So, I’m reading this article:
http://www.politico.com/news/stories/1209/31078.html
13 GOP AGs threaten health bill suit
Which says:
“Thirteen Republican state attorneys general are threatening to file a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of the Senate health care bill.
In a letter sent to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid on Wednesday, South Carolina Attorney General Henry McMaster said he had “grave concerns” about the deal Senate leaders cut with Sen. Ben Nelson (D-Neb.) to secure his crucial vote for the health care package.”
Towards the end of the article, they have this response from the Democrats:
“Democrats have derided the legal analysis as politically motivated. “
Oh, really? And what exactly was the buy-out deal form Nelson called? Charity?
“Hello, Pot?”
“Yes”
“This is kettle. You’re black”
Thursday, December 31, 2009
And now for something completly different
Let’s take a break for a moment, from our usual, rabid discussions revolving around politics, global warming denial and sexual innuendos and talk about something that's near and dear to our hearts. Yes, that’s right, let’s talk about food.
Not just any food, oh no, that would not do for such a momentous posting as this. No, this ode to culinary delight shall be to that stomach filling delight, lasagna. And not just any lasagna, but my wife’s lasagna.
Yes, yes, I’m sure your lasagna is the absolute best that anyone has ever had, but that’s only because Mr. or Mrs. Anyone hasn’t had my wife’s delectable concoction.
Last weekend, my family came to our house to celebrate Christmas. And so, after much debate and consternation as to what meal best represents the holidays, we decided on lasagna. Jack may claim that my part in this discussion may have been influenced more by my personal self interest and by doing so I may have interviened in the optimal, market based solution to the problem.
And he’d be right. I mean, come on, we’re talking about lasagna here, people.
So, my wife made two heaping pans of the stuff, ensuring that a satisfactory quantity was left over to satisfy her husband’s (that's me) pasta desires. You think I jest? Out of the last 11 meals since Saturday, I’ve eaten lasagna 5 times, and finally the last of the artery hardening stuff was devoured at lunch today.
The block I consumed today was 3” tall, 4” wide and 5” long, comprised of seven layers of noodles, meat, garlic, sauce and cheese. This thing was so solid, that if you dropped a brick on it, the brick would shatter.
Now, after gobbling down the aforementioned lasagna, I’m sure a good nap this afternoon will be what the good doctored ordered. I’m not sure that’s what work wants out of me this afternoon, but why else are doors put on offices and “line busy” lights put on our receptionist’s phone tree?
So, before I go, I’ll return you to our regularly scheduled broadcast. Did you hear the one about when Senator Inhofe was caught at the CRU with whips and a dildo…?
Not just any food, oh no, that would not do for such a momentous posting as this. No, this ode to culinary delight shall be to that stomach filling delight, lasagna. And not just any lasagna, but my wife’s lasagna.
Yes, yes, I’m sure your lasagna is the absolute best that anyone has ever had, but that’s only because Mr. or Mrs. Anyone hasn’t had my wife’s delectable concoction.
Last weekend, my family came to our house to celebrate Christmas. And so, after much debate and consternation as to what meal best represents the holidays, we decided on lasagna. Jack may claim that my part in this discussion may have been influenced more by my personal self interest and by doing so I may have interviened in the optimal, market based solution to the problem.
And he’d be right. I mean, come on, we’re talking about lasagna here, people.
So, my wife made two heaping pans of the stuff, ensuring that a satisfactory quantity was left over to satisfy her husband’s (that's me) pasta desires. You think I jest? Out of the last 11 meals since Saturday, I’ve eaten lasagna 5 times, and finally the last of the artery hardening stuff was devoured at lunch today.
The block I consumed today was 3” tall, 4” wide and 5” long, comprised of seven layers of noodles, meat, garlic, sauce and cheese. This thing was so solid, that if you dropped a brick on it, the brick would shatter.
Now, after gobbling down the aforementioned lasagna, I’m sure a good nap this afternoon will be what the good doctored ordered. I’m not sure that’s what work wants out of me this afternoon, but why else are doors put on offices and “line busy” lights put on our receptionist’s phone tree?
So, before I go, I’ll return you to our regularly scheduled broadcast. Did you hear the one about when Senator Inhofe was caught at the CRU with whips and a dildo…?
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
For every gorgeous woman out there, there’s someone tired of her shit
A friend of mine always used to say that to me. Actually, the phrase ended with “someone’s tired of fucking them”, but I thought that might be a little harsh in a title.
With that in mind, when I read in someone’s blog that “tiger should be ashamed of cheating on his gorgeous wife”, I realized that it really doesn’t matter what she looks like, or that she bore him two “beautiful” children.
It really doesn’t matter that she is beautiful, gorgeous, thin, white, black, fat, green or can suck a baseball through a garden hose. Well, that last part may actually have something to do with it, but, that’s off topic right now.
This has a lot less to do with Elin’s looks, prowess as a wife and a mother, than with Tiger. News flash, rich, powerful men, who have the world by the balls, cheat on their wives.
Next up on CNN, dog bites man.
With that in mind, when I read in someone’s blog that “tiger should be ashamed of cheating on his gorgeous wife”, I realized that it really doesn’t matter what she looks like, or that she bore him two “beautiful” children.
It really doesn’t matter that she is beautiful, gorgeous, thin, white, black, fat, green or can suck a baseball through a garden hose. Well, that last part may actually have something to do with it, but, that’s off topic right now.
