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Last Updated : Sunday, 11 August, 2002 at 10:04 PM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Sunday, 11 August, 2002 at 10:04 PM -0500 |
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Monday, August 5, 2002 |
What Did I Do Today?
Well, a whole lot. Got up early, and started the day right by distributing
those that needed it (well, HER, actually), and then moved on to the second
monday of "Dad, the Home Game". Frankly, it does suck, dead
bunnies through a very, very long garden hose.
But there are lights at various points in the tunnel. Tomorrow I make a phone call, and it starts my unemployment checks - what fun. And I've got another phone call to make about a potential side-job with a friend; don't know, though, if it will pan out to anything.
The biggest prospect, however, came from Friday night. There's one guy who I've told my wife over and over again "I wish I'd kept in contact after high school". He seemed thrilled to see me, as I was him. And there's a slight chance his firm might be looking for help.
Since there are problems when one puts all of one's eggs into a single container, however, I've spent much of the day "networking" and spending that 20% of my time working on the want ads and job board sites - no point in passing up that which has worked for me in the past...
Not much other than that. Although I'm going to blame Mr. Scott for his "encouragements" as to why we had Taco John's for supper. It was actually cheaper than a whole lot of alternatives, including eating at home. I'd like to crash out early, because I am damned tired today. Got to sleep very late, and slept poorly, to boot. Dunno why. Stress, probably. But I have a hunch that's not gonna happen.
Oh well. So it goes. Though I did manage to update this year's calendar through this week. That's a lot of work...
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Tuesday, August 6, |
End of the world, mate...
Yeah.
I've worked in computers for a long time. I've been reading about and working with security for probably the last seven or eight. Heavily involved in security for about the last two years.
There are exploits out there which make my hair turn white, my privates shrivel, and my sphincter flap like a sheet in a hurricane, to be blunt. There are things the "hackers" can do to your machine which open you up to a whole world of hurt.
Thing was, when there were twenty or thirty "superhackers" out there causing trouble, it was somewhat managable. But then someone came up with the concept of a rootkit, and one of the next generation of penetration artists caught wind of it. Now, if you're hacked, the odds are it's not going to be from one simple hack, one easy site, one solid fix. No, the odds are that by the time you've ascertained your system is no longer under your control, the odds of you being able to salvage anything other than the hardware are going to be less than those to find the supersymmetric particles that might exist.
But when I read this white paper, it was pretty clear that Windows is fundamentally and totally hosed. Briefly, the fundamental communications method between any programs that interact on a windows-based PC is the messaging system. It allows the OS to tell the application "your printed output is done", "you can have more memory", or any of a million other things programs need to know.
The fact that this subsystem isn't exactly secure has been a fairly open secret for years, but I was pretty sure that, sooner or later, Microsoft would get around to patching it. There are other alternatives, but as I know well, getting a piece of software out the door, and getting a secure, quality piece of software out the door often requires two completely different approaches to programming. And if you start with one and shift to the other, you're never going to be certain.
This, coming on the heels of the news about Windows 2000 SP3, is pretty much the nail in the coffin of Windows. In case you hadn't heard it, the license for SP3 allows Microsoft to examine and do things to your system - no recourse, no avenue of complaint, and no way to roll back - I'm convinced that there's at least 80% of this company who are self-medicating (or on the company medical plan) to the point of not being aware of the legal action against the firm.
I'm done. I'm finished. I'll never install Windows XP on a machine I own, unless it's for testing or because I'm giving it away. I'll install Windows 2000 SP2, no problem. SP3? Right.
Where's them damned RedHat disks...
Whistling in the Wilderness
Feels like that, sometimes.
Here in Minnesota, we've somehow managed to fight the odds, and get the Holy Quad - Pro Football, Baseball, Hockey, and Basketball franchises. All in the land of the flyover, no less.
And yes, those three of you who hang out here on a regular basis do know that I follow the Twins - more with affection (and expectations of disappointment) than from the joy of winning. After all, if you're a Yankee fan, you'll look at a season like their last one, and call it a failure - second-best team in the league, a whisker away from best. Last year's series went a long way towards proving that "on any given day, any team can beat any other team."
Which makes the mess surrounding the Minnesota Twins so much more frustrating. Just over 20 years ago, we, the people of Minnesota, built a domed stadium (then the rage) for BOTH baseball and football teams. And, as most sports fans know, a stadium can be EITHER for baseball or football, but when designed to handle both, they often fail.
