GIFT FROM AMAZON PROTECTED BY SURPLUS CARRIE UNDERWOOD CD'S

I had a truly miserable day yesterday. The only saving grace was the laugh I got from opening a package from Amazon and seeing this:


Not pictured: the gift that I had ordered for Amy at the bottom of the box. After staring at the box for a while, I finally figured out that the CD's had been included simply to hold the gift in place and protect it from damage in transit. (There were 18 of them, plus 10 Rascal Flatts and 5 Michael Buble albums.)

I don't know whether they were out of their little airpack stuff or if a disgruntled employee was having his last day or what, but this was the only remotely good thing that happened to me yesterday and it made me laugh.

PLANNED TIME OFF RAPIDLY DEVOLVES INTO NIGHTMARE OF MEDICAL EMERGENCIES, CRIB ASSEMBLY

I have been working like a dog and recently figured out that I hadn't had a real vacation since our wedding in November 2005 (and it's questionable whether that should count). So, I planned to take last week off to recharge and take a little time for myself.

This was largely prevented by serious family health issues, both with my wife and my father. Both are doing fine now and there is no humor to be found. There was some unrelated family drama. In addition, half of my paycheck vanished due to a direct-deposit snafu, and Wells Fargo went ahead and deducted our crippling December mortgage payment on the old house in Virginia even though the sale closed in November. (The kicker is that Wells Fargo will not return the money, but hey, who needs money at Christmas?)

By the time I hit Friday, I figured there was no point in trying to salvage the vacation so I committed to assemble the crib for our baby who's due in February. Ironically, the brand name of the crib is "Simplicity." It was mostly okay actually, but it took a long time. The last step was to simply screw in two bolts, both ostensibly "Part G." Except that one of the "G" bolts was half an inch shorter than the other and completely useless. So, it remains unfinished until I can get a single replacement bolt.

Maybe for my next vacation someone can just poke me with a fire iron.

FIFTEEN-MINUTE EXCURSION TO BUY $20 RAKE TAKES 6 HOURS, COSTS $800

If one thing consistently drives me up the wall, it is when seemingly simple tasks go horribly wrong. This past Sunday was one for the books. After being assured that our old rake from Virginia was still in Virginia, I woke up early on Sunday to go get a new one and finally take care of our yard.

MANUAL TUNING OF CAR RADIO REQUIRES CONSULTATION OF OWNER'S MANUAL

The previous day, I had bought myself a new FM transmitter thing for my iPod because I am tired of burning books and podcasts onto CD's for my drive to and from work. Unfortunately, virtually everything about my Saab is counterintuitive. I sat in the driveway and tried to tune to an "open" frequency but the radio would only let me autoseek to the strongest signals, which is exactly what I didn't want.

The manual, of course, was not in the glove compartment. So, I had to turn the house upside down and -- after stepping in some dog poop -- I found it in one of our kitchen drawers.

SPARE TIRE AT LEAST AS FLAT AS TIRE IT IS REPLACING

My trip to Home Depot started off smoothly and should have taken about 15 minutes. I found a rake and a push broom, bought them at the "self checkout" station to avoid human contact and went back out to the car. Driving away, it sounded like I was dragging something under the car. I got out and saw that my front left tire was completely flat.

I am on a big libertarian kick lately, and I actually enjoyed changing the tire myself. It was cold and windy, so I felt a little extra rugged. However, as a lowered the car down, it became clear that my spare tire was also flat.

I went back inside and bought some "fix-a-flat" stuff, which I could have done originally and saved myself the time and trouble of changing the tire in the first place.

SAAB TAKES J.D. POWERS COVETED "QUIRKIEST @#$%ING CAR EVER" AWARD

Now driving on a donut spare tire, I went to a nearby Costco figuring that their tire center would be my best bet. Despite a small warehouse full of tires, they did not have any that fit a 2001 Saab. I next went to a place called "Tires Plus." They also did not have any tires that fit, but were eager to install some tires that were "not recommended" for my car. No thanks.

I ended up at a National Tire & Battery. They had only one tire in stock that would fit my car, Fulda brand tires, which sounds like something an oncologist might grimly tell you is growing on your kidney more than anything else. Also, it being mid-November and all, I was thrilled to hear that the tires are "excellent in rain, not so good in snow." But I had no real choice.

