For all the supposed ease of interconnectedness, I still find it cumbersome to shift photos from the Droid over to the PC from which I can then upload them to Blogger. Sounds simple, and I know it is, but I just don't have the patience to stage the operation the way I once did.

It's that impatience that has led this blog to dereliction.

But hey, maybe we can breathe some life back into it. I hope to get some reports from Hartford this week -- we hear there was a big party up there last night. We eagerly await a damage report.

Up late last night to sit by the fire, have a few drinks, and in the spirit of vino veritas contemplate the solutions to light speed and time travel.

I think we came close!

Of course, in the darkness I couldn't see that I'd been stepping in giant gobs of molten marshmallow that the kids had dripped and dropped in the grass. Didn't spot it until this morning when I got dressed for Mass and noticed big clumps of grass stuck to the side of my shoe. Went outside to pound it off and discovered I had marshmallow soles -- which IIRC were quite popular in the 1970s.

See, we did conquer time travel!

For now we're just hanging at the house. Earlier we went out back and lit off some firecrackers -- just a few packs. Later tonight will be the town fireworks over Polio Pond. Should be fun.

Had a lovely backyard breakfast with the neighbors this morning, flipping pancakes al fresco (though these days I can't even eat the things) after making a ton of Bob Evans sausage on my own stove to bring out. Lots of kids running about, with chocolate chip and/or blueberry smears across their faces.

Hot weather is descending upon Berea Rose this weekend. That's okay, I got the A/C on (having capitulated to Alane earlier in the week). Da Chimpz just got back from their gymnastics practice. I'll go downstairs and see what they're doing. Had them out front last night to throw the Nerf ball around -- always good for giving me the sore-shoulder for the next few days (but worth it).

Maybe we'll go to Mass this evening so I can spend the morning rolling out the meatballs (as one should spend a quality Sunday morning).

I wonder if Frylock is still singing Morrissey songs to himself? The more you ignore me, the closer I get...

I got a text message from Bazzukajoe the other day asking me why our hapless prez is once again coming to visit Ohio. My response: "He really wants me to be his friend." Which is actually quite a funny response considering there's some truth to it. Steve just now took it even further, crooning over the phone in his best Morrissey warble:

When you sleep
I will creep
Into your thoughts
Like a bad debt
That you can't pay.

Wow! Life has reduced itself to a sad-sack stalker song by Morrissey! Even the preceding line about how "I bear more grudges/Than lonely high court judges" is just a little too close to reality to be coincidence. This guy isn't like a bad debt we can't pay, he is bad debt.

Yes, the pain was indeed enough to make a shy bald buddhist reflect and plan a mass murder.

Went to a high schol graduation party last evening and everything was lovely -- not least because I resisted the urge to provide the putatve college freshman with gratuitous advice about what to expect. "Almost everyone you meet is full of crap," I wanted to say. "And the more authentic they are trying to be, the more full of crap they are." I kept it to myself; she's a smart kid and I tend to think she will figure this out for herself (thus achieving the non-classroom part of her education).

Went to a Mets game Thursday night. What the hell is a National League team from Queens doing in Cleveland anyway? It was a good time. Alane and I tried to remember the last time we attended a Mets game. We're pretty sure it was in 1999 -- a fistful of proofs of purchase from packages of Khans hot dogs got us cut rate seats to Shea on a pleasant summer night before children.

Haven't watched much of any baseball this year. But last night I made an exception. As unnatural as interleague play might be it has brought my hapless Mets into Cleveland to face off against my hapless Indians. So last night I plopped in front of the TV and watched me some game.

And you never saw two teams work so hard to blow the game! Lots of sloppy play, strange ump calls, and vuvuzela-strength-annoying commentary by the local sportscasters. But all in all a good game -- and a Met win!

