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Last Updated : Sunday, 12 May, 2002 at 08:02 PM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget
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Monday, May 6, 2002
Responsibility And The Catholic Church
News recently that the Boston Archdiocese may need to mortgage properties to pay
off judgments against them for supporting and hiding pedophiles in their ranks
all these years.
Frankly, it's a bad idea. I doubt they'll be pulling enough in donations to make budget, yet alone budget and the mortgage payment.
And I really don't feel all that sorry for them, either.
The truth of the matter is that the leadership of the Boston Archdiocese is as woefully out of touch with the rest of the world as is the Catholic Church. When I was in College, I was told the prevailing statement was "In the world, but not of it." In other words, it was a link between the "worldly" world and the spiritual one.
Well, sorry, guys, but when the lawyers attach the property, you're in the worldly world.
And the prevailing opinion in most of the church leadership seems to be that if they ignore it, it'll go away. Right. Worked for Nixon...
There are some, though, who do seem to get the point.
St. John's, for one, is a place that seems to get it. Some background... A regular priest who takes holy orders swears obedience to his bishop, and the bishop of Rome (the pope), and that's it. A priest who takes holy orders as the member of a religious order, on the other hand, as I've had it explained to me, takes orders from the abbot - who is responsible for passing on those of the pope.
Abbots aid the local bishop, if there's a need (and frankly, if they feel like it), and follow the direction of the Abbot Primate, sort of the abbot of abbots (the Abbot of St. John's between Abbot John Eidenschink and Abbot John Klassen was Abbot Jerome, who eventually became Abbot Primate - the leader of the Benedictines worldwide).
As such, the abbot has more control over his monks than most bishops do over their priests - the Abbot can call someone home (to the Abbey), can place them on restrictions, can do all sorts of things, and the monk has two options - to leave, or to tolerate it.
Abbot Klassen did the right thing in telling the community there, and those of us who maintain ties, however grudging to that place, what had happened. The program the Abbey has in place, however, should be looked at by the entire church as a model for those priests who, in the future, admit they might be dangerous to youth.
For, let's face it, if the Church were looking to the future, and looking to heal the wounds and heal the community they've ripped apart by their current handling of these acts, they would put in place, now, methods to handle those priests who, in the coming years, come to their confessor or bishop or brother priest with the fear that they, too, may cause trouble.
Certainly, all will not. Predators will prey, and some will do so from a position of trust. But there are certainly good men in the priesthood who could have been changed by help when they asked for it. The fact that the help not only was not there but was not even thought necessary shows just how arrogantly ignorant the Catholic Church leadership has become of the people who form The Church.
We learned it long ago, in Grade School. "Small 'c' church was the building or place - big 'C' Church was the people who made it." The problem is that the people are there - the leadership is elsewhere.
The program the St. John's Abbey uses is not unique. The perpetrators are placed under "restriction" - some not allowed out of their rooms but for hygiene needs. The Abbey pays the victims an amount of money which can include living expenses, and maintains their privacy. The policy can be applied to those who acted to commit abuse as well as those who merely have an addiction to internet pornography. And while it's convenient that the accused admit guilt, the policy does not appear to allow for a lessening of the sentence for those who do, nor does it require it in the case of one monk who has claimed innocence in the face of evidence to the contrary.
Now, an Abbey isn't prison. Not by a long shot. Prisons, these days, are a heck of a lot nicer than most of those abbey rooms. And to be watched all day every day with a man with the patience of ... well, a monk would unnerve all but the most patient of men - which some of these fellows definitely are not.
I just hope that the Catholic church turns over the accused who have not reached agreements with their victims to the authorities so that the truth can be determined, by trial if need be, and those diocese officials who aided in moving these pedophiles are also held accountable - and that includes Bernard Law.
Lovely
Just got an e-mail from the principal of our kid's school. Next year's
start time is 9:25 am - they accepted the school district's reassignment to move
the kids' start time from 7:45 am to 9:25 am. A 100 minute swing.
Lovely. And then you combine it with how in the hell we're going to work
things out (and add before-and-after daycare) and we're fundamentally, horribly
screwed.
Guess I'm gonna need a new job AND a part-time job. Damnit.
And with that, I'm headed back to bed, hopefully to kick this thing. The bad news is that spending today in bed means that Wednesday's trip to Strictly Business is off - I can't afford the time to go to that when there really isn't a whole lot going on there. Oh well.
G'nite.
Tuesday, May 7, 2002
Didja Ever Stop To Think That Maybe YOU Are The Weird One?
Bumper sticker seen on the way to work this morning
All the time, baby, all the time.
This morning Jack decided that he would not get dressed for love nor money, and nearly not for tee-ball, either. Once that threat was driven firmly home, we got out the door. Slowly, like a herd of elderly arthritic turtles leaving an all-you-can-eat salad bar, but we moved. Of course, between Jack's putzing and my poor choice in dropping him first, we ended up with Rhiannon getting to school a few minutes late - well, on-time for her. Sheesh.