* * * * *

The kicker is, of course, that our Virginia rake was in the garage.

SONIC BLADE BOLDLY PROMISES TO MAKE YOUR LIFE 0.0004% EASIER

Okay, I recently saw the Sonic Blade (TM) knife on late night TV. It is basically...a knife.

But hold on kids. What if you wanted to cut a quintuple-decker sandwich in half? I mean, you might be able to eat half of that sandwich, but aren't you going to want to share! Have no fear, the Sonic Blade knife cuts that unrealistically huge sandwich -- that no one would ever prepare or consume -- in half. And without the problems of a conventional knife.

The secret is in the fact that the knife has a motor, which you might have thought was commonplace since the late 1970's. Maybe. But those weren't called SONIC BLADE, now were they? Sure you basically end up using this like a regular knife...with all the work that comes with that...but "sonic" means "sound." Therefore, this is infinitely superior.

And remember the last time you needed to cut a piece of bread crossways to have slices of bread that were half as thick? I know I do. Don't worry, the Sonic Blade has you covered.

What a time to be alive.

TO CLARIFY: NEW BOOK IS BY JOHN ASHCROFT, NOT ABOUT JOHN ASHCROFT

I'm sorry, but this has got to be one of the most ironic book jackets ever.

BALL-PEEN HAMMER: APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD

It had to happen. Someone had to trump Dr. Scholls' "Are you gellin?" ad campaign with something even more annoying. What English major drop-out came up with this ad copy:

HEAD ON, APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD. HEAD ON, APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD. HEAD ON, APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD. HEAD ON, APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD. HEAD ON, APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD. HEAD ON, APPLY DIRECTLY TO THE FOREHEAD.

Then the Head On folks upped the ante by adding people that are independently annoying into the mix. The black guy in one of the new ads has a crazy look in his eyes that seems to say, "Hello, I've come to eat your pancreas."

BACK IN BLACK

Loyal readers, I apologize for the lack of summer activity. My wife and I moved to Kansas City and, while there was plenty of aggravation, there was little time to document it.

MEDIA DESPERATELY SEARCHING FOR NEW WAYS TO PHOTOGRAPH SPINACH

I am a frequent visitor to CNN.com and have been amazed the past couple of weeks at the variety of bagged-spinach-related photos available. Honestly, there seems to be no "news" about the e. coli outbreak, but I just tune in to see the new images.

96% OF SPACE SHUTTLE MISSIONS NOW SPENT DETECTING, REPAIRING DAMAGE FROM SPACE SHUTTLE LAUNCH

Look, I loved the space shuttle when I was growing up. I saw it piggybacking on a plane once in Florida. I still remember that I was watching "Scrabble" on TV when I heard that the Challenger blew up. Space exploration is one of the few government activities that I don't mind paying taxes for.

But isn't it time to put this thing to bed and move on? Even given tons of time and money, NASA can't get the foam thing right. And there's so much hypersensitivity to any risk -- heads up, there is plenty to go around in space travel -- that the missions just seem kind of pointless. The news that comes out of the missions is that foam fell off but (hopefully) nothing blew up.

And all of this to put some solar cells on an "international" space station that's already obsolete.

BEER BREWED WITHIN CITY LIMITS OF KANSAS CITY NOT "DOMESTIC" ACCORDING TO KANSAS CITY BAR

When we were waiting in the Holiday Inn prior to closing on our house, there was a happy hour featuring "free domestic beers." Kansas City's own Boulevard Wheat is one of my all-time favorite beers, so that is what I ordered. The bartendress informed me that the happy hour only applied to domestic beers and charged me full price. I guess maybe it's imported...from Kansas to Missouri?

SELLERS OF HOUSE FEEL NO NEED TO SHOW UP AT FINAL WALKTHROUGH TO EXPLAIN WHERE FUCKING SINK WENT

When buying a house, the final walkthrough is a nice time to make sure that the repairs you requested have been done and to learn how stuff in the house actually works. Therefore, it was nice of our sellers to blow the walkthrough off and still have time to leave a gaping hole where a bathroom sink used to be. They and their realtor were not available by phone afterwards or anytime prior to, during or since closing. Oh, except that they were in our house after closing to take a precious paper-towel dispenser.

