WanderingAmylessly 2.0

My cousin went into labor and, via c-section, delivered a 7lb, 13oz redhead named Joseph Walker. Today's one day shy of the scheduled c-section. He's a big strong boy, which will serve him well as he progresses through the upcoming days and weeks. He has heart surgery scheduled for Friday—one of at least three surgeries he'll undergo before age 2—to repair his damaged ticker. He has what is known in the medical community as Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome (HLHS) . So now Jackson has a baby brother; his parents and Joseph have a long road ahead. They need all the help they can get, with prayers, positive thoughts and energy, or whatever sort of meditation you do to whatever higher power and faith you embrace. They'll keep us all updated on Baby Joseph's web site . We love you Kerry. You're such a strong woman and wonderful mom. You're all in our thoughts and hearts—and we'd all beat ours for him if we could. Welcome to the family and to the world Joseph W

Ever since I can remember, I've been looking forward. Everyone does it. Eagerly anticipating the next step, the next stage, the next milestone. Parents do it with their kids from the beginning, although I'm not sure whether it's a nature or nurture thing. Do kids learn to anticipate the "next thing" in their lives by watching their parents do it, or do they simply have an inherent instinct to be impatient for tomorrow to arrive. Moms and Dads can't wait for Baby's birth. Then look forward to the first smile, the first laugh, the first tooth, the first solids, the first unassisted sitting, the first standing-ups, the first steps, the first words. From the time my niece learned to talk, when people asked her how old she was she'd say "ahmot toooo" which meant almost two. She had long abandoned her first year in favor of the next one. People can't wait until kids are out of diapers, next thing you know they're going to preschool then kin

Wriggling, naked, basking in the soothing sun of a 70-degree day in late March... That's what my toes did today. I wore sandals for the first time since last fall. It may have been 39 degrees at 8 a.m., when I left my house for work. I may have been the recipient of several strange looks from co-workers who walked in to the office all bundled up in sweaters and overcoats and woolen socks. Tomorrow may be 20 degrees cooler than today. But for today, my bare toes and their nails—polished with the bright OPI spring shade "Most Honorable Red"—soaked up the rays. And they're looking forward to more sunny days ahead, to days when the shoes come off and hot sand nestles itself in between them, to times when they alternately dance upon scorching hot cement or writhe in the chill of water spilling from a garden hose. Break out the Birkis and the Tevas. It's time to play.

The other day, a friend of mine wrote in an email that she was in a particularly "snarky" mood. I've been living on this earth for going on 34 years, and I consider myself a rather literate person with a fairly large vocabulary. But until a few weeks ago, I seriously had never uttered this word. Once I looked up the meaning, I was even more amazed. Because it perfectly describes my demeanor on many days. snark·y: adj. Slang snark·i·er, snark·i·est Irritable or short-tempered; irascible. And now I have yet another word to incorporate into my existence: irascible. Hey, honey, wanna Scrabble rematch?

This Easter Sunday is truly a day of rest. Yesterday, I completed the top of my first quilt. And I'm so exhausted and sore from sitting hunched over a sewing machine all day, that I don't think I could do much worthwhile if I tried. But I did it. I really did it. Happy Easter! (And don't eat all your candy at one sitting.)

My father-in-law calls it a disease. If it truly is, I guess I will be exposed to it tomorrow. And if it attacks my body and mind with the ferocity it has unleashed upon my mother-in-law, my own mother, and many others...there may be no hope for my recovery. The disease, you ask? Quilting. My friend has been sewing and quilting for years, creating dozens and dozens of projects in a variety of patterns, sizes, and hues. She caught the bug, and now she's spreading it willy-nilly around town. One by one we're contracting the illness. Tomorrow, she's hosting an informal quilting class. I'm packing up my sewing machine, a hand-me-down from my mother who used it for years, after buying it refurbished from some school's home ec class. This Bernina isn't anything fancy. In fact, I hope it runs. And more importantly, I hope I still remember how to use it. It'll be bad enough when I don't know my border from my binding; what if I can't thread my needle? I'

