Popemobile is not a proper noun. Therefore, unless popemobile begins a sentence, such as the previous sentence, it is not necessary to capitalize popemobile. Although popemobile must be capitalized, when referring to the Australian indie rock band, Popemobile.

I probably should have capitalized popemobile in this article title, but I chose not to. Yes, I used a bit of license. I wonder if one needs a specialized license to drive a popemobile. Perhaps some sort of CDL test must be passed.

Unlike popemobile, Batmobile must always be capitalized. Perhaps this is because there is only one Batman, while there have been many popes. In the US, president is capitalized when used as a title, e.g. President Clinton. Otherwise president would not be capitalized, the same logic seems to follow with pope. No matter what actor played Batman, or who drew the comic, it was still the same Batman. One Batman, one Batmobile. No other "Batmen" (I give up, should that be capitalized during speculative use), drive a Batmobile. There are not multiple Batmobiles available in different countries for Batman's use. (Though given Bruce Wayne's wealth, you would think he'd probably have a fleet of Batmobiles, but he was too busy to get caught up int he bling factor.)

Although, I'm sure Batmobile is a trademarked term in the DC Comics canon. And if DC says capital letter, then it gets a capital letter.

Now then shouldn't Green Lantern then be lower case at times. It is a title given to many different guardians of various sectors of the universe, and there have been at least 4 or 5 different Green Lanterns on Earth alone. (Amazing that Green Lanterns come in at of service, but Bruce Wayne is seemingly eternal.)

If a layman in the DC Comics universe said, "For my money Hal Jordan was the best green lantern I've seen in my lifetime," then lowercase may appropriate, would it not?

This has gone from me just wanting to note the difference between "P" and "p", to something so much bigger and so much more convoluted, that right now I wish I never started this stupid blog. I will never see this last hour again. Granted there was a distractdion wher I read about the Swiss Guard, the Sack of Rome, Pope John Paull II, Jan Hus, and ten othe things on Wikipedia, but alas, I've got nothing left in me for linking. You're on your own, you've got the tools. You've got the Google and the Wikipedia. You can cut and paste a few things in the search fields. There's no guarantee my links would be any better than those you'll find.

...

www.disney.com

I'm scratching my head right now. I don't see any links from the Disney home page to thisblogismyblog.

Apparently, I have no fucking idea how to set an alarm clock. The controls seem as alien to me as the controls on a VCR did to the previous generation. I've set them before but it's been some time. For years I worked an evening job without need for such interruptions. And then came children. Nature's own living breathing alarm clocks. Right now it seems as if I'd have a better chance of setting them than I would this alarm clock. I've managed to make different abbreviations flash on the display panel, found myself the focal point of some soothing sounds, and moved some numbers around with no clear indication of whether this device will wake me up tomorrow morning or simply wreak havoc on the magnetic forces of our planet. Yes, like Lost. Exactly.

I know when I need to wake up, if my body decides not to get up at that time, then it truly must no deem it necessary. Good night.

Today I discovered that I share a birthday with George W. Bush.

I'm still not sure how to take it. Thank goodness for Suzanne Somers and Sylvester Stallone.

I'm still reeling.

You can now set your browsers to http://thisblogismyblog.com or http://www.thisblogismyblog.com. My lazy ass decided it was time to figure this out. But it couldn't, because all it's good for is shitting and preventing my jeans from falling down. The belt helps with the latter, but I'll give my ass some credit.

So as my ass sstruggled (that's the way asses sspell it) to solve this problem, my brain eventually told it to sit the fuck down, and took over. And now it's fixed. There is a chance that I may have a better post in the near future, but hang on to this one as long as you can, just in case.

Another couple weeks and the blog postings will pick up again.

But here's a tip to share with my friends with children out there.

I-Bonds.

You can buy them from the bank or from TreasuryDirect. You pay face value for the bond and as of this posting they are earning 6.73%. They can be cashed in 5 years if necessary without penalty. With penalties they can be cashed as soon as 1 year.

But the clincher is this. The interest earned on these would be tax-free if used for your child's education, but ONLY if the owner of the bond is 24 or older at the time of purchase. in other words, DO NOT BUY THEM IN YOUR CHILD'S NAME.

Since it is tax season and I've got plenty of work going on here, I will leave it at that. Food for thought for parents out there. But before purchasing, please research for yourself and decide whether investing in I-Bonds makes sense to you.

It does for me, so I bought some yesterday.

I'm not really sure where I was going with this posting. But here it is, in its primordial state, I think all postings start out this way until they become so dense that they collapse upon themselves and form something else entirely. Something else which is exactly nothing like a universe.

