Comment Commentary

Oh man, when you have time on your hands, there are lots of things to find on the Internet. And some of them you don't actually get slapped for looking at, too!

I started reading message boards, and some of the more prominent Blogs out there. And the comments that people leave can be, at the same time, both hilarious and sad.

Latin is described as a "dead language", and from what I've been reading on these boards and blogs, I don't think English has much of a chance anymore, either.

Periodically, I'm going to post here the really "good ones" that I find. They're too good not to!

So here is the first collection.

PS I'm not going to post the commentator's name. This is just for fun.

• If you show this pictures to people withouth telling them the perents name,90% of them would say the baby is chinees.


• BY THE WAY. THINK OF YOUR MAMA WHEN YOU SPEAK BAD ABOUT OTHERS. WHY ARE YOU SO MISIRABLE WITH YOUR SELF. GO LOOK IN YOUR MIRRIOR IF YOU THIN YOU ARE PRETY YOU HAEV A SERIUS PROBLEM. IF SEE A UNGLY PERSON IT'S BECAUSE YOU HAVE AN UNGLY HEART.. BE GOOD TO YOUR SELF AND OTHERS. MAKE PEACE. WITH YOUR SELF AND YOU WILL HAVE A FRIEND IN JESUS. THEN MAY BE GOD WANT KILL YOU SO SOON. OR AT ALL


• ever been to divorce court , if not sut your mouth about women beeing equal to men , men get screwed for what ? beeing men


• Thanks for the time for reading and sorry thats it long. i can get into it somethings. peace.


• yea i no i would rather people hate me 4 who i am and tellin it like it is then just lyin bout who u r. and when me and u got n 2 it u told me like it is and i didnt hide ne thing from u or wat ever and when u mad comments bout mine being pirvite then i made mine un privite cuz i didnt have ne thing 2 hide. so those people no who we is talkin bout.....and dont make ur comments where u have 2 approve it cuz then u really do have sumthin 2 hide from it

OK I have to stop now, because it hurts!

Love and Hate

We are a weird species.

If someone wants to argue with us, we say bring it on.
They wanna fight? Ohhh, step up brother.
We will yell, scream, disagree, debate, argue and just be mean as hell. Oh, noooo problem. We brag about it: "I don't take shit from anyone" "I'm a bitch"

We are oh so ready to inflict pain and suffering at any moment. Just say "religion" or "politics" and the dukes are up!

But then how come everyone is so "afraid to fall in love"?

The Moment

Ok we all have those moments of complete frustration. Like maybe when we're putting some of that "assembly required" furniture together. It's that moment when we snap, lose our minds and slide down to the end of the rope. And we talk to ourselves, usually not in a nice way.

So, think...you're out of your mind, maybe shouting through your teeth, completely irrational. Cursing, spitting, damning everything and everyone that ever was. Smoke's coming out of your ears.

Doesn't it suck when someone catches you?

Isn't it funny how you either pretend it didn't happen, or worse, try to explain it away?

Kiss my ass.......!!!!!!!!!!!

Closing Thought For The Evening...

So I watched this story unfold...Clinton squares off with Wallace, the press goes nuts, digging up hundreds of people from both ends of the political spectrum to analyze that. Then Rice and Clinton go at it, and we get tons more analysis, Left and Right.

It just makes me think: Imagine if politicians from all sides took the energy they put into defending their failures,and attacking the failures of others, and put it into some forward-thinking problem prevention. This country could be Utopia in no time!

I just remember someone once saying, "It takes half the energy to do something right than it does to explain why you did it wrong."

The Sound Of Summer

This year's was kind of a "lost" summer for me. I made the best of any time I had, but it passed me by for the most part.

I think what I miss most when summer ends, is the crickets. Their chirping has been the background sound of some of the best times of my life. I've had some of the most intimate, wonderful conversations with the Cricket Orchestra providing the soundtrack.

I think of times with my children. I'd have one of them on my lap, sitting out, under the stars, sharing the world with them in private, hushed conversations. Listening to the many questions, seeing things again for the first time through their eyes.

Knowing that I needed to be careful with my answers, because I was Daddy, and anything I said would be treated as truth. There's just something special about a summer night, and most of my life's cherished memories took place then. Those are times you lock into your heart, and hopefully hold on to forever, because you don't get them back to do over. And it's amazing how much peace you can find within that noise.

