driven

So the boy governor of Missouri, anticipating a difficult 2008 election, has taken the radical step of announcing (over and over and over, with liberal use of exclamation points and New York City as code for a big, scary place overrun with people who--get this--are not white) his support for a bill that would outlaw something that's already illegal. You know the election season has officially begun when the annual bogeyman has been designated. This time, it's not gay stem cells who (which?) wish to be married, but immigrants who drive without benefit of a license. The thing is, as the boy governor well knows, or at least I assume he does, that's already quite illegal in the state of Missouri. One has to show "proof of lawful residence" not to mention other papers that the undocumented, by definition, don't. But hey, it sure agitates the base.

Hell, it agitates me.

And it makes me think of my new Brazilian friend, and his pet phrase for whenever we reach the limits of our mutual vocabulary. "Very complicated," he says.

And this is one of those times when I'd concede and sigh, "yes." I mean, do I trust a state to get it right? Do I trust Missouri? But without question I'd rather these kids and these parents be held responsible for oh, officially learning some rules of the road before they get out and drive from one job to the next, or, as I tell the teenagers, for being identifiable if they hit me. Most already pay the insurance. They crave the ID, and while I know that's where it gets tricky, I don't begrudge anyone working the dream. I only begrudge the haters.

whoops

It was really all so long ago, but I haven't forgotten the promise of that afternoon. The sun was warm and my bag was light, empty of everything except good intentions. The highway, stretched long enough to be a cruise and not a commute, was just a gray backdrop for livin' in the future and long walks home, and if you don't catch those references, you really ought to buy a new CD. If I remember correctly, I didn't ask for much more of the day--it was, after all, a Tuesday--than the freedom it delivered; that was enough of a gift. Once I got home it's possible that I did little more than sleep. But, it's hard to say. My memory's sketchy. Don't forget it's been now, what, six days?

Just long enough to check out entirely from the work-a-day world, forget, if not what I do at least what I was doing. Where was I, exactly? Does anyone know? I have a hunch it was something about some balls in the air. That's probably even a rule for juggling-- once you get started, try not to stop. I shoulda thought of that first.

Race partner wanted

Turns out the "Amazing Race" is coming to Cedar Rapids. On open casting call will be held Dec. 6. I need a partner.

After completing RAGBRAI from start to finish, the son would be the logical choice. But the rules require applicants be at least 21. The wife and I can't get across town, much less the world, without conflict, so she's out. My BFF would surely rather continue playing the lottery than miss work for such an opportunity. So I'm left to appeal to our readers.

This may be your best shot at wealth. Certainly the adventure of a lifetime. The only catch, you must be present to apply. Applications will be taken until the position is filled.

Turkeys, pigs(kin)

"It's kinda fun when you don't care who wins," I say to the room, "when you can just watch the football." My sister-in-law's husband telegraphs his agreement as Tennessee and Kentucky continue to play through yet another overtime. We're in the minority, here, but, that's our role always: agreeable out-laws in facing chairs, avoiding whatever conversation is going on in the kitchen and dining room. We just happen to be spending this do-over Thanksgiving watching a pretty great game.

But, we're not outcasts and we weren't alone: my father-in-law and a nephew were hanging on every play, too, but they're Tennessee fans, former and current residents, so for them it was a whole other thing. The Vols lose and they would have been disappointed and frustrated, at least until the MU-KU game came on at seven. Now I wouldn't have minded if the Wildcats had managed, but, eh, no sweat: fun while it lasted. It was just a game.

This afternoon before I left for the bonus round of turkey, my mom and I were recapping our Thursday meal when she shared that my brother's new girlfriend had volunteered to do the dishes. "She said she'd rather be in the kitchen," my mother reported, "because she didn't care anything about the game."

