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Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose his compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:
I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early.”

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

Here are three interviews from the Jim Rome show regarding the Barry Bonds controversy. Right click on the links below and choose “Save as”.

The first is with Tom Verducci, the Sports Illustrated writer who has been writing about the story for the past year or so. He comments on the excerpts of the new book that appeared in the SI issue from a couple of weeks ago.

The second is with former MLB commissioner Faye Vincent. His interviews are always good for putting things into perspective compared to the Pete Rose ban and for looking at it from a legal and union-relations standpoint.

The third is with Lance Williams, one of the authors of the new book Game of Shadows. This one is really good; gives a great outline of the high points of the book as well as a discussion of the sources that were used.

Dan is now a member of the blogosphere. I have deep reservations about his choice of template; he insists that the third dot is “salmon”, but it look’s pretty pink to me. The next thing you know he will be eating his vanilla pudding with a banana.

Here’s a screenshot of it in case he changes the template after reading this.

Rest in peace, Molly. You were a good girl. Sorry about the tutu thing; it was Mommy’s idea.

I never thought I’d see anything as beautiful as Anna.

I was wrong.

Abby arrived Monday, and she is her sister’s equal in beauty, intelligence, and overall sweetness. Kathy and I are blessed beyond words.

We were scheduled to have labor induced Monday morning at 6am. However, Kathy began having labor pains very early Sunday morning. They were not evenly spaced (some were 5 minutes apart, others 8-12), but they were more intense than any she had experienced with Anna, so we went to the hospital.

After being monitored for about an hour and a half, they sent us home saying we were not ready yet. For the next 24 hours the pains continued and gradually became more regular. By Monday morning at 5am, they had become practically unbearable. We got to the hospital at 5:15, 45 minutes before we were scheduled to be there anyway. From the look on the receptionists face, you’d think we had gotten there 4 hours early for no reason at all.

We soon found out that there was a reason the pains were so bad; Kathy was 8cm dilated already! We got there just in time for her to still be able to get an epidural, for which she is profoundly thankful… two hours after being taken back to the room, Abby was born.

Abby Lauren Wright was born at 7:43 am, weighed in at 9lbs, 11 oz. (yes, that’s right), and was 22 inches long. So far she has been an excellent eater and sleeper; she slept 4 hours at a time at night in the hospital, allowing us to get some rest. Since getting home that has shortened a bit, but she’s still doing pretty well. She’s eating like a champ; when Anna was a newborn she had a lot of trouble getting latched on to Mommy. With Abby, she usually gets on on the first try.

Anna has posted some pictures of her new sister at her blog; surf over and check it out! Here’s one to tide you over:

Finished my MBA program last night…

No more 4-hour lectures on Thursday nights.
No more 75 page papers.
No more case study presentations.
And most importantly, no more waiting until 11pm to watch The Apprentice…

Speaking of The Apprentice, that show has been my little MBA buddy the past two years. It premiered the same week as my first night of class; it was cool to go learn about business for 4 hours, then come home and watch a show based on a similar pursuit each week.

I do not like David Ortiz. I hate the Boston Red Sox. I don’t think a DH should ever win the MVP. But if I had a vote for MVP, I’d cast it for Big Poopi.

Why?

Because after last night, I don’t want Alex Rodriguez to get it. Scratch that; after the last week, I don’t want Alex Rodriguez to get it. In the regular season, Rodriguez was more valuable than Ortiz. Their offensive stats were almost identical, but Rodriguez also played an outstanding third base, while Ortiz sat in the dugout, presumably eating donuts.

But the New York Yankees are not about the regular season. They are about winning the World Series, or at least they used to be. But that is hard to do when your $250,000,000-MVP-candidate-third-baseman goes .133 for the series and does not drive in a single run. Grounding into a double play when you are the tying run at the plate in the 9th inning of an elimination game is inexcusable.

Thanks to Justin, I was able to import the Haloscan comments into Wordpress. Thanks for the help!

“Lounge Against the Machine” is my new favorite band. Clicky-clicky for mp3 goodness.