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Monday, November 19, 2001
First, the lost Monday Post...
First up, some horrible news for our "Down Under" friends. 32 days from now we'll be at our "Winter Solstice". That's "Summer Solstice" for you folks down there. Last year at this time, we were up to our ankles in snow, with much more on the way. Ugh. Ick. Etc.
And we're the ones who stole your spring. We've had 22 days of above-average temperatures, which ended yesterday, and we aren't complaining. Actually, the Governor has said that anyone who wants to complain, come to him, and he'll clock ya one for whining. Well, maybe not in so many words, but you know what I mean. Anyway, here comes the snow.
Actually, I like snow. I hate cold, especially extended periods of below-zero weather. Periods where we have to alternate which car is indoors for any length of time just to keep them both running. I'm actually looking forward to having a garage with enough space for both cars - since I'll be able to spend next summer insulating it, and making sure it's adequately wired to insure we can plug in all the car heaters (core, block, dipstick, and hose) that we'll have in both cars. And yes, I fully intend to have two vehicles, both with outlet strips under the hood, on timers, turning on the electricity at 4 am or thereabouts to warm at least part of the engine up so we can get into "nearly" warm cars. Now that I've done brake installations, I'm not too intimidated by installing all of those heaters. Piece of cake...
And yes, I'm going to get some form of passive heat (maybe an oil-filled heater or something) that I can put in the garage between the cars to keep it somewhat warm. Beats freezing my butt. I remember all those cold mornings with my butt on cold vinyl and hard-frozen "padding". Ouch.
So this week I'm thankful for a warm home, a good job with a decent employer, warm clothes on my back, another year under my belt, a positive bank balance, good friends, a good marriage to my best friend, and the potential for a house of my own soon. It's been a long, difficult, painful year - some spots of great, wonderful joy, and others of incomprehensible loss. Through it all, Ann has been with me, and that has meant more to me than anything else in the world at all. She's never doubted me or my abilities, and there have been many times where she could. She's given me the encouragement I've needed, help whenever and where ever possible, and we've come through just fine.
And no, as far as I know while I'm writing this, I'm not in deep and serious trouble. Though I'm sure that I can find some if it'll make your day better...
Oh well, anyway.
Well, it's a bloody good thing these people aren't out in the real world, no?
Let's see. News of the weekend and the week ahead... You'll see our esteemed bald-headed governor (and I wish I could remember the exact words of Mr. Carlin last night when speaking of bald white men who do so by choice, but regrettably, I lost it in the laughter amnesia that inevitably occurs when Carlin's around - though I have noticed he's getting a wee bit more vulgar in his old age. Or perhaps it's just me. Anywho...) hitting the talk-show/talking head/morning news circuit this week. Yes, Marcia, more baseball - you can skip it here. Jesse's going to point out that despite the "minor market" status of the Twins, they've managed to remain both profitable, and this last year, competitive, despite the "inevitable failure" of the small market teams.
I do agree with Jesse here - if Baseball wishes to eliminate the Twins, they're showing their true colors - any "business" that would eliminate a profitable, low-cost, and competitive division just to improve the books overall on the rest of the company, where they really aren't practicing good financial management, then there's definitely something decomposing in a Scandanavian country somewhere.
Given the collected efforts of several hundred individuals, Sunday there were about 3500 people at the Metrodome for a "save the Twins" rally. While that's a pretty low number, I'd like to note it was a cold, rainy day. The first cold rainy day since last spring, really. 3500 outdoors in the pre-Christmas Shopping season is pretty impressive.
Second, it seems near-certain that if Baseball does even attempt contraction, they're going to take it in the keister - the various legal challenges that are currently in-play or waiting for the official team announcements would take far too long for the owners to work through before a dispersal draft could be held - so I think it's safe to say that the Twins will at the very least have one more season. 'Nuff about baseball for now.
Third - Last night was one of those "will he ever learn?" nights. Jack was completely, totally, utterly out of hand. At 10:15 pm (he'd been in bed since 8) I went in - his sister was crying the cry of "I've just been awakened AGAIN and I didn't want to be, damnit" and weakly crying "Jack, get OFF MY BED!" I removed him and threatened him with sleeping on the deck - no blankie, no pillow, no toys, no teddy bears - nothing - nada - zip - bupkis. He finally settled down, but about 4 am came in asking for a water bottle.
I took great glee in rousting his little butt out of bed at 6:30 (though, to be fair, the 5:30 lights on thing was more a shot-across-the-bow than anything else), and he was quite owl-ly. I'm sure we'll have bad notes back from daycare today. I feel really sorry for the lady.
Speaking of, Rhiannon starts her final week at Children's World today. Oddly enough, it's not quite five years since we signed her up - Jack was two weeks old when we went looking for Daycare Centers (we were supposed to go the day after he was born, but I guess he wanted to voice an opinion or three). I know I'm feeling some ambivalence about the whole thing - She's going from a very-well-equipped center to a basic "hang out here until the folks show up" program, which will be a shock for all of us. But it's for the better, in many ways.