"I can't believe there are people who don't enjoy football!" said my mother, with real exclamation in her voice. I had to laugh. Not to stereotype, but the new girl in question does wear heels with her jeans: her disinterest in the NFL wasn't exactly a shock, but my mom was indeed sincere.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am who I am, or at least why you will find me where you will find me during any of these cold weather family gatherings. Thanks mom, for that.

a memory in the making

This may be the year that I'm forced to admit that Charlie Brown had the right idea, that spindly and fresh beats substantial and metal, and that pre-lit is not the be-all and end-all of holiday decor. Then again, that may just be the gas fumes talking.

I'm so not kidding.

Our tree really is pretty; I'll be sad when it's worn out or the lights all go dark, but, this year, it also seems to have absorbed ever droplet of the fumes released from the gas can ill-advisedly stashed in the garage (never fear, the sliding door and living room windows are open). I'm not sure I'd have noticed if I hadn't spent the last hour underneath as I wrestled with the lights and the screws in the stand, but, hoo boy. And baby Jesus, I do confess. I've been a hoosier* all along.

At first I was doing well despite my reluctant participation: I'd located those useless screws without fuss or delay, though they never made it into the box, and I'd lugged the thousand pounds of tree up two flights of stairs without incident or stroke-- all to please the girl and carry on my own stupid tradition. I hadn't even cursed! Of course, I put the wrong piece in the base first, but, that's just the way we do it. Every single year.

Then things started getting memorable. I don't mean to oversell--this is more the Year the Tree Smelled Like the Lawnmower than The Year Mom Passed Out In The Floor at least, so far. If I have anything to do with it, the garage will be reorganized, but that's all that may be up to me. No matter what, I'm sure this evening's goings on will become yet another Christmas story, an extra-classy remember-when. And who knows, at some point, we'll probably even decorate the tree.

* in my world, a Hoosier is not a person from Indiana, or at least not primarily. It's even in the dictionary (definition number two).

that Friday

That was a great Christmas, the year I didn't actually pay for anything. What was it, '99? $10 off $10, free shipping, buy one get one, free gift with each heavily discounted, ebated, coupon-stacked purchase from virtual storefronts that mostly don't exist anymore. Gee, I wonder.

It's still worth it, though, the pajama'd point-and-click shopping. Yes, it is after noon, and no, I'm not yet dressed, at least not to go out in public. Why bother when I have no intention? I'm getting plenty done. Though I've given up the Wii-ld goose chase initiated by the girl's father (disregard, please, the Wiitracker.com RSS feed on my homepage), I've managed to direct a fair number of brown boxes to the traditional spot on my friend's front porch--and no, I didn't pay for any of that shipping, at least not in the line-item. If only I were this productive at work!

Sure beats the crowds and the cold and the shrill overly everything IT'S CHRISTMAS DAMMIT insistence. Who needs that? I'm no grinch; I'd already bought a couple of gifts before today because they were so right for people that I love; that seems to me more of the spirit than lining up for a crappy $200 desktop, but, whatever rings one's bell. And regardless, let me ease into the rest of it. Here in my quiet house, where I'm not even ready to put up the tree as tradition obligates me to do. Maybe later, after I take a nap in the same spot where I shopped. Can't really do that at Target, at least without drawing the cops.

Thanksgiving gone bad

Not mine, fortunately. I slept until I was ready to wake up (which would be my preference every day) and enjoyed another Favrelous Packer victory, coaxing the Mrs. and the Miss downstairs to enjoy the second half around the warmth of HD. A 10th victory in hand, we headed across town to my sister's and had a wonderful meal and peaceful conversation.

I wasn't forced to take off my sporty LA Dodger crocs and no one challenged the concept of watching football on Thanksgiving. (Thank you, baby Jesus!) Perhaps because two sisters and their families were absent, we avoided heated conversations about politics and/or religion. The only time my blood pressure rose was when host sister bragged about scoring tickets at the newest area casino to see Rick Springfield. (!!!)

All things considered, a pretty good Mandatory Family Togetherness Day. No hermaphrodite deer crossed my path and no family pets were shot. A Wisconsin family wasn't so lucky. A pet goat (that's right, that book W read to those school children on 9/11 wasn't fiction) was slain Saturday after a man returned home from hunting and got angry enough at his daughter and wife to take it out on the family pets, which were goats.

