DOAB Week of April 9th, 2001

Disclaimer
The opinions and such expressed below are my own opinions. Feel free to agree or disagree as you wish, and I might publish e-mails to me that I like, and ignore those I don't. If you'd rather I didn't, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. And Thank You for stopping.

I'm told that last night's severe thunderstorm and tornado watches eventually produced rain, and hail, here. I didn't hear it. Slept right through it. Then again, I went to bed about two hours after I'd intended, and was up about three hours after the children. Not quite a wash, but we'll get there. I'll probably get into a good rhythm about Saturday or so. Figures. Anyway...

Another week, another doctor's visit. Fortunately, this time it was to REMOVE stitches.

As we walked (yes, walked, it was only a block) down the street, I started thinking about Maquoketa. In some ways, it's a very, very sad town. Looking around, I estimate about half the population's over retirement age. Of the other half of the community, most grew up here and are caring for older parents in one fashion or another.

Very, very few people move into this town; that's pretty sad in many ways. I don't think it will ever completely disappear, but I think that the town will spend a long time shrinking.

Were the community leaders more far-sighted, they'd be looking at how to get a couple of high-bandwidth connections going to Chicago. If you look at any major map of the internet, Chicago's a major switchpoint. Run a few lines there, and if they succeed in bringing in the industries they need, look at bringing in another batch of lines from St. Louis or elsewhere for redundancy.

Well, that's the end of the Economic Development Tour of Maquoketa. Tonight, another dinner out. Last week, I mentioned that there are about five restaurants in town. I use that term because there are only about five real sit-down restaurants. There's the Flapjack on the west end of town, the Sunrise on the south side, there's the Hayes Cafe, another restaurant downtown, and of course, the high-end Depot restaurant (so named as it's in an old railway depot.

There's also a Subway, McDonalds, a Dairy Queen, and they don't count as "restaurants" because I'm not supposed to eat there. There are about six bars (including Obies, which has some pretty good, if nearly-terminally-greasy, tacos, and the Loft, which is my favorite bar in town, and has maybe the healthiest food - Bison Meat. There's also the Jack and Jill, which has a deli in it. That's what we've got, not counting the few that have snuck in and out of town since I started coming here thirteen years ago now.

But enough about that - tonight's dinner at the Sunrise will be the first time we've been back there in at least four years - I'll spare you the details on that. And the restaurant review should get SWMBO off my poor abused behind for a few hours, at least.

Green, and unflat. Unlike back home, where they've got plenty of dark water, and flat/level from flooding. Of course, we were moving at nearly 70 mph at the time. Uh, 55, as per the speed limit, officers. Sorry, my mistake. Bad angle on the dashboard, I guess.

Today, in the gray weather after the storms (we topped out at about 58, which still beats hell out of forties back home) we headed on over to Dyersville. If you've ever seen the movie "Field Of Dreams", Dyersville is where that baseball field is. If you haven't seen it, go rent it. It's a very, very good movie. Especially for sons and fathers. I saw it, not because it was interesting, but because it was filmed near my wife's hometown. Then I found many, many more reasons to watch it. But that's not where we went.

Anyway, one other claim to fame Dyersville has is the Ertl Toy and Model plant. Back, prior to NAFTA, Ertl manufactured and assembled metal farm toys and plastic models in their plant there. We toured it twice before the loss of the assembly operations to Mexico, and once since.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Ertl model name, if you've ever seen a Star Trek or Star Wars model, they came from AMT, which is Ertl's model-making group.

Now, just to really piss off a really large group of underpaid, underworked, and rather unintelligent attorneys, the fine folks at Paramount have apparently withdrawn the license that the AMT folks had to produce all of the Star Trek models. For many, many years, the only new Star Trek stuff coming out was from Ertl.

Of course, one must remember that Paramount's key goal in keeping the Star Trek universe alive is profit. They don't give a rats behind about quality work, good ideas and stories, and all the rest (witness the current petering-out of Voyager, one of the most poorly-executed great ideas ever, and the complete and total lack of syndicated availability of Deep Space Nine, which was an excellent series).

Stupid Dominik Factoid Number Three Hundred Seventy Four : Somewhere about eight or nine years ago, I met, through my sister, a couple of people forming a new Star Trek fan club called "Trekadence". The basic idea was to start a new, free-form club that was based on just enjoying Star Trek.

Basic club organization was to have club officer positions named after various key positions on a starship. One of the many positions was "Chief Engineer" which, rather than being responsible for setup and takedown for the meetings, was responsible for fundraising. Yeah, that was me. And, some years ago, that was how our club died.

Through one member, we'd met a fellow who knew someone who could get us into a deal - deal was that if you were a non-profit group or club, they'd use your name to telemarket coupon books to the region you operate in. Since we were working state-wide, mostly outstate, we were doing pretty good, we thought.

So anyway, this fellow came along and had this no-effort way for us to raise money for the group, and we had all these wonderful ideas for fundraisers which went out of our heads. When this fellow turned out to be 98% fraud, and so we ended up disbanding from simple disappointment, more than anything else. Some of us were attempting to put the brakes on this fellow; others were gung-ho to work with him. All of us had reservations, and none of us voiced them until it was past too late. And by then, when we came back to the rest of the gang and said "sorry, folks, we're hosed" the six or seven people left said "that's fine. Wake me up when it's over."

Anyway, we got to Dyersville, because Ertl's got a factory outlet store. We ended up getting two Star Wars models (the only Star Trek models they had left were the Klingon Bird Of Prey models I've got a half-dozen of - one I'd even done up in Kronos Orange and given to the owner of a couple companies ago, sort of as a laugh - the Klingon home planet's name, as revealed in Star Trek VI, was Kronos, as pronounced - Quo'nos, as shown on-screen, if I remember right. Anyway, no great deals on Star Trek Enterprise Es with fiber optic kits (I once saw an Enterprise D with fiber-optics there for about $9. Didn't get it then, kicking myself now).