Oh well. I hope Mr. Sturm doesn't find out we've stolen his spring - I think most of us are trying, very hard, to hold back winter. We need to.
Nuff about that. 
See ya tomorrow...
Tuesday, November 20, 2001
THE LOST FRIDAY POST!!!
This morning Rhiannon and I were discussing history. As in events in her lifetime that will appear later in history books.
And it lead me to confront something within me that has been brewing for quite some time.
I originally got into computers to allow me to have total control over the environment and it's operation. Remember the good old days when you could tell a computer what to do and it would do it, and not take it as a suggestion or go off and do things it thought you wanted it to do? Yup. Them.
I like controlling my environment. I like having control over everything I possibly can, and then, when I hit the edge of that I, or those that I trust, or can trust, and there's still stuff left, I hand the rest of that lot off to "God". So my universe is, and always has been, under control.
Or so I'd like to think.
But it's not that easy.
I hate surrendering control. When I'm reading a book that's too intense, I'm the type who hops to the back to check out what's going on there. Just to make sure I don't get too attached to the character who's going to get torched at the end or not even be around. When it comes to television shows, even the ones I like, I can't help but anticipate and try to figure out before the plot concludes that this character did it, that character didn't, and this one's a dork.
When it comes to life, I can't do that. I look back at late August, when we went to my brother-in-law's wedding. I look back at that time prior to September 11th, and it seems like a lifetime ago. I look at the collapse of Afghanistan under the Taliban, and even though I know intellectually that they were only the tip of the iceberg, if that, Ifind myself wishing that this war would be done and over with. But I know it's not.
In a very painful way, I'm trapped by my own knowledge of history. When I look at what we're doing to other groups in the world, there's a problem. We're stopping the Taliban and Al Qaeda. We're pointing fingers at other groups.
However, there's a problem with this scenario. If you take a collection of military veterans who've moved somewhere to start over, and those veterans have had to struggle and fight and tame a hostile environment, all the while trying to pay back the loans that they'd taken out to get over there, as well as build everything they'll need, and then find out that those ungrateful rats have decided not to pay back the loans and other costs, and have gone rebel, what do you have? Well, for starters, the eastern seaboard of this continent circa 1770.
What if you move a group of people into land previously occupied by others, and those people take the land by force, and those who've been moved off their land try to fight back, what do you have? Israel and Palestine, or the US Army versus the Native Americans?
One man's "terrorist" is another man's freedom fighter. Certainly, there are groups who have pointed at the United States and others and said "you will suffer, you will die." I believe it's Niven's Law which states "thou shalt not throw shit at an armed man. Thou shalt not stand next to an idiot throwing shit at an armed man." That seems appropriate. If you wish to rejoice at our injury, then we reserve the right to call you enemy, and we reserve the right to treat you as such. And, as every idiot knows, most armed men show great restraint. Sometimes too much. As most late idiots know, that restraint isn't infinite (I say most rather than all because we all know some idiots are completely untrainable - witness myself, my wife, and wiping counters).
As Americans, we need to be careful before we enter the next "phase" of our War On Terror. I would feel a great deal more comfortable about it were it not for the alliances and "friends" we have in the world. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend" is about as universal a constant as "those who are not with us are against us" - that is to say, they aren't. Constants, that is.
Assumptive thinking is dangerous. When we assume that some organization is a terrorist, we've made three enemies. The first is that organization - whether or not they are the enemy is no longer the question - and their true intentions are no longer in question, either. There's no doubt. The second enemy are those people who know of the organization and think it does good. The third group is composed mostly of people who just don't like "us" setting the rules.
And I have to admit I'm a bit ambivalent about it. I know I can pick those groups that I think are dangerous. But then there's another problem - where do we draw the line? Do we call the Irish terrorists because of the Catholics fighting to get rid of the English Protestant immigration, or do we call the Irish terrorists because of the Protestant's continuing efforts to stay in their homes? Do we call the Palestinians terrorists for wanting to go back home, or do we call the Israelis terrorists for wanting to make for themselves a home?
I like consistency. It's a good thing. I like being able to apply the same rules across the board. What I don't like is double-standards, doublethink, and doubletalk. Because it's my feeling that we've gotten into this mess by committing those ... mistakes, if you will.
For example, we encourage Iraq in it's war with Iran, as Iran had taken fifty-some of our people and held them for 444 days. Then, we find out that the crazy little man over there has gone wacko, and thinks he's entitled to more real estate. Oops, maybe not. Smack his hand. And now, in our war against Afghanistan and Al Qaeda, we find ourselves relying on Pakistan, who we've spanked recently for the impertinence of exploding nukes right next door to a country whom they're having some relationship problems with, and they have their own nukes. Lovely.
