No wonder Shirley Sherrod was the hottest story all last week, yet nary a peep was heard from come time for the Sunday political gabfests.

My Indiana roots go deep. Mom was born and raised in Crawfordsville, and Dad moved to Indianapolis when he was two.

I miss them. Terribly.

Look forward to seeing them again.

For now, back to watching the race. See this Amp . . . → Read More: Bit of emotion…]]> … watching the Brickyard 400 NASCAR race from Indianapolis Motor Speedway today.

My Indiana roots go deep. Mom was born and raised in Crawfordsville, and Dad moved to Indianapolis when he was two.

I miss them. Terribly.

Look forward to seeing them again.

For now, back to watching the race.

But I’d rather not dwell on that. For obvious reasons. Don’t want to start crying in the middle of the office.

Instead, allow me to use this moment from . . . → Read More: It’s An Odd Thing…]]> … spending the first part of your birthday filling out paperwork related to dispersal of your Mom’s IRA account rather than reading a birthday card from her.

But I’d rather not dwell on that. For obvious reasons. Don’t want to start crying in the middle of the office.

Instead, allow me to use this moment from the unfortunate fellowship as an encouragement. An exhortation, if you will.

Never allow a moment, an opportunity to demonstrate love for those you love to pass by without seizing it, working it to the full. Not out of morbid desperation, thinking and seeing nothing but gloom over the eventual departure. Instead, do so because it is the right thing to do. At all times. For all people.

Don’t allow the seeds of remorse to take root. Choke them before they sprout; deny them even the least little light. By planting the fruitful seed of love.

Leave no regrets, no would have / could have / should have.

No regrets.

Only love, as you taste the magic and loss.

Only love.

Having said that, let us return to the patron saint of beta males and his latest jab at a . . . → Read More: Different day, same Allahpundit BS about Sarah Palin]]> Not going to link to the story; neither the author nor the site deserve it. If you want to see it, go there — you know where — and look for an entry made today about JournoList fallout.

Having said that, let us return to the patron saint of beta males and his latest jab at a woman who accomplishes more while brushing her teeth in the morning than AP will in the entirety of his life span on this planet.

Back-handed pseudo-compliments? Of course.

Poorly-hidden accusations of her playing the victimization game? Naturally.

Cheap-shot labeling (“retail politician”)? Certainly.

Whining in the comments about how any word to the contrary of his sniveling is nothing more than drivel from Palin worshipers? On cue.

Be proud, Michelle Malkin, for bringing this bozo back from the blogging graveyard after he pulled the plug on himself in a snit over his one-trick pony shtick failing to earn a living. Be proud, Salem Media, for keeping the class clown on staff.

Unless you’re Jesus Christ, Who deliberately associated with the downtrodden and dregs of society as they knew they needed Him, you are known by the company you keep. Consider this next time you see squealing fanboys and girls over Allahpundit’s latest ode to his own obtuseness. Consider this, and respond appropriately.

As it had been far longer than usual in-between visits — we ain’t rich, and economic struggles are a constant reality in my corner of . . . → Read More: Of hotel lobbies and disconsolate daughters]]> A couple of weekends ago, Mrs. Dude and I took a few days off to wander down the lovely and violent hills of the central California coast. Ultimate destination? Disneyland, of course.

As it had been far longer than usual in-between visits — we ain’t rich, and economic struggles are a constant reality in my corner of the world — the visit was especially anticipated. Naturally, come time to pack up the car and head on down El Camino Real I was sick with the viral bronchitis that beset me for three weeks, and only now is subsiding courtesy of antibiotics. (Note to self: next time, don’t be so stubborn about going to the doctor.)

Anyway, the Saturday morning of the vacation I was sitting in the hotel lobby across from the elevators. Mrs. Dude was at a Disney event with friends, so I had a few hours to kill. Which, not feeling like doing much, was going to be spent as quietly as possible. Normally, this would be no big deal. However, given how long it had been since I’d been at the Mouse House, I was none too pleased about being less than my usual top billing.

As I sat there, gathering resolve to at the least get around a bit, I noticed a younger side of middle-age mom in front of me. The mom part was easy to deduce, given that a child somewhere in the five to seven-year old range was clinging to her with a grip the Jaws of Life would have a hard time breaking. Nothing unusual there.

What was unusual was that the little girl had a look of utter desolation on her face, one far beyond “but I really want that toy, Mommy.” It was one of the saddest faces I had seen in a long time. And in the Happiest Place on Earth, no less.

Then the mom glanced over and saw my Mickey Mouse watch. She next looked down at her daughter, still locked in a faraway, fallen stare.

Mom started talking.

“Do you see that man’s Mickey Mouse watch?”

Okay, no big, it happens.

“It’s just like the one your daddy used to wear.”

Uh-oh.

The mom continued, talking about how Daddy loved Disney and her and the like. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes-like deduction to figure out this one.

Daddy wasn’t here any more.

And I don’t mean he and Mom split up, either.

The Spirit stirred. I stood up, walked over, put my arm around the woman and smiled a little as I softly said, “Looks like Mom could use a hug, too.”

She said, equally softly, “Thank you.” I saw gratitude in her eyes, but didn’t want to look too long for fear of waterworks taking hold.

I next bent down to the daughter’s level, trying to get her to look at me as I made a few kid-friendly comments and such. Alas, she would have none of it. I did feel appreciation from her mom for the effort. Hopefully later on it provided a lift.

And I no longer minded not feeling all that great. Had I been up to snuff, I wouldn’t have been there at that time. But I wasn’t. So I was.

I’m thankful for that.

At the moment, the only unreserved support I could give to a 2012 GOP candidate would be to @GovernorPerry. And he says he’s not running.

Considering the, uh, devastatingly effective campaign Treviño ran earlier this year for Chuck DeVore in his pursuit of the Republican nomination for . . . → Read More: Just read a note on Twitter…]]> … from political strategist (or whatever he calls himself) Josh Treviño:

At the moment, the only unreserved support I could give to a 2012 GOP candidate would be to @GovernorPerry. And he says he’s not running.

Considering the, uh, devastatingly effective campaign Treviño ran earlier this year for Chuck DeVore in his pursuit of the Republican nomination for Senate in California to run against Barbara Boxer, even if Perry had any notions of running in 2012 this should pretty much put them permanently to rest…

Why, I’ve rather missed that silly bear. See this Amp . . . → Read More: Don’t Get Too Excited, Those Of You Who Remember…]]> … but I finished the chapter outline for the Gord book earlier this evening, and finished the first draft of the chapter most recently written.

Why, I’ve rather missed that silly bear.

So let’s see how it does cross-posting to Goldfishn and Clowns, shall we? See this Amp . . . → Read More: Let’s Give This Amplify Thing A Whirl]]> I’ve gotten into the habit the past few days of doing micro-blogging on Amplify. It’s a handy service, enabling me to jot down thoughts and have them posted not only on Amplify itself, but also on my Twitter and Facebook accounts.

So let’s see how it does cross-posting to Goldfishn and Clowns, shall we?