Oil spills, unemployment, Afghanistan, hordes of Mexicans overrunning the border…. Barack Obama has a lot of ‘splainin’ to do, and today Robert Gibbs will be on Press the Meat to do it for him. Then it’s a roundtable with that schmuck from the NY Times, David Brooks, creepy, failed Senate candidate (which, by media standards, makes him an expert) Harold Ford Jr, Ed “hey, somebody close that closet door” Gillespie, and Kent Jones’ sidekick, Rachel “I don’t look quite as goofy wearing a helmet as Michael Dukakis did, but it’s close” Maddow, who just returned from Afghanistan.

Over at CBS, Bob Schieffer has an “exclusive” with AG Eric “thank god my parents didn’t name me Dick” Holder (who looks kinda like Nassir, no?).

On Fux News Sunday, Weaselface Wallace will berate David Axelrod for a while, and then take a hard right turn to chat with that Krazy Jon Kyl from the kooky state of Arizona, and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

David Axelrod heads on over to the Goebbels network, to try and defend Obama’s radical idea that it’s the federal government that has jurisdiction over immigration – not Arizona’s – and then Republican douchebag Brian Bilbray and Luis Gutierrez will argue about it for a while, too. Plus, it’s a roundtable with the WaPosts’s, the National Review’s Reihan Salam, Ron Brownstein of the National Journal and, of course, George :jerk: Will.

Over at CNN, Fareed Zakaris is in London this week, with some “exclusive” one-on-one action with Britain’s Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborne. Then Fareed interviews one of Britain’s own homegrown radical Muslim leaders, has a look at the British Royal Navy, and then does a story on soccer’s World Cup, which apparently is still going on.

One mother, four kids (at times, anyway), a couple of wars, three Presidents, at least 11 jobs, seven cars, four lawn mowers, two dogs, 13 cats, three stoves, three refrigerators, two hot water heaters, two dishwashers, three microwaves, two sets of washers/dryers, one liberal radio network, seven teevees, and countless cell phones. That’s what our house has seen since we got married 12 years ago today. That’s a lotta shit (and there’s plenty more where that came from).

I was young back then – a mere 37 years old. Skinny, too, since I actually had to work for a living as a Refrigeration Mechanic. Bill Clinton was President, and there was still a World Trade Center in NYC (back then, only clean-cut white guys blew up buildings).

Ah, those were the days.

Having been a bachelor until I was pushing 40, I’d never had the experience of living with a female for an extended period of time (not as a grownup, anyway), so the past 13 – 14 years have been interesting. Turns out, women are pretty handy to have around the house.

For one thing, they always have something called “tissues.” Guys don’t have tissues. We have toilet paper. Tissues are better (but not as toilet paper, ‘cuz your fingers tend to poke through). They also have lotion. We have spit (again, I gotta admit – lotion is better).

As a guy, I had no idea there was more than one kind of lotion. I figured it was all just some kind mixture of Crisco and water or something. Turns out, there are billions of ’em, made out of cucumbers and papayas and all kinds of other shit that smells like it’d go good with Doritos, all in different little jars and squeeze bottles. When you live with a woman, your bathroom starts to look like an Apothecary shop, filled with all kinds of potions, cotton balls, and mysterious (and somewhat malevolent-looking) little devices.

Plus, they stock lots and lots of paper towels. Before I got married, it never occurred to me to have at least one roll of paper towels (and a box of tissues, of course) in every room of the house (and all motor vehicles) at all times, but now I don’t know how I’d get along without them (the best part is, I don’t have to do anything; all this stuff just sort of magically appears). And they buy food, which is nice in a lot of ways (but, sadly, accounts for the all the pounds I’ve put on over the years).

Of course, they have their quirks, too.

For one thing, if they notice you’ve actually figured out where they keep stuff, the next day they move it and then look at you like they’re Cap’n Dan and you’re Forrest Gump (a combination of scorn, disgust, and pity) for not knowing where it is (took me about eight years to figure that trick out). Women also feel the need to put shit inside of (and behind) other shit (some sort of nesting instinct, I think, plus it makes it easier for them to hide shit on us), so in order to get to the shit you want, you first have to get all the other shit out of the way (and then put all that shit back again). Except, being a guy, I generally omit that last step, which gets me yelled at, but that’s where that married-guy selective deafness thing (that I’m still trying to perfect; my dad had down pat) comes in handy.