Then I get to my office and re-meet my computer, who has apparently chosen to adopt the nickname "Wheezy" - you got it - the fan on the back of the box is apparently looking for some assistance, or something. So it goes... The good news is that the machine is under warranty until 5-17-2001, and then the extended warranty works until 5-17-2003... Dell informs me today, after only one e-mail exchange (I must be getting good at this) that the parts have been dispatched, and a tech will resolve the issue with an on-site visit. Whoo and hoo indeed.
Of course, this piles on top of the debacle of last night, where I put together the new template for Ann's site, saved that, put together a new page, saved that, picked all the pictures she wanted in her post of yesterday, saved those, added in all of her new text, formatted it, then uploaded the pictures, page, and redirector, in that order. Then saved everything and shut down the computer.
Didja catch that? I missed a "save" in there. Right after the "formatted it" part. So now the "lost" Monday post of my wife is up, and the beatings and recriminations are just starting. No num-nums for me for a very, very long time...
And for the record - No, I wasn't In Minnetrista last night, I had nothing to do with today's turkey disaster (whenever I see something like that, I'm reminded of the immortal line from Mr. Carlson - "As God is my witness, I thought Turkeys could fly..."), and I'm still stumping away... And yes, some day I'll share with you the "Bomba" joke. I'm not so rude as a fellow of my acquaintance who told it to a nun in church (it involves pygmies with unsavory habits), but I'll clean it up a bit...
More Bad News...
This particular bit of
news didn't surprise me, though I had suspicions all along - Mr.
Lytle's group is little-known locally, or was prior to the Fingerhut
announcement - and I'm sure that while he wanted to make the deal, he
also bit off more than he could chew. What irritates me is that his
actions froze out other bidders who could have made a go of it, and made
the business work - and in the mean time, some 3000 people have lost
their jobs.
Though I must admit, when I saw a TV piece about the man in his office, and he was using a Macintosh, I lost a lot of faith in him.... (dig, dig ;-).
Oh, no...
Close on the heels of yesterday's praise for the Abbey at St. John's,
here I am hoping like hell that they're wrong...
This link is about a story which appeared on, admittedly, the more sensationalist of the local news channels. But if the allegations are true, I'm... stunned, is what I am.
My father worked with Fred Reker, and counted him as one of his friends - still is, I guess. I was a couple of years younger than most of the Reker kids, though I did work with one of them occasionally on weekends at the Lit Press. My whole family was all very much disturbed by the disappearance of Mary and Susie Reker the summer I was ten . . . (one of my younger sisters - the one closest to me in age, in fact, was named Mary Susan, long before they disappeared) the whole world suddenly seemed a much nastier place.
I can't forget the Saturday night when I, fresh out of the bath, watched my mother, shaking, calling the convent (which sat on top of the church), sent a nun down to get my father (who was attending the 7 pm Saturday night service), and telling my father they'd found the girl's bodies in a quarry a few miles from St. Cloud. This was some forty days after they'd disappeared, if I recall correctly.
Some years later, my first part-time job was working at the Shopko store that was their destination, just about a mile and a half from their home. Later still, one of my first management jobs was in the fast-food restaurant that had gone up not a half-block from their home.
Now word that some of the monks might have been molesting children, including the Reker girls, through the various programs the Abbey offered. As sick as I was yesterday by the flu bug, I'm sicker today.
I can remember many opportunities that came through my school for overnight stays at the Crosier seminary up the road a ways, or at St. John's Abbey, or other places with "high religious content" - and while I wanted to go, my parents never managed to sign me up. At the time, I was rather upset about it. Now, I think I'm becoming quite thankful...
If these new allegations are true, the Devil may well need to add on a few levels of hell, because things will be getting rather crowded. I know I'm disgusted enough to break a few commandments myself, specifically involving the "thou shalt not" portion. And no, dear, nothing to do with my wedding vows or theft...
Some Funnies
And boy, did I need them... Unfortunately, these aren't.
NOTHING IS FUNNIER THAN THE TRUTH.
1. Only in America......can a pizza get to your house faster than an
ambulance.
Because you pay the pizza guy before you get the pizza. You pay the
ambulance guy after you get out (if you get out) of the hospital.
2. Only in America......are there handicap parking places in front of a
skating rink.
Didja ever notice how the handicapped vehicles are always the big,
expensive cars? You never see a handicapped sticker/plate on an Escort
or a Yugo...
3. Only in America......do drugstores make the sick walk all the way to
the back of the store to get their prescriptions while healthy people
can buy cigarettes at the front.
That's because they keep the stuff with the higher profit margins in
back... And all those people shopping for Nicotrol and the other
stop-smoking aids have to go past the cigarettes first...
