If I live long enough, I suppose I’ll be pleasantly surprised to wake up on any given morning. At this point, though, it kinda just sucks. At least on weekdays. But it’s a special, exciting day today, as my new lawnmower is set to arrive. Yes, that’s pretty much what it’s come down to. Our old lawnmower, which is a Wal-Mart special (bough back before I became enlightened) that has to be about 12 years old, and cost, I think, $99. So I guess we’ve gotten out money’s worth. The new one is electric, and while I’m happy about the lack of noise, fumes, gas, and oils (and the fact that it’s really, really light), I’m a bit dubious as to the whole extension cord thing. Especially since my stepson has been kind enough to cut the grass for us most of the time. He’s a good kid, but, well, you know how kids are. He isn’t real good at taking direction (“yeah, yeah. I know”) and I don’t always get the sense that he’s paying attention, so I figure there’s an “oops” in our future (I just hope that when it happens, the grass isn’t wet). Oh well. We shall see.

But there’s even more excitement today, as my new finish nailer is coming, too. I have a brad nailer, which is pretty handy, and a framing nailer (which has a pretty good kick; you don’t wanna forget to rotate the exhaust away from your face), but I needed something in between.

Not so exciting is the news that Playboy is launching a new non-nude website called SmokingJacket.com. Woo-hoo. Next, maybe somebody will open an alcohol-free bar, or maybe a Hooters where the servers dress in haz-mat suits.

Playboy on Tuesday launched a new, non-nude website that it described as being safe-for-work and a “satirical antidote to the drudgery of the work day.”
[…]
“The smoking jacket isn’t just something I like to wear around the mansion,” Playboy’s iconic founder Hugh Hefner, 84, says in a video posted on the site. “It’s Playboy’s safe for work website. Next to the mansion, it’s the best hangout on the planet.”
[…]
On Tuesday, the new site had posts such as “How to Get Laid at Work,” and “How to Hang Out with Porn Chicks”.

Photos include a spread of Playmate Kimberly Phillips in lingerie and a smoking jacket. From the archives, there’s the 1983 Playmate Playoffs featuring bikini-clad women with classic Farrah Fawcett-styled hair competing in water-soaked events.

First off, I thought the whole “drudgery” of the work day was, like, “working,” not surfing the Internet. Second, I don’t know about where you work, but where I work, I’m pretty sure that pictures of wet, scantily-clad women and tips about hanging out with porn “chicks” and getting laid at work (I guess every day is hump day at the Smoking Jacket) are most decidedly unacceptable and not safe for work. Unless maybe you work with a bunch of adolescent boys testing video games or something.

We can all rest easy today knowing that Lindsay Lohan is behind bars (by that, I mean in jail – not, you know, out behind the bar, which is where she was Monday night. Word has it that Jack Nicholson and Otis Young took her out for one last fling).

The actress, wearing a top that exposed part of her back, was surrounded by deputies and was quickly walked to a nearby side door labeled “secure area.”

Does everything necessitate a fashion report these days? What’s next?

“Elana Kagan, wearing big stupid earrings and a simple strand of faux pearls beneath a green sport coat met with Senator Lindsey “Lohan” Graham this morning, shortly before her nomination to the Supreme Court was approved by the Senate Judiciary Committee. Graham, wearing a rhinestone thong and gold nipple ring, was the only Republican on the Committee to cross party lines and vote in favor of Kagan’s nomination.”

Well, it’s about that time, so I guess I better go put on a clean thong and head out to work and learn how to get laid and hang out with porn chicks.

It was 41 years ago today that Neil and Buzz separated the Eagle Lunar Module from the Columbia Command Module, waved goodbye to Michael Conrad, and proceeded to land in the Sea of Tranquility. A few hours later (and way ahead of schedule, as they were supposed to sleep for 5 hours after they landed, but, sleep? Seriously? They didn’t think so), at 10:56 PM EDT (which was pretty late for an eight year old kid – even if it was summer vacation), Neil took that first small step onto the lunar surface. Ah, those were the days. Men were men, women were women, music was music, the US was entrenched in a pointless, un-winnable, and undeclared war on foreign soil (ok, so some things never change), and there was a Republican president who makes Barack Obama look like a John Bircher by comparison.

Of course, there was a lot of stuff we didn’t know back then – like the computer would have landed them in a field of boulders, so Neil had to take over and fly the thing himself – nearly running out of fuel in the process. And Buzz busted the handle off the circuit breaker that they needed to arm the main engine to lift off (they wound up using a pen to flip the switch).

Meanwhile, back here on Earth 41 years later, 10:56 PM is even later for me now than it was back then, and the only giant leap I’ll be making today is the one that launches me into motion to get ready to go to a job that seems to do nothing more than give me a nine or ten hour headache five days a week. Not that I’m complaining (well, obviously I am complaining, but you know what I mean), of course. The only thing worse than working is looking for work. So, hi-ho, hi-ho.

