I'm honored...
I think. Without naming my sources or the technology involved, I find out that my miserable little blog is being probed (don't you just love that word..?) by a cyber-agency that specializes in uncovering and reporting threats against the US Government (a.k.a.: the ruling class of Amerika, the Land of the Free) on the internet... Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and loved... I can't imagine what brought this on. I'm not a world class political ranter. I don't think that I've openly threatened anyone in government or private sector, at least not in any way that could possibly be misconstrued as serious...
I've poked at the Democratic (sic) party here and there, and taken a few swipes at the moonbats when they've hovered around too closely but all in fun, I think. Maybe it's not me, maybe it's the other blogs, web sites and new pages I frequent... guilt by association, maybe? Geez, is there going to be a knock at the door late one night after which I'll be whisked away to some hidden enclave, where they (general meaning there...) can keep an eye on me to make sure I don't do what ever it is I've been doing anymore? Shall I become one of those "hey, he was here a minute ago!" statistics? Maybe it's the black clothes or the black nail polish or maybe it's my profound love of Russian vodka!
Ok, cyber-agency, take your cloak and your dagger and go probe someone else now, I don't feel like playing anymore...
Maybe you can invest the time and energy and bandwidth investigating what the real threats to our nation are up to on the web, rather than worrying about me. I'm just here having fun. Really. I mean it... Why don't you go see what the antichrist... oh, sorry, I mean that Clinton woman is up to... or Kofi, or Teddy K... there's investigative fodder for you. I'm harmless. Really...

pearls before swine...

you know what they say...
"One is not enough, two is too many, three is not enough..." Martinis, you know. Vodka martinis, of course. Shaken, definitely not stirred, with three olives. Or two olives flanking a ball of marinated mozzarella cheese. (purists are shuddering, I can tell). No matter. I drank the first one outside, under a sky the color of new steel, shapeless and flat. The back garden is showing signs of what might be an early autumn, the poplars are already shedding leaves, spotting the lawn and lining the edges of the walk where the wind has swept them. They are an odd decoration, but remind me of something in my far past and make me smile. The bottom growth of the moonflowers and morning glories that cover the trellis against the back wall of the house are starting to yellow and thin. The daylilies are starting to thin and look reed like, the hostas are droopy and tired. It could be the effects of the relentless heat of late, but I think it's fall sneaking in behind us just before the screen door of summer slams shut. Speaking of sneaking in, while I was in the kitchen mixing number two, I realized that I was mentally singing along with the shrill and practiced strain of the first cricket of the season. It was somewhere in the breakfast nook, hiding out of reach of Tiger the Cat, somewhere small and safe, but big enough to fiddle it's tune. A cricket in the house is good luck, they say. If so, I will take it, as it seems to be metering itself out in meager issue these days. But, vodka is not as scarce as luck right now, so while number three awaits in the wings, I will take my leave.
I bid thee fair 'eve.

pearls before swine...