I sometimes wonder if there's a possible benefit in some sort of inherited leadership - say we elect the president for life, or something - that way there's consistency for many years at a certain level. Of course, there's the problem of getting a young, unqualified individual in the office; hopefully they'll learn.
But there's a fundamental problem here, and I'm not going to be able to wrap this one up with a bow. Yes, we were in the right in Afghanistan when it came to Al Qaeda - and by extension, the Taliban. But now, who's next? And how do we determine the list after that "next"?
To borrow a baseball analogy (stay with me, Marcia, it'll be short), we're not even done with the first inning yet. We've got our first three outs. Unfortunately, they also scored some runs on us. It's going to be a very, very long game. And we need to realize that we're in it for the long haul, and we'd better be right, or there will be some few Americans living in the Rocky mountains somewhere, while there will be some few of each other nationality bombed back to the stone age, wandering the continents in a soup of released toxins and gases and destroyed bits of our current selves. And while I'm not so sure of a whole lot in this mess, I'm nearly certain that no one (outside a few very unstable extremists) wants that.
Yup. Survived the birthday, and then bagged the planned weekend for an unplanned experience.
Speaking of unplanned, would all of you currently having Christmas trees set up and fully decorated already in your homes, please do me the favor of dousing it with gasoline and lighting it on fire? And please be sure to stand really, really close. Thanks.
I've given up the battle for the Day After. I just want to be able to celebrate Thanksgiving in the warm glow of reds and oranges and yellows and the peace that comes from being thankful. You folks DO remember Thanksgiving, do you not? That long-forgotten holiday that used to mark the boundary BEFORE the orgiastic excesses of retail we now commonly call "The Christmas Shopping Season"?
As a former retail geek (yes, a geek, in retail - it's called selling software - get over it), and prior to that, I spent much of ten years dreading the period from November something-or-other until Christmas. Especially "The Day After". Many, many horrifying memories came from those single annual days. The little kid who peed on me while I was playing Santa. The little kid who had crap oozing up the back of the outfit the parents wanted me to place next to the rented red suit. Thanks, no. The day I arrived at the mall at 6 am, opened at 8, closed at 10, left at 12:30 am, returned at 6... All the days where people JUST HAD to get out and get SOMETHING.
Little tip for ya, folks - the day after Thanksgiving is NOT the ideal day to go shopping. And, for those evil ones amongst you who insist on hitting the stores on Thanksgiving itself, shame on you. Yes, shame on YOU. Your purchases encourage the management of these stores to say "swell - more money. Let's be open longer hours next year." Which is telling the people who work in those stores "hey, we don't care that you couldn't find someone to trade with or otherwise avoid working today, we just gotta shop." Sorry. You're being rude.
Why do I say that? After all, isn't it un-American to not shop and spend your entire paycheck? Not really. It's a little more American to actually spend time with family and friends on this day.
Years ago, growing up, Thanksgiving was a day to get up, watch parades, smell the cooking, smell the cooking, and smell the cooking. I, being somewhat less skilled in the cuillinary arts than others, was relegated to Quality Control (eat what breaks) and that was tough enough. After the Turkey and other assorted foods were consumed, the obligatory afternoon nap and turkey sandwiches for supper were about all I could manage.
But Thanksgiving is now the forgotten holiday, just a signpost stuck half-way between Halloween (that Wannabe-Christmas) and "The Big X".
This year, I'll give thanks that only about a third of the wandering dickheads seem to have managed to get their CHRISTMAS trees up in that three week period between Halloween and Thanksgiving. I don't ask a lot from the world most of the time, and I'm certainly not in a position to call down the wrath of God on anyone, but those who set up the tree before even Thanksgiving deserve, in my opinion, the wrath of God.
I'm not insisting you do like my family did and set up the Christmas Tree on Christmas Eve (or one or two days early at the most). After all, it's not like you folks are professionals at "Big in-home tree installation".
I suppose that the full instructional portion would be out of place, but I'll go over the particulars again. Tree, originally eleven feet tall. Trimmed off the needle-like tip and trimmed up the bottom, and the tree was still well over nine feet tall. Fourteen feet across the bottom at the widest point. Wrapped it with three bed sheets sewn together along the edges to "compress" the tree. Brought the tree through a forty-two inch wide door, and up a forty-eight-inch wide stairway by myself. Moved the tree into the living room (24x26, vaulted ceiling). Brought in the tree stand - four-by-four sheet of 3/4" plywood with two three-by-eight beams attached as "outriggers". The "Stand" itself was a canister of 3/8" steel with a two-inch spike in the bottom. The canister was eleven inches top to bottom and over eight inches across. The tree was put into the stand and secured with the three turnbolts in the top of the canister. Then the wires from the eye buckles in the beams were run into the tree and tied around the trunk, about four feet off the floor. Then the tree was raised and the stand was set on plastic sheeting to allow it to slide, as we positioned the tree with the best side "out".