The wife's offense? She denied his request for her to bring home beer. The man was arrested later that day at a local bar.

Enough said really, but here's the report from the Appleton Post-Crescent.

Rural New London man accused of shooting pet goat after wife didn't buy beer

Incident spurred on after wife doesn't bring home beer

By Dan Wilson
Post-Crescent staff writer

WAUPACA — A rural New London man who was upset with his wife for not buying beer shot one of the family's two pet goats, prosecutors say.

Peter W. Mischler, 48, was charged Monday in Waupaca County Circuit Court with mistreatment of animals, possession of a firearm while intoxicated and disorderly conduct with a dangerous weapon.

Mischler was placed on a $1,000 cash bond by Circuit Judge Raymond Huber.

Huber set further proceedings for Tuesday.

According to the criminal complaint, Mischler came home Saturday from hunting and became angry with his 22-year-old daughter for letting the goats out and making a mess.

While she was talking on the phone to her mother, he told her to tell his wife to bring home some beer. His wife refused.

He then threatened to shoot the goats, the complaint says.

His wife soon arrived home, and while she and her daughter were inside, they heard four gunshots. They went outside and found one of the two goats, still alive, with its entrails hanging out. It had to be killed later by a sheriff's deputy.

It was unclear from the complaint if the second goat was harmed.

Mischler was arrested later that day at a local bar.

Happy Mandatory Family Togetherness Day

So twice in three hours members of my immediate family have e-mailed me photos of foods they have cooked. While that is one fine looking pie (coconut cream, made just for me, who does not enjoy the texture of pumpkin), I believe these in box arrivals do demonstrate beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is a such thing as too much technology. Or at least that my brother has not been on his own nearly long enough. The cooking? Just a novelty. And, for the record, lamb, fig, prosciutto and goat cheese pizza looks like something that may have been evacuated out of the nether regions of a hermaphrodite deer. Just my impression, mind you, but what is a big sister for if not to offer an unvarnished opinion? I figure I owe him the truth.

And he already owes me, given that I'll have to spend 15 or 20 minutes of the Packers-Lions game in the car to get to the dinner arranged to allow him to get to the new girlfriend's in time. Sure, they'll be eating one marathon meal, and sure, we like this one much better and are glad the fifty year-old PE teacher's gone, and sure we can go back to the DVR if we've gotta, but HEY! it's the Packers! a game I don't have to buy wings for! You think I can be bought off with pie and the sweet tea only my mother can make? Not hardly. I'm thinking we might just be late.

Dowd: She's no Morgenthau

by Maureen Dowd

Most of the time, Barack Obama seems like he’s boxing in the wrong weight class. But Monday in Fort Dodge, Iowa, he delivered an unscripted jab that was a beaut.

At a news conference, the Illinois senator was asked about Hillary Clinton’s attack on his qualifications. Making an economic speech in Knoxville, Iowa, earlier that day, the New York senator had touted her own know-how, saying that “there is one job we can’t afford on-the-job training for — that’s the job of our next president.” Her aides confirmed that she was referring to Obama.

Pressed to respond, Obama offered a zinger feathered with amused disdain: “My understanding was that she wasn’t Treasury secretary in the Clinton administration, so I don’t know exactly what experiences she’s claiming.”

Everybody laughed, including Obama.

It took him nine months, but he finally found the perfect pitch to make a trenchant point.

Her Democratic rivals had meekly gone along, accepting her self-portrait as a former co-president who gets to take credit for everything important Bill Clinton did in the ’90s. But she was not elected or appointed to a position that needed Senate confirmation. And the part of the Clinton administration that worked best — the economy, stupid — was run by Robert Rubin. Hillary did not show good judgment in her areas of influence — the legal fiefdom, health care and running oppo-campaigns against Bill’s galpals.