The Metrodome is a compromise, no doubt about it. Putting the seats as close as they did for football has created a whole lot of opportunities for easy home runs, on occasion, for some pretty weak hitters. Then again, one could argue the lack of wind in the dome, or the higher pressure, or increased steroid use was a bigger contributor. I can't argue that - tough to guess without a controled study, which will not happen in baseball.
But, compromise or no, the metrodome is the same age as the house I'm living in. If I'm lucky, in 30 years, when the mortgage is paid (maybe sooner, we'll see), I'll have a home that's still standing. If Bud Selig had his way, they'd run around the league, hitting the teams up - a new stadium each year for one team or another.
But the simple fact is that without a new stadium, Selig says the Twins are doomed to contraction. Right. I could see "we're just not able to get enough people in the stands" - that would be understandable - but the Twins are actually averaging about 29,000 people a game - not a lot, mind you, but a hell of a lot more than back a few years ago when they were lucky to pull 8000 for a midweek midday game.
But the dome holds, as I well know, over 55,000 for baseball. Yes, that's right. Or at least it did in 1987, before they reduced part of the upper-right-field bleachers for some construction or other.
Why, pray tell, DO the Twins need a new stadium? Is it because Pohlad intends to dismantle the team after this season, win, lose, or draw, in the hopes that us poor stoops in Minnesota won't realize he's done it, and we'll continue to show up at the field and bask in their success? Uh, maybe. You have to remember that in a non-playoff year (I believe it was 1988), the Twins were the first team in Baseball to draw over 3,000,000 - that's THREE MILLION FANS - over the course of a season. That's an average of about 8,000 more, EACH AND EVERY GAME, than they did this season.
So baseball wants a new stadium here to distract from the shell game of pulling out some good players, moving them to a location where they'll gain more exposure, and have them play there - meanwhile, the "team" in Minnesota's drawing good, or good enough. And if not, well, there's always the "get out" clause which would leave the citizens of this state holding the bag for Pohlad's dirty tricks.
Of course, I could go on at length - in fact, I have - but that's not the point. I thought I was the only one watching Pohlad and Selig in their vile little business deal. Nope.
Dave caught them, too. And slammed the nails into their coffins much better than I could.
Wow.
Gee. Even I missed it.
Last week, on Wednesday, I cleared another hurdle on my way to oblivion... The second anniversary of this little corner of the 'net.
Well, not "This one" precisely, because virtual-geography wise, I was originally located at "Tripod" which was a struggle, no two ways about it. Then, I moved to "Spaceports" which was initially a joy to work with. Of course, with the general implosion of the internet ad market, they went from "pleasant" to "Pleasant as defined by the removal of the roto-rooter from your posterior" "pleasant". In other words, OUCH.
Matt and Keri Beland have kindly been hosting this site, first from their formerly-spare bedroom, and now, through Matt's growing Factory55.com web business. Nary a hiccup in the last year, at least on the server side. Plenty of hiccups elsewhere.
And so, folks, thank you, really, for stopping by. I do appreciate that you take time out of your day to read what sometimes is, I know, mindless drivel. In comparison to some daynoter sites, this is frequently pissing and moaning (seems like) and little else (other than "well, today, Jack managed to extract his own lower intestine with a fork and my power drill. The $60 copay was waived, as the doctor was really surprised that you could do that with a non-sterile tool costing less than $12,000..." - well, not really, but you know what I mean).
I really, REALLY appreciate your time. And for those of you who take the time to write, thank you, as well. I do try to answer most mail, but sometimes it gets away from me. Rest assured I do read each one, and appreciate all of them.
Now I'm going to go upstairs and see just what's going on. There's the sound of a car horn rhythmically beeping outside, and there's the sounds of spraying, wiping, and thumping going on. Coming so closely on the heels of yesterday's "clean, you bastards, CLEAN" outburst from the she-devil I've come to call my wife (oh, how I'll pay for that crack - guaranteed that neither of my new testicles will be found in the same state, and I mean that in both senses of the term "state" - as in one in Hawai'i, the other in Maine, and one gaseous, one liquid. In other words, oh, shit, here we go again), I'm certainly going to pay for this with at least five extra pounds of flesh.
Before you panic, rest assured, I've got about 130 or so I consider "spare". Unfortunately, the easiest bits to remove are those I've come to depend on (appendages, my head, etc.).
