Got word from Master Scott Alden about Real Genius being released on DVD this June,

...now I see Top Secret is slated for July.

"Why is that toy on your head?"

Now, it's really not my place to say anything good or bad about religion.  I'm an atheist.  However, it's hard not to say something about the fringe people.

I found these two icons on the web and just had to buy them.  I couldn't help myself.  Does God really care about sports?  If s/he does, what about the poor pitcher on the other team?  I mean, the other team is pretty much screwed, right?

...and hockey?  Jesus helping kids play hockey?

I'd like to eat out, ...at!

...okay, it's a little funny ;)  Master Wolfen found this doll in a Japanese hobby magazine called Hobby Japan.  I'm trying to find it on their page, but for the life of me can not.  Anyone know Japanese enough to help?

What is wrong with the world!

 Quake hits Afghanistan, ...again?

Thanks, Master Cheng, for this picture of a small piece of perfection.

Related to yesterday's pleading update, and the green foliage in Tuesday's update, I just got my first issue of High Times at home last night.  I haven't seen that magazine for decades, ...mainly because I don't like looking at things I can't have!

...and the foliage is silk.  Very cool office adorments that can found at Silkweed's.  I was going to put the potted pot replica in the window, ...you know, for the look of authenticity, ...then I remembered the Dallas Police are right across the street, as well as the FBI next door.

Caught this story on CNN this morning.   I still have my NORML T-shirt from 1975.

...who cares, the Lord has a throne ;)

Just got my upgraded complimentary Bionomics Seating Systems chair from Dr. Jeff!  This one is customized with a Levelord swatch blazed in red across the back.

Awesome, awesome, awesome!

This reminded me of something strange over here in the States.  We obviously still have strong ties to England.  The past decade of global squirmishes reveals how closely the post-Colonial bond remains.

Perhaps it's all the "American" history we learn in school, or the shared language.  Perhaps it's some clandestine political thing, but we (read: "crackers" if you're not a WASP) tend to hold our British heritage dear.

What is strange about this is that, for the life of me, I can not remember one single Caucasoid that has ever told me their family came from England.  It's almost always Ireland, Italy, or Germany, ...or some mix thereof.

Note:  Please don't take these statements as completely ignorant.  Times have changed and so has our country.  This is all coming from a middle-class honky that went to elementary school in New England in the 1960s.

This embarrassing occasion happened during my first year at Apogee while I was visiting an old girl friend in Santa Barbara.  Any of you who have lived in Southern California long enough know that you tend to see movie and TV celebrities running about doing their normal-life business.  It can be quite cool sometimes, …it can also be quite embarrassing, especially when you really do run into them!

My girl friend and I were in a Long’s Drug Store on a Saturday afternoon.  We were cruising up and down the aisles looking for something or another and made a quick turn into the next aisle.  At the same time a bald, visor-clad gentleman walked straight into my girl friend as he came around from the opposite direction.  I mention these two characteristics in particular because that’s all we really saw… …this shiny head haloed by a blue sports visor.

He looked like someone trying to follow train tracks or something as he walked staring only at the ground.  However, as he passed directly, the corner of her hand basket caught the hurrying shopper square in the groin!  He huffed a painful “Oooof!” and looked up long enough for me to realize that I definitely knew who this dude was!  …this guy as one of the captains on one of the new Star Treks!  I didn't watch the new Star Treks at the time, so I recognized his face, but couldn't remember his name.

My girl friend and I apologized as he scurried off not saying a word himself.  We continued to the next aisle and she started reading labels on whatever we were there to buy… …you know the story, guys,  …and me standing there wondering just how long it’s gonna take to buy a bottle of whatever, …anyways, within a minute or two we were back-to-back with our clandestine victim.   He had swung back around again from the other end of the aisle and we stood looking at the shelves in one direction while he, who I now know was Patrick Stewart, stood looking in the opposite direction just behind us.  I couldn’t for the life of me remember his real name at the time, though.  Feeling a bit star-struck, as well as genuinely sorry for the ramming incident, I said “Hey! That’s that Bill Shatner guy!” in a voice loud enough for the entire aisle to hear.

Well, I thought this was pretty funny when I rehearsed it in my head just before actually saying it, …but noone else did! …especially Mr. Stewart!  …not funny at all, Richard!  He looked around and peered a death stare straight at me like some alien from one of his shows!  The visor thing wasn’t important any more, I guess?   …I don’t know; I was confused.   …anyhow, I will never forget the chill that ran down my spine, and then back up again.  In addition to being shocked, I was truly embarrassed… …not only by the incident itself, but also by the look on my girl friend’s face (who said she could of told me it wasn’t a funny thing to say if I had asked her first) after I explained all that she missed once we got outside the store.

Congrats, Bro!

...or in other words, if you can't smoke it, eat it, or spelunk in it, ...why bother!

Yesterday was a sad day, and it was a great day.  I have been watching my Mom's dogs while she got set-up in Florida.  It's been three months, and I finally sent them off yesterday.  I must admit a little tweak came to heart as I opened their travel kennel one last time for a final petting.

No obligatory "Welcome home, Rich!" petting sessions.  No feeding or trips to the backyard to un-feed (seems like that's what a dog really is, something you put food into one end, massage [read: 'pet' perverts!] in the middle, and wait for it to come out the other).  No cleaning and filling watering dishes.  No preparing the week's food supply or washing puppy beds.  No poo piles or pee puddles.  No setting the thermostat at 80ºF (27ºC), which is a hellish temperature for me.  No avoiding any loud noises, like loading the dishwasher or clanging a baking dish.  No dreading the next thunderstorm that will literally scare the shit out of the dogs with each electrical clap.  Nothing, ...just me!

What's kind of weird is that these are really my Dad's dogs.  As much as he loved my Mom and me, I think if he were given 10 minutes to come back to life, he'd spend them with these two Chihuahuas.  That is one reason they are so hard to take care of.   He spoiled them rotten, which, I guess, is the real reason you get a dog.

These dogs, Gloria and Dinah, are almost 17 years old.  That's old in dog years.   I remember visiting my folks in Connecticut the last three years before Dad blew a cranial gasket in 1999.  I would make sure to give the dogs one last petting with the thought that one or both may not be alive when I come to visit again.  It was so weird to then, in the end, have them living with me in Dallas and Dad being the one to pop off.  You can only count on your fingers, nothing else.