The sink is now back, kind of. But it's not installed properly and their realtor blew off a meeting to discuss the problems we are having with the house. Nice.

LACK OF BLOG ACTIVITY NOT TO BE TAKEN AS A SIGN OF DECREASED IRRITATION

I haven't posted in a while but I've just been very distracted with work, a decision to move to Kansas City, and my wife's pregnancy. By no means should the lack of recent posts be taken as some kind of sign that there have been no encounters with idiots or no situations that were amusing on an ironic level.

"SHOCK 'N SWIM" PERHAPS NOT THE BEST NAME FOR POOL TOY

I was in Costco last week and saw this in the children's toy department. Maybe it was just that I had seen a child get electrocuted in a pool in Syriana, but this just seemed like a very ill-advised choice.

QUICK-SETTING CEMENT SETS SO QUICKLY AS TO BE COMPLETELY USELESS

As part of getting our home ready to sell in Virginia, I've been doing a lot of home repair and maintenance work. Remarkably, given my recent streak of injuries, I still have all limbs, fingers and toes. Anyway, there were recently huge floods in the DC area and, like most people, our basement got a little bit of water. I bought some quick-setting hydraulic cement to patch a crack in the basement foundation that was one of the sources of water. Except that it essentially set in the bucket that I mixed it in a minute before.

BOTTOM OF "T" IN SIGN FOR TERMITE CONTROL SERVICE HAS BEEN EATEN THROUGH BY SOMETHING AND FALLEN OFF

I find this kind of thing endlessly amusing.

"SYMPATHETIC SOBRIETY" PLEDGE DURING WIFE'S PREGNANCY IMMEDIATELY SEEMS LIKE MISTAKE AS AWFUL MUSIC PLAYED ON WAY TO AWFUL RESTAURANT

We went to a terrible "Caribbean" restaurant in Alexandria last night. On the way there, Amy played Bright Eyes...one of her favorite bands, and I don't hate them but the guy sounds a bit like a billy goat to me. This while we're on the way to a restaurant whose circa 1997 website streams Jimmy Buffett music and whose Caribbean food turned out to be various overpriced Gordon's Fisherman quality dishes that had been burned beyond all recognition. A threat to add karaoke into the mix was thankfully not carried through.

POLICY OF NOT POSTING ABOUT WORK-RELATED IDIOCY PUSHED TO BREAKING POINT

Oh, the things I could tell you. But I won't.

"MYSPACE" FRIEND REQUEST A PROFOUND INSULT TO INTELLIGENCE

I got a MySpace friend request this morning from one "Adriana." Adriana is a buxom blonde whose main pastimes -- if her profile is any indication -- include (1) lifting up her shirt, (2) having lots of sex, and (3) making money by filling out Internet surveys "where people actually pay you for your opinion." Indeed, this third point seems to be her primary focus. There was extensive information about online surveys (she heard about it on MySpace, so it must be legit), and even Adriana's "friends" had posted comments exclusively about how great it was to get paid for taking online surveys.

Um, this works on whom exactly?

BID FOR ENTRY INTO ACCIDENT-PRONE HALL OF FAME GOING SMOOTHLY

In the past few weeks, I have injured myself in truly heroic variety of ways. I have:

1. Slammed my foot in the back door after coming home from a Sunday in the office, leading to a short fight with Amy about how I could have possibly come home "grouchy" under those circumstances.
2. Had a heavy oak headboard fall squarely onto my right calf, leaving an impressive divot in the muscle that is still there three weeks later. The ability to "walk in a non-hobbled fashion" has only recently returned.
3. Slipped going down the basement steps, which combined with #2 above, has yielded acute lower back pain that has fundamentally challenged assumptions that I can engage in activities enjoyed by the average octogenarian.
4. While totally sober, tripped over a riser at a dance night at the Black Cat, twisting my ankle and careening into two strangers and a large speaker. (I rallied later by leading a small group of friends in chanting "Whoomp, there it is" along to an unrelated song...astonishingly while still totally sober.)
5. Jammed my knee into a pointed edge while stepping over our dog gate.