Anyway, there for shopping, McDonalds (they have a play-land) for a late lunch, and that's been today. Of course, I've got to put in pictures - though she's got more... Oh well, just two.

For the rest of this week we're still looking at a trip to the park, possibly a trip to the House On The Rock, and maybe even the holy grail itself, Spring Green, where I can see Frank Lloyd Wright's Talesin. Long, very sad story. More on that tomorrow, maybe. We'll see how it goes. If need be, I'll bring the laptop - I want LOTS of pictures.

And, I see, as I scan through other sites this week, that Mr. Lemmings has joined us in the Daynoter ranks. For all those following me in the T.O., I'd just like to point out that there's absolutely no truth whatsoever to the persistent rumors occurring here and there regarding my internal combustion status and various noxious anomalies which reportedly are taking place near me. I'm certain it's all a vicious rumor. A vicious, persistent, nasty, foul rumor.

Welcome, Mr. Lemmings, and be warned. The initiation rituals are mostly harmless. Slightly painful, and only a few scars are permanent. Anyway.

Be that as it may, open flames behind me are probably a bad idea until we determine what's causing this impolite problem. For those of you eating your breakfast and reading these sites (as I usually do), I most heartily apologize. If you've passed Alphabits or other cereal through your nose, I do feel most sorry for that - of course, down here, in the breakfast food aisle, one of the first things I found in the aisle was "Quaker Instant Grits".

Right. And from Nepal, the Sherpas are saying "fourteen thousand measly feet? Yeah, right." Though from the itinerary you quote, it sounds like you were doing Chicago-to-Denver, which would be I-80, south of here, and yeah, it's flat-boring. Definitely.

I've been to Denver. I actually also went into the Canadian Rockies when I was a kid (Jasper National Park in Alberta - screw Banff - when I want beautiful scenery, I'm going back to Jasper. That's what I think of when I think beautiful). Them's mountains, no doubt about it. I like 'em, and would trade you just about anything to have them here.

But what you need to know, Ken, is that we had a hill warning in my area when I was growing up. This "knob" on the landscape measured a whopping thirty feet (not quite ten meters) from surrounding "level" to "peak". Compared to a sliding hill with a six foot drop in fifty feet of run, what we have here is "unflat".

Ah well. Time to shut up and post this nonsense and get to bed at a decent hour tonight. Don't know what's on tap for tomorrow other than the Olive Garden for Grandma's birthday dinner, and maybe a trip to the local bakery - they made our wedding cake, and despite the ownership change, it's still good stuff. A bit fattening, though. Oh well. Vacation, right?

Believe it or not, I'm not a big fan of big government. I think the government should stick to doing the things it needs to do, such as military, police, fire, and road maintenance, and not impose the will or belief-system of one group onto any other single group. It's not too fine a line. I'm most definitely not in favor of plans like back home, where a suburban guvimint is in the process of a big land grab for a local large company (Best Buy). They've outgrown their corporate headquarters in the building of the damned (a story for later) and are looking to move from Eden Prairie to Richfield.

So local gummint officials get together, and legitimize the land grab by the simple expedient of condemning large areas - couple of blocks - homes that have been recently remodeled, older homes that are perfectly good, and, all in all, destroying neighborhoods and the like. Why in hell would you want to work to build a decent neighborhood only to have it ripped up and destroyed by such underhanded tactics? The day we left a group of individuals affected by these tactics took the city to court, as the officials had ignored two different petitions to place the matter on a ballot for all citizens to vote on. Seems to me that if they'd do it in one neighborhood, they'd do it in another. No one's home is safe, under those folks.

So what does that have to do with Iowa? Well, wandering around this town, I can see huge amounts of potential. No power problems (sorry, California folks), plenty of land, big houses (a three-bedroom house on a decent lot in city limits might just crack $100,000 - up in the Twin Cities, we're well into the $200,000 range), and quite a bit of people looking to work.

Some years back, an outfit called "APAC" moved into the old Penneys(?) building and started telemarketing from there. Plenty of people to do the jobs. Plenty of smart folks, too.

There are some industries on the east end of town that are doing well. Quite a few businesses which are going concerns around here. But there could be so much more.

This area's only 30 minutes from Dubuque, and about 45 from the Quad Cities (Davenport, Moline, Bettendorf, and East Moline). The QC area's got an airport, as does Dubuque. There's a major freeway now running between the two, and Maquoketa's right on the way through (Maquoketa is pronounced "ma-COKE-etta"). There are quite a few smaller towns in the area as well, Maquoketa isn't the only one, and plenty of them with underemployed people.

The major thing, I think, that draws me to Maquoketa is the lifestyle. Yeah, it's Iowa, and for every Iowa joke you can tell, I can fire back with three - did it in high school, been doing it ever since. But it's also a small community. And that's the key thing.

Community doesn't mean a collection of people and houses. It means a group of people who watch out for one another. People who will keep an eye on the other's kids, and when they see those neighbor kids sitting in front of the local grocery store stuffing themselves with candy and crap at 3:30 pm, they'll say "your mother's not going to be happy."

Snoopy, you'll say. Certainly, say I. Much as I dislike Hillary, she does have a point - it does, or should, take a village to raise a child. Children will, eventually, grow to question their parents. It's a right of passage, a growing up of sorts. But when they look around and see others, people just like mom and dad, and they believe the same things, do the same things, follow the same rules, and all the rest of the town does, as well, they have a solid foundation. Sure - the kids will eventually question that community too. But they'll have a solid foundation for future growth, and they will know, somewhere, who they are and what they believe in. If they choose to question that, fine - but it's their choice.

But when I look around, I see a bit of a throwback. Maquoketa's like that community I'd like to be part of - but it's also got plenty of drawbacks. The most economically depressed area in Iowa, for one. Groceries are in some cases more expensive, in come cases less. Prepared foods - crackers, cool whip, things like that cost more. Fresh goods, particularly meats, cheeses, and notably milk - lots cheaper. We pay about $2.75 for a gallon of milk back home and it's a good deal. Here, we're seeing $1.75. I like those prices.

