Last Updated : Sunday, 21 April, 2002 at 11:54 PM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Last Updated : Sunday, 21 April, 2002 at 11:54 PM -0500 |
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Monday, April 15, 2002
Weather Is Here, Wish You Were...
Fourteen days ago, we were looking out at 8 inches of snow. Today, when I
left work and got into the car, the outside temperature registered 97
degrees. While it later dropped to 92, which appears, at this point, to be the official high, it's still hot.
Guess I'd best dig out the fans.
We did discover yesterday that with the windows open and not much effort, we do get a nice cross-breeze from one side of the house to the other. Something to do with the north-south orientation of the long axis of the house, I suspect.
At least the AC works. Though Friday's predicted low of 36 has me hesitant to shut off the furnace just yet. Oh well. Never a dull moment. As I'm sure tomorrow evening will tell. After all, we went from dry and mid-fifties last week to 92 and humid today. That does not bode well in the severe weather department. And now I've got a roof of my own to worry about.
The "Never Ascribe To Malice" Report
Been feeling sorry for myself at work. The fellow who has been nominally
directing my efforts blew me off late last week when I e-mailed and called
for assistance.
Found out why today. He's left the company. Well, I guess I shouldn't feel like a mushroom then just because of him ignoring me. It's the rest of my non-local management I worry about...
A Pox Upon Them
Mr. Thompson points out something I'd never
encountered, luckily enough.
The previously fine folk at Dell have re-wired their power supplies. And
the motherboards. So when you replace the motherboard in your "dudebox"
when it goes all flakey, it burns out - because the power supply's wired
bass-ackwards, too.
So, as Bob suggests, if you have a Dell with mobo problems, order yourself a good power supply AND motherboard. Then complain to Dell. If I happen to run into "Steven", I'll punch him right proper in the store, I will. Little bugger...
Looks like I'll be looking elsewhere for corporate computing needs, next time I have to select machines for myself/my employer. Sure, Dell's easy to work with and huge, but there's no excuse for hiding "near-standard" components in your boxes. I'm sure Dell's going to lose more business from this than they gained by keeping the parts sales "proprietary".
Speaking of other vendors, it looks like the folks at Gateway are trying to fight that damned Hollings bill... I was not thrilled with Ted's high-tailing it out of Sioux Falls for San Diego just so he could be closer to the beach, but this might get him back on my good side... And I come from dairy country, so a cow-pimped PC works for me a lot better than "Duuuuuude-box" does.
And On And On And On...
Off to empty boxes, find that damned Furby that's going nuts somewhere over in
the toy box pile, and short it's brains out. You have a wonderful evening,
too, and tomorrow, I'll threaten you with the gory details of how I'm building
Rhiannon's ladder for her loft...
Tuesday, April 16, 2002
Wednesday, April 17, 2002
Thursday,
April 18, 2002
Grandma Mary Arrives
Still Alive...
There are times when I wonder just which orifice the brains drained out of (on
me, of course), because I can be a real doofus at times.
It goes something like this. Last weekend I was looking at an Excel spreadsheet, and realized that I hadn't put the autosave add-in on. Knowing the stability of Excel, especially when I start fooling around with some of my bigger spreadsheets, and I knew I needed Autosave.
So, I go to install it. "Please insert the Office 2000 Premium CD". I looked around at forty or so boxes labeled "Computer" and said "This can wait."
So, the other day, I looked at Outlook. Another one of those auto-pilot moves I did - I installed it in corporate/exchange mode. Well, I'm not using exchange here yet, so I figured I'd switch to internet only.
"If you do this, Outlook will quit and restart". Okay, says I. "Please insert the Office 2000 Premium CD." Well, sheeeeeeeeee-it.
So I dropped the computer stuff, went to work with the loft and other projects, and left the computer sitting there with that picture of Malcolm eyeballs deep in Mr. Thompson's pants-pocket (boy, that will get some unusual hits to the Thompson web site - sorry Bob).
So, Grandma's here, the loft still isn't completed (I've got the legs on, the platform built, and 35 of those 40 boxes unpacked.
