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On Wednesday night, the events outside my living room window superceded the story
developing on my TV. At about 8:00 pm, a short wail of a police car was followed by
the constant flash of blue and red lights on the living room walls.

A quick run to the window transformed me into more than a casually interested
observer. An unmarked police car had pulled over a red Chevrolet sedan. The
driver of the vehicle and the police officer were both out of their cars. Mr.
policeman was not happy. He shouted at passenger to remain in the vehicle.
He shouted at the driver to remain behind the car while he peered into the
vehicle with a flashlight.

Probably a simple traffic stop, I thought to myself. It was odd that the
police officer was in an unmarked car. It was also odd that apparently the two
cars had come from within my neighborhood, not from the main road.
That isn’t the likeliest place for a radar trap. Oh well, no matter –
Ed was on.

What’s going on? Is disco coming back? Another trip to the window revealed
an even more interesting scene. Three more police vehicles had appeared, blocking
off much of the road. Six kids were lined up against the car. Several police
officers were talking to each other. Cars of adults began to appear.

This is getting good. I better get on the phone with the neighbors. The neighbor
behind me called to make sure John Travolta wasn’t dancing away in the yard.
I called the neighbor across the street to see if they had the scoop.
They too were peering from behind the curtains but had the window cracked
to gain an audio track to the movie playing in the street. A jarbled version of
the tale indicated there was something about an assault. The clown car of
children that was pulled over contained six kids. One was taking the blame.
He was the one in cuffs.

Eventually, parents showed up to take their future convicts home. The kid in cuffs
got to ride in the car with the pretty lights. Calm was restored.

That would have been the end of the story but it got much better when a kind policeman
stopped by while the wife, myself, and a neighbor were handing out candy on
Halloween. He had seen us peeking anxiously from the windows.

The kids in question were having a bit of fun, celebrating mischief night by sharing
some recent poultry purchases from the grocery store. This merry band of
adventurers had decided to not only pelt inanimate objects but humans as well.
In fact, a man in my neighborhood had been attacked with eggs as he exited his
truck. This man was unhappy. This man left his truck behind and jumped in his
undercover police car in hot pursuit.

A state trooper got his man that night. The kid in cuffs went to jail for assualt.
The hooligans in the car were stopped, thankfully before they got around to my
house.

I can’t help but chuckle at their bad luck. I’d say someone has egg on his face (oooo, too easy).
Just wait until junior gets back to school and has to hear about this one from his friends.

Senator Paul Wellstone was reportedly a well-respected, well-liked representative of the United States. His
death,
which occured when
the plane carrying him and his family plunged into the earth on
an Friday morning, should have caused waves of sorrow to sweep
through his
funeral. Instead, it turned ugly. It turned into a political
rally.

I didn’t know the man. Heck, I wasn’t even really aware of him
until this week. From what I gather, he was a democrat and a liberal.
His views fell far left of the fence. Undoubtedly, we would have disagreed
about nearly everything. That doesn’t limit my disgust about the tragic events
of his funeral.

Democrats have accused the republicans of taking advantage of a man’s death.
Some have went so far to ask them to concede the election.
But it seems it the real vultures were the democrats themselves; the pot
called the kettle black.

They cheered when Walter Mondale entered. They booed when Trent Lott
did the same. Can’t we all be civil?
If we are going to request
audience participation, as did Senator Tom
Harkin, can’t we at least stash the casket in the corner?

Mondale, Wellstone’s hand-picked successor to the ballet shuffled
to the podium and declared, “Tonight, our campaign begins.” Did it
have to be tonight? Can we be sad for just a little while? It seems
that Jesse Ventura might
bodyslam
the democrats against the ropes
for their actions. For once, we agree.

Those Democrats sure know how to throw a party. I just thought
they would have the decency to keep the dance floor off the man’s grave.

On Tuesday night, amid all of the
sniper anxiety of the last several weeks,
something very interesting crossed the police scanner that rested in
my wife’s hands. A call rang out, “Shots fired.” Gun shots
were reported in the woods of Columbia and the activity on the
scanner quickly reached a crescendo.

The chatter of weapons fire was quickly followed by a report of a white
van along the roadside. Two individuals had reportedly bailed from the vehicle.
Orders were given to block the highways in the area and, if I’m not
mistaken, interstate 95 was one of them. The police response
was swift.

