It was a nice weekend here (well, assuming you forget about sports), most of which I spent clearing out the garage. I think I might wind up with enough thermal mass in the basement to keep it warm down there. OK, not really. It’ll be cold. But full.

The big news around here, I guess, is that Syracuse is jumping to the ACC. This is definitely an odd development. I understand the need to jump off the sinking Big East ship, I guess. But I can’t say I’m crazy about it. ACC football kinda sucks (not that we’re exactly ready to be playing with the big boys – as USC proved, though I think it would have been a bit closer had the refs not been quite so horrible), and ACC basketball? Meh. It will be nice to see our old friend Boston College again (and they must be happy to see us and Pitt come aboard, since they’ve been the redheaded stepchild in the ACC), and there were some good times with Virginia Tech in football.

Basketball, though. We pretty much are Big East Basketball. We will miss hating Georgetown (I’m sure we’ll still play and hate them, but it won’t be the same) and Connecticut (assuming they don’t jump over as well at some point). It’s the Big East tournament at Madison Square Garden that we’ll really miss. That’s a big recruiting advantage for getting those NYC kids, and who the hell wants to go to frickin’ Greensboro or Chapel Hill or some place like that? Plus they’ll never love us in the ACC.

Lacrosse will be about the only interesting thing. If you look at the “new” ACC, you’ll see 23 National Championships since they started having an NCAA Lacrosse postseason tournament in 1971 (11 for Syracuse, 5 for Virginia, 4 for North Carolina, a couple for Maryland, and one for Duke).

In some ways, a jump to the Big 10 would’ve been better. They’re cold weather teams, at least, and we could go back to playing Penn State. But we’d get kicked around in football for a while. And there are few things as boring as Big 10 basketball (I think they still use the two-handed set shot there, and, much as I like Gene Hackman, who wants to play Hickory twice a year?).

Sad as it is to leave the Big East, the BE isn’t what it used to be. I mean, TCU? Not that the combination of Texas and Christians isn’t thrilling, of course (and Horned Frogs are a pretty good nickname), but the only thing Texas is East of is California. And they were taking about adding teams like Baylor and shit.

Oh well, as with pretty much everything else in this world, it doesn’t really matter what I think Except I think I’ll have some more coffee.

I know I promised not to discuss SU football too much, but I just wanted to note that SU is currently undefeated. I figured I’d take the opportunity to say that today, because there’s a pretty good chance I won’t be able to say it tomorrow. Tonight, SU travels to LA (well, they’re already there of course), to take on USC. Oh, I’m not saying it’s impossible for SU to win. USC isn’t what USC used to be. But SU has looked less than stellar in defeating Wake Forest and, last week, barely getting past the vaunted Rhode Island Roosters (OK, they’re actually the Rams) of the FCS (or whatever it is they call the little pissant Division I schools). So there’s a pretty good chance we’ll get killed, which would be embarrassing (and which there will be no point in discussing tomorrow).

The local newspaper started a bit of a debate (sort of) as to which school has had the more stellar running backs. SU having the likes of Jim Brown, Ernie Davis, Floyd Little, Larry Csonka, and Joe Morris, and USC having people like Ricky Bell, Marcus Allen, and Sam “The Bam” Cunningham.

USC has more Heisman Trophy winners, of course. But we lead in lowest percentage of Heisman winners who have gone on to stab their ex-wives to death. In fact, I’m pretty sure we have the lower per capita murder rate among all running backs – and probably a lower percentage of criminals overall (Jim Brown having merely tossed a girlfriend or two off a balcony).

Speaking of Jim Brown, I think he trumps everybody else all by himself, so we win.

An interesting note on the game is that Mikhail Marinovich will be suiting up for SU this evening, and he says his dad and brother Todd (both rather famous USC players in their day – with Todd having followed the USC tradition of legal trouble) will both be in the middle of the USC alumni section wearing their orange. Maybe we’ll get to see that on TV.

Yes, if you’re not in the LA area (tickets are still available, should you want to go), you can catch the game on television. Because this is such an important game, it’s being featured on that most respected of networks, FX. Yes. FX apparently shows college football games. Who knew?

Anyhow, if you have any pull with the Lord God Almighty, please put in a kind word with Him for our boys tonight as they enter the Coliseum to take on the shameless USC criminals (aka, the “baby” Raiders) and their Godless coach.

And if things go badly, let’s just pretend it never happened, OK?

