The Labricorns...ready for our VH1 "Behind the Music" special

The passports arrived with incredible expediency on January 17, making it one of the last wondrous feats of George W.'s administration. We had applied on December 27 and were convinced that we would get them in the knick of time for our vacation in March, but alas, they arrived in all their federal government glory. As disappointed as I was with the passport photo that I submitted, I was pleased to see that I look much better with a watermark over my face. It does wonders for a pale complexion. Neal still has obvious bedhead in his photo. Nothing can camouflage that.

In other news, we have completely succombed to technology. Over the past few weeks, we have discovered all that Facebook has to offer, caught on to this texting craze, and met lots of new online "friends" through XBox Live.

I resisted Facebook for as long as I could. Quite honestly, I had not visited my MySpace account in months because it has become so skanky on there that I felt I needed rubber gloves to touch the keyboard whenever I was logged on. And furthermore, I didn't really miss it that much. In short, it had run its course. But every time I checked my e-mail, there was an invitation from someone to join Facebook so I reluctantly took a peek. That was my first mistake because it has resulted in major time suckage ever since. I can kind of justify it though because it eliminates the need for high school reunions and other such events. In fact, I can log onto Facebook and see what a classmate from 20 years ago is doing this very minute (or within a few hours, usually). I haven't seen this person since we left our graduation ceremony and probably never will again but I know what they had for dinner. Who wouldn't want that information?

I have long scoffed at texting -- the logic being that however long it takes you to text information, you can accomplish the same thing in a fraction of the time using your voice. The few times I attempted to "fit in", my thumb was "textually challenged" and I was ridiculed, usually by my daughter or sister. My theory was that perhaps texting was not made for people over the age of 30. After all, we grew up in the 70s and 80s when there were no cell phones or internet and you actually had to interact face-to-face on occasion. I kept that theory in my pocket and then whipped it out whenever someone would ask me why I don't text. ("Because I'm not a socially-retarded moron!") But let's be real for a moment...there are plenty of people out there that I really don't want to talk to. This is my get-out-of-jail-free card. So the fact that my daughter surpassed her allotted number of texts per our cell phone plan gave me the excuse to institute unlimited texting for all of us. (Forget punishing her, right?) So my new theory is...if you got it, use it.

Playing "Rock Band" via XBox Live has been completely irrisistable to Neal and Megan. They are constantly joining musical forces with people whose handles include "Stinky Hobo" and "Here 4 the Buffett" to create auditory magic. Our crew here at the five acres is known as "The Labricorns", named after the offspring that would result from the mating of our dog and a mythical creature. Normally, Neal grinds the lead ax, Megan comes in on bass, Trent provides a rousing vocal, and I bang the skins. It's pure bliss until one of us drops out, then we search for a sub online. "Stinky Hobo" is a recurring player who got on the mike looking for Megan. Neal picked it up and in his deepest voice said "She's not here and this is her dad." We haven't heard from Stinky since.

Mine and Neal's 15th anniversary is just around the corner, then two weeks later, it's Trent's birthday. Plenty of blog fodder awaits.