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Monday, August 6, 2001
Rhiannon's Return -5
Yes, I miss my little girl.
And here's another story you need a mind like an octopus to follow...
At times it can be quite ... flattering to have the same name as a parent. For example, I know my grandfather was named John Leonard Dominik (I was under the impression that the string went further back, to Johann and "the old country" but I've been informed to the contrary). My father is John Julius. I am John Paul. My son is John Kenneth. This is a line that I'm proud to be a member of.
However, it's also somewhat frustrating. I've got roughly a half-dozen e-mail addresses I check on a semi-regular basis (some, like USA.NET, are swearing they're going to go away real soon now, while others, like hotmail are hanging around like a bad penny). When I use one of the other addresses to send something informative/witty/interesting, I copy it to my home address.
I also check my home mail from work. I can't reply to it easily because that would require an open-relay mail server, which as we all know by now, attracts spammers like flies to ... well, you know. Actually, that's really not fair. To the flies. I think it's the other way around. . . Spammers = ... But I digress.
Anyway, I can see the incoming and outgoing e-mail at home. While I can log in and reply from work via a web-based interface, it's often more trouble than it's worth... Anyway.
Now, we're in the home stretch. My Dad is good with computers, but not great. Whereas I have at least one computer running all the time (unless we're gone for a week or something like that), Dad turns his on, does what he needs, and shuts it down. He's got a surge-supressor with switch that turns everything on. One flick on, one flick off. Pretty slick.
This aversion to keeping things on all the time means that he relies on means other than computer-wise to track information. That is; he writes stuff down. Nothing wrong with that. No problems whatsoever. However, the translation from a pile of notes to a computer screen was always difficult for me (which is why I live my life on my computer - again, I digress).
So, we have all the pieces... Except one. Last week, before Rhiannon left on "the Great Experiment" - Rhiannon at her Grandparents - she asked about an e-mail address. Could she have one? Sure. And if you think I'm gonna link it here, you're a lot more ... unintelligent than I am. I've got the password to it, and it gets checked multiple times per day. I've also neglected to inform her of a few things (and grandpa) so as to make it even easier for me to follow along with what she's up to on-line.
There. That's the puzzle.
When we were up there on Saturday, I showed Grandpa how to access Rhiannon's account. I gave him everything except the username / password combo. I could say that it was a plan to make sure they contacted me at least once during the week, but I just plum forgot.
So my father sends me an e-mail. John Dominik. Appears in my in-box at home all the time. I ignored it for a full half-hour before looking at the subject. Oops, I didn't write that.
Oh well. Rhiannon, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. I'll check and make sure Grandpa knows next time...
On a far less cuddly note, Code Red II has burst onto the scene. And this one has me seeing red.
Microsoft themselves spent some time recently advertising "five nines" uptime. For those of you without the lightening calculators in your heads like Slipstick Libby, we'll just say that five nines uptime translates to a downtime of five minutes, fifteen seconds. Yes, folks, that's right. PER YEAR.
Now this is all well and good. Until the ... folks at Microsoft deliver a patch to an OS that requires you to reboot. Some servers are literally seven or eight minutes to boot. That's from the final "I'm unavailable" to the first "hey, there, how you doin, I'm back". Some are far longer. But the bottom line is that Microsoft has delivered a patch for the Code Red-series worms that requires a reboot. Yes, hammering your vaunted five nines reliability down to maybe four nines and a five.
I guess what's so damned frustrating about this particular little worm is that there is obviously a "kit" making the rounds with this little bit of code in it - once the overflow is exploited, and the kid gets control, you are effectively skrooed...
So my question to you is; would you rather be hosted on someone who advertises perhaps three or four nines in uptime (three nines gives you about 08:45:36 of down time annually, four nines gives you 00:52:34) and isn't a threat to the rest of the internet? Seems to be a no-brainer to me...
On a yuck note - last week we spent something like 107 of 168 hours with dewpoints above 70. That would be "tropical". Yes, we're thinking of importing palm trees, but I hear the thirty-below that will be here in five months will likely freeze them like a popsicle, never to thaw again. Anyway, last week translated to two of the three "hottest day of the summer" lead stories on the nightly news. Today is again threatened to be there as well. If I could afford it, I'd own stock in an electrical company. Unfortunately, I'd have to sell it to pay the electric bill I'm gonna get. Ugh.
Dan Bowman throws up a very long (for him) post prompted by Mr. Vogt's recent work... Which caused me an only-slightly nauseating flashback to earlier days...
