Daynotes on a budget

Anyway, I stood up there and promised to make this woman happy, and I often think that I've done the occasional good job, but for the most part, it's been a very difficult stretch for her.  I remember sometimes the best part of the week would be the day before payday, when you could imagine the possibilities.  Once that check hits the bank and you start paying what you've promised, well, that's probably the most disappointing point when you've got X dollars, and 1.5X bills waiting for the money.

Oh, we're much better off now, or we wouldn't be looking for a house.  But I still owe that woman a great deal, which I hope someday to be able to repay.  My plans for this momentous occasion?  Frankly, none at the moment - we've got groceries to get Thursday night, and Friday she MIGHT take the afternoon off so we can do a quiet lunch somewhere - then Saturday is my daughter's seventh birthday party with friends - bumper bowling.  Strange, but I did better when I was younger being drunk and without the bumpers.  I once broke 140 bowling drunk.  Of course, my friend Mr. Orangutan (he knows who he is) got us thrown out by testing a new variant in his bowling swing - I'm still fairly certain that overhand bowling will never catch on to any great degree.  Especially if you've got to make sure it hops twice before hitting the pins.

And this morning was a wee bit odd.  First, they're doing the "major disaster" coverage of the whole ramp meter shutoff deal.  For the record, our trip to St. Paul and back this morning ran within three minutes of what I consider average, so that's not bad, especially considering there was quite often large banks of fog about as thick as  peanut butter (hey, if it works for Yukon Cornelius...).  So that wasn't too bad.  All of those poor folks trying to get up 35W were certainly due for a gun check, I'm thinking.  At 7:05 am, the freeway south of county road 42 here in Burnsville looked like the first day of snow; which, coincidentally, will most likely occur during this six-week period.  My wife insists that we're going to have this meter shutoff during the holidays - Thanksgiving, certainly, if they run the full six weeks.  But not Christmas.

And the TV folks pointed out that the morning rush isn't going to be the worst - it's the afternoon runs that will be tough, because while people can certainly leave earlier to beat the rush in the mornings, it's the afternoons that will be hell - no one really wants to hang around the office a little to let it clear out, do they?  And these days, with Daycares charging a buck a minute past closing time?  Yah, right.

Anyway, the weirdness from today came from the radio - I heard Buckwheat Zydeco this morning, for the first time in perhaps fifteen years.  BZ was a favorite of an old friend of mine, Bill Weyandt.  Bill was a heck of a guy, and about as smart as they come.  Most of us thought he was a little loopy for wanting to live on-campus in the seminary while at St. John's.  I knew better.  Bill had come from a Catholic boy's boarding school called "Crosier" (which I'd be surprised if it's still operating), in Onamia.  Bill's family lived in St. Paul, and Bill always seemed a bit confused about women and life.  After his freshman year, I believe, Bill moved into the Seminary quarters, and stayed there.  Aside from being a very smart fellow who also liked to attend mass, Bill also listened to unusual music.  I remember he found Paul Simon's comeback album, Graceland, before any of the rest of us.  BZ was another of his discoveries.

Why do I insist that Bill was such a smart fellow?  Well, let's put it this way - the Seminary was near the edge of campus (which seemed a little bad, at first blush), but it had a beautiful view of the lake.  Second, Bill had his own room (when such a privilege was very expensive at SJU).  He also had kitchen privileges, which were unheard of on the rest of campus (the Seminary being one of only three dorms which had food service directly connected to the building in some fashion - there was Mary Hall with Mary Cafeteria - basically a grill), there was Benet Hall, my home for a semester, good old fourth Benet (no elevators for us), which was connected by "skyway" to the quad where the main "Refectory" (also called the "Rejectory" despite the overwhelmingly good quality of their food), where most of us ate, and then Bill's home in the Seminary).  Last, but not least, was Bill's room location - right above the stairs, and at the end of the hall.  Why was this important?  Well, most seminarians are fairly quiet folks, as was Bill.  But Bill's overriding genius lay in what he managed to do when he finally figured out wimmens.  

Bill was able to sneak a woman in and out without a tenth the trouble the rest of us had (which, frankly, wasn't much if you were discrete).  Smart fellow, that Bill.  Although that's not why he sticks in my memory so well.  Bill was and probably still is a very intelligent and very wise man, but his singular claim to fame for me was his article in our Campus Ministry newsletter.

We had the Record, which was the weekly paper on campus, but we also had the chaplain's weekly single-sheet newsletter.  Bill worked in the Campus Ministry office, and they were all asked one year to provide their thoughts on what made Christmas.  I remember a friend of mine told about his Christmas memories of the mountains in the southeast (New Mexico, or Arizona - don't remember which any more).  They put candles in paper bags and used them to light the sidewalks.  But Bill's was the one that will be the over-riding memory I have - even if I forget all the rest of the experience at St. John's, I'll remember Bill.  

He wrote about how he knew it was Christmas time approaching when the television networks started running all of the Christmas specials - But to Bill, Christmas was when Linus came out on stage during the "Peanuts Christmas" special, and read the passage from the Bible which really explained what Christmas was about.  I remember when I was about nine or ten or so, I had wanted to go to Midnight Mass (which happened at ten o'clock in our parish - farm and factory town - cows and paper mills don't wait for Santa), and Dad took me.  For some reason, I knew ahead of time I would read that very same passage at that mass, and so I'd practiced.  I'd also got out the "Good Church Clothes" which at that time consisted of light brown leather earth shoes, plaid polyester pants in earth tones, an off-white shirt, a brown tie of some sort, and a rust-colored (almost orange) corduroy suit coat.  Yeah, but this was the seventies.  At that point, I still had a bit of a belief in Santa Claus - heck, with five kids, and we all got presents from my folks AND Santa I knew there was absolutely No Way mom and dad could afford that.  In the car trip to church, Dad asked if I'd help Mom when we got home, because she had a lot of work to do.  I said "sure, but I've got to be in bed before Santa comes, right?" and Dad explained that there wasn't one.

Bill's message was near the bottom of the page, but for years I had that single Campus Ministry newsletter saved.  Probably still do, somewhere.  It spoke to me on so many levels.  Today, with the over-commercialization of Christmas becoming ever so much more disgusting, it's even more necessary.  I remember when we were in the Mall of America some weeks ago - we encountered Macy's setting up Christmas displays.  This was late August.  And I remember from my retail days back in 1989-1991 when Hallmark put up their Christmas stuff after the fourth of July, and the late, unlamented Carson Pirie Scott put theirs up after Labor Day.  It was painful to me.

Now, let's see.  Today, we were supposed to start digressing over Linux, and instead, we've covered my anniversary, Buckwheat Zydeco, Ramp Meters, Bill Weyandt, the Wedding Years, and Christmas.  Gee, I've really got to focus.  And I guess I would be remiss if I failed to mention my son - yesterday, we were fairly certain the little ape had become Damien Reincarnate - he was a great ruddy pain in the behind.  But last night, when he finally settled down (sometime during the third quarter of the Viking's win over Da Bearss, 28-16) and fell asleep, I was in checking on him.  And, as all little boys probably do (I know I did), he'd fallen asleep with one hand holding a little Hot Wheels car.  There really are times when I wish I could just totally forget this adulthood crap and move back to childhood.  Sometimes it's just too much work, worry, stress, and aggravation.  Really.

So, I thought, I'll get everyone off to the appropriate destinations and come home and take a nap.  Yah, right.  The folks above me, experienced rhinoceros ranchers, were apparently breeding a new pair this morning, which lasted until about 10 am.  I'd just gotten to sleep and the phone rang.  Another tip for telemarketers (a life form only slightly above spammers in my book); if you're going to make a sales pitch, do it live, do not do it in a way that we're required to call back on.  There's no way in hell I'll do that.