Then, my final act for the new tree was to run the lights. We typically used somewhere around 25 strings of lights. These were the smaller-bulb lights with the "if one goes, the whole string goes" operation, so this was rather delicate. The strings were put in the tree (you had to get the lights deep into the tree so they would shine from behind the ornaments), and then we'd deal with the decorations.
After all that, approximately 25,000 ornaments were placed on the tree. Some of these were antique glass balls and the like; some were store bought and/or gifts. A majority, some 80%, were hand-made. Some were simple ornaments which took a few hours each. Some took days. Weeks, even. And there were six of each - one for each kid, plus a leftover for Mom and Dad.
When I moved out, the same year one of my sisters also left, the ornament count dropped, and has dropped again - they're down to perhaps 10,000 ornaments any more (we don't get all of the balls split up), and they don't get the big trees, so they don't put all the ornaments up. It's still a lot of work.
The amazing part of all of this? From the point where I was about eleven until I was twenty-five, we did this. Every year. If I had to work on Christmas Eve, we'd back the installation date up by a day or so, but we did this every year. On Christmas Eve. The tree would usually be in the house, upright, with the lights on by about 3-4 pm.
Then Mom and the Girls would go to it with the ornaments. I stayed out of most of the ornament stuff, primarily because I'd already thrown my back pretty much out hauling a hundred pounds of wood and sap out of the garage, around the corner, through the front door, up a half-flight of stairs, and getting the whole thing stood right up.
Last tip for those of you who want huge trees. Get a plastic hose - garden hose would work, but plastic is OK, too. Get two-conductor wire, too. Get somewhere between eight and twelve feet of both. Then get a radio shack battery pack, a couple of low-draw colored lights or LEDs or something, a funnel. Run the wire down the side of the hose to almost the very tip, and expose the ends of the wires. Make sure the end of the hose is into the container the tree (and water) goes into. Hook the battery pack up to the wires and the lights. When you've got all of that done, attach the funnel to the top end of the hose, attach the lights to the edge of the funnel, and pour water in. Once the water covers the wires, your lights should go on (water's a conductor). Once you do that, you can tell when the tree's out of water.
If you wanna get fancy, get a second battery holder, set of wires, and a second light/LED. Attach the wires higher up on the hose to mark "almost" the high water mark (you need to allow for water in the funnel and hose so it doesn't overflow - that's why a small-bore hose is better in this case), and run those lights for the "stop here" signal.
Super-fancy would be to add a switch to "check" and of course put your favorite craft guru on the job creating a cover of sorts for the funnel. Have fun with it.
But I digress. I suppose, having established my credentials not as a "Bah-Humbuger" but a true Christmas Professional, I can continue with the Rant...
Hey, credit me with some restraint here. I saw one tree up in an apartment in my complex when we were coming home HALLOWEEN NIGHT. Tree up, lights on, fully decorated. I've shown GREAT RESTRAINT in not popping a bolt before now. Hey, they were at least ashamed enough to keep the blinds drawn since that time.
Of course, this display of "holiday cheer" is doubly damnable this year, given the fact that we're averaging something like twenty degrees above average so far this month. Saturday looks to be a scorcher, with nearly 70 on tap. Let me clue you in a little, folks, this is what we call "stompin weather". As in "get out and enjoy it, cause we'll be getting a stomping in a little while." Those of you who suffered by extension through our most recent winter (with the snow that would not die and all the other attendant crap) know whereof I speak.
But I digress. The fundamental issue I have isn't in the celebration of Christmas, it's in the preMATURE celebration of Christmas. Now, I would think that most men would be sensitive to this sort of thing (as in "don't worry, it happens to most men" - not really, but that's what they told you, so run with it), but they seem to be just as willing as the fairer sex to haul out the decorations, decimate the woodlands, and erect a green monstrosity in their homes - oh, wait, that's me, dreaming about next year. But you know what I mean.
Remember that the celebration of Christmas is the celebration AFTER Christmas. It's only in modern Marketing terms that the Twelve days of Christmas came BEFORE the holiday. In ancient times, it was the twelve days OF, meaning AFTER.
Oh well. When I see you walking away from your final judgement, your steps dainty, the vicinity of your presence smelling of pine, and pine needles falling from your butt, I'll know what final judgement was in store for you. Or will be, if I have anything to say about it.
Whoa, nelly. Who blew up and let him loose? Must be the evil personna. Well, anyway.
Only three cartoonish characters entering the building across the way today - one was a cowgirl, one was a pokemon figure (I'm guessing it wasn't the blueberry girl from Willie Wonka and The Chocolate factory, though that was my first guess), and ... well, let's just say a lady of dubious taste in clothes. Doesn't mean there weren't more, I just saw those three coming in after lunch.