In my first real computer-related job, I set up time and attendance systems for people. It didn't take long to learn that in just about every single company, there was one primary "payroll clerk". This individual knew the payroll rules the company applied, and knew them so well that 95% of their job was "under the radar". Things like "oh, Frank always punches in early then has a cup of coffee. I don't pay him until he's scheduled". Which is when, exactly? "Oh, it varies on the day." Right. Or "She's never taken a lunch in the whole time she's worked here." Why does she punch out? "She does that so that when she takes off on Friday at 2:30, we don't stop paying her until 5." Right.
While I mean no disrespect to anyone in any other profession, I submit to you that the most mis-understood job in any company is the one performed by the person calculating the hourly wages. It's both strange and frightening to know that there's a massive treasure-trough of knowledge locked into their heads... And for many companies, that knowledge left them with one unpromotable (since they knew the job so well, they certainly couldn't be replaced), irreplacable, incredibly critical employee.
My job, for six years, was to get into their heads and find out what they knew they didn't think about. I started with a food-canning plant that employed some migrant labor and many regular employees; by the end, I was comfortable with the frightening complexities of health care pay (ever heard of a person getting more than a full week's pay for working two weekend nights as a "charge nurse"? Just mention "Baylor Pay" to a health-care payroll person and watch the breakdown occur in front of you), and unionized grocery stores. One local institution we worked with had some senior drivers who ONLY worked the HOLIDAY shifts. Why? Because they could make more money in the seventeen days they worked annually than they could as a five-eights guy. Between productivity bonuses, double-time and a half on holidays, and the rest (and yes, most of them continued to work regular shifts, and in the end, they pulled down more than some of the "executives" in the company. Granted, they did more to get the product in the consumer's hands than many of the execs, but it was a real eye-opener).
Our "interview" process typically started with the head of HR/Accounting, who would make good-sounding pronouncements about their support of the project. They'd turn the rest of the meeting over to the payroll person, who was typically running on their "open afternoon" they had weekly - you know, the one where the previous week's payroll was calculated, corrected, and shipped off to the check-cutting company, and before the crush of "you screwed up my paycheck" calls occurred on payday.
I learned quickly that while the HR/Accounting person at the head of the food chain would swear that they knew all the rules, and the ones in the book were followed to the letter, the payroll clerk knew, more intimately, just where the wiggle room really occurred. And since payroll deals with the livelihood of every person employed at a company (I used to joke "we don't use cutting edge technology here - we use proven technology. If we were dealing with something less important, like writing checks, we could try some new dumb unproven stuff - but this stuff's important." - Payroll almost always laughed. Accounting never ever did), and since they were typically one of those people who had an office in "employee land" rather than "la la land - er, the executive tower" they needed to remain friendly. Since they didn't want to get the employees into trouble, I found that the interview was where about 1/3 of our "discovery" would occur. Another third would occur during the actual software training - this was a one or two day course, depending on version, where they saw and did everything they needed to do on a daily, weekly, monthly, and annual basis to get things straightened out. Which meant, of course, that the day we installed the software it was about two-thirds right and one-third "just what are those jerks in payroll trying to do to me NOW!"
For example - It didn't take long to go from "a day is" to "what's a day" to "what's YOUR definition of a day" in my world. Some people started a "day" based on your good old midnight line. I did that, when I started. Then I learned. Some started at 11 pm - since they had three shifts (11-7, 7-3, and 3-11), it made sense. Some started 24 hours after the previous shift started. So if you worked, say, 11-7 on Sunday, going home at 7 am Monday morning, then returned at 3 pm Monday and worked to 11 pm Monday night, returned at 7 am Tuesday morning, and worked til 3, returning at 11, worked until 7 wednesday morning, returned 3 wednesday afternoon, worked until 11 pm, then returned at 7 am the next morning for Thursday's shift, everything from Monday at 3pm could be overtime. You doubt me? We had one woman who worked 14 hour shifts. Due to the way her pay agreement was written, she got overtime if she worked more than 12 hours in any 24-hour period, and she required a full 28 hours off the clock for the overtime to "reset".
In the normal course of my later interviews, I would usually ask for a "representative sample" of the timecards/time records. I didn't want pay records; they were confidential and told me nothing. I wanted "started at, left at, and how much time they got, and of what type". I would always add "please give me a couple of normal people, and all of your "worst-case scenarios". In the last case, with the woman and the fourteen hour shifts, her employer noticed that her work schedule (set up by her supervisor) was causing them excessive amounts of overtime. However, since she was the only person who knew how to do the job, there was little choice. In the end, they ended up hiring her an assistant - they gave her a raise which made up for about half of her lost wages (she went back to nine-hour shifts), and that was that.
That missing third of the payroll rules? That's what the "parallel" test was for.
Payroll's perhaps the single most stressful job anyone could ask for - I'm glad I could help some of these people out of that mess.