She went on some first lady jaunts and made a good speech at a U.N. women’s conference in Beijing. But she was certainly not, as her top Iowa supporter, former governor Tom Vilsack claimed yesterday on MSNBC, “the face of the administration in foreign affairs.”

She was a top adviser who had a Nixonian bent for secrecy and a knack for hard-core politicking. But if running a great war room qualified you for president, Carville and Stephanopoulos would be leading the pack.

Obama’s one-liner evoked something that rubs some people the wrong way about Hillary. Getting ahead through connections is common in life. But Hillary cloaks her nepotism in feminism.

“She hasn’t accomplished anything on her own since getting admitted to Yale Law,” wrote Joan Di Cola, a Boston lawyer, in a letter to The Wall Street Journal this week, adding: “She isn’t Dianne Feinstein, who spent years as mayor of San Francisco before becoming a senator, or Nancy Pelosi, who became Madam Speaker on the strength of her political abilities. All Hillary is, is Mrs. Clinton. She became a partner at the Rose Law Firm because of that, senator of New York because of that, and (heaven help us) she could become president because of that.”

The Clinton campaign in Iowa is in a panic. Obama has been closing the gap with women and her ginning up of gender has lost her male votes. Speaking around Iowa this week, Obama made the point that his exotic upbringing, family in Kenya and years as an outsider allow him to see the world with more understanding, and helped form his judgment about resisting the Iraq war.

“I spent four years living overseas when I was a child living in Southeast Asia,” he said. “If you don’t understand these cultures then it’s very hard for you to make good foreign policy decisions. Foreign policy is all about judgment.”

President Bush is not so enamored of Obama’s foreign policy judgment. He gave a plug to Hillary on ABC News last night, calling her a “formidable candidate,” even under pressure, who “understands the klieg lights.”

Asked by Charles Gibson about Obama’s offer to meet without preconditions with the leaders of Cuba, Venezuela and North Korea, W. declared it “odd foreign policy.”

Laura Bush also gave Hillary a sisterly — and dynastic — plug when she told the anchor that living in the White House and meeting people everywhere would be “very helpful” to a first lady trading up.

Though he did not mention the quick “color me experienced” trip Hillary took with some Senate colleagues to Iraq and Afghanistan just before she started running, Obama might have been thinking of it when he mocked Kabuki Congressional junkets:

“You get picked up at the airport by a state convoy and a security detail. They drive you over to the ambassador’s house and you get lunch. Then you go take a tour of some factory or some school. Children do a native dance.”

Hillary pounced, knowing that her chief rival’s foreign policy résumé is as slender as his physique, once more conjuring a childish Obama. She brazenly borrowed Republican talking points, even though she accused John Edwards of “throwing mud” that was “right out of the Republican playbook.”

“With all due respect,” she told a crowd in Iowa. “I don’t think living in a foreign country between the ages of 6 and 10 is foreign policy experience.”

But is living in the White House between the ages of 45 and 53 foreign policy experience?

Happy 87th Birthday, Mr. Musial

Edwards and friends in Cedar Rapids

What gives?

It's all over but the clearing-out of the parking lot, and yes, it's getting a little random-- even more so than usual. Forgive me. I'm a little five-day-weekend antsy. But, before I hit the road, I've just gotta know, given the hits from North Carolina and Texas, both seeking our most popular Open Thread commodity within moments of each other: hermaphrodite deer. Is this some new Thanksgiving delicacy of which I'm not aware?

See what happens when you come to school?

Why yes, this is totally self-indulgent. You really think I care? I don't even care that this letter was an assignment for another class and that this child "got confused" less than any other of my students. She did pick me, and and at this point, I'll take it!

"Dear Ms. P:

Thank you for teaching us the ESOL Civics. I really love this class, because although this class is hard for us to understand, but you do your best to help us and to learn the Civics.

Your class is interesting. We have lots of fun on class. Sometimes we play games, sometimes we do some project, it's really help me to know all the things that you teach us.

When I have question or got confused with something, you always do your best to answer me. Thank you!

Angela Z."

0-2

"Is Ms. P mad at me?"