So, I tried to sleep for a while, and it just wasn't happening.  So I thought to myself "I've got this back balcony, with a table, chairs, it's a nice, if nippy, October morning - let's have breakfast/lunch out there."  Yah, right.  Between the damned lady bug infestation and the hornet's nest about twelve feet below the deck, that one's not usable.  Good grief.

This evening, I get to go offer my opinion and get paid for it - no, really.  Some years ago I fell into a deal with a company - my wife originally got a call after we used a truck rental place to move into our current home.  They paid her $40 for about an hour's worth of her time.  Since then, we've had a number of different things they've called us on.  TV News, TV News personalities, lots of food, and various local issues, including building projects.  The best one I went on was three days worth of ice cream tastes.  Three days of eight different samples each.  At the end, I got $100.  And gained probably ten pounds.  So the next time you have triple brownie fudge overload, thank me.

Tomorrow, back to the library.  I've been doing dull technical reading of dreadfully academic books about quality, and software testing.  Oh, my aching back.  But it's certainly a learning experience.  That's what I'm here for.

Later: Gulp.  Big big big gulp.  I got two e-mails today - one from Tom Syroid, and the other from Bo Leuf, both of the "real" Daynoters.  They want to add this collection to the regular "Daynotes" groups.  Oh, my.  And here today I was thinking to myself that I'm just one big walking contradiction - I've never done well with the "mechanics" of English.  I quite nearly violently opposed the diagramming of sentences in grade school, primarily on the grounds that this was something I would never use again.  I can quite proudly say that I was right in this particular instance - however, in stating that fact, I should also admit, to maintain some sort of integrity, that I didn't ever actually learn how to do the damned diagramming.  

Now, of course, I'm going to have to go back and review this stuff and see if 1) I've improved in my writing style/skills, and 2) If I've said anything of useful worth.  I suspect it's going to be a yea/nay for myself, but others might think so.  You know what?  On second thought, I'm not going to go back through this.  I'll let it stand as-is.  It's a journey, not a destination.  Gee, at least I hope I've got that right.

Now that I've got a slightly larger soapbox, I'd like to point out that my appointment this evening went both far worse, and better, than I could have expected - those fine folk in the Minnesota legislature that decreed our Great Ramp Meter Shutoff have managed to bullox this whole thing up (gee, FrontPage recognizes neither bollox, bullox, bollux, or bullux as legitimate spellings.  How about Bollocks?  I don't get it.  Bollocks is acceptable.  Go figure).  I left home this evening to make a 30 minute trip.  This trip was through only two highly-traveled intersections locally, and takes 20 minutes during off-peak times.  I needed to be there at 5:45 pm, though 6 pm would have been acceptable.  I got to the intersection of Minnesota highway 169 and Interstate 494 at 5:35 pm.  Traveled north on 169 doing 50 mph for all of a quarter mile.  Then stopped dead, and crawled the next two miles in 25 minutes.  Arrived at my appointment at 6:10 pm.  Fortunately, the folks who want to pay me for my opinions still paid me anyway.  Ain't that grande?  

Anyway, on the way home, I started thinking very hard about what it was I really stood for.  I was raised a Roman Catholic, attended Catholic educational institutions for sixteen years, and have an ambivalent relationship with that entire organization.  I'm a rural, but not farm, kid, who moved to the city, but really wants to live in the country.  I hate city traffic, but like the options a city gives.  I've chosen a career that has some incredible complexities, and yet want a simpler life.  I've got to be nuts.

But the way I look at it, it's not that I've got these contradictions, it's in dealing with them in daily life that makes you what you really are.  Or are not, I'm guessing.  But it's that sort of exploration that makes us human.  However, living where I do, and having the income and career that I do, allows me to sit and scratch my thinking lump and take the time to consider these things.  Were I a young Palestinian or Israeli male, I'd already have served in the army or what passes for it, and the odds are pretty good that I'd have either shot at or been shot at.  

Distance makes the whole "monday-morning-quarterbacking" of the Middle East a whole heck of a lot easier for us.  Living there, I just don't know if I could handle that sort of thing.  I've got the strength of my convictions, certainly, but they were formed from a life which started playing in pasturelands, chasing (and being chased by) the occasional cow.  Let me tell you; forgetting you've stepped in just one fresh cowpie and coming home will get you grounded pretty quick - maybe no faster than lobbing rocks at Israeli troops would in the Palestinian territories.

My wife wants to someday achieve elected office.  Me, I don't think so.  I've got enough trouble getting my little mental ducks in a row.  Deciding what the rest of you folk should be doing or allowed to do is not something I'm prepared to handle.  

All right - off to see what is required to make those folks who REALLY know what they're doing happy, and then we're going to explore the Linux box...  That, or legos.  I'm not sure which one I want to do.  

• Palm-Sized device
• USB/Standard Serial Cradle connected to PC or Mac OR Linux
• Desktop software that has connections to existing e-mail client, calendar software, project management systems, etc.
• User-replacable AAA batteries
• No heavier than one third of a pound
• COLOR screen
• Fits in a standard shirt-pocket
• Cellular connection to internet
• Standard website views - no "clipping" crappola
• Good CUSTOM browser with the ability to synchronize bookmarks with Netscape, IE, other browser favorite lists
• Voice recognition and audio response

That would be MY perfect device.  Sell it for $79-129, have the monthly access fee be $19.95 TOPS for unlimited access.  That would clean up the market.  A Device which could download, read my e-mail (after filtering through my mail client rules), and help me organize my day.

Well.  After last night's discovery that some of the folks in the Daynotes group read me, or at least some do, I bounced over to Dr. Keyboard's site.  His, if you must know, was the final straw - I saw that this fellow had done a site in such a way that this stuff was pretty easy, and I figured if he could do it, so could I.  But then again, I live in Minnesota, not the South of France, I work (or fiddle, as the case may be) with computers, and he really makes a living not only working with but also writing about computers and is self-employed in this field, and he's also evil when it comes to describing his meals - I find myself hungry just reading about the stuff he makes, and half of it I've no clue about, and the other half I'm sure I'd ruin if I attempted making it.  Yes, I guess that's unabashed admiration.

Of course, the Good Doctor points out my rather Neanderthal-like opinions regarding the Middle East.  Yes, I said "nuke it all until it's green glass and suck the oil out."  Not that I believe that it would come to this.  I'm just watching the television, and in my gut, I've know I've grown up.  I'm no longer looking at the news fearing that I could be drafted, put into training, given the gear, and sent "somewhere" to do "something."  I've no problem with serving my country - I'm fairly certain my country would take one look at me, fall down laughing, and say "sure - put him in back to hold up the flagpole."  Then again, if Military Planning is all that I've read it could be, I'd more likely end up a lieutenant at the front lines, responsible for many other men who should not trust their lives to the likes of me.

I say I've grown up because I watch the television, and really, for the first time in my life, know fear.  Not the fear that I might be harmed, or the fear like you get when you go into a haunted house, this being the season for that sort of foolishness.  No, it's the fear of fatherhood.  I fear that some day, that little boy who sleeps in the bedroom opposite mine, who's got those horribly serrated elbows, might some day have to strap on that gear and put himself in harm's way for my personal protection.  

Robert Heinlein once said, through one of the characters I think was probably him in literary form, Lazarus Long, that all civilization is based on the principle of Women and Children first.  We must protect them, for they are what can deliver, and what is, our future.  He also pointed out, most correctly, in my opinion, that not allowing men with children to fight in a war is a stupid way to lose it.   Those who have hearth, home, and family are certainly going to fight.  Are they as capable as someone younger, stronger, and better trained?  Perhaps not.  However we've been fortunate enough to not have to throw everything we've got into a battle situation.  I think that, if our backs were against the wall, us fathers, regardless of shape, or training, or anything else, would fight like wolverines to protect our families.  However, I still don't think that it's fair to put mothers into combat.  We still have "The Rules Of War" and the thought of a couple of mothers whacking captured POWs on the head and behinds with spatulas, scrapers, flyswatters, and etc., is most likely prohibited - let alone what any good mother can do with that nuclear weapon of childhoods world-wide - Guilt.

