DOAB Week of January 22, 2001

I remember during January, 1974, we started bringing the classified ad section of the local newspaper to school. We had a "special project" we'd be doing, the teachers told us.

We started using up our black and midnight blue crayons, coloring those newspapers even darker. Then we'd form them into wreaths. Then, out of our normal rotation (First and Second Grades on Monday, 8:30 am, Third and Fourth Grades on Tuesday, Fifth and Sixth on Wednesday, seventh and eighth on Thursday, 10:30 am, and Friday, all eight grades, 10:30 am), we went to church. We all brought our black or blue wreaths up to the altar, and commemorated the day, a year ago, when the Supreme Court legalized "Baby Killing". That's what they told us. Something about "Rovie Wade" - sounded like a swim outting.

As the grade school years went on, the ceremonies marking the day continued to grow. Eventually, we could "opt out" of high school for a day to go to the State Capitol and protest this heinous offense against unborn children. We could learn all about the "butchers" who would kill children, in the most graphic of terms.

When I finished high school and entered college, I started to learn more about the issue than just the parts about the "babies being murdered".

And a funny thing happened. I realized that the same people screaming at the tops of their lungs that those little babies should be saved and spared and not killed were the same people who would stand up and say "we don't need welfare for that" and would cut the tax subsidies for single mothers who were trying to raise a child or more on a single minimum-wage job. They'd insist that minimum wages of their time, eighty cents an hour, had been good enough for them, why not that little "slut" who had two brats?

Certainly, why not. Why not force a single mother to work for minimum wage, when "daycare" in their time consisted of a neighbor willing to look in on them from time to time. When "danger" was not in stepping on a rusted nail in the barnyard, rather than avoiding the crackhead on the corner who hadn't scored yet today and was still packing the semi-automatic pistol he took off the last guy to try to screw him out of a score.

Abortion is one of those subjects that gets people going. Some, like me, squirm and nervously attempt to change the subject. Others will start tossing "pro-this" and "anti-that" like grenades, hoping to wound as many as possible. But I'm an adult now, and it's time to stop squirming and decide where I stand. It's likely not to be pretty.

Some people will claim that killing a doctor who performed an abortion was just an evening of the scales. Others will point out that if you respect life, you should respect all live. Still others would extend that to an unreasonable conclusion, requiring you not to harm an ant or blade of grass. Extremist positions anywhere are pretty easy to ignore or knock down. It's the "reasonable" ones you've got to stop and think seriously about.

It's a tough issue. It's not one that will settle down after a few years. People are STILL up in arms about it. And I really don't have a vote in the matter. For you see, I lack a uterus. Yes, it's true. Just a penis, no uterus here folks. Keep moving, nothing to see… And you, the wise-ass in the back, yes, that's true. Nothing at all to see. Just shut up and keep moving. There's one in every crowd, isn't there, folks?

But here's the thing. I know of no woman who's had an abortion who's gone through more agony than any mother would. A mother doesn't have the type of regrets the other woman does - a mother can do the "I wonder what would happen if I..." many times. A woman who's had an abortion does it all the time. And has nothing to show for it but the agony.

The options are many when you're pregnant with an unwanted child. You can adopt it out, and hope that the child will get a good and happy home, and not come back to find you in thirty or more years, blaming you for the horrible childhood it suffered. You can attempt to raise it yourself, and if you're a young woman, you'll find yourself struggling to find, and keep, a job that pays decent wages while you are both mother and father to your child. If that child gets sick, guess what, you've got to stay home. If you get sick, tough it out, because you have to save the minimal leave you get on this job for your child's illnesses.

And Daycare? Let's just say that after your takehome pay finishes paying the daycare, if you're lucky you've got enough money left for a happy meal. A very unhappy happy meal, if it's got to last a week.

Of course, there's no guarantee that you won't fall in with some rich fellow and manage to make a good life for yourself and your child. But we all know that riding off into the sunset doesn't happen all the time.

So let's say you decide to have the abortion. You find a clinic, in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by cars and picketers at all times of the day and night. You finally get the courage to exit your car and enter the clinic, only to be confronted by the most brutal of images of bloody fetuses, sad, broken women, and the horrible fact that "abortion kills".

Then, you're asked to submit to a most personal examination by an individual whom you've probably never seen before. And most likely will never see again. Nor want to. Except, of course, they'll show up in your nightmares. The procedure is a success, and you go home. To pain, agony, and anguish that's only 90% in your head. And as the days go by, the physical pain leaves. And is replaced by a dull, painful, dry ache that throbs whenever you see a baby, hear a child giggle, or hear a children's toy fall onto the floor.

There are no easy answers here. The Anti-Abortion folks would have you believe that by snapping one's fingers, the genie would pick up all those pieces, stuff them back into a bottle, and away goes the problem.

Sure, that's the way it works, right? But for the fact that every single miscarriage would have to be investigated as a criminal matter, as it might have been an abortion. But for the fact that those women who could afford it, and many who could not, would seek to leave the country to receive this procedure. Some would stay home and find a doctor who would perform it for thousands of dollars, or other considerations far to vile to contemplate.

The "Pro-Choice" lobby would ask that you continue to keep things as they are. And by the way, there's now this little pill which is available in many countries, including, at present, the United States, that allows you to perform your own "in-home abortion." Leaving aside for the moment the fact that any number of potential combinations of household food items, when properly combined, could perform the same thing, this pill, which runs in the four-to-five-hundred dollar per dose range, what sort of support and counseling does this offer the woman who chooses it?

The "Pro-life" folks would have you believe the world is safe for infants. Sure it is. Especially for those infants who come from a rape, or incest, or any other number of "unwanted" situations. Bringing a child into this world isn't a choice, it's a responsibility; you cannot argue with that. At the same time, there is so much danger in this world that even a properly cared-for child can be harmed accidentally. What about all the other wolves gathered round the barn? Aren't they just as dangerous? The kidnappers, child pornographers, abusers, lechers, and other low-lifes?

But then, the "Anti-Life" folks would argue that the issue's been to politicized. It's not the point that we're preventing life; it's the point that mothers who are giving birth have no choice in the matter.

And then the "Anti-Choice" folks will bring God into it. And righteous indignation. And moral outrage.

It all gets a bit tiresome after a while, and as any good Army private can tell you, God fights on the side of the heaviest artillery. So it's time to measure who's got what. Again.

We could go on for days like this. Most people on either side of the issue fail to take into consideration all of the pain and anguish on both sides. What about the couple, trying very very hard to have that first child, who discover on their first ultrasound that the infant is lacking in any sort of brain. Do you sentence that young couple to a life of hell? Make her sit at the hospital day and night for five or six or twenty years? Oh, sure, most of those types of births typically end with the infant's passing within hours, if not days, but what if this one's different?

What if she quits her job to watch over the child? What if he picks up two or three more jobs to make ends meet, and they're driven further and further apart? They divorce, and the child dies. Great, we've now prevented them from aborting the child and saving their marriage.