4. Only in America......do we use answering machines to screen calls and
then have call waiting so we won't miss a call from someone we didn't
want to talk to in the first place.
It's called "telemarketing".
5. Only in America......do we use the word 'politics' to describe the
processs well: 'Poli' in Latin meaning 'many' and 'tics' meaning
'bloodsucking creatures'.
Sounds about right to me. Of course, it's not really Latin, but we'll
let you go on this one...
EVER WONDER:
Why the sun lightens our hair, but darkens our skin?
You hair is dead cells - your skin was live cells, but if you keep
exposing it to that much sunlight...
Why women can't put on mascara with their mouth closed?
Same reason a man can't shave without making stupid faces.
Why don't you ever see the headline "Psychic Wins Lottery"?
Because they don't want the publicity, or maybe they're afraid they'll be asked
for free advice now...
Why is it that to stop Windows 98, you have to click on "Start"?
Well, that's assuming Win98 and the other variants were created by smart
people...
Why is the time of day with the slowest traffic called rush hour?
Why is it that most of the idiots only drive back and forth to work?
Why isn't there mouse-flavored cat food?
How do you know it's not? Have you tried both?
When dog food is new and improved tasting, who tests it?
You know the school lunch program?
Why didn't Noah swat those two mosquitoes?
Two? TWO? I think he brought more than two of them...
Why do they sterilize the needle for lethal injections?
Cheaper than a dirty needle. Hey, you ever tried to get one?
You know that indestructible black box that is used on airplanes - Why
don't they make the whole plane out of that stuff?
They did. You know how it takes them so long to find the black box
after a crash? Well, they parked the airplane in a crowded lot,
and ... Well, you know - they forgot where they parked it.
Why don't sheep shrink when it rains?
They do - everything does. You just don't notice it because you do,
too. You're actually 2.3 inches tall, in the original scale - we've
just perfected miniaturization to such a degree that you'll never
notice. Except for some things.
Why are they called apartments when they are all stuck together?
Would you want to live in a crampment? Didn't think so... But please,
don't forget the first "m".
If flying is so safe, why do they call the airport the terminal?
Because if they called it a carnival, everyone would want to go... And
we all know what carnivores eat...
De-Cloaking
Well, since she let the
cat outta the bag...
We are preparing for multiple visitors in the next few months. In about two weeks we'll be having some friends of ours with five kids come down for a visit. Yes, we've got the room for all of them finally... And, I'm told, we'll also be doing the "seafood dinner" my wife wants to try. Now, admittedly, living in the middle of the damned country, our "seafood" is rather expensive. Mostly because since it doesn't swim by itself upriver, we get it caught, landed on shore, then rushed to the airport for a trip here.
I'm somewhat opposed to food that has more frequent-flyer miles than I do... And since I can't swim, either, it's a double-whammy. And when eating requires more tools than a standard day at work (remember, I fix computers for a living, too), that's the "three-strikes-yer-out" rule.
But anyway, we're gonna give seafood and grill night a try. Now, mind you, the crab experiment of Sunday night was ... well, a success in some quarters. I, frankly, am no fan of beef ribs, either - I view a meal as something to be consumed, not fought to a standstill. Perhaps the rib issue has something to do with an excess of facial hair, and the amount of difficulty I would then experience in cleaning said facial hair after attempting to consume something that, frankly, was all goopy and messy along my face. So be it. My face, if I wanna keep it unsticky, that's my right.
But there's a certain amount of trepidation involved in laying in a supply of crab legs and all the rest, as, frankly, that's a heck of a lot of work for very little benefit. Have you ever seen the amount of meat you get out of one of those legs? Not much, mind you, not much at all. I've seen ham hocks, leg of lamb, and beef shank - I'm telling you that crab is the "pencil-necked geek" of the leg-as-food world.
But the kids like it. I think Rhiannon likes the taste, and Jack, well, he's just happy to be breaking something without getting into trouble...
When the Beland's arrive, we're going to play the itinerary by ear. I'm
thinking Zoo (so Matt and Keri can relive a little of their honeymoon...
No, not like that, you perverts ... Come to think of it, maybe we won't.
I just don't want to think about it at all... Which reminds me, I should
check ... never mind. 
)
Back on the clean and tidy, if not straight and narrow... I've got a few and more than a few machines for Matt and I to play with when he gets here. Hopefully one will have a working burner in it so we can download and play with various Linux variants. I really want to get a firewall going while he's here, and stop relying on only the software I'm using right now. Defense in depth, baby, defense in depth...
And Mrs. B wants to take Ann shopping, eh? In the land of the Malls? Oh, Lord, Matthew, just hide the money, checkbook, credit cards, wallets, valuables... you get the idea. Mr. B, being a native Minnesotan, knows quite well what he's in for - I think they had the Mall of America up before he left the state - since it's celebrating it's 10th birthday this year, I'm sure he's been in it. And he comes back anyway...
