Ooops .... I knew there was something I forgot to do.

Yeah, I forgot to post anything this week, and only once last week. Sue me. Really, I could use the retainer.

Trouble with life is that it often finds a way to interfere with the fun stuff. I have determined that, if I want to continue to be a blogger worth a damn, I have to find the time to post, and keep posting at regular intervals, if not everyday. How the hell do I expect to build any readership if I don't provide anything to read. (assuming that more people than my wife are actually reading -- seriously, a bit of feed back would be nice)

Unfortunately, while there are the standard distractions of family, employment, and money management, there have been the Olympics barring my quiet time in the basement. Additionally, and pleasantly, work has found a way to prevent me from spending time pining away the hours in procrastination espousing my "bloggy" wisdom.

Things seem to be picking up in the economy. This may be a purely anecdotal observation on my part, but cases are rolling in and some bills are beginning to find satisfaction. The problem is that during this time every year there is a spike in filings and new clients. Why you might ask?

Tax Season.

No, I don't mean needing help filing. I refer instead to the fact that people are now flush with cash as a result of rapid refunds and electronic filing. Myself, I have not seen a "refund" since about 1998 and I am no longer familiar with this alien concept of the "gov'ment" giving back money once a year.

So, is the recent dramatic rise in my own available resources a result of the annual "tax spike," or have we started to turn a corner in the economy?

It feels like this is more than that annual litigation fest caused by large sums of redistributed funds. For example, last year one could sense that people were guarded and weary. Rather than splurge on that new divorce, or file to finally have custody of a child, the populace seemed more concerned with paying debts or "squirreling" money away in trepidation of a more serious crisis on the horizon.

By no means do I allude to a return to the largess of the early years of this new century. Sorry, that may or may never happen. As a student of history (really, a double minor even), I harken back to the fact that the "Great Depression" may have been set off in 1929, things were still pretty bad by 1935.

So things may be looking up on the local front. Still think I might put off the purchase of that new laptop for a few more months just to be sure.

$1.99 for fried rice? WTF?

Last night, in honor of my surrogate son's 12th birthday, we dined on sushi and teppenyaki.

As one given to the wonders of umami and the art of cold vinegar rice, I am often caught aghast by the very last dish delivered to that table.

You know, the most dangerous of crockery, the most potentially toxic of all culinary experiences.

No, not the candied ginger.

Nope, not an accidental overdose of wasabi.

Not sashimi of Tessa (puffer fish) that can cause paralysis if prepared improperly.

Ladies and gentlemen, I speak instead to that most dreaded of platters, the one that comes to the table carrying the bill.

My spouse says that I cannot be trusted with a sushi menu. Apparently, I tend to get a bit too over eager when making my selections on the order form. Seems that I transform instanter into an imbecilic idiot, blinded by aliment ambition, and completely ignorant to the fact that I just ordered some 50 or 60 bite size pieces. On one occasion, after having a dalliance with the wonderful list of comestible ecstacy and a writing utensil, I discovered I'd indeed ordered about $200.00 worth of rice, seaweed, and bait.

Last night, however, was rather unique.

It was not the price of the sushi that sent my world into a spin. Self control had been displayed.

There weren't outrageous bar tab charges to swallow. Only one large Asahi.

No, my shock came at the price added to each hibachi dinner for fried rice.

What the hell?

As a student of all things Japanese (even studied the language for one year in college), I am the first to acknowledge that these people have a routine for everything. Seriously, I am not sure whether or not there might be an ornate ritual attached to merely wiping one's own arse. Have you ever watched them make tea? For the love of all that is holy, it is just dried leaves and hot water dammit.

Did I slip into some alternate universe? Had I consumed liquid from the wrong bottle, traveled to wonderland to hang with Johnny Depp?

When did fried rice cost extra at a damn teppenyaki table?

The preparation of the meal is uniform. The performance almost scripted. Fried rice -- followed by meat-- concluding with vegetables.

Entertainment blended with piquant use of scythe and spatula.