Luckily, this was a false alarm. Unluckily, the police did not have another
chance to catch the sniper. The gun shots from the woods were from
a hunter; a hunter that evidently thought he was above a
decree
by the governor. The van in question had broken down. It’s occupants
had left the vehicle to seek assistance. The situation was quickly
investigated and quickly resolved.

That didn’t mean the whole incident didn’t grab the interest of the wife and
I. Is it him? Are they on the run? Speak up scanner. We need to know.
Could we be listening to the call that finally catches the killer?
Unfortunately, the answer was no. The
events of Wednesday
night followed a similar path. This time, however, we watched
along with the rest of the world as the events unfolded on national
television.

Reports stormed in about a
link
to Tacoma, Washington. The view from the
helicopter showed the police cleaning up. Evidently, they hadn’t just arrived.
Killings in Montgomery, Alabama were suspected to be related. Finally,
the
focus of the police shifted from the ever elusive white van to something
completely different and much more specific. Police were seeking
a 1990 Chevrolet Caprice and the men who were driving it. Names
were given. Pictures soon followed. I looked over to the wife and said,
“They’ll have them by noon.”

They did.

A passing motorist noticed that not all of us had slept well the night before.
Two men were rudely awaken at gunpoint. The car was searched. The weapon
was
found. The evidence is damning. Hand shakes began.
The clouds of the last several weeks that came in the
form a madman that stalked the innocent behind the scope of a rifle have
finally been lifted.

As the
details slowly leak out, I’ll have a little battle with myself.
I’m intensly curious about the details of the investigation. What
were the communications with the police? What did the police know
and when did they know it? However, I’m not so sure the public should be
told. I’d hate to think that someone could learn from this killer’s mistakes.

The terrorists of the world like to believe their acts are of courage and
bravery. I disagree. I can’t imagine anything more cowardly than
hiding behind a gun and firing on women and children. I hope the
careful words of the past are replaced by shouts that
denounce this act for what it was:
a treacherous crime by a gutless chicken shit.

Looking back (if, in fact, I can look back at this point), people
like
Andrew Sullivan, bring up some interesting
points.
I have one to add. I’ve found it rather sad that some of the horrible events
around the world were all but ignored by the major news networks during
the sniper’s reign of terror.
Tragic events such as the fiery
attack in Bali or the ongoing
hostage
crisis in Russia should not have been regulated to a scrolling
update on
CNN. These are major events. I understand that
our crisis at home was important, and, for that matter, weighed
heavily on my own mind, but we found out on September 11th that
terrorism is world news. It does effect us, rather we like it or not.

The end of all this brings a nice, if only temporary, sense of relief.
People no longer need to approach the gas tank of their car like a
deer stealing a drink of water from a nearby stream.
I may take a celebratory walk through the neighborhood just to
mark the occasion. No need to peer into the woods. It’s safe – at least
as far as we know.

This weekend I had a little bit of “me time”, a time where I could relax and
do — well, do whatever my little heart desires. The wife was treated
to a free trip to Ocean City by a good friend and off she went Saturday morning.
I had all weekend to myself. What to do? What to do?

I usually fill nights out on the town by the wife with an invite for a couple
of friends. They come over to watch some movies and play some
games. I rarely spend this time alone.

This time, however, I wanted a slight change of pace. I wanted a chance
to adjust to the quiet of the house, where only the cat and dog need the
occasional bit of attention. I wanted to feel a little lonely. I wanted to
focus on me (hmm, that sounds a bit unfair in retrospect).

And so I did. I had to deal with the cable man in the morning but the
afternoon was filled with activities to make me happy. A quick spat
with
Madden 2003,
some reading, and a quite a lot of
Battlefield 1942
dominated the rest of the day. Some
unfortunate news finished off the night as I fell asleep in front of the TV.

Sunday I awoke determined to feed my
Mafia fix. There went my early
afternoon, where only
Ravens’ game diverted my attention from the mob.
Then, a funny thing happened: I started cleaning. Some dishes,
vacumming, trash, poop duty (I’ll go over this another day), and a lawn mower
discussion later, my husbandly duties were complete. The wife must be
messing with my internal wiring; it couldn’t have been me that thought the
house was dirty. It just couldn’t have.

The time away from the wife seemed to have its intended effect.
Sometimes her mere absence leads to a yearning of the heart that her
reappearence answers.

I’m glad I had the time to take. In only three months, “me time”
will be in very short supply. For the next 18 years or so, “me time” will consist
of me clutching a magazine and yelling to the wife to stop the kids from
banging on the bathroom door.