Oh well. Thanks for stopping, and should it be necessary, memorials preferred to the "Gag the Stupid Husbands" foundation. I'm a founding member ("Founding" as in "his ass is IN the foundation of the building") of the Foundation.
And don't worry. My next of kin knows. I've pulled this sort of thing regularly. And, to this point, survived. But there is always the "first" time. I suspect there won't be a second, for, as I like to say, "live and learn or you don't live long."
I also like to say "Look Out! The Piano's Falling!" But that usually gets me very odd looks unless the piano is, actually, falling - so far, I've been there once when that happened, and it might well have been my fault for letting go to yell "Look Out! The Piano's Falling!". So there may have been a direct causal relationship in that case. Fortunately, the statute of limitations has expired, and I'm certain that those who might have been maimed in that incident are sufficiently addled to have forgotten.
So remember, if you've got to cause injuries, aim for the head - and witnesses. Two things that can create "reasonable doubt."
Now that I've run so far afield that you're looking back, trying to figure out how we got from "Happy Anniversary To Me" to "Reasonable Doubt" (Anniversary, "She-Devil" comment, Stupid Things I Do/Say, "Piano Falling" comment, aim for head/witnesses), I'll just say goodnight.
Which I should have done some 8 paragraphs ago. But this way, it keeps me out of the crossfire whilst I type and upload. Something else which will, no doubt, extend my time in purgatory. Which, I'd like to think, is a little lunch counter in a vast desert, and they have LOUSY service...
Oops. I can hear the broom now. No, not arriving/departing, smartass (and another crack which will have me briefly mourning lost essential organs, I'm certain), but on the floor. I'm doomed. Unless, of course, she just went to bed. In which case, I'm really, really, really going to have to see just how far I can run before daylight. My best guess is not nearly far enough at all...
Oh well. Be brave. I'll face this head-on (mostly because my thick skull has tended to deflect most of the "would have been killing" blows), like a man (which means I'll drink a beer, watch TV, and ignore it until it goes away. Gee. Looks like I'm going to lose even more than I thought. Oh well. Life is short, avoid the yellow snow - more home-spun wisdom you'll thank me for later - and if not, you'll be even MORE thankful).
If I return tomorrow as an intact male of this particular species, then we know I'm OK. If not, well, at least I filled a much-needed void in your schedules. Thanks for stopping!
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Wednesday, August 7, 2002 |
It does seem I'm still alive. This could be because SHE has not yet determined the best way for me to die, or it could be because she's decided that an in-ground pool in this yard is useless.
And the car is slightly more reliable - well, the cruise control light doesn't come on and it doesn't lose power. It still has a hitch in the tranny when shifting on occasion (usually when cold) and still dies at inopportune moments (like rounding a corner and heading up a hill with a whole hell of a lot of traffic on it, for example).
This, too, shall pass, if I have to put a bullet in the engine block to do so. I'm starting to wonder if some of the Infinite Number Of Microsoft Monkeys have moved eastward to work for the auto dealership working on my vehicle. Oh well, either way, I'm not going to buy an Eagle again. Nice cars, but obviously too complex for the average humanoid with wrench to diagnose and repair.
Give me my old '78 Dodge pickup - sucked on gas mileage, ran through more main wiring harnesses than tires, but you had room to stand on the floor inside the engine cavity and work on the engine (last one I put in was something like a 402 cu. inch monstrosity, and it still had plenty of room there), and there weren't no stinking computers in it.
You know, for all of the chatter about "black boxes" in the airplanes, why can't they develop something similar in vehicles? Not only for crashes, but for just standard running diagnostics?
Oh, because it would eliminate those thousands of dollars each day each dealership gets in "diagnostic" fees. Sheesh. Why didn't I think of that racquet?
What a freaking crock...
This article says Bush and Co. are now saying that they've inherited the recession. Right.
I've got absolutely no patience with people who can't take responsibility for their actions. And given that the economy was going to experience something of a slowdown after a long expansion, that's pretty obvious.
However, Bush saying "well, it's all his fault" is just ... well, stupid. Might as well blame George Washington - after all, he started the place off, so blame him.
The economy, like everything else (including, possibly, GWB's alleged cranial functions), is cyclical. To say "well, we just got here and this shit happens" is really, really lousy. Of course, they could say the same about the terrorist attacks, the Taliban, and the snakehead fish in Maryland.