The key problem is that the economic benefit for my family isn't there yet. That's where the local leadership needs to get off their duffs and get moving. I don't understand economic incentives and policies and such, but it seems to me that working to get some sort of high-bandwidth connectivity to a place like this would be step one. There are plenty of colleges in the area or within a couple of hours. University of Northern Iowa, Iowa State, plus everything in Chicago, all within three hours of right here. Should be an easy sell. Then again, I'm likely oversimplifying.

If I moved here, I'd be working two or three jobs to make what I am back home. While I'm not opposed to hard work, I'd also like to be around for my family. If that ever changes down here, I'd definitely consider a move.

On the left (or top) above you will see the fruits of our trip to Dyersville, and 30 minutes of effort on my part. And about 12 hours of effort on Jack's part. Fortunately, the thing was $3.20 (marked down from $16.99 originally - see why I love that outlet store?) and mostly metal. So it was a fair price.

And on the right (or below), "Scar". My first Heinlein moment of the vacation. We went into the doctor's office yesterday and met the Nurse who was setting up Jack's folder for the practice here. And she asked Jack's name. Thinking to be funny, she said "Oh, Scar." The woman started writing "Scar" in Jack's chart. So then we had to explain his name was Jack. But not really Jack. His name's John, but we call him Jack... I think the woman was happy to be done with us.

Later: Let this be a lesson to you. When things feel like they're finally going good, look over your shoulder. Lots.

To maintain the proper narrative style, I'll hit the high points. After getting out of here and off to the downtown area for books and the bakery and the park, we made it back home to clean up and go out for dinner for Grandma's birthday.

Off to the Olive Garden, which Grandma had been to last year and enjoyed. Dinner there, and a good time was had by all. We had plenty of food, and I, for once, ate sensibly; only ordered the Cheese Ravioli, which beat hell out of Chef Boy-Are-Dee. Had dessert (chocolate lasagne, which was not lo-cal, but split with my lovely bride, which was smart), and headed back home.

And, there we were, slightly past the half-way point when the engine revved, the speed dropped off, and we started to coast. And coast. And coast. Half a mile short of the Otter Creek Station Texaco gas station, and we coasted into the parking lot. I had to push it all of about half a parking lot. Couldn't get the car started again, the interior lights dimmed, but no weird smells, no unusual sounds, no stinking puddles. In other words, no obvious clues to what the hell stopped the vehicle.

So we popped into the station, called Mr. Rescue, which might turn out to be helpful, we just don't know yet - more tomorrow. Called back to Grandma's (we took two cars), and the fine young man that is my son is, he managed to talk Sharon into staying for coffee - Sharon came back to pick us up in Grandma's car.

And so we sit here tonight worrying about A) getting the vehicle back to Maquoketa, B) getting it fixed within our budget (hopefully it's just a belt or something), and C) recovering the feeling of peace and security with this vehicle. None of it's fun.

I know when I was a kid, I hoped that my life would resemble some great work of literature. You know, some great novel, biography, or have some heroic periods where I could be the well-regarded and well-respected lead character.

I've come to the conclusion that the only form of literature (if one can bend the definition to call it that) my life will resemble, if written, is a comic book. So, without art skills, I'll have to leave you with "word pictures" to give you an idea of what we've been through.

First, to set the scene; the expected weather for last night was rain, lots of rain, roughly three inches or more. Potential for hail, strong, straight-line winds, and the ever-popular lightening strikes. And we left our vehicle on high ground, with no protection, on the south side of a gas station's main building.

And last night we called the fine folks at Mr. Rescue, which is towing and road-side repair service we've had on our cell phones as long as we've had cell phones. I think it's something like $3 per month. They were unable to find a towing affiliate (admittedly, at 9:00 pm on a stormy Tuesday night I'd be less inclined to answer the phone that meant I'd have to go tow a car - that's why I work with computers. Very few of those get stuck in the ditch at 3 am in a snowstorm) in the 50 minutes we gave them before the gas station closed.

So, after waking up at 4 am and staying awake until about 5:30 worrying, I got up at 8 and called Mr. Rescue again. This time I spoke to Bridgette, who was very very upset that no one had called back last night (Admittedly, I did mention that my wife, daughter, and I were in the vehicle, and we'd called last night, and it wasn't until a few minutes later that I mentioned we'd gotten a ride back to town - so she was indignant on our behalf). She told me that perhaps the best bet would be for me to find a local towing company, and she would then call them and make the arrangements to pay the towing.

Called my mother-in-law's recommended towing and repair place, and they were booked through the weekend. They recommended another outfit, which we called. They said they'd be quite happy to tow the vehicle and take a look at it.

I stopped out there and dropped off the keys, and talked to the fellows there. Told them the symptoms. Got back and Ann was up, and mentioned her two thoughts, that it might be the car's out of gas or the fuel pump. Yeah, right, I said.

At 4:00, not hearing from the fellows working on the vehicle, we gave them a call. Forthwith, I present you with the entire conversation.

John: Hi, my name's John Dominik. You folks were working on my car?
Mechanic: Oh yeah? Come get it.
John: Wow, it's done?
Mech: Yeah. All ready.
John: Uh, how much, er, uh do you know what was wrong?
Mech: Just a second. <YELLS> <MORE YELLING>
John: (to those listening on his end) It's done!
Mech: Runs fine when it's got gas in it!
John: Oh, jeez. Thanks.
Mech: (laughter - lots and lots of laughter) You bet!

'Nuff about that. Tomorrow, we'll probably do the St. Donatus run... More on that as it happens.

Although, I need to remember that, starting at 8:25 this evening I tried to get connected to Willinet. Here it is 9:45 and I'm connected. If this is how the other half lives, thank GOD for Goldengate.

