Savannah's mask is awesome!

by By Lt. Col. Paul Yingling, this article describes in excellent, poignant detail why the war in Iraq can be ascribed to a failure in leadership. "These debacles (Vietnam & Iraq) are not attributable to individual failures, but rather to a crisis in an entire institution: America's general officer corps"



read more | digg story

From CNN:

LOS ANGELES, California (Reuters) -- Actor Alec Baldwin will apologize to his daughter on national television on Friday for calling her a "thoughtless little pig," according to excerpts from a pre-taped ABC interview released on Thursday.

It's possible that Alec Baldwin's daughter really is a pig; she's being raised by "allegedly" narcissistic bad actors. Maybe they are a family of pigs. Maybe they're fine people going through a difficult time. But the fact is, their domestic issues are NOT NEWS! Personally, I don't care if Alec Baldwin axe-murders his daughter and eats her steaming remains.

Here's the new Circuses of Sin and Forgiveness: ___________ (insert famous person's name here) gets caught saying __________ (something stupid or racist), it makes the rounds on YouTube, the offending celebrity goes on an apology circuit, which must include:

1. Al Sharpton's radio program
2. a meeting with Jesse Jackson,
3. an interview with Diane Sawyer during which the celebrity MUST cry,
4. They must attend services at a black church.
5. an appearance on the Dr. Phil program, where the public flogging climaxes in a crescendo of tsk-tksing scorn.
6. misogynists only: appearance on The View
7. (optional) Awkward apology on Letterman, but Jerry Seinfeld must be present.

Thanks to Ted Stevens and the Internets, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of Eternal Internets Video.

(dvorak.org/blog)

from PC magazine, (who got it from inTechnology.com)

ten most common passwords:

1. password
2. 123456
3. qwerty
4. abc123
5. letmein
6. monkey
7. myspace1
8. password1
9. blink182
10. (your first name)

See yours in here? Might wanna change it.

Kucinich announces impeachment charges against Vice President Cheney Hope Cheney doesn't shoot Kucinich in the face!

Today I finally got some work. I fixed email format insensibilities. I set up remote access for an expectant father who will be working from home. I surveyed the data backup requirements for backing up required files.

I came home and Lo, for in the East there I beheld a sign: FREE FIREWOOD. I went forth, and did take a cart around the corner, where many cubits of cherry wood awaited me so that I might take rightful possession. Then with the cart did I take the wood to the backyard, where I stacked it in accordance with the Laws of Gravity. And Lo, my back did hurteth. And so did I use the Saw of Chains to reduce it, and I did stack it according to the laws of Stacking.

And I revealed unto my Wife that which I had lay hidden for a fortnight: The World of Warcraft installation CD, purchased for 2 American dollars. And Yea did she allow it to be Installed, on the grounds that it would perish within another fortnight, for it is the Software of Trials.

Verily, a message came from the Sky Tower, and another customer forsooth must needs me to fix the Accursed Norton, which forbade the new Vista to speak with the Network Server.

Thus went Tuesday.

No calls today. Deb and I walked to the library and back. We took Ginger, who walked with us. I read books, wrote, tweaked my website, entered a 750 word story in a writing contest, and that’s about it. I’m reading McSweeney’s Enchanted Chamber of Astonishing Stories (2004, Vintage Books, New York) and one story contains this gem: "The Shiny 3mm bullet that liberated Ernest Hemingway from Ernest Hemingway;"

it's on sale at ebay and it's really really cool!

I started pulling out the rotting board from the underside of the porch overhang. Some birds thought it would be a good place to put a nest. Bullshit! They’re not putting any nest in my roof! Don’t worry; there were no eggs or baby birds in it, ya tree-huggers!

I was in the Goodwill, dropping off some old computer parts. I overheard a woman answer her phone and tell somebody, “I’m at the grocery store.” So she lied to whoever was on the other end. But that means nothing. I picked up a golf ball display case for three bucks. It holds 56 golf balls. I have to hit a lot more golf courses to fill that up with a logo ball from each course! Getting out of there wasn’t easy: I got in line behind some people who bought one of everything. “Mandy” was playing overhead. I switched lines, and of course that line suddenly got slower. The dude in front of me was amazed he could get Creedence Clearwater Revival on cassette!