And, in what I believe is an absolute freak occurrence, I swear, someone some how snuck "The most wonderful time of the year" into my work MP3 cycle. Here I am, looking out the window at a man who is literally dancing around the vehicle he parked some three hours ago in the parking lot. With excellent south exposure on the driver side, I'm sure the chromed door handle (presumably, the same as the one on the other side that's positioned to glint up at me after exposure to the sun from the mirror on the big honking pickup truck next to it) was quite warm enough to fry his knuckles. One MUST wonder at just what this lunatic was thinking. "hazy sunshine" doesn't mean "no sun" - it means "9 on the meter". Considering that ten is likely to fry his balding pate up like a pizza, I shouldn't wonder that he's not learned a thing all summer. Unless, of course, he's a recent immigrant from the south pole, having lived his entire life there, and does not understand heat.
Aside from that, it's really scary what some people will wear to work. Now there's a fellow in plaid shorts, black knee socks, and a ratty tank top - big, wide-brimmed peasant hat, carrying golf clubs. One of his compatriots is wearing leather pants - black leather jacket. Really tough, bud. The other fellow's got a dark blue kilt and a black tee shirt on. And yes, I'm sure it's a fellow - or Aunt Minnie forgot to shave for the last month and the beard's hit her chest again.
I really need to go back to my quiet corner, or stop looking out the window during lunch time.
Last question. Why would you leave the roof down on a convertible with black leather seats? I can understand if it's cloudy, but when you come out and sit in the vehicle in your short little skirt, I would think that you'd have learned, the first ten or twelve times... Oh well. The phrase "rump roast" again goes through my head. And "back bakin'". And others. Oh well.
Still more foolishness...
The conspiracy nut portion of my brain kicked in just after 2:30 local time, when I reviewed my e0mail and found that Microsoft won't be patching the Personal Web Server that's included in Windows 2000 and is the target of Son of Code Red, apparently. This new variant turns your machine into a Zombie (see Steve Gibson, http://www.grc.com/ for details).
The conspiracy wing nut in the back of my brain wiggled loose (I normally keep it under tight rein. Lord knows what kind of lunacy it would come up with if left to run free), and the trail started...
PWS, under "Microsoft's Most Secure and Advanced Operating System" (aka Win2K, aka Kludge-o-matic 2000, aka Crap, aka ... well, you get the picture) is not going to be patched. Why? Microsoft says "it should only be run behind firewalls in secure network environments." Right. So, the wing nut chitters, why not turn on the port-blocking firewall that's built into Windows 2000? Well, that's a bit complex for your average home user. Hmmm... So Windows XP will turn this on by default, instead, and help you in breaching it for various uses.
But, stutters the wing nut, how will everyone get to XP? Why, says the brain in question, through the use of the wonderful little promotion called an "upgrade" wherein you fork over more money than you did originally for the privilege of trading in a collection of old bugs and some mostly-working software for three bugs you needed fixed, something that works a little different from the old version, breaks a third of what you needed to work previously, and introduces about a half-million new bugs which won't get fixed until six to nine months down the road.
The thought occurs - if Microsoft made cars...
"Hi - I bought a car from you, and it's leaking fuel. The leak rate
doubles whenever I'm in front of another car. And there's a bit of
metal that keeps dangling down whenever I'm at freeway speeds and it
shoots sparks at the fuel."
"Well, looks like it's time to upgrade."
"What? I only bought the car new less than six months ago!"
"In that case, you'll get a deal. Instead of paying the full $28,000 -
"
"WHAT? Are you out of your ever-lovin' mind? I only paid $18,000 for
the car, NEW, six months ago!"
"As I was saying, sir, in exchange for the relatively small price of
$21,000, we'll send you the new version of our automobile. However,
you'll have to promise to not use your old one, and should you ever
replace more than one tire, seat cover, or 50% of the original fluid
supply, you'll need a new license and registration. Which is a
painless process, but required."
And finally, the wing nut unscrews itself one more time, and mentions that there's a rather suspicious connection between this particular event and the release of Windows XP. Just as there's a rather suspicious link between the Melissa Virus and the later release of Office 2000/Windows 2000, and ...
And this is the point where I apply a hammer to the wingnut rather than a couple of fingers.
G'nite...
Tuesday, August 7, 2001
Rhiannon's Return -4
Ah, summer.
We hit a new "hottest day of the year" yesterday. 99F. With a heat index of 110F. Ugh. Less said about that the better. Today was only 98F - another record high, and last nights "low" of 76F was a new "record high low" - that would be a nasty day any way you slice it.
A public service notice : Those of you seeking a fairly natural "buzz" would be well-served to down a can of Mountain Dew along with the consumption of a Kit-Kat Big Block candy bar. I splurged this morning and had that for lunch when my turkey sandwiches turned out to have been made from Turkey that spent many, many, too many moons hiding in the back of the freezer. Wheee... Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
And an e-mail from the eldest...