I've been reflecting. Five years ago today, I spent my last full day as a single woman. The world was only weeks away from its introduction to little Elian Gonzalez, the little Cuban boy in the midst of an international custody battle. A federal judge was about to declare software giant Microsoft a monopoly. We'd all just survived Y2K. Two separate groups of researchers had, weeks earlier, published the results of their quest to produce a map of the human genome. The date Sept. 11 didn't have any particularly significant meaning. I was 28. Fit into a size 6. Lived in a different state. Was trying to adjust to a new Lab mix puppy named Ansel. Had been a homeowner for six months. Five years doesn't sound like that much time...until you stop to remember all the bits and pieces and snippets and snapshots that make up our days, weeks, months, years. A whole lot has changed. In those five years I: • lost my last living grandparent, as did my husband. • lived apart from my hus

My husband and I just played what we both say was the best Scrabble game of our lives. And we've played our fair share of Scrabble. I knew it could be a wild one when I, who had earned the right to play first, drew my seven letters...and used them all. PARQUET. No, not as in "It's not butter, it's Parkay." Parquet as in "the part of the main theatre between the orchestra pit and the parquet circle." My husband said he didn't even know its meaning. And I, with a double word score, got not only a whopping 42 points for the word but an extra 50 for using all my tiles. And so it went. RETOLD. FENDED. ROUT. GARNET. NEWEST. POISE. FOCAL. REMOVE. TWANG. DAUB. HALO. I even spelled the scientific name for a specific bit of the female anatomy and earned 16 points. Even though I started out 92 points ahead, he somehow inched his way back into contention. 160 to 100...174 to 147...224 to 224...no, wait, it can't be!...240 to 259...oh no, it's slipping aw

From the News of the Weird web site: A large portion of the materials on plagiarism on the University of Wisconsin Oshkosh's Writing Center Web site was revealed in February to have been taken verbatim from Purdue University's Web page on plagiarism. A February report from the White House's Office of Management and Budget (OMB), grading federal departments and agencies on five administrative performance criteria, concluded that the second-worst-performing agency was OMB.

I was born in 1971, and I grew up in an era where women fought for equal rights and a place in the workforce. I think many people my age take working women for granted. (And I'm going to use the term "working women" to refer to those women working jobs outside the home. I thoroughly support hardworking stay-at-home moms and am not trying to debate the work vs. home issue. So let's let it be.) Women want to be considered on an equal level with men in school, in the workplace, in society. Even though there are still gaps in pay, and in some people's attitudes, women have proven that they, indeed, can be highly successful CEOs of multimillion dollar corporations or politicians or doctors, lawyers, educators, and so on. Hoo. Ray. As a full-time working mother, I appreciate the fight women before me endured to make it possible for me to be a creative professional, earning as much or more than men in my field. I, however, still feel an obligation to serve as primary car

Everybody Hurts by REM When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone, When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on Don't let yourself go, 'cause everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on) If you feel like letting go, (hold on) When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on 'Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long, When you think you've had too much of this life to hang on Well, everybody hurts sometimes, Everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on Everybody hurts. You are n

A friend sent me a link to an online quiz that is supposed to calculate, based on your answers about your temperament and features, what breed of canine you're most similar to. I thought, that's great! I always thought of myself as a Labrador retriever (although I'm not sure I ever actually saw myself as a "dog" until yesterday...and that brings up a whole other subject about how I don't appreciate being referred to as a dog...but I'll drop it for now). Labs are friendly, love kids, are eager to please, and if they don't have enough exercise, have a tendency to put on a few extra pounds. I can relate. However, once I answered the questions about what kind of work I do, what kind of qualities describe me, and so on, the quiz calculator did its magic. And it determined I am a basenji. A basenji? I'm not a basenji. Couldn't be. I didn't know much about the breed except that they can seem aloof and they are known for having no doggie odor. Now

On my way back to work from lunch, my car steered itself to a local pet store. I've been in a funky mood for a while, and I've found there's nothing like the sight and smell and feel of a rambunctious, cuddly puppy to put things right again. At least for the moment. I hate big chain pet stores, and this was one of them, because they get their dogs from puppy mills and charge ridiculous amounts of money. And sometimes they aren't even purebred. Inbred, maybe. Anyway, it was nearly $900 for a Lhasashon, or some such conglomeration of a Lhasa Apso and a Bichon Frise. White fluffball. Ultra froo-froo. Totally silly, and way too expensive for what is, essentially, a mutt. I know that puppies are hard work. I've raised some, and they do their business on the carpet and chew up your favorite slippers, and generally wreak havoc until they're about 35 in dog years. But when an employee (called a pet counselor..says so right on her nametag) put a furry, black and tan pupp