Holy Christ, this has been a long week. I still have doubts about making it through ’til the end of the day. And it’s a bit nippy out there this morning, too. Not in here, though, as I fired up one of the pellet stoves last night, and it’s nice and warm inside (inside the house, that is, though it’s presumably pretty warm inside the stove, too). Ordinarily, I refuse to use any sort of heat until, oh, November or so. If you’re cold, as my dad used to tell my mom, “put some damn clothes on.” But I wanted to give the sucker a good test to make sure it runs OK, plus, well, since I probably only have a couple years of being able to pay the taxes and mortgage before all my savings are expended and I have to go live in a tent out in the woods, I figure I might as well take advantage of having heat now. ‘Cuz I see a cold, cold future a’coming.

I heard something on the lo-cal news this morning about a big cantaloupe recall. I wasn’t really paying attention, so I’m not sure if the recall of cantaloupes is big, or if the they’re recalling big cantaloupes. Big cantaloupes have never been important to me (I’m more of a leg man), and I’m really past cantaloupe season at this stage of my life, so I guess it really doesn’t matter to me anyway. The bad melons are from Colorado, so you folks out there in the Centennial State be careful.

Here’s a woman who most likely will not be nominated for the ‘June Cleaver Mother of the Year Award.’

The mother of a cancer-stricken young man had her own idea of how to spend $15,000 in benefit money raised to help him fight his illness:

She gambled it away.

“I’ve spent the money at the Seneca Niagara Casino, Buffalo Creek Casino, Turning Stone Casino, Casino Niagara, Mohegan Sun casino [in Connecticut], Harrah’s casino in New Jersey,” she wrote in her confession.

“I’m not sure how much of Ryan’s money I’ve gambled away, but it is virtually all gone,” she said in her confession.

Oh, sure, everybody thinks she an asshole, but if she’d won….

Speaking of assholes, according to a new book by Ron Suskind (and, yeah, it’s Ron Suskind as reported by Politico, so there’s likely to be more bullshit here than in the cow barn next door to me), not only does Congress consider President Obama irrelevant, but so does Timothy Geithner, and Obama’s own senior advisors. Apparently they all pat Barry on the head (and not for luck, which of course would be racist) and say “Good idea, Mister President. We’ll get right on that,” and then go do whatever they want.

If true, it’s not surprising, I suppose, but it does make one wonder who’s a bigger puppet – Obama or Bush, Jr. I think I gotta go with Obama. But that’s only because I like the guy, and would rather think of him as being clueless and spineless than that he’s doing all this on his own.

Let this be a lesson: never elect a Leo president. Obama, Hoover, Clinton…. OK, Clinton looks good in retrospect, but he was – as a result of his own actions – rather feckless (if not fu…. Well, you know).

Now that True Blood and Curb Your Enthusiasm are over with, it’s time to decide whether or not to dump my HBO subscription. I would really miss HBOGO, though, as it’s allowing me to catch up on stuff I missed (like Game of Thrones, which I have become addicted to – one more to go, and then I have to wait for season 2, though I may just have to read – yes, read, as strenuous as that sounds, though of course I’d get it on the Kindle – the books).

Well, might as well keep it, I guess. There won’t be HBO in my tent in the woods, after all.

While perusing the stories on the Crappington Post (which I do less and less in this “post-AOL” world), I saw a headline of “Scarlett Johansson Nude Photos Prompt Investigation.” I was unaware of nude photos of Scarlett (this is the kind of important journalism – or, journalism aggregation – I’ve come to rely on the HP for – along with stories about what Michelle Obama wore when she went to Europe), but the headline has certainly prompted me to engage in my own thorough investigsation.

Which I guess I better do now, because it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to do it from my work computer.

OK, let’s get this week from hell over with already.

September 16, 1972. This song was #1.

Here’s how this morning worked. At about 2:45, the dog decided he didn’t want me sleeping the day away, so he got the nose going. OK, so I got up and got the coffee going while I caught up on my recorded teevee. Meanwhile, he went back to bed. He’s not real happy this morning, because he’s bored. I tried to tell him that I can’t go out and play in the dark and, anyway, it’s raining out. And it looks as though it will continue at least until this afternoon. Plus, they say we’ve peaked, temperature-wise, and it’s all downhill from here.

No snow in the forecast just yet, but now that I have my snow plow, I’m now ready for it when it comes. I’m not sure my tractor will fit in the garage with the plow attached to the loader and the back blade on, too. I guess I have time to worry about that.

Not much time left to worry about paying the school taxes, though. The first of October is gonna be a killer, with the mortgage, school taxes, and car insurance on three vehicles coming up. Money, money, money. I wish there were politicians in office who were worried about making sure I don’t have to pay taxes. But I guess I’m not a job creator like those rich folks.