Did have some successes on a migration of my own stuff from a Win98 box to Windows 2000 on a Dell laptop (ah, home again). I've moved the cookies and all the other stuff, except preferred application settings, that I need. And say what you will about Apple (and you know who you are), they were most definitely easier to set up when it came to migrating from one machine to another. You copied the control panels that they needed that weren't installed by the new applications, then you copied the "preferences" folder. Yes, I'm over-simplifying again, but that's just me. About the only way they could have made it easier was to glue handles onto the files. Ahem.
And I do have to laugh at Paul Thurrott's waffling back and forth on Windows issues. I've subscribed to a number of mailing list from Windows magazine, because every once in a while, theirs a diamond in all of the shit. The bad news is that you've got to swim through a lot of it to get to the good stuff.
Today, for example, he blasts the Microsoft settlement, which is understandable. No one above the age of six, or anyone receiving paychecks that aren't written from an account that says "Microsoft", thinks this thing's a good deal - but then he goes off the deep end the other direction. Saying he hasn't yet seen sales figures for Windows XP in the previous week, today he reports
It seems that XP has sold 7 million licenses in its first 2 weeks of availability, which is twice the rate of Windows 98, the company's previous sales champion. And it took Windows 95 2 months to hit that mark. These numbers mean that more people use XP already than both Linux and Mac OS X, by the way. And by the end of the year, XP users will likely outnumber all non-Microsoft OS users.
Fascinating, fascinating stuff. Until one considers...
It's got to be tough getting a paycheck by trying to write unbiased pieces about Microsoft, because they do have some good products. They also have some seriously screwed ones. Oh well. At least it's a living.
Tonight, we will revel in "Shrek, the Deluxe Edition" and I'm sure Jack will want several repeats of the farting in the pond scene. If he won't, I will. And then we'll just veg out for the evening. We've deserved it. I think. I hope. We'll see. ;-)
Well, today was pretty busy, but in the end, we made it to church and I have two vastly different children. One, whom we'll dub "The Good Child" sat quietly and did her part in the service as necessary. The other one, hereafter known as "Baelzabub" shows little fear, even in the face (or back) of over 30 priests. And even worse behavior. Figures. That's kids for ya.
Wednesday,
November 21, 2001
Yes, I'm back. Short version - Monday was delayed by rebootus interruptus, which was doubly painful - Tuesday was delayed by someone other than myself tying up the only land-line available to me in the home until after 11 pm. With an individual whom we would see in less than 48 hours. Ah, men.
We just don't get it. Telephones are for arranging pizza deliveries, getting the guys together for the game, and downloading dirty pictures from the internet. Supposedly.
So, today is the day before Thanksgiving, 2001. It's been a year since our last thanksgiving, and while there have been rough, rough times this year, I'm very, very thankful that I've managed to come through and actually prosper despite the downturn in the economy, and I've been able to confirm almost everyone that I know was not harmed by the attacks in New York and Washington.
With everything that's happened in the last year, there are really three events which stick out in my mind that I'm especially thankful for.
The first is my friend who is going through his divorce. Yes, it's a painful time, for him, his kids, and his ex-wife. It's been a horrid way to end a relationship, but I know that he's going to come out better for it. No, that's not speaking hopefully. I know it. He's met a woman who is very similar to him in so many ways. I spent just a few hours with him, and her, at a party last weekend and I'm certain I've never seen him so at peace. While his ex-wife will continue to bedevil him the remainder of her life, and his as well, in one way or another, right now he's got someone who really, really likes him, makes him feel pretty good, and most importantly, doesn't feed him a load of crap.
The second is my children. Both are good kids, and both are highly intelligent and fun to be around. Rhiannon is sensitive, polite, and very concerned of her position in other's opinions. She tries so very hard to be a good little lady (she's not really a little girl any more), and succeeds all too well far too often. Parents will tell you that children do seem to grow up very quickly. Mine have been no exception. I can remember as if it were yesterday standing in my bedroom, nearly crying in frustration as Rhiannon, less than a month old, awoke crying again, after nearly three hours of feeding to consume two ounces. Now I look at that kid who serves herself, who cleans her plate (sometimes with "encouragements"), and I'm just stunned that I made that. I watched her walk up the sidewalk to school this morning, knowing her afternoon would be bittersweet for so very many reasons as it's her last regular day at her daycare (she'll drop in from time to time, but no longer as a full-time attendee), and I marveled, again, at the little lady she's become.
Jack, on the other hand, is the child I deserved from childhood, apparently. He is rambunctious, fractious, and dangerous, not necessarily in that order.
His attitude over recent weeks has mellowed considerably, but he's still having problems with some of the other boys at his daycare. If it weren't for the teacher in his room, today would also be Jack's last day there. Frequent management turnover and slipping enrollment has lead to some "desperations" admissions in the daycare attendees, and there are a couple of kids (some who left and came back) who are just out-and-out trouble.
Jack has found a role, of sorts, with them. Jack is a born leader, and a good kid. The problem is that when he falls under the spell of older, more manipulative children, he can be used to lead the other kids astray. None of the little trouble-makers in Jack's room has the Charisma to lead the pack - that's all Jack's job. But if he decides that spitting out his milk at lunch would be fun (after prompting from one of the other knuckleheads), that's what he does, which incites to riot.