Oy. What a load. So I hooked up Outlook Distress temporarily. Downloaded over three hundred e-mails. Phew. Of course, one of the last ones was from MikeHanson445@excite.com. For the subject it said "I heard you have a small penis."
You know, there are few things that make me burst out laughing out loud, but that one did it. Of course, if all you've got to worry about is ... that, well, I suppose it's a problem. What a schmuck.
No rest for the wicked. More projects to work on. G'nite.
Friday, April 19, 2002
Do You Remember Where You Were?
I was sitting in a converted warehouse, in an office, struggling to get a
fairly new product configured to meet the customer's needs over the lunch
period - the morning and afternoon were taken with training that customer.
I had left home at 4:45 am for the three-hour trip down, and was not
expecting to be home until after 8 pm that night.
I'd called earlier and left Ann a message at work (she was in a meeting or something), letting her know I'd be leaving on time and things looked pretty good, and I'd see her and Rhiannon soon. This was in the pre-cell-phone days for us, and since she worked in an office with an 800 number, I used it. Hey, I know, it's theft from her employer. Consider it a fair payback for the unpaid overtime and other abuse they put her through.
I got out of the client's office, got gas in my car, and headed towards home up US Highway 61. That's a nice, wide, four-lane road that runs along "Lake Pepin". Those of you who remember the Little House In The Prairie books, well, Lake Pepin is the lake Laura Ingalls and her family crossed going from the Little House in the Big Woods to the Little House on the Prairie. And it's not really a lake, it's a wide spot on the Mississippi River.
Anyway, about the same time I was heading home, Ann was sitting in the living room of the apartment, feeding Rhiannon, and watching the television. Ann was crying. Rhiannon was eating, watching her mother, and the television. Her year-and-a-half-old-brain didn't yet allow coherent communication of concepts other than the physical world. But she knew something was wrong.
It's been seven years since a disgruntled man drove a truck loaded with fertilizer to an office building in Oklahoma. It's been seven years since he left, walking fast. It's been seven years since 149 adults and 19 children were frozen, forever, in time. Over 500 more people were physically injured by the attack, and the rest of us remain scarred.
Perhaps it's my upbringing, or maybe it's my faith, or maybe it's my basic human decency. You don't kill someone else unless they're threatening your safety. Killing someone for an "idea" affects that idea, typically not for the better.
I'm not a pacifist, but I am sickened by the killing we seem to be hell-bent on continuing. The Palestinians seem overjoyed to be destroying Israeli civilians, while the Israelis appear relieved that they've managed to put a stop to the Palestinian bombers. I'm sickened by cowards who put diseases in envelopes, and I'm sickened by cowards who climb into airplanes and ram them into buildings to make a point. I'm sickened by men who claim an idea or a philosophy or a theology made them murder men, women, and children, for crying out loud, for no better reason than they wanted the publicity.
Because, make no mistake about it, that's all these people are interested in. Publicity. Pure, simple, get your face on TV publicity. You think not? Look how long it took for the networks to get Bin Laden's face, and later the faces of the hijackers, on national (and international) television. Gee. There's a huge surprise.
In the whole wide world, there are people who think "if I make this explosion big enough, people will care what I think." Sorry, no. I'm not at all interested in Bin Laden's theology or philosophy, just in the fact that he can no longer practice them (soon, I hope, permanently). I'm not interested in Tim McVeigh's views on Waco, or anything else, for that matter, because of the manner McVeigh chose to get attention for his message.
I do dearly wish we would never again have need for memorial builders to commemorate horrible bloody days of pain. I wish we wouldn't have to use the weapons we're all so good at creating, or the tools we've become adept at modifying, to kill one another.
Failing that, I do dearly wish I could just get off, step back, and let the rest of the lunatics slug it out, while I watch from the peace and safety of a far-off home. It's clear that some have decided it's not over until they're "over" - it's unfortunate that we may have to make them "over".
But when it comes to the safety of my kids, that's the way it is. I don't ever want to see my children's names on a memorial, any more than I want to see anyone else's.