Females are pretty expensive, too (takes a lot of money to stock up on tissues, lotions, paper towels, and food).

They also seem to like to collect cats, for some reason.

All-in-all, though, these have been the happiest years of my life (that I remember; I’m a little vague on the years from 1978 through 1989 or so), and I can’t believe it’s been a dozen years already. Supposedly, 12 years is supposed to be “silk and linen,” but I think I’ll give her wood instead.

Anyhow, Happy Anniversary, Granny. And Happy Sunday to everybody else.

It’s a blessed break from the goddamn heat today, with temps only around 80 (may just have to open the windows). Back to the shit tomorrow and the rest of the week, though. Next week is a five-day week, so, between that and the heat, expect lots of whining. Yesterday, we went and spent way, way, way too much money on cordless cellular window shades (if the cats even think about climbing them, we’ll have a couple less cats around here) for the living room (if you’d told me a week ago I’d be buying something cordless and cellular, I’d have thought you were talking about something entirely different), and some granite-looking tiles. So I guess I’d better get busy and start working.

It really hadn’t occurred to me before, but now that you mention it, I can definitely see how the new “tan tax” is racist and unconstitutional, because only white people “need” a fake tan. Actually, I think it’s a more specific discrimination than that. It really only affects stupid white people (and rich ones – at least, rich enough to have nothing better to spend their money on than popping themselves into a giant toaster a couple of times a week). Frankly, constitutional or not, I’m 100% down with a tax on stupid rich white people.

A federal judge in Boston has ruled that the part of the Defense of Marriage Act that defines marriage as being between a man and woman is unconstitutional. Seems pretty obvious, but I’m sure this’ll raise the hackles of all those self-righteous folks out there who are working on their third or fourth wives, patronizing prostitutes, or cruising public mens rooms looking for a little action when they’re not busy yammering about the sanctity of marriage (you know, rich, stupid, white people). Lord knows, if they ever make gay marriage legal here in New York, I’m gonna dump Granny and find myself a dude. I’d probably have to start working out, though.

Speaking of Granny, she rolled back into town early yesterday evening. The dogs (and cats) were pretty happy to see her, but now that she’s talking about giving them (the dogs, not the cats) a bath, I think they’ll change their minds. On the bright side, with her back, they no longer feel the need to make sure I don’t get more than two feet away from them at any time, which makes it a lot easier for me to go back and forth to the fridge for a beer. I’m now allowed to get up to 30 feet away, as long as I’m not gone more than three minutes. After that, they come looking for me.

Lebron James is going to Miami. I didn’t see that one coming (but then, I wasn’t really paying attention). Cleveland’s owner is none too happy about that. I was kind of hoping he’d go to the Knicks, who would then trade for Jonny Flynn and Carmelo Anthony, so they could all play with Andy Rautins. I guess I’ll just have to be content to see Jonny and Wes Johnson play for the T-Wolves next year (where they may win upwards of 20 games).

Oh well, I’m off today, so I reckon I’d better get the boys out to the park early, before it gets too goddamn hot. It’s been a long three-day week, and I sure am glad it’s over. Next week’s gonna suck, though.

Another hot, miserable day in store for us here again today. This of course has prompted the obligatory “news” stories about how to survive in the heat. You know, don’t leave your dog in the car, stay inside if you’ve got a/c, drink lots of water and avoid coffee and alcohol (why don’t I just shoot myself). It’s been nice and cool inside my house, though I shudder to think of what this will do to my utility bill. I may need to replace the bearings on my electric meter. I think we’ll be taking a pass from the park today. I took the dogs out yesterday, but it was just for a short trip down to the water for a quick swim (for them, not me, unfortunately), and then back home. Neither one of them seemed too disappointed about the short walk. Oh well, I took tomorrow off, so I just need to get today over with.