Gotta wake Da Chimpz soon. School ended last week, so now they go to their day camp over in town. They like it. (Well, except for Mojo who thought it manifestly unjust that they declared half the wet field off limits yesterday even though he was sure there was no mud there. This bothered Mojo greatly and I fear he is becoming radicalized by the systemic oppression.)

Been meaning to give an update on the bacon soap situation -- things are looking up! What first seemed like just a dish of greasy goo has now solidified into something that looks and feels a lot like an honest-to-goodness bar of soap.




Stinks pretty bad. Leaves an yecho film on your skin after wetting it. And has red dye in it, so washing is not exactly what you'd be doing anyway...

But technically, I do think we created some soap here.

Still need to edit down the video for Youtube posting -- not that it's very interesting... Just me standing in my garage mixing caustic chemicals while being mocked by by wife and friends and abandoned by my children.

I got ideas, though. Bacon soap sounds like an excellent Fathers Day gift. Watch your mailbox, Don Vito. The neighborhood dogs are definitely going to chase the local letter carrier.

At the end of last year I came across instructions in a DIY magazine for making soap out of bacon fat. So of course, we decided we had to do it.

Well, after months of ingredient-acquisition, selfless consumption of bacon, and generalized thoughtless delay we finally got the gear together last night and went through the painstaking process.

Bottom line: we wouldn't last very long on the frontier -- and we had industrial lye, not even needing to leach it from campfire ashes.

I think I had more than half a gallon of bacon fat altogether. It's good to get that much refrigerator space back. I heated it on the outdoor grill and filtered it through an old t-shirt. When the Brydens came over we got started: plied ourselves with wine (for courage) then donned the protective gear in the makeshift lab set up in the garage.

The process lasted more than three frickin' hours. And we're not sure what we created is actually going to be soap. But we did drink a fair amount of wine, and the boys (knowing better than to stick around for longer than two minutes of this craft activity) had fun running the sidewalks, drawing pictures, playing Wii... anything but stirring the proto-soap goop we had in that big bowl in the garage.

The stuff is in my basement today, poured out in its mold, happily marbled with red-dyed goop for that classic bacon effect. It's not quite liquid, not quite solid, not quite grease-smelling. I'll let it cure for a few days before declaring it a failure.

This is what it's all reduced to (I'd offer explanatory text but have none):

Stopped today at the local Walmarts and found the epxerience so entertaining I had to send text-massage updates to Marlin as my shopping progressed.

And speaking of trashy fun, Cookie can't wait to go back to the paintball field. Yeah, I could do that.

Not much political commentary from Frylock or Big Kahuna these days: we're living in grim times and there's not much left to say... Maybe the only thing left to do is take bets on what collapses first: Europe, Greece, California, U.S., N.Y., who knows.

Is counterfeiting still considered illegal?

A while back we scoped out the nearby paintball field and Cookie was saddened to see that you had to be ten years old to play. And so began the countdown. In fact, the weekend before his birthday we went to Dicks (heh, Dicks) to buy ourselves some paintball facemasks -- we were making ready.

Today, we hit the field and made a day of it. The upshot: he's one Tough Cookie. And I am one out of shape old man. (All those deep-knee bends and duckwalking to keep the cover of odd-shaped obstructions has my legs super-sore already -- and that's just going to get worse tomorrow.)

Anyway, Cookie had a great time and that's all that matters. It is a pretty intense game and I knew he was a little nervous at first. We stuck together for the first few rounds and he got the feel for it. After I took a direct hit to the neck (yeah, ouch) I sat out what I thought would be only one or two more games. Cookie kept going back in; in the last game they let him pick the teams. He was by far the youngest player on the field all day, and everyone seemed quite amused at his willingness to play and his ability to take a hit (those friggin' paintballs hurt).

He even got hit in the neck, almost in the same place I got it. Now we have matching welts.

Tomorrow I'm taking a vacation day. I was going to drive around and get a bunch of things done. But if my hamstrings are screaming the way they are now, I think I'll just lie around and vegetate. Because what's better than that?