Someone actually linked to my page by searching google for, and I wish this weren’t so,
“sexy scenes when child is born in girls stomach”
     Anatomically improbable, and just plain wrong.

     I’ve a unique problem, gentles. A person has left artwork at my eBay store and abandoned it. We can’t seem to sell these prints for the cost of shipping and I don’t know what else to do with them.
     Perhaps I shall wrap a small Picasso print in a blanket, gently place it in a basket and leave it on a stranger’s doorstep along with a note reading, “Please give my baby a good home.”
     That should, if nothing else, work better than stuffing them in a brown paper bag, setting them on fire and ringing the doorbell. That was how I was adopted, but immolation is sort of my thing.
     I’ve also been told that I should consider getting the prints involved in a welfare-to-work program so that they can learn to help themselves. You know, if you give man a fish painting he’ll get sick trying to eat it once. If you teach a man to PAINT a fish he’ll get sick drinking the paint. (I always assume I’m dealing with lowest-common-denomenator humanity when drawing up a metaphor.)
     Actually, I’ve half a mind to take a pocket knife to the lot of them. Honestly, some of this so-called art would be aesthetically far more pleasing with a few good rents in it.
     I’m busy. SOOO busy. We’re all busy. I’m pretty sure you’re busy, and I have no way of knowing which one of the dozen or so folk that come here regularly you actually are. And if you’re new to SafeTinspector Main Blog, then greetings; I’m sorry to wax mediocre at you.
     ….oh, yeah. Busy. I’m so busy I’m constipated for lack of time to pull my pants down. Here’s my usual schedule:

• 8:30am-5:30pm: at IDSI strutting around as V.P. of Tech Services
• 6:00pm-7:00pm: at AIT Store3 strutting around as Leather Jacket Model
• 7:30pm-8:30pm: home with daughter Samantha
• 8:30pm-10:00pm: at home with wife Heather
• 10:30pm-12:00pm: (usually) at home with you people
• 12:00-5:00am: at home sleeping and, probably, dreaming about pyramids of jello jutting into the sky with Garfield the cat sliding down the north face sporting a fancy umbrella
• 5:00am-6:00am: at home playing the Jumping Game
• 6:00am-6:30am: in the shower and manipulating various toiletries
• 6:30am-7:30am: feeding, dressing, and playing with Samantha
• 7:30-7:45: dash about madly looking for shoes and car-keys
• 7:45am-8:25am: drive recklessly and, hopefully, wrecklessly to work.
• Repeat, Tuesday-Friday.

     Throw in some meals here and there, a bit of self-pleasure, and the odd game of CandyLand and Uncle Wiggley, you have my week!
     Saturdays are 10-6 at AIT Store3. Monday night I’m at Second City Novi. All the rest of my time is free, and is mainly spent augmenting my bionic implants to better allow me to rearrange the refridgerator and defrost the basement deep-freeze.
     Why am I telling you this now? Am I looking for sympathy? Am I begging for the doppelganger that’s been stalking me for months to step forward and start pulling his weight around here?
     No, I’m telling you this because it is about to get worse. IDSI has several major projects in the works, all of which must be complete by Christmas and require my rapt attention. Also, for beaurocratic reasons, I must become an MCSE (a technical certification requiring that I pass 7 fairly hard exams) in the same amount of time with no classroom training or even official training materials. Plus the Second City writing program is drawing to a close, which means I have a show to help produce and promote.
     I can do it. Don’t worry about that. But what this means is that I won’t be posting as often. I’m not planning on stopping, but you’ll probably see a little less of me online until January.
Comments? Suggestions?

     Now, you may listen to the AntiWaltz, in its three (3!) parts.
     If you aren’t sure you’ll listen to all three parts, I recommend parts 2 and 3. Each can stand on their own.
     Listen at your own risk.