So Deb and I went to an antique store and looked around. Two books I ordered, “America, the Book” and “The Art of Reasoning” came in. I ordered them off Ebay for almost nothing.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. Someone had a toilet marked “free” on the side of the road a block down. I took it and let the girls smash it. The video is either on my page www.danmanning.com, or on my youtube page http://www.youtube.com/user/danmanning2006.

Dear News Media,

Oh Media, I can't avoid you; I have an unhealthy urge to know what's going on. That's why I can't avoid noticing your absolute obsession with Cho Seung-Hui. He's on the TV news, news websites, and the papers. I suppose he'll grace the covers of TIME and NEWSWEEK. He's mugging into the camera, pointing his guns, making crazy speeches. I can't see how it is news. OK, we get it, he was a wacko.

How many copycats are out there thinking, "yeah, I could do that, I could be famous." How much has this wall-to-wall coverage of The Cho Show are you guys going to air? When does the DVD come out? When is the made for TV movie?

By giving Cho his moment in the sun, postmortem, you're just giving the next wacko more motivation to get famous. By declaring it, even on the day it happened the "Deadliest shooting in U.S. History," or "Deadliest shooting rampage in U.S. history," and "Deadliest mass shooting in U.S. history," you're setting a mark for the next crazy guy with a gun: "Can you break this record crazy people? The score to beat is 32!"

Report the news. I don't need to know Cho Seung-Hui's shoe size. By "glamorizing" this insane person, you're just egging on the next guy. Report that he left a goofy manifesto and some lame videos, but don't plaster his videos up everywhere for ratings. Don't worry, we'll sit through your damn commercials. . . .

Read the really bad play (smokinggun.com)

What's weird is, 30+ people get killed in COLLEGE, it's wall-to-wall news coverage. 30+ people who can't afford college and have to join the MILITARY get killed in a completely unnecessary war, and it's meh, just another week in Iraq.

70 service members have been killed in Iraq this month. Somebody call the news media.

http://www.flickr.com/photo_zoom.gne?id=461531004&size=o

Today I tamped down fresh mole tunnels with my bare feet. I took a lawn chair out to the driveway and sat in it. A strange, bright light was in the sky. I forget what it is called. Everything was warm. I read a book and soaked up the rays of this strange, unfamiliar ball of fire. I’ll call it, “the sun.”

I thought about taking a run, but didn’t. I watched 5 episodes of “Frasier.” I spoke to Barry on the phone. I spread fertilizer on my lawn. I spoke to the neighbor, Sharon briefly about how to kill moles.

I played tug-of-war with the dog. I read some more. I watched some more television. I played catch with my daughter.

I got a headache, and realized I had forgotten to drink coffee. I drank coffee.

I updated my blog.

Are mobile phones wiping out our bees? - Independent Online Edition > Wildlife

[Scientists] . . . are putting forward the theory that radiation given off by mobile phones and other hi-tech gadgets is a possible answer to one of the more bizarre mysteries ever to happen in the natural world - the abrupt disappearance of the bees that pollinate crops. Late last week, some bee-keepers claimed that the phenomenon - which started in the US, then spread to continental Europe - was beginning to hit Britain as well.

The implications of the spread are alarming. Most of the world's crops depend on pollination by bees. Albert Einstein once said that if the bees disappeared, "man would have only four years of life left".

Two bible-wielding women of a certain age swung by the house today. I didn’t notice them until they passed right by my office window. They were leaving. My doorbell didn’t work, and they didn’t have the sense to knock. Ha ha. They looked at the van parked in the driveway, they looked in the open garage, and on they went. That’s all I need on a Saturday, debating theology with a couple of broads I’ve never seen before. They looked like a couple of buzz-kills, regardless.

Whew. Dodged a bullet that time.

So Deb worked last night. Savannah has two friends over, and they won’t keep their yaps shut so Deb can sleep. I take them all to the library, so somebody else can tell them to shaddup.