Thanks to LaborLawTalk.com, I found the following entry. (I think it's quite fitting that the name of the fifth, and hallelujah the last for many, workday of the week is named for a goddess.) •••••••••••••••• Friday is the day of the week between Thursday and Saturday. Its name is derived from the goddess Frige of Germanic mythology. In most areas with a five-day working week, Friday is the last workday before the weekend and is therefore viewed as a cause for celebration or relief, leading to the expression TGIF, an abbreviation for Thank God It's Friday or Thank Goodness It's Friday. (The phrase was popularized by a movie during the 1970s.) Friday is also the inspiration for the restaurant, aptly named, T.G.I. Friday's. In Western culture, references to Friday can be found in many places: In the popular rhyme, "Friday's Child is loving and giving". Friday was the name of a cannibal, who became the servant of Robinson Crusoe. Cadbury promoted a chocolate

Just had to share (keep in mind Bentonville, Ark., is home to Wal-Mart Headquarters, for what it's worth). Justice has gone to the dogs BENTONVILLE, Ark. - Prosecutors hoping for a witness in a murder case to roll over were barking up the wrong tree. They sent out a batch of subpoenas for anyone who had contact with Albert K. Smith while he was jailed awaiting his murder trial. One of those subpoenas went out to 5-year-old Murphy Smith — Smith’s dog, it turned out. The defendant had written his dog a letter from his cell, and that is how the shih tzu’s name got on the witness list. Prosecutors realized the mistake on Tuesday after the defendant’s brother brought in Murphy to answer the subpoena and a deputy would not let them into the courthouse because no dogs were allowed. Prosecutor Robin Green said she apologized to the brother for any inconvenience, and added: “The dog was friendly enough and probably would have been a very cooperative witness.” Albert Smith is accused of shoo

An estimated 34 million Americans suffer from depression at some point during their lifetime. Only two-thirds of those who suffer from a major depressive episode seek treatment for it, and only about one in five receive adequate treatment. Those statistics alone could make anyone sad. One of those 34 million people is Lorraine Bracco. The Sopranos star—who, ironically, plays a psychiatrist on the HBO hit show—shares her personal battle with depression as part of a new awareness campaign announced this week. Bracco came out of the mental illness closet to encourage people with depression to get help and provide them with important information. She might also have done it for some extra dough. Pfizer, Inc., is the company sponsoring the new "Why live with depression?" campaign. Yeah. Why live with depression when you can pay us exorbitant amounts of money to try to cure it. Pfizer, the world's largest research-based pharmaceutical company, makes Zoloft, which also is known

Until just a few months ago, I had no idea what a blog was. Now I'm writing my own, reading complete strangers', and voting for my faves. Odd. It's like reading someone's diary. On purpose. With their knowledge. And in many cases, they're more interesting than what's on the NYT Bestsellers list. Click this post's headline to read more about the Bloggies, a best-of-the-best in online journaling. For those of you who have heard any of our Utah stories, check out Dooce.com. The woman who writes it not only got fired from her job for Blogging at work, but she also is a "recovering" Mormon and has quite the potty mouth. Plus, she has a daughter about the age of H, and it's a kick to read her take on parenthood. Another one of my new favorites is at http://tequilamockingbird.blogspot.com. Mostly because of the name. But the author, a 30-something girl, is quite amusing and once in a while reminds me of...me. And I'm so doggoned entertaining... A

I've participated in WalkAmerica for the past two years, with the BabyCenter.com IC team. This year is particularly important because our friends, John and Mary Kenyon, lost their beautiful little boy in January following a three-month NICU battle trying to fight the effects of being born at a mere 24 weeks gestation. Little Will became a big inspiration for many people, and we all ache because he's gone. We walk with the hope that someday, wonderful parents like John and Mary won't have to endure such heartache. To sign up to walk in your community, go to www.marchofdimes.com To support me in my walk, which will be April 30 in IC, click this post's headline. To read more about Will, go to http://willkenyon.blogspot.com When you join March of Dimes WalkAmerica, you bond together with millions of others in the fight to defeat premature birth. Today in the U.S., 1,305 babies will be born prematurely. Some of them won't survive, and others will have health problems tha

Beware the Ides of March.

