I’m always searching for comic yet age appropriate content on the web. It’s not easy since 70 percent of the web is porn and that’s usually not very funny. My boss sent me this one.

Now while the charter of that site sounds stupid, I found myself strangely drawn to this picture of Tori Amos. Here’s one for the Brad Pitt fans.

And really, shame on you, Hugh Grant. I don’t know what’s worse, letting the small child eat the fries or you stealing them while snuggling his mum.

Enough of that. Next up is the darker side of the Internet. Yep, disturbing auctions!. Think your second hand junk is just too freaky for a garage sale? Tired of that stuffed monkey your aunt gave you when you were five? Ready to unlock the true sentimental value of your mementos? Sell it!

Well that’s it for my alloted Internet surfing time until I bang out some pages.

I’m never quite sure what to do on Memorial Day. Certainly it’s an important holiday and the basic history behind it is well known and each year it seems to pass me by. The older I get the less right this seems.

My grandfather was in WWII. Perhaps if my father or I had been in the military the holiday might hit closer. It’s rare for my grandfather to discuss his time in Europe at this late stage of his life. He’s not one to dwell on the past too much anyway.

Not to say that he complains about the war, but he does leave me with the impression that the media and history books have painted a much different picture about how tough it really was. He’s left me to work out the blanks. I wonder how many other grandsons are in the same boat I’m in. We want to know more about that time in their life to better understand their sacrifices, but at the same time those in the know don’t really want to talk about it.

What I do know is, is that if there hadn’t been a whole generation of men like him the world might be very different today. Some have called his the greatest generation. He’s always seemed great to me.

So on this day I think about my grandfather and all the other grandfathers like him, and the guys who never got a chance to be grandfathers.

For the first time since launching on January 1, 2004, I missed an update. Sigh.

So what happened? Basically I spent all day Friday editing draft 6 of The Ridge Runner and then the wife came home and after dinner, we passed out. Along the way there was an argument about something. At least it wasn’t exploding eggs.

Anyway, that’s what happened.

Remember when it was OK for a child to sleep in a parent’s bed? I’m 31 and the last time I slept in my parent’s bed was…well last night.

Since my parents are out of town and they are owned by two very large foxhounds that both follow rigid medication schedules, Mom suggested that I sleep over and tend to their pets.

Problem number one with this, the wife works in the other direction so it’s impractical for her to stay with me. Problem next, the bed is massive. On the surface perhaps that’s not a minus, but while the bed is the size of fricking Nevada widthwise, in terms of length the bed resembles Rhode Island forcing my feet to hang over the edge all night. The cramped, achy sensation resembles a hang over with none on of the pleasant memories.

On the plus side, the sound of the dogs barking at 5am cut my suffering short. Foxhounds are neither equipped with a snooze button, nor responsive in anyway to any pleas to be silent. They also don’t do bribery and require walks at unholy hours of the morning.

Besides that though, the hounds of hell are fantastic.