Hell, they all make the same onion volcano and convert it into a "choo choo" train, don't they? How many times have I seen the egg spin/"egg roll" joke throughout my life's travels?

In EVERY teppanyaki joint I have visited, without fail or departure from the norm, part of the culinary ritual is the damned fried rice! When did this become an "add on," an option that was not normally available. Shit, I remember when getting the bland, starchy steamed rice was the actual "special request."

I have never been afraid of spending money on a nice meal. To me, there really is no problem with "sticker shock" if I enjoyed the art and magic presented by any chef ,regardless of the style of preparation.

Seriously, no wonder we have economic problems.

What is next?

Are we going to have to pay extra for sauce for the barbeque?

Are there going to be "ala carte" itemized expenses for the "all you can eat" salad bar items?

Will salt on french fries require a premium upgrade?

Will ice in a $3.00 soft drink require a $1.99 surcharge?

Valentine's Day

Too much pressure. Too much agony. Too much pain.

That is Valentine's Day.

I have always thought that this was one of those "made-up," bullshit holidays anyhow.

Seriously, how did we decide to take the celebration of a patron saint who was beat to death before beheading, and suddenly make it full of red heart shaped boxes of chocolate candy?

The meaning of the holiday becomes lost on me when all I see is naked commercialism forcing poor saps to trod into card and gift stores to buy tomes of affection contained in limerick form, trinkets, baubles, and confections to demonstrate affection and care. Then there is the obligatory date, the dinner costs, the movie or entertainment expenses.

Why? Why? Why?

Is this to demonstrate "true love?" By exercising this great exercise of consumerism, are we making sure that the most important person in our lives really knows how much we care? Are we just providing a fiscal stimulus to the struggling rose flower agricultural industry?

Why do these kind acts of affection have to be limited to just one day a year? Why put all that pressure to make just one day perfect? Isn't it more important to do that everyday, or at the very least, when is not expected and a pleasant surprise?

This Tuesday, February 16, 2010 will officially commemorate the passing of 19 years since my spouse and I had our very first blind date. We have been exclusive since that point. We have been married for twelve years, working on lucky 13 as I pontificate. Oddly enough, as I find myself commiserating about the oncoming mark of "middle age" this November, my wife noted in passing that, this time next year, we will have both spent more of our lives together than without.

In 367 days, I will have been with her for more than half of my existence on the face of this planet.

I don't need a "card holiday" to remind me that I love her more today than I did all those years ago.

I don't need red and pink decorations to remind me of how cherished and special my two daughters are in my heart.

So, why then do I have to play along with Valentine's Day and do all of these things that are required by the female predisposition to this one day a year? Why am I compelled to buy cards to show my love this day picked randomly on a calendar by some guy in Rome more than 2,000 years ago?

I mean, I already have their birthdays, Mother's Day, and my anniversary to buy cards and material offerings to them feel special. These important and unique days are spent buying a nice meal, providing gifts, and require spending 30 minutes to an hour in the Hallmark store.

I guess that I simply surrender and comply because it is just expected of me.

I do the things that are required because they would be crushed if I did not perform as conditioned.

I do these things because I do actually love them.

So, like Pavlov's dog, I will probably perform my identical response next February as well.

Why pay $5.51 for coffee every morning?

Simple answer: "'Cause I can."

That sounds bad, but it is all so true. I like my coffee hot, dark, strong, bitter and with a complicated but "fancy" name. Somewhere in my head a voice is saying "like I like my women" but that could get me into ALLLLL kinds of unnecessary trouble.

Born and raised in Atlanta, schooled in a college town, and "legally educated" in Birmingham, one can become accustomed to certain privileges, amenities, conveniences, or perks. Having gourmet coffee readily available is just one of those things you come to appreciate in "the big city."

This is not intended to be snobbery, just a realization that, when watching the Food Network, the selections of ripe goat cheeses are a bit limited at the Piggly Wiggly on Red Bud Road. In the realm of seafood, "fresh" is a generic term meaning flash frozen and placed in a box at the source before being shipped in refrigerator trucks for weeks to the Food Lion. On occasion, fine wines are not even an option at Walmart, where rather than distinguish by region, varietal, or even appellation, instead the magic of the grape is segregated by Red, White, and Other.

