Bluegrass Junction

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XM, despite my fundamental objections to actually paying for radio, really does assemble great playlists from a broad variety of genres, most of which I never hear on terrestrial commercial stations.

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The Livin's Easy

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The solstice is still over a week away, but the good ol' summertime is rapidly ramping up around here. We've attended graduations, seen three films on the epic scale (Caspian: OK, Indy: Good, Iron Man: teh w1nz0rz!!one!), celebrated birthdays, watered our lawn for the first time ever, and visited a favorite raspas stand. This week I'm driving out to Beaumont for one of Christina's Zeta events. Actually, that understates the oddness of this journey a bit: she's in charge of organizing activities for the husbands/boyfriends/"it's complicated"-s of her sorority sisters while they have Very Important Meetings. If there weren't any guys in attendance, she wouldn't be going; and if she wasn't, I wouldn't, but since we are, I get to be in on the fun (and, in fact, did much of the research for said "fun"). Since she's going, though, and it's a well-known fact that I happily accompany her hither and yon, her chapter, composed i...
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An Anniversary

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Christina and me, this April 30, on our way to celebrate our first wedding anniversary I didn't post this on our proper anniversary, so I'm posting it just after our second dating anniversary, which was yesterday. Two years ago, I was relaxing on the futon in the room at my parents' house where I was staying (I hesitate to call it "my" room, as it was actually my sister's, and bore the marks of her Veggie Tales affliction) after a day of work. I ambled into a Yahoo singles chat room suggested by a lady I had gone out with a few nights before, and was promptly informed that dinner was ready. Leaving myself logged in, I went to eat. Upon my return, I found several messages from women greeting me, and a few more from chatbots. I responded to each in their turn, among them a simple "hello" from ladypimpjuice96. As the evening progressed, other threads of conversation slowed and drifted away, leaving us bantering back and forth. Our discussion ranged from...
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The Nightly Show

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I read somewhere recently that one's dreams are among the most boring things possible to discuss with another. I suppose this stems from the same you-had-to-be-there factor that makes stories about what happened that one time at that party seem so funny to the teller, but less so to the audience. Except, in this case, the teller wasn't really "there," either. All the same, I've had a few doozies lately, like the one where I chivarously defended a female crank-powered television designer against her knife-wielding chauvinist colleague, and later shoved him out the front door of my childhood home, only to turn around in the foyer and be confronted by an extraordinarily tall and thin man in a grey suit and a blank, glossy black mask. Last night's was less creepy. My wife and I had moved to help Nona (that is, my dear maternal grandmother) with the small Old West tourist trap that she ran. There was a dusty main street lined with storefronts, chief among which was...
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