I lied. I'm not at work today. I took the first step listed in my soon-to-be-created handbook on how to survive spring break if you're a loser who isn't going anywhere. I took a vacation day. One of the benefits of a state-university job—five weeks of vacation a year is a handy perk. So I'm cleaning the house. Not step number two in my handbook, but it needs to be done. And I'm listening to the 1980s party shuffle on digital cable's Music Choice. Wang Chung. Buster Poindexter. Erasure. And I know the words. Quite frightening. Only four more work days to go until I can pretend spring break never even existed. Any suggestions on how to make it through would be gladly appreciated.

I saw a story online a few days ago titled "How to survive spring break." It had all sorts of helpful hints for families traveling with young children as well as sensible lotions and potions that will help you develop your deep dark tan, please whomever you've hooked up with, and even cure a hangover. But it had absolutely nothing to help me—one of the poor souls who is in desperate need of assistance in surviving spring break. Because when you have nowhere to go and nothing to do, you'll feel incredibly pathetic and sorry for yourself. My office mate has mentioned about every 12 minutes at work every day for the past month the trip she is taking to Mexico. She's sprawled out in a chaise lounge, as I write this, soaking up rays and sipping strong, umbrella'd drinks brought to her by cabana boys named Enrique and Diego. Sigh... Our office manager just got back from South Padre Island, TX. A couple of students I recently interviewed said they were spending their

Someone yesterday asked me if I could do anything, career wise, what would it be. I flippantly said I'd write a novel and become wildly famous. He pressed further, asking not for an outcome but for what I'd like to do on a daily basis. I take that to mean—what would be satisfying, what would be rewarding, what would make me happy. And I realized. I'm 33 years old and I'm still struggling with the question I thought I'd figured out my sophomore year of college—What do I want to do with my life? I've done all the personal stuff I always thought I'd do...get married, buy a house, have a child. But I've moaned and complained about every job I've ever had, whether it's the boring nature of the work, the lack of freedom, the bad management, whatever. I start to wonder if I will ever truly be happy. I admitted to my friend that it wasn't about money, that I didn't really wish to be rich and famous. I think back to journalism school and how ideal

I'm warning you now, if you have a weak stomach, a tendency to embarrass easily, or if you just have no desire to read some news briefs that are little wacky and a bit risqué...might want to skip this entry. I'm not in any way poking fun at men, or suggesting that they - indeed - may be at the mercy of their lascivious libidos. Men are wonderful creatures, really. I was just so astounded by these tales of woe (or WHOA, in many cases), I couldn't pass up bringing them to your attention. And they were all found on reputable news web sites, so I really have no reason to question whether they are internet rumors or urban legends. Boys will be boys? I guess so. ••••••• 1. For Better or For Worse?—Romanian doctors have removed a man's wedding ring from his penis. The patient, who is married and has two children, told doctors he had a one night stand with another woman. He couldn't say how the ring got onto his penis but suspected the mistress wanted to embarrass him becau

Henry's in love with a girl named Maisy. She's a curious sort, with funky polka-dot and striped clothing combinations that take me back to the days of Punky Brewster. She's quite social, has an adorable (albeit unfortunately large) nose. Her birthday is Feb. 10. And she even has her own television show. Maisy is a mouse—a cartoon mouse created by Lucy Cousins, an acclaimed author-illustrator who lives and works in Hampshire, England. (And as far as I know, Dr. Dobson hasn't labeled Maisy as any sort of deviant misfit on a mission to turn children into delinquents. Although it's only a matter of time, I'm sure, seeing as how Maisy spends an awful lot of time with her "friend" Tallulah and often has rainbow-colored objects around her.) My husband and I love Maisy, too. She's a happy, positive character who enjoys being around her eclectic group of friends. She celebrates the simple things in life. And she has a "security bear" named Panda,