EIGHT-MAN ROAD CREW SPENDS FIVE HOURS NOISILY WORSENING CONDITION OF FOUR-SQUARE-FOOT PATCH OF ROAD THAT WAS FINE TO BEGIN WITH

Have you seen the movie Falling Down? Remember the scene when Michael Douglas has totally flipped and asks the road crew that is causing traffic what's wrong with the road that they're working on? And after pressing one of the workers, the worker admits that nothing was wrong with the road? That the project was simply to justify the transportation department's budget?

Well, take away the part about firing a rocket launcher and destroying the equipment, and that's what was going on outside our house last night.

DREAM ABOUT WEBSITE DESIGN SIGNALS THAT WAKING WORLD IS NOW OFFICIALLY MORE INTERESTING

I have long had tedious and anxious dreams about work, but last night's dream about website design -- which I have been studying in my spare time -- is some kind of new low. I guess that's why they call it Dreamweaver.

DICTIONARY.COM STUNNER: "DECIDER" AN ACTUAL WORD OF SOME KIND

I was so prepared to go off on this, but apparently it's an actual word. Oh well. The good news about this is administration is that we won't have to wait long for one that isn't. Curses!

PRODUCT HAS LEAST LIKELY NAME IMAGINABLE

Amy and I were in a local Giant when we saw this product. I immediately went into hysterics over its name. Maybe it's just me...

PREVIEWS FOR AWFUL MOVIE FAIL TO MENTION OMNIPRESENT, SASS-TALKING BUTLER ROBOT FOR SOME REASON

I don't think I could adequately explain why, but I went to see the Rob Schneider and David Spade vehicle "The Benchwarmers" on Sunday. I actually like bad movies because they allow for lots of sarcastic remarks, and there are so many more films of that caliber than good ones anyway.
The film was every bit as bad as I expected. However, I have to admit, I was not entirely prepared for the character of the robotic butler called "Number 7." I wonder why they left him out of the trailer?

NCAA CHAMPIONSHIP RENDERED MOOT BY AMAZON.COM EMAIL

I received this email from Amazon.com approximately 10 hours before tipoff of the Championship game. Speaking of, perhaps the "[placeholder for winning team]" reference should have tipped someone off that the email shouldn't be sent yet.

SHELVES FEATURE EIGHT MAGAZINES ABOUT PIMPING TRUCKS, ZERO ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING KILLING THE PLANET AND EVERYONE ON IT

I have been on a three-day quest to find an actual copy of the Time magazine issue about global warming. I am just amazed that it is so hard to find. I have been to two CVS stores and a Shoppers. I am sure it's just a reflection of the relative market demand, i.e., people are idiots.

LOU DOBBS TO SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST TONIGHT AT 6:00 P.M.

Immigration is clearly a huge issue right now, and I don't know the answer to it. I do know that Lou Dobbs spends more time talking about it than almost anyone else. I also know that it was fun watching him go off on a woman from La Raza last night. I think that Lou has been waiting for this week -- where immigration is a frontline issue -- for a long time. I just hope that his system can handle it. If we could harness his fury, I think we'd have a solution to the energy crisis.

ABYSMAL TELEVISION SITCOM PROBABLY SHOULDN'T ADVISE "VIEWER DISCRETION" UPFRONT

I have only watched about 2 minutes of Fox's "The War At Home." It was the first 2 minutes of the entire series, and the use of a laugh track -- while necessary given the absence of actual humor -- was enough to make me swear off of it immediately.

As "The Simpsons" ended last night, the opening of TW@H said that due to the material, viewer discretion was advised. Yeah, because the material sucks and anyone with any sense will exercise their discretion to change the channel.

SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST: INDIER THAN THOU

Or: ABJECT MISERY ON $900-A-DAY

Worst. Vacation. Ever. We went to South By Southwest last week. Here is a rundown on the relentless parade of stupidity and aggravation…

CAB DRIVER KNOWS A LOT ABOUT SHATNER, NOT ENOUGH ABOUT GETTING TO GODDAMN AIRPORT

When you get up at 4:30 a.m. to catch a flight, the last thing you really want is a talkative cab driver. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some interesting conversations with cab drivers, but most of the time I just want to sit in silence and get where I’m going. Previous bad experiences in cabs – e.g., super-religious zealots, an anti-establishmentarian who almost hit two police cars, and a scary guy that relayed conversations he had had with his knife – failed to prepare me for the gregarious guy we encountered on Wednesday morning.