• SafeTinspector Not Liable: SAFETINSPECTOR IS NOT RESPONSIBLE OR LIABLE FOR ANY AUDIO THAT YOU OBTAIN THROUGH THIS SITE
• Seek help from a professional: You are encouraged to confer with your doctor with regard to the music and information contained on this blog. After receiving content from this blog, you are encouraged to review the information carefully with your professional healthcare provider.
• Call Your Doctor or 911 in Case of Emergency: If you think you may have a medical emergency, call your doctor or 911 immediately. DO NOT USE THIS BLOG FOR MEDICAL EMERGENCIES.

     All this time she’s had to deal with accusations of being cold, calculating and ruthless and we all should have noticed the pointy ears.
     But I didn’t, and it wasn’t until I heard her being interviewed by Terry Gross that it finally dawned on me that Martha Stewart isn’t merely cold, but is an honest-to-gosh Vulcan! That is, she is a member of an alien race noted for its absolute stoicism and slavish devotion to logic.

     I know, you’ve always thought that the Star Trek “universe” was a fictional one; furthermore, if you considered it at all, you probably thought that one would have to believe said “universe” to be a part of our reality before you could honestly approach the possibility that a media celebrity with the visibility of Martha Stewart is an actual Vulcan.
     On the contrary, I posit that the undeniable Vulcan-hood of Martha Stewart can be considered an irrefutable ontological proof that not only does the Star Trek universe have a basis in reality, but that the Vulcans have already begun visiting our world preperatory to selling/trading/gifting us with warp drive technology. You don’t have to accept the reality of Star Trek to believe that Stewart is a Vulcan; you have to accept the reality of Star Trek because Stewart is a Vulcan!
     That aside for the moment, lets discuss the proof of her Vulcan identity.
     In the following excerpt from the aforementioned interview, Martha Stewart is talking about her conviction last year involving inside trading:

• Stewart: I would like to win my appeal, that would solve a lot of problems.
• Gross: But you’ve already served your time.
• Stewart: Oh, I did. I made the decision to get over the really big obstacle. [..] Without having gone to prison, I would be appealing and still waiting; that would have been an untenable situation to be in as a business person.
• Gross: Do you know anybody else who has voluntarily gone to prison before an appeal?
• Stewart: I’m not aware of any. It was a decision that I made knowing that it would solve a problem.
  It was a business decision.
  It was one of those calculated risks that I talk about in one of the chapters in my new book.
  Taking a calculated risk like that has solved a major problem–several major problems.

     Am I the only one that thought of HotBlack Desiato spending a year dead for tax reasons in Douglas Adam’s Restaurant at the End of the Universe just then?
     Regardless, no human being would have voluntarily gone to federal prison as a business decision when they hadn’t even exhausted their appeals.
     Especially when most legal observers continue to think that Stewart is likely to win one eventually, and it only takes one successful appeal to get off free.

     Here’s another excerpt from later in the interview, right after Terry Gross admits to having had sexual fantasies about Martha Stewart in prison:

• Stewart: I’m sorry, Terry, but being a lesbian is illogical.
• Gross: Uh..what?
• Stewart: Sex has no logical purpose other than procreation, and conception is impossible if both parties are the same sex. Therefore, “Greeting the Rosy Lips of Dusk and Dawn”, as some call it, is also illogical. Lesbians are simply not logical.

     Who talks like that, I ask you? Vulcans. That’s who.
     Marha Stewart, Vulcan Visitor.

Steno Fiction! It’s so short, bobbing the robert seems a tough act to comprehend in comparison.

• Davecat, hush. I know it is an inaccurate portrayal of the stenographer’s art.

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=8342580993
When you get there, scroll down for a treat.

     ”Wear the baseball pajamas! Please?”
     ”No. They’re dirty.”
     ”Aww…how about those new, gray, soft, cuddly ones with the hoody?”
     ”I was going to wear those anyway.”
     ”Yaaay! Woo-hoo!”
     ”Shut up, you dork.”