Oh well. It's a full life, if one remains strong... Sanity is, as we all know, strictly optional. And as useful as tits on a bull, some days.
Speaking of Bulls
Bull Elephants, that is... (and you thought I was going to say "tits".
Shame on you, that's the symbol for Minnesota's Independence party - you
know, the one headed by Jesse Ventura?)
I suppose I'm not surprised. Just when I was thinking to myself "you know, those Republicans aren't ALL idiots" it seems their leadership is. I swear they do this to me just so I'll be able to say "you know, both parties are filled with idiots - the idea is to find the lesser of the two." Though some days I swear it's like watching the dumb and dumber film festival, and praying for blindness.
Oh, I know all the arguments. "Freedom of speech" and right to put your money where you want to and all the other B.S. you want to toss out, you go ahead and do it. The bottom line is that politics isn't about what you believe or the person you are or the causes you champion or the abilities you have. It's the skill to raise money from the minute you're elected until the next election's been won... And then start all over again.
Money might not be the root of all evil, but it sure is the root of all politics. You need it to get elected, to stay elected, to keep your constituents happy, to keep score, to maintain your hold on your seniority, to throw your weight around, and to show off.
And while the restrictions lie the same on both Republicans and Democrats, it seems the Republicans always manage to scrape enough money and rabid dogs together to fight something that, frankly, most people don't like.
I figure that eventually we will get a dictator in office - it might not look like it, but when you've got members of congress chasing every stinking cent to get elected, and then chasing them twice as hard to stay elected, it's no wonder that the most rabid dof lunatics would want the damned job in the first place.
They may call it public service - I think it's self-abuse of the worst kind. Unfortunately, we get stuck with the mess...
Wednesday, May 8, 2002
Yet another Wednesday with nails in it's coffin.
Why is it that Wednesday seems impossibly far from either weekend?
Between sending a whole lot of e-mail back and forth to various people, actually making progress (and getting excited) at work, and coming home to the Queen of Putz trying to do homework, well, there's not much to be said. More, God willing, tomorrow...
Oh. Before I forget - if you have trouble getting to this site, it's because the fine folks who invented the "Distributed Denial of Service" (or DDoS) attacks are taking issue with one of the many servers that is in the same server farm as this one. So, just to be funny, this server will occasionally get bounced over the next few days as those fine folks work their magic on the DDoS side, as well as the Defense from DDoS.
Go with God, and hey - let's be careful out there...
Thursday, May 9, 2002
Pigeons Coming Home To Roost
This morning, I walked down the driveway to the mailbox, still
un-replaced, and noticed, again, we've well-fed and healthy birds in the
neighborhood. That's the only conclusion I can make from finding bright white bird-crap droppings in my driveway the size of my fist. I refuse to
believe that cows fly, but if these piles get any bigger, I'm going to look out
for flying pigs...
Of course, I picked up the paper, delivered it to Ann (I just read the Sunday advertising inserts, and occasionally the funnies), and went on my merry way. Then the day went from sunny (a rarity lately) to brooding, without any weather change...
Ann called me from the bus (there are times when I really, really hate having cell phones. "Page One, Above the Fold". And another. Two stories that make you sick to your stomach, if you grew up around these people, knew their names, and know their faces. Heard about them daily, weekly. When you spend most of your life around St. John's, the Liturgical Press, and all the other organizations, it doesn't exactly hit home.
It is home.
I don't fault the current Abbot, Abbot Klassen. In the management of any large organization, there will be certain things which were done which the organization probably isn't particularly proud of (see Enron, et. al.). In this case, the crimes were against children, were horrific, and deserve punishment. But Abbot Klassen is stuck with the dirty end of the stick. He's taken the reins at a difficult time, and he's now trying to clean up. He shouldn't be punished. He's doing the right thing. There are other abbots, though, such as Jerome Theisen (now deceased), and Eidenschenk, of course, who ought to face a judge.
Some people will see the $10,000 check he sent to Helen Olson as a payoff. I don't think so. The Abbot hasn't purchased silence. He's said he's sorry, and that he knows his "brothers" did wrong. He's also helping someone who was harmed by the actions of his brothers. I think it's an admission that there was some wrongdoing, and this Abbot intends to see something done - the horrible acts can't be undone, nor can money rectify the horrors these kids suffered. But it's something. Money won't make it all better, but it can help Ms. Olson through a difficult time.
What kills me, though, is Ed Vessel. I knew Ed, who worked occasionally on the weekends while we were stuffing envelopes (his girls would come out as well). Ed had this voice which sounded like someone at the bottom of a barrel. Tall and skinny, he'd always have a smile that seemed slightly sad for you. Now I know the source of the sadness.
I can't imagine how he must have felt when he learned of this abuse of his son and daughter. It's horrific. It's terrible. It's terribly destructive.