I tried to get some breakfast, but there are lines everywhere. I only have a little time, because I have to pick the girls up and take them to “play practice.” I say, “Don’t you mean ‘rehearsal’?” but they say, that no, the teacher calls it “play practice.” WTF?? A drama teacher who doesn’t know a play “practice” is a rehearsal?

So I pick the girls up, and I’m walking past the shelf out front where the new books are, and what does my wandering eye behold but Richard Dawkins’ God Delusion, a book I almost bought for ~ $25.00. It’s still #10 on the bestseller list.

I dropped Alex off at a birthday party. That’s a lot of driving.

Kurt Vonnegut died this week. Don Imus got fired, the White House staff lost a bunch of emails (how convenient for them) concerning the firings of all those judges. Iraq is still a disaster, the V-22 Osprey is going into combat soon, wonder how that’s going to turn out . . . Garry Kasparov was arrested for protesting the Putin regime. Those Duke lacrosse dudes were found innocent, and I’m ashamed to admit I had assumed they were guilty, cause I assumed guys who play lacrosse are assholes. Maybe they are assholes, but these assholes, apparently, aren’t rapists.

I’m waiting for the Pizza Hut guy to get here, and then I’m going to have a cigar and a beer.

Ezekiel 23:20 says, "There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses." <------ Now that's some soul-savin' stuff right there!

April showers
Bring may flowers
But when it snows
It friggin' blows.

Rocketboom

#1: The Neighbors

Here’s an example: Let’s say you have a neighbor, let’s call him Bob. You might loan him a wrench, or watch football with him, or borrow a book, or marry his son/daughter. Whatever. You and Bob live next door to each other and you are friends.

Why is Bob your neighbor? What random set of circumstances caused Bob to live next door to you?

A realtor is involved in most home purchases. Some random realtor showed Bob a random set of houses that were available at the time, and he picked one. The same goes for you. You probably bought your house using a realtor. If you didn’t, just play along anyway. This is a hypothetical.

Had you (or Bob) picked a different realtor or a different house or a different time to move, Bob wouldn’t be Bob at all. He’d be someone else entirely.

Let’s say living next door to Bob results in you getting married. (You stole his wife, or you married his son or daughter, or you met someone at a cookout or party Bob throws one evening.) You get married and have kids. Your kids grow up and have kids. (This is all hypothetical, play along here folks)

The existence of your children and your grandchildren hinges on the lives and careers of two realtors, people who have probably been long forgotten.

What if you had bought from a different realtor? What if you had purchased a different home? What life choices did that realtor make to put him in your town at the time when your career and life put you in the position to buy a home?

Your entire life could hinge on when you called the realtor’s office. Let’s say at 9:06 AM Realtor #1 takes a bathroom break, and is away from his desk. You call at 9:06 and 30 seconds. Realtor #2 picks up your call, because Realtor #1 is in the bathroom, away from his desk. Normally Realtor #1 would have gotten this call, but not this time.

You chat with Realtor #2 and decide she’ll show you some available houses. She shows you a different set of houses, or maybe the same set of houses, only in a different order. Bob does not become your next-door neighbor. You never meet the spouse you would have had Realtor #1 simply skipped that second cup of coffee before coming to work.

Your entire life forks to a different future because a realtor you will never meet has an extra cup of coffee and has to go to the restroom to pee.

And this single detail is only rendered after your parents’ choices, your teachers’ influences, your education, your career path, your boss’s career path, traffic accidents, weather patterns, political events, social changes, stock market, and the economy have set everything up.

#2: Why “you” are even “you” in the first place.

And didn’t your parents and their parents end up creating YOU because of a set of random circumstances? How did they meet? Why did they meet? Ask them.

“Oh, I was planning to stay home that night but so and so had a cold so I went . . .”

“I was in line at the DMV when I look over and see this beautiful girl . . .”

“He was going through a difficult divorce, and I just happen to . . .”

#3: What We Can and Can’t Influence

We are responsible for our actions, we are responsible for our choices, but we are powerless over the set of choices we have at any point in time.

We can, however, try to influence our set of choices in the future, by bettering ourselves and building our careers (or by slacking off). We are not powerless in that. But we are completely at the whim of chance regarding our past set of choices and circumstances.