I've had my heart broken, and at times have had my world changed, not always for the better, all while sitting out on some deck, some patio, listening to the sounds of the summer night. There's just something that happens; people let their guards down, and you can share some secrets, hopes, dreams, that somehow don't seem to come out as freely in other times of the year. All with the music of the night being provided by those crickets.

But, they'll be back again. And this time I'll be ready.

A PSA

OK so the "authorities" said they're going to relax the ban on those liquids people used to be able to carry on to aircraft.

Now we are allowed to bring bottles of toiletries, medicines, etc. as long as they are no larger than 3 oz. bottles, and they must fit inside a 1 Quart Ziploc-style bag. (Bag has to be clear). And yeah, wise-asses, the Hefty ones are ok too.

Consumable liquids (as in bottled water) that are purchased AFTER you pass through security will be allowed on board as well.

So someone asked "how will they know which ones you bought after you pass through?"

That's easy. They'll just look at the people walking and crying after paying $89.95 for a bottle of water.

They said you can buy bigger toiletries in those shops too.

Sounds like an awesome boon to the people who own those shops, no?

And remember, if you buy a nice big bottle of shampoo in Miami for your trip to NYC, you won't be getting back on the plane in NYC with it for your return home. So easy does it.


So how many people are going to show up at the security checkpoint with 342,434 ziploc bags full of 3 oz toiletries bottles?

"Hey, youuuu said...."

Umm What?

I just read an article. I saw a pair of women's jeans described as follows:

[Our] Jeans are made from dry-aged denim that undergoes all-natural processing. Each pair of jeans is made from custom-woven, ring-spun, organic-cotton fibers. They are then brush-painted, dried and cured in California sunlight. Once finished, the sun-dried denim is preserved by a rinse and final dry-age process in an oxidant-free vacuum chamber. [Their] skinny jean has a 7-inch opening at the bottom.

$194 bucks suggested price, too! Per pair. Cool.

Just this once, may I just say "Gimme a damned break" and leave it at that?

Thanks!

First Ramble

I haven't done one of my "rambles" over here at old blogger.com, and I think I just might do one now.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him

Forever in the next

That's a wise prayer. Some people might have stopped reading there because I wrote "God", or quoted a prayer. What-ever. I don't care. But it is a wise prayer. So much more happiness could be found in the world if we just did our best, and were content knowing that.

Where we going with this? I've seen the "Campaign for Real Beauty". And I think it's a shame that we even need to believe it's something that's necessary.

I like Hollywood beauty. I like the pictures in the tabloids, the fashion magazines, and the like. But in my mind there are two kinds of beauty: the kind that show-biz creates, and the kind that happens naturally. I don't want every woman to look like Angelina Jolie or Paris Hilton or Jessica Simpson.

But I don't want there to be a movement that would stop me from seeing them in all their created beauty, because I don't think Hollywood beauty is better than natural beauty.

I see the pretty-boys of the world, and hell, I'd like to be as handsome and hot as them, but I can't be. It's just not gonna happen. I mean even if I employ a staff of experts and artisans, the best I could hope for is maybe a supporting role to Orlando Bloom, Brad Pitt, or whomever happens to be the hot guy of the moment. And that's because it's not realistic for me to think I could look like that.

But that doesn't bother me too much, and I don't want any of it to go away because it hurts my self-esteem. I think we've gone way overboard with it all.

Why? Because Hollywood beauty is carefully sculpted, carved, and created. It's supposed to be fantasy. And I don't feel inferior to any of those guys. I'm not as good-looking as the worst-looking in Hollywood, but so what? I don't live in Hollywood, I live here in the real world. And when I go into the bagel shop on Saturday morning, looking like a train wreck, no one cares. At all! Trust me. Except maybe the poor kid who waits on me at the counter.

I'd rather, right now, be snuggled on the couch with a woman whose only response to a crowd of paparazzi bursting through the door would be to ask, "Hey, did you wipe your feet?"

Think about it...There's big money in catching someone like Cameron Diaz, Britney Spears or Pamela Anderson "with their hair down". Why? Because it catches them looking like the rest of us. Natural. Who really wants to see that, though? I love it when they're all made up, dressed to the nines and looking their best. It's supposed to be that way, because it's part of the fantasy.

But fantasy doesn't cloud my judgment. I know what's real, and I know what's created, and I'm happy living in the real world. But it doesn't mean I want them to go away.

I mean if you apply this thinking to other aspects of life...Should we shut down the fanciest restaurants in the world because the rest of us can't cook as well? Should the guy in Beverly Hills not be allowed to own a Bentley because the best I can do is a Ford Explorer?