In a way, I looked at St. John's as a place to escape all of that. Sure, I was niave. There were rumors swirling when we were out there. Ann's nickname, in jest, for the place, was "men and boys running naked through the woods". Not that I can recall ever doing that, but the undercurrent was there.
To find out that it was happening, and evil, sinister men were ... abusing their positions is physically sickening to me.
What's worse is the horrible feeling I get when I encounter certain of these claims. There's one locally about a former bishop of Sioux Falls, who's been to our church - nice guy, he spent a couple of days at my daughter's school. In February, one gentleman came to the diocese with allegations about the Bishop - events which occurred in the 1950s. The local archbishop hired an outside investigator to look at these allegations, and the investigator went to work.
The news became "public" last weekend because the fellow who is accusing the Bishop went to a parish here in the Metro and leafletted the cars. To me, that's more of a "believe ME, PLEASE!" than "I was wronged, and I deserve justice".
While time can't heal every wound, accusing someone fifty years after a supposed crime is ... well, frankly, it reminds me an awful lot of hyenas circling. They smell a dinner out there somewheres, he's just waiting for the free meal. Certainly there are guilty. Unfortunately, when there's guilt around, there's also profiteering.
Ah, Spring
Mowed the front lawn tonight, in-between raindrops. Rain is a good
thing here, as Savage has a permanent odd-even watering ban, and bans
all watering between the hours of noon and five pm. So if you want to
water, you'd best be careful about it.
It's easy for us. We haven't needed to yet, and we've only got one hose. I'm hoping to pick up two or three more (it would be nice to get to the whole yard), plus another sprinkler or two.
Should we get a drought with a full-on watering ban, well, the local Target's got a couple of cheap plastic pools. Fill, empty, move - fill, empty, move. Ahem.
Holding Patterns
Well, it's like this, see...
My new computer motherboard still hasn't been tested in my computer. I haven't got the space on my desk. I'm planning on building a "testing table" to go in the empty space near my desk. In order to build that table, I need to get my father's radial arm saw, soon to be mine, down here. Before I do that, though, I've got to get to Iowa to pick up the furniture my mother-in-law has been storing. That's on hold pending disposition of an issue having to do with a family member who may or may not be needing a late-model van he had been driving but might not need for the near future, if at all, in which case we'd purchase it from my mother-in-law. But in order to do that, we need to dispose of the old tempo, which, not so coincidentally, we finally have the clear title we need to file, which we have to do before we can unload it, which is something we should do before the tabs expire at the end of the month and cost us another $35 (did you know that I can't have a vehicle without current plates in my driveway? Hide it in the garage, sure, no problem, but driveway? Verboten! Ve Call Da Car Gestapo and have your fuel pump extracted through your drive train, which is likely no doubt to leave a permanent and nasty mark).
Conveniently, I was sitting here this afternoon muttering that it was another two weeks until payday. Nope, next week. I remember the good old days when I at least got the check to deposit - now my most recent pay stub is still in the envelope on the table. Whoop-de-doo.
Anyway, the furniture and van from Ann's mom, pending the other pending issuses, as it were, are not holding up Rhiannon's loft. That's just collective "oh, all right, let's have a decent few days where I can work in the garage". Which is then interrupted by the fact that when I go out I see, still, sitting in my garage, the post and mailbox that's STILL waiting to go into the ground across the street. Which pisses me off because it's a case of waiting for the neighbor to acquire the cement (I think it's only fair - I've supplied the post, hardware, labor, and my mailbox - he can supply his mailbox, the chunk of yard, and cement. I'll even shovel in front of it if it'll help - heck, he'll even get a trash can out of the deal... Oh well. Looks like I'll be doing that this weekend or next as well...).
Argh. So many projects, so few dollars... ;-)
Finally...
Near as I can figure, it's been about sixteen years since I was responsible for
mowing the lawn. Tonight, FINALLY, I mowed mine.
Unfortunately, it's now too dark to show you what it looks like, but I'll get some pictures tomorrow.
Oh, and that lawnmower I was complaining about? Poured in some 30-weight oil, filled the gas tank, pulled the cord three times (to let the oil, etc., move through), primed the engine by pressing the bulb five times, then I pulled the cord. Once. Vrrooooooom.
It may have only been a $99 mower, but after all those times of pulling that five-horse cord on the old Toro rider my folks had again and again and again and again and again and again and again... Well, you get the idea - anyway, one pull's pretty slick.
Friday, May 10, 2002
Double-Whammy Friday...
And they're off...
The preponderance of vehicles towing boats is way up today - fishing opener.
This year the Governor's gone just about as far as he can get from the capitol, which is fitting; they're still trying to get things worked out for the budget. And with the governor six hours away, they might get some work done.
