I have brought food to my late-working wife and hungry mancub.

I have fed the cat.

I have watched a sign language video with the mancub, again.

I have helped an eager mancub brush his teeth.

I have washed the reluctant and screaming mancub.

I have read the tearful mancub numerous books.

I have put the sleepy mancub to bed.

I have remembered to transfer the loads and run the dryer, as I was asked.

I have paid the bills.

I have converted all three computers I am intimately involved with from Internet Explorer to Mozilla Firefox, with anti-adware add-ons.

I have converted and consolidated all of my AOL and Yahoo Instant Messenger programs over to Trillian freeware.

I have made two entries and some snarky comments on LiveJournal.

What more, really, is there to do in life?

I expected that I would have a toddler who would throw tantrums because of denial of any of the following things: candy, snacks, soda, new toy, going home, staying here, staying up late.

I did not expect I would have a toddler that would throw a 15 minute tantrum because I made him stop brushing his teeth.

Mind you, he had been brushing them for 20 minutes. I think those teeth were clean, for goodness sakes.

Someday, when I have the time and resources I will go to the headquarters of each of the companies in the world that make Adware.

I will find the CEO of those companies.

I will stand in front of them with a little cardboard sign made to look like a dialog box. The dialog box will read:

“WE HAVE DETECTED THAT YOU NEED TO BE PUNCHED IN THE NOSE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE PUNCHED IN THE NOSE? [YES] [NO]”

I will follow them around and pester them with my dialog box until they finally press one of the buttons.

No matter which button they choose, I will punch them in the nose.

Hard.

Again and again.

Until they are dead.

And then I will say to their lifeless bodies:

“Would you like to uninstall me? TOUGH SHIT.”

So we ditched the mancub with Stacey’s unsuspecting coworker Sarah, and toddled off to see Mr. Lyle Lovett at Chastain last night. We parked in the Yellow Lot, and almost immediately realized we were Chastain Neophytes, because we had not brought a picnic dinner with us. However, armed with roughly $17,000 worth of concession stand hotdogs (2) and pretzel (1), plus two free thimble fulls of terrible wine from a nearby promotion booth, we settled back for a delightful concert.

The man can sing. Lordy, how he can sing.

Plus, he’s funny. He told us how he loved Atlanta and our big trucks all over the road; they made him feel safe. It’s those little cars that are the danger… they can get caught up under your bumper and wheel.

Hello. I’m the guy who sits next to you and reads your newspaper over your shoulder. Wait, don’t turn the page, I’m not through yet. Life… is so uncertain…

The first time I heard that song, I was in a painting class in college. The class had about 15 people, all set up, concentrating hard, painting away at something or other on easels. Here I Am came on, and I put down my brush after the first line. After the second verse about half the class had put down their brushes and were looking at each other with half-smiles on their face. By “cheeeeeseburger”, the entire class was laughing out loud. A lot of Lyle Lovett albums were sold that day.

…what Corn Flakes are to Post Toasties, what Hank Williams is to Lance Armstrong…

I also learned that I simply don’t have enough Lyle albums, because the ratio of Songs I Know to Songs I Didn’t Know was way too low.

The rain held off (I won’t even say the “R” word tonight), and he sang about his pony and his boat, and his beans and his good cornbread, and his little redneck woman. Francine did a song, and to be honest, I’m not sure that the majority of the audience didn’t come to see her. They were enthusiastic about Lyle, but they were nuts about Francine. Leeeave everything to me.

A good time had by all.