And Finally: Here I am in Iowa, cut off from the Daynotes Backchannel resources I normally have at home, and I'm piecing together the disparate pieces of what appears to have started as an elbow-in-the-ribs fact-checking e-mail from Bob Thompson to Dr. Keyboard, and apparently escalated into an all-out flame war.

Not knowing who said what to whom, but knowing full well that Tom would not shut down this valuable resource without serious concerns for it, I'd like, if I might, to lecture my fellow Daynoters for a paragraph of advice. I don't do this often, because I'm not one to pretend I've got all the answers. But this time, here's some free advice that anyone can use.

When you get good and pissed off, go ahead and write that e-mail. For God's sake, don't use Chat, just write the e-mail. Get good and mad, and get it all out on that screen. Flame away, really tell them what you think of them. Then go ahead, send it. To yourself. Then log off and go away for a while. Sleep on the damned message. Get up the next morning. Have a cup of coffee. Look out the window. Listen to the birds. Have some happy thoughts. Then re-read, without anger, your e-mail from yesterday. Think about the implications. Think about what you said, and how, without visual or auditory clues, without any sort of non-internet stimulus, the potential recipient will feel when they get your words in their in-box.

If you're willing to be known, forever and ever after, as the person who sent that message, who stands by what you said, and have all the world know it, then go ahead and send that message. If, on the other hand, you'd be embarrassed to have your mother find out what you wrote, delete it. Write a polite message saying "I'm sorry, but I respectfully disagree". Go ahead and send the second one.

We're all adults. Or at least we play them in our day jobs. Reason and logic have their place, as does emotion and outburst; it's important to remember that you are known by what you write, what you say, and in the coming years, that's how you'll be measured. If you're proud of it, fine. If not, revise.

Now, I'm off to bed. Before I say something intemperate to my mother-in-law for eating all of my low-fat wheat thins. It's the little things, I tell you. The little things.

This will be long. Skip on down to the Vacation parts below (click on the words, it'll take you there) if you'd rather not.

Just about the first vice I had as a child was reading. I say "just about" because I'm sure my mother could enumerate my many faults, and pick six or seven that pre-dated that. But we'll start with that one (and no, you don't get to know the full list until you've paid full admission - I'm still trying, unsuccessfully for the most part, to hide some from my wife).

I read many, many things. All sorts of books. History, biography, and other interesting stories. Until I found Tolkein. I was in fifth grade, and this boxed set of books was always, always empty. So I put my name on the list. In those days, finding such a set of books in a Catholic, or any, school library was unremarkable. Today, parent committees who wield censorship in the name of protection cause me to start raging with frustration. But back then, I gladly put my name on the list to get the books when they came through. It took nearly three months. And when you're a kid, that's something slightly longer than "forever".

Eventually, my turn came. I read of hobbits, elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards, and so very much more. And was hooked. I started reading fantasy and then, found books about rocket ships, and went down that road, as well.

I wrote small, stupid, ripoff short stories that weren't very good. I found Dungeons and Dragons back in 1977, and started working with the AD&D rules as soon as they were out. I became a "dungeonmaster" because of my desire to create - and what could be more fulfilling than an entire world, populated with fantastic monsters, heroic characters (who don't misread a gas gauge), and massive, massive amounts of wealth? Very little, at least for a twelve-to-twenty year old. One without significant female entanglements, mind you. Don't know if one led to the other or not. But that's another tale.

Then college intervened, and I found, at about the same time, Robert Heinlein and Jerry Pournelle. Dr. Pournelle grabbed me and fascinated me in the pages of Byte. I subscribed to that magazine so I could read Dr. Pournelle's continuing computing exploits; I bought out the bookstore's complete stock of Heinlein fiction, and ordered plenty more, until I had nearly everything he wrote. I kept reading. They led me to other writers, other avenues, other directions.

I kept reading, but lost touch with Dr. Pournelle. It was in those early work days when you make the decision between food and lights - no money for silly things like magazine subscriptions - if you're lucky, you can go read it in the library. If you find the time, etc.

Then, Robert Heinlein died. In a very sick way, about 1/1000 of 1% of me said "oh, good - now I can COMPLETE the damned collection." I was very sad, however. Sad partially for those who knew him personally and would miss him, and sad for the millions of us who had lost his new stories and future explorations.

Shortly thereafter, whilst browsing on the internet, I found Dr. Pournelle again. And I sent him an e-mail, in which I thanked him for the hours of enjoyment I'd gotten from his books, and wanted him to know - I hadn't taken the time to thank Mr. Heinlein, and I wanted to thank Dr. Pournelle.

To my very, very great surprise, Dr. Pournelle wrote back and we exchanged a couple of e-mails. I learned that he, too, was saddened by Heinlein's passage, as he was a personal friend. I filed those away and saved them - then the hard drive crashed without a backup. Yeah, I know.

I lost track, again, for a few months, and discovered, quite by accident, that Dr. Pournelle had a web site; and that web site was newly updated with his frustrations at not knowing whether or not the magazine he'd written for was still in business. Byte folded, but Dr. Pournelle kept on.

In scouring his site, I found this page. And, as I said elsewhere, the dream of being a writer came back. When it did, I started noodling around the edges.

At the same time, I found, through regular reading of Dr. Pournelle, that there was another fellow. Bob Thompson. A very, very smart fellow. Started hitting his site daily as well. Through him, I found Tom Syroid. And the rest of the Daynoters. And then, through sheer boredom one day, I found Dr. Keyboard.

Now, another one of my vices was a pathological distaste for things French. Call me a xenophobe, if you will, but there I was, in some ignorance. Of course, some of it comes, probably, from the fact that the few people of distantly French extraction I've had the misfortune to know have been hairy, smug, superior, and very, very annoying. Though one became one of my best friends. And I suppose I should confess that somewhere in my family tree is Nicholas Appert, the fellow who helped Napoleon feed his many minions through the invention of the tin can.