The thought of dragging myself through another two days of work is exhausting me (well, that and getting up at three AM). I think I need to drink a beer and go back to bed.

Well, NYC is now officially Weinerless, and for the first time ever, a Republican is now representing NY’s 9th District. Thank you, Anthony. Thank you, Barry. Speaking of having no Weiner, President Obama is preparing to issue an important statement on the NY-09 special election as soon as somebody tells him what his opinion is.

Oklahoma Senator and all-around douchebag Tom Coburn is threatening to use “all procedural tools at his disposal to force a vote” to block the requirement that states set aside a portion of federal highway grants for highway beautification and bicycle lanes.

If I was President, I’d announce that I’d veto any legislation unless it required states to provide funding for on-demand abortion clinics at rest areas and truck stops. But that’s just me.

Elizabeth Warren is going to officially announce her candidacy for Ted Kennedy’s old Senate seat, currently being warmed by underwear model Scott Brown. That’s good. I guess. If she wins. I have my doubts. MA just isn’t as reliable as it used to be, and Obama is kind of like an anchor chained around the neck of anybody who calls themselves a Democrat these days. To Republicans, he’s an angry black radical socialist. To Democrats, he’s, um, let’s just say “an enigma.”

My snow plow is on the truck for delivery today. This is quite exciting – and just in time, as we’re supposed to struggle to get to 55° tomorrow, with lows probably down in the 30s in my neck of the woods. Perhaps even some frost.

Two days down, still three more to go. And today is an early day, at that (not that I’m complaining; it will give me more time to come home and play with my snow plow). Still, this week is gonna kill me.

It’s Primary Day here in NY. I always remember that it’s around this time, because they had to cancel them on the day that the world stopped turning, back on that September day. So go out and vote for, um, let’s see…. Well, I have nobody to vote for (or, more importantly, against). So, no voting for me. It would have been my first time voting out this way and, truth be told, I shouldn’t even be registered to a party. When I filled out my change of address form (which, strictly speaking, was just a registration form – not a “change of address”), I opted for the Working Families Party. Apparently, they didn’t bother to read that part though, and they kept me a Democrat (which I switched to as a form of protest – from “no preference” – after they impeached Clinton). I never really felt like a Democrat, and if I ever did before, I sure as hell don’t now (the party that nominated Joe Liebermann for VP? I don’t think so).

What with all these Republican debates, I feel as if there’s a Presidential election in November, but I guess not. Perhaps I just don’t remember (I’m at that age, after all), but do they normally start all this bullshit so far ahead of time, or is it just because the Republicans are such a bunch of losers? Shit, the election isn’t for another 14 months or something, and at least two of these clowns have already dropped out. Of course, it isn’t really a race for the White House ’til Sarah Palin gets in (and then quits halfway through).

It will be interesting to see if the Moon is as spectacular this morning as it was yesterday. It was setting in the West as I was on my way to work, and in my rearview mirror. And then the Sun rose in front of me as a big orange ball. Very nice. Sadly, that was the highlight of my day. Not that yesterday was a particularly bad day. Just, meh. I sit in the car, I sit at my desk, and then I sit in my car again. Chase the dog around for a little. Then I got out a sand wedge and whacked a few golf balls around for a while (I now have a yard where I can take a full swing without hitting a house). Then it was time to watch the season finales of True Blood and Curb Your Enthusiasm, and go to bed.

One day down, at least.

Just because it’s September 12th doesn’t mean 9/11 is over. Much like Guidi Ruliani, it will never go away. However, the Jets came back from 14 points down to beat the Cowboys last night, so once again the terrorists have been defeated. Otherwise, it was a fairly productive weekend, as I installed pellet stove #2, and ran it for a while. Hopefully it won’t crap out again on me this year. And I installed a cap on another chimney and repaired/repointed the brick work (I am no mason, but I think it’ll make it through the winter, which is all I ask at this point). Plus, I patched the largest of driveway cracks. Oh, there’s lots more to do, but, unfortunately, it’s off to work today – and an early one at that. And a 5-day week, with nothing to look forward to except getting my snow plow delivered on Wednesday. Let’s just hope I don’t have to use it too soon.