No. I think we need to get away from "reality" sometimes and appreciate the fantasy. I think we've lost too much "reality" trying to make the world so damned "real".

I want my idols to be different than me. Otherwise, who cares? But the keyword is "different"... Not "better".

---

I watched this Saturday's episode of "Dateline: NBC". Correspondent Keith Morrison gave us the story of the robbery of Joe Francis, mastermind of the "Girls Gone Wild" video empire.

I don't know about anyone else, but to me, this was one of the most fractured, disjointed and just flat-out confusing reporting jobs I have ever witnessed. This story was worthy of about 5 sentences, yet somehow Dateline spread it over an hour. I have no idea why anyone thought this story was worth telling, but those Dateline folks better tighten it up if they want to get me back as a viewer. And I think it's a safe bet that I wasn't the only one sitting out there in TV Land with the confused look on my face, scratching my head.

---

I hear a lot of people say things like, "That was a stupid commercial."

I'm getting the feeling though, as I spent the last few months looking at TV commercials, that I think the Advertisers are the ones thinking we're stupid.

Is it really necessary for Washington Mutual to market itself as WaMu?

And, are the commercials for this horror shown nationwide?

I thought this crap was supposed to cure headaches, not cause brain hemorrhages! Worst commercial ever, in my opinion. Probably make 'em millions.

---

I think a big problem here in the good ol' USA is that so many of the people who take themselves way too seriously shouldn't, and not enough of the ones who should take themselves seriously do.

---

Respect is like a privilege in that you earn it. Want my respect? Show me why.

Respect has gotten confused around here with "common decency". Yeah we all deserve that. Funny how a lot of people screaming for "respect" do so without "common decency" toward others.

---

Aren't you glad we don't see much of Omarosa anymore?
Don't know who she is?
Good.

---

Donald Trump fired his real-life assistant. He said she was more interested in becoming a star than in running a business.

That sentence just about made me choke.

Old Comb-over Trump also has some online University, to learn how to be like Mop-Head. Most of us failed to meet the first pre-requisite: being born to a real-estate magnate like Needs-a-real-barber Don was. I want to learn from a guy who started from SCRATCH. And who has a mirror.

---

Wanna drive yourself nuts? Next time you watch a news anchor on CNN or FOX or whatever, look for three things they all do:

the eyebrow raise

the head tilt

the head nod

Then count how many times they do each one in a minute. They practice it to make themselves "more interesting". But when you become aware of it, it's kinda distracting, isn't it?

Wonder if they talk like that when they go home?

---

It's almost Boot Season. YES!

Ok that's it for now.

They Don't Know What They're Missing

I saw a little comic strip in the newspaper today. Grandma tells kid that he is a "carbon copy" of Dad. Kid turns to Mom and whispers "Mom, what's a carbon copy?"

There are some of us who are old enough to remember "carbon copies". (Hell some of us are old enough to be carbon-dated!). Ahh, the joys of carbon paper. Remember trying to neatly fill out those forms in duplicate or triplicate, with those little, flimsy sheets of carbon paper tucked in between each page of the form?

You'd struggle to keep every sheet lined up perfectly as you pressed hard with your ballpoint pen (are those still around?) to make sure that the pen made copies all the way through. I mean you didn't have to worry so much about page 3, because that was usually the copy you got stuck with, but you had to try your best. And then of course, you'd have to figure out how to separate all the pages from the carbon paper without completely smudging up the whole works. Inevitably, you'd wind up with a nice even black coating all over your hands, and it would just wind up a big mess. All this to make efficient copies. Yay. And just try washing that stuff out of clothes...

And speaking of copies, how many folks remember mimeographs? Yeah, who didn't look forward, every day, to the teacher coming in with a stack of white paper, printed in that lovely purple ink? She'd start passing out piles to each row, and everyone would then hand them back to the kid behind them until every kid had his copy. Then, in one fluid motion, every kid would put the sheet to his or her face and sniffffff! Ahh, the paused that refreshed.

Of course, the lucky kids in the last seat in each row would wind up with all the extra mimeo's, which they'd then be required to walk to the teacher's desk. And up they'd walk, sniffing each individual sheet. Ahhhhhhh. This was, incidentally, in a more innocent time, when kids mostly just did this sniffing because the ink smelled good. It wasn't until years later that some smart ass figured out you could get high off a concentration of the mimeograph ink, and ruined it for everyone else.

