Like Yo n' stuff

Greetings, earthlings.

To be perfectly honest, I'm feeling pretty depressed at the moment. Work has been miserable as of late, as the process of ripping apart our department proceeds unchecked by the spiteful attention-deficient powers that be. Usually, blogging has been a fun outlet for me, and I've used it quite well to channel ye olde frustrations, concerns etc. and flush them right out of the system. But for the past month I haven't had anything to say----I sit in front of the screen and nothing comes out. Oddly, this doesn't apply to professional output: if anything, I've been cranking out the work at a furious rate as of late. But blogging, not much.

The work stress (and with it the uncertainty of looking for work on the side) is compounded lately by the homefront, as the adjustment to the Rule of Four continues. Things have been going well for the big kids---the eldest just started third grade and she's having fun (although not as much as at her old school), and the big guy just started first grade, which has its own daily ups and downs. The frickin' County only alots 20 minutes for recess for them----didn't we fight a Revolution against the Hanoverian kings to stop such nonsense? (Sorry, Rob, I realize the Revolution is still a touchy subject). Last week was made long by parent events almost every night of the week, including my favorite "parent night" at school, which featured a 45 minute powerpoint presentation from the principal. I'd like to personally strangle the inventor of powerpoint, burn their house down, and murder their cats: in the hands of the officious, it is an instrument of torture worthy of Torquemada. Forget hookers, panty hats and tarty pop music as things to "soften up" the detainees at Gitmo: how about 45 minutes with your typical elementary school bureaucrat with an animated powerpoint about strategic goal implementation, while sitting them on metal chairs in an unairconditioned gym. You'd have them screaming out Osama's Netflix account habits in no time flat.

The worst thing about last week though was the first Cub Scouts meeting. Now, Scouting was an important part of growing up for me, and I had always looked forward as something to share it with my kids. We get to the meeting, and first of all there's about 30 minutes of purely administrative stuff for the grown-ups. Okay, because the kids are doing some organized activity? Nope, they're just sitting there, bored to tears. This is followed by their first introduction to Scouting values.....................the introduction of the peanut/popcorn sales. Here's the kicker: if they don't sell $200 worth (and hint hint wink wink we all know its the parents who get the suckers at work to buy this crap), their den doesn't get a pizza party. And the kid who sells the most gets an X-Box, with the runner-up getting $100. What the fuck is up with that? What type of lessons/values are you teaching the kids with that? And what the heck are you teaching the kids with all the opportunities to raise money for Hurricane Relief (hey, how about adopting a troop/pack in that area and raising money so they can get supplies), or how about "how can you as a scout help your family prepare for natural disasters?) it's get your parents to cut a big fat check because it's all about the Benjamins.

But wait, it got worse.

After that, they sent the kids outside to run around, and then came back in for the learning exercise which was...................a member of the county's SWAT team complete with all his gear: M4, HK submachine gun, bags for flashbangs, etc. etc. etc. etc. Yep, six year olds really need to hear about "dynamic entry raids on drug houses"--this in a county where they are more likely to arrest some jethros for moonshining than anything.

I was in the Scouts in an area that was very pro-military, and the leadership was heavily influenced from the Marines, Navy, and Coasties, with the occasional odd Army type. And the little kids were NEVER exposed to anything like this: the closest would be as Webelos, we toured a nuclear sub (one of the kid's dad was the XO or something). But never something like this, up close and personal (I'm not counting visits from a Civil War/Revolutionary War type dude firing off a Brown Bess in the parking lot: don't try to go all Glenn Reynolds or I'm going to have to come over and womp your arse). Just ENTIRELY age-inappropriate for 6 year olds.

The fun has come from Robbo's god-daughter, who is packing the full value of being two into her last pre-birthday weeks. Basically, whatever I do I'm "MEAAAANNNN!" Now, I realize she's two and I'm 39, so absorb it, laugh, and do your thing. Which is the usual operating procedure. It's just lately, with patience and good cheer ground to a fine pulp at work it makes it a little much sometimes.

That, and the little guy who decided 7 1/2 months was the perfect time to start crawling like a demon-possessed crab out to snag an entire jar of Baco-bits trailing from the non-chalant picnic basket of the doomed.

So that's me as of late---tired, somewhat cranky at times, with chances of extreme bouts of crying followed by catatonic paralysis later in the week.

Back to your regular programming.

And is it just me, or do you like INDC Bill's "White Album" phase?