When Good Millionaires Go Bad.

Reuters had an interesting article on one of the dumbest rich people ever. The following is all true. If someone were to make a film out of it, it would get panned for being completely implausible. What caught my eye is the fact that the article took place in my old hometown of Galveston Island, Texas. (see prior blog about tarred beaches and sting rays) Apparently an incredibly wealthy gentleman shot a neighbor to death and disposed of the body in Galveston Bay. It was consequently found, and pinned on him. He pleads innocent. He pleads self defense.

Point number one: If you happen to shoot an elderly man in self defense, please--for heavens sake--do NOT cut up the body and dispose of it in the bay. It makes your self defense claim look... suspect.

Point number two: If you happen to shoot and elderly man in self defense, and you do cut up the body to dispose of it in the bay, be SURE that you do not leave large gouges from the cutting in your kitchen floor. They could be trip hazards. They also look bad in court.

Point three: But by gum, if you're going to do it anyway, you kill and you cut---make sure that the garbage bags you put the body parts into are brand new, not bags with your receipts and newspapers with your name and address and such in them. It makes the police suspicious.

Point four: Ok. So you ignored my good advice. The kill, the cut, the dump, and now you're being held in jail. When you post bond, which you do, because you're stinking rich...for god's sake---do not flee to Pennsylvania, and get caught stealing a sandwich and a bandaid. People may think ill of you, especially if you have over $500 in your pocket, and FORTY freaking GRAND in your car. Please. Just buy the sandwich. If you're that cheap, just ask someone for a bandaid. I'm sure someone would take pity on an incredibly stupid fucked up millionaire.

My final point is this. If you plan to do any of these things, first be sure that you are not wanted for questioning in the disappearance of your wife in New York and in the death of yet another friend. It is very difficult to prove that you're an innocent, walking streak of bad luck for the people around you. And it looks especially funny if, upon being sought for questioning in New York, you move to Texas, dress up like a little old mute lady and rent an apartment under those pretenses. On a side note, if you do happen to dress up like a mute lady, say, just for fun...be careful in bars when you light up. Those wigs are flammable. I'm not joking. It's for your own good.

One of our registers has a little sign on it that says, "In Memoriam-- the Johnny Cash Register."

You remember the pirate joke? People keep mentioning how funny it is, but I can't take credit for it. Our friend Alexander told it to us. I *almost* peed my pants laughing. I salute you, Alexander!

I finally have Neverwinter Nights on my very own computer. (thank you, Boy!) I've tangled with it a little bit, but not enough to really have a feel for it so far. I'm still in the throes of the overwhelmingly nerdy pursuit of trying to find time to finish FFVII. That convoluded enough for you? My initial impression of Neverwinter Nights is more an impression about my computer than the game. It's......too............sloow. I manage to kill things, but with such skipping inconsistancy to the action that I'm never quite sure how it worked. Or why. I'm secretly thinking that perhaps the ubersimplicity of various Spiderweb Software games like Geneforge and Nethergate have completely spoiled me to new, pretty games like this. "What the f*ck is that camera doing swinging around like that?? Which guy is mine?? Why can't I just use the arrow buttons to move? I killed the enemy--how'd I do that??" I sound like somebody's grandmother. You know-- Somebody's grandmother who plays video games. And gets confused easily. Geez... I'm sure with more time invested, it will be a very cool game.

We have exciting huge stacks of moving boxes around the house full of our stuff. According to Nihao, I built them just for her to leap around on and try to eat packing tape. Silly kitty. Those boxes represent a long excruciating car ride in a pet carrier to a terrifying new strange place, not a fun playground.

The Only Person in Heaven Wearing Black.

Goodbye Johnny Cash. We'll miss you. Please say hello to June.

And goodbye John Ritter...we'll...uh....I'm sure people will miss you. (even if I secretly am annoyed that you died because now there'll be all sorts of John Ritter specials and reruns on tv for the next week.)

While I was at the doctor's office yesterday, I saw a contender for the Coolest Grandma 2003 Award. I sat down to wait for someone to drain a bunch of blood out of me, and across the aisle was a little old lady--bona fide. Frail, elderly, humming in little trills to herself, and knitting something in crayola colors. From the back it looked like a tangle of yarn, but when she flipped it over to tug at something, I realized that it was the beginning of a small sweater featuring a perfect rendering of Spongebob Squarepants. He's not my favorite, but some little person is going to be thrilled. Go grandma!

We are in the process of buying our first house. I realize (over and over) that having a gazillion dollars would be so darn cool. Many of my ulcers come from being frantic about $$--ours and other people's. I had a fantastic dream a few weeks ago in which I had just won an enormous lottery. In the dream I was keeping it a secret, but calling up all my siblings and friends and trying to be subtle about asking what they need or want. One sister's building completed. Another's school paid for. Someone else's debt taken care of. It was all done.

I need to start playing the lottery.

Once we're in the house, everything will even out. It all seems worse when you have hundreds of boxes to pack. I'm really enamoured with the house though. It was built in 1928 and has an "Arts and Crafts" feel about bits of it. And I *love* the arts and crafts movement. I have a crush on Charles Rennie Macintosh. And William Morris. And Gustav Stickley. And that Frank Lloyd Wright guy.

I found a book on building craftsman era furniture and I'm inspired to try some things. I'll be sure to blog if I cut off any of my fingers with power tools.