But I digress.

Some schools and businesses moved ahead in the technology chain, and got themselves a Xerox machine. Xerox machines became very prevalent, so much so, that the name "Xerox" became synonymous with "copy", as in, "hey would you Xerox this page for me?"

But technology came with a price. Those of you who've ever dealt with the ever-dangerous "toner" know exactly what that price was. Yep, dirty hands and clothes! This toner sometimes came in cartridges, but more often in plain old cans. You'd have to use this toner to make the copies in the machine, so it was a necessary evil.

This toner was once studied to see if it was actually a living thing, because, no matter how careful you were, once that can was opened, that stuff would fly out of the can, and attack your nice white shirt, as though it were a predator on a feeding frenzy. You'd go into the Xerox room, but you always remembered to say farewell to your co-workers, just in case you didn't make it out alive. And God HELP you if there was ever a paper-jam inside that machine (which, by the way was a pretty frequent occurrence). Your life would never quite be the same.

There was also the theory that Xerox toner was sold by dry-cleaners, who would then charge a small fortune to clean it out of the clothes of the unfortunate victims of toner attacks. But we'll leave that for another day.

Ah, yes. The poor kids of today. They have no idea what they missed out on. Nowadays, they simply press PRINT, and somewhere across the room, some machine starts spitting out perfectly printed copies of documents they've neatly prepared with Microsoft Word, or Publisher, or something along those lines. (We'll talk about typewriter ribbons at a later date).

And most companies have a guy whose job it is to replace the ink cartridges! We were left on our own with those Xerox machines, and now some "tech guy" gets paid to do the job. There isn't even any danger involved!

I feel sorry for kids today. No mess, no fuss, no fun. They can't even imagine being confined to one room when talking on the telephone because there was a cord attached to the handset.

Damned kids. Got it too easy. And I walked 56 miles each way, uphill, BOTH WAYS, to go to school...

Hmm, I Dunno...

Ok the problem with being sick is that you tend to try and sleep it off, which leads to sleeping all day, which, of course, means you wake up late at night. TV sucks late-night, and there's a whole pile of "Paid Programming" on. You're paying part of your cable bill to watch shows put on by people who pay the cable company to put that show on. Nice work if you can get it, huh?

But I digress. After a little bit of channel surfing, which leads to the inevitable curse words about nothing being on, I thought I'd browse the Web. So I opened my browser to browse the Web (and I capitalize "Web" because I know somewhere that's going to make someone curse me and say 'you don't use a capital W, idiot), and I landed on a website that I have no interest in. But at the top of the page is an ad stating that I can "GET PAID TO BLOG".

Yeah, right.

But, it's 2 AM, and I'm now wide awake, with nothing else to do, so I click the ad. It brings me to a website explaining how I can make money with my Blog, and (get this) there is no cash outlay! That's right, start this business of money-making blogging, without any cash outlay!

Yep. Ok. *click* on to page 2.

More drivel, blabber, explanation on how this business can put 1000-5000 a week, in my pocket, with no cash outlay!

Click ahead to page 3 and there it is! "For only $23.95 you can receive..."

Wait a minute. You said "no cash outlay".

Or did you say "no cash investment"?

How much money constitutes "cash"? Is the book they're selling priced at $23.95 because $24.00 is the minimum amount to be considered "cash"?

Or is sending money over the Web not considered "cash outlay"?

I dunno. Maybe it's 'cause it's 2 AM, but that pissed me off.

Oh well. I guess it's time to go download some "free software" that you have to pay $59.99 to get to actually run.

Yayyy

I spent the last couple of days really sick. But this isn't going to be a rehashing of all that. I'm going to be ok, I'm feeling a little better.

No, this is going to be a thank you to my incredible friends. I don't care what anyone says, it feels good to be worried about.

Thank you guys. Love ya

An Encore: What Time Is It?

For some reason, I have a map of the US Time Zones. It's pretty large, and neatly folded. I don't remember buying it, and I'm not sure how it got in my closet. But it fell off the shelf when I was looking for something totally unrelated.

Anyway, I was looking at it, and I was wondering about something: the borders of the time zones are illustrated in distinct color patterns, and they are fairly clearly defined. What I was wondering is, how small an area actually separates the zones? Are there places in the US where one side of the street it's 8 PM and you go across the street and it's 7 PM?

How cool would this be? You miss a TV program that you wanted to see. You get home as it ends at 9, and you're all mad that you missed it. But wait! It's 9 in my house, but it's only 8 at Larry's across the street! You could run over and bust in, commandeer his TV set, and watch your program! Happy Happy Joy Joy!