Month 6. Two-thirds of the pregnancy is behind us; only 3 months remain.
A baby is most certainly on the way.

However, some may have noticed that the baby posts have thinned out a bit.
I suppose that this is because the baby hasn’t doesn’t anything especially
new for a while. Sure, it kicks the heck out of the wife. The stomach
rumbles to and fro, hinting a bit about the little life contained within.
Monthly visits to the doctors continue. A quick check-up and
a quick listen to the heartbeat assures us that everything is going
fine (Thank God).

Our recent past was filled with joyous announcements and surprises,
allowing us to share the good news with family and friends.
Doctor visits began. The first beats of the baby’s heart
were music to our ears; the first sonogram was a sight to behold.

Preparations for the future started in earnest.
Inventory was taken and a baby registry put in place.
(By the way, we are registrered at
Babies R Us. Email me
for a direct link.)
Colors and designs were chosen for the baby’s room.
Paint is sure to follow. The wife and I even got certified in
baby and infant CPR, gaining an incredibly important skill
that we pray we never need to use.

But things on the baby front are going through a bit of a lull. The giddiness
of discovery has been traded for reflection of the past and a long look
to our expectant future. We are in the middle of the calm before the
storm. We can take stock of the last six months and look ahead to
the coming weather. We are so lucky – so incredibly lucky.

The opportunity to rest won’t last much longer. I see baby showers on
the horizon. I see visions of our child in the clouds. I see the lightning
and thunder that signal the arrival of our new family member.

This little pause is something that we both need but will barely notice in
the overall scheme of things.
I’ll just enjoy it while I can. It may be the last time
I can sleep until 10:00 am on Saturday morning.

I don’t know if the stigma of using a public bathroom to defecate was brought
on by genes, public perception, or just the plain nastiness of the normal
gas station potty but it’s there. When I got to go #2, I’d rather do it
at home – thank you very much. Unfortunately, it isn’t always my choice.

It certainly wasn’t my choice this weekend but there I was. I wouldn’t be
settling down with a magazine or newspaper here.
Just do your business and get out. And get out I did. If you are going to
choose a time to poop clean, this is the time. Occasions like this
are like a little victory, making you want to do a little jig. I did, however, precede to pull up my pants before starting my dance steps.

Aren’t you glad that story is out of the way. Me too. How about one more?

The rules of urinal ettiquette are widely known and generally recognized
within the race of men, the world over. When a soul flaunts these
unwritten agreements, it harms us all folks. These very simple
pronoucements go something like:

Unfortunately, the person in front of me as I entered the mall bathroom
this weekend must have been from Mars (or Kentucky, you never can tell).

The bathroom in question had a simple row of four urinals. The first three,
starting on the left were the normal, adult-sized urinals. The last urinal,
found on the right, was a child’s urinal (girls, this one has its height adjusted
to allow the short tikes among us easy access). The man in front of me
happily took stand-up latrine number 2, directly in the middle of the three
adult-sized urinals.

Hold up. Foul. Ref, blow the whistle on this guy. Ten yard penalty.
What was I to do? Do I shuffle in next to him and ignore his sad
breach of ettiquette? Or do I suck it up and take the junior pee pot,
glad to get some distance between him and I?

You guessed it. I had to aim down.
I suppose I felt a bit foolish for my choice. At least I didn’t have to worry
about him asking for my phone number.

I mowed my lawn today. Yeah, I know, not the most exciting thing in the world,
but it sure needed to be done. I didn’t want to do it. I really
didn’t. And this time my reasons extended beyond my normal fits of laziness.

I’m not afraid to admit that the tragic
shootings of the last week were
roving around in my brain as I pondered whether or not to strap on
the grass-proof shoes and venture into the yard. However, I am
a bit ashamed that a touch of fear factored into my eventual decision.

The actions of a coward have invaded my little world, much to the
happiness of the person responsible. I don’t doubt that this was
the intended effect and, because of that, anger grips me.
Who’s doing this? Why? Is it some lone wolf who has gone completely
off their rocker? Is it a directed terrorist attack?
Each shooting seems closer to home, closer to family,
and closer to me.
Taken separately, each attack is a horrible occurence, taking advantage
of the daily life of a few to spread anger and fear.
Taken together, these events are truly tragic.
As spoken by the Montgomery County Police Chief this morning, these
attacks are
personal.