Dear Daddy and Mommy,
I am being good. And Daddy could you please tell Jack
he can sleep in my bed if he wants. And I climbed the
tree ... not so high though. Love, Snookie.
P.S. See you soon
Snookie
And today my phone rings with a call from corporate, of all places. They're having problem, and I'm the only one not on the phone. Seems there's a bit of confusion...
Sorry so short, but some sudden cleaning tasks and some preparation for an interview tomorrow, plus a call from our realtor consumed any other time I had for thinking/writing/breathing... Hope yours was better. G'nite.
Wednesday, August 8, 2001
Rhiannon's Return -3
Well, today was "the day". 100F temps, 110F+ heat indices predicted, and I had a 1 pm interview ... and a car without air conditioning... Fortunately, someone stuck the thermometer in a freezer somewheres and we managed to stop short of YAHTR (Yet Another High Temperature Record).
I'd like to think the interview went well, but I just don't know. All I can really say is "I'm hopeful". It would be a lot of fun, a big challenge, and a very, very different environment. We'll just have to see.
Yesterday a rather revolting development came through the bugtraq list. Seems that Adobe PDF files can now be used as virus delivery methods. Virus scanners don't scan PDFs, they're assumed to be safe, apparently. Though how anything short of a computer that's not even temporarily connected to anything (including a power cord) can be considered "safe" is a question that's still going unanswered in my book...
Anyway, the specifics (and I'm not sure I understand them all) are that PDFs can carry a virus payload executable when you view a PDF through either a browser or a stand-alone Adobe Reader... Isn't that lovely. Personally, I'm all in favor of this virus. Aside from the simple fact that I've long hated the PDF format (most HTML pages I can watch render - PDF I've got to wait, and since they're used for large docs, I wait, and snore, and wait and ... you get the picture), this was one of those things that the minute Adobe put up a stink about the whole Skylarov case you KNEW it was going to happen.
Adobe's been long on pushing their delivery systems. I can remember an Adobe rep once telling me in a meeting "you just wait - in a few years no one will use HTML, and everyone will be delivering content via PDFs." Right. Now, however, the virus makers and the like are heading for Adobe software like flies to ... well, you pick the target. I won't. But it's hungry flies and a deserving target, in my opinion.
While "standardization" is all well and good, it's pretty clear that complete standardization on one platform/system is pretty much the equivalent of the Irish Potato "famine" - if you grow the same crop all over and an opportunistic bacterium mutates and finds the weakness in that crop, you're fairly well skrooed. Same with computers and bugs. But we all know that by now, don't we? Anyone? Anyone?
Thursday, August 9, 2001
Rhiannon's Return -2
Hmmm... I wish I could find a good gif of eating Crow like Dr. Pournelle has... Seems I was half-right on the whole Adobe PDF Virus thing. The PDF files can be loaded with evil bits, but to date the only programs affected by the evil bits are the full versions of the Adobe stuff - as in the expensive, purchased Acrobat, not the free Acrobat reader.
As Don Armstrong pointed out to me, it's going to hit those fine folks in the graphics and documentation areas first, as they're likely to be running the full-boat product, in addition to other Adobe products. Hmmm... I guess that goes into the "you reap what you sow" department.
And Gary Berg, ever the intelligent chap (saved my bacon on the whole ISO-to-CD issue months back, no, I haven't forgotten) also points out that as of 8/7 NAV had scanners for the incoming PDF virus stuff, so you can rely on the scanners to check those out.
Thank you, gentlemen, for correcting me. You know, crow isn't such a bad meal; of course, I eat it often enough. ;-)
I can feel it - the semi-annual funk is coming on.
It started as a kid - back-to-school... I was never the most exceptional student; given the fact that I had a younger sister who was a good student (consistently A's and B's or the equivalent), so fall was the inevitable "here it comes again". "It" carried a number of connotations. There was the end of summer. The end of free time. The end of days of doing whatever I wanted.
Certainly, there were some benefits. The first few weeks of school there was the whole new-textbook thing. Every year I would, without fail, bring home my reading books first. Read them. Cover to Cover. Even the advanced stuff. Sometimes I wouldn't bother to re-read the stories in them until much, much later. I can remember one set of stories (which lead to some books) called "The Mad Scientist Club" - I think. Couple of kids with remote controls, radios, walkie-talkies, lots of surplus stuff like balloons, and the like.
One story was how they managed to build a "sea monster" on top of a boat of some sort. Originally they powered the boat around using a couple of fellows with walkie talkies. One on shore, and a couple in the boat. Then they'd heard of a plan to shoot the monster, so they installed radio controls... And things kinda fell apart.