What's that, you say? If they can't handle that, they shouldn't have been married? Well, thank you so much for the benefit of your experience. Certainly you've been through such a hell and can speak to us from the other side of the … What's that? You haven't been? Well, then, sit down, shut up, and read.

I consider myself a relatively strong person, emotionally. Sure, I get all blithery when things don't go the way I want them to, but I can handle a lot of different experiences. But you know what? I don't know if my marriage is strong enough to handle something like the scenario outlined above. I can't say that for sure. I do know that I promised my wife that I'd stick by her side, day in and day out, and make sure I had a best friend for life.

So far, it's worked. But you know what? I'm not going to assume I know what the future holds. As soon as you expect or plan for something to be there, you start taking it for granted. And once you do that, folks, you devalue it. Once it's devalued, what care do you take of it?

If my wife and I were ever in that situation, I don't know what I'd do. I'd probably argue both sides of the issue. On the one side, that child would contain the potential to pull us closer together than ever before, and more tightly knit the bonds of family around us and our children. Nothing strengthens like adversity.

On the other side, there's the argument that the child could continue to suffer, and cause us to suffer for days, weeks, months, even years - we'd know the outcome, but we'd know not when. Yes, that's life. "We know not the day, nor the hour…" But I'm not the one carrying the child. I'm not the one who is in the trenches, every day.

My wife already knows, and I've told her - if, at any time during pregnancy, labor, delivery, or after, I am asked to make a choice between her and her child, it is not a decision for me. I've talked to her about it, and now, especially with two children at home, it's no choice for me. I will not deprive the children I have of a loving mother when the only other choice is three kids, and no mommy. I can't do that to my kids. Either the born, or the unborn.

It's a very difficult and personal decision that we, and the government, are trying to involve themselves in. It's an intensely personal decision that women live with for years after the event. I know of no woman who's had this procedure and then said "oh well, that wasn't so bad." Knowing what we know, and with the raw mountains of informational facts out there, no one could walk into a doctor's office for an abortion and not have been confronted with this. It's a decision that no one takes lightly.

And it's not something we'll reach a conclusion on here, or in the legislative, or judicial, branch of our government. The executive branch of government has yet to have a fully qualified leader for this decision.

And so today is a conflicted day for me. On the one hand I remember the black fingers, the used-up nub of a black crayon coloring newsprint, and the firmness of my youthful conviction that "abortion is murder". I also feel the firmness of my older conclusions, formed in college and later, that abortion can, and must, remain legal, available, and protected.

But today, when they trot out the statistics of the number of infants killed, the number of mothers harmed, I know there's more than one side to the story. I know there's more than two, or three, or twenty, or two hundred million. It's an intensely personal decision, and I, for lack of a uterus, have to say that I can speak my mind, but old men in hidden in legislative chambers, wearing suits, robes, or what have you, should keep their noses out of it. We can't go through it except in "waiting room mode" - sure, we could be in the room if we chose to, but we can't lie on the table and experience the emotion, the physical sensations, and the raw, numbing agony that women who have this procedure go through. We will not spend the rest of our lives wincing when we hear children at play. It's difficult, certainly, for a father who wasn't, but it's not the same. It's just not the same at all.

We're going to need to think, and then make up our own minds. That's all anyone can do. I just hope that when you think, when you make up your mind, you rely on what you know, and not on what you're told. This issue is so emotional that there is little room for logical, reasonable discourse. And that's what's wrong with the whole issue today.

Well, today was fun. I woke up, looked at the clock, went into the bathroom, and then started getting ready for work. Then did a double-take. Yup, an hour late. Whoa, Nellie.

Amazingly, the kids got to school quite nearly on time, and I got to work only a little late. So did Ann. Missed quite a few other details, though.

And then, today, I was working on some research for a customer who was in a bit of a bind, and I discovered that Microsoft completely revamped portions of their web site, and this little gem appeared (updated 1-23-2001 - sorry I missed it -- jd). Most of the time, when it comes to a battle between the fanatics and the "reasonable people" I like to fall on the side of reason. But this whole page gives me the desire to thump Microsofties with very large mallets.

Other than that there's not much going on. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. The New President throwing his "mandate" around has gotten me into a bigger snit than I expected, I guess.

Though, for some small amount of humor, I'd like to remind you that I live with a lunatic. You just don't want to know what's going on when there's a four-year-old alone in the tub, giggling, then you hear a really loud, high-pitched "whoo-hooo" and another giggle. Oh, I forgot something - no bath toys. Nothing but a wash cloth, a kid, a tub of water, and some bottles of shampoo and cream rinse.

I admit, after early campaign pronouncements by Dubyah, I did tend to blow him off. That's why the proposal for the Office of Faith-Based Initiatives caught me so off guard this morning.

Oh, I'd heard something last week about something like it, and I think that I probably blew it off. "No one's that stupid. We've got a separation of Church and State in this country, right?" Seems I was a bit naive.

It looks like Dub and the Scrubs (sounds much better than Bush League 2, or ReBush) just aren't firing on all cylinders.

I will give him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to what he's trying to do. I really don't think he's an evil, or even a bad man. I think he's probably getting plenty of advice, and some of it he's taking, and some of it, well, he's just ignoring. But that's the option one has when one is president.

Am I comfortable with this idea? Hell no (yes, ma, I said "Hell"). Being someone who does have the habit of going to church and all, I think it's high time that we bring a little more morality to government.

But many many people confuse "morality" with "religion". Some of the most immoral acts have been done in the name of religion. Some of the most religious people I've ever met have been able to justify immoral activity on many grounds.

But that's not what has me worried. I'm worried that Dub and the Scrubs will push the whole religious issue, rather than look at what's really wrong here, and then, once this thing gets going, they'll point and scream "it's their fault!" when all they did was dump the programs on the churches. I hope they don't pull that sort of stunt.

Well, today was an exercise in frustration and experience (you remember, and can chant with me, right? "Experience is what you get when you wanted something else"). First of all, I realized on the way to work this morning that I forgot to link that little gem I referred to last night into my page... And so all day I sat there slapping my forehead and saying "stupid, stupid, stupid."

Then I struggled with Windows 2000. We had a bootable CD somewhere, but as is usual, no one knew exactly where. And it's not very easy to create a bootable CD when you're working with mismatched hardware that isn't quite what was shipped... But amazingly, the serial numbers Microsoft supplied us don't always work on all products - figures. So I decided to see if, somewhere out there on the big bad internet, someone posted the algorithm that Microsoft uses to make those 25-character authorization codes. No such luck in my 45 minute search, but I did find 39 different serial numbers. Including one kid's archive that I'm sure his parents and his ISP know nothing about. The thing's huge.

I finally delivered the PC to the fellow who's getting it, and I'm getting his old machine to become my "crash and burn" server for testing purposes.