     I’m an enthusiastic supporter of cute pajamas. Some guys like lingerie, or lacy teddies, or pasties, or whatever. But nothing is quite so sexy as a cute two piece pajama set.
     I am not talking about night-gowns here. Those suck. I mean, there’ll be plenty of time to wear night-gowns later. Like when nurse Francis is helping me lace up the back while getting ready for pudding night at Sunset Gardens Retirement Community.
     And I’m not talking about plain boxers or even panties and bra (although that sort of outfit is not without merit.)
     No, I’m talking about a nice two-piece set of pajamas that are comfortable and cuddly, and have a pleasing theme.
     I apologize for the poor quality of the photo here. Heather is very camera shy. Actually, that’s too mild a statement. Heather is actually convinced that the camera will steal her soul and allow a demon to possess her body.
     She hails from a very primitive Detroit tribe, and I’m so proud of how far she’s come.
     In many ways, she is an inspiration to the animistic English and Scottish masses here in Southeast Michigan. You go, cave-girl!
     But, despite having put her traditional blood-letting, self mutilation, and tribal warfare behind her, she continues to fear the camera. I wanted to show you how awesome her new pajamas were, however, so this sneak-shot is the best I can do. Afterwards I had to flee for my life and spent a nervous three hours hiding beside the upstairs toilet, clutching my camera in one hand and a forgotten tube of “Comet” bathroom cleanser in the other. I had much time to think about Heather in pajamas.
     She walks toward me, and I can’t help but admire her figure, her cleavage, and the sweet presentation the adorable set makes. She walks away from me, and I have the urge to rush up behind her, wrap my arms around her shoulders, parallel park my head and try to sneak some kisses.
     In bed, I lay my hand upon her side, appreciating the soft texture of her pajama top, feeling the warmth of her body pushing through the fabric with undeniable energy and I silently mark the motion of her steady breathing as I drift off to sleep. Times like that, with the weight of the feather-down comforter pressing down on us both like a great, limp duck-press*, and a cute baseball uniform made entirely out of terry cloth wrapped around my wife’s frame, I finally understand that the cliche of “marital bliss” can be a simple truth.
     Did I mention the tartan PJs? Well, sometimes she wears them. They have a matching solid colored top which she fills quite well, but I only have eyes for the pants. The curves of her fine rear and shapely thighs influence and break the lines of the classic tartan patterns making her look like a lovely 19th century illustration, one with exquisite hatching lending it a third dimension it has no entitlement to.
     Satin drawstring shorts and crop-top? Oh, yes.
     Terry cloth baseball uniform with capris style bottoms? Yes, please! Oh, but they are dirty tonight, she said. Oh, bother.
     Which brings us to the pictured pajama set. You are the first to hear the news: this velour outfit, which includes an incredible pair of pants, a tank top with built-in bra, and a matching low-cut hoody sweatshirt, is now my new official Favorite Heather Pajamas. *clap-clap-clap!*
     If only Heather felt about them as I do. Don’t get me wrong, she likes ‘em ok. But she doesn’t understand my appreciation of what, to her, is merely sleepwear. Her bemused smile could be patronizing, but I choose to consider it endearing. Look, I’m endeared! Yaay!
     ”Shut up, you dork.”
     So now, friends, I’m going to go upstairs, hug the incomparable woman in these pajamas, and sleep until I wake.

• *It seemed like a reasonable metaphor at the time. A little less so in retrospect.

     Sam’s aunt Vicky, my baby sister, came to visit in August.
     Check out the incredibly cute pictures…. Oh yeah, click here.

A new short-form piano sketch. This one is…well, I don’t actually think its all that good, but here it is. Downspout.

If you’ve never listened to any of my piano pieces, I would humbly suggest you NOT start with Downspout. Visit SafeT’unes and try out some of my other bits first, so I don’t feel so bad about your first impression.

     Lookit the scooter!
     Ah, that reminds me of scooters. And wheels and so forth.

     I didn’t actually have one, no.
     No, I had other Things With Wheels, but no scooter.

     Scooters were different back then, anyway. They were somehow more gay, and using one marked yourself as a pussy.

     Paradoxically, you would be in no danger of being called less a man for riding a banana seat and steering with mile long sissy-bars with colored streamers hanging out the ends. Go figure.