Somewhat like I'm feeling today. The remainder of my summer is planned - This weekend's a retrieval of the eldest, a picnic at the Zoo. Next weekend's shopping and prep for the following, which is a wedding in South Dakota. That's the end of the summer, as Labor Day follows with a party, back in St. Cloud again - then School starts. After that we have a week off, moving some friends, and cooling down for winter.
I guess the big problem is that my little girl isn't here to brighten my life right now, and I had a chance yesterday to see how the work world is supposed to be - busy, hectic, exciting, interesting, growing, challenging. And I just don't know how to get from here to there.
During the interview I had yesterday, the fellow who would be my boss asked me a tough question - "you've bounced around a lot, why? What are you headed for?" I was clear and concise in my answer - "I want to get some real solid technical footing so that when I move back into technology management, I'll have the solid set of technology credentials." But I'm still not satisfied with it.
I guess it's just something I need to work through. It would certainly be nice to get the whole house thing settled so we don't have to dread the coming of another new lease and another list of "guess what we're doing to you this month" and another spring with "Mrs. Hulkster" complaining about phantom waterfalls and throwing fits about real drips... I'm very, very ready for a house in so many, many ways. We'll just see if everyone else thinks so...
Then there's that Lemmings fellow.
The World Travellers Guide to Women
Between the ages of 13 and 18, she is like Africa, virgin and unexplored.
Between the ages of 19 and 35, she is like Asia, hot and exotic.
Between the ages of 36 and 45, she is like America, fully explored, breathtakingly beautiful, and free with her resources.
Between the ages of 46 and 56 she is like Europe, exhausted but still has points of interest.
After 56 she is like Australia; everybody knows it's down there but who gives a damn?
Having long wanted to visit Australia and points down-under, I'm sure I'm going to be beaten senseless by many folk if I continue with the thought I was going to put here. It's best I just shut up before I go off the deep end with some comments about The Great Barrier Reef and other points of interest. I'm liable to heal quicker if I do stay quiet...
Weird Music Combo of the Day...
Embraceable Ewe - damn, er, You - Charlie Parker
Yellow Submarine - Beatles
Don't Eat the Yellow Snow - Frank Zappa
Moonlight Serenade - Glenn Miller
Sweet Dreams - Eurhythmics
String of Pearls - Glenn Miller Orchestra
Everyone Wang Chung tonight - Wang Chung
Mamma Mia - Abba
How Do you Like Me Now - Toby Keith
Firebird Suite - Chicago Symphony Orchestra
All via the "shuffle" button. Is it me, or are my music tastes a little weird lately? I know, no Boston, Styx, or Journey - that's coming as soon as I rip those CDs... This MP3 stuff is kinda fun, but I gotta do something about the randomize function... Those just don't belong together...
And on a completely unrelated note - there was a bit of a problem near my old home town today. Seems there's a strip club out in the boonies near Sartell called Sugar Daddy's. The Benton County Board has attempted to zone the thing out of existence. So today, they did a bit of a demonstration. Seems the young ladies who ... well, work there had a car wash. And the ladies were covered... With paint, at least on top, strategically. Ahem.
The funny part? There was an accident - a van passing by rear-ended something/someone else. Wouldn't you love to be a fly on the wall for that phone call? "Uh, honey? I'm gonna be a little late. I had an accident. No, I'm fine. The front of the van's a little dinged up, though. What happened? Well, I was a bit distracted. No, honest, I swear, I was no where NEAR Highway 10 North of Sartell, South of Rice... Yes Dear." heh.
Though I should say "there but for the grace of God and one pissed-off Redhead go I..."
G'nite.
Yippie Skippie it's...Friday!, August 10, 2001
Rhiannon's Return -1
I'd been warned a week or more ago, so I was prepared. It wasn't a big deal, any more, in my life, though it had been so much more when I was younger. It was nearly constant. To the exclusion of others. Daily. Several times a day. But that was when I was much younger, in far better shape, and more ... prepared for this sort of thing. Since then I've cut way, way back, given the damage it could cause me, and others, today. I just don't need that kind of trouble in my life. But after all, this time it had the blessings of the lady of the house.
"I'm bringing you a Virgin tonight!"
Yup. That's what she said. Out loud, in front of the children, no less. A bit shocked, her explanation only served to intrigue me. As Tom has said, writing in these things is cathartic, and I feel a compelling need to share the experience with you all.
Frankly, it was going to be my first. I've a wide variety of experience, you see, but this, this was to be my first Virgin. Embarrassing, I know. But details are important. And, after all, we do these silly things...
The questions swirled around in my head - would it be good enough? Would it be worthy? Would I be worthy? Would I like it? We'd just have to see. The expense was minimal, all things considered; an experience one really needed to have if one was to be considered a true, modern human - a man of the 21st century. So I'd been told. Heck, I'd expected in this day and age, there would be tee shirts, hats, buttons, all emblazoned with a slogan of sorts. Being able to get in on the ground floor, literally, as it were, was something I looked forward to.