However, he's still a good little boy.
The third thing I'm thankful for is the support and encouragement people have given me with my efforts here and through the Daynoters. I had a friend of mine whom I've known for years tell me on the phone the other day (oh, yeah, that's the other thing a phone's good for - catching up with friends who've got lives as busy as yours) that this site was the highlight of his day. Considering he's one of the people I've learned the most from and is, I think, far wiser than his years, I thought that was just too much compliment.
But I'm learning to accept them gracefully. It's taken some time, bit it still works.
And, just for fun, I'm gonna start a little poll... Does anyone have any favorite Christmas Shows to add to this list? I'll post it on a separate page, too...
It's a Wonderful Life
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
Frosty the Snowman
Little Drummer Boy
Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey
How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the animated one)
A Charlie Brown Christmas
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
The Year without a Santa Clause
Any more? I'm a sucker for the claymation ones, and the ever-popular Rankin-Bass products, of course... But the ultimate is The Charlie Brown Christmas.
And of course, today, when you really want an easy day, stuff like this happens...
Yesterday, my "team lead" (whom we'll call "boss" from now on) came in and said he was having problems getting into just one of our servers. We've got four that are no problem to access... This one has taken a particular dislike to him, though.
I was semi-thorough when I set the server up some months back - I created two "shares" for each major folder - one was a link to the folder itself, where everyone (but me) had read-only access. The other was a folder with RW access, that people could drop things into and let me know where on the server they wanted them. As this is a "reference/archive/build" server, rather than a "file exchange" server, I figured that would work (R/A/B means a server with application software installers, operating systems, reference materials we don't often need to update, previous versions of our applications, previous versions of other applications, etc, while the "File Exchange" server would be your standard centralized data collection/distribution point).
Worked just fine until yesterday afternoon. My boss came into my cube, complaining that the file he'd been editing all day was no longer accessable to him; he could read, change, just couldn't save. Oh. Says I. Sounds like a permissions problem.
Now, mind you, I'm an NT administrator who longs for the ease of UNIX or VMS permissions, frankly. With VMS, you had system, owner, group, and world. Your system could be set up so that group was whatever the administrator wanted - in college, Group was "Students" or "Faculty" or "staff" or "Tech" and the like. If those weren't fine-grained enough for you, each file had an ACL - Access Control List. The ACL allowed you to modify other's permissions on the file. Once you had your division of the populace, there were simple permissions - Read, Write, Execute, and Delete. Simple.
UNIX was nearly as easy - drop the "group" stuff (System, Owner, World, basically), and drop the Delete permission, and you've got UNIX.
Straightforward. Once you get the hang of the numeric equivalents, it's also fairly easy to do a chmod 644 ./myfile.ext and you're done. Or done in, depending on if you wanted everyone to have access to your love letters.
Windows? Nah. Nothing that straightforward. You have Read, Write, Execute Delete, Full Control, Change Status, and a half-dozen other combinations which may cause severe heartburn. You also have local and global groups, which can cause the unclear severe confusion. I've got to sit down and carefully plan out the permissions I want on a server and stick to that, and test it, as I build it up.
And of course, all of that went out the window yesterday as someone changed all the permissions on the drive to allow just two people in. Myself, and one other person. Since I was nowhere near the computer, and they were still logged in, we knew the guilty party. Didn't resolve the problems, however.
Of course, this morning he's having all sorts of new problems. Only with the one server, no one else is having them, and he's not having problems with any other computer. Sunspots? An early L-Tryptophan overdose? I dunno.
But then, we contact the help desk - guess who's been having password "issues"? Yup. All fixed. Let this be a lesson to you. Never assume the worst until you've checked the simple stuff...
Speaking of, we have some linky bits here - Such as Wright's Wrong. I do want to see "Falling Water" before it becomes "Falling In The Water". If you're playing with Wireless access to your corporate network, first off, shame on you (you can't "play" with it - it goes live when you start it), and secondly, check out this link. Should be a "well, duh" but some people obviously have forgotten. Finally, there's yet another fine product brought to you by the fine folks in Ashcroft's Department of "Justice".
And of course, when the going gets tough, Microsoft craps out. What's that? Well, I was using my new laptop today when I realized that there was no audio coming from it. I also needed to download the drivers for my external ZIP drive which greatly simplifies moving files back and forth... So, I did the logical thing and put the Iomega drivers on first. Rebooted, all was fine - but I couldn't find the external drive. It wouldn't show up in the explorer browser window. Lovely. I then noticed there were only boring old beeps coming from the Dell Latitude CPx that I'm now using. Download the audio.
Install. Reboot. Welcome to absolute hell.
