Mitt's a Moron

AND NOW, FRESH OFF THE PRESSES OF MY BULLSHIT METER, THIS JUST IN:

I could look this up in Wikipedia or something, but I won't. I assume Mitt is short for Mittenwald or something. Or Mittskrieg, which rhymes with blitzkrieg.

Or maybe it's some form of the word myopic. Or moronic.

Actually, I now HAVE looked it up. Mitt is short for Milton. Mitt was named after a Chicago Bears' quarterback.

It's important to note here that Mitt was the head guy for the 2002 Salt Lake Olympics, which were plagued by scandal involving payoffs and neat stuff like that. I was actually there and covered those Games.

Never met Mitt though.

We digress.


Woe is the U.S. Republican and religious right as far as the U.S. presidential race goes.


Mitt Romney finally gave up the ghost on Thursday. Not because he's a larger-than-life Donny Osmond lookalike with his coiffed hair and billions of dollars or because America didn't actually support him, mind you.


But only because he didn't want to help the Democrats win and therefore result in the U.S. losing the Republicans' fabricated war on terror.


Here's a few grafs from one story I found. And keep in mind, whenever a politician uses the word "frankly" not once, but twice, in the same paragraph, he's totally bullshitting.


"Romney said he had taken the decision because continuing his battle with McCain would weaken his party, increasing the chances of a Democrat victory which would mean a "surrender to terror."


In what was the most passionate speech of Romney's campaign, he said he was making the sacrifice for the common good.


"If I fight on all the way to convention, I forestall the launch of a national campaign and, frankly, I would be making it easier for Senator Clinton or Obama to win," he said. "Frankly, in this time of war, I simply cannot let my campaign be a part of aiding a surrender to terror."


The Super Tuesday primaries had left him with 270 delegates to Mr McCain's 680. The multi-millionaire had said he needed a minimum of 400 to stay in the race.


Romney told a conservative conference in Washington: "Conservative principles are needed now more than ever. Soon, the face of liberalism in America will have a new name. Whether it is Barack or Hillary, the result will be the same."


(Eds note: Bullshit meter goes off the scale)

"The opponents of American culture will push the throttle."

---

This is a guy who's a Mormon, who wants to ban gay marriages, who talks about Europe's economic problems as being "the inevitable product of weakened faith in the Creator, failed families, disrespect for the sanctity of human life and eroded morality."


And now he's done.

So all the Far Right has left is Huckabee, who had been in third place before Mitt magically disappeared. All I can say is, John McCain, I like you. You're the only Republican candidate, but you're going to lose anyway.

This is poetic justice. Isn't it? Mitt the twit takes the hit. What a sacrifice. What a farce.

Baseball...and my son's average

The baseball bat above, which is laying on my bed tonight, has an inscription on the back.

It says, "Thank you. The '99 Waverley Warriors."

This was a bat given to me by the girls' baseball team I coached that year. My daughter, now 19, was on that team and was only 10 or so at the time.

It was given to me at a season windup barbecue, and it is special to me, so I keep it.

My son? I tried desperately to get him into sports. He just isn't athletic, as I always was as a kid, and he never really liked hockey, baseball, tae kwon do, or any of the other sports I tried to get him into.

So after a while, I stopped trying to make him be like me. I stopped the lectures about how sports made me so much of what I am today.

Not that I'm super athletic today at my age. But as a young boy and as a teenager and as a young man, sport gave me power. It made me nimble, fast, aggressive, strong. It gave me confidence.

Sport gave me power and desire to do better. Hockey, baseball, football, basketball, volleyball, Blackjack.

You name it.

Sports gave me a sense of competitiveness. I could compete. I could hit people, which I loved doing. Knocking people down, legally (most of the time). I could score. And I was a demon on defence.

I wasn't a star, but I was an important part of whatever team I played on.

My body was a finely-tuned machine that gave me a feeling of invulnerability, one that allowed me to do incredible things.

I loved skipping across rocks at the lake and not falling once because my agility allowed me to do that.

I wanted my son to have that same sense of confidence and power in his body and mind, which I've carried through my life. But no. Physicality is just not his thing. Athletics and sports just aren't what he's into.

I had great disappointment at one time. Not because I wished he would be a clone of me, but just because I think sports have given me so much in my life and helped define, to a large extent, who I am.

I can remember, after more or less forcing him to play baseball at age 7 or so, how he was out of his league in a baseball game. I was coaching his team too. But I needed to challenge him. My thing was all kids play all positions.

Everybody plays the same amount, star or not. Everybody has the same challenge, more or less and within reason, and everybody is an equal part of the team.

At that age, the coaches are out on the field of play trying to teach the kids where to stand, etc.