Maybe this world will someday be a better place. Right now, it just seems like so much death and violence.
Downbeat Friday
Yeah, I know. I should be yipee-skipee-ing, but I just can't.
Maybe it's been the sleep deprivation (I'm running on between four and five hours of sleep a night), or maybe it's the depression of knowing I'm not as far along as I wanted to be.
Back when Ann and I were younger (about a thousand years ago, it feels like right now), we were a "junior" couple for engaged encounter weekends. It was marriage prep - not wedding prep, because a wedding is a day, and a marriage is, or should be, a lifetime. If you consider how much time and effort goes into planning the wedding, isn't it sad to think that some of those kids will look at eachother after the last planned event and say "well, now what?" and have no clue?
Anyway, during those weekends, we had to give talks. Yeah, I know. My least-favorite talk by a good light-year or more was the "sex and sexuality" talk. No, no demonstrations, pointers, or graphic testimonials. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that, just a few hours later, we'd watch the Natural Family Planning part, where some perky young lady would seriously utter the phrase "good-quality cervical muscus" and if you can maintain a straight face during that, you're a better man than I, Gunga Din.
(Yes, I know, it can work for some people, and yes, I know that it's something that the Catholic church permits. But I believe it was H. L. Mencken who said "The Catholic Church will allow women to use mathematics to prevent pregnancy, but will not allow physics or chemistry." Frankly, if the Good Lord had not intended for us to not use chemistry, why in the name of all creation is it there? No, I'm not saying that it weakens God by it's existence - I think it's another thing, sort of like each unique snowflake, that kind of enhances the experience - there, Bible thumped, he stepped off that soapbox...)
One of the talks we gave was on making the "decision to love". There would be times where you'd be angry, upset, tired, or just plain unwilling to make an effort - and it was most especially then that you HAD to make a decision to love, and stick by, your partner. Of course, there was no requirement you HAD to do this, as you could always seek out a divorce, but our goal was to give the kids things to think about.
And the more I think about it, the more I'm sure that if we prevented at least one of those couples from marrying without thinking some things through, so be it.
But right now, I'm just not feeling particularly kind towards my fellow humans on this planet. Aside from the few whom I consider friends, there are a significant number whom I'd gladly drop in the ocean. Safer that way, I guess.
There are those, though, that I'd gladly squeeze until they popped. Such as "Kingsley Barham" who, according to the article, is seeking to produce "trading cards" with September 11th victims on them. Right. The victim's families will get 8% of the gross revenues, which is touching - I'd have expected 8% of the net profits or something like that. But puh-leeze.
Getting Better
Well, indeed.
After being grouchy and ornery most of the morning (after which I wrote the above at lunch), my wife informs me of some good news. Seems the apartment forwarded our deposits back. Apparently we put down a smaller deposit than I remembered - then again, as it was a rather large percentage of the moving costs, and our income was much smaller, I'm not surprised at mis-remembering it. Anyway.
Today, we got some nice-sized checks back. No, it's not a house payment, but it's a fair amount - bigger than a load of groceries, and I'll leave it at that. That was the deposit, plus the interest, less some bathroom cleaning (we had a heck of a time getting the hard water deposits off, and finally gave up). Wow. I'd expected to go fifteen rounds with them, especially over the wallpaper border in the kid's bedroom. In a way, it's a little sad to know that it's gone, but then again, it was a good home for ten years.
That means Rhiannon will get her new bike sooner rather than later (she's presently without one, which is painful in a neighborhood like ours, where every kid has one), and Jack will get his baseball mitt this weekend, probably, as well. Whoo and hoo.
And Downhill...
The Bad Luck Fairy can leave now...
Got a call from Ann late in the afternoon. Rhiannon felt unwell at her after-school program, and wanted to get picked up. That's two days this week. Of course, the first one was Monday, when the temps were up over ninety. Heatstroke was definitely a possible contributor there.