Though while I was on lunch today, I did get a good laugh out of Mr. Thompson's post of today. After some back-channel chatter between myself, Bob Walder, and Bob Thompson regarding dogs and treachery, I had to laugh at Malcolm's antics.

Of course, shortly after that, I stopped by my site's server user forum, to see just what the heck's going on with all of the server outages. And man, I can tell you that this weekend (should Spaceports last that long), I'll be looking for a new server. I'm also going to discuss the financial arrangements with SWMBO and find out what's the absolutely cheapest I can get a domain registered. I've found $13.95, but that requires a contract of a year of hosting - no thank you. I've seen in the $50 for two years range, but we'll see what I can find tonight and tomorrow...

Spaceports is a pretty good bunch, but from what I'm seeing, ad-supported sites on the internet are not going to be around much longer. Spaceports fired off a couple of requirements for their web sites last week - ad banners have to be "above the fold" on all screens - screens defined as a window 400 pixels high - if the entire banner isn't above that 400-pixel border, you're hosed.

And then, if you don't have at least a .25% click-through rate, you're going to have to switch to VERY annoying pop-up ad boxes. I originally took Spaceport's Banner program on because I could get reimbursed for it. But... I can hear you saying "a twenty-five percent click-through rate is kinda, well, high." That's not twenty-five, that's one-twenty-fifth of one percent. Basically one click for every four hundred page views. Not much, but in December, I was in the .16% range... This month, so far, I'm at .39%, but that's going to require at least two people a day clicking through for the rest of the month.

And let's face it - if you're not interested in a home mortgage, UNICEF, or GivingWell.Org out of New York, there's precious little else you can click on. And I am most emphatically not asking you to click on the banner. Not at all. It's just not worth it. I'm going to find another home for this place that's stable, reliable, and usable.

And then hope that Tom's SasKat.net experiment goes well enough (whichever direction he takes it in) so that I can just point FrontPage at his server, my folder, and click on the little "publish" widget and have FP handle all the rest.

Oh, I know many will heap abuse on me for using the old Demon FrontPage, but as I've previously stated, I'm lazy. If I can find a tool that allows me to link and manage a site like this as easily as FrontPage does, I'm willing to look. I might not switch, but I'll certainly look. This is getting beyond annoying. Jon Hassell this week started down the same damned path I'm looking at. I've got a Pentium III, 550 Mhz, with 256 Megs RAM, 16 Gig hard drive - I've got bells and whistles hanging off this thing that I need - the old software to download the images off my Digital camera is from Kodak, a dead end product which does not work under Windows 2K or NT, or ME. So I've got to have something at home with a 9-pin serial port that runs Win95/98. I've got to have something RELIABLE I can boot and get onto the internet.

And of course, tonight my main machine decides to take a longer-than-usual dinner break. The last few times I've rebooted it, usually after some sort of problem, I get a warning that there's a problem in the Windows registry - as per the usual helpful Microsoft product, it offers to repair it for me - I say go ahead, and it reboots, repairs, and loads Win98... only to report an error in the registry. I tried everything I could think of to get it to behave, and no joy.

I finally got smart and shut down the Windows Registry checker on boot-up - THAT would hang Adaptec's DirectCD which I use (occasionally) to burn CDs in the external CD-RW drive. Never could get the damned internal HP drive to burn two in a row. Feh. So anyway, tonight of all nights, the damned thing decides to throw a new kink in the loop. Won't behave after I shut down the registry checker.

So this time I reboot into safe mode, logging it, and get a little further each time before it dies - FINALLY got it to boot all the way to the login, and it lets me log in. I check things out, it seems fine, and I reboot. But for going back to attempting to log me into an NT Domain (no such luck here yet, though the long-term goal is to get something running NT 4.0 with a lot of disk space as a server, once Santa brings me that fricking winning lottery ticket he promised me - then again, the smell of Wild Turkey on his breath was much stronger than the typical mixture of candy canes and reindeer feed), things have seemingly stabilized. Knock wood, and grab all the other talismans I can find.

Oh well, off for the rest of the wicked - or so I'm told. The eldest is nearly up to seventy boxes of cookies, which is pretty good since her initial goal is only fifty. This should be fun. G'nite.

We've got some trauma for the next few weeks here in Casa Dominik. Our Daycare is experiencing a great deal of turnover.

When Rhiannon was born, we'd already interviewed a couple of other daycare providers. We'd already decided on an in-home daycare provider we liked. She lived across the parking lot from us, had two of her own kids, and was very good with them. So we felt pretty comfortable in leaving Rhiannon with her.

And for three years it worked well. After two years, we'd decided we wanted a second child. We'd checked to make sure she had room, and what the rate would be, and ... Well, we got pregnant.

When we were six months into the pregnancy, we had a talk with our provider. Since her youngest would be entering first grade that fall, she was going to get out of the daycare business. Ouch.

Though it was good timing. Rhiannon was getting very bored with the routine there, and she needed more stimulus. So we decided that this was just about all the trauma we could handle, and went looking at centers. We made appointments and then Jack showed up on the day we were supposed to visit.

To make a long day shorter, we visited three - one snapped at Rhiannon (three at the time) when she started to sit down somewhere. Another wouldn't let us use their bathroom to change her, and did not want us to change her on the premises. The third...

Well, we walked in the door, and the director had been there since the place opened. Two of the teachers had been there a combined total of thirty-two years at that point. Others had been there five and six and seven years. They were very very responsive, informative, and did their best to make us comfortable.

But now, they're getting very close to 100% turnover. The only teacher still there from when we started is talking about retiring; the teacher who started with Rhiannon, and is presently with Jack, left today. Rhiannon's current teacher, the second most senior teacher, is also leaving. Both of them are going to a nearby daycare center connected to a casino, and they're getting $4 an hour more, at least, plus quite a few other benefits. You can't turn that down.

On the one hand, I keep thinking that they should pay those people more. They work a hell of a lot harder than I do for my money. On the other hand, if they pay their people more, I've got to pay more. Whoops, don't like that.

I guess this is another one of those "no easy answers" deals. Lovely. We'll watch and see, and check out some options. And see where we go from here.

But I'm going to have some pretty unhappy kids for the next couple of weeks while things are still in flux... Oh, this should be fun.

The pictures? Well, just in case "Grandpa Al" and "Grandma Donna" stop by, there's the Christmas presents. Cute kids - though the sweatshirts do help. Although I couldn't resist the pose to the left.

I'm running down, the further the week goes. And I keep telling myself it can't get any worse, and it does.

A friend of mine, father-in-law to my best friend, landed on his head last weekend, from the height of ten feet. Broke his left arm, and while he managed to come to briefly after the landing, he's been in an induced coma since. They tried to bring him out today, and things didn't go well. And they're also saying now that the part of his brain that was most heavily damaged was the part that controls the personality.

Then, on the other side, another friend who just lost his grandfather-in-law is now faced with his father, who's got arrythmia (sp?) where his heart's beating 260 beats a minute.