Linky Bits
The original Gordon from Sesame Street is dead. That's a bummer. I think of the "new" bald guy in the same way I think of "New Coke". Then again, I should probably let up. How'd you like to have the nickname "the new guy" after thirty years?
And it looks like Space Camp's gone. Damnit, I never got their, either. Well, we'll see what happens there...
Job Hunt
I started work on something today that I'm calling my "Personal Performance
Portfolio".
You know how they say "some of the best fiction being written today appears on resumes?" Well, mine ain't. But I've decided I'm going to back up my "resume" with a three-ring binder. Copies of documents. Batch files I wrote to get jobs done. Certificates, letters of recommendation, and all the rest that I might need to pull out and say "I used THIS".
And yes, I'll put a copy of my Eagle Scout certificate in there as well. Why the heck not? I worked hard for it, and it deserves to be there.
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Thursday, August 8, 2002 |
Well, it's Thursday. Some good news, some bad, and, well, that's about it.
I've noticed that after 6 straight days where I'm in close proximity to my children 24 hours a day, I'm slowly losing my grip on reality. Or sanity. Or something.
Oh well. This, too, shall pass.
Rather than bore you to tears with the grocery list or the accident we saw tonight, or anything else, I'll just sign off here.
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Friday, August 9, 2002 |
Ann and I have a long-running fundamental difference between us. She is, by all signs, a night person. That's someone who functions better later in the day, and enjoys staying up late. When the alarm goes off, she uses the snooze to grab those few extra minutes of sleep - and on those blessed days where she can sleep in, she would quite happily sleep until noon. Or later.
I, on the other hand, am much more a morning person (no, not one of those "my mind starts working when I get out of bed and doesn't shut off until I get to the office" types, har har har). When the alarm goes off, I get up, and turn it off (because it's on the far side of the room). Then I do my thing to get ready to face the world (typically take a look in the mirror, ascertain that additional sandblasting, belt sanding, or applications of small amounts of explosives will not improve my face, and therefore I might as well just shave and give it a go), and away we go.
I'm most productive in the mornings - typically my best ideas occur then, and I'm sharpest. My lowest point usually occurs about 8-9 pm, when I run flat outta gas, pretty much. Occasionally, I can run later, but usually about 8-9 pm, the usual happy person I am goes back into the cocoon, and the evil me personality arrives.
Of course, the evil me is usually the one in charge of most of my bad decisions as well, so we'll just blame that portion for all of the evils of my life and move on...
Yesterday, I was remiss in not clearing a few things up.
When I spoke of wanting a "black box" in my car, I don't mean the computer. I know most modern vehicles have them (and in many cases, this has not been a positive development, if you ask me). What I'm looking for is a monitor-type device - a device which will not control, but report, what happens.
Because the computer in my car tells the computer at the dealership "nope, nothing wrong here, just move on." Yet I know that every time I get in and drive that thing more than ten minutes, I will be treated to at least one stall in traffic, at least one "ka-thunk" transmission-type "jerk" as the engine up-or-downshifts, and at least one "ohpleaseohpleaseOhPleaseOhPleaseOHPLEASEOHPLEASESTART". This makes "family motoring" about as much fun as the annual visit to the doctor. At least for me, with Dr. "Fat-Fingers" seeking to explore that which I firmly believe is a one-way street.
Of course, now that I've left you with that horrid mental image, we'll get back to the original topic - "black box". Here's what I want this thing to do:
And it should record this say four times a second. The box itself should have enough memory or storage to hold at least a few hours of driving, if not a couple of days.
So that's what I'm looking for.
On another note, Mrs. Beland informs me that the Space Camp location in Florida is perhaps overdue for closure, as the Huntsville location is the primary one. Now, admittedly, I've known since youth that "Alabama" and "rockets" do go together without having squirrels involved (don't ask). But the Florida location is, perhaps, somewhat less than ideal when compared to Huntsville.
Allegedly.
Anyway.
Today we started "the new schedule" around here. I needed to organize the kid's day better, which we did. Now to stick to it.
And of course, this afternoon, we blow the schedule all wonky by doing the "field trip" to the YMCA for swimming. If my "layoff" continues much longer, we will suspend our Y membership and save the money - we can do that for a couple of months without losing our "joiner's fee" (part of which was paid by Ann's employer or insurance plan anyway), so that's a good thing.
