What if God was on Facebook and he unfriended you?

This is a perfect commentary on my growing addiction. Three days without a working computer -- the power plug on my netbook broke and I haven't had the time to fix it -- and I'm going crazy without the means to post or blog.

Anyway, as good as the application iBlogger may be, it's a bit too kludgy for my tastes. I'll have to leave you with an apology and a promise to be back as soon as I get repairs completed.

Good night and good luck.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPod touch]

They Tell Me You're Never Too Old... or What to do when you know the Babe with Blades.

"Hey Dad, check this out."  My daughter lifted the laptop and tilted the screen so I could get a good look.

"Babe with Blade.  Rowr!"

Rowan looked horrified.  "Dad!  That's Elise!"

I allowed my body to go to autopilot and squint at the photo, adjusting my glasses as my brain tried to go into hyperdrive.  "Who?" was all I mamaged.

"Elise.  Your son's girlfriend.  Your future daughter-in-law."

I'm sure the grin looked as frozen as it felt as I settled back slowly in my chair.  "Then I suppose 'Rowr' is out of the question?"

Okay, let's get this straight: I don't wear my hair in a ponytail.  No, scratch that.  If you're under thirty, you probably won't get the reference.  All right, I don't take blue pills (and that's all you need to know about that, thank you).  I don't own a sports car (nor can I afford one, but that's not the point).  I'm not having an affair with a younger woman (which would rather end as an end-of-life vice a mid-life crisis if I did).  I don't comb-over, have hair plugs, use contacts, get a salon tan, or even belong to a gym.  Although maybe I should.  In other words, I pretty much act my age, and do so gracefully.

When I was growing up, all the older guys sat in front of the local corner barber shop and whistled at the cute girls as they walked by.  And look, this was in Mississippi, so it was a couple of decades behind the times, so it really isn't ancient history.

I guess my point is this: harassment is one thing, but paying attention to a person who obviously is taking pains to be noticed is not wrong.  And, to come to the very tip of my point as it pertains to me, paying attention or being appreciative to a person -- female person -- who wants to be noticed is not sick.  I'm just a man, and will be until I die.  Then I will be a dead man, but that's another matter.  I don't try to compensate for the fact I'm a middle-aged man, I only ask that I still be considered a fully functioning man in spite of the fact I'm middle-aged.

Back to the story with which I began this: my daughter understands, and has even commented that many of her friends think I'm interesting and cool, and not very much of a creep at all.  Elise, if you read this, you are an attractive and sexy young woman, and my son is very lucky to have someone like you.  I hope you know we appreciate you, even if, for some reason beyond understanding, one day Jordan does not.

We've already told him if he breaks up with you, he can't come home.  You, we've got a room for.