This has a lot less to do with Elin’s looks, prowess as a wife and a mother, than with Tiger. News flash, rich, powerful men, who have the world by the balls, cheat on their wives.
Next up on CNN, dog bites man.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Have some pie
I’ve been thinking for a while about writing about change and the change(s) that I’m going through, or seem to have been going through, over the past few years.
I know, I know, you’re shocked (Shocked!) that the guy that called everyone else an idiot, while misspelling a few words along the way, might have something more to say than just that. Sometimes I even surprise myself.
But, instead of talking about change(s), I decided to talk about pie. Some yummy in my tummy apple pie from Thanksgiving, that I’m still thinking about now.
See, at the end of last year, I wanted to get off my ass and try to become, on a more consistent basis, active. I was looking at turning 45 and the seemingly never ending expansion of my gut, and I decided that enough was enough. Just one helping of enough was going to be enough for me, from now on. Generally. Unless, of course, there’s icing or pie involved, then two helpings of enough will be enough.
I had come to grips with the fact that the mental picture that I have rolling around of my body and what was actually looking back at me from the mirror, have deviated. Significantly. I had also come to grips with the fact that while I’ll never ever look the way I want to (I’ll never put that much effort into anything), but if I feel better about how I feel, that’s going to be a big step in the right direction.
At the beginning of the year, I picked up a heart rate monitor, we purchased a few work out videos, and went at it. I’ll spare you all the details, but suffice it to say, I’ve lost some weight. Not a ton, but enough that I feel better. Clothes fit better, I know I’m more physically fit, and I haven’t really changed my eating habits. Yea! Small victories.
So, along comes Thanksgiving and the attack of the pies. In our extended family, my wife is the pie gal. She makes a bunch of them and everyone gobbles them up. I love her apple pie, and have gone so far as to demand that she make two of them, one for the family, and one just for me.
Let’s just say, that my long term weight gain isn’t a mystery, ok? You don’t put on 50 lbs in 20 years by eating vegetables, drinking diet water and holding your breath, ok?
Anyway. So last night, I’m watching the Pats get their asses handed to them by the Saints (thanks for the help, Jack!), my tummy is starting to rumble, and there is one last piece of pie calling out to me from the kitchen. I mean, it’s pleading with me, whining about how “it’s the last piece of pie and it’s sooooo lonely here in the dark, cold, kitchen” and so forth.
You know what I’m talking about, right? Like we haven’t all been there? It’s a friend called temptation and it’s a face I stare into on a daily basis.
But, what the hell (I rationalized), why am I going through all this hard work, if I can’t enjoy a freaking piece of pie once in a while, right? We’ll just ignore the fact that it’s the same argument that I’ve used every day since Thanksgiving, because who cares about yesterday.
So I gave in and enjoyed the pie. It was delicious. Tomorrow will be another day, change can wait, but it’s always a good time for pie.
I know, I know, you’re shocked (Shocked!) that the guy that called everyone else an idiot, while misspelling a few words along the way, might have something more to say than just that. Sometimes I even surprise myself.
But, instead of talking about change(s), I decided to talk about pie. Some yummy in my tummy apple pie from Thanksgiving, that I’m still thinking about now.
See, at the end of last year, I wanted to get off my ass and try to become, on a more consistent basis, active. I was looking at turning 45 and the seemingly never ending expansion of my gut, and I decided that enough was enough. Just one helping of enough was going to be enough for me, from now on. Generally. Unless, of course, there’s icing or pie involved, then two helpings of enough will be enough.
I had come to grips with the fact that the mental picture that I have rolling around of my body and what was actually looking back at me from the mirror, have deviated. Significantly. I had also come to grips with the fact that while I’ll never ever look the way I want to (I’ll never put that much effort into anything), but if I feel better about how I feel, that’s going to be a big step in the right direction.
At the beginning of the year, I picked up a heart rate monitor, we purchased a few work out videos, and went at it. I’ll spare you all the details, but suffice it to say, I’ve lost some weight. Not a ton, but enough that I feel better. Clothes fit better, I know I’m more physically fit, and I haven’t really changed my eating habits. Yea! Small victories.
So, along comes Thanksgiving and the attack of the pies. In our extended family, my wife is the pie gal. She makes a bunch of them and everyone gobbles them up. I love her apple pie, and have gone so far as to demand that she make two of them, one for the family, and one just for me.
Let’s just say, that my long term weight gain isn’t a mystery, ok? You don’t put on 50 lbs in 20 years by eating vegetables, drinking diet water and holding your breath, ok?
Anyway. So last night, I’m watching the Pats get their asses handed to them by the Saints (thanks for the help, Jack!), my tummy is starting to rumble, and there is one last piece of pie calling out to me from the kitchen. I mean, it’s pleading with me, whining about how “it’s the last piece of pie and it’s sooooo lonely here in the dark, cold, kitchen” and so forth.
You know what I’m talking about, right? Like we haven’t all been there? It’s a friend called temptation and it’s a face I stare into on a daily basis.
But, what the hell (I rationalized), why am I going through all this hard work, if I can’t enjoy a freaking piece of pie once in a while, right? We’ll just ignore the fact that it’s the same argument that I’ve used every day since Thanksgiving, because who cares about yesterday.
So I gave in and enjoyed the pie. It was delicious. Tomorrow will be another day, change can wait, but it’s always a good time for pie.
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