I should print this out, in large enough print to read, and paste it on the insides of some flip-down sunglasses. Then, when I'm walking around the track at the Y, and I start to bitch about the whole experience, I can remind myself that I'm exercising to make sure I'm around when I'm older...

And then, to top off a perfect evening, I open up the PC case to install my 45 gig drive, and the cheapskates who sold me this system didn't include a two-drive IDE cable. Just one connector. Figures.

And the financial wizard that runs the books around here has decreed "not right now" with the whole domain thing. Found Joker.com, which Bob Thompson recommends, which would, today, run me $45.12 for two years plus name server service (the reason I note today is they're in Europe, and they base their prices on Euros, which today was worth ninety-four cents). The Good Doctor Keyboard recommended Domains.Net (you can find the link on his site, I can't presently see straight), which would run $50, but looked a little easier to set up. However, I see that the first year of redirection is included, the second year is $29. When one wants to get approval from this bookkeeper, one had best make certain that one has covered all one's bases. She don't like "oh, by the way" things. The boss wouldn't have liked me trying to slip that one past. Hmmm... Decisions, decisions. Then I get an e-mail from a reader - Seems there are even more options out there... I've got to do some research.

Though NOW I know why I was having problems getting to Microsoft and Hotmail all day long...

I'm going to go to bed, and if I've got a few minutes before I pass out, I'll have some good thoughts for all of those who are suffering. And I'm pretty thankful I'm doing OK.

And this just in - there's a ... well, I'm not sure what the term is, but I suppose "accused individual" will work, who was arrested and fired for having several (I've heard several hundred, but we'll go with "several") CDs of Child Porn in his office. That's not the good news. The potentially good news is that this fellow looks a great deal like the police sketches released after Jacob Wetterling's abduction.

For those of you fortunate enough to be able to go "who?" - Jacob Wetterling was an eleven-year-old boy in 1989. His father's name and face were fairly well known to me, and many who traveled through St. Joseph, Minnesota, as he was the town's most famous chiropractor. His fifteen-foot-high face on the billboard was rather noticeable.

However, two days after wedding date minus one (this happened on 10-22-1989 - we got married on 10-20-90 so I could remember, she jokes - though I can also quote 9-5-1987 as our first meeting, 9-30-1988 as our first date, 2-15-1989 as my "inappropriate proposal" date, and 2-17-1989 as my "drop to the knee" proposal date - aren't I annoying?) Jacob was riding his bike with his brothers. It was a vastly different time, as St. Joe was a quiet, sleepy little town.

A few hours later we all changed greatly. Jacob was snatched from the side of the road, and this rocked my world. If it could happen in St. Joe, it could literally happen ANYWHERE.

The "accused individual" (must be careful not to really say what I think) who was arrested with the child porn looks disturbingly like those police sketches. While the police are claiming that there's no conclusive match yet, that's some hope for Patti Wetterling. Hope for closure, I think - I don't know that I'd want to contemplate what might have happened to that smiling eleven-year-old boy if he were still alive today. Anyway, Mrs. Wetterling's done a hell of a lot more than I ever could in the same shoes. She deserves some peace - just look at this. Please, let it be this guy, so she can finally have some peace. I won't sleep any better at night, or let my children run off like Jacob did - but I'd feel better knowing this animal - er, "accused individual" - was behind bars.

Once the local news organizations get on the stick and get some news posted about this individual, I'll link it in here.

Although if it is, I wish we'd managed to pass that death penalty bill sooner... But that's a matter for another day.

I keep hearing about a nursing shortage in the health care industry these days. It's easy to see why. Long hours, no decent pay, and the increasing likelihood of running into a little tin-pot dictator of an "administrator" who believes in paper over people.

While I was growing up, one of my aunts worked as the nursing supervisor for the St. Cloud hospital. She was the one we went to when we needed help with "what did he say" diagnoses. She put doctors to shame when it came to bedside manner. She was very much a concerned, caring nurse, and would take charge when we found our selves in any situation where the doctors overwhelmed our capacity for understanding. Typically, this wouldn't take too long as we were usually already overwhelmed by the events which brought us to the hospital and caused us to call her.

But my aunt was a very rare breed, I see that now. Then again, she wasn't unique. Thank God for that. While I'd had a long-winded discussion of the current energy crises all done, I took one look at this and said "screw it - read him instead." Al's description of The Dying Man's last hours both broke my heart and gave me hope.

Read it - You'll be better for it. This stuff will wait. When I go, I hope there's someone like Al there to take care of those I leave behind.

I spent the day struggling to get SQL server going on my laptop, and when that got too painful, I'd swap back to a Visio Enterprise (VE) drawing of the office. Although I was very pleasantly surprised in how the automatic discovery operations in VE work.

Basically, VE allows you to "poll" your network for devices and such and generates a list which you can then use to create your own network diagrams. No more guessing at what's out there, it supplies the list. I supplied an IP range (since I've got over 400 machines on the network total, plus others in subdomains I can't access around the globe), and that sped the process up greatly. I didn't have much time to go into it, but the Auto-Discovery tool uses both Netware Directory Services and Microsoft's slightly less mature (cough) Active Directory. Since we're not running Netware and only a few machines have gone to 2K yet, it wasn't all that informative, but it was close.

That, and some e-mails amongst daynoters took up the balance of the day for me. Though I'm beginning to believe my mother was a bit optimistic when she sad/bad news comes in threes...

Last weekend, we had the friend landing on his head. Last night, another friend's father with his heart running rather faster than normal. Today, as we contacted our apartment office to work out the details on moving into our new home, we find out that the message I'd left late last week wasn't passed on, and the place has been A) closed in, which we'd almost begged for, and B) spoken for by a new resident. Damn, spit, and etc. Granted, it's not life or death, but it's a rather large disappointment. I thought I was going to be the one dead, but I guess I got lucky.

So, we're stuck in our existing two-bedroom apartment (with the nice view of Buck Hill) for at least another 60 days, as that's the amount of notice we can give. Of course, since our notice is slightly longer (notice needs to be in the office by midnight at least 60 days prior to your moving out), and since most other places we've looked at have a 30-60 day notice period as well, we're basically and fundamentally hosed. Probably here another 6-14 months, or longer. Grrrrr...

I keep hoping that we'll manage to pull together all that we need in order to get a house in this market, and manage to do it. All in good time, all in good time. Good things come to those who wait. Patience shall be rewarded. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the strength to change the things I can, and the wisdom to bury the bodies where no one will find them... Whoops, wrong one. Oh well. <EG>

Though no matter how desperate I get, there's another career (Spammer and associated being the first) that I won't be going into - Constipated Scottish Jewel Thief just doesn't seem to be a good thing to have on one's resume, you know?

Rough week. Too many friends hospitalized. We need humor! Since I'm fresh out, we'll make do...

