doofus brother.

I'm not sure, but I pretty much think that brothers are doofuses (doofi?), generally. Mine is, anyway. And I mean that with all due loving kindness, 'cause I really do think he's neat. Anyhoo, he just launched a blog.

reality show.

Oh sure, there's plenty to beef about: Stupid corporate projects that I'm required to execute but have no control over. People who walk yappy, out-of-control dogs on retractable leashes. Not being able to get a parking spot at the gym. Cellphones, generally. That kind of thing.

And then there are real problems. Like raising a family alone and struggling to buy a home. Or living in a barely intact house (if you can call it that) with untold amounts of trash, graffiti and stray dogs in the neighborhood. Our third annual Habitat for Humanity building weekend brought that home in spades.

There were about 80 of us building (thanks to Uncle Dave) in three groups; in two days, we went from concrete slab to framed walls to under roof and clad in siding. For a desk jockey who spends five days a week tied to a mouse and keyboard, the act of doing work -- real work, physical, tire-you-out-at-the-end-of the day work, work that actually amounts to something more than a few checked-off to-do items -- was incredibly satisfying. The to-be homeowner joined our group and hammered away, probably thrilled to be contributing to her own future. Wow.

The always-upbeat Heather Peterson once again organized the outing, and managed once again to feed us in quantity and quality. What a tremendous thing to be part of, and at just the right time of year.