When it’s a bandwagon that makes sense, y’all, hop right up on it. And when it’s celebrating the founding of this fine land where we, either by accident of birth or intentional immigration, are blessed beyond measure to live, even I can be enticed to join the party.

Y’all turn up your speakers and commence dancing around the room to this one to get yourself fired up for this lovely long weekend:

Indeed, feel free to run over and buy Brother Thorn’s tune itself (at your mp3 site of preference, or at PaulThorn.com) so you can crank it up and drive around with the windows down.

As for us, once we get done dancing to this one (as well as some James Brown, Beach Boys, Ani DiFranco, Los Lobos and Martha and the Vandellas), we’ll be out in the yard with lightning-bug catchers, bubbles, glow sticks and homemade grape popsicles, waiting for the neighbors to fire up their expensive sack o’ purchases from our nearby Mission Temple Fireworks Stand. And that’s just on Friday night; Saturday will be more of the same, except more sunscreen will be involved.

Y’all go be human bottle rockets this weekend. Just don’t stuff none down anybody’s pants, cause fireworks *are* dangerous.

Y’all.

Anyone who pooh-poohs psychotropic medications (I’m looking at YOU, Mr. Couch-Jumping Movie Star) just hasn’t seen the blessing they can provide.

Evidence? Wanna hear it? Here it is.

The Co-Irker has been on some sort of new medication since March. (I was not directly informed of this, but I was happy and hopeful to hear the news regardless.) This medication has completely transformed her. If it were not such a cliche to use the phrase “180-degree turnaround,” I would do so, emphatically and in all caps.

I just had a conversation (one of several in recent weeks) with her that was not only cordial, professional and even-tempered, but even amusing and pleasant—in short, the way co-workers should treat each other. That behavior has become the standard in The Office now, where her previous uproars used to be prevalent and very painful for all involved.

And I am thanking the good Lord every day, for all our sakes (including hers and her family’s), that very wise people invented, refined, prescribe and monitor dosages of useful medications that help us function. Huzzah!

In honor of the passing of the wonderful wordsmith George Carlin (and I mean that most sincerely; who else could play with words, even the clean ones, better than he), I have called a certain desktop-publishing software package by the name above not once but several times today.

I also have laughed so hard at the second comment at Rob’s post on Carlin’s passing that I have just about herniated myself.

I like to think Mr. Carlin would appreciate that.

Here’s a little blast from the past, culled from a 1966 appearance on The Tonight Show. Political commentary at its best, but disguised, maaaan.

Hurray!

RIP.

• The new work computer is in—26 days after the old one crashed, 25 days after IT first “officially” looked at it, 15 days after they said “um yeah, it’s broke,” 14 days after we gave them the OK to order the new one and EIGHT days after IT finally ordered it. But who’s counting? Joy!

• I met two lovely rabbits in the backyard by the chimney this evening. One was a baby rabbit, and the other was a not-quite-grown rabbit (instead of the customary Mom Bunneh and/or Dad Bunneh we usually see near the babies). I began to call them Baby Rabbit and Teenage Babysitter Rabbit. They were unamused and deeply unimpressed, but they appeared to greatly enjoy their salads during our brief conversation. HarryCat is enjoying his Secret Asian Cat attempts to spy on said bunnehs, too. (And before I get e-mails about slurs, that stems from the “Secret Agent Man” mondegreen and the fact that Harry is Siamese. ’nuff said.)

• Ooooh! Another AFI collection is on. With lots of Hitchcockian discussions. Involving Jimmy Stewart. This is me, zooming away …

but before I do, I leave you with a rose.

… or maybe not.

(The little disc flips over to read “out.”)

This was intended to help alleviate the concerns of those who stare at our office in/out board, ask “is grande in?” after reading my external whereabouts on said board, and then walk into my office looking for me when I clearly am not in said office.

There have been two people who have actually stood and talked to the sign when it read, “The witch is out.”