He was looking at me as the biggest kid on the opposing team came up to bat. The kid hit a line drive to third base...and hit my Evan right in the side of the head as he was looking at me, wondering where he should stand.

I almost died right then and there.

I wanted to just love him and be his dad and hold him as he cried and make sure he was OK. But I was also his coach. I had to be both at the same time.

I felt like I had to protect him from embarrassment but also not embarrass him.

We got through it, past it.

But he never played baseball again. I so wish he had, but he didn't. He's just not into sports.

Fast-forward to now.

He's 16. He's having a hard time in school, so that's a big focus. He's a lovely kid with a huge heart and hormones. He has a girlfriend seven hours away, everything is electronic, there are no sports in his life. For him, it's magic.

But for whatever reason, he has attached himself to that baseball bat.

Every time he's over here by himself, in between a spare at high school or just because he wants to raid my fridge, I see the bat has been picked up, by him, and played with or held or whatever.

The picture above is an indication of where he left it today -- on my bed -- which is where my computer is, in my bedroom. He's a product of the electronic age, but for whatever reason, he latches on to this bat.

And he leaves it lying around wherever he goes, so I have to keep returning it to where I usually leave it. But I always leave it where he can see it and touch it or do whatever he needs with it, if he wants to.

And he always seems to want to just hold it or whatever.

I don't get that, really. But somehow, I like it.

Super Bore Tailgate Party in the Great White North

WHILE ALL THOSE WEINY WANKERPANTS* THOUSANDS OF MILES SOUTH OF WINTERPEG WERE GEARING UP FOR SUPER BORE XXIIVVCCVIIIIV, WE WERE REVVING UP FOR THE BIG GAME HERE TOO.



OK, maybe not all of us.

My dang camera battery was drained.

So I couldn't immediately take pictures of the 100's of fans at our huge white tail-gating party in the snow at the back of my big, grey Dodge Dakota 4 x 4 rental truck, which I will have to return Tuesday.

OK, maybe not hundreds of fans. In fact, it was just me...

...Looking super stupid trying to take a picture of myself.

There wasn't another soul in sight, but I'm sure people were looking through their windows, saying, 'Who's that dork and why does he have a football in his hands?'

So OK, use your imaginations. Picture the following images in white.

Yes, even beyond the 49th parallel, the National Felons League grabs us by the throat and won't let us go. We Canadians are captured by the glitter and glam of the Super Bore and the tailgate party phenomenon.

It was relatively warm here today, only about 60-70 degrees fahrenheit or more below that of the world's biggest show in Phoenix, so football fans of all stripes (actually, just me) congregated in my apartment's parking lot.

We (I) cooked hot dogs and hamburgers with all the accoutrements, drank copious amounts of beer followed by hot chocolate.

And then we all went to our apartments to fall asleep while the game was on. (Actually, I only went outside to take those pix).

The NY Giants won, I later found out from a lovely lass. So the NE Patriots' unbeaten season is over.

But if it was a hot summer day, this is what it would have looked like...

OK, USC isn't playing in this game. Who cares?

I confess, we did have an editorial board meeting to consider whether we should publish the above photo. We decided that our job here was to portray the Super Bore experience as it really is.

So there you have it.

Hey! It's dark here already! The game started an hour or more ago!

I need to fix up my Super Bowl Supper true to the desert cuisine...baked cactus in rattlensnake sauce, horny-toad lizard deep fry and scorpion a la mode.

Who's playing again? And yes, that's a Canadian Football League ball in my hands. It's true, we have bigger balls up here, it's in the rules. (There is no intention here to make any puns. Really).

* Weiny Wankerpants is a derivative of a phrase first coined by Homo Escapeons, Winky Winkerpants or something, in response to Within Without. There has been no copyright infringement.

COMPUTER GEEK QUESTION OF THE WEEK

HELP! MY EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE ISN'T RESPONDING!

Yes, this was the heading to a real question posed in some online computer troubleshooting thingy I started magically receiving once I bought this new computer -- something I usually never read.

Except for when doozy headlines like this are used.

And here's that question of the week:

Hi everyone. I bought a Western Digital 200GB external hard drive 90-plus days ago, and the buttons quit. I can't back up. I sent WD several e-mails, and no response from them.

If I get another external hard drive, could I open this one, and transfer data to the new external one from the old? How would I do this?

Also: If this can be done, could the one I have then be reformatted, put in a new casing? Does anyone know how to repair these on/off/auto buttons? Will I lose everything I backed up to the WD external drive?

Please keep the explanation simple, as I'm a 63-year-old 'Nanny', IRS Reg. Tax Preparer.

Thank you!

I will not include here the suggested remedy for this "nanny's" problem.

Suffice to say now I know what to do when my own external hard drive isn't responding.