My office mate has been giving me grief for the past hour for stinking up the office because I had onions on my sandwich at lunch. So I went out on a quest for breath mints. The remains of my sandwich are still spewing their odious fumes from the bottom of the trash can, but at least I won't have dragon breath. I decided to try something new. Forget traditional Altoids—you know, the curiously strong peppermint in the tin from Callard & Bowser. I bought Altoids Strips, in an even-smaller tin (a tin so small it requires a choking-hazard warning label). But they pack all the punch of the original. At least they do at first taste. There's something amazing about sticking one in your mouth, having it melt into your tongue, caressing your taste buds, transforming into a slippery liquid and sliding back, leaving you with a frosty coolness that tickles your tonsils and lingers wherever it lands. All of that from paper-thin parchment the size of a postage stamp. (I wonder if Monica

Someone sent me this. Those of you involved in my line of work may appreciate it... You see a fabulous girl/guy at a party. You approach them and say, "I'm fantastic in bed." That's Direct Marketing. You're at a party with a bunch of friends and see a fabulous girl/guy. You have one of your friends approach them, point at you and say, "She's/He's fantastic in bed." That's Advertising. You see a fabulous girl/guy at a party. You approach them to get their telephone number. The next day you call and say, "Hi, I'm fantastic in bed." That's Telemarketing. You're at a party and see a fabulous girl/guy. You get up, straighten your clothes, walk up and pour them a drink. You open the door, pick up their bag after it drops, offer them a ride, and then say, "By the way, I'm fantastic in bed." That's Public Relations. You're at a party and see a fabulous girl/guy. They walk up to you and say, "I hear you

I haven't really watched kids' cartoons since I climbed out of bed and wandered down the hall in my footy pajamas to flip on the t.v. and watch the Smurfs in the early '80s. I mean, I've watched South Park, but that doesn't count. Any cartoon where little kids are calling each other "bastard" and conversing with a character that is a pile o' poo and watching as one of their friends gets killed in every episode—not really a family show. But according to Dr. James Dobson (Focus on the Family) and the religious right, today's youth should not be allowed to watch cartoons actually targeted to their age group because these cartoon characters are "pro-homosexual" and "showing tolerance of differences of sexual identity." Specifically, someone produced a video that featured many popular characters..and they apparently were all in on this secret plot. From SpongeBob to Barney to Jimmy Neutron, they're all the reason society is going

Anyone know how long Starbucks has been putting quotes on its hot beverage to-go cups? I swear, I never noticed them before today. Granted, I'm usually not completely coherent until I have consumed said cup of coffee, so maybe they've been there all along. Anyhow, the quote I got on my cup is this: "If you want to cheat death, it is not how much you earn or how good you look. It's in every small act of kindness you share with someone else. That is how you live on." - Mitch Albom, radio host and author of The Five People You Meet in Heaven ••••••••••••••••••••••••••• So I got to thinking...if they asked me to find a few quotes to put on a Starbucks cup, what quotes would I choose? Here they are. In no particular order: "One feels inclined to say that the intention that man should be 'happy' is not included in the plan of Creation. We are so made that we can derive intense enjoyment only from a contrast and very little from a state of things." —Aus

I don't want this blog of mine to turn into the daily BTK rant, but I must share something from the most recent BTK-related story on CNN.com. Headline says: "BTK Suspect Says He's Depressed." Oh really. Depressed? Depressed??? B-O-O-H-O-O He should've thought of that before he came out of hiding after decades of silence to taunt police and the public with wacky word games and freaky poetry. He should've thought of that before he offed 10 people in cold blood. He should've thought of that before he strangled children, mothers, decent human beings. He's depressed? Think how his victims' families must feel, have felt all these years. Think how his own family must feel. Imagine how the innocent people of the Wichita metro area have felt living in fear of a serial killer. Depressed, Denny the Dogcatcher? You ain't seen nothin' yet, you sadistic lunatic. Er...alleged sadistic lunatic.

A few weeks ago, a new book was released that claimed Abraham Lincoln, 16th president of the United States, was gay. (Click this post's headline to read an intriguing, in-depth, and well-written story on Salon.com.) Yet another reason for Southerners to secede, I suppose. I haven't read the book. But I have read several satirical columns by writers around the country, addressing the issue. Or mostly poking a bit of fun, perhaps. Warning: the following is a little something called HUMOR. Don't get bent out of shape. And on a personal note, I have a couple things to say: 1. If Lincoln really were gay, he might possibly be the homeliest gay man I've ever seen. And not a very snappy dresser either. 2. There's probably no other more feasible explanation for why he married Looney Mary Todd than to deflect attention from himself. 3. John Wilkes Booth, an ACTOR (of course?!), assassinated Lincoln. Didn't anyone ever explore the possibility that JWB might not have been p