Sorry, the levity might be misplaced, but I've got to be a little funny ... My heart nearly breaks when I think of my little boy forced to stand in a street and throw rocks at heavily armed soldiers in order to be able to get some form of self-government.  My heart nearly breaks when I think of my little boy beaten senseless, thrown out a second story window, and stomped to death as punishment for taking a wrong turn.   The entire Middle East situation boils down, in my mind, to one of children and future.  If I thought we could get away with it with no "collateral damage" I would say yes, let's "glass-in" the Middle East.  But we all know this planet's gotten pretty small.  I've got to admit that while I wish it would all go away, I know it won't.  I know that it's not going to go away.  It's not like we're going to be able to hide from it.  That's the nature of what we've become.  And I worry that my son will have to pay the price for our arrogance.

And speaking of arrogance, I note that the Republican contendah, Dubyah, wants to teach Character in schools.  Oh yeah?  My word, Mr. Bush, where is that curriculum coming from?  Character can certainly be taught.  However, teachers are not the people to teach it, nor are public figures.  Character isn't in how the person deals with a crises - My wife carries a notebook with a quote from Anton Checkov - "Any fool can handle a crises.  It's the day-to-day living that really wears you down."  And it's the day to day living, the paying the bills, the struggling on no matter what comes up, that builds that character.  Sure, I think my wife would love to eat out five nights out of seven, if we could find a good restaurant in our price range.  But most nights, she makes dinner.  That's not because I'm sexist - I cook very well for me - the rest of the people here might not like it, though, and that's a problem when you're feeding four.

Teaching character as a class in school is about as logical as lighting farts.  You cannot teach character from a book.  You can't teach it in a lecture or in a slide presentation.  You teach by example, and there's few enough decent ones around (and yes, I think the current sitting President has done a couple of good things for character development - sometimes it's easier to teach by pointing out a very bad example of behavior).  All right, that's enough of that.

But that's enough politics for the day.  On to technology.

My addition to the daynotes circle is most likely going to be a blessing and curse...  I'm going to have to start reading more than the top of the list (although I've got to admit, seeing my name on the same page with Dr. Pournelle, Robert Thompson, Tom Syroid, and others is still one of those little "ego boosts" that I'll never tire of.  Seriously).  The curse will likely come later.  Unlike my son, who I swear is somewhere watching old Muppet show reruns or something.  Last night he was in twice with nightmares.  The first, he explained this morning, was something about a chicken, with monkeys inside it - great, the Trojan Chicken.  The second was the bed shaking.  Now, before you folks have any sort of usual ideas, I've got two cats.  Given the fact that the weather lately has been something more out of late September rather than a week before the end of daylight savings time (you read it here first folks - we get another hour of sleep next weekend, October 28 - of course, we pay for it by losing that hour in April), their room was a bit warm.  So we left the door open, but did not turn on the fan.  Now, I've got two children, and two cats.  One, Tish, who got his name through a series of coincidences which you wouldn't believe if I told you, is a svelte black and white mutt, while Gilligan, his brother-by-adoption, started as a kitten so small you could put him on your palm, and with his nose on my fingers, his legs past the heel of my hand, his tail didn't extend beyond the crook of my elbow.

Anyway, Gilligan was part of a rather large herd of cats this fellow acquired - Gillie didn't get much to eat as a kitten, and so when we got him he began to bulk up - did I mention that he was half-normal size when we got him?  He was six months old, and smaller than most three-month old kittens.  Now, Gilligan comes pretty close to outweighing Jack.  And I think it was thunderpaws who landed on Jack's bed last night, waking him.  Poor kid.  My wife's got to sleep with that furry carcass tangled in her feet most nights, but it's pretty easy for her - she just applies foot to side of cat at some speed greater than 0, and after seven or eight good rousing kicks, Gilligan gets moving.  I suspect he landed on Jack's bed.  Lovely.

However, to help them (and me), I've added a link to this page for the Most Recent updates.  And should you want to bookmark THIS LINK it will take you to the current file, most recently done update.  Hopefully that will help...  Now, to read...  And react,  I guess...

I see that JHR has reached much the same conclusion that I have, via Jakob Neilsen, etc. - The only reason in my book that Marketing exists is to sell inferior products.  While at Ban-Koe, we had a saying.  "Anything is possible, given an infinite amount of time and money.  Since you have neither, that is why God (or someone) invented salesmen."  Strange, but true.  If you produce GOOD products, you'll sell.  Constantly.  If you produce crap, get marketing.

Oh, no.  I see that Firestone's looking for new slogans.  Here's a few...

Top Ten Rejected Slogans for Firestone Tires (with my usual interruptions)

10. "Safer than a Russian sub."
Yes, and in grade school we had the joke about the Polish Navy putting screen doors on theirs
9. "The perfect gift for your mother-in-law."
Yours, maybe.  Mine just came into a pile of cash, and ... say, that's not a bad idea.
8. "Because there's a lot riding on your lawsuit."
And we'd really like it if you weren't.
7. "Better than driving around on your axles, right?"
Oh, "axles" - I thought he said Axe-holes...
6. "Pop a set on your car today."
I think that was the original flaw that got them in trouble
5. "C'mon, did you really expect good tires on a new Ford?"
FORD=Found On Road Dead.  I think I see...
4. "Reinforcing the importance of the 25 mph speed limit."
Sorry, the only speed limit I regularly obey is the speed of light - and that's unwilling at best
3. "Hey, it's not like we crashed our blimp or something."
But with our recycling, you'll really want to stay tuned for The Hindenburg II!
2. "Best Blow Job In Town'
Gee, I thought "Pop goes the weasel" was a better jingle...
1. "You can't recall a better tire."
Not with a head wound, at any rate.

And it's a good e-mail joke day - the second one today to get me to burst out laughing out loud... 

Redneck Ghost Story
A professor at the University of Kentucky is giving a lecture on the supernatural. To get a feel for his audience, he asks: "How many people here believe in ghosts?" About 90 students, nearly the whole class, raise their hands. 

"Well, that's a good start. Out of those of you who believe in ghosts, do any of you think you've ever seen a ghost?" About 40 students still have hands in the air.  

"That's really good. I'm really glad you take this seriously. Has anyone here ever talked to a ghost?" Down to 15 students. 

"That's a great response. Has anyone here ever touched a ghost?" 3 students left look around sheepishly. 

"That's fantastic. But let me ask you one question further. Have any of you ever made love to a ghost?" 

One student way in the back is left.  The professor is astonished. 

He takes off his glasses, takes step back, and says, "Son, all the years I've been giving this lecture, no one has ever claimed to have slept with a ghost. You've got to come up here and tell us about your experience. The redneck student replies with a nod and a grin, and begins to make his way up to the podium. 

As he ambles slowly toward the podium, the professor says, "Well, tell us what it's like to have sex with a ghost." 

The student replies, "Ghost?!? Aw Shiiiiiit... From way back there I thought you said "goats."

I guess I'm going to be more careful with the goat cheese in the near future...  ;-)  Thanks honey, I'm off to the Library...  And I've really got to shut up, these are getting too long.  Have to save wit for the slow days...  Talk about asking for it...  ;-)

Local news, first : This morning I hear on the radio that some people in St. Paul are complaining about the smells from an ethanol plant.  Gee.  Let's see if I've got this right - the plant, formerly a brewery, was about to close completely, laying off a whole lot of people.  The company came in, started brewing beer (The local "Pig's Eye" brand - not a bad beer, all in all), and also making ethanol.  Saved the property from going completely over to the city for "redevelopment," saved the jobs, and now they're complaining that the plant smells funny?  I drive up that way regularly - if you think of the smell of good, home-cooked, fresh bread, that's about what it smells like.  So today, I went right past the plant - really strong home-made bread.  I just don't get it.  The city's talking about investigating their options, including, criminal charges and lawsuits against the company, directors, and managers.  Good grief.  Whyinhell would you want to open a business in St. Paul?  Provide jobs, pay taxes, get sued.  I don't get it.  Just don't.