Oh the woes of the big city boy transplanted into rural northwest Georgia these last 13 years.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I like to be extravagant and taste cultural allurment and culinary alchemy without having to drive all of the way to Atlanta or Chattanooga.

On occasion, just the whiff of finely roasted Sumatran beans can give my mind the chance to day dream of being some high priced, silk stocking attorney who has an office located in some Buckhead high rise on some obscenely numbered double digit floor. A time where my spouse has the election of staying home in our 5,000 square foot home and the children are gaining their education in a uniformed private institution. Where one of my most important daily decisions is whether I chose from one of my 50 or so finely tailored suits, or simply dress down and take the convertible to work. Where lunch alone generally requires a reservation made by my very own, attentive personal assistant.

Life is a real bitch MOST days, and that is the god's honest truth. We have our little moments, but in the long run, each passing of the sun, each rising of the moon, each complete rotation of the planet generally brings forth an entirely new set of challenges to add to those that did not resolve themselves in the day now exhausted. You have to find joy and solace where you can, and that is the way to simply deal and survive. This respite can be the laugh of your five year old, the sound of your eight year old acting out her own cooking show in the basement, or merely the gentle touch of your partner, spouse, and best friend's hand while driving in the car.

These are the things that idiots like Suze Orman don't comprehend. The soul needs its brief escapes from the ordinary human condition to survive. I heard her once go off on some poor sap about how much he was spending for his double vanilla latte at Starbuck's ever morning as he walked to work as a door man in New York. She chastised him about how, by sacrificing this one instant and ethereal moment of routine joy, he could pay off some credit card in 5 years instead of 5 years and three months. Really, wow, that seems sooooooo worth it. Thanks.

It is not that I don't believe in saving for some far off future retirement. I just feel that I can better appreciate the finer things in life such as a good vino, or a fancy named coffee, NOW while my taste buds are intact, my teeth don't need adhesive gel to stay in, and I am not back to crapping myself in diapers after a 68 year hiatus.

Yep, I pay that much for coffee, and I am damn proud of that fact 'cause I can.

Nope, this is retarded.

WARNING: USE OF OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE AND TERMS CONTAINED WITHIN THIS BLOG FOR DEMONSTRATIVE PURPOSES. THE USE OF CERTAIN FOUR LETTER WORDS OR RACIALLY CHARGED NOUNS ARE EMPLOYED FOR THE SAKE OF THE AUTHOR'S POINT AND FOR NO OTHER PURPOSE.

From Webster's (only Etymology removed):

re·tard -- Pronunciation: \ri-ˈtärd\ -- Function: verb

transitive verb 1 : to slow up especially by preventing or hindering advance or accomplishment :impede
2 : to delay academic progress by failure to promote

nig·ger -- Pronunciation: \ˈni-gər\ -- Function: noun
1 usually offensive; see usage paragraph below : a black person
2 usually offensive; see usage paragraph below : a member of any dark-skinned race
3 : a member of a socially disadvantaged class of persons s…all the people who feel left out of the political process — Ron Dellums>
usage Nigger in senses 1 and 2 can be found in the works of such writers of the past as Joseph Conrad, Mark Twain, and Charles Dickens, but it now ranks as perhaps the most offensive and inflammatory racial slur in English. Its use by and among blacks is not always intended or taken as offensive, but, except in sense 3, it is otherwise a word expressive of racial hatred and bigotry.

I sat and watched Sarah Palin on Fox News Sunday as I relaxed in bed, waking to the day that ahead. (At this time I refuse in principle to give her the moniker of "Governor" after she voluntarily, and without legitimate reason, just up and quit the job that she was elected to do by her Alaskan constituents) I was absolutely shocked by her casual dismissal of seemingly offensive comments by Rush Limgaugh, while in the same breath condemning the White House Chief-of-Staff for identical conduct.

My immediate and instant thought, "No mam, what you just espoused is absolutely retarded."

As background, there are a few things I should first provide for one to better understand my point.

