No animals should ever have to die. Cats are stupid.

If you’re ever married to a woman whom you adore and she’s been away for a while and she’s flying back home in the middle of the night and you can’t sleep at all because you’re too freakin’ excited to see her again, this is a cool utility that will allow you to track her flight in real-time.

I suppose it works for regular people who are just interested in tracking a flight too.

Sometimes, I like to report on bumper stickers that amuse me. This one has probably been out for a while but it’s the first time I’ve seen it:

Is it wrong for me to really really really like that “Dip It Low” song by Christina Milian? No, it is not wrong. It is right and good.

Really, have you heard “Two Girls” yet? You can download it from the PSC site on the front page. Now that’s some good song making.

Bonus: Made in Maine!

So I’m all alone because the Tart is living it Seattle style for a conference. It’s lots of Mac ‘N’ Cheese loaf for me. That sounds like some kind of cliche “the husband is eating cans of baked beans while the wife is away” statement but the Tart would not mind me telling you that she doesn’t do the cooking anyway. I’d be eating Mac ‘N’ Cheese loaf even if she were here this week. She’d be eating it too.

I’m getting excited for the big festival next week. There will be Mac ‘N’ Cheese loaf in the cooler. I will throw a slice at Lucy Kaplansky’s guitar and it will stick there, below the strings, right as she is playing some really pleasant chord and she will smile, look at me, wait for the song to finish and then peel it off, roll it up, and put it in her mouth. And she will tell a little story about this secret little Mac ‘N’ Cheese loaf song she wrote and she will play it for the crowd and ask me to sing a little harmony bass part on it. I will be the hero of the festival!

That’s next week though. First I have to make it to next Wednesday.

My cousin John has his own domain now. Yee haw! John is a really, really, really good dancer and apparently went to China this year without my knowing. I demand that he sets up a blog right now. Don’t you demand it too, Innanet? Hop to it John!

While looking for some Windows equivalents to certain Mac software releases, I find interesting things like Spike. Spike is a zero config network-enabled clipboard sharing program. You just open it up and it detects other people running Spike and you’re sharing your clipboards with them. It also supports direct IP connections for collaboration with people not on a local network. Spike was written for both Macs and Windows, however, and it plays nicely across platforms. Apple brands this sort of thing under its Rendezvous name. I’m still hoping to find a Windows version of something like SubEthaEdit for the Mac sometime soon. Damn Macs and their damn innovating!

So it’s July 3rd at 9:40 PM and there are fireworks going off outside and WHOEVER WAKES THIS BABY UP, I WILL COME DOWN TO THE LITTLE GAZEBO IN TOWN WHERE THE FIREWORKS ARE AND KICK YOUR PATRIOTIC ASS.

My wife is freakishly good at Skee-Ball. Like “eyes-of-fire, in the zone, minimum 300 points every round” good.

We sometimes like to go to an arcade if one is around and if there is Skee-Ball, that’s where we usually end up. Well, that’s where she ends up and I end up standing behind her, holding extra quarters.

So, we’re at the York Beach Fun-O-Rama today and there is Skee-Ball and, like I said, we inevitably find ourselves there. First of all, why do I bother? I’ve got this weird crossover thing I do with my arm when I roll the ball that makes the ball go to the left of center every time. I have good aim with other activities. Your mini-golf, your wacky target shooting with the drunk guy who plays piano when you shoot him in the arse, your Free Throw Frenzy. There’s just something about that rolling action that escapes me. My wife, however, was apparently born with this razor sharp Skee-Ball rolling action and touch. A typical 9-ball round of Skee-Ball for my wife goes something like this: 50-50-40-30-50-50-20-50-50. A typical Skee-Ball round for me goes like this: 10-10-10-10-10-20-10-10-10. That’s why I usually end up just standing behind her and coaching her. At the York Fun-O-Rama, you need at least 190 points just to get the minimum of 2 tickets. I figure I’m just pissing money away after giving it a few tries.

And so I’m standing behind her today, like usual, and tickets are pouring out of the machine and sirens are going off and little girls are standing nearby in total awe of this red-haired freak in front of me who earns more tickets in 3 rounds of Skee-Ball than they earn in a whole day’s worth and apparently, I get in her space and - this is no lie - she growls at me! She lines up a shot, is about to release, does some sort of kick back thing with her foot and she hits me and so she turns and growls at me and snaps, “Mooooove!”

Like I said, I stand behind her - not to close but close enough to coach. That positivity crap will not fly when my wife is earning tickets that will be turned in for valuable prizes later. “If you’re not getting a minimum of 250 every round,” I say, “then we might as well just leave and not waste our time.” My wife finds my Skee-Ball coaching very motivational.

So we get these huge runs of tickets and they’re pouring out of my pockets because, in addition to my Skee-Ball support position of Extra Quarters Holder Bitch, I’m also Hold On To All The Tickets And Don’t You Dare Drop Any Of Them Bitch. And so, you know how when normal people play Skee-Ball and they only get to look at that first glass prizes case and maybe get an army soldier, a press down and pop up thing, and a Tootsie Roll? They always glance longingly at the other cases while wondering who the hell even amasses 500 tickets at a time to win stuffed animals or fake autographed pictures of has-been pop idols. Well, my wife, that’s who.

My wife will kick your arse at Skee-Ball! Kick. Your. Arse.