That's how she was quoted, but, oh, I don't know. Can I really be mad at someone who lacks the sense to come in out of the rain? Sure wish she'd put up the umbrella, though. Or, you know, remember where she put it. I'm sure she meant to look for it, right after she got home from visiting her dad in prison which is where she went yesterday instead of school . Today there's no sitter, and I feel the wisps of this semester slipping through my fingers. Not that it's really about school at this point, at least for the most part.

It's about being in a place where she can be supported, learn to make decisions, learn to take care of herself and that baby, learn to please baby Jesus break that family's cycle and, yes, part of that would be a high school diploma, but there's so much more than those requirements that she doesn't know. I know that from the questions she spent six weeks asking me. I know that because I know that, just as I know she's one kid who'd be better off if she were here.

Heavy sigh.

It's not that she's quitting, at least not yet, but I'd hoped for a better start. Of all days for a jailhouse visit! It's one thing to have to juggle daycare and high school, and sometimes, I'm sure it will be out of her control. But when daddy's an inmate, he's. always. gonna. be. there. Good grief. Good choices: SOMEBODY needs to make them. Starting any time now. Like, maybe, Monday.

Right?

Something to talk about

Musicians the like of Bonnie Raitt and Jackson Browne typically don’t perform at venues like Coe College, the small, private liberal arts college where I am blessed to make a living. But there they were tonight – on stage at Sinclair Auditorium – singing and stumping on behalf of Sen. John Edwards.

Fortunately, the packed house seemed equally enthused about the candidate as his musical guests. Though nary a vote has been cast, Edwards seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle between the presumptive nominee Hillary Clinton and the populist candidate Barack Obama.

Though I admit I have been moved by Obama’s rhetoric, I remain unconvinced in his ability to bring about the kind of change this country so desperately needs. As for Clinton, I don’t believe she represents change at all. Oh, she’d be an improvement over the current occupant, but we’d really only be trading one brand of corruption for another.

Edwards combines the best of several former Democratic presidents – the inspirational leadership of John Kennedy, the give-em Hell spirit of Harry Truman, the honesty of Jimmy Carter and the charm and charisma of Bill Clinton. And he has a plan, which is clearly spelled out in an 80-page booklet.

It includes his proposals to end the war in Iraq, guarantee universal health care, revitalize rural America, support middle-class families, teach our children, and achieve energy independence and fight global warming. For details, see www.johnedwards.com.

Following tonight’s event I ran into a college administrator who was moved by Edwards to the point that his support for Clinton is now wavering. His concern, he said, is what each candidate means by universal health care. He opposes “socialized medicine,” which I prefer to describe as “Medicare for everyone,” if it means employers couldn’t offer a better plan.

This is a total disconnect for me. It’s not like any business in America wants to offer health care. They only do it because they have to. It’s not a benefit, it’s a cost of doing business. If it were the same for every man, woman and child, regardless of where you work or if you even do, employers and employees would both prosper.

Call it socialism if you will, there’s plenty of that already – see Medicare, Social Security, law enforcement, fire protection, postal service, etc. It’s a moral issue over which America needs to take a long, hard look at itself.

I’m all for the pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps mentality the Republicans used to represent. But I’m not inclined to apply it to life-and-death situations. Sick is sick, and you should be allowed to get better whether you’re Republican or Democrat, rich or poor, evil or holy.

But that’s just me. And these words rang in my head all the way home.

I was walking with my brother
And he wondered what’s on my mind
I said what I believe in my soul
Ain’t what I see with my eyes
And we can’t turn our backs this time

I am a patriot
And I love my country
Because my country is all I know
I want to be with my family
The people who understand me
I’ve got nowhere else to go

And the river opens for the righteous
And the river opens for the righteous
And the river opens for the righteous
Someday

My Ox is Broken

If that title means nothing to you, do not click play. You'll only subject yourself to two of the most obnoxious people ever mucking around in the mud. But, if you're a fan of the Amazing Race and the schadenfreude, well then, wasn't that the best ever?

