Trying to exercise some "girl power" in Kenya, several women's groups have organized a boycott on sex to compel their significant others to "play nice" with each other. The boycott time frame is for the staggering term of one week, which, in Kenya, is apparently a really, really long time to go without sex. That picket line had better be tight, as Kenya is polygamous. Asked for comment, a Kenyan official indicated that he was unaware of any boycott.
Joyce Kilmer wrote about "Trees". Easy to see how JRR Tolkien coulda come up with Treebeard and the other Ents about whom he wrote in the Ring Trilogy. This one looked like it was diving into the earth. If I'd've had my act together, I'd've posted this for our just-past Earth Day. Suffice it to say, my act ain't always together.
I got there in time to watch the first wave of runners pass. Walterboro Running Club veteran Michael is in the thick of things.
The next wave- the "New Wave"- of runners is more my speed. WRC stalwarts, Audra and Kevin, lead the charge here. 
A scant 15 minutes and change later, Flash (a/k/a ORINTHAL STRIGGLES) and Speedy (a/k/a ERIC ASHTON) break the figurative tape (for full race results, check This site). Had I been on time to the race, these are two people I would never, ever have seen up close. Here, I raise a pet peeve: Competition can spur us to achieve more; competition can also reveal the more unseemly qualities we also all possess in different degrees. These dudes at left are grand physical specimens, to be sure, but they weren't the only runners/joggers/walkers competing. About 10 minutes later, I watched a petite redheaded gal literally push aside a burly Marine at the tape. They were both inside the cones, but not yet to the finish line. She improved her position from about 70th to 69th by pushing this clueless, but large, dude out of the way. Nothing noteworthy at stake. Man, we sell our souls cheap.
WRC president, Kevin Campbell, had no comment about his finish. "Nothing to see here. Move along".
Yeah, I know it's not Christmas anymore; still, cruel jokes are always in season. OSS means "Out of School Suspension". Funny stuff, FC Middle School. Funny stuff.
The Lads and I played Monotony, er, Monopoly last night. We used to play it all the time, but haven't played in a couple of years. Though it's not exactly accurate to call board games a productive use of time, it was nice that they took a break from the blinking screens of World of Warcraft and MySpace, if only for awhile. Taylor ended up smoking his twin and me.
This is where I spent most of the night.
Okay, I don't really have anything to go with the picture. I just liked it. Anyway, I was gonna post the Aerosmith video of "Livin' on the Edge", but, naturally, embedding was disabled. So, I went with a cover of the Beatles' "Getting Better". It's more accurate anyhow.
After my six mile jaunt with the Round O Rowdies Running Club on Sunday (now you know the genesis of yesterday's post), I toured the area. Somewhere between Round O and Canadys, I spotted this donkey farm. It's almost worth learning to raise donkeys just to be able to name your ranch accordingly, ya know?
Before the Bucs. Before the Bandits. Before there were any "Football" teams in Tampa, there was a Futbol team in Tampa. Sure, there were minor league baseball franchises in the Tampa Bay area: the Tampa Tarpons, et al. But Tampa's first "premier" league sports team was a soccer team. Before Beckham was bending Ginger Spice, George Strawbridge brought in British star Sir Rodney Marsh to spice up the Rowdies. Plus The Rowdies had the wonderful slogan "Soccer is a Kick in the Grass". Good times.
I've been going at life kinda half-hearted of late. Tentative. Whether at work or at play, I've been second-guessing myself and, consequently, doing a whole lot of not a whole lot. But life doesn't have a "pause" button (have we learned nothing from Adam Sandler's classic movie "Click"?). That's got to change. Time to shake things up. Like my brother, the Amazing AndyMan says, "If you're gonna be a bear, be a Grizzly". Work at work. Don't play at running; run. And have a good time. We don't have that many days on this celestial ball. Shoot, Michael Keaton, Alec Baldwin, Gena Davis and Winona Ryder all know how to Shake it, right?
I wonder sometimes about the confluence of life's events that bring us to where we are. The Masters golf tournament actually got me thinking about that. Argentine golfer Angel Cabrera, pictured at left, won the tournament in a "sudden death" playoff, even after knocking his ball into the woods on the first hole of the playoff. He'd hit this shot into another tree where it would improbably carom out into the middle of the fairway, saving his chance at par and allowing him to stay in the game for the next hole, where he'd win the tournament. It was like he was meant to win. Poor 48 year-old Kenny Perry, who'd lead the tournament for the entire day up until the final hole, seemed meant to lose it. Life's like that. 