BWAH!

Aunt B. got to talking about some memories evoked by rummaging in a dresser drawer, and it got me to thinking.

I guess it was because I was a frighteningly indulged child, but I never hesitated to take my Julia doll everywhere. (Remember? Diahann Carroll was the widowed nurse with a little boy? They made a beautiful Barbie likeness of her, too.) I loved Ms. Carroll (and the doll that looked like her) because we enjoyed the show so much, and she reminded me of my beloved first-grade teacher.

Nobody ever said a thing to me as I wagged my doll around, usually with my pretty redhaired ponytail Barbie, too (they were best friends). Hindsight indicates that was rather unusual in rural middle Tennessee in the ’60s.

Nobody said anything, that is, except my beloved granddaddy. Who looked at my Nurse Julia doll one Sunday when we came over for lunch and then looked at me and then said to my parents, “Why does she have that n-word doll?”

That was the end of my innocence about my granddaddy.

A man I thought was one of the finest, strongest, most upright men ever to draw breath had that kind of reaction to a doll, and it was very frightening to me. He took me to church! And told me we should love everybody, because God made us all and wanted us to be good to one another! And there was a black man down the road who was his friend and worked with him and laughed and joked!!

And of course, I tried to explain to him why I had my doll and why I loved her. (Y’all can imagine how long that took; you have to wade through my yatterings here.)

Granddaddy did listen to me, though, and he did say he was sorry for using that word and sorry for hurting my feelings. (I can’t imagine what it took for a 65-year-old man to say that to a child.) I recall asking him if he thought that word about my teacher, too, because I remembered him telling my great aunt (his sister-in-law) what a good first-grade teacher I had. I don’t recall him answering; I think my grandmother came in the room in high dudgeon about something (she often did) and it was never brought up again.

My dad once told me that Granddaddy later said he was sorrier for that remark than anything he’d ever said in his life. I don’t know if he was sorry for saying something so wrong, or if he was just sorry he said it in front of me.

I’ve thought about that over the years, especially when I stick my big size 13s in my mouth while discussing race.

What I try to continue to glean from that experience is this: When I screw up and say something wrong or hurtful about race (and I do, because I often run my mouth to hear my head rattle), am I sorry I hurt someone’s feelings and brought the awful specter of WE ARE DIFFERENT AND WE CAN NEVER FORGET IT EVEN THOUGH WE ARE FRIENDS crashing down between us? Do I try to use what I’ve just said to prevent a repeat performance and to learn how better to discuss such a tender subject, with love and intelligence and grace and respect, when it needs to be addressed?

Or am I more sorry for ruining someone’s opinion of me?

“Not only are they taking their toys and going home, they’re going to stop on the way and give their toys to the little boy down the street who talks ugly and beats up little girls.”

— The Queen Mum, upon observing some female Clinton supporters’ threats to vote for McCain.

At least not on this blog. Folks much more eloquent and insightful than I can tell you much more useful things any day of the week and several times on weekends.

But may I just say that regardless of who becomes the Democratic presidential nominee, will you folks who are vowing to vote for McCain to show your disapproval of and dismay at the DNC and its associated entities’ foolishness please THINK A MINUTE?!?

How will that solve anything? How will that help to guide our country on a more positive course? How will electing a person who has promised four more years of what we’ve sustained for the last eight be a step in the right direction? And all because you’re mad because your candidate didn’t get the nomination?

I’m especially troubled by the Democratic women who are saying they’ll vote for McCain. Why would you support a man with a longstanding record of support for antichoice legislation and who also has consistently opposed equal-pay efforts? (Go here for more details.) And, frankly, I can’t get past what he (allegedly) called his wife in public. I won’t even get into that awful Chelsea Clinton joke from years ago, which he has admitted to making.

I have no ill will for those who are revoking their party membership and insisting they’ll go independent. I respect your choice. Please field us an independent candidate RIGHT QUICK and give us a third-party nominee; I’d probably vote for him/her at this point.