Hawaii’s Governor – Linda Lingle, formerly best know for her part in covering up the whole Obama was born in Kenya scandal – vetoed a bill that would have permitted same-sex civil unions. First off, if gay marriage was gonna be legal anywhere it ought to be legal in the land of grass skirts and coconut bikinis where everybody gets lei’d when they get off the plane. Second, if you look at Lingle’s photo, it seems clear that she needs to get lei’d more often. Third, “Linda Lingle lei’d” is fun to say. And finally, why in the hell does there need to be a law? It seems pretty clear to me that if one person is allowed to marry another peron, then there shouldn’t need to be a law to keep from discriminating against people based on the gender of one or the other or both of those persons. And the whole Rick Santorum “man on dog” nonsense or the “incest” argument is silly, too. A law that says you can’t marry your Schnauzer is fine, because it applies to all humans equally. And you can’t marry your cousin or brother or sister, regardless of your (or their) gender, so that’s not discrimination either. But I guess it’s just too complex an issue for my tiny little brain to understand.

Speaking of losers with lots of ‘Ls’ in their names (not to mention tiny little brains), Lindsay Lohan got 90 days in jail for being stupid or something (can’t say as I’ve really been paying attention, but the headlines are hard to ignore). Not to worry, though. Looks like she won’t really have to do much of her time. It’s kind of too bad, because I think it might do her some good. But mostly I don’t really care (and I’m not quite sure why anybody else would, either.

Always wanted to go to college, but been afraid you might get “credits?” Well you’re in luck, ‘cuz now you can attend Glenn Beck U. Well, not attend really, since it’s online only, but you’ll have the opportunity to learn from the best without acquiring any credit hours.

“Beck University is a unique academic experience bringing together experts in the fields of religion, American history and economics. Through captivating lectures and interactive online discussions, these experts will explore the concepts of Faith, Hope and Charity and show you how they influence America’s past, her present and most importantly her future.”

Professors will include pro-family advocate David Barton, business guru David L. Buckner and Lousiana State University political science professor James R. Stoner Jr., who told Inside Higher Ed he was “delighted” to accept Beck’s offer.

God bless you, Glenn Beck. And God bless Glenn Beck U, too.

While I often visit the Huffington Post, for some reason, I think of it as the “Crappington Post.” Why? Maybe because of its incessant “what did Michelle Obama wear” stories. Or maybe because of its “sports” section, which, at the moment, has headlines like “Serena Williams: I Have ‘Big Boobs, Massive Butt'”, “Surprise! Stunning Lingerie Model WILL Run Naked After World Cup Loss”, “Chris Evert Comes Clean About Greg Norman Split”, and “SHOCK: Psychic Octopus Stuns Germany With World Cup Pick”.

That’s right, sportsfans. A psychic octopus. Not as cute as a prescient panda, but still….

OK, time to get out there and sweat out another day.

Back to work today. Shit. And this heat wave continues – in the 90’s at least until Thursday (and probably Friday) – for us, and everybody else on the East Coast. Now, I know it gets hotter in other places, but that’s why I don’t live in other places (that, and I’ve never had enough ambition to move; hell, after half a century, I know where everything is around here). I’ll take a little snow shoveling over this hot, humid, and buggy shit any day. The weather dork tells me we haven’t had three consecutive 90+ degree days since August 2007, and here we’re looking at five. This is what living in DC for a summer was like.

I’ve had to resort to turning on the a/c (oh well; I guess it’s good to give the new furnace filter a workout). Even worse, I’ve got “on call” duty this week at work, the part time person who backs me up is off this week, and I have an afternoon meeting today, which may mean I won’t be able to get the dogs to the park until tomorrow. It’s too damn hot for them anyway (except they get to go swimming), but it’s hard to explain that to ’em. To make things even more annoying, we’re at the peak of deer fly season (I hate those goddamn things the most – deer flies first, with black flies second and mosquitoes barely beating out no-see-ums for third).