I thought about going with "He is risen, indeed. Hallelujah!" or something like that. Ultimately, I went with chocolate bunnies. I'm gonna get the Lads to church this morning. So far they have not risen. I figure a chocolate bribe might help. 'Course, there might be some negative fall-out once I get them there, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
A new record! I scanned the store sale paper this week, and used coupons for double discounts to save more than $71 on what would have been $205 worth of groceries. That's more than a third off the total. I got meat. I got cereal. I got shaving cream. Except for one gallon of milk, not a thing did I get that wasn't discounted. Yeah, Baby!
My ex used to get these catalogues from ABC Distributing all the time. The packages from UPS would arrive, and Tina'd be all excited. Cheap brass-plated tubing for an avocado stand, or a penguin Christmas ornament or some other trinket that even the Manhattan Indians wouldn't've taken in trade would brighten her day. The fine folks at ABCD must not've gotten the memo that Tina hadn't been around here in many years. 
This chaotic-looking basket is supposed to be a decoration? Shoot, my bathroom wastebasket looks just like it (and I didn't have to spend a dime!).
Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that the sentiment on these bereavement garden signs is exactly what your deceased mom or dad would have wanted. I'm not sure that the low, low price of $7.95 is actually a plus, here.
A light that makes your faucet water look blue when the water is room temperature and turns red when the water is hot. That way I don't have to pay attention while I wait to get hot water. Wonder if it turns blue again when the hot water's gone when I've come back from reading my newspaper?
A branding set to sear words onto your steaks. So, I could put names on them, or, like, "Eat Me"? Okay, that's pretty cool.
I like movies, but don't get out a bunch, so I finally succumbed to those omni... er, pervasive... Netflix ads and signed up for two free weeks. My first movie was Simon Pegg's "Run, Fatboy, Run". I dig Simon Pegg. I loved his zombie flick, "Shaun of the Dead", and enjoyed his take on cop movies, "Hot Fuzz". This time Pegg is Dennis, a security guard for a London lingerie shop. Dennis is essentially the same lovable deadbeat character Pegg played in the earlier movies, only with a different sidekick. As in those movies, the main theme is his quest for redemption. Boy, he needs it this time. He left his beautiful, pregnant fiancee at the altar five years earlier, and her attempt to "move on" with a new American boyfriend, Whit, played by Hank Azaria, prompts him to accept a challenge to run a marathon to win back his girl, or at least her respect. Decent symbolism in the marathon, as Pegg's character has run away from just about every challenge he's ever faced. When he discovers that his babymamma has become engaged to Whit, he decides to give up on the marathon. He's jolted out of his pity-party when he's told his son has run away. He finds him, listens to his boy's tale of woe, and responds thusly:
I watched the Mens' College Basketball Championship game between the North Carolina Tarheels and the Michigan State University Spartans last night. Each of the schools has won multiple national championships, and each has one with their current coaches, Tom Izzo from MSU and Roy Williams from UNC, but their programs are vastly different.
Cowboys and Indians. Cops and Robbers. For many moons, boys have found excuses to shoot things. The newest thing is airsoft b.b. guns. They're like regular b.b. guns, but they look more realistic and they shoot plastic b.b.s instead of metal ones. The Lads have been in airsoft wars of late. No problems so far. Well... maybe a few. It's those durn b.b.s. They're everywhere. Swept and mopped the floors today, and those suckers were omnipresent. The Lads' interest in airsoft seems to be diminishing, but those stupid b.b.s are not.
Purple wisteria flowers are omipresent for about two weeks; then the flowers fade or fall until the next year.
"Grapes! Huh-huh-huh. Love you, Caroline (or Dad)". A few years ago, my daughter pointed out that the flowers look like bunches of grapes. Since then, we've played a game to see who can spot the "grapes" first. The Lads and I play now, too, though it will always be my girl's game. The winner gets nothing but satisfaction, but the Lads go at it with vigor.
Most of my favorite albums are formative; there are albums that I discovered when I was about the age the Lads are now. Elton John, David Bowie, The Who, and BTO all had albums out when I was a teen. American Graffiti involved older music, but the movie and album (for you kids out there, an album is like a c.d., only bigger) came out when I was a teenager. Most of my favorite albums, then, have a tinge of nostalgia blended in with them. Not so with this choice. 
We're supposed to be attacked by bugs today. 
Not these kind of bugs.
Not this kind of Bugs. Actually, they're calling it a worm.
I set my SuperAntiSpyware against it. So far, so good. Maybe this was all an April Fool's Day joke afterall.