First, I am one of those dichotomous creatures neither party seems to serve, a "Moderate." I believe in being culturally sensitive, however, I despise the recent attempts by the politically correct "Speech Police" in the last twenty or thirty years to destroy free thought and an effective use of the English language. I absolutely DESPISE the regulation of my thoughts and speech, no matter how offensive it may be perceived. Funny thing, I would also fight vehemently to protect your right to say what you want to say, even if I think it offensive, stupid, banal, or even insane. Why? In the arena of thought and speech, freedom of these concepts is the only means to insure a proper discord, to protect the ability to express one's self to others, to share points of view that my otherwise go unnoticed.

Second, some historical background for her comment. Apparently, sometime last week it was revealed that, in a private conversation in the White House between a small group of staff members, Chief-of-Staff Rahm Emanuel referred to liberal groups (apparently objecting to some aspect of the White House political agenda) as "fucking retards." (yeah I used the word -- it is a word and he said it, so I quoted it)

This comment, again said in private and not from the lectern or pulpit, brought scathing condemnation from Sarah Palin. She almost immediately went onto Facebook and responded calling essentially for his resignation or termination. (http://www.facebook.com/search/?q=Sarah+palin&init=quick#!/notes/sarah-palin/are-you-capable-of-decency-rahm-emanuel/278672843434 -- I wonder who writes this stuff for her as she is completely unable to be this articulate in public)

She equated the "R" word with using the "N" word. Oh no she didn't. Yep, she went there.

Then, when asked about the use of the same offensive "R" word on almost the same day as her post, she replied:

But the former governor went to great and sometimes awkward lengths to insist that when conservative talk show host Rush Limbaugh used the same exact term to describe the same exact group, it was simply in the role of political humorist.

"They are kooks, so I agree with Rush Limbaugh," she said, when read a quote of Limbaugh calling liberal groups "retards." "Rush Limbaugh was using satire ... . I didn't hear Rush Limbaugh calling a group of people whom he did not agree with 'f-ing retards,' and we did know that Rahm Emanuel, as has been reported, did say that. There is a big difference there."

With this historical background, I post this warning: Careful Alice, we have just fallen through the looking glass.

What the hell? Can one really be that naive, vapid, and without reasonably calculated thought? Her handlers planted this argument into her hard drive to vomit there on national television with Charles Wallace? I don't know what scares me more: she came up with this on her own, or a consensus of learned and politically savvy individuals thought this made sense?

Nope. I can't let it pass Sarah. Can't let you slide on this one. Can't just let you play the "I have a special needs kid" card for your political gain. What you said is absolutely fucking retarded.

There is ABSOLUTELY nothing different between the way this "R" word was employed by either of these two men. In ABSOLUTELY no way does the use of the "R" verb equate to the damage and destruction of the "N" noun.

I am sorry, but last time that I checked, I am not forgiven for the use of racially derogative "slang" merely because I am trying to use it for "comical satire." Last time that I checked, even when joking with my best friend, under no set of circumstances calling him a "nigger" would be acceptable. Why? Because I am white, and this term harkens back to the very notion that, because his skin is pigmented more darkly than mine, he is a subspecies who can't consider himself my equal, or even superior for that matter.

No, the condemnation of the "R" word is something new by the "Speech Police." It is more akin to people similarly situated as myself preferring to being called "Big & Tall" rather than just fat, obese, or overweight. It is an attempt to restrict the use of a perfectly good verb because of only ONE possible definition. Yeah, there ain't no "good" way for one to use the "N" word noun outside of artistic purposes.

But what about the use of the word "retarded," that is bad because it describes a person and not an activity? Sorry folks, but adding an "ed" to a verb merely makes it the past tense form. Adding the "ing" would make it an adverb. Unlike the "N" word, this harmless verb is no more destructive as an adjective or adverb like "fire retarding foam" or "flame retardant clothing."

Rahm Emanuel apologized. He met with a Kennedy/Shriver to make amends. No one seems to have considered that "preventing or hindering advance or accomplishment" may have anything to do with his description of the offending liberals.