It's not so secret. But it's gushy as all get-out. I stumbled upon a web site a while back. It caught my eye, for the most part, because I'm generally anti-happy. Not that I don't want to be happy, but something doesn't fire right in my brain—whatever it is that makes some people optimistic and positive and all "I'd like to teach the world to sing," I don't have it. At any rate, I had to smile when I read some of the information featured on the site. Please go take a look. The group's logo made me laugh out loud. March has some special designations. They include: • National Optimism Month • National Write-a-Letter-of-Appreciation Month • Beginning of Spring, March 20 • Act Happy Day, March 21 (According to my sources, it’s also noted for National Procrastination Week, National Massage Safety Week, National Collision Awareness Month, National Frozen Food Month, National Talk With Your Teen About Sex Month, N

We just got word that my 45-year-old cousin had surgery yesterday to remove a growth in his colon, and indeed it is malignant, and indeed it has spread to his liver. I do not know the prognosis or the treatment options. I do know that his family is devastated, obviously. And for about the umpteenth time in the past few months, I'm thinking about bad news. Granted, I have a tendency to be negative. My husband would say that's understating it. A lot. But there's no amount of upping my dose of SSRIs (as my friend says, "Better living through pharmaceuticals") enough to make any of it easier to understand. To my cousin, I send out so many positive thoughts...along with reminders of success stories like cyclist Lance Armstrong's (who had testicular cancer that had spread to his lungs and brain and been given only a 50/50 chance for survival). He survived, thrived, and went on to six straight Tour de France wins. And to whomever else might be listening: enough alrea

Wichita. First off, people from outside Kansas never spell it correctly. They spell Witchita. Or Wicheta. Or, if they're feeling particularly phonetic, Weechetaw. At any rate, it only gets worse from there, image-wise. People in large cities elsewhere actually have asked such questions as: 1. Is there indoor plumbing? 2. Are the streets paved? 3. Isn't it in Texas? (No...that's Wichita Falls.) 4. Is there really no place like home? (A general and generally bad Kansas joke) And to give you a bit of insight and trivia into the town that has been taken over by BTK Mania: Wichita is known as the Air Capital of the World because it has been home to big aircraft-related businesses and industry, to-wit, Boeing, Cessna, Raytheon, Learjet, Beechcraft, and so on. It is the largest city in Kansas, with more than 300,000 residents, but it is NOT the capital. (Topeka is.) It is located in southcentral Kansas, at the confluence of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas rivers. Famous Wichitans

I've been an avid reader of BTK-related online message boards since he started communicating again with the public and police a year ago. A few interesting tidbits from the kansas.com board. • Dennis is SINNED spelled backwards. • Conspiracy theorists insist that there's more than one BTK. In fact, someone whose screen name is Scroll, has insisted for months that BTK actually is a roving band of crackheads. Others think BTK and the Zodiac Killer of California are the same person. • Visit www.thekansan.com for an intriguing little story about an unsolved murder case in a county adjacent to Dennis Rader's home county. Cops are investigating the possibility that the suspect description/eyewitness police artist sketch bears a striking resemblance to Rader. Nice reporting from my j-school buddy Chris Strunk. • The following is from mekon66, a ditty referring to Sedgwick County DA Nola Foulston, sung to the tune "Lola" by The Kinks: Now I'm not the world's most

I'm going to post the full complaint against Dennis Rader filed today in Sedgwick County District Court. In its entirety. Without edits. Why? 1. I'd like to point out at least two major errors. The first is that the complaint misstates the date of Kathryn Bright's death. The second is that the second reference to victim Nancy Fox actually says Shirley Fox. These people have been dead for decades, murdered at the hands of the lunatic BTK, and the prosecutors can't even have the brains to proofread one of the most important court documents to pass through the legal system in Wichita history?! Maybe it's just the editor in me but...duh. I hope they're better prepared during the trial. Or this allegedly disgusting pig of a killer will walk free. 2. Court documents just crack me up. I'd sort of forgotten, since I'm not hanging out in courthouses and covering trials anymore, how wacky the lingo can be. To-wit. I am going to start using that in everyday convers