But today, she comes home and ... well, tosses cookies. That's definitely not a fake kinda-sorta feeling sick. So she got to spend extra time with Grandma (crashed out on the couch, that is - Rhiannon, not Grandma), and Ann came to get me. Then we ran to the grocery store to pick up food for tomorrow, then we hit the butcher shop for meat (our cow won't be ready to be chopped up until some time in June - bummer), then came home to dinner... Pot Roast. Ugh.
Don't get me wrong - my wife is a wonderful, wonderful cook. But I don't think even Julia Child herself, or her vast hordes of immitators, could come up with a way to cook pot roast and veggies in such a fashion that would make me want to do anything other than strap the damned thing on my feet and go for a walk. Ugh.
So I exercised the paternal privilege, and acquired a backup dinner plan while at the grocery store (two cheap Chicken-Cordon-Bleu-in-a-bag deals). Worked for me, and cost further husbanding points down the road.
Oh well. Life goes on.
Between Ann's illness this week, Rhiannon's tonight, and my aching back, the house just isn't where we wanted it to be. Then again, I think it's come a long, long way in a couple weeks. Should we be fortunate enough to have another month or so, I think Rhiannon's loft will be done to a T, and Jack's room will be unpacked and put away, the Family Room will be organized, and the rest of the house will be ... better off.
We'll get there. It's just taking longer than I thought. Then again, moving the accumulated debris of twelve years of marriage, two kids, and a packrat husband (that would be me), and I think we dun good, so far.
Off to bed. I promise, Pictures Tomorrow. Maybe even of the snow. Yes, SNOW. NINETY-EFFING-TWO on Monday, and Snow on Saturday. It's not a climate, it's a roller-coaster.
And, to make up for my lack of content earlier this week, I've finally gotten off my dead butt and posted my wife's. Sorry about that. You have no IDEA how sorry I am about that. I'll be paying for it for a while... G'nite.
Saturday,
April 20, 2002
Rhiannon's First Communion
Open House
What a day... My father came. Believe it or not, my father, who doesn't get out of the house much any more, came down for our open house and Rhiannon's party. Wow. The rest is all superfluous.
The average, proud parent, saying "look, isn't my daughter the prettiest
one in the crowd?" Like you'd find her in that bunch.
And that's a proud young lady, with her certificate. If you look close,
you can see the gargoyle in the wreath above her head. If they can guard
churches, they can guard our house.
Both pretty. Tough to tell who's prettier, truth be told.
Some cute, some just plain butt ugly. That would be me. So it goes.
This is my sister's dog "Goblin".
She's half springer spaniel and half basset hound. And really smart.
And Tuesday's her eleven-week birthday.
Great. Now there are SSH problems getting this uploaded. I'll deal with this tomorrow, I guess. G'nite.
Sunday, April 21, 2002
"Friendly" Fire
I've had more than a few friends and associates who've been through the
military.
Just about all of them shake their heads and mutter when you mention "friendly" fire.
One told me "Their ain't any such. Bullets are bullets, shells are shells, missiles are missiles, and bombs are bombs. They don't have emotions, they aren't friends with anyone. They just blow shit up."
Which is, I suppose, no excuse for the horrible accident that happened in Afghanistan. Militarily, I've got no experience to pontificate from, but those friends of mine who do speak of "fog of battle." These days, it's vastly different than from back during the previous wars - a lot, some times too much information, but the essential elements are still there - confusion, concern, fear, etc.
But the bottom line is that, until we get a completely integrated GPS-enabled military force with real-time on-line combat information, we're going to have accidents. When we do get that system, we'll also be much more vulnerable to hackers.
What's frustrating in this case is that the soldiers who were killed weren't the enemy's, or our own, but an ally's.
BLOODY HELL
Yes, SNOW. Today's snowfall makes April the second-snowiest month of
this weird winter. If things hold out, we should get really clobbered in March
- er, May. Since winter seems to be running three months behind, and
all...
Other than that, we'll try again to upload this load of tripe. Mr. Beland's suggestions have been helpful, so far. We'll see where we go from here...
Copyright © 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003 John
P. Dominik. All rights reserved. No reproduction without express
written permission. Opinions expressed herein are my own, and my fault. For further information, check out my
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