After all, this was a special moment.
A long day of apprehension, anticipation, and waiting over with, I arrived home before her. I waited. She came through the door, and it was unexpected, to say the least. Of course, at first, I was hesitant. "What if..." swirled through my head. I could be the one who, forever after, was marked. "He did this." "It's all his fault."
A heavy weight, for sure, to lay on one mere mortal. Then I bucked up. "C'mon," I said to myself, "it's not like this isn't happening hundreds of times a day here and elsewhere. This is normal. This is all a part of the life experience. For most of us, at any rate. Enjoy it." I'm not suave, debonair, or sophisticated, but I am, after all, experienced. I know the field, and I know what I like. That should be enough for me. I pondered this for a moment, and then decided to proceed.
Cheered, and heartened considerably, I began. After gazing admirably at the total package, which was actually smaller, but far curvier than I expected, I began simply. I removed the top. Cool, smooth, and slightly damp, with a faint aroma of oranges. Unusual, but I expected no less. After all... Well, I won't belabor the point.
I indulged. I wallowed. I forgot myself and where I was and just enjoyed the experience. I lost track of all around me, and sank into it. Consumed, and finally corrupted, I sat back.
All too soon it was over. I looked, and thought - gee, can I get another one? When? Where? How much? Wholesale? Retail? Over the counter? My thoughts focused on the next one, not savoring the experience of the first one. Thoughtless, clueless, and heartless you might call me, but it was true; I was leaving an empty shell - a used-up husk.
Fast, short, sweet. Again, a faint aftertaste of citrus. You'd think I'd have had my fill, but I'm going to have another. Many others. After all, it wasn't like they weren't producing them daily. Probably millions a day. Almost certainly. World wide.
And I'd encourage you to try one as well. You'll be pleasantly surprised. As I said, I've a wide variety of experience, but Virgin O'range Soda really isn't too bad (sorry, no link to their flash-crap-loaded site). I used to drink a lot of "soda pop" but not so much any more. Water and Milk are one and two in my book...
What - you were expecting something else? Sheesh. Perverts.
On a different note, the last thing I heard this morning getting out of the car was about the "gelatinous blobs" being found on some parts of the Lake Superior shoreline - seems scientists have traced it and it's leftover ... reproductive material from algae... That's it, say it with me now ... "EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeewwwwwww".
Though I never really thought about it before. Even algae have to deal with the wet spot.
heh.
Yesterday about mid-morning the heat wave finally broke here. A few minutes of rain early in the morning and some clouds through mid-day, and it was over. I walked out somewhat in fear last night - not knowing what to expect. I'd finally gotten smart enough to park the car in what little shade I could find, so it would be cooler.
I got outside and it was actually cooler than inside. Hmmm... Opened the car, and it was cool in there as well. That's very nice. This is the kind of weather I *should* be camping in.
The fellow on the news tonight said today was the first day since July 5th that we've had a below-average high temperature... That's... Too dog-gone long, you ask me.
Over this last week I've been running a series of tests. I'd set up a script to add something to a database - then I'd run that test ten times, five minutes each time. The purpose of the test was to establish a range of expected results. If I got a 40 one time, and a 90 the next, it would be somewhat problematic to find an expected range of results.
Instead, I've got a series of tests that show me that I can predict, within a range of 3-7%, what I "should" get when repeating the same test. Since I'm using measurable criteria, this is good. When they ask me "but is 'navigation' faster?" I've still no way yet to drive home the point that "it's a feeling, not a measurable item." Flipping from screen to screen depends on so many variables, including sunspots, that it's solely a perceptual measurement. We can't give authoritative measurements on something you can't measure without saying "what do you think?"
Oh well. "...lies, damned lies, and statistics." Heck of a way to start a weekend.
This one came from Goode Olde MSN.Com, with the subject "Do you owe back taxes?"
Dealing with Tax debt is a serious problem.
So is dealing with Spam. Wanna trade? Jerk.
Every day your Past Taxes are costing you MORE
Ah - that would be assuming I had any past taxes. Idiot.
in Late payment fee's,
And bad grammar. Fool.
non payment fines, and
And more bad grammar. Nitwit.
compounded interest on your original owed ammount !!!
And a seriously defective spel chekr to boot. Dolt.
We can help you,
Great. Give me your brain - you're obviously not using it. I'll rent
out the empty space in your skull, use your brain for research (unused
brains like yours are VERY valuable), and you go fertilize something. From
beneath. Scumbag.
we negotiate with the IRS on your behalf
Right. You can't even compose a sentence grammatically, and you want
to negotiate for me with the pit bulls of the United States Government?
