In celebration of their visit to assist me with George while Eva plays Army for the weekend as well as for the sake of posterity. Denny as a West Point Cadet circa 1958 and Mimi as a Nurse circa 1960. Left click the pictures to open them individually and save as you see fit; let me know if you’d like me to send you a higher resolution version of the pictures than the click-and-save technique allows.
This title is actually fitting as we recently received young George’s social security card. Yes George: you’re 4 weeks old and Big Brother is already watching.
Speaking of disasters: I still honestly don’t understand what people don’t understand about a flat tax. Mr. Obama says people need to pay their fare shares. I agree. But in 1987, the richest 1% paid roughly 25% of all income taxes, while the bottom half paid 6%. Twenty years later, the richest 1% paid 40% of all income taxes and the bottom half paid under 3%. And it’s only gotten worse. 51% of the population pays zero income taxes. Zero. And yet they can vote for politicians that support entitlement programs funded by tax payers. It legitimately makes me sick.
Here are a few things that don’t make me sick however!
I love this picture. Wish I could say I took it. That would be weird though.
Speaking of eternal love: I hate Kay Jeweler commercials. Jewelry stores in malls should be avoided like hepatitis. I really have no empirical evidence to support this… I just think mall jewelry stores seem sketchy.
I saw a report on CNN about an illegal immigrant turned Army Soldier who was expressing disgust over the recent Arizona citizenship legislation. At one point he said “I don’t know if I even want to live here anymore.” Well, that seems like a no-brainer.
These are my Grandparents of whom you’ve read much in the past. Want your own copy of the picture? Click the photo, and then on the Flickr page it takes you to, click “Download the Large Size.” If you want an even higher resolution version, e-mail me and I’ll gladly send it your way.
Is there anything more delectable than Sam’s Choice Cajun Trail Mix? I submit to you that there is not. Well, maybe bagged chicken. Or angel tears.
This is a shot of my Grandfather Denny in a church in Vienna. I am specifically describing him as my “Grandfather” for I once introduced him to, literally, a bus full of people as my “Grampa.” He was mortified. My Grandmother, Mimi, was likewise mortified. I didn’t see what the problem was. In fact, to this day I never really saw what the problem was, until I actually typed out the word “Grampa.” Turns out, it was pretty ridiculous. I suppose, in the eyes of Mimi and Denny at least, “Grandfather” is more esteemed, more refined, more patriarchal. “Grampa” is, so to speak, more overall clad, more toothless, more West Virginia perhaps. I now see the error in my ways. That being said, it was quite funny, and, as such, I would do it again, given the same time, place, and opportunity, just to recount it now. So there. Grampa.