Ah, well.  Jarring seque number 83 - small serrated elbows boy with the Trojan Chicken dreams showed up in my bed again last night.  It would have helped if I hadn't managed to flip onto "The Homes Of Frank Lloyd Wright" earlier in the evening.  In my opinion, FLW was a bastard, an annoying, old, stubborn, rigid dictatorial nutcase.  And perhaps the greatest architect that the art of architecture has ever known.  

Architecture is both an art and a science - lately more of the later than former, clearly as given form if you look at any collection of buildings built in the last ten years or so.  Every time I see pictures of Falling Water, it takes my breath away - there's very little that does that to me any more - Aaron Copeland's "Fanfare for the Common Man", the 1812 Overture, Earthrise/Return/The Storm from Fresh Aire V (Mannheim Steamroller), and occasionally my wife and kids, along with that house.

When I was in college, the prevailing attitude of the time allowed you two semesters for your standard college education, and one month, January, more affectionately called "J-Term," for the pursuit of various other studies you wouldn't normally look into.  Well, that was the idea - we had one teacher who would do a "Jazz Improv" class - you brought your instruments, your talent, and you sat in a circle, and quite literally jammed, until you got something good.  Good class if you've got musical talent.  Another fellow taught Greek Philosophy, as it was originally formed - he'd pop into the classroom around 9 am with two boxes of wine (it was college kids, after all), and you'd start drinking and discuss the previous day's reading (8-10 pages, at most).  A friend of mine who took that class later admitted that he sobered up about four times that month, total, and that was only because he had to drive.

I took four classes while there - Analyzing Balance Sheets (oh, what fun - amazing what's left open when you're a freshman), Programming Games and Simulations on the Commodore 64 (yes, back that far - I wrote a game I called "Star Trader" where you traveled from planet to planet, buying and selling products, making a profit, and upgrading your ship in the process to carry more cargo, more defense against the space pirates, and so forth.  It was probably in that gray area, legally, as I'd been playing a game on the Apple IIe called "Taipan" which was similar, but involved wooden ships, Japanese and Chinese ports, and less randomization), Computer Networking (we went through Tannenbaum's "Computer Networks" book until I knew the ISO OSI model inside out, upside down, rightside up, and backwards.  We teamed up into groups for the class, and the group I was in became the group that set the curve - actually, the prof would copy our work and give it to the others as "the right answers."  Talk about pressure.  We went through a chapter about every two days - we had class/lecture in the morning, labwork in the afternoon, and writing the answers that evening.  I got an ulcer from that class).  My favorite, though, was Architecture 101.  It wasn't offered at our college - the nearest schools that did offer decent architectural programs were in Fargo and the Twin Cities, and at that time, Fargo was better (probably why another friend of mine who took that same class the year before dropped out of St. John's, moved to Fargo, and took architecture up there.  Now he's a vice president of marketing at a large commercial construction company - which is partially a misnomer, since he's also a part-owner of the company.  Weird).

Anyway, it was during that Architecture class that I was able to first really get into FLW's work - and the fellow was definitely a bit of a jerk; not listening to his clients the way he did, it's amazing he continued to get work like he did.  I love the Robie House in Chicago, and hope to get back there some day soon to visit it.  Certainly, some day, after the proper preparation (and equipment, of course - laptop, good digital camera, video camera, all the rest), I'm going to visit western Pennsylvania and see that house.  I'm certain that I won't be able to do it justice as the countless magazines, books, and TV shows have, but I'm going to see it myself.  Wright was a genius, and there are few who can match him - and if you want to point to Phillip Johnson, I'll give you one - the PPG Glass building - and then puke in your shoes - it was a rough night, as I alluded to above.

One last weird note - I'm thinking of working with Mr. Syroid to build a couple of weather ducts - hopefully, he's got the cooler weather boxed up up there in the Great White North (though I know it's not all that), ready to ship.  We've got plenty of warm air, which we might be able to use for an exchange - maybe we can work a deal?  It's supposed to be close to 80 degrees here today (maybe even over, dear God).  74 yesterday.  I'm not going to open the global warming debate back up - we just don't have enough data yet to determine whether a .1 degree rise in temperature is significant, and if you think it is, fine, don't bother me with it.  

Anyway, being a native Minnesotan (that means pronouncing that like you've got a cold and the T turns into a D), I know that it's only a matter of time - what we get in nice weather today, this week, and etc., will be brought back in line to make average within a few more weeks.  As I remember, the last time it was this nice this late in October, we got three and a half feet of snow on Halloween, then another two and a half feet a month later - a very snowy winter.  Just what I need - buy a house, and I'll have to fork over for a snowblower, too.  The good news is that if I do end up buying a new snowblower, I won't need it again until just after the warranty runs out on the thing three to five years down the road.  Ah, winter.  Beats 180 in the shade, but not by much.

All right, off to the web, for the daily read... Bo Leuf scared the heck out of me today - I live in an apartment, where we've had problems getting the water warm enough - In the mornings, when I shower, I find that I've got the faucet knob turned over to within a quarter-inch (not quarter-turn, but quarter-inch, about 8 mm or so) of full-on hot - and it's still sometimes flaky.  I've learned to jump hell out of the way if there's a sudden change in pressure.  Sometimes the hot comes back, but more often, you get nailed by high-velocity ice cubes.  I see Mr. Thompson and Dr. Keyboard are discussing Multi-culturalism - frankly, if you want to speak Lithuanian, Pig Latin, or Eubonics in your home, that's your business.  I think, however, that the point of emigrating to this country, or any other than the one you're in, seems to be to gain the benefits of that country.  Certainly, we welcome your viewpoint - but damnit, stop trying to make me believe what you do.  

I sometimes wonder if many of the problems we have regarding political correctness are due to the increasing mobility of us.  As in - back last century (I'm talking the nineteenth - next year we can start the twenty-first, thank you very much - and if you want to argue the point, do me a favor first, and count to ten.  There - stop after the first number - did you start at zero?  Well, then, sorry I missed your twenty-first century party - otherwise hush, the village idiot is pontificating), people had to really work at it to change neighborhoods.  You had to make a pretty big effort to move around the country, and it pretty much always involved a long period of time staring at the south end of a large draft animal.  

As a result of this lack of movement, you and your neighbors tended to be a pretty tough, polite, reasonable lot.  Certainly, prejudices existed, and just as today, they were mostly due to ignorance.  Our problems with multiculturalism today are that we as a people are more concerned with our neighbors - not in how they're doing, but in how they're THINKING.  If I think that this individual living next to me is a blithering idiot as he's come from Gdansk, Poland, that's my own opinion, to which I'm entitled.  If he's thinking that I'm a complete and blithering idiot because my relatives left the same city, formerly named Danzig, Prussia, some hundred or so years previous to him, well, then, that's his business.  If he chooses to worship by crawling around behind a cat all afternoon, that's his religious beliefs.  If he chooses to worship by killing various livestock in a way that requires several hours for the animal to die, and the runoff of various fluids is neither contained nor diluted, and I've got goat-blood in my driveway, well, that's a problem.  