You cannot choose your parents. You cannot choose your grandparents. You cannot choose the subset of humans you have to pick from when choosing a mate. You cannot choose the subset of humans you can pick as friends.

You can choose from the subset. You can’t choose the subset itself.

#4: Yeah, that would be fantastic, but . . .

It would be great if there was a god. It would be nice if we were here for a purpose. I wish there were some intrinsic meaning to our lives. It would be nice if we carried on after we die. It would even be nice if there were such a thing as “luck.” But there’s not. Get that through your head now, and things will make sense a lot quicker.

It would be nice if these things existed, but they don’t; it is delusional to think that these things exist. God, spirits, ghosts, Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the Holy Spirit: All of these things are fantasies.

This is the world and everything in it: We are a bunch of primates riding on a speck of dust hurtling through the universe for no reason whatsoever.

Oh, and by the way, stop crapping on Atheists. You don’t choose not to believe in God any more that you choose not to believe in Superman. You just know it’s a load of bullshit.

#5: Religion: I believe in the Power of Vaginas

What is religion? What is belief? Let me ask you this: What is the difference between a religion and a cult? What if the Chinese instead of the Europeans had discovered North America and taken it from the Native Americans? Would Christianity be practices in the United States? A United States that doesn’t exist?

Why do you practice the faith you practice? Is it the same faith as your parents? I hate to break this to you believers, but the set of beliefs you hold is not a function of faith, it is a function of which vagina you came out of, and nothing more. Is it a coincidence that most Christians have Christian parents? I think not.

#6: Death: When you’re dead, that’s it.

One choice leads to another leads to another. And then you die.

Here’s what happens when you die: Nothing.

You stop functioning, your body starts to decompose, and hopefully, somebody puts you in the ground. That’s it.

The world keeps turning, but you’re no longer around to know it. People get up for work, they fight wars, make babies, whatever.

Your family and friends get together; they put you in the ground, cry, and get on with making their choices and living their lives. Until it’s their turn.



#7: It isn’t all doom and gloom . . .

If there’s meaning, you make it yourself. You have the warm sun, family, and friends. There are a lot of things to enjoy in this life. Be good to one another, stop fighting, listen to music, watch a movie, and read a good book once in awhile. Have a beer. Enjoy this life now, because, well, see #6.

www.danmanning.com

Don Imus is in trouble for calling the Rutgers women's basketball team a bunch of "nappy-headed-hos". Okay. Imus is an idiot, we all get it. I love seeing this dude squirm, and I hope he gets fired.

But what boggles my mind is this: People listen to Don Imus? Who in the hell is tuning into this pickled crypt-keeper windbag anyway? I am amazed anyone heard him say anything about anybody. People still listen to this ancient mummified ass-clown?

It's beyond me how anyone found out he said anything. Oh well.

post looks better at www.danmanning.com

~ Day 1 ~

Friday

We depart at 9:40 am EST, 49 degrees, Odometer 37820.

Light traffic, good drivers, and clean rest areas. Our drive is great until we get to Kentucky. It is all clear until Louisville, where they drive like retards and have accidents every five minutes. We sit in an endless line of cars for forty minutes while the crews clean up one stupid accident after another on a clear blue Friday. Apparently wrecking for no reason whatsoever is a citywide pastime down here. The yokels don’t use turn signals and drive up each other’s tailpipes. We stop at one rest stop in Kentucky and two out of three urinals are down, covered with black garbage bags attached with duct tape. Welcome to the South. We look at cows on the other side of the rest area, the sweet smell of cow manure wafting over the green pasture.

On the drive down, it gets warmer and warmer. To keep myself occupied, I listen to the audiobook Don’t Get Too Comfortable by David Rackoff on my Ipod. It is amazing how an audiobook can cut down on the perceived time experience during a long trip.

We get to Tony’s around six (?) and Katie and Dianne are at a soccer practice somewhere. We sit on the lawn furniture, and play tag in the huge backyard. I am too tired from the drive to wait up. (I had too much to drink the night before).