Well, finally, here we are. Terrorpalooza. :reaper: The tenth anniversary, megablowout, prices slashed, everything must go, day that changed everything, American pity party. Today is the day when people all around the nation – most of whom have never been east of the Mississippi (never mind NYC, DC, or PA) – throw a possum on the grill, pop a can of Milwaukee’s Best, crank up some Alan Jackson and Toby Keith, kick back on their front-porch sofa (settin’ on brand new cinder blocks painted red, white, and blue bought special for the occasion), and lament over the day “we wuz attack.” Back then, “Kabul” was just something a turkey said. Now it’s, um, some place “over there” filled with “them people” that we both hate and must honor with our protection forever (amen). You know what the worst part of this whole 9/11 thing is? It’s not the hate or the racism, or the war-mongering. Nope. It’s the self-pity. And I’m not talking about the people whose lives were messed up that day – either because they lost somebody or because they sucked all that EPA-certified fresh air into their lungs. I’m talking about the vast majority of us who got the vapors from watching the damn thing on TV (over, and over, and over) and then bravely rose up to meet the call to go shopping. Oh, woe is me, boo-fuckin’-hoo.

You recall anybody whining about Pearl Harbor? Hell no. Well, I wasn’t around then so I suppose I wouldn’t really know, but I’ve seen a lot of movies, and you know what? No fucking whining (not even that guy who lost both his hands – Homer, I think his name was). They donated their pots and pans for scrap metal and quit driving their cars ‘cuz there was gas rationing (and no rubber for tires), and they grew their own food and bought war bonds so their sons and brothers could go off to fight for truth, justice, and the American way, and the women went to work in the factories (which really opened up a goddamn can of worms when the boys came back home; you wanna know the real legacy of Hitler and Tojo? Women’s Lib). But they didn’t whine about it. No sir, they just smoked their Luckies and went about their bidness. And when it was all over, they f*cked like bunnies (which wasn’t easy, ‘cuz married people slept in separate beds until, like, the late 1960s), and thus here we all are today.

I heard a bit of ‘This American Life’ yesterday with survivors and families of the attacks, and, while I didn’t hear it all, most of what I heard was them saying, “f*ck you, this is my thing, not yours, and I’m trying to get on with my life.”

How about fewer parades and less flag-waving, and some more money for health care for these folks?

Yesterday I caught part of a show on NPR with Afghans (Afghanis?) and Americans. Apparently the point was to “open a dialog.” Stupid NPR. Stupid Americans. As if that will make one whit of difference. As if anybody in the American government gives a flying crap what you idiots think (or what the people of Afghanistan want).

I don’t actually know what it is we’re doing over there, but I know that we’re there because we went there, and because we are there, because we can’t leave until the mission is accomplished. Whatever that is. You wanna help them people? Start buying opium. Build a magnum out of it or something. Can you imagine how much opium we coulda bought with the half a trillion dollars we’ve spent so far? And I’m talking wholesale. Shit. We could pay those poor bastards twice what they get now, and still turn a profit on this whole thing. That, and all of Dick Cheney’s oil that’s gushing out of Eye-Rack, and we’d have this whole deficit thing nipped in the bud.

Anyhow, things are better today than they were 10 years ago. Back then, I was at work, but today I’m not. So that’s good. And gas prices were, like, $1.60 a gallon or something back then. OK, so that’s not so good. But back then we had a President who was in no way, shape, or form capable of rising to face the challenges that he was about to face. And today…. OK, another bad example. Let’s see….

Oh, I know. Back then I had one dog and, like, 15 cats (mighta been less; I’m a little vague on the whole cat timeline – they were kinda coming and going for a while there). Today, two dogs and two cats. That’s way better.

Well, as much as I’d like to wallow in self-pity, tomorrow is a post-9/11 world, and I gotta get ready to face it (by doing my laundry).

Have a sad day.

So, the great Obama Jobs Plan has been announced and immediately (and predictably) poo-pooed by those whacky Republicans. And probably the Democrats, too. I haven’t really been paying attention. I did read an op-ed by somebody or other the other day (at CNN, I think), wondering whether Obama was just plain incapable of “leading.” I think that’s pretty obvious. I would compare this administration to a rudderless ship (or a flopping flounder). Has this guy actually taken a stand on anything? He’s not stupid, so the only thing I’m left with is that he’s totally incompetent – which is really surprising. I mean, the Bartlett Administration had its problems, but at least Bartlett wasn’t worthless. Of course, Jed had Leo. Barry only had Rahm. And now, um, whomever the f*ck it is. Bill Daley (had to look that up – shows how badly I’ve lost interest). I blame it all on being too tall. We need to elect a short guy (or gal). Better blood flow to the brain. Yeah, I know, I just need to stop thinking about this stuff and get my mind right.