I'm just sorting out the who's who this season and beginning to get my hate on ( to be Philiminated next? the blondes!), but the overabundance of mammals this time (yay, karma donkeys) did remind me of the evil Colin and the justice of his not-really-an-ox.

Dowd: Shake, Rattle, and Roll

Apparently this week's story is Hillary v. Giuliani-- and what a quease-inducing trial balloon that is. The St. Louis paper even characterized her "win" in some poll as Missourians being "ready for a change," but they are going to have to draw a picture to show me what's different besides the pantsuits and jokes about kitchens. I just can't stand the thought.

I don't know about all the psychobabble, but I'd agree with Dowd that the time to get it all out on the table is now. The deferring to Hilary must stop. I do, however, object--AGAIN--to the notion that the only Democratic man who matters is Obama.

Shake, Rattle and Roll

By MAUREEN DOWD

WASHINGTON

The debate dominatrix knows how to rattle Obambi.

Mistress Hillary started disciplining her fellow senator last winter, after he began exploring a presidential bid. When he winked at her, took her elbow and tried to say hello on the Senate floor, she did not melt, as many women do. She brushed him off, a move meant to remind him that he was an upstart who should not get in the way of her turn in the Oval Office.

He was so shook up, he called a friend to say: You would not believe what just happened with Hillary.

She has continued to flick the whip in debates. She usually ignores Obama and John Edwards backstage, preferring to chat with the so-called second-tier candidates. And she often looks so unapproachable while they’re setting up on stage that Obama seems hesitant to be the first to say hi.

With so much at stake, she had to do it again in Vegas, this time using her voice, gaze and body language to such punishing effect that Obama looked as if he had been brought to heel. It was a mesmerizing display, and at an event that drew the highest television ratings of any primary debate this year. The momentum Obama had gained from a vivid speech at the Jefferson-Jackson Day dinner in Iowa drained away by the end of the first half-hour.

Other guys, like Rudy, wouldn’t even be looking for a chance to greet Hillary, as Obama always does. Other guys, like Rudy, wouldn’t care if she iced them.

But she can tell that Obama does care, that he doesn’t want her to not like him or be mad at him, that he responds to the sort of belittling treatment that she sometimes dished out to her husband and his male aides at the White House, yelling at them and calling them wimps if they disappointed her.

Obama may be responsive to Hillary’s moods because he lives with another strong woman who knows how to keep him in line. Michelle said she let her husband run for president only when he agreed to give up smoking, and she’s a master at the art of the loving conjugal put-down.

When Hillary walked onstage Thursday, Obama stood to her left waiting to shake hands and say hi, as he and Edwards had done with Chris Dodd. She turned her body away, refused to meet his eyes and froze him out. Again. And he looked taken aback. Again.

For the rest of the night she owned him. He was so off his game that he duplicated her dithering performance from the last debate on the issue of whether illegal immigrants should get driver’s licenses. After a tortured exchange with Wolf Blitzer, he ended up saying he favored it — one more sign that the law professor is oblivious to the visceral nature of campaigns.

Hillary brazenly leapt away from that politically devastating position and said she didn’t support the licenses anymore. And Obama didn’t even call her out on her third reversal on the matter.

She was willing to absorb the flip-flop criticism to cut her losses on an issue that could have dragged her to defeat in the general election.

Obama and Edwards, who both seemed shaken by a few seconds of pro-Hillary booing, let the front-runner set a ludicrous standard: that any criticism of her shifts on issues is “mudslinging” and a character attack.

She is a control freak — that’s why her campaign tried to coach wonky Iowa voters to ask wonky questions — and her male rivals are letting her take control.

The Democrats should not be afraid to mix it up now, while they have a chance, and get all the doubts and disputes out on the table. Taking some flak clearly made Hillary stronger.

If Rudy’s the nominee, he will go with relish to all the vulnerable places in Hillary’s past. At the Federalist Society on Friday, he had barely spoken the word “she” before the audience began tittering appreciatively.

