough as it is.

2. I took a phone survey the other week and at the end when they asked if they could me send a more comprehensive written version I said sure. I didn’t really plan to waste my time doing it but figured it might be interesting to look at it at least. The survey arrived Saturday. I opened it up and the first thing I saw was a crisp new $5 bill taped to the front of it. “Ah, trying to use generosity to guilt me into completing the thing, eh? Nice try, but no dice, suckers.” I bought a sandwich today with that $5 bill. It was tasty (the secret is extra mayo) and that survey is now at the bottom of a landfill somewhere.

3. Finally: the Intern is no longer just a hungry animated lump of poop production (that also occasionally barfs); he can now interact with the world around him. I guess we’ll keep him since he is getting to be much more fun now that he can do stuff, like move his head around to watch and even sometimes laugh at my assorted japes and capering. The Jr. VP tries to get him to laugh by laughing himself but Stinkboy’s fake-laugh is pretty bad. It sounds like he is doing an impression of Terminator-era Schwarzenegger when he fake-laughs. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! If he ever laughs like that and then says “I’ll be back” in that same voice I will need a surgeon due to the busted gut I’d incur. I hope that sort of thing can be fixed but if not it’d still probably be worth it.

4. Kjel.org recently got a giant exercise ball. Someone has a new “funnest game in the world“: step 1. Lay on top of said ball. Step 2. Ball rolls forward, boy goes with it. Step 3. Put face into ground. Step 4. Repeat. Too fun Daddy!!! Too fun!!! Whatever, he seems to like it, bloody noses notwithstanding.

5. I’d be remiss if I didn’t wish you a happy Columbus Day. It’s one of my favorite holidays: today I am going to kiss any random Spaniards I come across and slap around any indigenous people I happen to stumble upon. I’ll do it to, you know, celebrate. It’s the spirit of the season! Yay Columbus! Stupid holiday that doesn’t even get the CEO a day off — pretty much mailmen sorry, letter-carriers are the main beneficiary of Columbus Day. Look, Cristobal was not even the first European to set foot in North America, let alone the first person, so honoring him as some legendary explorer is lame. Also, there are reasonable Americans that are offended by the fact that the federal govt sets aside a day to honor Columbus. I don’t share their offense (my side — aka Western Civ — won after all) but I hate to unnecesarily give offense to good people. Columbus Day is stupid; I propose that we instead do this. All-Sports Day. Make it on a Friday in early October every year, and let MLB and college and pro football use the day to schedule games. I expect many other fringe sports would follow suit, and within a year or three the holiday will be accepted and have it’s own fun traditions and norms. It worked for Kwanzaa, so why not this? It’ll be like the Super Bowl, but better — you get the day off, and then a whole weekend to recover from your bacon hangover. In a lot of the country early October is still pretty nice weatherwise, so it could in some ways be like a late Labor Day, but instead honoring something useful. Columbus Day? Overrated. All Sports Day? An idea whose time has come.

6. This could easily happen at Kjel.org, but I have a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be Mom with the hardware were this to go down near the HQ:

Mom Allegedly Flashes Gun at Bus Stop
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. (AP) - Jacksonville authorities say a mother pulled out a gun at a school bus stop because her son was being bullied. The police report says 40- year-old Johnna Briggs pointed the gun at other students getting off the bus and said, “Does anyone have something to say?” Her son was being bullied on the school bus and authorities say she wanted to put an end to it. Briggs is charged with improper exhibition of a firearm, a misdemeanor.

If physical violence is ever threatened or visited upon one of the lads’ enemies it’s not going to require CSI Portland to figure out which one of their parents is the more likely suspect. Hmm, which parent has a documented history of threatening to, quote, “maul” anyone who might harm or otherwise inconvenience any member of the this weird Kjel.org cult thingy? CEO: Sorry officer. That smartass fourth grader had it coming.