Some years ago we had a big dust-up in the local press . . . A recent emigrant to this country from Laos, a Hmong girl, was impregnated by her cousin, and delivered of a baby at the age of fourteen.  This infant was then dumped like so much trash into a can and left to die.  The young lady was found, jailed, and the furor erupted over her inability to cleanse herself from the sinful, out-of-wedlock birth by eating various boiled chicken parts while in jail.  This was the original cause of concern.  This lead to a much larger explosion when the folks on the radio show were outraged because she felt she could cleanse herself for murder by eating chicken.  Their chant?  Assimilate, damnit.

The thought-police in this area then began to jump up and down on these politically incorrect folks, companies pulled their advertising, all because the thought-police creeps said, over and over, that it was wrong to ridicule the beliefs of another.  Perhaps right, perhaps not, but for crying out loud, people - assimilate.  I'm beginning to think English as the national language is something we'd best do, and quickly - Last time I was in the post office, I had a difficult time finding the notices - there were too many other "duplicates in different languages" around.  Given the OPTION, alternative languages would be acceptable (for example, when dealing with recent immigrants, etc.) - but do not require it.  

Perhaps what we should do is require that the individuals who swear the Oath of Citizenship in this country be required to write an essay (under observation), in English, about the value of being an American.  They next need to deliver a three minute speech to three other people about the same topic - but it can't be the same thing (prevents verbatim syllabic memorization of the piece, with regurgitation).  What they write is not as important as that they do it in English, with reasonably correct sentences, structures, and so forth.  Certainly English is the most difficult language to learn.  However, if you're going to join our melting pot and exchange ideas and such with us, you need to be able to speak with the rest of us.  I just don't know.  Perhaps what we really need is a good Borg invasion, methinks...  Subcutaneous implants of various devices would allow Mr. Thompson to shoulder-mount his grenade launcher, while I'd vote for multiple specialized arms for woodworking.  Router, circular saw, drill, sander, and finishing device, along with vision modification implants so I can measure just by looking.

However, today's Dr. Keyboard begs a question - with all of those meals, why is it that the gargantually obese (okay, really fat people, but I was trying to be polite) seem to be in this country?  I never hear of a seventeen-hundred-pound (roughly 770 kilos) human in Europe at all, let alone France.  But in this country, I can actually walk down my own hallway here and knock on the door of a couple fellows who are pushing five bills (240+ kilos).  I just don't understand it - perhaps we haven't learned how to eat, yet?

Arrgh!  Why is it that morons insist that The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings are the same set of books?  Sheesh. And whoo-hoo - the "kinda-sorta" employer I signed on with is getting closer to placing me.  Believe it or not, I'm looking forward to getting back out into the real world.  It's kinda boring to sit here and think all day, every day, for the last several months.

I'm reminded of Stephen King's "The Stand" - very creepy book I try very hard not to re-read during cold and flu season - in that book, he had a special layer of the judicial system for death-penalty-only cases.  Specialized judges, lawyers, and such to allow someone accused of such a serious crime to be expeditiously processed, and delivered unto his final reward.  But I'm thinking that we're being entirely too kind to the animals we're doing away with.  I think in cases of rape, we should offer the victim the opportunity to be alone, for fifteen minutes, with the individual immediately prior to the individual's last scheduled appointment.  If the individual fails to make that appointment, well, then, that rape victim should be told in the sternest possible language not to delay the carriage of justice, and please, to have a nice day.  If the rape victim is unwilling or unable to participate, I think we just take the feller out, stand him up against a post in a barn yard with bright sunlight and little to no shade, and then strip him naked.  Apply to him whatever attractants are necessary, and then release a couple of hungry calves into the pen.   You know, the type that are still nursing?  Let them attach themselves to anything looking remotely like a cow teat, and see what occurs.

And for those that think I'm an animal for supporting such cruel and unusual punishments, let's just say that I've really had it with the way we do this.  I'm willing to let you try your methods on lesser crimes, but I think for certain classes of misbehavior, we really need to thin the herd.  Our current method of punishment reminds me of a passage I read once - "you train a dog by being consistent and stable.  What we're doing now is finding the pee in the family room, smacking the dog lightly on the nose, if anything at all, until one day, we get totally fed up, and whip out a gun and spread doggy parts on the wall opposite."  Time we stop using a little newspaper, and bigger sticks.  </Sermon #34,483, Do unto others as they have done unto you>.

Veering back to the horrors of life in Minnesota (screech) - To add insult to injury, those damned ladybugs are back, and in large clumps.  Last night, laying in bed, I looked at the ceiling and counted about 30 of them up there, on the ceiling, above my soon to be open and drooling mouth, and my unconscious head.  I got up and with about six swats killed a majority of them.  We need that cold weather.  Time for the Haki Lunda Snowdance.  (Left foot HIGH, right foot, LOW, whack head on nearest stump OUCH, repeat until snow falls.  Sure, next you'll want to see the costume...).

At least I've at least determined the pattern for the gas prices around here.  Gas prices drop, about a penny a day it seems (though the price adjustments seem to occur most often on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays), and then ... All it takes is for the media to state "...gas prices have dropped x amount in the last x period..."  and zoom they go.  Mind you, we're more fortunate than the folks in England, where they've got three of every four cents in taxes - here, we're stuck with something like 38.7 cents per gallon.  But I'd like a few more breaks like I had a couple of weeks ago - I pulled into the gas station, and the sign said $1.46.9 - we pulled up to the pump just as a man was walking up to the sign with a three - of course, I couldn't be so lucky that we got $1.36.9, but I did get $1.43.9.  That was two weeks ago.  Now we're up to $1.63.9.  I'm sure this is lower than some areas, higher than others.  However, my parents are heating a large house on fixed income, as are many people in this neck of the woods (that is, when the cold comes).  With luck, my father's fuel bills this winter will be ONLY half again as much.  Sheesh.  I think it's a good idea I'm not heavily medicated, or I'd be looking to cause havoc in any nearby fossil-fuels reseller...  Is it any wonder I'm in favor of more renewable energy for vehicles?  Hell, I'd seriously consider a nuclear-powered car - while I lack the science to design or build it, I'm sure by the time the various government agencies got done with it, I'd have all twelve lanes of the freeway to myself - at least, on the way out.  I'd be rebuilding on the way back, no doubt.  Of course, I'd not have to worry about tailgating or any sort of road rage incidents, because I'd probably be able to run them over - as long as they moved about as slow as an arthritic, blind, mentally-defective earthworm.  Top speed, 3 mpd - That's Miles Per Decade, I think.  Oh well, how about ethanol?

This is supposed to be short and sweet - I've got to find the hole the damned bugs are getting in, and I need to get some things done in preparation for lunch with Ann (she does not like the referent "Mrs. D" and instead prefers "She Who Must Be Obeyed" as originally heard from Rumpole of the Bailey - good show; I like Leo McKern - that, or "Bitch" but only if said respectfully - I recommend the first, as using the second is something like trying to get through a 50-acre minefield.  In clown shoes.  At night.  In the rain.  Blindfolded.  On crutches...  I trust I make myself clear?  Good.  I'm expendable, here - you, gentle reader, are not.  Others still need to be read, ya know).  Lunch, in case you didn't notice, is in celebration of our tenth anniversary.  She's getting off work roughly an hour or so before the wedding started.  So we should be sitting down to lunch about the same time as our official exact anniversary.  

I remember, some years after we got married, I heard a good toast - "May your wedding day be the day you love each other the least in your married life."  When we got married, we were in love, and good friends - she's still my best friend today.  Looking back on what I've been through, what we've been through, and so forth, I don't know if she'd give me the same answer she did back then.  I do know that back then, I thought she was the person I most wanted to spend my life with.  Today, I know.  And boy, am I glad I asked.  Well, sort of asked.  Oh, OK.  Honey, if you ever do decide to put up a page of your own, you can make that your first story, OK?  If you, gentle reader, really want to know, drop me a line, and I shall attempt to persuade She Who Must...  Wish me luck. 