For $100 : How many super bowls have the Vikings won?
A. 1	B. 2	C. 0	D. 4	Answer :
:	:	:	:	:
For $200 : The Mississippi River starts at which lake?
a. Lake Superior	b. Lake Itasca	c. Mille Lacs	d. The General Mills Pond	Answer :
:	:	:	:	:
For $400 : "Choppers" are worn on which body part?
a. Hands	b. Feet	c. Head	d. Over da lower end of yer backside dere	Answer:

For $1,000 : Which city is furder up nort dere?
a. Ely	b. Dalute	c. St. Cloud	d. Waseca	Answer:
(hey dere, no lookin' in dat dere atlas or anyting)
:	:	:	:	:
For $2,000 : The State fish is?
a. Bass	b. Walleye	c. Carp	d. Eelpout	Answer:
Special Bonus: How many fish did dat last* governor (not dat wrasslin' fella, da udder one) catch on da openers?*

For $4,000 : St. Paul is smaller than which other city?
a. Rochester	b. Dalute	c. Minneapolis	d. Osseo	Answer:

For $8,000 : Lutefisk can be found where?
a. Mississippi River	b. Lake Superior	c. Mille Lacs Lake	d. The basement of any Lutheran Church	Answer:

For $16,000 : Which is considered a "State Holiday"?
a. St. Patrick's Day	b. Fishing Opener	c. Labor Day	d. Hopkins Raspberry Days	Answer:

For $32,000 : Ole and Sven are?
a. The Mayors of Bemidji and Elk River	b. The governor and lt. governor	c. The perpetual stereotypes of "Dumb Scandinavian" jokes	d. The former owners of the Vikings.	Answer:

For $64,000 : Which color becomes fashionable each Fall?
a. Brown	b. Teal	c. Blaze Orange	d. Gray	Answer:
:	:	:	:	:
For $125,000 : W-A-Y-Z-A-T-A is pronounced which way?
a. WAY-zat-A	b. why-ZET-a	c. way-ZOT-a	d. WHY-zate-a	Answer:
:	:	:	:	:
For $250,000 : How thick should the ice be before driving onto the lake?
a. ½ inch	b. 1 inch	c. 10 feet	d. 12 inches	Answer:
:	:	:	:	:
For $500,000 : Which star was not born in Minnesota?
a. Judy Garland	b. James Arness	c. Jessica Lange	d. Peewee Herman	Answer:
:	:	:	:	:
For the $1,000,000 : Who was the first governor of Minnesota?
a. Verne Gagne	b. Alexander Ramsey	c. Henry Sibley	d. Nick Bockwinkle	Answer:
:	:	:	:	:

Oh, all right, answers tomorrow. Maybe some day I'll remember how to do all that forms stuff... Been a few years.

Now Dan, you wondered if we could play the book game? You really don't want to know, do you? Knowing how I veer? Oh, all right...

English Grammar and Composition - the Complete Course
The Vang
Ghosts of the Mississippi River
URSHURAK
Why Hitler Came To Power
Aristotle - Selected Works
Strategic Investing
The Bible
Revolutionary Russia, 1917
One Minute Manager
Clan of the Cave Bear
The Encyclopedia of Creative Cooking
Constructing Pyramids
The Searching Mind (still in the college shrinkwrap, with $6.95 price tag, 15 years later)
Book of Lost Tales (Christopher Tolkein)
History of Our United States
Star Trek Encyclopedia
Introduction to Digital Basic
Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Series Mystery of the Dead Man's Riddle - a Three Investigators story
All The President's Ladies
Accounting, the Basis for Business Decisions
Drafting Essentials
The Assertive Woman
The Last of the Mohicans
Theatrical Lighting
Human Resource Management
The Essential Calvin and Hobbes
Conceptual Physics
Management Decisions & Organizational Policy
The Phantom Tollbooth
Amiga Systems Programmer's Guide

Now, you could argue that The Vang and URSHURAK are pretty close together - one's a science fiction title, the other's a fantasy title, and some might argue that the Book of Lost Tales is also fantasy, but it's bits and pieces of Tolkein's work. And there's the Intro to Digital Basic (from a VAX, no less - talk about heavy metal) and the Amiga Systems Programmer's Guide, which are computer related, programming books, but two VERY different platforms. And yes, there's a human resource management down the shelf from Management Decisions... Though anyone who's worked in management can tell you HRM is a whole different animule. And you'll note there aren't any of my old econ books in there, either. Admittedly, that's a shelf and a half, but no re-arranging involved.

Personally, I think my favorite is "The Searching Mind" - still in shrink wrap. I'm especially proud of that. I couldn't tell you what the book's about, I just like the fact that "The Searching Mind" is still shrink-wrapped.

And, before we roar off into the sunset, veering around, I'd like to take a moment here to clear up a little misunderstanding...

Some of you might have gotten the idea, perhaps from Bob Walder's site today, that I might find certain ... well, I suppose they eat them in England, so I've got to call them "foods", well, edible. While I feel a bit Nixonian ("I am not a gastronome!" - plenty of jowl shaking and "V-for-victory" signs) here, I'm fairly certain that I'd have run screaming from the table, there. No, I'm not afraid of blood - I had first-aid training, got the merit badges, though I'm no expert like some people. . . But Ye Gods, indeed.

Before I go into depth on that, however, remind me, when I'm lying on my deathbed, to thank those Founding Fathers of this country that I run into, assuming there is, of course, an afterlife. No matter if I go to Heaven or Hell, I know there will be a few of those gentlemen around. And I'd just like to thank them for founding this country, and freeing us from those wonderful people across the sea who seem to have some vampire-like tendencies.

What, you think I jest? I'm telling you, I might not ingest for some weeks after hearing of Bob's "delicious black pudding"... Good Lord, man, while we might eat the pig's ears, snouts, and feet, we don't deep-fry the blood into a "pudding". Ye Gods. Mental note - if I'm ever in england, make sure to eat at only American-founded chain restaurants. Blood pudding, my shiny red arse.

Of course, I'm certain someone will point out that my rather obvious partiality towards things like Hamburgers, Chicken, and various Americanized Chinese foods ("sushi? Around here we call that BAIT!" Terry Bradshaw - I know, Japanese, but I had to toss it in) have made me the man I am today. I guess their right. But jeez... Imagine, if you will, eating your lunch. Nice white-meat turkey sandwich on low-fat, high-fiber (or fibre, depending) bread, and then you read "congealed pig's blood in a length of intestine, sliced and gently fried (probably in more fat)". Thank GOD the trash can was nearby.

Oh well. Should I ever manage to make it over to Merrie Olde England (someday, I hope), I'm going to bring along all of the fixings they allow to be imported, and make Mr. Walder some decent Chili. Then I'll spice it up a little for my kids... Then a LOT for me ;-).

Although I note with some surprise that Bob is still clinging to the quaint English custom of "pints". Given my good stout German heritage, I would think that a real man like Mr. Walder would toss those dainty pints over the shoulder and happily grab onto a good liter-sized (litre-sized?) stein full of beer... Ah, but I forget, there's the right way, the wrong way, and the English way. And besides, Bob plays that "other football" thing.