But for the love of your country and your children, don’t flounce off in a huff and vote for the opposition just for spite.

ETA: Well, this is a bit more reassuring to me. As I think I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I’ve long been of the opinion, as this campaign has draaaaagged on, that whichever one is in the Oval Office and whichever one is in the Old Executive Office Building isn’t going to matter a whit; they’re both going to have their hands full fixing this horrorshow.

The first step will be gluing the shards of the party back together, then the nation. Pray for all us sinners, y’all.

(P.S. — Thanks, Church Secretary, for mentioning the Greens again; I need to know more about this Kat Swift person, and how quickly can I sign up? Woo-hoo!)

Speaking of folk far more eloquent than I on this subject, check out our beloved Aunt B., the gifted Don Coyote, and the queen of all she surveys, our ‘Coma. The post they refer to at TGW is the one that shocked me into yattering here in the first place.

Dear Concerned Motorist,

Thank you so much for your assistance during my commute this morning. I apologize profusely for hindering your driving, but I just could not bring myself to run a red light and pull out into oncoming traffic, which included two speeding semis, and cause an accident simply because you were running late for an appointment with a client after staying up all night manufacturing meth with your crack whore. I didn’t want to run the risk of causing a terrible, potentially fatal, traffic accident and possibly detaining you even more from your appointed rounds, you inbred one-toothed redneck mouth-breathing piece of trash.

I’d also like to thank you for driving alongside my car for a few miles with your window down, repeatedly screaming “I’ll f*cking KILL YOU, you f*cking B*TCH!!!” and attempting to sideswipe my vehicle. Your consideration in repeating your opinion enabled the highway-patrol dispatcher to hear you at least twice when I held my phone up to my window. Your kindness in allowing me to write down your license-plate number during a previous attempt at similar behavior a couple of months ago was quite helpful to the dispatcher, too, after you realized I was on the phone and thoughtfully sped away to avoid interrupting our conversation. The dispatcher sent her regards, as well as a patrol car, which probably caught up to you just about the time I got to the interstate.

May I suggest, once you post bond, that you look into anger-management classes? That will help you stay busy while you await that penis-replacement surgery. I’ve heard they can attach a prosthesis to even the teensiest little mite, so that’s wonderful news for you!

Best wishes to you and yours, and again, I apologize for inconveniencing you repeatedly today. I hope the next person who inconveniences you on the roadway can conclude things more swiftly. Perhaps with a pistol.

Drive safely, you snake-humping cracker,

grande :0)

—————————–

Note to regular readers:

Y’all don’t know how much I wish I was making this up.

Dear Office Computer Repairpeople,

I understand that you are quite occupied in keeping several-odd-thousand other computers operational at this workplace at any given moment. I respect that, and I do not make requests of you unless it is something I absolutely cannot fix on my own. I try to be helpful and pleasant and get out of the way when you do occasionally have to help with my computer.

However.

When I tell you that my computer’s graphic/video display card is dying and has repeatedly shut down my computer, preventing me from doing my job, I expect some sort of response within a reasonable timeframe.

I do not expect to a) still be looking at a dead computer 10 days after my initial request and b) be chastised by someone in your department for installing needed software on my home computer, WHICH I HAVE BROUGHT INTO WORK SO I CAN *DO* MY WORK BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T FIXED MY WORK COMPUTER YET.

Fix it today or I am going to your vice president, and you can explain to her why you don’t seem to want to do your jobs.

No love at all,

grande

P.S. — Coming into my office unannounced while I was out this morning, getting mad because you can’t log onto MY personal computer (because it’s password-protected) and jack around with it, instead of working on the computer that’s sitting on the floor of my office with a note with “FIX THIS ONE” on it, and then returning later to say, “Yup, we need to send it off to repair it,” is not earning you any points with me. At all.

Or as we say ’round here, a’tall. Grrrr. Arrgh.