White Lightning Axiom: Redux: Physically quantifiable properties by volume

Thursday, April 20, 2006


Physically quantifiable properties by volume

Karate practice. Mostly, it is training on how to follow instructions. If you remember the abuse that was heaped upon Ralph in the Karate Kid my Mr Miyagi, well, there you go. It did not make sense till the rubber hit the road. For now, the kids are going through a set of physical calisthenics and mental training on discipline. It seems a bit silly to fork over hundreds of dollars to have someone else tell your kids to do push-ups, but as far as I'm concerned, I get 1 hour three times a week where I can read a few pages out of Atlas Shrugged. I actually got to the part where Reardon was being preached to (indoctrinated) by Francisco and the namesake phrase of the book appeared. Good stuff. It only took me a few chapters to figure out where I had left off since Jake decided that my book mark was inappropriately placed. I'll be reading more at the swim lessons tonight. I might actually finish before I die of old age. Odd thing, when some of the other less radically minded folks around me see the book, they tend to be less inclined to ask me who my favorite participant in 'American Idol' is. I wonder what they would say if I brought in my current copy of American Rifleman.

After the Karate Five-Finger-Death Point Blow Training, we went home to ride tricycles on the mile long drive till sundown. At that time, Alexis the Agitator informed me that she wants a pink bicycle now. You see, we saw a little girl with her shiny pink ride on the sidewalk and now it is the focus of all thoughts for her. I informed her that if she was good till Christmas and wrote a really eloquent letter to Santa, perhaps she would get one. She agreed, but I'm fairly certain that she was considering kidnapping Blitzen and ransoming him off for the illicit gain that is her new fixation.

It's roughly 2215, the kids have been in bed for a short time. As scheduled, they will both vacate their snuggly cocoons of down pillows and 1000 thread sheets and seek me out with some contrived story of why they need not be in bed. At the same time, the Longing Mrs calls on the cell phone ... and Family Friend Pete calls on the Main Trunk. Egads! I had just gotten off the line with Fellow Knight Rhett. He called to let me know that all our insurance policies went through and he will want to meet up with us again. Especially Jacob. He and Jake are fast friends. In any event, the collusion among all parties to vie for my attention at nearly the same moment in time is highly suspicious. I'm thinking its subterfuge on the part of Butros-Butros Gali. No, I'm certain of it. I'll be watching for black helicopters ... just got done lining the inside of the manor attic with tin-foil. Expensive proposition ... took quite a few rolls.

Peculiar bladder habits have been the vexation of my life of late. Alexis, with her dainty retention, actually got up the other night and went pee by herself. Great! This past night, she did not get up but still peed by herself. ARGH. Poor girl is mortified when she does this and just lies there awake, softly sobbing. I know she will come along, I just wish it would not crush her so. I'll have to watch her fluid intake tonight and boost her confidence. She could use a good cathartic series of bathroom successes. Perhaps she will abandon her nihilistic view of the potty.

Traffic SUCKED this morning. Yet another accident between 309 and Mid-County and the congestion due to construction barriers is becoming intolerable. It seems to be wide-spread on other arteries as well, or so my co-workers tell me. I'm fairly certain it has to do with my slightly later departure time. You see, day-care opens at 0700 so I can not get on the road before 0715 no matter how soon I evacuate the Manor. Perhaps, I should complain to the auto manufacturers and ask them where the hell are all the flying cars of the future. You know, the stuff we were told of in out youth which would appear in the new century. Stupid Turnpike.

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