He went on and on about anything and everything, but mostly William Shatner. Amy occasionally politely laughed or added some remark, but I just sat there, silently assessing the viability of hurling myself out of the moving car.

To make matters worse, this guy took backroads to f***ing Dulles Airport, which is a good 30 miles away. This maximized the time available for conversation.

HOLDERS OF EXPENSIVE CONFIRMED TICKETS TOLD TO “FEEL LUCKY [THEY] HAVE SEATS”

And they flung the boarding passes at us.

AIRPORT BACON, EGG & CHEESE BISCUIT COMBINES SOYLENTS RED, YELLOW & WHITE INTO SAVORY ROOM-TEMPERATURE TREAT

We were both starving and stopped in the airport Wendy’s for a quick breakfast. They were out of actual biscuits, so they were just putting everything on hamburger buns instead. I’ve never had anything so flavorless.

MUSIC-FESTIVAL ATTENDEES SEEK REFUGE FROM ANY AND ALL FORMS OF MUSIC

At some point around lunch on our second day in Austin, Amy refused to enter a bar because there was a band playing. It seemed silly because, after all, we were in Austin to attend a music festival. A day or so later, however, I felt the same way.

ANNOYING BITCH AT SHOW TOLD TO SHUT UP

Going to see a band has become a little like going to the movies: invariably there is some idiot that distracts me and keeps me from enjoying myself. Once I notice the person, I just obsess over it.

We had flown out to Austin largely to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. We had to arrive at the bar at 8 p.m. to be sure we could see their 1 a.m. performance. This meant waiting through no fewer than 5 other bands.

It also meant encountering a stupid, annoying bitch who started talking loudly around the time that the first band started playing and showed no signs of letting up. Amy and I began exchanging glances; it was going to be a long enough night as it was.

“Um…[fake cough]…SHUT UP!”

The talker glared back at me. Amy responded, “Yeah you.” The girl kept making nasty faces at Amy, which is a complete mistake. Right or wrong, Amy does not capitulate. Eventually, the loud talker actually said, “I’m sorry.” At this point, I would probably say “oh, that’s okay” and maybe explain what the problem was. But Amy just beamed with a combination of victory and indignation and said, “Thank you.” It was hilarious.

MYTHICAL SPAWN OF E.L.O.’S JEFF LYNNE AND TUSK-ERA LINDSEY BUCKINGHAM SIGHTED

Also at this show was a guy with a huge white-guy afro and unkempt beard wearing a leather vest. An absolute anachronism.

INDIE POSER’S HAIR-WASHING-to-HAIR-PREENING RATIO NOW ZERO TO FOUR DECIMAL PLACES

One of the loud talker’s friends was this generic scrawny indie guy. He looked like he had not showered in a few days. What was amazing was that he kept preening his generic indie bangs and sideburns. He just kept doing it. He wouldn’t stop. We quit watching the bands and would occasionally remark, “Oh my god, he’s still doing it.” If you care so much about your goddamn hair, why not include lathering, rinsing and repeating in the ritual?

HOTEL PATRON UNWILLING TO CALL FRONT DESK FOR “THE RINGER”

Ultimately, the combination of irritation and fatigue drove us back to the hotel and we didn’t even see the band that we most wanted to see. I was in the mood to watch a stupid movie, and Johnny Knoxville’s “The Ringer” (in which he pretends to be disabled to compete and win at the Special Olympics) sounded perfect. But the TV ordering system wasn’t working. I burst into laughter when I realized I had thrown the remote in disgust at not being able to see the movie. The screen said I could call the front desk to order the movie, but I wasn’t about to do that.

CONVENTIONEER ASKS WHAT AYN RAND’S MUSIC SOUNDS LIKE

I’ve been on a big Libertarian kick lately and donned my Ayn Rand t-shirt while out in Austin. Some indie kid asked me what her music sounded like.