~ Day 2 ~

Saturday

Tony is surrounded by money here. McMansions stand everywhere on tiny, landscaped lots. Tony drives me to the ATM where I withdraw a hundred bucks. Then we go to Travis’s golf lesson. Tony and I hit a bucket of golf balls at the driving range while Travis has his lesson.

Spring comes earlier in Nashville than it does in Grand Rapids. I wish I had brought more than one pair of shorts.

Tony’s awesome house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac on an acre and a half lot. It is a wide, open green space with distant neighbors to either side. Brush and an open field stand behind it. A path leads to a nearby walking and biking path, softball, and soccer fields. Birds sing and I65 nearby gives a soft, relaxing white noise to lull one to sleep while rocking in the deluxe swinging glider sipping on schnapps and reading science fiction. Which I did. A lot.

Late in the morning Tony and I go to Travis’s soccer game, and the girls (Deb, Alex, Savannah, Dianne and Sidney) go to Katie’s soccer match.

I can’t get away from work completely, although I left my laptop, PDA, and cell phone at home. The only technology I bring on this trip is my Ipod. I fix Katie’s laptop computer, just some minor things, but things important to her just the same. I find some games that aren’t working; the Task Manager is too small when she hits ctl+alt+del. Little things like that can drive normal humans crazy.

One of the neighbors is mowing her huge lawn with a push mower. She’s wearing a white tee-shirt and loose-fitting long pants (pajama bottoms?). There’s a line of small trees and a ditch, and she’s having a hard time pushing the red mower back and forth, pulling it up and out of the ditch.

It’s a wildlife preserve back here.

I want a beer, but it is still morning. At least I think it is still morning. There’s no way to tell because I don’t have my cell phone, PDA, and certainly not my computer.

The oaks are sighing in the gust of wind. The neighbor’s have two sets of wind-chimes.

The views on the roads are “bucolic.” Tony says this many times, laughing each time he uses the word.

Driving to Travis’s soccer game, we passed Dolly Parton’s old mansion, the land owned by the guy who owns “Dollar General” chain of dollar stores, and Dunn’s mansion, of “Brooks and Dunn” fame. This is Brentwood, and people have money here. All of the roads are smooth and black with bright yellow lines and dashes and fresh paint all around. They wind and weave and plunge between “bucolic” vistas topped with suburbs of McMansions. Nashville roads are well-paved confusions of twists and turns and hills and valleys. Everything is green and the black monied roads are deep smooth, clean, and framed with brightly painted yellow lines. These are the roads car commercial dreams are made of.

At Travis’s soccer game, it is windy and two girls are holding down a fold-down blue-roofed kiosk thing that is about to blow away, exposing their snow-cone making gear to the sun. This isn’t just a soccer field; it is a ten-field complex, with concession stands, tee-shirt sales, and about a million SUVs in the parking lot. There are colorful uniforms and kids cheering, coaches yelling instructions. Soccer dads talk about the NCAA Men’s Basketball tournament. One heavyset guy with a bald head, gray beard and a Pittsburg Steelers ball cap critiques the coach.

There are neat rows of identical navy blue backpacks along the sidelines of the fields. Travis’s game is on “FIELD #2” as indicated by the clearly printed signage. No Pets, No Smoking (except in designated areas).

We are sitting at a picnic area next to FIELD #2 waiting for the field to open up. There are lost of parents there with us.

“He’s a pediatrician who listens to Metallica” Tony tells me about one of the mild-mannered, well outfitted parents.

Tony leaves to use the restroom, which is two or three soccer fields away, and I am left sitting with the soccer parents.

Nashville is flush with money, although I don’t know where it comes from. The parents around me are tanned and fit and ready to win at all costs.

The game starts.

“Attack, Attack!”
“Speed and foot-skills . . .”
“WIN IT!”
“Turn and Face the Ball!!”

The field is a little small for Travis’s age group. “Lewis” gets tripped, but the referee doesn’t call it.

I go to take a pee, and there is a pair of gargoyle wrap-around sunglasses in the pristine urinal, one side broken off.