Saturday night, our house got egged. I think somebody has their holidays mixed up. They hit the window screen, and it splattered inside and all over my nice new (and unpainted) window frame and shelf. I sanded it off the wood, but am unsure how to get it out of the screen. Since I had enough beer, I didn’t actually leave the house on the fourth, except to cut the grass in the back yard, so I never saw the front of the house. But when i was leaving to go to the park yesterday, a cop was over next door with my neighbors, and they called me over. Turns out, they got egged, too. And so did the guy on the corner and my crazy next door neighbor (probably other people, too). They’d called the cops, and the same guy had been there that day, too. So then i looked, and the front of our garage got hit, and also my front porch. And my car. Bastids. But I guess I’m glad they weren’t singling me out or something (and glad they didn’t smash windows).

The Queen is coming! The Queen is coming! Is there something wrong with me that I don’t care? I mean, it’s not like she’s the Beatles – or even Ricky Gervais – and didn’t three-quarters of us just get through celebrating our independence from these people? If she gets off the plane wearing that iPod Obama gave her, though, that would be cool.

Well, I reckon I’d better face reality and get ready for work, here. Good thing I took Friday off.

It is Monday, right? It’s getting hard to tell, with all these days off. I could get used to this – too bad I have to go back to work tomorrow. Yesterday was hot, today will be even worse, and tomorrow worse than that. I don’t mind the heat so much if I can hang out in shorts and a t-shirt, but having to dress for work sucks. Speaking of which, I guess I better do my laundry.

Not that I’ve ever given it much thought, but I didn’t know that people modified snowmobiles to run on asphalt (I guess we just don’t get enough winter around here to satisfy everybody). Not only that, I didn’t know you could make them go 160 mph. However, if you’re gonna do that, I guess you’d better try not to hit the guardrail.

Oh well, I guess I’d better try and do something before it gets too damn hot. I’ve resisted using the a/c so far this year, but I might have to break down and get it going today.

Today’s the day when some 78 million Americans don their three-cornered hats and take to the streets in celebration of George Washington’s victory over General Carlos Santa Anna at the Alamo that won the US its independence from Mexico back in 1776. That’s right, it’s Cinco de Mayo once again. Oh, sure, there’s another 233 million godless perverts with powdered wig fetishes that seem to think we were once at war with our good friends the British who taught us everything we know about imperialism and manifest destiny, but, of course, out here in “real” America, we all know that’s a load of crap. Well, the hell with them.

Today there’ll be much paradin’ and skies filled with our brave unmanned aerial vehicles painted with American flags on their tails. Then, after dark, comes an homage to our #1 credit holders – the Chinese – with massive barrages of fireworks, followed by the consumption of copious amounts of spaghetti. God, I love this time of year.

I’m not going to bother looking up who’s on the Boobleheads this morning. No doubt, there’ll be much flag-wavin’ and talk about how remarkable all those white men were when they “borrowed” the idea for their confederation from the godless Haudenosaunee, decided that rich guys (but not their wives and daughters) were created equal, and it was politically inexpedient to abolish slavery (but, what the hell, we’ll count a slave as three-fifths of a human being, as long as the other 40% gets to be owned like livestock).

Yes, God bless America and all that.

As for me, well, I’ll be celebrating the fourth by maybe doing some sanding and painting, and then later trying to decide if it’s worth wasting a bunch of charcoal to cook a couple of turkey burgers for myself. Maybe I’ll just toss a pizza in the oven instead. Either way, I’m gonna need more beer.

Whatever you do today, I hope y’all have a good holiday. Via con Dios, amigos y amigas. And feliz cuarto de Julio.

I was reading this story at the Independent about an IEEE report entitled “Where water meets watts” that says every Google search costs .5 ml of water. Now that Granny’s gone, instead of drinking one pot of coffee a day, I’ve been going three days on one pot, so I figured what the hell, I can spare a few milliliters on needless random searches. That somehow led me to “30 Annoying Things Men Assume About Women.” I’m always one to better myself, so I figured maybe I’d learn something to make me a better human in general, and husband in particular.