WHITE-HAIRED LOON THREATENS TO HAVE HIS OWN CHANNEL BY THE YEAR 2020

Another source of irritation was the continuing legal education program that I attended. The CLE itself was fine, but there were a couple of irritating lawyers in the audience (which could pretty much be said for any audience, I suppose).

One was this woman who only seemed to be there to make broad, irrelevant generalizations and promote herself. She insisted that you had to have a copyright registration to file a lawsuit, but I pointed out that, in fact, you can get at least get into court in some jurisdictions with just a filed application. She insisted I was wrong, then at the break she asked where I worked and then asked why I had come. I thought (but regrettably did not say out loud), “I’m from the future. They sent me back to kill you.”

The other irritant was this crazy white-haired guy that sat in on the session about podcasting. He had a video camera and a recorder and, although he was not on the panel, acted as if he were carrying on a private conversation with them, constantly interrupting and interjecting inane remarks. By the end of the hour, the actual panelists were audibly sighing into their microphones. At some point, the guy was going on about how in 2020, everyone will have their own channel. I leaned over the person next to me and said, “If that guy gets his own channel, there’s going to be an on-air suicide on mine.”

HARD TO TELL FROM BED ON 25TH FLOOR, BUT THRASH METAL BAND PLAYING AT 2 A.M. MAY FEATURE ACTUAL WALRUS ON BASS

Our hotel room in Austin cost a fortune. Unfortunately, bands were playing outside until at least 2 a.m. every night, which tended to diminish the quality of our guest experience. The last night was the worst. We were so tired of hearing music by then, and this band was playing so loud that our bed -- 25 stories up -- was vibrating. All we could hear was some atonal bassline and drums.

“VICE MAGAZINE” EMPLOYEE’S TALES OF DEBAUCHERY A COMPELLING CASE FOR EUTHANASIA

We headed to the Austin airport about 4 hours before our flight to simply get the hell out of there and away from the music-industry types. We pulled into an airport bar and had a few drinks. It was fine until these two tools came up and started talking to a guy that had previously been sitting quietly like us.

Anyway, this one complete tool -- who made it repeatedly clear that he works for Vice Magazine -- was going on and on about the wild, cool time he had at "South By," as he called it. And he laughed about how the woman whose house they had rented was going to be upset because: (1) they drank all her old champagne; (2) one of the band members staying with them had shit the bed; and (3) all of her dogs and cats were missing. Number Three was the kicker. We paid our check and left.

Fucking prick.

MISCELLANEOUS RANTS

8.5" x 11" FEDEX ENVELOPE ONLY SUITABLE FOR SHORT LETTERS CLARIFIES THAT IT SHOULD NOT BE USED TO SHIP BLOOD

I was sending out a scathing letter for work this week (one of the few pluses of being a lawyer), but had to go down to the mail room to get a FedEx envelope for it. As I was sealing up the thin, obviously letter-sized envelope, I noticed that it had a warning on it that it should not be used to ship blood. I guess that's a good point, but my mind ran for a few minutes, imagining someone somewhere at the same time running down to their mail room with a pint of blood...or perhaps just bleeding directly into an envelope.

LOCATION OF METRO PILOT PROGRAM FOR EXPLOSIVE-DETECTING TICKET MACHINE TO BE ANNOUNCED FOR SOME REASON

Yesterday morning, the local news radio station ran a story about new technology that could detect explosives on people when they purchased subway tickets. Not a bad idea, really. But at the end of the story, they mentioned that D.C.'s Metro system had reviewed the technology and was going to install it at one station as part of a pilot program. The specific station will be announced shortly, immediately defeating any potential benefit that the technology might have. Nice job.

DEFECTIVE CAN OPENER A METAPHOR FOR ALL OF WORLD'S INJUSTICES

This happened a week or so ago, but I've been meaning to report it largely for the headline. Anyway, when you are going through a frustrating stretch, it's amazing what can break the camel's back. Work has been absolutely crazy for several months now, and I tend to come home exhausted, dream about work, wake up tired, and repeat the process.