Now here was this Englishman, living in the south of France, and making it sound so wonderful. And, I reasoned, if he could do that, well, they might not be so bad. Further, not having the slightest clue who Dr. Keyboard actually was, or in what regard he was held over in England/Europe, I figured "hell, if he can do it, I should try."

I doubt he knows it, but he was the one who pushed me over the edge to doing this sort of thing. I started reading more than just the top of the list, and enjoying many of the other daynoters. And as I did, I learned more and more about their personalities. Bob Thompson was very, very smart about many topics. Tom Syroid was just as smart, but if faced with two choices - building a bridge to go over a river or wading across, Tom would take the time to engineer the span so it would stand for the next 100 years. Me? Hell, build a raft or wade, the orcs are right behind, and they're STILL PISSED. I could go on and on, but I'd risk offending the other smart people who are members of the Daynoters group. The others developed their own personalities, and I enjoyed seeing those interactions they had.

And this tied into the project I had at the time at work; building an intranet. I was told I needed to be more forthcoming with my technical knowledge (being the PC-propeller-head in the company of two Mac people - one a reasonable and intelligent fellow, and the other a pathological Jihadnik who just didn't believe that other computers would have any advantages whatsoever in any way over his beloved Macintosh systems), but at the same time I didn't need to waste their time with that knowledge.

So I started a daynotes-type journal on our intranet. Back on May 5, 2000, was the very first entry. And kept it up. I kept writing. I used it mostly as a "moving traffic violation" - who did what to whom. Worked well. Until I was laid off.

At that time, I decided I needed to keep this habit up and signed up for a free site on Tripod. Did some work back and forth on it, and discovered that Tripod wasn't designed for people who update their sites daily. After about four or five weeks, I moved to Spaceports. I had decided to write for about six months or so and then send an e-mail to Tom Syroid and find out just what was involved in "becoming a daynoter".

Shortly after that, Chris Ward-Johnson, he of Dr. Keyboard fame, was searching for links to the Dr. Keyboard site. Not ego-surfing, but doing some research, I'd guess, prior to cutting the keylines tying him to the various paper "papers" he worked for. And, in one fell swoop, before I'd even had a chance to respond to the first e-mail from them, I'd been made a member of the Daynoters.

It was then that I discovered that there were more than the public faces to each of them. Tom, for example, was very sparse with his back-channel chatter, but would be very, very on point when he did deliver. JHR's public personna of a grumpy old man was to hide the heart of a marshmallow; a kind and caring man who had a great deal of respect for you no matter how stupid you sounded. Dan Bowman's brevity on his site hid a most caring heart, despite the fact he'd ridden ambulances for more years than I'd worked with computers - well, maybe not quite that many, but close. Bob Walder was a riot one minute, serious the next, and always entertaining. Phil Hough was one of those people whom you hope to meet before they grow too old to remember the wisdom they've learned. I still refuse to believe he's younger than me; I think his web cam's got a "stunt face" for his real side. Bob Thompson? Duck - just duck. After one of my first post as a daynoter rashly called Frank Lloyd Wright possibly the greatest architect ever, Thompson pointed out Neutra, and there I was, pants around my ankles, learning that not only does the man know Computers, Tennis, Firearms, Architecture, Canine Psychology, Karate, and about a hundred other subjects, he shouldn't be allowed to cook for himself, as he is, for certain, a less-capable cook than I am.

And Chris? Reminded me of an English me, but with more brains, fewer kids, and more computers. Yeah, I was jealous.

And that meant so very much to me. When Ann went into the hospital with Pancreatitis (possible, we still don't know for sure), Dan Seto, Dan Bowman, and John Ricketson jumped on e-mail to let me know they were thinking of me, and sent me a few links to check out. When I was dangling at the end of my severance package and looking for work most desperately, John Doucette and Bob Walder, among many others, encouraged me with pointers that helped immensely.

Then, a few weeks ago, I went and said nasty things about Linux. Shortly thereafter, I got linked to by Mr. Syroid. And then the fun started.

One of the very first e-mails I'd received was from Roland Dobbins. Dobbins, who had been mentioned on Dr. Pournelle's, Tom Syroid's, and other's sites, had said some rather harsh things about me, to me. But he'd also made some telling technical points. Since this was either the first or second e-mail I'd received about the issue, I was still in the proper frame of mind to read it critically, ignore the personal criticism, and handle the technical details. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but that's water under the bridge. As the trickle grew to a flood (over eighty one day, and I think close to two hundred total; I stopped counting after a while), I still pondered Roland's comments.

As I committed to another, far more serious exploration of a far more mature operating system, Roland offered to help. His input was concise, and intelligent, and as our exchanges grew, I felt that it might be valuable to the rest of the daynoters to include Roland in some of our back-channel discussions. So I proposed as much to Tom Syroid and Brian Bilbrey. Then, I went on vacation. Once again, I misjudged an individual; usually it's in small ways, but in this particular case, I'm disgusted with myself for opening the door for the bull.

The events of the last few days have left a growing, burning pit in my stomach. As I'm in Iowa, I haven't got access to my main e-mail address - thus, no access to the back-channel. But I was piecing together the story from what I know of our little family and what I could read from the sites of others. And, plainly, someone new had peed in the punch. When I believe Bob Thompson mentioned it was a back-channel only member, the burning got worse. And I went to bed. To lay there and run this situation over and over and over in my mind, hoping that it wasn't going to turn out as I'd feared. Ann, meanwhile, continued to surf, and found Bob Walder's post, where he brought forth the guilty.

In a very, very small way, I feel responsible for getting Roland into the back-channel, where, like an angry bull in a large china shop, disaster was just seconds away. But what he said, and to whom he said it, is all his own work, and I, for one, have lost a great deal of respect for the man. He might be technically able, but I wouldn't be comfortable working with the man in the future. Lacking such a control over his emotions frightens me. Perhaps it's a personality flaw, perhaps it's a choice on his part. Either way, it's his fault, and no one else's.