I know Rolf harris mashup shitmat ROFLMAO wiggles son

Rolf Harris
Shitmat
Put them together to form...

Is it just me or is Yoda flipping us the bird in this picture that was on the front page of ebay this morning? Dora the Explorer looks completely unfazed by the obscene finger gesture.

Did anyone else click on the "priceless" link in the previous post? You know, besides me since I put it there. Life must be pretty good if you don't find yourself in any of the pictures. Very intriguing and sometimes frightening look into the world of Google Image Search.

Brown corduroy pants: $ 24.99.
Chicken salad sandwich: $ 5.95.
Chicked salad on new brown corduroy pants: $ #@&%!

Not using "priceless" in above example: PRICEL...(Oh shit! I almost slipped up, my bad.)

Yeah...It was somewhere around this time last year, that this blog started. I find myself at a seminar in Atlantic City again, but this time I'm not watching the hitting prowess of David Ortiz against New York Yankee pitching. The seminar was a bit later this year, so baseball's over, and the only sports I've seen down here are the Sixers, which I could do without.

A lot has changed in a year. I've lost a father and gained a son. I've gotten a crash course in estate taxation, tenant/landlord relationships, probate, and all other kinds of financial shenanigans. I've mostly resisted my urge to buck all responsibility, but these things have a way of following you around so that won't do me any good.

But it's my last night in AC. I'm only $ 50 in the hole. I've got a full stomach, and I'm staying at the Tropicana which I highly recommend. You won't go hungry or dry at this place. But I tire of posting, there are other matters at hand. Like calling for a wake-up call, packing, and arranging for room service breakfast.

...and I like it. (I was searching for the cover to Fell #1 at the time.

backpain. physical therapy. diaper changes. schedule changes. repairs. price quotes. recycling. cans to the curb. contractors. IRA contributions. empty water bottles. wistfulness. icepacks. ratchet sets. ftp sites. gas pump comparison. lack of sleep. anti-inflammatories. liquid glucosamine searches. deposit slips. balance transfers. space-saving techniques. short attention span. buyers remorse. prescription drugs. there's a dam in my stream of consciousness. it now flows like a 70 year old with prostate troubles. where's my lycopene?

We had just returned from the local toy store from our old town. Yes, there are still a few left. There were actually two in that area.

My son issued a mandate and was quite adamant that it was top priority.

"Daddy! This is an important job. You need to send this out on the computer to everybody in our town.

My son is 3 1/2, actually just about 4 years old, and in his world trucks, dirt, and trains rule. Especially Thomas the Tank Engine trains.

And we had just purchased "Henry's tunnel", which has been discontinued for years. So you can understand my son's excitement.

Now I'm not one of those that buys toys for my kids to just look at. You know, keep it in the box so it doesn't lose its value while it sits on a shelf in a kid's room collecting dust. So yes, all Hess trucks are fair game. Boxes are open and even discarded. If they brake...well, they brake. The child only cries because they broke a favorite toy, not because Mommy and Daddy can't believe they broke that toy that in 20 years would have bought 1/4 of a college textbook for said child.

So "Henry's Tunnel" was apparently from the 1996 Thomas the Tank Engine collection. Which, to my son my as well be, the Bronze Age. My "important job" as he put it was to share with everyone a picture of the Thomas the Tank Engine lineup for 1996.

So here it is.

My son also told me how he's no longer going to include Q when singing the alphabet. He wasn't clear about the reason why. Perhaps it has something to do with that whole "U always follows Q" rule, which I'm sure back in the day was as hotly contested as the designated hitter rule in baseball. And since spelling to him, is not nearly as important as digging, I'll spare him the exception of proper nouns like Qatar until he's older.

In fact, given recent events, I'd like to avoid any mention of the Middle East to my son for quite some time.

I should mention that he also likes to jump from 11 right to 14 when counting. I remind him of the existence of 12 and 13, but he tells me he knows that, but just doesn't want to say those.

You'll know if my son has become an architect someday, when you report to your office on the 17th floor, and realize you're only 15 stories up.

Actually, I'll lead with it.

Drop in for Tara Reid's  exposed breast. Stick around for political discourse.

That's Hategun. Not to be confused with Lovegun. No...wait...I actually meant the Kiss album. I swear. This blog needs to cut down on the NSFW.

Although, at least Ashcroft won't be bothering me anymore. But before we go celebrating uncovering those revealing, sinful statues in D.C., let's be sure it's not a case of the "The Devil You Know...".

