Hard to be Hard

I started my morning with good intentions. I showered, got dressed, tested my glucose level (107) made coffee, booted up, read e-mail, went to Barcodie's site to see what the right wing was thinking lately, and then it occurred to me.
I am still in a beach frame of mind and can hardly get it up to argue about what a loose cannon Bush is. Fact is, we made it through Gerald Ford, we dodged the Dan Quayle bullet and we'll make it past this moron's watch, too.
My sweet friend Barcodie is entitled to his opinions, misguided though they may be.
The Smoking Gun
amused me this morning with a story about a Florida priest who used the same AOL account he uses to communicate with parishioners with which to troll for young gay tops to satisfy his more secular urges. Oh well, at least he's not a pedophile.
Winter has reappeared this morning in San Antonio. Forty degrees outside, but I don't care. I got my spring mojo covered over the weekend.
James my kittenish cat apparently developed a new habit while I was away, kitchen counter strolling. He seems not to get that it's not okay and he's not the type who could adjust to corporal punishment after such a gently raised kittenhood. I need to get Cris, a behavioral psychologist, over here to recommend some kind of aversion therapy.
I could spray it with Pet Be Gone but the little bastard likes the aroma of that, judging by the frayed corners of my new loveseat.
Oh well. At least he doesn't know how to open the fridge. Yet.