As it's my anniversary, I'm going to try to ignore the Middle East - yes, I'm the ugly American and half-way 'round the world.  I can do that.  Last night it seemed things were getting better - now worse.  Some better, then worse again.  I just don't know.  The one thing I do know is that the simple answers aren't going to work because there's a distinct lack of "reasonableness" - one might rephrase that to mean "unwillingness to make concessions".  On the other hand, complex solutions will not work either, because, to borrow an old Army maxim, "No plan long survives contact with the enemy."  But maybe, just maybe, there's a solution.  We can hope.  I'm gonna pray.  You do what you need to...

After my pronouncements on FLW yesterday came under the withering gaze of Mr. Thompson, who, rather unsurprisingly, has opinions of his own (and I'm going to get familiar with his choices over the weekend), I retreated last night into that refuge known to all frustrated wanna-be architects - Lego blocks.  My son does not appreciate the serenity of the Lego experience.  For as long as I've been playing with Legos, I do so very quietly (a fact backed up by my mother).  I make little noise - other than rummaging through a box 24 x 16 x 6 (if you have knowledge of the old Apple Powerbook boxes, that's what I'm using at the moment - It used to be an old Vic-20 box - see the pattern?) filled to overflowing with Legos.  My son, on the other hand, is exclaiming, hooting, yelling, jumping around, and generally spoiling my concentration.  It's an absolute miracle that we got anything done.  When we get into the house, I'm going to build a table, with three drawers, all seven inches or more deep, for Legos.  Glue some of those green plates on the top, and it's the perfect Lego holder.  Problem is that it's probably not going to be tall enough for me to enjoy...  Does this mean I've got to give up my Legos?  If that happens, then I'm going to have to resort to the diversions of adults - that is, I'm going to have to take up travel.

Speaking of travel, last week I sat through a class with a nice gentleman by the name of Dave, who was originally from around Liverpool, England.  Very interesting fellow, until we got to the point where he was discussing his travels in this country.  He'd originally been in the US for three years or so in the early nineties, and had spent some time touring.  He'd visited eighteen states in twenty months.  And this poor fellow was telling us the sites he'd seen.  I'm thinking "this man came from the country where they've got these castles, the Tower Of London, all that history going back thousands of years, what would he want to see in this country?"  Dollywood.  I kid you not, the poor fellow went to Dollywood.  I sat there, listening to him explain the problems the Spanish Armada encountered (frankly, being the son of a history-addicted English teacher, and the husband of a total history freak, you don't think I'd have known a little about that little disaster which put England at the forefront of navel power? but I digress, which is the point of this site).  I was stunned.  Here's this fellow, telling us about a country that counts history in centuries where we, if lucky, count decades, and he went to Dollywood.  Admittedly, it was an accident, but still.  But for the fact that he was looking for sites to see in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee (oh, stop it, you - I was talking the geological formations, not the engineering feats that were required for the woman to wear a brassiere that didn't cut her arms off), he might have missed it at all.  Which, come to think of it, might have made him feel a whole lot better about us Americans.

On a totally unrelated note (you should have your seat belts fastened and your tray tables in the upright position by now, knowing the way I veer through my world), I'm becoming concerned about the whole process of becoming a paid consultant for the company that's working with me.  When I signed on, I was told that I'd start, within a month, and now I'm hearing that they're working on it, and there's nothing certain.  Excuse me?  If you're going to hire someone, and you're going to put them to work, shouldn't you first have the work for them?  I know, they've got to be careful that they're getting someone they can bill for, but come on.  When I get "hired" by a company, I expect them to put me to work and pay me - I don't go behind their backs and fiddle around - I'm too damned loyal, and I know it - Loyalty's a good quality to have, but some times I get the feeling I need to be far more careful whom I become loyal to.  This is beginning to concern me greatly...  I'm going to re-start the job hunt, I guess, and see what else might be out there.  Once I get back to a regular seven-to-four workday in the real world, I'll be much happier.

These are getting longer and longer.  Before I go, some funny stuff - like this one - I remember now, "there are three things people should not know how they're made.  Babies, Sausages, and Laws.  Okay, maybe just the last two".  And then this, which leads to a whole new definition of Expert, apparently.  I need to do some homework here...  Uh, no, not now, dear.  I need to get things done around here, so away I go...  Lunch, Karate this afternoon, then groceries, and then prep for the kid's birthday party tomorrow.  Children bowling.  This could be fun...  Gulp. Okay, one last funny, for those of you with big vocabularies like me...

(from "Nursery Rhymes for Ph.D.'s" - if you need it, you know it).

Later: Well, let this be a lesson to you.  If you're going to "do something" for your anniversary, for crying out loud, have a PLAN, please. . .  Gentlemen (those of you who are, and are married), please learn from my mistakes.  I picked up She Who Must Be Obeyed (and if I'm not careful here, I'm going to end up with a Dramatis Personae as well as an acronyms page like Tom.  We fumbled around, and ended up going to an old favorite Chinese Restaurant for the buffet, and then did the "...I don't know, what do you want to do?" thing back and forth for a while.  Went to run a couple errands, got the kids outfitted for winter (one winter coat, two pairs snowpants, and a pair of boots, all for $36 - not as cheap as a garage sale, but cheaper by far than new - Gotta love Once Upon A Child - "Kids Clothes With Previous Experience" is their slogan).  With all of this back and forthing, not only did we manage to forget to order the birthday party cake for tomorrow, but we also left the grocery list sitting on the dining room table.  Led in very short order to more back-and-forthing.  In the end, getting home before 8 pm was completely un-possible.  Though we came close.  Well, 8:45, at any rate.  Sheesh.

Last night I was putzing with adding some elements to this page.  I hate doing web pages with navigation buttons all over the bloody place, because it seems to me to be overkill.  But I'm going to try it starting with next week's page.  Should make it easier to leap around.  

Good Lord.  I want something for free (especially when it comes to money), but this one seems a little hinkey.  However, they ARE giving away one billion dollars, US, payable over forty years...  

1. Twenty at $5,000,000 is $100,000,000
2. Ten at $10,000,000 is another $100,000,000, for a total of $200,000,000
3. Nine at $20,000,000 is another $180,000,000, for a total to that date of $380,000,000
4. One "Balloon" payment of $620,000,000, for a final total of $1,000,000,000. 

That's the kind of lottery I'd like to win.  However, with the odds of winning at 1:2,404,808,340, I'd stand a better chance of getting struck by lightening.  On my birthday.  While underground.  I don't know that giving up the privacy I have (such as it is) is worth it.

And that begs a question someone asked me the other day - why do this?  More specifically, why do I do this?  I guess I've got a couple of reasons - first is that I like to write.  I've got plenty of excuses, but that's the first.  Second, I think (and have had it validated) I've got a viewpoint that some find fun to read.  Third, this helps me think.  Now, though, comes the question of Privacy - is it right for me to rant and rail about privacy rights where I practically air my dirty laundry on a site like this?  Aye, there's the rub.  It's actually pretty easy to understand once you understand what's going on - this is me, revealing what I wish to, in my own fashion, and in my own way.  I object to the collection of my personal data by "marketing research firms" done without my knowledge, consent, and their active notice that they are doing it, and what they are collecting.  Confusing?  I guess so.  Welcome to the human race.

I had a horrified realization last night.  Looking at a calendar, I've got two paychecks left.  Then I'm in deep, most likely spoiled, yogurt.  Put another way, I want to be working as of August 14th.  At this point, I NEED to be working starting November 13th to have continued income.  I'm very frustrated with the folks at the new place - when they "extended an offer" it was contingent on them finding me work, and this has taken quite a bit longer than I've expected, and if it goes much beyond next week, it will also be longer than they indicated to me that it would.  I'm really having fifteenth and sixteenth thoughts about this.  I need more security to do my best work...  Time to start trotting out the resumes and such again.  I'm just kicking myself for letting some of these trails run dry here.