Say Bob - after reading Lynne's post for today, am I confused, or do "calvins" mean what I think they mean? And if they do, whyinhell are you wearing them over your pants? Oh - wait, never mind. I get it. English custom. Good grief. No wonder they threw us out and gave us this country, we ungrateful heathens. ;-).

Okay, with that little grenade rolling down the stairwell (did I pull the pin? I keep forgetting), we'll start the usual veering around I do to catch up with all the fun stuff come Friday. And no, I'm not going to move it to Monday, that way NONE of you will get any work done during the week. - eh? What's that? You can still go back to last friday on Monday and find the fun stuff? Well, hadn't really considered that issue yet.... gulp.

Now, let's wind up with a few oddball links - Not that you hadn't heard this, but I never thought I'd see these two (A and B) right next to one another.

Subject: Embarassing Women Stories (These are good) (and don't worry, we'll do equal rights in a bit)...

Lady Golfer
"I was at the golf store comparing different kinds of golf balls. I was unhappy with the women's type I had been using. After browsing for several minutes, I was approached by one of the good-looking gentleman who works at the store. He asked if he could help me. Without thinking, I looked at him and said, "I think I like playing with men's balls."
C------ C---------, 31, Ferndale, MI

Dumbstruck
"I was standing at the checkout with my two-year-old son, and there was a heavy-set gal in line ahead of us. As the cashier scanned the lady's items, the bar-code reader gave off a continuous beeping sound. All of a sudden, my son said loudly, "Mommy, watch out! She's going to back up!" That was the only time in my life I wanted to crawl into a hole."
H----- B-----, 21, Hortonville, WI

Nuts about You
"My sister and I were at the mall and passed by a store that sold a variety of nuts. As we were looking at the display case, the boy behind the counter asked if we needed any help. I replied, No, I'm just looking at your nuts." My sister started to laugh hysterically, the boy grinned, and I turned beet-red and walked away. To this day, my sister has never let me forget.
F---- E----, 34, Ellerslie, MD

Strip Mall
My husband and I took our three kids out shoe shopping one day. We were going from store to store, and the kids were getting restless. At one crowded store, I was standing near a bench when my 3-year-old climbed up on it, grabbed hold of my elastic-waist shorts, and jumped off, pulling both my shorts and my underwear to the floor. I raced out of there, much to the delight of the appreciative onlookers.
P------ L-----, 35, Lathrop,CA

Curl Up and Die
"I walked into a hair salon with my husband and three kids in tow and asked loudly, "How much do you charge for a shampoo and a blow job?"
M--- L---, 39, Seguin, TX

Pad, please!
"An insurance man visited me at home to talk about our mortgage insurance. He was throwing a lot of facts and figures at me, and I wanted to follow as best I could, so I told my 6-year-old son to run and get me a pad. He came back and handed me a Kotex right in front of our guest."
K---- N----, 46,Winston-Salem, NC

Ho, Ho, Ho
"I was taking a shower when my 2-year-old son came into the bathroom and wrapped himself in toilet paper. Although he made a mess, he looked adorable, so I ran for my camera and took a few shots. They came out so well that I had copies made and included one with each of our Christmas cards. Days later, a relative called about the picture, laughing hysterically, and suggesting I take a closer look. Puzzled, I stared at the photo and was shocked to discover that in addition to my son, I had captured my reflection in the mirror - wearing nothing but a camera!"
Name Withheld

The following are the top winners of a Most Embarrassing Moments Contest in the "New Woman Magazine":

Na-na na-na na-nah!
"While in line at the bank one afternoon, my toddler decided to release some pent-up energy and ran amok. I was finally able to grab hold of her after receiving looks of disgust and annoyance from other patrons. I told her that if she did not start behaving "right now" she would be punished. To my horror, she looked me in the eye and said in a voice just as threatening, "If you don't let me go right now, I will tell Grandma that I saw you kissing Daddy's pee-pee last night!" The silence was deafening after this enlightening exchange. Even the tellers stopped what they were doing. I mustered up the last of my dignity and walked out of the bank with my daughter in tow. The last thing I heard when the door closed behind me were screams of laughter."
A--- R---; Stafford, Virginia

Priceless
"One of the funniest "most-embarrassing-moment" stories I've come upon in a long time was about a lady who picked up several items at a discount store. When she finally got up to the checker, she learned that one of her items had no price tag. Imagine her embarrassment when the checker got on the intercom and boomed out for all the store to hear, "PRICE CHECK ON LANE THIRTEEN, TAMPAX, SUPERSIZE." That was bad enough, but somebody at the rear of the store apparently misunderstood the word "Tampax" for"THUMBTACKS." In a business-like tone, a voice boomed back over the intercom. "DO YOU WANT THE KIND YOU PUSH IN WITH YOUR THUMB OR THE KIND YOU POUND IN WITH A HAMMER?"
R--- A---, Sweetwater, TX

Mom's Advice
A teacher noticed that a little boy at the back of the class was squirming around, scratching his crotch and not paying attention. She went back to find out what was going on. He was quite embarrassed and whispered that he had just recently been circumcised and he was quite itchy. The teacher told him to go down to the principal's office. He was to phone his mother and ask her what he should do about it. He did it and returned to his class. Suddenly, there was a commotion at the back of the room. She went back to investigate only to find him sitting at his desk with his penis hanging out. "I thought I told you to call your mom." she screamed. "I did," he said, "And she told me that if I could stick it out till noon, she'd come and pick me up from school."

Actually, that second-last one is similar to what happened to me when I was working at Shopko. It was a Friday night, and we got hit by a sudden rush pretty close to closing time. Now, when I was working at Shopko in the early-to-mid 1980s, Condoms were still something that were a bit, well, risque. And, in that nice, conservative St. Cloud, condoms were definitely a titillating purchase.

My friend Bill LeClair got pulled from Health and Beauty to the front registers to help out, and this young fellow came running in at five minutes to ten, ran to the front of the pharmacy, grabbed a box of condoms, and didn't look for a pricetag. He gets the condoms to the checkout, and, apparently deciding Bill looks like a sympathetic fellow, goes to his register (rather than one of the registers run by a woman), and puts the box on the counter.

Bill finds that the condoms don't have a price tag. In this pre-scanner time, we had to rely on a little price tag with a seven or eight digit "SKU" - Stock Keeping Unit, which would A) verify the price in the register if it was a sale item, B) track it in inventory, and C) just be another number to annoy people.

Bill called back to H&B. Instead of using the "approved" method of paging the department, asking the person to find another item of similar description on the shelf with a tag and call the register back with the number, Bill calls for a price check on "Trojan Condoms, Purple Box". I was on my way up front to drop off the stuff I'd found hanging around in my aisles that people had chosen not to purchase, and heard the H&B staffer call back up to Bill "What's the count on those?"