Rush Limbaugh, on the other hand, joked about the fact that now we would have a "Retard Summit" at the White House.

Yeah, that is the same thing Sarah. But this once, I will honor your inane request that I not use the word "retard" to describe someone I find objectionable both personally and politically. Rather, I will simply call you:

Fuckin' moron.

Beaming with pride

There she sat in all of her regal and majestic glory.

The queen of the pride, the wise and graceful lioness, watched in quiet glee as her cubs gathered around her to eat. There might have been some gray in that mane, but there was still a youthful exuberance shinning in those eyes.

Content.

Happy.

At ease with life.

That was the best way to describe my mother tonight as she dined with her sons, her "daughters" (having raised only boys, she prefers to call them her daughters and not daughters in law), and finally her beautiful grand children. She may have failed to express her feelings in words, but I could read it in her face and her demeanor. Everyone home in one place.

Today my baby brother arrived at Hartzfield at 9:05 AM from Germany on a military charter. Just three or four days ago (he really was not sure as he was so tired) he was sweating in the "winter" in Baghdad. Now he was showered, freshly clothed, and after an afternoon at the J. W. Marriott with his wife, Uncle Mike Mike was back in the world.

We were gorging ourselves on Brazilian gaucho style barbeque. Children experimented with new tastes and culinary sensations. Even my nephew was in rare form for a two year old hellion. Everyone was smiling, joking, laughing, just having a good time. Tonight we were drunk on happiness and joy while our bowels were packing with steak.

My mother lost her father while in college. We lost my Grandma Peggy while I was in high school. Sometime after that, my mother lost her somewhat estranged brother unexpectedly. Finally, her remaining sibling, her sister, her best friend in the entire world, succumbed to cancer over 10 years ago. My mother is alone.

This evening, however, she was surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Her entire world was centered there at one table, celebrating life, celebrating family, celebrating just breaking bread together. She was happy. She was not alone.

I have never really appreciated everything that my mother did for me, or for that matter, continues to do for me as we pass through this journey together. Unfortunately, in the passage of this final year before "middle age," I have come to the realization, that someday I will not be able to call my mom, my strength, my bastion of Irish-Catholic wisdom and guidance. The realization has taken root that, as all time must move forward, I might have to say good bye to that wonderful lioness. I hope, ney I pray, that this does not come for many, many, many moons.

This evening, however, will be one of my fondest memories of my wonderful mother. In those dark days sometime in the future when I will not be able to hear her voice, I will still have this moment to remember. This seemingly insgnificant instant in time will last forever in my heart, and I will find solace in the fact that she was happy.

I love you Mom, more than you will ever know. You gave me a wonderful example of everything a person should be, and I hope that I make you proud. The love you have held in your heart only becomes ever more apparent as I watch my daughters grow.

Proud lioness, I only ask one thing of you this day -- you have to go last, don't leave me with Dad.

Life is a "fun vampire"

So, while I wanted to be dedicated to posting a blog everyday, unfortunately the circumstances of life keeps getting in my way.

I love my little family and find solace in the world that surrounds me. I do, however, wonder where life might have taken me had I selected the "other" path.

The date is found in the spring of 1989. I am in the Spring semester of my post-graduate year at Hotchkiss. I have discovered myself, and discovered what I could accomplish on my own without the support structure that I left behind 1,000 miles away. What if I had elected to play football at the University of Rochester in upstate New York that Spring rather than giving into my fear? Where would I be now? What would I be doing now? Who would I call my friends and family?

It is ironic that one decision, one mere moment in time, can effect the time line that exists as the remainder of my life. The fact that in one night, I so dramatically altered the direction of travel that resulted in where I am today. In one decision, I carved out what would the future would hold.

Well, I guess I may have had too much to drink this evening ... or I did not drink enough. The deep thoughts are making my head hurt. Maybe it is the screaming children. I don't know -- just know that there is one week less in my travels toward the big 4 -0.

"Support" requires more than forwarding e-mail!

