Fire rages out of control in Carmel Forest

I'm afraid to go to sleep. I'm afraid of what the news will be tomorrow morning.
Forty people have already been killed: A bus full of trainees for the prison service, caught in the inferno. I can only hope for them that it was quick and that they were overcome by smoke and didn't feel the flames. The news is saying that they were mostly from the Druze community, a small community, what a catastrophe for that community, and for all of us!
Three police personnel are in critical condition and others are missing, unaccounted for.
Thousands of people have been evacuated from their homes. If they need volunteers to host those families, I think we'll volunteer. Where will they put so many people anyway?
They've run out of whatever it is they use to stop the fire - it isn't water - and the fire is still raging.
The Carmel forests are gone.
Cypress, Greece, Croatia, France, Russia, and one other country- didn't catch who -- are sending help. Even Egypt and Jordan have offered. We didn't ask Turkey, considering the circumstances. But Turkey is sending two helicopters anyway. Well, we helped them out when they had their earthquake, and we don't have a bone to pick with most Turks. It is encouraging that all these countries are willing to help. It is so encouraging. i was sure they all hated us and would enjoy watching us suffer.
We've been sitting in front of the TV for 4-5 hours watching the news. We haven't been glued to the TV like this since 9/11. There hasn't been a single commercial.
This is a national catastrophe and I'm afraid to go to sleep because I'm afraid to wake up to hear the full extent of it.

My Fantasy

I have a fantasy in which I'm walking along and am forced into a situation in which I heroically risk my life to save some guy. The guy is a master of his trade - like a top grade guitar teacher or plastic surgeon or something, and he is so grateful that he begs me to allow him to give me free guitar lessons, or free plastic surgery, you know, something useful.

Of course I know that it isn't going to happen. I'm never walking along, I'm always in the car, and I'm the type to call 911 (or 101 in our area), as I like to leave things to the experts. Also, even if I was walking and did save him myself he'd be like a tree surgeon and I have no trees.

Real Madrid Goes Shopping

Real Madrid went shopping and bid on a new player, a Portuguese midfielder named Cristiano Ronaldo for... 94,000,000 Euro. That's over 100 million dollars. Enough to save a bank's ass from bank-ruptcy. Or thereabouts.
Not knowing much about soccer, I can only assume that Mr. Ronaldo's considerable skills include being able to kick a ball real good.

In school, if I didn't do well in math or literature my folks would have been all over me like flies on a dead horse, but if I got a C- in gym, and a nasty note from the teacher for not really showing up half the time, nothing happened. After all, my folks were sending me to school to become a doctor/lawyer/quality assurance supervisor, etc., not a field hockey coach. Had I known that ball kicking, or ball hitting, or jumping into a pool and swimming real fast would have put me in the fast lane toward becoming an economy unto myself, I would have changed my priorities.
Now IT IS TOO LATE!!! Even for my own kids, who are past high school. Why oh why did I not visit the gym teacher on conference night, instead of the physics teacher? Why did I let my daughter drop out of gymnastics? What kind of a mother am I, why couldn't I get my priorities straight?!?

Doctors who transplant organs don't make nearly that much, do they? Not even software engineers. Even presidents who are considered to be a god by half the country aren't worth that much. Show me somebody who'll pay over 100 million dollars for President Obama. Right. Nobody.

Real Madrid is convinced that having Mr. Ronaldo will result in enough advertising and what-not to rake in that amount and more. They are probably right. My high school economics teacher committed suicide right after we graduated. I never understood why, but now I think I do.

The Difference Between a Thong and a Wedgie

What's the difference between a wedgie and a thong? No, really - what's the difference? Back in the day, if you wanted to enjoy the feeling of nothing between you and your jeans, all you had to do was make eye contact with the neighborhood bully and presto, free of charge, your underwear was yanked northward, only to be stopped by your important anatomy.

Now you have to pay good money for the privelege, and it's called a thong. What purpose does it serve? The jury is still out on that one. And what is it made of anyways, the material that's left over after they use up the leftovers? It's like paying money for holy air in those little blue boxes. Seems like a rip-off. It should come free in a box of cereal. No, it would get lost in a big old box of cereal. Maybe a box of cracker jacks. Do they still have those? Or maybe in one of those little plastic eggs that cost 50 cents. Or in a box of holy air.

Missing Zebra and Polygamists

Now that Zebra is gone work is really boring. No morning email to discuss our favorite passtime, FLDS, or polygamists. It seems like just two weeks ago we had a polygamy marathon. That isn't a euphamism for an orgy, and no, we did not become sister-wives, but we watched three back-to-back episodes of Big Love, season I, which we had missed because this banana republic plopped us down smack in the second season. We never knew how Nicky and Margene came to marry Bill and Barb. (Strangely, we still don't, even after the first three episodes of season I.) Anyway, I'll always remember that afternoon.

Before we discovered polygamists, we had both commented that we needed a wife in our respective marriages. It would be nice to have someone to do the shopping, clean the house, watch the kids, etc. It's really hard to find good help, and it's quite expensive. Anyway, there was just that stickly little problem of consumation, but we'd cross that bridge when we got there.

My remaining work friends are great, and we spend many a lunch break discussing American Idol and other top quality cultural diversions, but the polygamy bug has not yet bit them.

Zebra's division went belly-up, and they all got their walking papers. Damn recession. It seems like only yesterday, or maybe last month, Zebra and I were discussing our road trip to Utah. Now that probably won't happen. It probably wouldn't happen anyway, but one can dream.