After yesterday’s “who did the US declare independence from” Marist poll, I thought maybe one of the 30 things would be “men assume that a third of women don’t know that the US declared independence from England.” But since 20% of men are equally “history challenged,” I figure those two groups are living in ignorant bliss together wearing their teabagger hats while tacking up “These Colors Don’t Run,” “Abortion is Murder,” “Drill Baby Drill,” and “Palin/Cheney 2012” posters on their neighborhood telephone poles, gun store windows, and godless socialist bus shelters. The rest of the women are no doubt married to men who know better but are deliberately keeping their wives in the dark in order to keep them ignorant and subservient because, well, that’s what men do.

But there was nary a mention of history or men’s oppression of women. Instead, it seemed to be a rather stupid list, for the most part.

1. That you want an egg white omelet, not a regular yokey delicious one, because you must be on a diet.

Huh? I don’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about omelets, to be honest. And I don’t think my wife does, either.

2. That you can’t parallel park.

Here in NY, we have to parallel park in order to pass our road test. It’s a skill quickly forgotten by both genders (unless you live in a city where you have to do it every day; fortunately, up here in the provinces, that’s not necessary – no parallel parking required at “the mall”).

3. That you’re in a bad mood because you must be getting your period.

The bad moods of women I’ve known have never been limited to “that time of the month.” Truth be told, they usually have something to do with me.

4. That you don’t like manly alcohols like beer and whiskey.

My wife doesn’t like beer. Neither one of us like whiskey. I’ve known women who love beer, though. Vodka, too. In fact, I’ve often counted on it.

5. That you know nothing about sports.

My sister knows more about sports than most men, and I’ve known lots of women that are sports fans. Why I didn’t marry one remains a mystery to me.

6. That you can’t operate a power drill.

My mother would have had trouble with a drill. My sister and my wife are both champs.

7. That you own 10 million pairs of shoes.

I think I own more shoes than my wife does (assuming you count work boots as shoes).

8. That because you’re a single female, you want a relationship and you obviously want it with them.

I’ve been out of the dating circle (aka, bar scene) for many years now, but, sadly, it was always my experience that whether or not single females wanted relationships, they most decidedly did not want one with me.

9. That you’re a fan of Sandra Bullock, Reese Witherspoon, and Julia Roberts’ movies.

Who doesn’t like Reese Witherspoon?

10. That you have an opinion on Edward versus Jacob.

I have no idea whatsoever who Edward or Jacob is.

11. That you have strong feelings about anniversaries and Valentine’s Day.

Not in my house.

12. That you want kids. Hell, that you even like kids.

Hey, I like kids. Not as much as I like Reese Witherspoon, though.

13. That you’re obsessed with having a wedding.

Not my wife. And my sister eloped so that she didn’t have to have one. Some people are into that kind of thing, though.

14. That you’re already in love with them or that you fell in love with them first.

See #8

15. That you think you’re too fat.

I’m too busy thinking I’m too fat to worry about what they’re thinking (except I figure they’re thinking I’m too fat).

16. That you want Diet Coke, light cream cheese, and your dressing on the side.

That ranks right up there with the ‘yolkey” omelet thing.

17. That you’re angry about something because you’re “bitter.”

Again, if my wife’s pissed, it’s usually related to something I did.

18. That you always need time to put on makeup or do your hair before you leave the house.

My mom? Absolutely. In fact, she typically required an entire day to get ready to go to her night time receptionist job. The wife and my sister? Not so much. I don’t think my sister has ever worn makeup, except maybe to cover up a zit or two in high school.

19. That you don’t know anything about putting together Ikea furniture.

When we get stuff that needs to be put together, my wife is in charge of reading the directions. It works much better than me trying to do it alone.

20. That you don’t know how to cook a steak properly.

Beats me. We don’t eat red meat.

21. That you can’t have sex without feelings involved.

All depends on how much beer and/or whiskey (and vodka) was involved.

22. That the magazine you want them to bring home for you to read when you are sick in bed is US Weekly.

Hell no. It’s “Weekly World News.” Especially if it’s a Bat Boy issue.

23. That you hate scary movies.

My wife likes scary movies – as long as they aren’t too gory. She doesn’t like shit blowing up a lot though.