It happens almost everyday. The volume begins to rise whenever there is a holiday or an election of some type on the horizon. It is a phenomenon that, quite honestly now just pisses me off whenever it appears in my in-box.

I am talking about those generic, ultra patriotic "Support Our Troops" e-mail form communique that demand my unquestioned loyalty. They were particularly bad during the last White House Administration.

These diatribe letters are offensive to me for one essential reason -- it takes more than forwarding a stock text, or a magnet on your car, to take care of those who are in harm's way for our benefit.

First and foremost, there is little more myself and my family can do for those men and women in the theaters of combat. My brother, my one and only sibling, the only one who shared my childhood home, to be there when I can no longer call upon mom and dad, is serving his second combat tour. Sending a family member, a kin of direct consanguinity, it the greatest manner in which the "House of Govignon" can support the cause.

Removed from this initial circle of effect, there are other things we are doing to provide "support." There have been an above average number of treckin's to North Carolina by my parents to spend time with my sister-in-law who is left to raise a two year old boy single handed. The are currently staying at Chez Govignon on Stonehaven this week to provide a respite. She has been forced into the life of a single parent without the benefit of divorce. I try to spend sometime with my nephew to give him a male influence while his father is away.

Additionally, I help provide "support" by providing dramatically reduced legal fees for clients in uniform. I have volunteered to provide all of the legal services for establishing a local monument for the fallen caused by these to conflicts. I try and provide to the USO, or other care agencies, to give an anonymous gift to someone in country. I can't count how many pounds of Starbuck's coffee I have provided in the past three years in the basket for the local Guard unit on deployment when buying my morning cup of Joe. A little taste of home is the least that I can provide.

All of this is what I AM doing. What are YOU doing? Aside from "spamming" up my in-box, what has the author of this decree endeavored to accomplish?

I feel everyone who is not directly effected, has forgotten those in uniform. Anyone remember that there are two armed conflicts in which the blood of our families are being spilled into timeless sand?

Maybe we have become too complacent. During WWII, there was sacrifice on the part of everyone. During Vietnam, the war was finally brought into America's living room every night to the horror of those who had never "seen the elephant."

Perhaps we are immune now. Maybe we have fooled ourselves into the belief that "war" is clean, efficient, and surgical with unmanned drones and smart weapons. Truth is, those without a personal investment of some kind in the armed forces of the United States have little impact in their lives anymore while sons and daughters return home in unmarked, flag draped metal caskets. Our current President caught some flack for having been photographed saluting one of those sacred flights, but he made the effort to welcome those souls home one last time. Never saw Cheney there.

Here is my challenge to America -- our chance to really be the team behind the team! If you know someone in the service, or one of those left behind while a loved one is serving in harm's way, just take a moment to ask them the following, to wit: (1) how are they doing?; and (2) is there anything that you can do to help them out? Then do it!

Send them a card or letter. Surprise them with dinner. Offer to watch the children to give them a night out.

Hell, offer to pay a utility bill.

Really America -- put your money where your mouth is, get off your ass, and do more than hit "forward."

Hosting family

Nothing like having a Monday and coming home to a house full of people. By full I mean, FULL, as in excess of the governmental approved number of occupants. I may be violating certain zoning ordinances now that we have multiple families residing under one roof. Am I violating any subdivision covenants?

Today my sister-in-law and nephew arrived for Cat's birthday party on Sunday. They are presently residing legally in the home that was purchased during my brother's assignment at Fort Bragg, N.C. and have been stranded here by the weather. Rather than have them drive all the way back, my wife invited them to just come spend the week with us here in Calhoun. Upside to all of this -- the sister-in-law is ONE HELL OF A COOK. Too bad she did not bring her stand mixer with her for all of those wonderful baked goods that she is capable of producing!

I have decided that only having girls was a blessing. They may be difficult, argumentative, frustrating, aggravating, you know, like ordinary women -- but they are not two year old boys.

Jackson is a wonderful kid, but there is no confusion regarding his gender. He is ALL boy and ALL over the place. Each time I hear something hit the ground, crash, or bang, I fear discovery of what else might be destroyed.

Pray for me.