Where's that gasoline hose. Must be time for my annual gas bath and
firewalk. Moron.
to Eliminate or reduce interest and penalties
Doubt it. You've reduced my interest in this to nearly zero as it is. How
closely were your parents related, anyway...
on past due taxes and reach a settlement
As noted - nothing past due. Of course, nothing gets past you, either.
Feeble-minded offspring of a dung heap.
for as little as $.12 cents on the dollar.
Right. Twelve HUNDRETHS of a cent on the dollar is the way I read that - wish I had back
taxes due. These folks could make up the difference. Are you sure you've
got the normal number of fingers and toes?
The IRS is currently EXPANDING to deal with UNPAID tax cases,
Hmmm... An ideal client for that vast expanse inside your skull.
What's their number again? And are you really that dumb?
it's just a matter of time before they get to YOU.
Oh, buddy, they've gotten to me for years. I'm used to it now. However,
it's clear it's time to adjust your medication again.
Our licenced enrolled agents work for YOU, not the IRS.
You don't know how that fills me with confidence. Tell me you're not writing
these in crayon and having your mommy type them in for you again, are you?.
Our agents have direct phone lines with the IRS.
Good. Hopefully at some point in the future our planet will hear again
from the aliens that took your brain...
We can help you immediately with you past due tax debt.
And you can also write sentences that are totally incoherent. Too bad
it pays so poorly. Or is it that the pay is poor because you're an
idiot? I guess that's a difficult concept for you...
We offer full third party handling,
Really. Were I you, I'd want this handled first-party - preferably by
pressing my handibles around your throatables until your breathables
were no longer ables. If you catch my drift, you son of an earthworm.
meaning we represent your case and defend you.
My confidence bucket overfloweth. Which is unfortunate. I used it in place
of my "bullshit" bucket, which overfloweth shortly after you started
... spouting. Now I've got two overflowing buckets. Same stuff,
different bucket. Kinda like you and the sewers, you know?
We also can Arrange financing and affordable monthly payments,
Really - can you also arrange your sentences with the capital letters at the
beginning of sentences and names? I thought not. Besides, I should think that
at twelve-hundredths of a cent on the dollar, most
people could find the fines in the couch cushions.
That's twelve hundred DOLLARS per million dollars of taxes owned, if
you ran out of fingers. Pissant.
help eliminate wage garnishments and protect your assets from
government seizure.
Too bad they didn't protect your brain from seizure. Assuming, of
course, it was installed by your parents (Auntie Mom and Uncle Dad)
before birth.
!!! You will never be contacted by the IRS !!!
Seems there's a problem with your exclamation point key, as well. If I
were you, however, I'd change channels - you're being contacted by aliens as we
speak...
Infact you won't ever have to deal with an IRS agent again,
Interesting. I know what an infraction is, what an infarction is, and
I've got some idea of what a fact is. Is an infact an ingrown fact?
Something like your head and your rear end?
we will do it all for YOU !!
Again. I'm brimming with confidence. Or something. It sure smells...
Let us help you pay your taxes easier,
Which would be how, exactly - you pay them? Assuming, of course, you've
moved beyond crayons...
making things easier for you.
How about not spamming me. Mental midget.
Just reply to this e-mail and provide the information in the form
below.
I'd also like to supply gestures, but since I can't get my hand to scan
properly, you'll have to imagine the gesture.
This is a free no obligation service,
Well, thank GOD for that. I'd hate to pay you idiots for what you do.
and all information is kept private.
Assuming, of course, you sucker any fools into this little scam.
Offer applies to citizens of the U.S.A.
Gee. I've an offer that applies only to spammers. Wanna trade?
Good. Now hold still...
Full Name:
You should know it. You sent me e-mail.
State:
At the moment, pretty irate. Yours?
Home Phone:
Got one. It works. How's the one in your parents' basement?
Work Phone:
Yes, the home phone works. And I do know how to work it. Praise be
that you do not.
Best Time to Call:
How about never? Is never good for you? Works for me.
E-Mail Address:
And you just lost it, did you? Here's a tip. Stand up. Yeah,
that thing that's feeling the breeze now? That's your head.
Yes. Really. Who are you going to believe? Auntie Mom and
Uncle Dad, or the guy you wanna do business with? I thought so. And
they said you couldn't be taught...
Estimated Tax Debt Size:
As noted above. Billyuns and billyuns. Oh, you're talking personal,
not the federal debt.
One of our helpful staff members will call you within 48 hours
Gee, I thought you'd assign one of your nasty, rabid staff members.
upon receiving your information.
Again, grammatical sentence construction just isn't one of your fortes,
is it? Then again, if you've got one (other than perfect idiocy), I'm
still waiting to hear it. f**kwit.
