The Storm that wasn't, and things that were.......

Oh well, so I gave Ernesto more credit than he deserved, but hey, masculine storms have only been around for a few years, they haven't quite got the hang of this "wide swath of destruction" thing yet. Give them a few more seasons, and the guys will show those girls what barometric reconstruction is all about.

This hurricane season is really starting off weird. By this time last year the whole SouthEast was getting rearranged, but we're off to a slow, and somewhat anemic start this year. I think I heard someone saying something about Saharan dust storms covering the Atlantic and possibly cutting down on the heat engine these storms depend on for food. Who knows. However, before you "Ain't no such thing as global warming" dimwits start chiming in about how last year was just a "cycle", I would like to suggest that you put your money where you brains should be (should be plenty of room in there to stash some cash) and buy up some nice beach-front property down here in sunny Florida, if you can find insurance. There's a storm forming out there somewhere with your name on it. It wants to meet you. I LIKES you. You two were made for each other. Me, I'm gonna hold my breath up here in the sweet spot and ask Mother Gaia to save her wrath for the likes of you.

As irritated as I've become with the genre, I have to admit that they put on one kick-ass concert on Rock Star Super Nova last night. After the first few performances, I was thinking that my personal favorite, Dilana, really had her work cut out for her for the first time in the competition. These guys were ROCKIN! Well, true to her history of kicking ass and taking names, Dilana kicked ass, and took names! The only thing keeping her from fronting Super Nova is going to be the public, who in the past have at times proven that good taste is not a given. Not that in the grand scheme of things I really give a rats ass who gets to get rich living a life of rock and roll debauchery with a manufactured rock band, but I think she's truly talented, as are all these survivors, and I wish her the best.

I would like to thank the two, maybe three people who have been keeping up with my short story. I am so thankful, in fact, that anyone noticed it was there, that If someone steals the idea and publishes it, winning the Nebula Award for Science Fiction in the process, that I will personally shoplift a few copies of the book, sign them, and send them to you. I am nothing without my loyal fans. Knowing my luck, it'll be Stephen King, in which case I'll really feel guilty for having done it. Stolen the books, that is.

The wife's finger is beginning to resemble an appendage again. It's slightly shorter and still kinda weird looking, but it could pass as a finger on just about any hand. We are hoping like hell that the bone in there is fusing like it's supposed to, because we really don't want to go thru that "cut it open and install some more hardware" fiasco again. I'm considering telling her to just let them cut it off and making a nice charm out of it, but I'm not sure she'll consider it a very charming idea. Me so bad.

The politicians are back to their mudslinging again. You see, when you personally don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to convincing voters that you should be elected, the only thing left to do is make your opponent seem to be satan incarnate, or at least a liberal. What I think is hilarious is how many of our conservative wannabe's are invoking the name of Ronald Reagan rather than "that guy who's president". "No folks, we had nothing to do with whatever has what's-his-name so down in the polls, but rest assured, we are gonna keep doing what we've been doing these past eight years, only BETTER!" Oh, really. Thanks.

Meanwhile, DUBYA is down in what's left of the Gulf Coast area promising to help them folks rebuild......one of these days. He's so proud of those folks who put their noses to the grindstone and stayed the course and.............God bless America! Please explain to me why this man wasn't lynched?

Continuing on, average Americans continue to put up with gas they can't afford, insurance they can't get, and low-low wages at Walmart. What was it, two hundred odd years ago, a bunch of lowly colonists got so pissed off about taxes on tea (Juan Valdez hadn't made the big time yet), they threw a party and caffeinated Boston harbor? The fish were said to be rather feisty for weeks afterwards, Oh, and a bloody revolution occurred shortly thereafter. What's happened to us since those halcyon days when people just didn't put up with shit? When did we get so lazy that the idea of having a King again rather than having to do the work of democracy become so attractive? How is it so many so-called citizens don't seem to have a clue as to what is in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights? I don't know about you, but the country I grew up in seems to have gone missing. So, if come election time, you're not to busy polishing your SUV and firing some more employees to get the stock price up, go out and vote conservative again, and let's just put this once-great nation out of it's misery.

Last night there was another farewell post from Shandi. Me, I'm hoping it's just another in a long series of farewell tours, the kind that aging rock bands like to conduct, having discovered they can't get what they've done most of their lives out of their systems. Shandi helped set the standard in amateur blogging, whether or not she believes it or not. Her fans know. She may think that the 15 odd minutes every other day that she devoted to blogging was stealing time from her life, but eventually she's going to understand that those 15 minutes were as fulfilling a part of that life as all those other things she wants to pursue. The withdrawal pains will creep in, the shakes, the night-sweats, the foaming at the mouth, and she'll persevere, stealing herself against the pain, telling herself over and over again that blogging was just a silly fling she needs to get over. She will start having a strange aversion to computers, and will seek counseling. Then one day, she'll find herself tied in four-point restraints on the psych ward of her local hospital, repeating over and over again, "Tim, The Michael, Lights, oh, the LIghts!!!!!!!"

Oh, the humanity...............

Till next time, this is THE Michael, wasting another fifteen minutes of your time and mine. Peace!