That night Tony’s big backyard is put to good use. I play racket-ball-racket-tennis-ball game the Alex, Sidney and Savannah. Travis brings out the radio-controlled airplane and helicopter. The airplane, made of Styrofoam and fitted with tiny motors, gets caught in Sidney’s hair. We get it untangled and then, using duct-tape, replace a missing stabilizer and balance the plane, adding more weight first with a penny(too much weight) and then with layers of duct tape.

Deb and Diane go to pick Katie up from practice, and it takes too long, and Tony and I get concerned. I can’t remember Deb’s cell #. In the past; I’ve given her grief for not knowing my number. Now I know hers (Turns out, I could have looked on my Ipod, which has her number stored in it, but I forgot). Either way, they make it back okay and there is nothing to worry about in the first place. The other reason I want to call is to have them pick up some tomato juice while they are out. Tony has Bud Lite in the downstairs fridge. Tomato juice would make it taste better.

Tony makes pasta and tells me it is a Rachael Ray dish. It’s heavy, but tastes great.

We watch Ohio beat Georgetown in the Final Four. Florida beats UCLA.

Deb and I sleep in Travis’s room. The door won’t stay closed and keeps swinging open.

Katie asks me what I was writing on just now, and I don’t have the guts to say “working on a book” or “writing”. I guess I’m not a writer yet if I don’t even have the guts to say so.

~ Day 3~

Sunday

I don’t normally remember my dreams, but when sleeping away from home, I often do. I dream I was at the movies with Deb, and a man on the opposite side of the isle is speaking loudly into his cell phone. I hiss “shut the fuck up” along with other annoyed movie goers. The man continues to blather on into his cell, oblivious to the unforgivable social sin he is committing. Finally I get up and grab the man’s phone, intent on throwing it to the floor, to smash it with satisfying violence on the soda-soaked, popcorn strewn floor. But just as I cock my arm back for the final Cu De Gras, the man says “better not, you’re a husband and father.”

I suppose I am afraid he will call the police and I’ll be arrested, so I just switch the phone off and hand it back to him and call him an “asshole” and stalk back to my seat.

In the dream, the movie must have an intermission, because I have an opportunity to see the man, and it turns out, I know him. He’s balding with gray hair on the sides, and I know him as “Mitch”. The part of Mitch is played, in my dream, by none other than Peter Boyle, the dad on “Everybody Loves Raymond” and the star of the 1974 Mel Brooks comedy “Young Frankenstein.”

So, in this silly dream, we argue in the lobby and he won’t admit how screwed up it is to talk on a cell phone during a movie. The dream ends with him saying “You’re a prick,” and my witty retort: “So are you.” I tell him to never speak to me again, and that’s how I had my falling out with Peter Boyle.

In the real world, Deb figures out how to keep Travis’s door closed. She puts a heavy book, Aragon by Christopher Paolini, in front of it to keep it from swinging open. I get up earlier than Deb, and I want to go downstairs to read and get some coffee. But how to put the book back from outside the door (it swings into the bedroom). Genius that I am, I take a piece of printer paper, found in the dark, and slide it under the door and book, slide everything closed, and then slide the paper out from under the book. Deb will never figure out how I did it!

One thing people do in Nashville that they don’t do in Grand Rapids: They wave when you drive by in the opposite direction.

Tony and Diane take Katie and Travis to Church. I’m up before everyone else, so I take the van to try to find a gas station, and somewhere to buy tomato juice for that nasty Bud-Lite. I take a right on Concord Road past the horse-fences belonging to the owner of “Dollar General” and I drive far enough to realize there are no stores in this direction and I probably should have taken a left instead. I double back and find a gas station, pristine as only gas stations in rich neighborhoods can be pristine. It is a wonderful brick complex of gleaming BP gas pumps. I pull in only to realize I forgot my wallet at the house. I go back for my wallet. Three complete strangers wave at me during this trip. I went back and gassed up and got V8 for Tony’s Bud Lites.

We go to another of Travis’s games, this time at a school. WE sit in Tony’s van with NASCAR on the black and white portable television. The game before ours ends in controversy. A parent yells at the ref, a giant-gutted man in yellow. During Travis’s game, I am in a foul mood. After that we go to the mall built where Opryland used to be and eat at the rainforest restaurant, where they sing birthday songs every five minutes.