With all of the other problems we've got going in the world today, irrational, unbalanced, personal attacks on someone's position, especially when you know neither the climate, the mode of discussion, or the start of the issue; it's not irresponsible, it's stupid. Yes, plain old unadulterated stupid. If that's a personal attack or not on my part, it's the truth. Just stupid. Being an expert on the field of stupidity (after all, I are one), I can spot 'em when I sees 'em doin' it, I think I'm qualified to judge. And Roland, I expected so much better from you.

As I don't have any of your current e-mail addresses here on vacation, Mr. Dobbins, consider this an open letter - a very open letter - to you, should you have the courage to continue to read those you've offended. You once told me to take less time with this journal and spend a little more time working with Linux - I'd like to extend to you similar advice. Spend less time working with your computers, and a little more in human interaction. Learn how to interact with people, and do it respectfully, without the personal attacks, and you may well go far. You seem like a smart guy, with plenty of technical knowledge, and ideas, that might be beneficial to others.

Fail to learn this, and I can assure you that you will, at some point quite soon, peak in your current or chosen career, and never move beyond that position. You may already have done so, in fact. You'll lack the respect of your co-workers, have few friends to interact with or to enjoy the company of in your old age, and find yourself on the outside looking in. And that's just plain sad. But sometimes that happens with people who rate technical knowledge higher than interpersonal interaction. I used to think that my college requiring a class called "interpersonal communications" for freshmen was stupid. Apparently I did learn something from it after all, and Roland, I think you could, and need, to do the same.

If that doesn't help, I'd offer to smack you around at ten paces with shovels or something. I, a middle-aged man, and you, I presume a young feller with pasty complexion from plenty of time in front of a keyboard, we'd make an even match. What you did was ... well, even with a large vocabulary (yes, I'm compensating), I lack the words to completely describe my outrage at what you did. I'm stunned, and I'm disgusted. The fact you did it to someone I consider a friend is, well... Let's just say that I'm not the most rational when it comes to my friends and their well-being. As Chris is on the other side of the ocean, I'll offer to stand in for him, any place, any time. Chris deserved better. I don't need your help with Linux that badly. We'll leave it at that.

Roland, it seems to me you've got a great deal of anger in you, and when you're confronted with those who do not believe as your knowledge dictates they do, you feel the need to attack. Lacking solid technical foundations for an argument, you drop into personal attacks. You need to work on that. A lot. End of open letter.

The main fact of the matter is that we somehow let a bull into the china shop, and here we sit, co-owners of some formerly expensive and beautiful clay, now mostly useless, looking around, afraid to look at each other because we're ashamed of what's happened. I'm disgusted with the whole stupid situation. It shouldn't have happened, and yet it did. When my car broke down, it was a case of some bucks making things right. With broken friendships, of such a tenuous nature, I despair of recovering the level of discourse which we had.

I was proud to be a daynoter. Proud to read Matt Beland's Open Letter, ashamed to read of Roland's actions. Embarrassed to have to resort to airing our dirty laundry in public, and regretful that I wasn't able to add some weight (of which I've got plenty; I'd be happy to donate should anyone look to move up a weight class or six) to Dr. K's defense.

In the end, I think it important to note that, like Camelot, things rise and fall. If this is the fall of the Daynotes group, I'll maintain a number of friendships I've started, and maintain my reading habits. I will, regrettably, ignore some. Especially those that lack the maturity for civil discourse. It's an unfortunate fact of life, sometimes, that some lack the maturity to handle it.

Anyway. More of what I did on my spring vacation. Today, we visited New Melleray Abbey in Peosta, Iowa, and then went looking for the auld homesteads of my wife's grandparents. In New Malleray, these gentlemen founded their abbey in 1849, which predates an awful lot of foolishness. And they're doing quite well. In fact, were the back-channel up, I could provide some input of a large farming group, admittedly monks, which might well skew the results, but a large group which is working towards eventual 100% organic farming. But I digress...

	New Malleray is a Trappist Monestary in Peosta; I don't know how big Peosta is since I never saw the town. But the Abbey reminded me quite a bit of St. John's - right down to the Quadrangle structure they use.
	Above was the ground-floor view. This was looking up a bit to get the feel for the open ceiling. It was probably about thirty feet wide by perhaps one hundred fifty feet long. A beautiful room. Put me in mind of a medieval Great Hall from a castle.
	And, after perusing the gift shop, Jack and I stopped next door to check out their other products. They sell caramels and other goods (such as preserves) in their gift shop; they also sell caskets through the internet.
	Now, much as I love Walnut, the very last thing I'd want to do is spend eternity in such an expensive box. Walnut for a dining room table, fine. Walnut for a coffin, I dunno.
	And THIS is where we spent some real quality fun time as a family... Oh, stop it. We were attempting to research a bit of the family tree. I've got some relatives who came from "Dubuque area" and my father was not aware until recently that Dubuque City is in Dubuque county. Funny how that works sometimes.

And, to spare you more of my quality camera work on the main page, we've got the Panorama from in front of the church. This is something I doubt I can do justice to, internet-wise.

The area also has a fascinating history - the creek running through the valley is named Tete Des Morts, and was done so by Father Hennepin. Yes, that same Froggish monk who wandered northward on the Mississippi, and gave his name to the Minneapolis Avenue where one could, until recently, acquire all sorts of knowledge the good Father likely would rather you not know.

Anyway, Old Henney, stopping here, discovered the scene of an apparent large-scale battle between Native American tribes, and named it Heads of Death. What a happy place. Oh well.