Of course, there's something going on Sunday as well - Mother's day. Yours truly will again attempt the traditional mother's day disaster - Eggs Benedict. It's really not that tough when you use the sauce from a mix (he said, speaking from past experience). And we'll likely pick up a pie for the love of my life for dessert for Sunday Dinner - a dinner which will probably be cooked on the grill (he said, hoping it wouldn't rain too much).
Scummy Politicians
Conveniently, from the same party, too.
Mr. Coleman, late of the school district Mayor of St.
Paul's office, presently running for Senate, stepped right into the deep
end of the pit yesterday.
To set the scene... Our junior senator, Mark Dayton, is one of the members of a senate committee which oversees the military appropriations. Wednesday, not exactly out of the blue, Donald Rumsfield cancelled the Crusader mobile field artillery piece. While this particular thing has nothing to do with me or mine, the project has been one that's been championed by United Defense, a local contractor with eight hundred people working on the project.
The Crusader is a heavy (40-ton) cannon of the 150-mm range - designed, as I understand it, to replace the current "Paladin" artillery cannon now in use, and outgunned by at least four devices on the world open weapons markets. It doesn't fit the mantra of "fast, light, mobile" which Rumsfield wants to leave as his legacy this time around in his tour as defense secretary.
I suppose, in the interests of full disclosure, I'm a bit partial to the idea of the Crusader, as it's also the nickname of my High School.
When the decision was announced, Dayton was on the radio, stunned that it would happen, and promising that he would be looking into this cancellation. "This sudden turnaround has shocked and surprised committee members with decades of seniority" Dayton said.
Less than 24 hours later, Coleman's on the radio, berating Wellstone, for not fighting harder for the Crusader program and the Crusader jobs. Funny, Norm, but I don't see Wellstone's name on Military Affairs, Armed Services, or anything like that. He is on Veteran's Affairs, but by the time they get there, they aren't too interested in new weapons systems.
And Norm, blaming Mr. Wellstone for his "failing to fight for the jobs" overlooks three things. First of all, this was a decision that even earlier this week seemed unlikely. Second, the program isn't dead, it's just something the Secretary of Defense doesn't like. If every program that the military or Pentagon didn't like STAYED dead, Trent Lott wouldn't have a half-dozen Navy ships being constructed in his front yard that the Navy doesn't really want. Third, there is some point to the criticism that a forty-TON vehicle (remember, that's 80,000 pounds) doesn't fit well with the military's current role - they can't be flown in easily, they'll destroy most bridges in THIS country, let alone some backward third-world spot where they've only recently started on this thing called "infrastructure", and that $11 Billion for a big cannon like that isn't a real good decision.
Wellstone's office has said that he will evaluate the information he's requested from those who know what's going on, and then he'll do what he can.
Besides, Norm, when it comes to properly placing credit and blame in the world, I think claiming credit for improving St. Paul's schools is a bit disingenuous - especially since the School Board and superintendent do not report to or work for the Mayor of St. Paul. And, if the work you've done is so good, why is it that St. Paul students did worse on the standardized graduation tests (76% passed) than the state average (91%)? Considering that nearly one in four FAILED an EIGHTH-GRADE BASIC SKILLS TEST and four of the five students taking the test were IN HIGH SCHOOL, I'd be seriously worried.
For those of you reading from outside the United States, let's put it this way. You're given a test that, at the age of thirteen, you should easily be able to pass. You take the test at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen - until you pass. And each summer the test is offered several times, optionally - and, my understanding is that any student can take the test at any time by special request. The test has some simple math problems, reading and answering questions, and an essay component. This year's question was "describe your dream job". The question is similar, but changes every year.
Now the problem is that these kids take the test until they pass - then they can graduate - HIGH SCHOOL. What we're saying is that if they can show, by the age of eighteen, that they can reasonably function like a thirteen-year-old, we'll let them out. Is it any wonder our educational system is a laughingstock?
Meanwhile, Coleman's claiming the ownership of the improved school system, improved test scores, and all the rest. What a dunderhead.
I hope Wellstone sits back and lets Coleman run the dogs out on this one. Coleman's not the type of person we need around.
Of course, that's right there next to Mark Kennedy, current 2nd District Congresscritter. Mr. Kennedy, having narrowly been elected by the voters of the state's 2nd District, has scampered furiously away from them since redistricting put him in the same district as incumbent Democrat Bill Luther (who lost his wife to cancer earlier this year). Kennedy, who seems pretty excited to get out of the more rural 2nd and into the more suburban 6th is getting fund-raising help from VP Cheney, who stopped by last night, and managed to raise about a quarter-million, while Mr. Kennedy was here, instead of staying in Washington, tending to votes, etc.
Bad News I
I lost my temper again...
Tonight, on the way home, we stopped at K-Mart. The plan was to pick up a couple of bins for the kids to store stuff in, and K-Mart usually has the cheapest prices on the bins.
We found them, and went through, and couldn't find prices on them - or on the shelves. Finally, after looking all over heck, we found the prices under these stupid little tags on the edges of shelves. The top tag said "Thank you for shopping your Burnsville K-Mart".