Thanks for your time
Yes, and thanks for your sheer incompetence. We all need a yardstick
now and then to measure against. I'm pleased to announce you've won
the lowest IQ of the month award to date... There's no prize, but a
pretty plaque with shiny bits. Send $499.99 plus $350.00 shipping and
handling, drawn on a US bank, in certified US Funds, and we'll get that
right out to you in 10-12 weeks.
To no longer receive this message reply with the word - remove - in the
e-mail subject line.
Buddy, you wouldn't get the message if it were attached to a pointed
stick and shoved in your ... eyehole. Regrettably, the fact that your
family tree has failed to fork for at least seventeen generations shows
us that the human body is far more capable than we ever imagined. The
capacity to deal with sheer idiocy is apparently limitless. Wipe your
chin. You're drooling again.
Oh well. Enjoy your weekend. I've got to go find me another Virgin... heh.
Saturday, August 11, 2001
RHIANNON COMES HOME!!!
11:50 pm: Considering I was eleven before I left home (and then proceeded through the week with no contact whatsoever from those I left) for a week, Rhiannon did very, very well. She wants to go back. Just not next week.
While I've little else to say about today, the sad and unfortunate part is that you won't see it until tomorrow, because here in the land of the Dial-up, sometimes the teleco planets fail to align, and despite the many, many virgins sacrificed to the great God of Carrier, etc., sometimes ... stuff just doesn't happen, if you know what I mean. No joy. No happy bits up and down the little wires.
So, being someone who believes such things happen for a reason, I take it as a good reason to go to bed. As it's nearly midnight (11:50 pm), I think I can be forgiven for the inspiration. Don't you? G'nite.
Sunday, August 12, 2001
9:30 am: On the docket for today - picnic at the Zoo, visits with the Meerkats, and re-acquainting ourselves with the great good joy that comes from one child arguing with the other. Amazing how the things that used to send you through the roof are forgotten in only the span of a week. And, at least for a while, are welcome.
Last night we watched a show on The Learning Channel - Trading Spaces. Seems they set two people up to trade places with someone else - they apparently need to know the other person, and have some sort of relationship - friends, neighbors, whatever. Then they switch homes with them for a forty-eight hour period and allow the friends to redecorate a room in the other's home; they've a limited budget so they need to do most of the work themselves.
Last night's experience was with two sets of mid-twenties guys and girls. One fellow's girlfriend lived in some sort of basement apartment, while he lived nearby in a fairly nice-looking home. This show employed the services of two people to assist the pairs as they did their "decorating" and supposedly this person advising them was supposed to be pretty smart. I'm frankly terrified, if that's what professional decorators come up with these days.
The girls ended up with a dark orange basement with these white ... designs on them - they looked like some sort of written language the guys on Star Trek would come up with to sell yet another book and pile of merchandise. They also made, from the basic parts (which would be canvas and some iron-on stickers and styrofoam) a bean-bag couch - that was pretty cool. Finally, they made a kidney-shaped table - the legs were built up from plastic tumblers which were filled with Plaster of Paris - and a coat-hanger wrapped up weird. Personally, I could have come up with so many more ideas (his complaint was that they were out of money). I'd have picked up three threaded rods (since this was a kidney-shaped table and he'd planned only three legs on it anyway), a few nuts, a couple of standard furniture glides, and some bulk colorful candy. I'd drill holes in the cups to fit the rods, and use them to hold the cups together. I'd add nuts inside to keep from over-tightening and cracking the cups, of course, and then fill the cups with candy. Using a hot glue gun, I'd seal the seam on the cups and attach the furniture glide to the bottom - then put the leg into a built-up socket on the bottom of the table - two or three screws threw the socket into the cup, and you're done.
Were I feeling particularly energetic, I'd fill the cups with clear polyurethane resin or something to keep the candy from shifting. And, of course, put nothing heavy on the table.
Oh well. The guys got screwed on the deal.
And just to add pain and suffering into the mix - now that we've suffered through high heat, high humidity, and all the rest, the dryer weather we've had seems to have reintroduced the concept of static electricity to the telephone company. Some years ago, while working for a company that supported lots and lots and lots of modem-based locations (early nineties, before the internet "caught on"). Since these devices were collected from sometimes multiple times per day (sometimes multiple times per hour), I got plenty of experience in troubleshooting modem connections. Granted, these were predominantly 1200-2400 baud, but there was still a significant problem with connection.
After a while, I started noticing that sunny days, especially in winter, were problematic for modem communication. Eventually I'd worked my way far enough up the technical support chain to have reached a senior engineer, who told me that he had noticed that line noise increased in such environments - bright sunshine on wires in windy, dry conditions can promote static electricity like nobody's business. I suspect the same is true here in summer, when you've got a cheap local telephone company. Ah, well. This gets up when this gets up.
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P. Dominik. All rights reserved. No reproduction without express
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