A 2-day weekend followed by a 5-day week. This is no way to get my mind right. The only thing worse would be not having a job (something that I never used to really worry about, but the way things are these days, it’s something you can’t really help but think about, you know?). On the bright side, my tractor snowplow has shipped, and is supposed be here on Wednesday – which means it should get here before it snows. Hopefully. Could be tricky, since it’s coming up from North Carolina and Route 81 is kinda washed out at this point from northern PA up past Binghamton. Maybe they can send it via barge.

My pellet vent kit is in, too. So I can go and pick that up today – if not install it. Be nice to get it all set up though. There’s been a chill in the air lately that makes winter seem awfully close. It’s like somebody flipped a switch.

Oh well, in preparation for the big anniversary tomorrow, I’m watching a documentary on HBO right now, narrated by Fareed Zakaria (who loves him some Obama) about the Mumbai terrorist attack. Golly, what cheerful Saturday morning fare this is. When I feel the urge to scoff at the “credible threat” stuff the government puts out, I remember that there are indeed crazy people out there who would like to do this kind of stuff here. As long as they don’t decide to target alfalfa fields or cows, I guess I’m safe (though those damn nuke plants are uncomfortably close).

Last night, while I was sleeping, the NFL season began. I’m boycotting anything to do with Wisconsin until they recall their Governor and dump their illegal, immoral law against collective bargaining for public employees (what, are we not people? Do we not bleed? Do you not come f*cking calling whenever there’s a natural disaster, expecting us to clean things up). So f*ck Green Bay.

Among the other things I ignored last night was the President’s speech before Congress. Whatever that was supposed to accomplish. Oh, I’m sure it was a great speech, so goodie for him. Dave Barry started to refer to the “failed Clinton Presidency” before Clinton was even inaugurated. Obama took, like, a whole year or two to fail. And all we regular people can hope is that he’s a two-term failure (like Clinton), because that’s better than the alternative.

I’m a good boy. I pay my taxes. I return my shopping cart because I know that the store “can’t be responsible” for damage due to carts (which is clearly an outright lie. Even if they aren’t required to be responsible, they certainly could be if they wanted to, and I think they’re full of shit anyway. It’s all “private property” when they want to prohibit skateboarding and overnight parking and shit, but when their improperly contained carts go zipping around and cave in the side of your car, it’s “oh, gee, sorry, not our problem”). And, on those increasingly rare occasions when I fly, I return my tray to the upright position before landing without even being asked.

So why do I have to get stuck with a President Perry (and VP Bachmann)?

Damnit, I’m getting tired of being punished for shit I had nothing to do with. It all started the day I was born. You reformed Catholics know what I’m talking about – original sin. Yeah, ‘cuz Adam and Eve couldn’t keep their grubby little paws off the special apples (never mind that Eve put Adam up to it – he should’ve known better), no garden of Eden for me.

Instead, I’m stuck in this shithole of a world filled with pain, suffering, and working to pay the bills (could be worse, I guess; I could be a woman and be punished for Eve’s transgression by having to go through childbirth; at least I get to keep all my ribs).

Speaking of children, I never had any, yet I get punished for the sins (or pleasures, depending on your point of view) of others by having to pay school taxes (based on the overly-inflated value of my property – what the hell does that have to do with schools?). Funny, I don’t see anybody chipping in for dog and cat food (never mind vet bills).

And now it’s these goddamn anti-smoking commercials.

Look, I don’t smoke. I quit years ago. So many years ago, I don’t remember exactly how long it’s been (must be about 17 years, ‘cuz I think I quit after my dad died, as sort of an homage to him – not that he died of lung cancer or anything; he died from going to the doctor). And he died 17 years ago today – September 9, 1994. I still miss ya, Dad.

Anyhow, every morning I’m subjected to these nasty goddamn commercials. In one, they slap a slab of plaque-plugged aorta down on a table and squeeze out the goo. Another one has some dude gasping for air for 30 seconds that seem like 30 hours. And the latest couple have some Hispanic dude with a tracheotomy who laments that he can’t swim anymore in one, and in another tells us how he had to give up his dream of being an umpire. So I have to listen to him speak through one of those buzzer voice box things (at least he isn’t doing the “burp” technique) ten times an hour during the morning news. It didn’t bother me at first (I thought it was interesting that he still spoke with an accent), but now it’s really starting to get on my nerves.

Hey, I don’t smoke, goddamnit! Enough already.

Speaking of punishment, I guess I better get ready for work.

Thanks a lot, Eve.