The H&B person called in the price over the phone, then Bill, ever the evil influence, turned to yell at the customer service desk "do we have an age limit for condoms?"

Hearing a negative, Bill turns back to the young fellow and says "paper or ... Oh, sorry, plastic. Here's the receipt - I'd throw that out when you get outside so your mom doesn't find it when you get the car back."

I can just imagine the young lady in the car when her fellow returned. "Didja get 'em?" "Yeah, but let's just go get pizza."

Important Tax Notice
To: All Male Employees
From: I.R.S Service Center
RE: Notice of increase in tax payments

The only thing the I.R.S. has not taxed yet is your penis. This is due to the fact that 40% of the time it is hanging around unemployed, 20% of the time it is pissed off, 39% of the time it is hard up, and 1% of the time it is in the hole. On top of that, it has 2 dependants and they are both nuts.

Effective January 1, 2001 your penis will be taxed according to size.
The categories are as follows:
10 - 12 inches Luxury Tax $150.00
8 - 10 Pole Tax $90.00
5 - 8 Privilege Tax $50.00
4 - 5 Nuisance Tax $13.00

All measurement will be done by yourself or your doctor. Also note that these records might be included in federal studies on general population statistics and health.
Males exceeding 12" must file under capital gains.
NOTE: Anyone under 4" is eligible for a refund.
PLEASE DO NOT ASK FOR AN EXTENSION! Sincerely,
Peter Checker
I.R.S

One night, George W. Bush was awakened by the ghost of George Washington, wandering through the bedroom. "George," asked George W., "what is the best thing I could do to help the country?"

"Set an honest and honorable example just as I did," advised the first president.

The next night, Thomas Jefferson's ghost moved about the dark bedroom. "Tom, what is the best thing I could do to help the country"? Bush asked.

"Cut taxes and reduce the size of government," suggested the third president.

Bush didn't sleep well and the next night another figure moved in the shadows. It was Abraham Lincoln's ghost. "Abe, what is the best thing I could do for the country?"

"Go to the theater," replied Abe.

On January 27, 1967, three astronauts, one a veteran of the Mercury and Gemini programs, the second American to fly in space, one a veteran of the Gemini program, and the first American to venture outside his capsule with only a suit protecting him from the vacuum of space, and the third, a "rookie" with far more training and experience than many of us even today in our highly specialized, highly trained occupations, sat in an Apollo capsule, practicing for their upcoming flight. Their countdown rehearsal was fraught with glitches, problems, and annoyances which led many involved to be frustrated at the problems they were encountering.

At 5:30 that evening, during a brief break in the rehearsal to resolve some communications glitches, there was a spark. In a pure oxygen environment, with plenty of plastics and other flammable materials in the capsule, that spark was deadly. In a few seconds which defined the space program's separation from "whew" to "oh no", that spark ignited a blowtorch flame which, regrettably, took about twelve seconds from inception to last transmission from the crew in the cabin.

It's especially sad when you realize that Virgil I. Grissom, Edward H. White, and Roger B. Chaffee, the three men who died in Apollo 1, did so nineteen years and one day before arguably the worst single accident in the history of manned space flight - the loss of the seven astronauts in the Challenger explosion of January 28th, 1986. In that disaster, it was suspected by some, and quite possibly expected by others, that problems would occur with the solid rocket boosters which lift the shuttle and provide a significant portion of the boost from the pad.

Solid rocket boosters are, in some ways, nasty rockets. Liquid-fuel rockets can be stopped when started, as in "whoops, that's not right" and the rocket shuts off - a valve stops the flow of fuel, and things stop. A solid rocket, on the other hand, is a bit (and only a wee bit) like an artillery shell. Once the rocket's ignited, it's ignited. It does not stop until it runs out of fuel. And it burns very, very hot and very, very strong. If part of that flame leaks out (as it did on Challenger), and starts spraying against the side of a huge metal tank, a metal tank full of fuel, you have a problem. A very big, short-lived problem.

Twelve seconds is a short time compared to the one hundred and fifty seconds the crew cabin from the Challenger took to fall from peak to the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. I cannot imagine anything more horrible than knowing, for two and a half minutes, that you will slam into the ground at terminal velocity, and die. Unless it's doing it in front of literally millions of children who were watching the first "Teacher in Space". Leaving those children with questions that are unanswerable even today.

Perhaps those disasters taught us that we're not ready for difficult challenges. Clearly, that's the direction NASA management has taken in the fifteen years since Challenger. Perhaps they taught us that brave people can be sacrificed on the altar of "scientific progress" and we'll all learn. That would be the bloodthirsty way out.

Or maybe, just maybe, one, or more, of those ten voices would come back and tell us "Keep reaching. Keep trying. The risks are great, but the rewards are ... unbelievable." Space is where our future lies. Earth has been our cradle, our playpen. Time to get out and see what else there is. Time to fly, to soar, to explore.

If NASA's not going to be a leader in this century's drive for space, then, just maybe, you can fill in for them. Here's why, and here's how.

Now that I've got my reflection out of the way for the day, does anyone else miss the OLD Computer Shopper Magazine? The old, eleven-by-fourteen format, over a thousand pages, 90% newsprint, and like the Sears Wish Book for computer geeks. Ah, the good old days. I used to get one of those and then shake out all of the subscription cards (my record was twenty-seven). No, I wouldn't throw them out - I'd tear them up into little bookmarks (typically about 32 per standard size subscription card - I told you I get weird some times). Then I'd mark all of the pages of things I wanted to go back and look at. Then I'd go back and review, and eliminate those with higher prices, and wheedle it down so that in about six months, after I'd gotten all through it, it was so completely out of date it was time to start all over.

And Dan? I forgot "The Beatles Abbey Road Official Recording Session Notes, 1962-1970" in there just next to the cookbook. It was backwards and wedged in there backwards holding the shelf above up... Oops.

I see Tom's coming back. Though when he said "balancing on balls" I didn't see each foot on one ball. I saw each foot on a stack of balls - one ball per foot just isn't enough for this master of balance and exploration. And I also note that Mr. Thompson seems as confused as I regarding Mr. Walder's fashion choices. It occurs to me that unless "Calvins" are socks or boots, he's got some serious explaining to do.

We're hoping for a nice lazy day, with some laundry thrown in later. And yes, it's beautiful, if a bit cold outside. I believe it was just Friday morning (wow, yesterday?) where I was brushing off a very fine snow, much like a dry sand, off my car... Call it a touch-up snowstorm; one that covers the black, gray, and brown snow and makes our landscape look white and clean again. Doesn't it?

You thought I forgot, didn't you... Oh, rather than leave you in suspense, here's the answers...