In starting the mower, a taste of fear and uncertainty swept through
me. I took stock of my surroundings.
The neighborhood was quiet – earily quiet. It was early
and only the sounds of the occasional passing
car accompanied me. It was as if the community were bracing for trouble – people shrouded in their homes, pondering the unknown danger ahead.
The sidewalks and yards were devoid of life, standing in stark contrast to
the simple activities that brighten a normal Sunday morning.

Not long after I began my yard work, the neighborhood slowly, but surely,
came alive. A mower growled to life across the street. The whine of a
weed wacker could be heard coming from a neighbor’s house.
Maybe I broke the ice. Maybe I led the charge back to normalcy,
where panic and somewhat irrational fear
are replaced by the daily drone of life. Maybe I’m giving myself way to
much credit.

It did make me feel better to get out and face my shadow. It made me
feel even better to see my lawn properly manicured. But, sadly,
it’s apparently not over. More of the innocent die. I hope
the bad guys can be captured and quickly brought to justice. The lives of the
innocent are not cannon fodder for madmen of the world and I need
few new reasons to avoid cutting the grass.

A new season of network television began about mid-September and, as
normal, I’ve been watching. I’ve been checking in on old favorites,
attempting to see which got better and which
“jumped the shark“.
I’ve also been looking for that new show that can sink its hooks
into me and not let go.

What follows is a quick run down – show by show – of what I’ve sampled
over the last couple of weeks and what I thought about each. It’s high
time I have an entry that delves a bit into pop culture.

Sunday

The Sopranos
The star show of HBO and for
good reason. Season 4 has started a bit slowly but that’s par for the
course. The first three shows have been happy to present conflict after
conflict. However, nearly none of those problems have been resolved.
I like the relaxed pace of the show, season after season. Turn on the
heat, bring the water to a simmer, and then, and only then, let the fireworks
begin. I have no doubt that when the water boils, I’ll be watching.

Curb Your Enthusiasm
A lighthearted comedy about the “real-life” trials of Larry David, the
creator of Seinfeld. It’s quirky and the only show from the Seinfeld
crew (the shows from the individual actors were unbearable) that
is (or was in the case of those other shows) noteworthy. There is
a healthy dose of Seinfeld humor here (Larry himself shares a lot
with Seinfeld’s character George – there’s even an episode about
that fact). From what I understand, there’s is no set script
for the actors, just simple situations. The somewhat improvisational
banter lends the show a different cadence, one that no doubt kept
it from public TV. Oh well, it will have to do as the funniest show
on cable.

The Practice
I haven’t seen this one in a year. I just wanted to waive goodbye to
and old favorite that just doesn’t fit into my time schedule anymore. Buh-bye.

Monday

Drew Carey
I still like Drew’s little show but somehow I feel it is on its way down.
It used to be outragously funny, with cute little dancing numbers and
fun little nuances. Now, it’s just good. I hope the trend does not
continue.

Whose Line is it Anyway?
This is one of those shows that I’ve always had trouble finding time
to watch but always enjoy. This season is no different. Its one of
the few comedies where I actually laugh out loud. I can’t imagine
saying anything nicer.

Tuesday

Frasier
Frasier is still a good, solid comedy. I don’t know if I’ll always set aside
time specifically to watch it but, when I do, I know there will be something
for me. 24, a show that got my
award for best new show last year (you know the wonderful Kensies) may
have something to say about my Frasier viewing schedule when it begins
competing for my time in late October.

Hidden Hills
A show I’ve watched only because it follows Frasier. Ok there’s one more
reason.
It’s surprising cute, with the second show being better than the first. That’s
a good trend.

Wednesday

My Wife and Kids
This is another solid comedy, and one that I rarely fit into the wife and
I’s viewing schedule. Everyone seems to associate this show with the
Cosby show because both families are African American. The association
should be made because both are really great comedies for the whole
family.

Ed
My favorite show after the Sopranos. A quirky town with some
very quirky characters that reminds me a whole bunch of
Nothern Exposure. If you haven’t watched this show before,
do so. You really don’t know what you are missing.

The West Wing
Despite the fact that I’m a republican, I really like this show. Heck,
it features a democrat as president that even I’d vote for (yep,
only in Hollywood is this possible). I think it has something
about the fact that he has a pair of balls. Maybe Al Gore should
look for his. In any case, I was bit worried that recent events
would make any fictional topics basically irrelevant. I hope
(and so far it seems) that fear is unfounded.

