Does anyone know how Saturday and Sunday became the weekend? Why those two days? Why not more, or less? Is it because they start with the letter S? If so, I have no problem changing the name of Friday to Sriday or Siterday or some other useless name. I would like to start a patition to have Friday officially included in the weekend subclass of weekdays. Somebody, at sometime made the original designation for the two days already there, lets get another added to it. Just a thought....

To modify such as a configuration or software technical design at will by the seat of pants. To quickly and without much thought to long term effect change something to try ot better suite your needs or to solve an ongoing problem. To change direction en route or in process. To reconfigure mid-stream. Use it today, SAs love it! Modifly! Modifly! Modifly!

Apparently, I spoke a little prematurely the other day, having a monkey, while still very effective is not the pinnacle of trouble warding, entertainment generating companions. While listening to the radio program NPR on the way to work this morning, my carpool buddy and I discovered that Tony Blair, prime minister of Great Britain, has secured himself a shadowy dark wizard. Our minds reeled at the sudden flood of implications and possibilities. We swerved to the side of the road and immediately ejected monkey from the vehicle, his working days were clearly over. Carpool buddy was thoughtful enough however to leave with him a piece of cardboard on which was neatly scribed "Trained Trunk Monkey".

I have a mission, locate and subdue my own dark wizard. I am not sure if one can be found roaming freely here in the states, perhaps I will have to go on trek in England where they are much easier, it would seem, to find.

Imagine how it could be, like before, your boss stomps over with a large stack of distasteful work for you to succumb to, you simply nod towards the hood-cloaked, unsavory looking character sitting behind you and clarify "Dark wizard." I dare say that the boss would re-collect his deposit and make a hasty retreat all the while furiously apologizing for interrupting your busy day. Nobody messes around with a dark wizard on the loose.

You could take him everywhere with you, even to normally confrontational meetings where you always seem to come up on the losing side of important arguments. Now, if a discussion starts to feel threatening to you, you can turn and consult with your dark wizard while nodding periodically at the offending co-worker, who will surely retract any harmful words and claim that you were right all along.

Who would give you trouble on the road when they peer into your back seat and see the shrouded form of your dark wizard seated menacingly behind you. It may also be helpful to other drivers if you placed on your window one of those yellow warning signs which stated "Dark Wizard On Board".

There are just so many things that can be done if you've got a dark wizard, so many doors open that may have once shut in your face. Sure, every now and again, you are going to have to let your dark wizard melt someone's face or shrivel one of their arms off, but you've got to make sure everyone knows what you and your dark wizard can do and your dark wizard must stay in practice.

Enough monkeys, monkeys out dark wizards in, thanks for the great idea Tony!

Life would be so much better with a monkey,

Just think of it, a monkey, with you at all times in all situations, at work, at home and in the car. Not too big of a monkey, but a simple dog sized primate, preferably with an ill and unpredictable disposition.

At work for instance, your supervisor comes to your desk and drops a load of work on top of your already growing stack and pronounces an urgency to have this new task completed right after all the others, today, before noon. As he turns to walk away he is pelted by a well-aimed shot of said same work in the back of the head. When he turns furiously around, you simply shrug and point at the monkey, what can he do, how could he be seen kicking an innocent looking monkey. Right on monkey.

At lunch, in the company cafeteria, you spy something tasty on a co-workers plate, well, just send the monkey to retrieve the morsel. As the monkey deposits the spoils onto your plate you hastily give it an accidental test lick, thus claiming it for your own. Good job monkey. When your irate co-worker rises to complain, shrug sympathetically and shake your head at the monkey. What can he do?

You are driving home, you, being environmentally conscious, carpool of course. After a well-deserved lunch you have discovered an overwhelming case of gas has afflicted you. No problem, monkey to the rescue. Let it rip, quietly if possible but if not no worries. Immediately point and look embarrassedly at the monkey, make sure you maintain the proper look of shock on your face as there may be some skeptics in the car that clearly may have thought they heard you blast the wind.

At home, after the two hundredth time you managed to leave a booby trap for your unsuspecting wife in having the toilet seat up, she may be quite upset, she may even decide to fling a torrent of harsh words in your direction. Once again, your monkey is your friend. Simply pull that banana you have stashed in your pocket out and start to peel it, the monkey will freak out, and everyone knows that there is no overcoming the screeching antics he will rage into. Your wife's tirade will be lost amid the wonderful noise issuing from your primate. Remember to look understandingly at your wife and nod in complete submission.

There are many other benefits to having a monkey at your side, I will let you think of useful others. I do suggest the purchase of a propeller beanie hat for him though, it really completes the picture.

The risks are few, but do be cautious, your monkey may be killed at some time when you are not looking or are in the shower. Never take your eyes off him. Take care of your monkey, and he will take care of you.

To Whom it may concern at the ACLU,

Dear madam, or sir, I am writing in hopes that you may be able to help me in my important cause. You see I am a goat, more pointedly, an American goat, and I believe I am being oppressed. My civil liberties are constantly being violated by those who would have you believe goats are a lesser class of American citizen.

I have long observed the issues of great import that you have tackled in our society, the grand injustices subjected upon people who are unable to stand for themselves. I firmly believe my cause to be one you can sink your teeth into.

