Happy Birthday, America!

Happy Birthday, America!  Trying to be upbeat this 4th, instead of beat up.  Challenging endeavor.  What with the junk SCOTUS dumped on us in recent days.  Thanks to John Roberts & sCrew, an illegal alien can now wander about Arizona with impunity while claiming military honors he never received.  On the bright side, though, he is now compelled to buy health insurance.  So, there's that.

Keep in mind the following::

1.  Barrycare is now a tax.  If you say "not fair!" and refuse to comply, they sic the IRS on you.
2.  IRS will haul you into court.  If you say "not fair!" the judge won't care and he'll try to take your money.
3.  If you say "not fair!" and don't pay, you'll go to court again.
4.  Except this time, it'll be criminal court.  If you say "not fair!" and don't pay, you go to jail for tax evasion.
5.  While in jail, if you say "not fair!" and try to leave, a large man with a gun will put bullet holes in you.

Wait a sec... my timephone is ringing...  it's a Continental Soldier at Valley Forge.  All he said was "I lost my toes to frostbite for this?!?!"

...with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

How 'bout more divine Providence and more sacred Honor?  And maybe go a little lighter on the Hope and the Change, OK?

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"But wait!" sayeth the rubes.  "This mess will be repealed!"  So far, the best case we can see is that we hold the House and pick up enough Senate seats to have a slight majority.  Does anybody really see Boehner and McConnell unfurling the Great Banner of Repeal and sounding "charge!" on the bugle?  Yeah, me neither.

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OK, enough of that.  Time for a change of subject...  I am not yet used to having grandkids all day every day.  I am not a "kid" guy.  For that reason, I made VERY SURE never to have any of my own.  Yeah, I picked up some stepkids in marriage, but they were already middle-school age and older.  So this whole baby and toddler thing is new, and I'm still trying to develop a taste for it.  Without much success. I admit, though, that it is kind of endearing when the 2.5 year old comes home and yells "Papa!" and jumps into my lap.  However, her knees are equipped with the latest in lap-jumping GPS technology.  Groin Precision Strike, that is.  Don't think I'll ever acquire a taste for that.

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Some pointy heads claim they've found the Higgs Boson.  They say that the Higgs Boson creates a Higgs Field, which gives other particle mass.  The analogy they use is that subatomic particle moving through a Higgs Field is affected by the field like a macro- object would be affected by being dragged through molasses.  I don't know what that's supposed to mean.  But that's OK, 'cuz the entire study of quantum stuff seems like voodoo to me anyway.  As long as it makes the pointy heads happy, then hey, go with it, man!

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Having a 2.5 year old in the house means every surface of every object everywhere has on it an invisible glaze of sticky kid stuff.  This sticky kid stuff can be smelt and felt, but not seen or heard.  It was a scientific mystery that had to be unlocked, so I submitted a sample to the lab for a qualitative analysis.  The guy in the white coat told me that the sticky kid stuff is comprised of equal parts snot, apple juice, and Higgs Bosons that have been dragged through molasses.

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I deserve a Noble Prize for that, but the white lab coat guy will probably win it instead.  Bunghole.

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The 4 month old doesn't talk yet.  But she makes interesting noises between fits of crying.  One of the noises is a heh^hehheh_hehheh thing that is a dead ringer for the noise Beavis makes when he sees something on fire.  Dunno if I should be proud or terrified.

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I have two big slobbery dogs.  Roughhousing with the pooches gets slobber all over me.  Doesn't bother me at all.  Wife gets disgusted by it.  "Eh, it'll wash right off."  Baby spit, however is like kryptonite to me.  One tiny bit of it on me or my clothes, and I'm freaking out, looking for a moist towelette, running to the bathroom, screaming, prophesying Doom on All Mankind, etc, etc.   I don't know what is so gross about it, but, just wow.

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On this day in 1985, I was 16 years old and goofing off at the lake behind Savage Rapids Dam (which has since been removed by eco-do-gooders).  We were lighting off fireworks and having a good ol' time.   Many of the fireworks were of the "illegal in Oregon" variety.  One of them was like a bottle rocket but way bigger.  The rocket part was about the size of a bratwurst, and the stick was about as long as my arm.  After being lit, it tipped over at the last second and went more-or-less horizontal over the water.  Coming to rest in a patch of dead weeds and dried-out blackberries, it started a fire.  My granddaughter no doubt would have heh^hehheh_hehheh'd at the sight of it, but I went more "oh crap! oh crap! oh crap!"  Or, ahem, words to that effect.  Thankfully, it burned itself out after only a minute or so.  I could then get back to lighting off fireworks and looking forward to July 5th - because the bank that had approved my car loan would be OPEN and I'd be able to pick up the '69 Camaro SS I'd been saving up for.

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Unfortunately, I didn't know how to drive a 4-speed at the time, so my Dad had to drive the Camaro home for me.  Embarrassment of embarrassments.  Within 24 hours, though, I could drive it smoothly and do burnouts at will.

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Wait a sec... another call on the timephone...  Yep, it's that Continental Soldier again.  He said "Overpowered gas-hogging American musclecars doing burnouts?  That's worth losing toes over!"