And this coolness doesn't have to be limited to something as trite as a TV program. No, you could make some serious use of this time-advantage. Look: you roll over in bed, it's 8:30 AM. Dammit, you're an hour late for work now! But no! Again, it's over to Larry's! Jump in bed, roll over...it's 7:30! You've got plenty of time! And if Larry is a congenial neighbor, he won't kill you for being in bed when his wife is there, and hell, you have time for a leisurely breakfast to boot.

Of course, if you live on one side of the zone, and your job is on the other side of the zone, and you're me, you'd be out of work in no time, because you'd never figure out what time you have to get up and go.

I actually do have too much time on my hands

Cell Phone Mania Continues!

Video and Code Provided by zanyvideos.com Click play to start

Oh you have so got to love it. I hope no one sets up a camera in the men's room stalls any time soon.

Dad Shopping

A friend of mine got me thinking. She was in one of those life predicaments that is almost unavoidable, and she was looking for some help. She spoke the words that can strike fear into the heart of even the bravest warrior:

"What the hell can I get my Father for his birthday????"

Now you may not have a dad of your own anymore, but somewhere in your life is someone who fits the bill. Could be a father in law, a husband (yeah most Moms have to shop for something the kiddies can give to ol' Pop). Grandpa's don't quit count, because pretty much any item related to fishing makes a suitable gift. And with fishing, you'll never, ever run out of items to buy.

Nope, I'm talking about Dad Shopping. It is something almost none of us can escape. Ah yes. The dreaded Dad Shopping.The most fearsome question known to man. And at that moment, your heart shudders. For Dad Shopping is like working a computer.

Christmas shopping doesn't really count, because if you have a Mom and a Dad, you can kinda just buy something you know Mom wants. And then write both names on the tag.

No it's the Birthday Gift. There's a whole bunch going on in the mental process here. Of course, there's the moral motivation, as you can't believe you can't come up with a decent gift for the man you call Dad. He brought you into the world, for God's sake. How can you not know?

But there's also that little blip in your brain that says you have to get a good gift, because you don't want to go home that night, knowing that your Dad is sitting in the chair mumbling "What the hell kind of stupid-ass gift is this?"

Then he accuses your Mom of infidelity, 'cause no way a child that stupid came from his loins. And it's just a big mess, and...

Yeah.

It happens to almost every one of us, and it's something that we fear. Yes, we FEAR it, because it's one of those times that our brain just absolutely quits on us. Shuts down, goes blank, like a reformatted hard drive. Yeah, just like the times when you spend 8 hours reinstalling Windows. Everything you have spent the past year inputting, every shred of information, GONE. Think about it a second...

Remember in school, you'd sit down for that Math test; you'd open the little booklet, and turn to the first problem, and it would look something like this:

xy+zy(9a+3b)² + (ab²x2xy) + (b * ½a)³ * x³ .

And then you'd read:

FIND THE VALUE OF G

And you'd freeze. Dead cold frozen. "G? G? there's no G, what the hell? How do I find the value of G?"

That my friends, is the problem. G= Dad's GIFT!

So you get a zero on the test, and you vow to study a lot harder for the next exam. And every math class from then on, you listen, observe and take notes.

Same thing happens with Dad's gifts. In this class though, you get very little help from the teacher, cause Dads NEVER know what they want. Every father, same old story:

"What can I get you for your Birthday, Daddy?"

"Umm, nahh, can't think of anything. Just get me a card," he answers.

Yeah right.

Just TRY gettin' ol' Dad an empty card for his birthday.

And a lot of us feel creepy stuffing cash into a card for Dad. Even if we want to, and do, it's just not 100% comfortable. And don't even get started with the Gift Cards. He may like it, actually, and it may be a great idea. But more than likely, you could do better by taking the 25 bucks and setting it on fire. Unless it's a card to a place Mom could get herself something. Because months later, the Gift Card Guilt will be there, taunting and torturing you.

Always there, louder and louder, like the Tell-Tale Heart.

A Gift Card. HOW COULD I?

And neck ties. You see a man, all dapper in his suit, white shirt, wing tipped shoes and a necktie. A necktie is a joke.

Do you know there is only reason why men are wearing neckties in the first place?

They were invented so that desperate children had something to get their Dads for the birthdays.

Think about it.