When I became aware that you had taken it upon yourselves to battle the complete injustice which has been visited upon certain southern courthourse visitors, I knew right away that you were the guys in the corner for me.

I mean, who, after all, could be so astute as to realize a lump of stone, strategicly placed, could thwart the efforts to the justice system so effectively. I, being a goat, am not sure how such a postioned rock can impede the flow of truth so, but I leave the specifics to you who know so much better. The masses who have been subjected to this insult clearly are being represented well, and are likely to be un-yoaked from tyranny rather soon.

My list of complaints, I feel, are of equal immensity, some of which are as follows: 1- Metal sewer grates... the slots in-between the ribs are far too large for my tiny hooves to span, I am constantly getting a hoof stuck when I wander at large through the city streets. Rally, please, to have the grates all removed and replaced by solid steel or wood covers. 2- Public drinking fountains... there is no way for me to activate the handle while maintaining a good drinking position, oft times I must revert to lapping fetid water from puddles in the gutter, this is disgusting and demeaning. I need a foot pedal to start the flow of water. 3- Traffic lights... I simply can not see them, they are too high. I have been hit by passing vehicles about three out of five times that I choose to risk my life and cross the street. Please have these signal lights lowered to my eye level so I can judge the proper time to race across the pavement.

There are many other institutions that are fiercly leveraged against me that I could make you aware of, but feel these details could be fleshed out further at a face to face meeting in my barnyard. I am aware that the pigs and sheep also have some issues of which they wish you to be made aware, so be prepared for a lengthy visit.

Please find attached illustrated driving instructions which lead to my humble pen. Bring your own chair I have none (another of my woes, chairs suitably designed for my comfort), I will prepare refreshments of fresh feed-pellets.

Thank you for your time in reading this and for bringing to bear the considerable weight you command.

Yours truly,
Goat

First journal post, laughing not required...

Well once again I have gone and placed the safety of my life, my children's lives and my beloved wife's into the hands of folk who by and large are not able to function in the real world but can, however, push a button that will send a four ton hunk of flesh filled iron screaming along a track that used to fit together really well. Sounds like a hoot right? It all seems harmless enough, buy the tickets (ouch!), gather up the kids, find a parking spot amid a sea of mini-vans, SUVs and trucks with tires larger than their inflated owners and then endeavor to find the scariest looking ride possible.

I look up at a possible candidate with human guinea pigs pinned helplessly inside, I notice a few "extra" bolts and wires laying suspiciously at the base of the ride, I register the mucky looking mop and bucket stashed behind the control panel, and I say "Hey, wow, this must be the one!".

I press my son and daughter's backs up against a painted wood sign of a child holding her hand out proclaiming "You Must Be This Tall To Ride". Dang, daughter is too short, wait a minute, looks like this thing is made to move around a little, I push down on the top of the sign until the level of her hand is right at the top of my little girl's pony tail. Problem solved.

A stately looking gentleman peering out from under a greasy card dealer's visor, proudly brandishing his single tooth, skulks forward with a four fingered paw outstretched and grunts "Tiggets". I whip out the stack and tear off four of the "tiggets" to hand him. No good, he wants more "Dree tiggets fern dis ride." he pronounces. I hand him the rest of my stack and am motioned to clamber into the steel cage swinging loosely back and forth.

After our assistant secured my son and I into the almost padded bucket with a catch that resembled the "kiddie lock" on our kitchen cabinets, the one my daughter rendered useless with a simple tug, I watched my wife and daughter subjected to the same. Then as if to make sure it still was hanging on, the man gave our bucket a little shove causing it to rock slightly. Apparently satisfied he stumped over to a wobbly stool placed by a dirty panel with a large green and larger red button, sat down and punched down the green button.

It felt like a train had jumped it's track and slammed into the back of our bucket. With a high pitched screech and a lurch the ride began to move, my son and I were grinding upwards along the rotating track. I looked over at him and saw the blissful unawareness he so luckily possessed. I however knew that it was only a single oily bolt, that one right there, that stood between us and a fifty-foot drop of destruction in our capsule.

We slingshotted over the top of the track and raced back down towards the ground, our bucket spinning madly, I heard a distinct "Ugh!" from my son. Then we were heading up again, butt-end first, and all my pocket change decided to make the ride a bit more dangerous and began ricocheting around the inside of our bucket. I could here screams, not all of them sounded gleeful, in fact sound seemed quite terror filled. The ride thrashed about this way for a few more revolutions then slowed to a stop. As my son and I rotated around to right side up we watched our porter walk up, unlatch our door and release us from our punishment.

We both stumbled out onto the landing pad and were ushered to a clinky gate by the operator's highly motivated assistant who, grinning, mumbled to us as we passed "Someday I'm gonna run this ride!".

My wife and daughter joined us, my wife looked quite disheveled but my daughter was positively beaming with happiness.

Such was the course set for the evening, a few more rides, a bunch more money and some tasty items being sold as "food".

As the sun drained behind the mountains and we prepared to leave, I noticed that the crowd had changed quite distinctly, I am not sure where this new hoard came from. I have certainly not seen these folks in town before, at least not in direct sunlight. Oh well, our queue to exit.

Walking away, looking at the joyful looks on my children's faces, feeling the emptiness of my pockets and the queeziness of my stomach, I realized I had had a total blast. Can't wait till next year!