Zeus Gets Pissed

This has been a nutty week, make no mistake about it.

For starters, Spring Break (drunk chick voice: "whooooooo!!!!!") starts Friday, which consequently means that all my students are operating at 6% capacity this week. That always spells a good time.

I think Zeus is pissed at us, though. For whatever reason.

On Sunday, as I was grading papers and otherwise enjoying the Sabbath, a storm front rolled in. This isn't a big deal down here in America's Wang, so the Houghs thought nothing of it. We've been through some pretty crazy storms since we've been down here (no hurricanes yet, fortunately), and have never had an issue with lightning before, so we didn't consider unplugging anything this time around. "That's pretty stupid, guys," you might say to yourself, "considering you idiots live in the lightning capital of the world."

Well, reader, you might have something, there.

Kris was working on her CDA on the other laptop, and, like me, she had it plugged into the wall. Suddenly, Zeus struck. A loud pop, bang, and flash, and Kris screams. Her laptop shuts off, and she is electrocuted. After making sure her and the penis-less fetus she's been growing insider herself were both cool, I came to the horrific realization that our poor lil' router (see above) was not. It was dead.

We endured a week-long forced unplugging from the grid, folks. This made working on my grad school work extremely difficult, and I practically became on first-name familiarity with everyone employed at Brighthouse Networks (our internet service provider). To make a long story short, it turns out the lightning struck some cable hub really, really close to our house, and fried the line. Two techs couldn't figure it out at first, and I replaced three cable modems before we finally stumbled upon the source of the problem.

I also had to drop $70 on a fancy new router (speed was essential, folks), and purchased a Belkin N router (see above, and which I'd recommend to any of you who are looking for new ones yourself).

In conclusion, if you're out to piss off one of the gods, might I suggest someone like Poseidon (unless you live by the open seas) or Hermes... who I'm pretty sure doesn't do anything besides relay messages back and forth between deities.

Do not piss off Zeus. Ever.

- Brian

St. Patrick's Day (Observed) 2010

Hi gang,

Today marked our annual St. Patrick's Day (observed) festivities, and once again we ventured out to the coast (Melbourne) for whatever-the-heck their Irish Fest is officially called.

Like we told you about last year, they had a parade, bands, dancers, pipers, drummers, corned beef and cabbage, Irish and English beers on draught, and all the outdoor shenanigans one could ask for. The festivities center around Meg O'Malley's, which, while not nearly as awesome as the Doherty, has proven to be a reliable source of Irish mayhem while we're unable to venture home for the infamous Clare Irish Festival.

This year the Voigts came with us, too, which was cool 'cause otherwise it would've been just me drinking beer next to a pregnant woman and a toddler... and that would've gotten old after awhile (then again, it is St. Patrick's Day, so I might not have minded all that much...).

They had a blow-up thing that kids like bouncing on (whatever those are called), so the kid had good fun with that. She also got to play in the dirt in the lot behind the pub, which is always a big plus for her (we're good parents).

Lot of familiar faces about - lots of the same folks that were there the previous year when we went with Mike and Amber, such as Creepo the Leprechaun (at right), who, once again, was festively drunk. I'm not sure what his official role at the festivities entails, but I do know that I appreciate his devotion to that role. Saw a few of the same marshals, pipers and the like, and so while we were 1300 miles south of where we would've preferred to be, we were definitely somewhere that deserved a silver medal.

In closing, here's a crapload more pictures for you to briefly skim over before going about your cyber surfing. Slainte!

- Brian

Fire Ant Holocaust and Weed Resurrection: the Lament of a Would-Be Lawnsmith

Grass has become the bane of my existence.

While the war on the House Front seems to have subsided lately, as the air heats up and the Rain God starts peeing on all of us once again, my yard is slowly but surely springing back to life.

Alas, someone forgot to tell my yard that weeds ain't cool.

I've got so many plant unwantables right now I don't even know where to start. I'm a dozen or so dollar weeds away from saying 'screw it,' letting my weeds grow to thicket proportions, and adopting a few dozen cats. Every neighborhood needs one of those residents, and I'd like to think that - pending my current allergic reactions to the feline race - I could easily become the crazy animal lover with the out of control yard.

A man's gotta dream.

Anyway, the stubbornish side of me hasn't completely bent over for the weeds quite yet. I've drawn a line in the sand (er, dirt patches that splatter my yard), and am launching a drastic, Hail Mary counteroffensive.

Not all looks grim on the front lines, though - fear not, dear readers. Yours truly has hung a few scalps from his belt throughout this campaign, and has claimed victory over the accursed Fire Ants that have until recently held dominion over my yard.

In what could be compared to Sherman's March to the Sea, or Hitler's Final Solution, I systematically executed every, last one of those demons using a combination of fertilizer, insecticide, spray, and Michiganian stick-to-it-iveness.

And so, my campaign shall blaze on - until I have a somewhat respectable trapezoid (or whatever mathematical shape my yard is... it definitely isn't a square or a rectangle, but I didn't do so hot in geometry) of nice-ish looking grass. Stay tuned.

Heroically Yours,

- Col. Brian J. Hough

Amateur Yardsmith/Ant Eradicator