7. If you are a member of a professional or collegiate sports team of any type you had better hope and pray that the CEO never roots for you to win. As this last weekend has proved, beyond any scintilla of a doubt, the CEO rooting for you guarantees* that you are going to lose. Sorry.

On that note: Go Huskies!!!

* Not an actual guarantee. Kjel.org user terms and conditions can be downloaded at kjel.org/cares

The CEO making your life better one tip at a time:

If you are getting a sandwich at lunch and grab an extra packet of mayonnaise from the condiment bar, don’t put it in your front pants pocket, especially if you also have your keys in there already. Keys are pokey; plastic mayo packets are weak. It’s always nice to have a big greasy white stain on the front of your pants just in time for the 1:30 management meeting. Walking into Jr’s ’school’ this afternoon should be enjoyable too. Hopefully I’m not tasered in the parking lot by some concerned parent.

I was in the shower when the CFO poked her head in and said “Planes have hit the World Trade Center! — one of the Towers collapsed!!” Huh? I rinsed off as fast as I could, grabbed a towel and ran out to the front room. Within 5 seconds of me making it to the TV the second tower fell. A smarter, more insightful, more creative (and less vulgar and/or blasphemous) person would have said something meaningful at this point; the CEO was reduced to Holy-motherfucking-shit did that just happen!?!? And then Son-of-a-fucking-bitch. Goddammit. I just watched 5,000 people die. Fuck. The rest of the day was a haze, punctuated by the occasional what the fuck? as some new detail would come out. I’m pretty sure I went to work that day, but I’m equally sure that no work got done.

It’s probably some sort of character flaw but by the time I got home and the enormity of what had happened had penetrated my thick skull, I had a monumentally overwhelming urge to lock the windows, bar the door, pour myself six fingers of bourbon and then stay up all night sitting in a chair in the hallway with a loaded shotgun in my lap. I could have remained in that position for a week. If I could also have had the launch codes for the U.S. nuclear arsenal near my right hand, all the better.

Christ, that was only 2001; back then Kjel.org consisted of just me and the CFO. I can’t imagine what I would do now in the same situation, but it would likely involve a certain someone “going off the deep end” so to speak. If in the future some terrorist shitstain lands another 9-11 sized blow on the U.S. I recommend you call before you come over.

I was gonna start this with “maybe I’m an idiot”, but really, there is no “maybe” involved. A better person would have put most of this behind them by now, but that better person is not the CEO. I very much miss September 10, 2001, and while remembering the day that followed thoroughly sucks, I think also that we forget that day at our peril. I haven’t, even though I sometimes try. Sorry for the downer. Pointless drivel about mundane crap will resume tomorrow.

Thank Gaia that Kjel.org will (hopefully: Dubya, could this wait until Friday afternoon please?) be out of town when Chimpy McBusHitler detonates his fascist A-bomb in our peaceful city. Unless these brave warriors for peace quoted below manage to stop him first. I love this town.

The CEO doesn’t like chronic whiners and tries not to be one, but that being said, here goes: Having the 4th of July on a Wednesday is the suck. Is there anything anyone can do to make sure that in future this doesn’t happen again? The CEO would be most grateful.

This is not the sort of article one likes to see when they are planning on hatching a child at St. Vincent next month. Hopefully Tank remembers to wash his hands a lot:

Baby dies at Portland hospital after exposure to staph bacteria in ICU
BEAVERTON — One baby died at Providence St. Vincent Hospital after being exposed to a staph bacteria in the neonatal intensive care unit, officials said Friday. Hospital officials said the staph infection was a “contributing factor” in the infant’s death. The bacteria was detected during a routine inspection; doctors began treating a group of babies Thursday night. There were 46 babies in the unit at the time. Fourteen of the babies were identified as having the bacteria on their skin or in their nose or mouth. The baby that died was the only one identified as having the bacteria in his or her bloodstream. “They [neonatal babies] are very fragile and they can get sick very easily,” said Marcia Tolmasoff, Director of the NICU at Providence St. Vincent.