But, on a positive note, I've had my faith restored in the folks at the Radisson Carousel Restaurant.  After the debacle of two weeks ago, I complained.  Two business days after my complaint had shown up on their radar, I got a return e-mail asking for me to remain patient while they investigated.  Four days later, I got a phone call from a nice gentleman named "Rico" who listened to my complaint again, and agreed that the experience we had was terrible, and what was worse for me and better for them, far far out of the ordinary.  They promised to send a gift certificate of $50 to us as soon as possible.  So I waited - being, as we all know, one of those fellows who doesn't believe it until he sees it sometimes.  And waited.  Thursday evening, in the car, my wife inquired as to the location of this supposed gift certificate, and I told her that if nothing showed up until next week, I'd call to re-complain.

Yesterday, I received a letter from the manager of the restaurant who confirmed Rico's assertions that the experience we had was both unusual and very regrettable for all involved, and if I would please use that letter as his notice that we were due $75 (not $50) in another dinner, he would appreciate it.  I will definitely give them another try, especially since we liked them before, and we want to give them a second chance.  Rhiannon was so excited to go there, and now the mention of the place makes her face fall.  Then again today should correct that.  We're having her "friends" party - six first-grade females, bumper-bowling.  Oh, boy, will THIS be fun.

And ten years ago today, I cleaned up after our reception, attempted to recover from the wedding night (not nearly as much fun as one would think, someday I'll tell you about explaining a certain medical condition to my new mother-in-law and a Navy (ret.) wife the morning after), and tried to pack the stuff into the rented Taurus wagon for a trip back to the Twin Cities.  Didn't get it all done, and instead, managed to do a trip from East-central Iowa to home to the North Shore - six-and-a-half hours from Iowa to the Cities, locked the keys in the car, then four hours from the cities to Bluefin Bay.  Taurus seats aren't comfortable enough.  Then again, what do you expect from a vehicle named after a bull? 

Wow - an hour and a half shot and I never got to the want ads.  Dan's got to read me before posting?  Boy, I hope the fellow's got a REAL life - then again, with the tinkering he does with Heathkits (slobber slobber drool drool) and such, I think he's probably far better organized than I.  Of course, I've always been a sucker for technology I can mess with - that's why I was an AV geek in high school.  Although there was the time we had the concert in the high school gym that kept blowing breakers - let this be a lesson to you young fellers - never try to run a rock-and-roll band (Remember Bobby Vee?  The Drifters?  Yup, I got to work with them) with their high-level power needs from a high-school gymnasium wired to provide adequate power for floor buffers.  Although you can keep breakers running longer if they're cool.  Don't know if the UL approves that method, but in times of trouble, man, you go with what you know.  Although I do NOT recommend applying ice to breaker panels.  At least, not unless you wish to learn the effects of electricity and water - apparently those Dave works with haven't learned that neat little method of fireworks on a budget.  

Sheesh - time to shut up.  Off to prepare for bowling.  Now, where's my armor?

Later:  For some reason, the phrase "...you have not bowled until you have done so in the original Klingon..." keeps going through my head.  At the risk of attracting even more of an audience (this one interested in child pornography or preventing it), my wife and I took "She Who Must Be Obeyed (In Training)" (Rhiannon), her brother, and six other little girls to the Burnsville Bowl this afternoon.  The combination of eight children (seven of them girls) and eight-pound bowling balls is one that, in my humble opinion, should strike fear into the hearts of bowling alley managers everywhere.  I figure the combination of "Girls" "Balls" and the rest might well raise red flags I'd rather not see go up.

In atypical Dominikian fashion, we left fully an hour before our party was scheduled to start (given a ten-minute trip all told), and reverted to form, arriving all of twenty minutes early (My goal had been a full 30 for "setup").  There was the stop for the cake (ordered last evening), the sudden stop for plates (whoops), napkins, give-aways for the attendees, and a balloon bouquet, and then a straight to the alley, and we were OK.  The ladies arrived, we traded our own shoes for those of bowlers, and began.  

Admittedly, when the ball is an appreciable fraction of your body weight (in Jack's case, one fourth), you've got to be careful how you "bowl".  As noted elsewhere here, I've been lobbed out of bowling alleys merely for being a party to one great galoot who bowled overhand (he took a 12-pounder and bounced it twice - I think he took out eight or nine pins - two cracked), so this had me a wee bit nervous.  But the ladies would quite often deliver in a weird side-winder motion, from the hip.  There were about a half-dozen strikes (not counting mine - my son had to take a break in the last frame, and I palm-bowled a strike right off, and cleaned up the spare.  Brought him up to a seventy-six; not at all bad for someone who's overall down-alley speed average was under 2 mph), quite a few spares, and more than half the frames were left open.  

Now that I've exhausted my bowling terminology and knowledge, I'll veer elsewhere.  We went to the grocery store after all of this, and since we were down to only three items left on the list, three of us remained in the car, and one went in.  Like a fool, I stayed in the car despite knowing the two teenagers next to us were engaging in a very "PDA" - not Personal Digital Assistant, but Public Display of Affection.  After about two minutes, the kids were still staring - I mean, mine.  And I was sitting there trying to explain what was going on.  Fortunately, I had a piece of paper and pen handy, and had finished "GET A ROON" (one leg left to go on the M) when they noticed we were there and pulled out pretty quick.  Of course, then I had to deal with all sorts of questions from the seven and four year olds.  

Now, to see if there are decent jobs available for me out there in the real world again.

Ain't that a kick in the teeth?  I check my site this evening, and in publishing my site this morning, apparently it cleared the old copy of this page from SpacePorts, but didn't upload the new one.  I went out, and here Jonathon's looking to read my blitherings, and all he gets is the annoying ads.  Mea maxima culpa, most likely.  I guess I shouldn't complain too much if at all...  I've had very good luck with SpacePorts - and I can't really complain, this is the first problem I've had with them.  And the odds are very good it could have been mine, and it could have been Goldengate's.  Oh well.  Then again, I could be in Paris for the Grand Bash celebrating the Good Doctor Keyboard's birthday.  I'm thinking there's entirely too many birthdays clumping too closely together, here.  John Doucette was yesterday (good day to be born on, as we picked it for a wedding), and the Good Doctor's here...  Scary.

It didn't help all that much that we ran into the informal "Robin Wright-Penn" Film Festival, last night.  We watched Forest Gump and then my wife ran across The Princess Bride.  So we fell asleep rather late.

Well, let's see what kind of trouble I can get into this morning...  Whoops - afternoon, now?  These things happen.  Actually, we went out to the Library, gas station, grocery store, and back to home, and it was a useful trip.  For the most part.  Although I will be batter-dipped and deep fried to a crispy golden brown.  I turned on the TV before our departure, partially to see if the 'Queens were doing anything useful, and performed my usual duty - cause them to fail, if possible.  Seemed to be working.  I watched the Vikes lose a contested fumble.  I watched as Doug "I'm still too short to see over my linemen" Flutie drove Buffalo down the field and managed a touchdown, to get the game to 17-13 Buffalo, near the end of the third quarter..  I watched as Dante Culpepper stumbled on the snap and handed off to Smith who nearly fumbled and managed to gain two yards, then I watched as Culpepper tossed the ball directly to one of the Buffalo players on the next play.  Yup, I figured, them damned 'Queens were going to FINALLY lose one this season.  

Went to the grocery store, and while in the check out line, I heard these two women discussing the game.  "Yeah, some 'andy' fellow kicked a Guinness-record something or other, and that purple team beat the red and white team by 31 to 27."  Good heavens.  Gary Anderson, the place-kicker, moved into number one on the all-time points list with 2004 points - nineteen years, wow.  Starts to make me wonder if this team is for real after all.  Nah, I'm a true Vikings fan.  They'll do it to us once more.  We'll make it to the Super Bowl at least once or twice more, and lose both times to worse teams.  