Why in God's name would you tie a stupid piece of silk, (a fabric you place nowhere else in your male wardrobe) around your neck? It chokes, it binds, and makes you sweat. But it bails out the kids, so, it's one of the things Dads do for Love!

But you know what I mean. You failed this test so many times. Oh, you may have gotten a D-minus a few times, but you are fed up, and determined to get it right this time around.

So your eyes are open, and your mind is a sponge. You're in some store in February, right after the Christmas Shopping horrors are over. And you spot something on the shelf. Could be Walmart, Sports Authority, Borders Books, doesn't matter.

You spot it, and immediately think, "Ohhh Dad would love that".

Well, too late to make it a Christmas gift, and Dad's birthday is in August, so you say "I have to remember this and get it for Dad on his birthday this year."

You click SAVE, and move on. You've got your eye on the prize, and you're good to go. And even in say, March, when you're out shopping for your Shamrock decorations and green t-shirt for St. Patty's Day, you'll see something in a store window, and again, the prompt pops up.

"Oooh Dad would really like that". And you click SAVE, being careful to put in into the same folder with the February entry.

Oh you are doing so well.

And on and on it goes. You breeze through Spring, and shop for Mother's Day, which is rarely a problem cause we always know what Mom wants. Hell, she just usually tells us. Well maybe not directly, but through thousands of hints. You're headed out of the Mall, see some strange new store sitting there between the Verizon Wireless Shop and The Limited. And it's a cool looking place. Got a whole bunch of gadgets, toys and trinkets. It's almost like a Man Store chock full of goodies that are just perfect for Dad. Whoa, here you have to create a whole new subfolder to save, cause you don't want to get mixed up. You've found a TREASURE trove!

SAVE!

Good to go.

Then the Professor throws the Pop Quiz of Death.

FATHER'S DAY!

OH MY GOD!

You didn't see it coming, you freaked out and you blew it. You left your hard drive home, and you didn't bring the Flash Memory Card.

And Dad got a pair of socks.

Now that reminds me. There are times when a man needs socks.They rarely, if ever, will buy them for themselves. I mean he is walking around with a little piece of white elastic wrapped around his big toe. His feet are hanging out, baby, and this man needs socks. And you arrive on the scene on Father's Day with your neatly wrapped 6 pack of crew socks. He's happy, he's grateful and you feel like you did something good.

However, that feeling is about as gratifying as getting your G.E.D. on the same day your bratty sister becomes a PhD.

Blecch.

But again, it's all about the learning experience. You're an adult, you learn from your mistakes and you move on.

So now, you're thinking how cool it is that you are prepared. And you're getting so, so good at studying and remembering to SAVE the items to your Folder. You're loving life, cause THIS year you're going to be READY!

And now, it's August and his birthday is this weekend. Oh you are so ready. You get to the mall, boot up the brain and head on in.
You're at the store, you click the Folder marked "DADS GIFTS" (it's written like that cause you can't type a ' in the folder name) and...

BLUE SCREEN!
FATAL ERROR!
BRAIN FAILURE!

You are NOT pulling up any useful data. You're hitting the ANY key to continue, but it's no use. Nothing. Blank disc. You're out of Memory.

Good God, why have you abandoned me!

But then, just as the screen flickers, your floppy drive spits out one last byte.
The MAN STORE! That place on the upper level, right between The Verizon Wireless Shop and The Limited. YES! Salvation!

You hop on the escalator. You fly up those moving steps. Your Flash Memory is allowing you to remember where that store was, and you're on your way! You race to the store, your system hasn't completely failed you.

Then you see it.

Tucked in between The Verizon Wireless Shop and The Limited: 5 or six planks of 4x8 plywood.

Your heart goes into defib as you race up and see the little handwritten sign that says

"Coming Soon: Lucy's Handbags".

Now just before the blue screen goes completely blank, just before the CPU is toast, a scream emerges from your quivering lips. It's a horrible sound, but no one pays any mind, because it's a sound they all well recognize. Your brain has crashed. At best, they offer a sympathetic glance, and maybe a nod of the head.

And so, Monday morning, Dad goes to work. He's had his birthday dinner, he blew out the candles, ate the cake.

And everyone is noticing his new tie.

There's always next year, huh? Go get the Windows Reinstall disc.

So my friend, if you're out there, know that we feel your pain. You are not alone.

There's always next year.

Incredible

Please take a minute to read this post. It'll make you think, that's for sure.

http://dreaminglily.blogspot.com/2006/09/youth.html