Woke up this morning and there was no Internet. What an awful feeling of frustration and powerlessness. Thank goodness, it’s finally back up again because I have a big day ahead of me. First, the propane dude (let’s call him “Hank”) is coming to hook up some propane to the pool heater. I won’t be here, but Granny claims she will be. Let’s hope so, ‘cuz I’ve been getting used to the cooler water temperatures, and she’s the one who requires it a bit warmer. Let’s also hope the heater actually works, as I’ve never had it turned on. As if that wasn’t enough, the rear link for my tractor is in, so I get to go to the tractor place and pick it up (and maybe look at other things I can spend money I don’t have on). Then I’ll have to figure out how to put it in, which could be tough because all this chair time at work has got my back all kinds of fired up, and it hurts like hell.

Is there any reason whatsofuckingever for Jon Stewart to have Michael Steele on his show? I mean, seriously. When he was RNC Chairman, I guess he was at least “newsworthy,” but he was always barely more than a carnival sideshow (more like the minor “South Park” character “Token”), and he really just needs to fade into oblivion (in the way that Republicans do – by making millions of dollars and not paying taxes). Of course, the sad part is that Steele makes more sense than all the Republican Presidential candidates (current, former, declared, and undeclared) combined.

Thank goodness Colbert evened things out by having Jeff Bridges. It’s pretty hard not to like him (whether or not you find him appealing as a “musician”). Makes me want to run out and buy The Big Lebowski on Blu-Ray. Except I don’t have a Blu-Ray player.

Is there some reason teevee news anchors feel required to announce the time by saying, “it’s five-nineteen; nineteen minutes past five”? Do they teach that in teevee school? ‘Cuz, like, if I don’t know what they mean by ‘5:19’, 19 past 5 aint gonna clear things up for me.

It reminds me of this intersection in a nearby village (yes, village). There’s a regular “STOP” sign, and then next to it is a little one that’s red and shaped like a stop sign, but it says “STOP MEANS STOP” on it.

If I don’t know what STOP means, then telling me that STOP means STOP doesn’t help. It should say something like “STOP MEANS DON’T GO”. Maybe they just figure if they give people something to try and read to figure out, it’ll mean they actually have to stop for a second. And then pull out in front of somebody.

What with God striking out at the Indiana State Fair and the impending visit from Gov Snotball (who probably hates the thought of attending anything so pedestrian as a fair up here in the provinces, but, well, it’s one of those unfortunate duties Governors are required to attend to), people here are of course concerned about the NY State Fair stage.

Unlike Indiana, however, NY is one of those godless places where things like public safety aren’t left up to the open market, but are instead regulated to death. Unlike Indiana, our stage (I learned in a lo-cal news story at 5:27 – that’s 27 past 5) is made from steel – not aluminum – is anchored by 120,000 pounds of water weights, and is designed to withstand winds of 120 mph for 24 hours.

And if we get 120 mph wind for 24 hours, the last thing anybody’s gonna worry about is going to see “Sugarland” in concert.

Oh well, time to get more coffee and stretch my back.