He went through a whole faux- bemused riff on Hillary’s driver’s license twists without ever uttering her name: “First, she was for the idea, and supported Governor Spitzer, who wanted to give driver’s licenses to illegal immigrants. Then she was against the idea. Then she was for and against the idea. And then finally she said it should be decided on a state-by-state basis. This is the only time in her career that she’s ever decided anything should be decided on a state-by-state basis. You know something? She picked out absolutely the wrong one. Right? I mean, this is one of the areas that is given to the federal government to deal with under our Constitution, the borders of the United States, immigration.”

Rudy laced his speech with faith references, including the assertion that America has “a divinely inspired role in the world” and a mission to “save a civilization from Islamic terrorism.”

Hillary has her work cut out for her. Rudy will not be so easy to spank.

of course

I know they mean to, fully intend to--my students who don't do what they should. Had every intention, if only, if only. Often enough, that's true. It's not as if my own life isn't sometimes built on great expectations that gradually diminish into good-enough-I-suppose as the hours and deadlines tick by.

But I really thought she'd come to school, at least today, the first non-homebound morning of motherhood. It's only a two-day week. Nothing to do but leave a message, wait and see. Hope for the best. But, it doesn't bode well. It hasn't really gotten hard yet, and the novelty has barely started to wear. I have a sneaking suspicion that her teachers were saving up work for when she was sitting here in person and the semester's in its waning weeks, and the homework's behind and the daddy's stressed and the money's tight and the jobs are starting and the sitter's a wildcard and the social worker's AWOL and honey, why aren't you here?

not exactly chicken feed

I don't even know why I started calling it the dreaded Wings, except that if they didn't have the Sunday Ticket I'd never go there, not being a 25 year old guy and all; it's kinda like Hardee's in that way. But they do, so I've spent my share of Sunday afternoons in the local Buffalo Wild Wings, and thus this item caught my attention--and for someone that moniker might finally fit:

Former manager charged in theft

$19,764 stolen from Buffalo Wild Wings

A former manager for the Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant on Troy Road was arrested Thursday in Missouri on charges that he stole $19,764 over a five-month period.

Jacob Hall, 24, of Florissant, Mo., has been charged by Madison County State's Attorney Bill Mudge with felony theft over $10,000.

Authorities issued a warrant for Hall's arrest on Tuesday. He was taken into custody without incident Thursday morning in Florissant by Edwardsville and Florissant police, according to a news release from Edwardsville Police Chief James Bedell.

Hall is being held pending extradition to the Madison County Jail.

The investigation began in April after store officials discovered irregularities in their computer records, said Stephanee Smith, a spokesman for Mudge's office.

The alleged thefts occurred between December 1, 2006 and April 30, 2007.

The investigation determined that Hall had been voiding transactions and pocketing the money, Smith said. Hall "stole various amounts of cash each day he worked from cash receipts of the restaurant," according to Edwardsville police.

The restaurant fired Hall soon after the discrepancies were discovered.

None of the money has been returned, Smith said.

Oh, dude. This was well before football season, so I have no idea who this guy is, but I wonder if his manager is still employed because I can't decide which is more stupid-- that he took what comes out to more than a hundred bucks every single day, or that it took somebody more than five months to figure it out!

not quite that time of year

"So when's it gonna snow?" These kids can never get a handle on the weather, even when they've lived here for years.

"Not for a long, long time," I answer, refusing to remember the one year anniversary of the mother of all ice storms is about three weeks out. Besides, they asked about snow.

They'll love ice if we get it, though, given the inevitable cancellations--at least until the power goes out. Remind me to explain to the new and the forgetful how to find out that there's no school; someone inevitably spends a very cold morning out at the bus stop. Too bad that district doesn't have the innovation my tax dollars have apparently sprung for; according to the letter I opened today, an automated service is going to call every single home phone whenever our district's schools are canceled. I can't decide if that's cool or blasphemy, but I know the first time the phone rings at five in the morning, I'm going to wonder who's dead.