Then we go to the big hotel with the river inside, but the boat ride is closed for repair.

We watch the video-camera video on Tony’s widescreen TV. We laugh at Savannah because on the first day we got the camera, a few weeks ago, she mugged and grinned crazily for the camera, shot close-ups of her own face. She has filmed the cat, and when Ginger appears on the screen, Alex says, “I miss Ginger,” and after only two days, so do I.

~ Day 4 ~

Monday

I wake up at 6:45 CST, get up and pee, and get my book of short stories. I try to sneak up on Katie and Travis who are waiting on the bus. I hug them “Quick, before your friends see your crazy Uncle Danny.” And then I race back to the house, my bed-head flapping in the breeze.

Tony takes us to the science museum, the adults relax in the cafeteria while the kids play in the museum. Tony and I talk about Iraq and greed. Maybe the war was a mistake. We go to Natchez Trace Parkway Bridge. It is a lot of driving to see a bridge.

When we get home I gas up the van and look for a place to buy wind chimes for their hospitality, but couldn’t find one.

I hit golf balls in the yard, and have a cigar and peach schnapps out back.

I Play Nerf combat with Travis. Tony cooks prime rib. We fly the model airplane around and the kids shoot at it with Nerf guns. We watch Fraser and Deal or No Deal.

~ Day 5 ~

Tuesday

I take my wallet and cigars out to the van. Last night Deb tolls me she is packing, and tells me: “Don’t do anything, don’t say anything,” and that she has her “own way” of doing things.

I make coffee and look through the paper. There is an article about how interracial couples are slowly finding “acceptance” in Nashville. One couple said before they moved to Nashville from Grand Rapids (coincidence) they had no trouble, but after they moved, things changed . . . People asked them how they were going to raise their child. Which way are they going to raise their child? They had to ask before finding out what they meant was, “are you going to raise him black or white?” Can you believe that garbage?

I wake up the girls to say goodbye to Katie and Travis, who are waiting out front for the school bus. They bound out in their pajamas.

I study the map. The Nashville loop downtown makes me nervous.

While Deb is finishing packing, Tony reminds me to get a sand wedge when I get home. Deb says, “A sandwich? You’re grumpy already?” And I say, no, he was talking about a sand wedge.

We leave. I get through downtown Nashville okay.

After getting lost for a while among the winding roads and tourist traps, we reach the Mammoth Caves visitor center at 11:30. The unfriendly park ranger lady behind the counter tells us it’s a two hour wait for the next tour. I ask to take the tour, and she says “which one?” She offers no information at all. I ask her what tours are available and she says “Historical or New Entrance.” That’s it, no further information. After further interrogation of this one-word-answering BITCH, I pick the “New Entrance.” It’s only been around since 1921, but the geniuses at the Parks Department come up with the name “New Entrance,” to confuse people. At the time I have no idea it’s the same one we visited last time, but I get lucky and it turns out it is.

I pay my $48.00 and go out to the twin tin-roofed carports with benches under them to sit back for two hours of tourist watching.

I have no idea where the girls are, probably inside the gift shop.

The only available bench is in the sun. All of the shaded benches are taken. The tin roof and open walls don’t overhang enough to block the sun, and I happily watch the shadow, but it is moving left to right, so there is no hope that my bench will ever be in the shade.

My Fellow Americans won’t shut up, and I find everything they say banal, stupid, and hillbilly.

I don’t want to waste two hour in the Hillbilly hell, but I’ve already bought my ticket. And I’m from Kansas. I’m a hillbilly too.

There’s a guy in Army pants and no shirt. Jesus, put on a shirt ya friggin goon.

Deb and the girls walk out of the woods. There’s a path, she tells me. We go for a long walk. We get lots of pictures and see the entrance to the “Historical Cave Tour” where cool air wafts like natures air-conditioner.

When we return an hour and a half later, the tin-roofed waiting area is deserted and the shaded benches are open. I run up and grab a bench in the shade. The weather report says snow in Grand Rapids, but in Kentucky, it is warm and sunny.

for lunch today, I ate a box of slim jim brand mild beef sticks. that's 15 "spicy smoked snacks."