One of the small things that I've started doing for Amy is making coffee for her in the morning. (I have never used a coffee maker before, so at some point I may share some of the misadventures of the first few days.) I had bought some new fancy coffee and set out to open it. Unfortunately our [take lord's name in vain here] can opener began to disintegrate before my eyes. First it would not puncture the top of the can, then it would pop out, and finally the opener portion stopped turning altogether. I resorted to simply hammering the can opener on the coffee container, but only damaged both further. I slammed the gadget into the trash with a hail of obscenities and was pissed off about it most of the day.

MISCELLANY

No great outrage to rail against, but here are some things on my mind this week...

MICHAEL BROWN NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL

I am retracting my previous diatribe against Michael Brown. Over the past couple of weeks, he's established to my satisfaction that -- while he made mistakes post-Katrina -- he has been ruthlessly scapegoated by this administration.

HARRY BROWNE, R.I.P.

On an arguably related point: Browne-ie, you did a heckuva job. Perennial Libertarian Party presidential candidate Harry Browne died on March 1st. He will be sorely missed by right-thinking people around the world. For those unfamiliar with libertarianism ... for the love of god, please become aware of it. Government does not work. Government does not work. Government does not work. Government does not work. (Ad Nauseum)

"DEAL OR NO DEAL" GAME SHOW TAKES CONCEPT OF ROOTING AGAINST FELLOW MAN TO EXCITING NEW LEVELS

I have only seen it a few times, but NBC's "Deal or No Deal" -- with megastar host Howie Mandel -- is sure to be a highly addictive phenomenon. I won't go into the rules here, but the concept of the game is simple enough, and I'm sure that with a good spreadsheet the mathematics behind whether to take The Banker's deal or not are fairly straightforward. The show itself is nothing spectacular.

What strikes me about the show is how instantly and how strongly I hate the contestants. They are without exception overexcitable idiots, and by even being selected to play they seem to be guaranteed $10,000-20,000. But they go through the motions of the first few rounds and, in high drama, pretend to consider and ultimately decline The Banker's initial deals. Usually, this involves absurd histrionics, quasi-epileptic spasms, or a shrieking or otherwise piercing declaration of "No Deal." More often a combination of all three.

A woman last night seemed to have no fundamental understanding of what was going on. As high number after high number disappeared from the board -- exponentially reducing her likely "winnings" -- she just declared over and over, "That's good...That's good." Um, no...actually it's very bad for you. Good would be your removing yourself from the gene pool. [P.S.: The next night she declined an offer of something like $150K+ and ultimately walked away with $5.]

If there's a group that's more deserving of white-hot, seething hatred than the contestants themselves, then it's the contestants' friends and families who are trotted out in the later rounds. Inevitably, their in-depth analyses that "That's a lot of money" or "Hmm...I don't know, Mike" are brushed aside as the greedy contestant goes against all reason in the hopes of getting even more free money, unfortunately with some success most of the time.

Regardless of what good the contestant's family could do with the money, I can't help salivating over the way his or her life might crumble after pushing things too far and walking away with $400 when they could have had $100,000 or more. The bitter recrimination of a wife whose advice to take the deal was ignored. The shattered friendship with someone who convinced the contestant to go just a little further. The possibility that the contestant could find himself in financial straits more dire than Howie Mandel's.

It boggles and excites the mind.

A VISIT TO FALWELL'S HOME

Amy and I were down in Lynchburg, VA last weekend to support Amy's mother after a pretty serious operation. She is doing about as well as can be expected, which the most important thing. But these are a close second...

EVERY ROAD BETWEEN D.C. AND LYNCHBURG SOME ITERATION OF US-29

I had flown in from Kansas City, arriving around midnight to news that the surgery was going to be both more serious and earlier than previously thought. Having been out of pocket for the week, I stayed up until 3 a.m. taking care of some work to be able to hit the road. Amy had left on Thursday but printed out directions for me to the hospital in Lynchburg. Only once I was on the road did I realize that they were from MapQuest (d/b/a Satan).

According to MapQuest's directions -- which naturally did not follow the easiest path to begin with -- there otherwise should have been about three turns in the whole trip and most of it involved US-29. What the directions failed to mention was that a typical traveler would encounter approximately 400 different US-29's along the way.