For $100 - The Vikings have won no Superbowls (though at least Ron Yary made it in the Hall of Fame). For $200, the Mississippi starts in Lake Itasca. For $400, choppers are over-mitts, typically waterproof, worn over regular mittens. For $1,000, Ely is the furthest north of the cities mentioned (even north of Duluth). For $2,000, the Minnesota State Fish is the Walleye. For the bonus, Gov. Arne Carlson was shut out for eight years running. For $4,000, St. Paul is actually the third-largest city in the state, behind both Minneapolis and Bloomington (which is a Minneapolis suburb, home to our airport AND the dreaded Maul of America). For $8,000, basically a "gimme", Lutefisk can be found at most Lutheran Church dinners. For $16,000, the Fishing Opener is a state-wide holiday (as it's a Saturday, duh), but the Friday before is known as "don't leave town if you don't have to". For $32,000, Ole and Sven (more commonly known as Sven and Ole), are in part a perpetual stereotype, and also a singing group. Who knew? For $64,000, each fall the Blaze Orange color becomes fashionable (note the picture in the upper-left). For $125,000, "why-ZET-ah" is how you pronounce "Wayzata" around here. For $250,000, the ice should be at least a foot thick. For $500,000, Peewee Herman was born in New York state. Judy Garland, James Arness, and Jessica Lange were all born here, and I think Mz. Lange is currently a part-time resident of Stillwater. And, for the top prize, Henry Hastings Sibley was the first governor of Minnesota, though Alexander Ramsey followed him.

And, quite honestly, I don't what's frightened me more this morning. Finding Lutefisk.com, OleAndSven.Com, or my son pointing at the television, at a concert film of Elvis Presley we were flipping past saying "he looks like Steve!"

LATER: GRRRRRRRRRR... I don't know what irritates me more. Deliberate idiocy or arrogance. The fine folks at CBS News </Sarcasm>, whom I've held in contempt ever since Danny "The Blunderboy" Rather went after George Bush The Elder when he was Veep, have struck again (oops, </SARCASM>). This time, on iWon, in a piece by Christopher Weber.

Weber, whom I know not from a potato, seems to have a similar IQ and work ethic. Weber says, and I quote;

The real tragedy of the disaster was the simplicity of the problem that caused it – and that it was avoidable. The explosion was traced to a faulty O-ring seal on the solid rocket booster. O-rings are simple synthetic rubber bands that are used in fuel line connections. Faulty rings caused tank seals to fail, creating a chain of events that eventually broke down the barriers between liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen that led to the blast.

Now, as noted above, I know nothing about Weber. However, as noted previously, the O-Rings were on the Solid Rocket Boosters - SRBs - the big candles alongside the tank. Perhaps I didn't make that completely clear. Solid Rocket Boosters. And to quote Weber; "broke down the barriers between liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen".

Perhaps Mr. Weber lacked access to a computer with internet access, so he couldn't check out this report. Since we're all busy people, this link, first paragraph should point out what Mr. Weber was incapable of learning. Sheesh. Idiots. The media today just isn't up to it these days. Not at all. Morons. Fools. Dolts.

Ah, yes. Super-blah. Er, SuperBowel. Er, Bowl. Yes. That stupid football game they play in January every year, and if you're a Vikings fan, well, let's just say we've had little enough to cheer. Go Ravens (their head coach used to be our offensive coordinator). Oh well. It's just a stupid game.... (sniff).

And I see Bob Walder's attempting to explain away his fashion faux-pas of the other day as a joke. Let me tell you something, my friend from across the pond, which you can take to the bank. WIVES DO NOT LIE. If Lynne said you had your "Calvins outside your pants" then you most certainly were showing your L&F's to all and sundry (L&F's = "I see London, I see France...").

But then Bob does the usual, and within a paragraph has me again on the floor, laughing so hard I've got tears coming out my ears. Reminds me of an actual experience...

Some years ago, prior to my marriage to She Who Must Be Obeyed (And Always Speaks Truth), I was at a nursing home, visiting her father. Her father's roommate, a man somewhat indifferent to the workings of the average hospital gown (fastens with ties in back, if you're inclined to fasten such), decided to go on an afternoon's constitutional. Hopped (well, creaked) out of bed, then proceeded down the hall, holding onto the back of a wheelchair.

Now this would be a perfectly normal sight in most nursing homes, except for two things. First of all, the fellow was not in the habit of wearing HIS "Calvins" and secondly, and more frighteningly, his gown had fallen to his wrists. To add to all of that pain, we were behind the fellow. As he shuffled out into the hallway.

Now, for those of you who are faint of heart or in any other way inclined to suffer at descriptions of rather horrible mental images, I recommend you skip to next week... Because if you don't, you're going to be looking for either sandpaper or brain draino.

If you're still here, you're sicker than I thought. Be that as it may, the old roommate was on his walk, and being a fellow of some six feet in height, was rather average in proportion, except for one... make that two things. And those two things were, I swear on the Bible, bumping his knees.

So, from our study of human anatomy, we know that the femur is one of the largest bones in the human body. It's also fairly long. And if you've got something that's normally much closer to home, as it were, and they're down one pant-leg, well, that's discomfort. However, I'm afraid it's much worse than that... If you've ever thought for a moment as you've used that built-in seat in the smallest room in your home, that's cold water down there. And it's not quite a femur-length away from you.

So you see, the mental image of Benson "chilling out" brought back all the old horrors again. And you people wonder why I wear my underpants two sizes too small, and on the inside of my clothes again. Good heavens. Just think of the lovely bass voice I'd have if I weren't clenching like this...

And, in a bit of a political rant, I note that Dub and the Scrubs are howling for the Tax Cut plan he ran on to be enacted. Wonderful thinking there, fella. If it was such a good plan, why weren't you elected with it? Really, now. I would LOVE a nice little boost to my income. However, having a boost to my income as a tradeoff of having to work until the day I die seems quite a bit short-sighted. Figuring that I'm going to be at the minimum retirement age in twenty-seven years, or 2028, and the Social Security System is expected to be servicing twice the number it is now, I think a tax cut now is, in a word, idiotic. Let's put the money aside for that time, instead of saying "oh, well, what the hell."

Seems to me that the fine "compassionate conservative" Dub wants to be is, he should be a bit conservative on the financial side, as well. Of course, knowing that, at worst, he's got eight years to worry about (one good thing about Dick Cheney as the Vice President - he certainly won't be running for President in eight years given the heart he's got), and after that, he's history, I suppose that's a good enough reason to party now.

Perhaps we were wrong to put in place the whole Presidential Term Limit thing. You've got term limits, and it's called "ELECTIONS".

Enough. I'm going to go Freezer-diving for some meats to thaw for dinner this week, and then see what we're doing for the rest of the day. More Y workouts, I'm thinking... ugh.

LATER: Oh, my. I think I've found the perfect time to work out... I was on the damned StarTrac machine when they announced Ray Charles would sing "America The Beautiful" and then some other fellow/group would do the National Anthem. And between the B-2 Spirit and the Thunderbirds, I ended up going seven minutes over my scheduled workout. Wow.

The weekly Diary of a PC Geek