I figured you know the rest of that one, I don't exctly remember. But I do know it's appropriate, and doesn't break any decency laws.

Who will it be? Alberto Gonzales? Officer Barbrady? Mr. Garrison? Chef? Jimbo? the 1989 Denver Broncos?

You know...Barbrady would probably slip into the Bush cabinet as Attorney General just as easy as Tara Reid's breast slipped out of that dress. (see above) Jimbo could take over as Secretary of Defense. And I'm sure Bush could find a position for Garrison, who would support the president's stance against gay marriage.

My son's 4th birthday party is approaching. In this day and age of parental overindulgence, this is nothing short of organizing a small wedding.

The invitations: Do we make them? Do we fill out pre-printed? Do we order them custom?

The cake: Is it Thomas the Tank Engine? Is it Bob the Builder? Is it Spider-Man? Yellow cake with chocolate icing? Chocolate cake with yellow icing?

The food: (because it's mostly family and mostly adults, we can't just throw a bunch of chicken fingers in the oven and be done with it) Do we cook? Do we cater? Do we cook some and cater a few trays?

Then there's the themed plates and napkins and cups. The party favors and goodie bags. You can't give the older kids the same stuff that's in the little kids goodie bags? And the babies that come, well they get goodies too, age-appropriate never gonna remember if they got anything or not goodies.

And activities...hence the title.

Bouncy...Bouncy thing...jumper...big inflatable thing for kids to jump on while parents cross their fingers that there are no skull cracking collisions.

Actually I didn't think about that part until now. I love bouncy things the last time we were at a kid's party, it was my son's first time seeing one of these contraptions, so dear old Dad spent a good portion of the time in there, too. And, yes it is fun.

Now finding a rental place in our proximity with the day availabile, and the type of bouncy we are looking for (a train theme) at a reasonable price with a reasonable cancellation policy, has been a bit trying. My wife has been starting to stress a bit, so I jump in and turn to Google for help.

Search terms: bouncy (not sure what to call the thing, I figuree "bouncy" is a good place to start), middlesex county (that's our county), jersey (we live in New Jersey, the "new" would probably be too broad.)

The results weren't nearly as focused as I would have expected. I found one bouncy company that looks like it will be out of our price range, but plenty of bouncy companies in the U.K. Damn those bloody wankers.

After that, there were a few items on the list that I found odd and/or disturbing to appear on this page of search results:

Let's start with #4: Furries Meetup

Yes, furries. You know, the kids who worked at amusement parks wearing those animal outfits that never wanted to give them back, the acrobatic and/or annoying mascots at college sporting events. A sampling of the furries on this page included: a Purple Tiger, a Rabwolf, a Shaggy Reversed Zebra, an Arctic Fox, and a Snow Leopard.

But, who am I to judge? Furries are moving from the edge to the mainstream. There's the now infamous E.R. episode. The excellent DJ Format video for "We Know Something..." directed by Ruben Fleischer. The costumed mascot needed liberation from the college campus and onto main street. It makes me wonder how tough things were starting out for the Phillie Fanatic. He's like the Jackie Robinson of the subculture. Maybe someday we'll have a world where all prejudices will be washed away and we'll see Goths (NSFW) and Furries walking hand-in-hand. But those Renaissance fair outfit wearing people still kind of weird me out, and I've even played Dungeons & Dragons in my lifetime. I've rolled the 20-sided die.

Now #19 is a bit more obvious:

It links to a page from the Breast Expansion Archive. I saw the title and thought, maybe this is like a support group forum for women thinking of upping a cup size. Discussing pros/cons, before/after, prep/recovery and that sort of thing. But after looking at the choice of icons in the messageboard, I started thinking that's probably not the case.

Moving to the main page of the site (NSFW), it became clearer that the site was more for guys that prefer some enhanced cleavage. although it seemed that surgical enhancements weren't enough, and Photoshop enhancements are the enhancement du jour. (I could have used synonyms or metaphors just now. But I thought I would just repeat the word enhancement until you wanted to beat me over the head with it.)

In the Top 30 links there was also a Discordians meetup site (another blog, another day) and The UK Face Painting Association page.

Face Painters of the U.K. Unite!

I wonder if they have a union. I'd paint my face for better and cheaper medical coverage. I'd probably don the fur as well.

but I still don't have a bouncy thing.

THE LAST WORD: My favorite new word is "fursona". I suppose it would be defined as your furry persona. Are you a chinchilla? Maybe an okapi? Perhaps a lynx? Great bastardization of our language. I wonder how many years before it's in Webster's.