We picked out two big bins, four small bins, a couple of juice boxes and a box of crackers. We went to check out.
The smaller bins, which said $2.99 on the shelf, rang up at $3.99. I pointed out the error, and then the crap slaughtered the fan.
"Sorry, the shelf tags are for sale prices for the sale that doesn't start until Sunday." Excuse me? These people are so poorly prepared that they have to have the full-time help set the ads?
Now, it's been a few years since I've worked retail. Eleven years and one week, near enough, but that was specialty retail. Back up another five years, and I was working at Shopko, which is comparable to K-Mart.
When we had to "set the ad" at Shopko, we had to price every single package with the sale price sticker. We had to put up signs, and we had to put up the little "shelf talker" signs as well.
All today's retail people have to do is put up the shelf talkers - there are no sale price tags to stick on, scrape off, or anything else. And these freaking idiots can't be bothered to get the job done on Sunday morning when the Ad breaks?
So, I complained to the cashier. I complained to the head cashier. I complained to the assistant store manager they had on duty. By the time I reached her, I was going with a good head of steam and unloaded with both barrels.
"This is deceptive advertising. This is lying to the customers, and this is one of many reasons why your chain is in bankruptcy now. There's $35 worth of goods in that card. Multiply it by my mother, my friends, and everyone else I can think of - that's what the $1 per bin just cost you."
Ann, of course, just let me run off at the mouth and unload.
So, I guess the moral of the story is don't shop at K-mart.
Bad News II
I got one of the last e-mails I'll ever get from Jim
Kershner today. The Late Mr. Kershner apparently took complete leave
of his senses (I even thought of suggesting trouble with the demon rum, but he
was far past that when it occurred to me). Mr. Kershner apparently,
foolishly, kept taunting his wife today.
Having grown up with four sisters, and having married a woman with a temper, I've learned that there are times when you can joke and laugh, and then there are times when you're in the mine field with the clown shoes. You need to accept that at certain times, husbands will be thoroughly incapable of doing anything right. Even breathing can be a problem (if one does it with a slight rumble while asleep, for apparently one intends to do such rumbling before one falls asleep and builds the scaffolding and various impedimentia to support such a rumble before falling asleep). But the bottom line is that husbands will run afoul of the spouse on occasion.
While I'm no expert on such situations in general, I can tell you that I'm acquiring post-doctorate-level knowledge of how this works in my home. And there are times, I swear, when the best thing you can do is keep your mouth shut.
Jim, bless his pour soul and now-broken body, didn't. I'm not sure how he died, specifically, I just know that his wife had (or has) an iron-clad alibi.
Should, by some miracle, Jim still be alive, well, I wouldn't put long odds on him surviving for long. Unless the wise and forgiving Mrs. Kershner decides, in her infinite wisdom, to make his suffering last a good thirty years or so, well, then there's a chance for him.
Anyway, I suppose the good news is that I can start keeping an eye out for his URL to go on the open market...
(just in case - no, I'm sure Jim's still alive. By now, he might be wishing he weren't, but then again, I'm told his wife will be experimenting with impact maintenance and cranial structures. I think you can figure it out from there)
And Finally...
I'm a little slow, sometimes.
But I was told by my wife to check out a site this afternoon, and to my very great delight, I did.
There are some people in this world with a great deal of talent, who take themselves and their world so seriously that I sometimes want to laugh so hard I'm in danger of wetting myself. This fellow isn't anywhere near that serious - he's an absolute riot. Smart and yet he doesn't take it all seriously. Read him and see.
Saturday, May 11, 2002
Yes, THAT Moby
Just to prove I have no life, and no taste, I spent much of today (other than
below) reading through Moby's on-line journal. The guy did make me laugh
out loud several times, but in some ways it is rather depressing.
Growing up I had somewhat of a poor self-image of myself. But this was back in the seventies when we didn't know a whole lot about that sort of crap. I mean, girls were just "dieting" and we didn't have this whole "bulimia" thing figured out yet.
I worked through my "issues" simply by ignoring the people who picked on me or criticized me (and I have no idea how I managed that - wait, maybe I do...), and kept doing things that made me feel good - like working on my eagle scout award, etc.
Moby's got this "I'm not worthy" thing going, though, that's somewhat depressing.
Then again, I've got Highlander II on in the background. I'll be honest. If there was ever an argument for the outlawing of movie sequels, there you go. Even the presence of Virginia Madsen doesn't make up for the incredible crap they've forced into that bunch of plastic, attempting to call it "a movie." Sheesh. What a load of crap. Well, you remember what they said in the first movie...
"There can be only one."
Rainy Day Blues
What a miserable excuse for a day.
Jack had Tee Ball this morning. Of course, had we thought that we were going to be as tired as we were, we'd have set the alarm clocks.