I know everybody is shocked to hear that all may not be well (so to speak) with BP’s oil hole in the Gulf. Apparently, there’s a bit of seepage (and I think we all know just how uncomfortable that can be) and “undetermined anomalies” in the wellhead area. Damn, I dunno what’s worse: seepage, or anomalies on your wellhead. Though seepage in your wellhead area would indicate a trip to the clinic. Especially if it’s an oily discharge.

Elsewhere, it appears that Obama has told his Vice President to ixnay on the whole ooptra awdowndray from Ghafanistanay. Joe Biden told the Goebbels network yesterday that next summer’s troop reduction might just be a token few thousand. I, for one, am proud to see Obama show the steely resolve once exhibited by another strong Democratic leader – LBJ. Though LBJ was a lot better at ramming his legislation through Congress.

The Liberty Belle is coming to town next weekend. Not a bell, but the restored WWII-vintage B-17 bomber known as the “Flying Fortress.” It’s probably most notable for the bubble on the bottom where the “belly gunner” sat (and was pretty much screwed if the landing gear didn’t work). I’m familiar with them because when my dad was going through radio operator training during the war, he’d hoped to get the job of radio operator (whose other job was to man a .50 caliber machine gun) on one of these. Instead, he wound up slogging through China/India/Burma and getting bit by a monkey before contracting malaria. He didn’t get shot, at least.

Speaking of WWII, those Krazy Krauts shut down a 37-mile stretch of their high-speed highway for a party yesterday where, by all accounts, they had fun, fun, fun on the Autobahn. Yeah, I know, the words are actually “Wir fahr’n fahr’n fahr’n auf der Autobahn,” which is kinda the opposite idea of sitting down at a 37-mile table, but, either way, it’s Ausgezeichnet!

Not so excellent, however, is the fact that it’s Monday, and I gotta go to work.

Oh well, as they say in Deutschland, “Gute Fahrt!”

Granny made me stay up way past my bedtime last night, so, while I’ve been up for quite a while now, I’ve been too brain dead and apathetic to see who’s on the teevee today, let alone think of anything to write. Even the dogs are tired.

Big weekend here. The Syracuse Nationals are in town (the car show – not to be confused with the Iroquois Nationals, who are not in town, but are on a bus headed back to the region because it appears unlikely that the Brits will let them in, and they just can’t afford to stay in NYC any longer). It’s also Empire Brewfest weekend, which means lots of people will be drinking lots of beer (a shockingly unique idea; I guess some people need an excuse to drink lots of beer). I’d go, but tickets are pretty pricey ($49 or $99 for the “Beer Connoisseur” ticket, which gets you in an hour early and lets you sample beer that the $49 riff-raff doesn’t get. $50 will get me at least 5 sixpacks of Hop Devil, which lasts me at least four nights – maybe three, if I get on a roll – and as much as a week if I’m slacking off).

It’s gonna be hot today, too, but I won’t complain about it. Instead, I’ll complain about my shoulder, which for some reason starting killing me in the middle of the night, and is making it very difficult to type. I’m getting kinda tired of this getting old shit. Seems like at least part of me hurts at all times (can’t wait ’til they all decide to hurt simultaneously). I wish I had more faith in the whole life after death or reincarnation or whatever shit. I’m starting to think it’s time to reboot. Oh well, time to go find something that needs to get done (which shouldn’t be too hard).

Finally, we come to the end of a very long week. Too bad there’s still Friday to have to get through. And it’s still too damn hot (and, yes, as I previously acknowledged, it gets hotter elsewhere, but if you choose to live in those places, that’s your problem; as for me, I now have one more reason to move to Canada). The new oil cap may or may not be working, which I suppose is a good thing. It all depends on if they see the pressures they’re expecting to see. If the pressure drops, then oil is most likely leaking out into the sea bed, and I guess they’ll have to open up the cap again. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. I think three months of this is enough. It’s just too bad that this will all be soon forgotten until it happens again in an area where it’ll get noticed by the media.

The Droid X came out yesterday, and sold out pretty quickly. The biggest complaint from the professional reviews I’ve seen so far is that it’s “too big” at 5 x 2.6 x .4 inches. I guess if you want a 4.3 inch screen, you gotta expect it to be a little bigger than a phone that’s, well, smaller, but at less than the width of an index card, I think it’d fit quite nicely in my shirt pocket. But, alas, I really have no need for it. I guess I need a job where I spend a lot of time in airports or something.

The Iroquois National team is still stuck in NYC. Something tells me the Brits won’t back down. They love their bureaucracy even more than we do (hell, probably almost as much as the krauts do).

Oh well, I guess it’s about that time.