Nuff fun and foolishness - down to serious stuff.  Whilst at the Library, I picked up a couple books on home buying, inspection, things to look at, and remodeling projects.   Let's see where I can go from here.  Ah, yes, local news.  That big fire got doubled-back on itself, thanks to changing wind directions, and it looks like things will be contained within a game reserve.  And the lunatic who killed five relatives (two parents, and three children ranging from 9 years down to one and one half) was caught here in town, so that's the good news.  The sad part about that story is that the father this nutball killed had tried to get the fellow some help at a local hospital.  The hospital didn't have any of the paperwork the court was supposed to be sent over, so they couldn't help the fellow.  Lovely.  Bad news is that with the hunting season, a twelve-year-old kid accidentally shot his father in the back of the head when a flock of birds flew up between them suddenly.  Ouch.  But hey, this is a funny one - local car dealership loses blimp - blimp sails some sixty-plus miles south, and local farmer fears aliens from the planet Volvo are observing him.  Man, I'm not drinking the water in Red Wing any more.

And to end the local news, this one really saddens me.  I know most Americans beyond a certain age remember where they were when they heard Kennedy had been shot.  For me, there are a couple of key events.  I remember where I was when Man landed on the moon (standing in PJs and blankie in the corner of the living room, watching Neil Armstrong on a black-and-white TV back down a ladder, and set foot on the moon, is one of my clearest childhood memories, Thank God).  I also remember where I was when I heard Jacob Wetterling was kidnapped.  For those of you who haven't heard of this, eleven years ago today this young boy was riding his bike with a couple of friends, on his way back from the local Tom Thumb Convenience Store.  A van pulled over, picked one of the three children (Jacob), and left.  That was the last Jacob was seen, reliably, ever since.  

This rocks me to my core because I knew that area very well - my father worked near St. Joseph, Minnesota, and I grew up knowing that area very well.  I'd seen it grow up.  I'd even seen Jacob's father's face on billboards advertising his chiropractic practice in St. Joe for years.  But to have something like that happen in St. Joe was shocking, I guess.  I don't know that I'd have the courage to do what Patty Wetterling did, but I would like to think I could.  

That was a downer - let's move on to world news (see, mom?  I'm trying to progress more logically - oh, well, we'll veer around later).

Yesterday I was in the car, riding around, and thinking about various things.  I can do that, you see, because She Who Must Be Obeyed takes turns driving on the weekends.  It's a cheap thrill for me, getting chauffeured around.  I was thinking about the Middle East - I'd heard some news reports about it on the radio, and then, with timing I'm not sure was completely coincidental, She Who Must Be Obeyed (I've got to get that as a keyboard macro) flipped to another local radio station, which was playing one of my favorite Beatles tunes - Let It Be.  I listened to the lyrics, and they seemed to match up to the situation pretty well.

I'm not going to pretend that I've got all the answers (but for crying out loud, don't tell my kids that for a few years yet.  I'm still able to use the "because I'm a mean Daddy, that's why" line when I ask or tell them to do something they don't want to do).  But I think that disengagement is just about as likely to reach a resolution as juggling live grenades.

Tom Syroid yesterday made the point with a whole lot more wit than I could hope to match.  Seems Barak has more than a few cards, and Arafat has a few more responsibilities.  These two knuckleheads need to stop playing "Two of Three Stooges Do WorldPolitik" and get serious.  I don't know if locking them and equal numbers of their lieutenants in a room together and letting them sort it out is useful or not, but it sure seems to me that it might work.

And then, like fresh breeze from the local trash dump, comes Bob Walder's site. This man should be illegal, purely on the grounds that he's managed to watch a program (programme?  Sheesh, this internet thing's really going to hose up my spelling all over again.  At least this time, no ninja-trained nuns to wallop the backs of my now-healed knuckles with those 2x4 planks.  Rulers, my left foot - although I'm repeatedly warned by others about Svenson, who can't compare to armed nuns, frankly) about "modern day eunuchs".  Keeripes.  I thought we solved all of that with Dilbert's little disturbing foray into the nurse's office.  Anyway, this horrid little phrase appears - "The words "testicles" and "satisfying crunching noise" should not be brought together in the same sentence in my opinion."  This single phrase brought tears to my eyes, took my breath away, and left me laying down on the floor, in tears.  Oh, the horror.  And I was once able to impassively watch one young fool race across a field, full tilt chasing a frisbee, and squarely connect said family heirlooms with one of those wonderfully-placed free-standing stair railings.  As I recall, this fellow was well on his way to reaching Barry-White type depths of tone for his voice (if you know not who Barry White is, think Darth Vader - with a cold - and his head in a bucket - down a deep well - and drop three octaves).  For the remainder of his school time, I don't think his voice went as deep as Mickey Mouse on helium.  Poor fellow.  I'm also fairly uncertain as to whether or not he managed to reproduce, either, come to think of it.

Bob Thompson , however, is my new hero.  Accidentally spawning 200+ processes on a VAX 11/730?  That's just cool.  I once unwittingly distributed a public domain game from the DECUS tapes called, I think, Conquest.  This game was pretty-much text only warfare.  The Vax would generate a map, with periods for water, and I think it was 8s for land - then you had little letters which would identify your units.  You would conquer a town, set it to producing things (Armies took five turns, airplanes maybe twelve to fifteen or so, ships took longer, aircraft carriers took the longest).  You could produce these units and then move them certain numbers of spaces.  Armies would move one, ships somewhere between two and six, and planes twenty.  You could only see the land you were within one block of (if you were in a square, you could view the 8 squares immediately around you - if you stationed armies four squares apart, you had a two-square-wide freeway for the enemy to pour troops through without your knowledge.  

Anyway, that game would generate a new world in less than a second on a VAX.  When I found a shareware/freeware version of the game later on for the IBM PC, it took over eleven minutes to do the same generation on an old IBM PC/XT with 640K of base memory.  The last time I tried to run it on a 286 running at 12 Mhz, with two megs of RAM, it took about four minutes.  But 200 processes?  That's cool.  Of course, you're reading a fellow who had a login.com file (DCL command language, not anything more advanced - think DOS BATCH on steroids, with a hell of a lot of other horsepower.  UNIX shell scripting is pretty close to DCL, but DCL was far less cryptic) that ran over twelve hundred lines before it was broken up.  When I left St. John's for the "real world" (read fast-food management), it ran close to three thousand lines.  Frightening.

Oh well.  Off to see what we can scare up for dinner this evening; the Foreman Grill is warming nicely....  yum yum yum.  I wonder if I get a cut on endorsements?  Oh, wait a minute - before I do Foreman's got to see if I can take a punch?  One of his?  I don't think I'm that desperate for money.  And more of the before I go department, though, I note that Bob likes Erin Brokovich, while the Good Doctor seems to think she's a wide-mouthed frog.  Sorry, guys - to appreciate this film, you should have seen it on a big screen.  Then again, as I think on it, this movie might well be up for best special effects (sorry, my infantile bias is showing - yes, I was breast-fed), because I've never seen a frog with those before.  Even with special effects.  But Chris is right - you see that mouth on the big screen, and the only thing I could think of was "you know, I could probably park a Cessna right in the middle of that thing and not nick a tooth."  And me, an un-professional pilot, if you include the flight time I've got over this keyboard.  If not, well, I've SEEN cockpits.  Ach, well.  Nuff veering for the day - my bumpers are tired.  TTFN, and for the week.  But first, good news - RAIN!  It's a little, but it's falling!   Finally - six weeks of dry, and we get some drizzle - hopefully it will turn into a full soaking rain.

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