24. That you’re not into watching porn.

Having once been a porn projectionist, I’ve seen all the porn I care to see.

25. That you are magically equipped with the powers of cooking and cleaning and have been since birth.

Oh, I don’t think it’s a “magical” power.

26. That you know how to sew buttons.

My wife knows how to sew buttons. Than again, so do I (my sister taught me. Or maybe it was mother. Can’t recall). I do not however, know how the hell to thread the sewing machine (talk about magical powers), and have no idea what a ‘bobbin’ is for (other than it’s something that the red, red robin does).

27. That you like “Grey’s Anatomy.”

I think we tried to watch that once and didn’t like it. Or maybe that was “House.”

28. That your pubic hair will always be meticulously groomed.

Not really sure what that means. Are we talking braids or something?

29. That you can’t appreciate a flat screen TV, comprehensive stereo system, and other “complex” electronic devices.

My wife didn’t appreciate that until we got it. Now, she’s pretty much a believer.

30. That you won’t want to watch the latest sci-fi, action, or horror movie.

One of the things we shared was a love of Start Trek (especially TNG). In fact, she went to see the latest Star Trek movie without me.

I hope to find a 30 things women assume about men list out there somewhere so I can dispute it. Unfortunately, unlike this list, they’ll probably all be true.

I was on the way home from the park at lunchtime yesterday, listening to ‘Fresh Air,’ and being subjected to a book review by Maureen Corrigan. For some reason, I find her painful to listen to – probably because of the tediously precise enunciation she no doubt prides herself on – and I find her reviews insipid and annoying (which, with a couple of exceptions, is probably the job description of an NPR critic). She’s the sort of English professor who’d have stood in front of the class declaring as fact that the sled rusting on the front lawn is clearly a microcosm representing the human condition, while, really, it was just a fucking sled.

The nice thing about those teachers was that all you needed to do was parrot back whatever they said, and you were good to go. Of course, that’s not really fair, as I don’t know Corrigan. Maybe she’s a terrific teacher (though her official titles at Georgetown – ‘Critic in Residence’ and ‘Lecturer’ – lead me to believe she’s more of a pontificator than a ‘teacher’). Could be I just don’t like her because, as far as I can tell, she’s never been anything but a critic, and written nothing more than reviews of other people’s books and a memoir about her life reviewing other people’s books. Or it might be I just don’t like her because she’s from Georgetown.

Speaking of Georgetown, the rather unthinkable happened here the other night. Former G’town hoops coach (and the man we loved to hate here for 20 years or so) John Thompson was honored as Citizen of the Year by Temple Adath Yeshurun. For those of you who don’t know, this would be a bit like the Association of Reproductive Health Professionals honoring James Charles Kopp. But times change, and Thompson hasn’t been the GT coach in more than a decade, so we hate him slightly less, and apparently a good time was had by all.

Big weekend coming up in these parts. Aside from the obvious holiday stuff (which will no doubt include three days of fireworks to scare the dogs), it’s “Indy-pendence” weekend at Watkins Glen, as the Grand Prix comes to town. I’m not really a racing fan, but I’ll take Indy cars going around the twisty-turny 3½ mile track at the Glen over watching a bunch of stock cars go around and around a circle any day. Plus, Watkins Glen is a beautiful park and a great place to go hiking and camping (when there’s not a race going on there), as opposed to, say, Talladega, which is a big flat ugly scab in Alabama.

Well, I reckon I better get moving. Lots to do today, with a trip to the Pet Store (Granny left me with no cat litter, and I’ve been making the mistake of feeding them), plus I need to cook up some dog chicken. I was gonna get a haircut, but I did it myself the other day (now I look like a fat Moe Howard, which I suppose is better than looking like the Comic Book Guy on The Simpsons, which is where I was heading), so that’s out of the way. And I converted the furnace HEPA filter to a new, better, easier to change version last night, so that’s out of the way, too. I’m expecting a replacement sideview mirror for my van today (though it’s coming FedEx, so who knows where they’ll actually deliver it. The dogs have to go out to the park of course, and there’s still lots of work to do in the living room. Busy, busy, busy.

Oh well. Beats working.