We had Hamburger Helper for the first time in a long time. So long, in fact, it was the first time the kids ever ate it. I think Hamburger Helper is one of those foods that taste better as a leftover than when it’s first cooked.
I never really thought about it before, but the smallest state in our union is more populous than our largest state.
Local Republican commercials:
I’m not a Republican nor do I live in any of these districts so I’m just observing from the sidelines.
I think incumbent Phillip Huffines is winning in the television commercial sector over Angela Paxton. Angela is the wife of Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton who is under indictment on criminal charges for securities fraud. The race is the most expensive state Senate race in Texas.
Incumbent Charlie Geren is airing a creepy and annoying commercial. The commercial references the late “American Sniper” Chris Kyle’s widow almost repeatedly and how his opponent wronged her. It also shows a paper cutout of his opponent’s face placed in front of the keyhole of the front door as the doorbell is rung repeatedly. It’s the latter which ticks me off because it drives DogGeedingII nuts.
I’m not a fan of Dan Patrick, but I think he’s running positive and smart commercials.
Dallas Morning News interactive – Secrets of Dallas’ Dead – Autopsies give glimpse into how Dallas County residents died — and how they lived
Time to vent about something and be somewhat jovial about it, so don’t think this is directed any anyone and don’t take this personally:
When it comes to making the bed every morning, I prefer substance or function over fashion or style (or whatever the correct saying is), no matter what Admiral McRaven may say. It makes no sense to make your bed if no one is going to see it. It’s not practical or efficient when you are just going to get into bed again and mess it all up. Some make the faulty argument it provides some sort of sense of accomplishment you can build on. OK, sure, it might make you feel good. You know what else you can do? Bush your teeth every morning. Not only will brushing your teeth provide a sense of accomplishment, but you also improve your hygiene and strengthen your teeth. I replaced every instance of “make your bed” with “brush your teeth” in McRaven’s speech and found I improved it. Hey, if you want to make your bed because you simply prefer it made, go for it, just don’t sound like a condescending two-bit motivational speaker telling me it will make my life better, we have Tony Robbins and Joel Osteen for that.
Note: I actually really like and admire McRaven. And once again, I’m just trying to jovially vent about a saying which annoys me. We all have “that” something. I’m not calling anyone out or trying to take any personal shots.
The creative director of Medieval Times did a Reddit Ask Me Anything yesterday. I learned they breed their own horses on a ranch outside of Sanger, TX and anyone who interacts with the horses reviews and signs a horse treatment contract annually.
It’s hard to not like Jennifer Lawrence. She was a delight on last night’s ‘Late Show with Stephen Colbert’ and on ’60 Minutes’.
Random celebrity death prediction for 2018 – Barbara Walters, sometime in the early fall, perhaps late September or early October, close to the World Series.
Kevin Smith wrote about his massive heart attack on his Instagram account and shared some insightful thoughts about his encounter with death. Here’s a little bit of what he shared:
if I hadn’t canceled the second show to go to the hospital, the Doc said I would’ve died tonight. For now, I’m still above ground! But this is what I learned about myself during this crisis: death was always the thing I was most terrified of in life. When the time came, I never imagined I’d ever be able to die with dignity – I assumed I’d die screaming, like my Dad (who lost his life to a massive heart attack). But even as they cut into my groin to slip a stent into the lethal Widow-Maker, I was filled with a sense of calm. I’ve had a great life: loved by parents who raised me to become the individual I am. I’ve had a weird, wonderful career in all sorts of media, amazing friends, the best wife in the world and an incredible daughter who made me a Dad. But as I stared into the infinite, I realized I was relatively content.
Monica Lewinsky wrote a piece for Vanity Fair and opens with an interesting tidbit. In a chance encounter at a New York restaurant on Christmas Eve of last year, she met Ken Starr for the very first time. That’s right, they never met. While their exchange was respectful, it wasn’t necessarily pleasant for her:
I found myself shaking his hand even as I struggled to decipher the warmth he evinced. After all, in 1998, this was the independent prosecutor who had investigated me, a former White House intern; the man whose staff, accompanied by a group of F.B.I. agents (Starr himself was not there), had hustled me into a hotel room near the Pentagon and informed me that unless I cooperated with them I could face 27 years in prison.
Ken Starr asked me several times if I was “doing O.K.” A stranger might have surmised from his tone that he had actually worried about me over the years. His demeanor, almost pastoral, was somewhere between avuncular and creepy. He kept touching my arm and elbow, which made me uncomfortable.
I turned and introduced him to my family. Bizarre as it may sound, I felt determined, then and there, to remind him that, 20 years before, he and his team of prosecutors hadn’t hounded and terrorized just me but also my family—threatening to prosecute my mom (if she didn’t disclose the private confidences I had shared with her), hinting that they would investigate my dad’s medical practice, and even deposing my aunt, with whom I was eating dinner that night.