After moping around here for the last couple days, good news comes in the form of Mr. Walder's revitalizing the Daynotes group by registering Daynotes.org. I, for one, applaud the move. Not having been involved in the original creation of said group, and never having been asked to provide any sort of assistance, I'm ready to offer Bob what he might need to keep this a going, growing concern. Bottom line; I have the greatest respect for Mr. Syroid - smart feller, knows his sh*t, and no higher praise can I offer than that - but I've never been one who's been happy with any form of dictatorship. Ask my mother. Benevolent or not, well-meaning or not, there are plenty who depend on the old daynotes page. I was one. Removing it was wrong. The back-channel? 'nother issue. Ask me some time when I want to get really pissed off and depressed all over again.

Today, it's tough to stay depressed for long. Sun's out, and despite temperatures reading anywhere from 48 (on the local bank) to 60 (the car's outdoor thermometer), it just ain't that cold.

So, a bit more of a tour of Maquoketa (again, remember our lessons - Ma, as in your mother, coke, as in the soda pop/soft drink that's NOT endorsed by Bob Dole OR Brittany Spears (though that's enough to make me consider going back to Pepsi, let me tell you - Dole's droll "easy, boy" to the dog at the end of the latest commercial cracks me up every single time), etta as in the name. Say it with me - Ma-Coke-Etta).

Again, our tour guide. Oh, yeah, that's me. Sheesh. I'd forget parts of me were they not attached... Uh, dear? I seem to be missing a few bits...

Now, knowing nothing about wineries, I guestimated that the folks at Tabor had perhaps six acres of grapes under cultivation. A large patch of "grapes that grow down" and a smaller patch of "grapes that grow up". But the lady who helped us mentioned that they got eight and a half tons of grapes from those vines last year. And this year there's some other farmers who are selling to the winery, so they're in fine shape.

And Later: (though not really officially, as the above was not posted yet), we went to the park. Little Bear Park was built from a community get-together of sorts, a couple of years ago. We were actually here for the weekend they started all of that, but it's a pretty big, pretty fun park. The kids love goofing off there.

Regrettably, not too many pictures from the park turned out. Since we're getting sloshed tonight, and having a pre-Easter dinner tomorrow, that should be the end of the pictures for a while. And I'm happy, and pooped. So, goodnight.

Oh, shit. I get Jack Daniels Lynchburg Lemonades in little bottles, and we haven't got a frigging church key in the house. Dear God, what is this world coming to? Iowa... Indeed. Oh well, it's only skin, right? I'm betting by the third bottle I'll be scarring me mother-in-law's table edges. Serve her right for running round the house naked when I'm here. Oops. Sorry. Too much information again.

I guess now you all know why I've sworn off honeydew and canteloupe melons for some years now...

First off, mental note time - I hate Toshiba Satellite computers. There's a power button on the side. If you're using your laptop and bump it just right, good-bye Earl - and long, drawn-out posts. So, I guess for you folks, it's both a blessing and a curse.

I hate this part of the vacation. Last day. Too many things we wanted to do that didn't get done (House on the Rock, Spring Green, Jeans for me, new shoes for the kids, more relaxation, etc.). But it's been nice.

I keep forgetting to point out that some of last Saturday's post might not make sense unless you're in the car with me - our trip from Burnsville to Maquoketa (Ma-Coke-etta, you'll get it eventually) was down US 61, which, in southern Minnesota, is through bluff country - lots of high hills and solid, and near-solid, rocks, plenty of loose ones dropping onto the road at times.

Our trip home will probably be via US 52 - about 30 minutes shorter in time, and distance, but a lot more boring. It's also got fewer towns with stuff open on Sundays and weekends and the like. Oh well. Top off the tank and fill up when we get a chance in Minnesota. Shouldn't be a problem.

The only problem with the trip home is that we're looking at Guttenburg. It's a beautiful city next to the Mississippi, in Iowa, and pronounced "Gut" as in "stomach" rather than "Goot" as in "Book publisher". And the road through there is about 12 feet above water level. Which might be about five feet too short, as the flood warnings are saying fifteen to seventeen feet above flood stage as we go back.

Anyway, one more trip to Little Bear Park, this time with good pictures, and tonight we went to see "Spy Kids". Very, very good movie. Even Monkey Boy stayed awake through it - and this is the child who slept through the Pod Races in Star Wars Episode One. And there are a few more we'd like to see this summer - such as Shrek, and I think it was Joey Neutron, and Rob Schneider's got a movie called "The Animal". Shows promise.

And I did get a couple e-mails today. One really, REALLY irritated me, as it was from someone attempting to apologize. Sorry; 13K isn't necessary to say "I'm sorry. I screwed up. It won't happen again." But that's his problem, not mine.

I doubt you'll see more from me until I get home; probably not until late Monday night. I've got to get back to the work thing, then leave right at 4:00 Monday for Swimming lessons; dinner, then home, and probably collapse with one or two cats on my lap. So it goes. Oh well...

And a final note - I see where part of our route, which is normally about fifteen FEET above the river level, is now less than two, and expected to go BELOW... Hmmm... Some explanation is in order, I guess. If any of you have ever read "Little House In The Big Woods" by Laura Ingalls Wilder you would recognize "Lake Pepin". This is where they crossed from Wisconsin to Minnesota, late one winter, to the site that became "Little House On the Prairie", the second book in the series, and the initial inspiration for the stories in the TV show.

US 61 runs right along the Minnesota side of Lake Pepin, which is actually a wide spot in the Mississippi River. What freaks me out right now is that that road is nearly under water. Granted, I live up on top of Buck Hill, so I'm not in danger of losing my home, but it's still painful to watch others go through this.

It would be worse had I not predicted it a while back... And of course, can I find it now? Nope. Time to go to bed. G'nite. Hmmm... SWMBO isn't back yet. Hope I don't need to bail anyone out.

Not too rough a trip for the most part. Through Guttenburg (pronounced like "butt" rather than "good" - Iowans, I don't get it either), we saw an awful lot of water. Flooding quite high in some places, and the crest down there isn't expected for almost a week.