It would run the little "progress bar" about 70% of the way and stop. So I removed the battery and the power cord. Reinserted both. Powered back up. Safe boot with networking. Blop. Safe Boot Command Prompt. Blop. Debugged Boot. Blop. Safe Mode alone. Blop. Fine. I note each time with interest that the final driver loaded before things stop dead is iomdisk.sys. Gee. Iomega, maybe? Fine. Two can play this game. Insert the Win2K CD, and then see if I can use the recovery console.
Happy happy joy joy. I can. I get in, and ... have to flop around like a gaffed northern, looking for the damned iomdisk.sys. Find it. Rename it. Reboot.
Uh-oh. The BSoD. Blue Screen (or Scream, for I was quite blue when it happened - both emotionally and linguistically) Of Death, indeed. Reboot.
Same BSoD with the same happy message - bite me.
Reboot. Try the repair installation and then I grab my ... uh oh. You didn't make the emergency recovery disk yet either, did you? Nope. Unhappy, unhappy moment. Think for a moment of the fond memories of fast-food employment, where the only dangers were heat, burns, hot grease, slippery floors, hot grills, and the occasionally really funny moment. Pound head on desk. Try again. Do the repair installation anyway. And of course, no happy happy joy joy dance. REboot to ... gee, the same damned 70% and get stuffed point in the process. Fine. After pronouncing a string of words that I'm sure Mr. Carlin will be looking to use in his next special, whacked my head on the desk really good this time, and away we went. Fresh install, all freaking over again. Lovely.
So my Friday and Monday are probably fixed for me. Then again, I'd have to be nuts to show up on Friday. Aw, screw it. It's just not worth it.
I hate computers...
And then, when we get home, a note under the door. "Starting next week, we'll be in your apartment to replace the toilet valves." Great. Clean from top to bottom. Again. Ugh.
Thursday, November 22, 2001
HAPPY THANKSGIVING...
Well, Thanksgiving 2001 will forever after be known as "The Year My Mom Screwed The Pecan Pie Up".
You have to realize that my mother's Pecan Pie is literally "to die for" - when she's on her game. Some months back, Mom got a new oven, and apparently things haven't been quite right since.
And this year's Pecan Pie was an unmitigated unholy disaster. Which, as my father said, "you finally screwed something up in the cooking department, and boy, did you ever."
Mom's usual Pecan pie is a homemade pie crust, on top of which is a layer of what I can only call "butterscotch custard" - it's firm, yet quasi-liquid. And very, very good. On top of that, float the pecans. Normally.
This time, gremlins or oven trolls or something got in there and took a flame-thrower to that damned pie. It's a testament to my mother's normal pecan pie that both my father and I managed to finish our pieces, although I think it was sheer masochism at the end there. The crust had some ... well, carbonized spots, to be honest, on the bottom. Then there was this solidified coating on the top part which was, in some past life, liquid. It's been rumored, anyway. But this stuff we were dealing with was closer to hard-rock candy than custard, honestly. But that was nothing compared to the brutality that was done to those poor pecans.
And the ultimate insult was the outer ring of the pie. Normally, the thickest portion of the filling gravitates to the outside of the pie. I don't know why, I'm sure a smarter cook or scientist could explain it, but I take it on faith that that's where the good stuff is, just short of the bend in the pie crust. Well, folks, today, that little spot of heaven had been recently visited by warmer climes. And, frankly, torched.
Dad and I were picking and complaining about the caramel on our teeth some two hours after the first infliction of the pie. And, to be honest, it was still good enough to tempt me to go back for another piece. Isn't that sad?
Other than that, we've had a long, full, filling day. Tonight's "coffee and dessert" turned into "four kinds of pie, plus cake and cookies", which I needed like a hole in the head.
I hope your Thanksgiving was as fun...
Friday!, November 23, 2001
Today we learned a great many things.
First of all, a little sour cream whipped into the omlette before cooking makes
them much better. Secondly, onions that are saute'd in olive oil rather
than "spray butter" are much, much better as they tend to not need
quite so much of the spray-on chemical version of "butter".
Third, cheese in a non-stick pan renders the non-stick portion no longer
responsible for releasing the omlette. With me so far? Okay,
then. We've also learned that the product known as "Peanut
Wonder" is best left to wonder. If you'd like to know, the best thing
I can tell you is to brown peanut shells over a fire, grind them fairly fine,
then mix the resultant ash-like product with one part water and four parts real
peanut butter. Then, save yourself the trouble and toss the whole lot into
the trash.
Oh, yeah. We also found Owatonna, and Matt and Keri Beland. But Mrs. B has enjoined us from writing or posting pictures of it, so I won't. Well, mostly I won't. Since she could probably smack you around like a frog on a lilly pad, I'm sure she could take me with little to no effort. As any underdog will tell you, it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog. And Mrs. B will whomp your ass... oops. Probably like mine, once she sees that it looks like I'm calling her a dog. But Keri, I'm not really, I'm not, I swear...