It started almost immediately, as there was a US-29 going south off of I-66 earlier than anticipated. I gathered that this was not the right one, and took the correct US-29 a few miles later. At some point, according to MapQuest, I needed to switch to US-29 (Business). Because of the overly complicated initial directions that I ignored, all of the mileage guides were useless. I passed dozens of US-29 Businesses as I headed south.

I knew I was in trouble when I hit an exit ramp off of US-29 -- the first of many -- that were also exits for US-29. Anyway, I seemed to pick the right US-29 until I got very near Lynchburg.

The "directions" said take the "US-29 BR ramp." Conveniently, MapQuest had not specified a particular direction to head, i.e., north, south, east, west. I took the first one heading north. Then I hit the various road signs that indicated that any of three directions were the way to go to stay on US-29. I picked one nearly at random and soon found myself in the middle of nowhere. I turned around but was not able to backtrack to the same US-29.

I soon found myself -- I thought -- off of US-29, so I turned around again. Except that it was apparently a version of US-29. After releasing a monumental primal scream, I pulled into a Kroger to get directions.

MAN LOOKING FOR HOSPITAL EMPHATICALLY TOLD NOT TO FOLLOW HOSPITAL SIGNS

Once inside the Kroger, the trip turned from frustrating into absolutely absurd and hilarious. The third person I asked knew how to get to the hospital. However, she stressed that I should not follow the blue "H" signs and arrows.

I headed back out. Now I was looking for 501N. Amazingly, the exit for 501 North was the same exit for a US-29 South. I wandered if some kind of whole in time/space had opened up.

Eventually, I got lost again and decided to follow the blue hospital signs...the thinking being that whatever hospital they led to would know where the other hospital was. As I was operating on three hours of sleep, I also considered slicing a finger off and telling the ambulance to take me to Virginia Baptist.

After having spent about three hours covering every inch of Lynchburg, I finally made arrangements to have a family friend come find me and bring me in.

VAPID TEENAGERS ATTEMPT TO BREAK IN LINE

Amy had not eaten. We ended up going to a Mexican restaurant. It was crowded, and the line kind of wrapped around a little. It was irritating because people that had just come in did not seem to understand where the line started, and those of us in line began to bond over our irritation.

Enter two incredibly vapid teenage girls who are clearly trying to emulate Ms. Spears and Paris Hilton, respectively. They hovered by the front of the line and when a space opened up, they made nervous faces and attempted to be next.

"Hey Britney. The line goes this way," said yours truly. Others also yelled at them. They feigned ignorance and said, "Oh, sorry." To which I muttered, "No shit."

RESTAURANT WITH "THAI" IN ITS NAME NEEDS SIGN EXPLAINING "THIS IS NOT A CHINESE RESTAURANT"

I initially thought that the restaurant was stupid, but Amy pointed out that it was, in fact, the Lynchburg populace.

WOLF PERSONALITY OF MULTIPLE-PERSONALITY-DISORDER SUFFERER SOMEHOW GOES UNDIAGNOSED

Apparently one of the parents of someone in Lynchburg was recently diagnosed with multiple-personality disorder. Obviously, this is not funny. What is a little funny is that one of the personalities is a wolf. Wouldn't this raise some red flags over the years? "Honey, who disembowelled all these chickens in the living room?"

DIVE BAR APPARENTLY A GOOD PLACE TO DO MARRIAGE COUNSELING

I think we ate three consecutive meals at the same dive bar near the hospital. On our way back out of town, we had lunch there. At the other end of our table was some guy with a plastic name tag giving extensive marital advice to some woman about her unappreciative husband, Tim. It was just kind of bizarre.

MAN NEARLY REPLIES TO EMAIL FROM FRIEND WHO IS DOWNSTAIRS IN HIS HOUSE

Yes, my tendency to avoid actual human interaction approached new lows last night. Or highs, depending on how you look at it, I suppose.

COMMUTERS KIND OF HOPING TRUCK DRIVER THAT CAUSED HUGE BACKUP WAS DEAD.

I view getting stuck in unexpected traffic a little bit like waiting in line for something. It's like waiting to see a new exhibition at the American Museum of Roadway Carnage. The longer the backup, the higher your expectations get. So, I was incredibly disappointed that a rumored overturned truck on the GW Parkway last night turned out to be merely stalled on the side of the road. Maybe next time.