Then we got behind a very, very slow mother and son heading back to college. I cursed, swore (quietly, under my breath, as the kids and wife were asleep) while my previous seventy-five and better in a sixty-five was brought down to fifty or less... I mean, officer, I was a law-abiding citizen all the way. I promise. Always, officer.

Anyway, after the forty-car parade this vehicle led for most of twenty miles (and riddle me this, he said, bouncing from topic to topic not unlike a pinball - why is the "Welcome to Minnesota" sign on Highway 52 a good half-mile or more back from the border? I dunno), broke up north of Marion, which is where the road goes from two to four lanes. I roared past this woman, only to hang my head in shame - there, for all the world to see, was a sticker proclaiming the driver to be the proud parent of a student of my alma mater.

Now we're watching the news, and I'm going to have a hellacious commute the rest of the week. We have about a half-dozen ways across the river here, and two (41 and 212, which are in the southwest corner of the city) are underwater. I just heard that 169 is open, if you're coming from the west or south - eastbound traffic cannot get onto the northbound bridge as the feeder freeway is underwater, and might well be flooded until June. The hellacious commute part is the fact that I will be fighting roughly five thousand, or more, vehicles on the second-most-westerly crossing that's still open - 35W. I don't think it will flood, though in 1997 the water came within about two feet of the road surface. And they're saying in some places it's higher than 1997. Scary.

And the weather? It's dropped forty degrees up here in 36 hours. Lovely. We left Iowa with temps in the upper fifties - it had been in the upper sixties, nearly seventy yesterday. And today, we get home? You got it - mid-thirties, with snow expected tomorrow. Record low is 20 degrees. We might well beat it. Argh. The winter that would not die... At least Buck Hill's done for the season - I'll get a shot this next week to show off for you.

Oh well. Home is home. Hope your Easter was filled with family, friends, and candy. Two tips - next couple of days, those weird-colored eggs in the fridge ARE NORMAL. And please please please make sure you've got all those eggs found. Or it's gonna stink in a day or three. I remember one time we forgot a hard-boiled egg at my folk's house, and it broke a couple of weeks later. Phew. What a stink.

Obviously, we were bad to the bunny this year. We got two peanut butter eggs (one of the kids stole Ann's) and a Hershey Kisses egg. And a container. That's all. Oh, yeah. And jobs to go back to tomorrow, a pair of working vehicles, our health, and lots of other things to be thankful for.

Oh well. Back to the grind in the morning. I've got a job to go to, and work to do, and that's something to be thankful for. It could be so very much worse.

Though it seems there's a country version of the Back Street Boys out there, and they've got another remake. Wasn't it Brian who was talking about remakes from hell last week? Well, I found one there for the list.

Oh well. Off to bigger and better things - I'm also going to investigate search engines for this site. Free, of course. Because I'm a cheap bastard, why else? Oh, yeah, and because I can't find what I'm looking for. Bob Thompson was right - FrontPage's search tools suck. Various dead animals, through small-bore pipes.

	Jack, Dam. Funny, that sentence usually ends with "it". Oh well.
	Is it any wonder I married her? Prettier every day.
	The Damn. Er, dam. Interestingly enough, the water flow was perhaps half that on Sunday we were there last. And that area where you see the biggest amount of "fluff" or froth in the water wasn't even open.
	That island straight out is one of two we saw Sunday. Actually, that grass floating on the water is where the island should be.
	That rough spot in the water is where the other island is. Was. Whatever.
	"So then I says to the guy I says 'you didn't seriously catch a tree right through the sternum and out the back, did you?' and he says 'Hell, yes, I did too, and I got a picture of it!'" All this, of course, after nearly a year of the "I dreamt of eating marshmallows and woke up to my pillow going missing..."
	"I will call him VERY Mini-Me!"
	And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how you end up making a big, big mess. If you're four. Were this a painting, I'd call it "disaster pending".
	"And for my next trick..." Actually, I had no idea one could use telephone poles for see-saws (or as my kids call them, "teeter-totters").
	Apparently, you can't.
	One of these tiles says "I love to cook with wine. Sometimes I even put it in the food." The other, my favorite, says "Wine Maketh Glad The Heart Of Man (and maketh women giggle)."
	It's been a few years since my marketing classes, but I'm telling you, the image of wine in caskets just isn't ... well, normal, I guess. Though I wonder if the folks at Tabor have worked out a deal with the Monks at New Malleray - caskets and caramels for wine. It's a trade I'd make. Once.
	The only title that comes to mind here is "children of the grapes". Scary, no?

	And this is Little Bear Park. Originally it had a couple of trees around and in it - one fell down about a year after they built the park, and the other was cut down about two years ago. You'll see the results of that below.
	That's basically a rubber road Jack's running on - he loves bouncing on it.
	Cute kid. Takes after her mother, don't you think?
	This is one of about five towers in the park. It's supposed to remind kids of a ship. Works.
	Cute kid, except for the tongue. Each of the five towers in this complex has neat places to hide, unless you happen to be an adult. Then it's tough to get in there.
	I love this picture. Great shot I didn't frame or anything - just stuck the camera in a hole and clicked.
	HE CAN BE TAUGHT! Ducked right under the beams. Thank God...
	No, I'm not snarling - the sun's in my eyes. It has nothing to do with the twelve-year-old attempting to flirt with my daughter. Nothing at all. And that's a Tabor Home Winery Tee-shirt; that's grapes in a corn husk - neat design.
	This took a GREAT DEAL of doing. Jack, actually in mid-slide. I'm very impressed with myself. It doesn't take much, regrettably.
	That other tree was carved into a bear on top of a stack of blocks.
	This is a short version of the pan across the park. Towers one and two, and two of the five slides (I think there's five, I'm just not sure).
	Middle view, with kids - two more slides.
	Other view, with the other towers, and other stuff.

The weekly Diary of a PC Geek On Vacation In Iowa!

The weekly Diary of a PC Geek
On Vacation In Iowa!