Part of it's my fault. I got to bed around two (blame Moby - he's that engaging - I've read his "journal/updates" from start to finish), and when I blearily looked at the alarm clock this morning and it was 10:27, my first thought was "wow, cool!"
Followed by "uh-oh, 33 minutes to get across Burnsville to the Y for Tee Ball." So it goes.
So we made it, five minutes late, to preserve Jack's "Iron Man" medal in the awards presentation they'll have at the end of the season. Four kids. Why only four? Well, forty degrees, 10-15 mph winds (with gusts to 40), and rain. Yes, rain.
My momma didn't raise no fool (well, she did, but I hide it well), so I figured "we're here, we'll check in with the coach, and head home."
Nope. Coach was doing fielding "drills". That's what I'd call it - holding a catching clinic. So I grabbed the 7-year-old Sam's Club special golf Umbrella, and head out onto the field.
Am I a "wuss?" Probably. But Jack was in a true Colombia-brand rain coat (hand me down from some friends), Rhiannon was in her "winter" coat (with hood and rubberized waterproof coating), and Ann was in her Parka (with hood). Me? Tee shirt and light jacket.
Yes, at the risk of losing my Boy Scout credentials, I was prepared for most of what was expected. Not all, but most.
So Rhiannon and I stood there for about five minutes. The lady next to me with the ultra-light umbrella got it turned inside out in about a minute, mostly due to the swirling winds. I was about to turn back to the car when the wind caught it, and pop - inverted the thing. Oh well. Nine years for an umbrella was probably on the high side of the life-expectancy curve, but I was hoping.
Anyway, I went back to the car, and about twenty minutes later, the rest of the gang followed. We stopped to pick up Mom's pie (European Truffle), then backtracked to one city hall to get a signup sheet for basketball (Rhiannon's current passion), then off to another (next to the library) where we signed up for new library cards.
Big mistake. The Savage library is pretty poorly equipped with Sci-Fi or fantasy titles - all their paperbacks are organized by author, not by subject, so there's little in the way of obvious sci-fi.
I even looked through the computer book section (tip - while you can occasionally find good, timely computer information in a public library's stock, it's rather rare), and was going to check out a book on home networking. Glanced through it and put it back down. What I need to know about coax and BNC for a home network is one word. "Don't". Actually, I can think of a number of adjectives I'd place on either side of the "don't" but that would be gilding the lily, as it were.
And the home improvement books? I looked for anything to do with "Home Electrical" - three books. One lost/destroyed, one checked out (due January 14, 2002), and one in in another branch, checked out, with five requests. Lovely. And I couldn't put a new request in because my barcode number on the new card hadn't processed through the database yet.
Then we came home and I got the braces done and put on Rhiannon's loft for one end of the shelves.
Shopping List
I'm late, it's tired (or vice-versa), so I need to get this down before I
forget...
1 1/4" fine-thread drywall screws
1 3/4" fine-thread drywall screws
3 1/2" fine-thread drywall screws
A complete toilet-flush replacement kit
The Home Depot Guide to Plumbing.
Have to replace the flush kit in the downstairs bathroom. What fun.
Now, before I hurl, I'm going to bed. Highlander II is REALLY really bad.
At least the good news is that the Sci-Fi channel will be re-running The Stand next week. Cool.
Sunday, May 12, 2002
So, it's Sunday. Got up, had plenty of help doing the hollandaise sauce (I don't care what you think, I can make white sauce from scratch, have been able to since about fourteen, so sauce from a package is fine by me, thanks), toasted up the english muffins, tossed the canadian bacon through the grill to warm it a bit, poached the eggs (mental note - anything under a minute twenty seconds on high with the microwave works just fine - thanks), got it all set up, and hauled it into the bedroom.
She loved it.
I then went back, grilled bacon, scrambled some eggs, and it turned out I just wasn't hungry. Oh well.
Called my mom, who is doing better with the arthritis medication (I'm just thrilled with the genetic inheritance I'm heading towards. Heart attacks, pacemakers, arthritis, chocolate allergies, all other sorts of fun things - I'm doomed. Oh well. Something to remember - "Life - no one gets out alive."), and chatted for a while. Ann spoke with her mom. Then Jack ended up on the phone with Ann's birth mother - chattering away like a monkey, and then I hear "what is your name again? OK. Daddy? Do you want to talk to what's her name?"
Sheesh.
Didn't get a damned thing done this weekend that I wanted. Got a wee bit of work done on the loft, and did get the rope down from the top of the flagpole (used a 1x4 with a plant "skyhook" nailed to the end of it to reach the top of the flagpole, then tugged the rope down as far as I could. I've no idea what on earth the previous owners were thinking - the rope's got a knot the size of a baseball on one end, the other end is tied to a clasp-type fastener. What fun).
God willing, the ultra-crappy weather's breaking here and we can get some mowing, etc., done.
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