A fellow nano user! There are dozens of us!

With that in mind you very well could call the fire department to come let you out. That will certainly help draw attention to it.

It’s not a great movie, it’s superb!

If it wasn’t for a few f bombs the Blue Brothers could have been rated PG. And maybe the used condom joke at the very beginning.

I worked in munitions in the US Air Force. Anything to do with bombs and missiles in movies is the worst for me. No you can’t outrun a blast. No, a plane cannot just do a barrel roll and have a heat seeking missile fly past it. They also don’t follow your exact path. They use proportional navigation to basically find the shortest path to you.

First thought was, you don’t need to update an Azure. Second thought was tech people really aren’t good at coming up with unique names.

I tried to stick out as long as I could, but we really have no choice anymore. I have a child with special needs and it’s been a struggle to get him the services he is legally entitled to. Now without the Dept of Education things are only going to get worse.

I wish you well and hope you can get out soon.

I am moving out of Texas. Our house goes on the market in a couple of weeks and once it’s sold we’ll be heading to New England.

You should read the NOFX autobiography, the open line is…

The first time I drank piss was on a fire escape overlooking downtown Los Angeles.

I replaced all of mine with nest ones a few years ago. Every time one would chirp my son would have a full on meltdown. It was ridiculously expensive, but worth it no more 3 am meltdowns.

Sushi

My wife and daughter call her su or more commonly su-su

If she’s in trouble then it’s Sushi Maki Roll <Our last name>

I call her Stink Butt because she takes the smelliest poops I’ve ever had the displeasure of smelling and then doesn’t bury them in the litter.

Thanks and no. But funny enough my wife is a huge Shakespeare nerd. Like takes a beach vacation and just reads Shakespeare in a lounger to relax nerd. So it’s fitting.

Sabrina the Teenager Witch - the one from the 90s. It’s super corny but my daughter loves it, so we watch an episode or two after dinner.

Today is my 17th wedding anniversary

Pulverized and set adrift as an interstellar cloud

My rule of thumb is anything you are not willing to clean with a garden hose should be stored in a sealed plastic container. Not plastic bags, but plastic containers with lids you can close and seal.

I came up with this rule after I discovered a rat had been getting into my garage to eat some old birdseed I’d forgotten about. It didn’t nest in there, thankfully. But the amount of poop I had to clean in 100°+ Texas heat was insane. And my garage is not a clustered mess like a lot of people. I can actually fit both cars in it. But it still took me 3 days to hand wipe down every single item in there.

That stuff scares me after hearing about people getting brain eating amoebas from it. Of course that was like one person using tap water in a rural area, but it is still enough to make me not want to try it.

I look him up and down. I’ve seen it a thousand times. He is all bravado and boot jingles. Dressed like he stepped straight out of a Western Warehouse. I could tell those shiny boots had never stepped foot on a ranch. Just puffed-up pride wrapped in a cowboy hat, trying to mask the desperation of someone who’s never been anywhere else. And doesn’t realize he is the one getting fucked by the system.

“You’ll be seeing me soon, huh?” I say, watching his eyes flicker. “Let me tell you something, partner. If you don’t straighten out that attitude of yours—if you don’t drop this little act and do your job like a professional—I’ll find someone else to sell this house.” I let the words sink in before delivering the knife twist. “Maybe a dame.”

His mouth opens, then shuts.

“Oh yeah,” I continue, my voice smooth as the whiskey he probably pretends to drink neat. “I’ll bring in one of those ‘progressive libs’ you despise so much. Maybe someone fresh out of California, with a Prius and pronouns in her email signature. Someone who’ll take your commission, your sale, and leave you standing in the dust.”

His face twitches. The bravado cracks. He swallows hard. His grip loosens on my hand.

“Good talk,” I say, finally letting go of his hand. “Now get to work.”

My wife and I sat across from each other, eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion you don’t shake with a good night’s sleep. The school had made its choice—they put our boy in harm’s way, ignored the words on paper that were supposed to protect him. An IEP, they called it. Just another stack of bureaucracy to them. To us, it was supposed to be a shield. But shields don’t work when the people holding them don’t give a damn.

So we made our choice too. He wasn’t going back. Not to that school. Not to a system that saw him as a problem instead of a person. We are taking matters into our own hands—homeschooling.

And Texas? We were done. Finished. Washing our hands of it. This place chews people up and spits them out, and we aren’t waiting around to be next. Somewhere out there, there had to be a place where education means more than lip service, where kids aren’t just numbers on a budget sheet.

Tomorrow, we meet the realtor. Sell the house. Cut the ties. A clean break. A new start. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll find a place where they gave a damn.

Karma - there are way too many shitty people who just continue to be shitty because nothing ever comes back to bite them. Meanwhile, people who actually try to help are kicked around the most.