Buying presents for hurricane season

Saturday was June 6, which is somewhat commonly known to the free world as D-Day. This was the 65th anniversary and probably the last time that a substantial group of actual D-Day veterans would be able to gather on those shores. Since this was one of the biggies all the really, really important leaders of the ultra-fab western world were there including The Messiah, the thoroughly impotent British PM, Gordon "don't call me Gordo" Brown and my favorite world leader with a smoking wife, Nicolas Sarkozy, President of France. The coverage was unavoidable and rightfully so.

Unless you are the EPJ, that is. A brief convo from this morning:

EPJ: "Germs, isn't D-Day coming up?"

Me: "Yep, in about 362 days. This was the 65th anniversary but they didn't make too much of it."

EPJ: "Oh, so I've already missed it. Darn."

Me: "Depends. Us optomist like to think of you as being really, really early for 66. That's the one everyone's really hankering for."

EPJ: "Don't be a smart ass, Germs."

And scene.

The above conversation coming on the heels of yesterday's lid blower: the hows and whys of auto-erotic asphyxiation (feel free to google, but don't say I didn't warn you) as it related to the death of everyone's favorite I'm-not-an-Asian-I-just-play-one-on-TV, David Carradine. Clearly, we're solving the world's problems up here. Though I was relieved to know that the EPJ and Marisol were heretofore unaware of such things, I was less sure as to whether my status as go-to-guy on matters of "deviant sexual behavior" was a compliment or an insult.

The world can breathe a sigh of relief (so to speak) that the EPJ and Marisol no longer wonder about such things. As an added bonus, the carpeted floor kept their pretty little heads from splitting open when each fainted from the shock of knowing.

But it's not all forgotten history and deviant sexual behavior these days for the EPJ. All the hard work put into making Rancho Relaxo the most sublime location this side of heaven has not gone unnoticed in our fair burg. Her home and all who dwell in it have been deemed "Spot of the Month".

Quite the honor. Such much so that the powers that be usually forget to take the sign down in the chosen yard. Which results in the spot of the month being the spot for two or three months or until they randomly select another yard. It's all very scientific.

The tariff act of '78 outlawed parades around here and giving the most beautiful yard more flowers seems a bit redundant. Other than getting a snazzy placard placed right smack dab front and center thereby blighting the spot it is supposed to be highlighting, I can't say there's really any other honor that goes along. Aside from becoming the envy of your neighbors and earning their hated for rubbing their noses in your green thumb, of course. We're all about brotherhood around here.