You see, there's also a legend that the name "Keri" also comes from the original Lorena Bobbit character in Irish (I think) Mythology. I, for one, am just glad she didn't take up barbering. Anyway...
First, there was
the excitement of waiting. Yup, despite running both on Dominik Time and
late (which is something of a double-whammy, for those of you seeking technical
language), we got there first. It helps, I suppose, when one says
"you know, it's gonna take us an hour to get there".
Right. Did I forget to mention that forty miles isn't exactly an hour away
when when is talking interstate, four-lane, the whole way, and Mrs. Lead-Foot in the
driver's seat? Good. Got that point cleared up. And,
fortunately, no tickets on the way. And it only started to rain just north
of Cabela's. So that was one lucky
break.
Our first major reason for heading to Owatonna (other than meeting Matt and Keri in the flesh) was to deliver unto "Pan" the aforementioned and often discussed "goat". As you can see to the left, here, it's not a pretty goat. It's more a psychedelic goat... But then, aren't most?
So we delivered unto the Belands
the Goat. We also had some fun with food by eating out at Appleby's in
Owatonna. Nice restaurant. And easy to find, too. Then we went
to the Elder Belands to chat, and then SOMEONE decided just as Junkyard wars was
starting to head out and get Pie. Right. Like between the gorge-fest
of the previous day, combined with the general "I just don't think that's a
good idea" portion of the exercise, we needed more useless calories in the
whole food-intake business. Right. But we did it anyway.
Then we went back, assured ourselves that "Fort Beland" was still standing (as anyone who has met my son knows, there is no assured outcome at all until the final credits roll. And Jack doesn't always stop there, either. But I digress). Then we chatted and watched some TV, and then, took some pictures (which I'm not allowed to post yet), and then came home.
And, it should be noted, I hate late fall/early spring driving when there's both Rain and Night involved. It just plain sucks. But clearly, I'm not alone. There are a great many idiots out there this fine evening who obviously feel the same. That, or "damnit, it's my road, I paid for the whole damned thing, so I'm gonna use it." Not a good attitude to have when you are driving a Honda Civic and the fellow trying to pass you is in a great big truck.
But we're home, safe and sound, and mostly sane. So we'll be back tomorrow wish similarly zany tales about housecleaning, I suspect. G'nite.
Saturday, November 24, 2001
First off -
What a difference a year makes. On the left is last year's November 24 Buck Hill Shot of the Day. On the right is the now very occasional Buck Hill Shot for today. Rainy and dreary - matched the indoor mood, as well... Until sunset, that is...
Yup. Today was inside cleaning day. Ann actually pulled out the oven and did behind, beneath, and all the rest. I did just one room. But boy, was it a doozy. Oh well. I'll spare you the details.
This evening we have Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and then It's a Wonderful Life. I miss the good old days when IAWL was on somewhere 24 hours a day, seven days a week, between Thanksgiving and New Years. When we move, one thing I'm gonna suggest to Ann is to get IAWL on DVD, then set up a TV/DVD combo in a room somewhere and have the movie running on "repeat" - 24x7, from Thanksgiving to New Years. Oh well.
For some reason, I've taken a real dislike to that Herbie character. If I were a dentist, I'd be protesting the depiction of the dental profession. I mean, really. You're an elf at the North Pole - Granted, you're working for a boss that's just a party animal, practically, but when he gives you the opportunity to switch careers, you could go into play test, or product development, even quality assurance, but ... well, I don't know about you, but up until Herbie picked Dentistry as his chosen profession, I was certain he was an engineer.
Oh well. G'nite.
Sunday, November 25, 2001
All righty, then.
Mr. and Mrs. Beland have returned, safe and sound, from the Land of Flat and boring. Conveniently, I might note, we did schedule some rain in so they'd feel comfortable and it would re-moisturize their webbed toes.
On the other hand, where this woman gets the idea I called her a Dog, I have no idea. Good lord, if she really knew the woman I was married to, and have noted the fact that I've survived eleven years of life with her, then she would know that I've survived this long by not pulling terminally stupid stunts like calling someone a "dog". A giant, perhaps, but never a dog. I have much more respect for women than that. Of course, I also grew up with four sisters, so there ya go...
Anyway, should you be desirious of viewing the images we took (or had taken), head for this page...
Other than that, we did eight loads laundry, some more cleaning, and headed to the mall...
And you know those "one-in-a-million" moments? I had one tonight. The kids sat on Santa's lap. The kids got their picture taken with Santa. Three times. And I took ten pictures. Guess what? One of those pictures was at the same time. How can I tell?
On the left, a normal shot. On the right, the "perfect timing" shot. Gee, why couldn't I do that with lottery tickets?
The official portrait? Yes, it's big. 285K. It's also my site.
And that's the end of that. See you next week...
Oh, and the Vikings are again getting beaten like a cheap bucket. Ouch. And my wife's a Bear's fan. Ouch.
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