Thursday

Friends
Another solid start to the most consistently good comedy of the last decade.
I won’t likely miss an episode for a while but, jeez, Ross and Rachel
get together already. C’mon guys, you know you wanna give us
one more season. You know you do.

Scrubs
One of my favorite new shows from last year (and now one of my
favorite shows, period) returns for another season in a much better
time slot. Hurrah. Maybe this show will get the recognition that
it deserves.

ER
The last couple seasons of this one seem to define the phrase “jump the
shark” (maybe it should be jump the GSW). Most of the main characters
have spent the time jumping ship (I still don’t understand how they
can turn down the weekly paycheck), leaving little in their wake. The first
episode of this season
was great, though. They better keep them coming if they want the wife
to stop nodding off in the middle.

Survivor
Another group of whiners left in the middle of nowhere to fend for themselves.
As the seasons wear on, I feel more shame for enjoying it but I still do.
All reality shows should take an extra cue from this one.
Eating bugs = drama. Take that to the bank.

CSI
The premiere was a typical episode – maybe too typical.
Nonetheless, I grew quite fond of the show last season. Neat take
on an interesting premise equals a modern day mystery.

Push Nevada
Odd, odd show. The story, or really all the stuff they don’t tell you,
is intriguing. Lots of odd stuff is going on and the main character
knows nothing. I may stick with a while; I may not. I’m mostly
concerned that I won’t know any more weeks from now than
I know right now. Stop drawing it out and get to the point already!
Unfortunately, the current ratings may never allow the mystery
to be revealed. Now that would be a bummer.

Friday

Firefly
Mix the some old west bandits with spaceships. It was surprisingly decent,
as these types of shows go. I wouldn’t mind catching another episode but,
given that it’s shown on Friday night, I may never do so.

John Doe
The episode I caught (which was the first) was pretty decent. The only
problem is that it looks like a show you may need to follow to fit the
pieces together. Like Firefly above, its timeslot virtually assures
me that I will do nothing of the sort.

For those wondering how I could possibly watch all this stuff, I wonder myself.
My poor VCR gets quite a workout. Let’s just say that we don’t watch much
miscellaneous television. There’s always too much waiting on tape.
It’s about high time I get myself a
Tivo.

My Trans Am and I are buddies, despite the fact that cars are, by
definition, female (don’t tell the wife). Unfortunately, my buddy
has run into some trouble of late.

It all started this weekend. Given that my car was dirty, and
the knowledge that I’ve been
ignoring
that fact for a little while, I decided to
spend some time giving it a clean shave. A trip to the car wash,
some vacuming, and a splash or two of glass and tire clean later
and the car was looking good. Vroom, vroom – happiness abounds.

All that cleanliness did not go unpunished. Wandering out to my
vehicle Monday morning, I noticed something quite distressing:
someone had been kind enough to decorate the side of my car with
a permanent black magic marker. I did not appreciate their artistic
talent, or lack thereof. Great work. Just wonderful, I mused.
I hope to God I can get it out of my white paint. Thankfully, a
mixture of bug and tar cleaner and a little tender use
of brake fluid removed the squiggly line.

(By the way, I learned the the brake fluid trick on the night of my
wedding. The festive invitees of our wedding were kind of enough
to use shoe polish to help celebrate the day,
despite the fact that shoe polish is just a special form of paint. Brake fluid will
work but be careful, its not good for your paint job. Needless to
say, the old Mercedes still said “Just Married” on the trunk when I
sold it several years ago.)

The whole incident pissed me off but I’m over it. I’ll be keeping
a closer eye on my vehicle from now on, particularly when it’s parked
on the street. If I’m ever given the opportunity to avenge
this heiness act, I’d know I’m more creative than physical violence.

A half an hour later, I was finally off to work, happy to put it
all behind me. The scene that awaited me when I approached the
car for a trip to lunch did not put a smile on my face. The
landscaping guys had been hard at work mowing the grass and I,
unfortunately, had parked right next to the building. The vehicle
that I spent a couple of hours cleaning this weekend, was now
partially green.

Thankfully, the drive home that night reminded me why I purchased the
car in the first place. Because of my late arrival and matching exit
from work, there was little traffic to fight. The night air was cool,
the sky was clear, the T-tops were off, and the radio was playing
some sweet tunes. Glad to have you back little buddy. Hope you are
feeling better.