So, the Brits are being bigger pricks than the US in not allowing the Iroquois National lacrosse team to travel on their Nation’s passports. As our local congresscritter said, “Clearly this is not a security issue. It’s an issue of bureaucracy.” My personal preference would be for the US team to refuse to play in support of the Haudenosaunee in their fight against British oppression. Limey bastids.

In other news, seems there’s another leak in BP’s oil hole that’ll need to be fixed before they try and test their new well cap. Goodness only knows what else will blow out if they ever actually try and shut this thing off. The oil and gas pressure is something like 12,000 psi, so any fatigue or damage in any other part of the system is certainly likely to blow apart once the big hole is plugged. Still, drilling is safe, and BP engineers are now working on a tartar sauce flavored dispersant to make Gulf seafood more palatable. Mmmm.

Sounds like Dick Cheney’s days may be numbered, unless he gets a heart transplant. I’m sure Chinese prison officials are scurrying around looking for a suitable donor at this very moment. Their death panels are much more efficient than ours are. I guess they should have gotten Mary to start breeding sooner – I doubt her baby is ready to supply any spare parts just yet. I think Dick will be genuinely surprised when he winds up in hell with Saddam Hussein, but I’ll be they’ll become fast friends.

In fact, I think that would make for a great buddy movie: “Dick and Saddam in Hell.” Can’t wait ’til Rumsfeld can join them for the sequel.

Cheney might have a little more time, but, unfortunately, I don’t. Time to go to work.

Odds are, you probably neither know nor care about the World Lacrosse Championships taking place in Manchester, England starting tomorrow (seems that lacrosse is huge in Manchester; who knew?). Thirty nations are participating. Well, make that 29, as the Iroquois National team is stranded in NYC.

Being citizens of a sovereign nation (which happens to be located in Upstate NY and Canada), team members carry Haudenosaunee passports. This has been good enough for the past 30+ years for traveling internationally, but now it seems that they low-tech passports don’t meet new high-tech standards, and, as the US government seems to be saying they won’t accept the passports for reentry, the British want a letter from the Department of State, stating that they’ll be allowed back into the US, or the team won’t be granted visas.

You’d think that would be simple enough (what with the Secretary of State being a former NY State Senator, the Vice President being an SU alum and lacrosse fan, and current NYS Senator Kirsten Gillibrand – among others – making personal pleas to the DOS to fix this stupidity), but unless somebody steps up by today, the Iroquois team (ranked #4 in the world, BTW), will be unable to attend.

The US has offered to supply temporary US passports, but, the team said thanks, but no thanks. The team has another flight booked for today. Hopefully they’ll make it.

Pretty interesting story about improving your credit rating on the lo-cal news this morning. Turns out, it’s important to pay your bills. Who knew? Otherwise, not much going on. BP will see if its new cap will work on it’s oil hole. Jon Kyl says rich people need tax cuts more than unemployed people need unemployment checks. Consumer Reports says it won’t recommend the iPhone. Turns out Fidel Castro isn’t dead yet. And Obama wants to continue with deep water oil drilling “if it’s proven safe.” Funny, ‘cuz I kinda thought was already proven not safe. depends on how you define safe, I guess.

If you’ve got a spare couple hundred grand you don’t know what to do with, you’re in luck. For lots of reasons. You could donate it to charity, I suppose, but you’d only be encouraging the shiftless, lazy, drug-addicted masses to remain unemployed. So why not buy Roy Rogers’ horse Trigger instead? Yes, Trigger – who not only became a movie horse legend in the 40’s and 50’s, but also served as the inspiration for the main ingredient at the Roy Rogers Fast Food chain, founded in 1968 in Frederick, MD – is up for auction at Christies. Trigger is one of the four most famous movie horses of all time (unless you can think of somebody besides Trigger, Silver, Flicka, and Mr. Ed – and don’t forget, Francis was a mule). I must say, Trigger looks pretty good for an 80 year old horse.

If you live in San Francisco (and you know who you are) and want to buy a pet companion animal, you may soon be out of luck.

San Francisco’s Commission of Animal Control and Welfare announced today that buying what they call, “companion animals”, could be anyone’s ticket to jail. These animals include dogs, cats, hamsters, mice, rats, chinchillas, guinea pigs, birds, snakes, lizards, and nearly every other critter.

If the ordinance passes San Francisco could be the first city in the nation to ban the sale all pets except fish.

Hey, what’s wrong with fish? Though I suppose in a city famous for seafood, it’d be tough to ban the purchase of something you get for dinner.

I think it’s a good idea – at least where dogs and cats are concerned. There are plenty of great critters out there who need a home, and there’s no reason to buy one from a puppy mill. But I guess if you’ve got a pet snake, you’re gonna have to go out and catch mice yourself.

It’s back to work again today, and back to 90 degree temperatures after a weekend of blessed relief from both. That sucks.