Forgot to tell you, Mr. Waterbullet...

November one, OU vs. NU, I am planning to prepare an authentic Mexican dinner feast including hogshead tamales, tacos de lengua, and cabritos, and possibly other things I love considered by most gringos to be inedible. I will use recipes from friends truly in the know, and this will be a labor of love for my family and my nicest friends. It is TBA whether this will be dinner or lunch. Possibly it could be both with a 3:00 kick-off...

Why I love John Oliver

http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=185196&title=president-bushs-legacy

Bad Parenting 101

Damned genetics! My 10-year-old son is a Beatles nut to the nth degree. The good news is this obsession takes up space once reserved for Pokemon, the soulless Asian export fighting heroes. The bad news is it's an obsession about as bad as the one I had for the Beatles. In answering J's questions about lyrics such as "Roll up for the mystery tour" and "Turn off the old mind relax and float downstream..." I elected to answer honestly. They're good musicians and entertainers, but no one to serve as a role models. You shouldn't do it, but that's what they're singing about. So J tells Sweet Pea (Mommy) that he knows the Magical Mystery Tour is about marijuana simulates rolling a joint as I (without even thinking about it and probably jonesing a little) did in explaining it, and she correctly freaks. Then I start second guessing. After all, I had no idea what dope was when I was 10. So I am backpedaling pretty hard, and at the same time still a little married to the honesty idea. I mean, what if he tries a little reefer in junior high? I'd like him to feel like he can be as candid about that as he would be about anything else he might be doing. Sweet Pea and I are debating the point in front of him (more bad parenting). I send him off to YouTube to listen to Ringo's No No Song (No no no no, Idon't smoke it no more...) and the issue is temporarily at rest. So my sweet little boy is potentially prematurely "cool", and it's my own fault. Gadzooks.

Political anxiety

I live in Oklahoma and feel that much of great importance is at stake in the elections. I realize I am powerless to significantly impact what will happen. I feel that looking at new polling data every day is insufficient. I love my man, but hate him as a candidate alost as much as the other guy. I get really, really angry. And I hate Sarah Palin to the extent that I have involuntarily lost my crush on Tina Fay as a result. I need a therapist and some good whiskey. I control myself, but in my head... I am a complete basket case.

My letter to the editor at the Oklahoman

I am a Democrat. Most of us are Christians, others are not. My politics are related to my religious belief, but I will explain this to you if and only if you ask. I believe that the Bible should be read daily. I believe God's law applies to all mankind, but that not all aspects can be wisely applied to man's governance. My presidential vote in Oklahoma will never count, thanks to the Electoral College. I believe in America and in personal responsibility. I cannot fathom why anyone might be afraid of me.
Liberalism and socialism are not remotely alike. Look it up! Boren and Henry should not apologize for supporting Obama in Oklahoma any more than Schwarzenegger should apologize for supporting McCain in California. I have never killed a fetus, and have personally fought to save two and won. Only Congress can technically declare war or balance the budget, but that is not how it really goes any more. There is plenty for us all to rightly blame on Bush, and plenty for Democrats to blame on ourselves.
This bit of honesty can hopefully clear up a lot of third-person nonsense disguised here as cogent thought last week.

To reunite with my old friends, to share the absurd, to inform and to entertain, I begin this blog with this. My friends (not like the nervous-habit, John McCain "my friends" but honest-to-God "my friends"): Ignore me when I rant. Forgive me when I offend. Hoist me upon your shoulders, fan me with palm leaves and carry me through a parade in my honor when I am the least bit clever.

Maybe next time...