Other than that, this weekend, which had seemed quiet and relaxing has turned into "well, we got a couple things to do" - and I've got a web site to piece together before the end of next week. The good news is that I've got the help of a professional artist to do it, and if it looks good for the client, I'll be sure to put a link in here so you folks can see what I'm capable of when it comes to design.
Or stealing and adapting a design, whatever.
Go AWAY!
No, not you, that damned BAD LUCK FAIRY.
To recap : Cars Suck. My Car, which had been running very well until about a month ago, is now being a bright royal purple pain in the ass.
Today, after getting the kids through nearly two hours in the pool (yes, that's enough), I came out of the Y. At the time, I was near to breaking my arm patting myself on the back. I'd entertained my children away from home for an entire afternoon and the total expense was, due to my stupidity, $3.20 - for I grabbed the wrong combination lock upon leaving home, and it would not lock on the lockers at the Y.
So, I went to the parking lot and got into the Chariot of The Bad Luck Fairy. It started, I backed from the parking spot, and it died. I started it again, muttering curses under my breath. I made it about eight feet. It died again, and this time, refused to start. I put the vehicle in neutral and let it roll to the edge of the parking lot.
Each month on our cell phones, we pay an extra $2 for a service called Mr. Rescue. Most months this is money wasted. Occasionally, it is worth it's weight in gold. I used to have a AAA membership - the one time I needed it, I called the AAA number, got the number of a towing service. Called it - the number had changed two years ago, AAA had not updated their records. Of course, had I called at, say, 7 pm, people might have been quite unupset with the whole thing. Calling at 2:30 am, on the other hand, is just not a good thing, at all.
Anyway, I called AAA again - No, they hadn't heard the number had changed, and since they only had that one approved towing service in that area, well, I was hosed. So I don't use or rely on AAA, and I pity the folks who do.
So anyway, I called Mr. Rescue. They would dispatch a tow truck ASAP - no, no idea how long. I called The Dealership of The Damned, and told them I'd been in there much of the last two weeks getting my car working, it was still doing the same damned thing. They sympathized, and would be making arrangements to tow me (some time tomorrow morning, no doubt), but I had Mr. Rescue.
So I called Ann. Who had hopped the later bus, and instead of ending up at a bus station some half-mile from Park Jeep, or even less than a mile from home (fat lot of good it would have done her, as there's no running car there, and we were about four miles in the other direction), she was stuck on the route that passed, closest, about 13 miles from home. And ended a good 20. Or, about 200 yards from where we'd been grocery shopping last night.
Ann was ... beyond frustrated. Now, many of you know my wife has a bit of a temper. When she is frustrated, and there's nothing she can do, and not one of her backup plans is working out, well, I'm dead certain that redheads get their way not through force of personality or a winning smile (both of which she has), but by the simple expedient of "do this, or I will make you really pray for death - it will be your deliverance".
The dealership, getting both of us on dueling cell phones, was, I'm certain, about to run and hide. When the very nice lady Tina from "rentals" helped me out by agreeing to stay five or ten minutes late to help us out.
Jacob, the fine young fellow from Crosstown Amoco, managed to find me (by this time, I'd driven the vehicle about a quarter of a mile - stupidly thinking I could keep it running long enough to get Ann and then get to Park Jeep - what a fool I be). He entertained my two children in his truck as we drove (5:15 - 5:30) from County Road 11 and McAndrews (where I coasted to a stop) to Park Jeep. Jacob, you see, not only drives a cool truck, but is also a volunteer fireman for the Eagan Fire department. His stories about that might have convinced both of my children to become firefighters. Which would scare the hell out of me and make me very, very proud.
Anyway, we got to Park Jeep in time to see the parts window close, but the rental/cashier window, with Tina behind it, was still open. While I'm certain that this woman had much better things to do with her Friday evening, I can't thank her enough for sticking around to help us out. Especially since they couldn't figure out another way (like sending someone in a vehicle to get us, with the paperwork all there - let's face it - I'd dropped almost $1600 in the last two weeks there ON THE SAME DAMNED PROBLEM, they can damned well bend a bit for me) to get us a vehicle.
We did manage to get the car to Park Jeep, get yet another damned Cherokee, and get Ann (from Apple Valley), and then get home. Believe me, this is NOT the way I wanted to start my weekend. At all. It's an expense we should not have, at a time when we can ill afford it. I swear that if these idiots had actually DONE some of the "diagnostic" tests they've alleged (and charged me for) then they'd find the problems.
At least I remembered this time to get the garage door opener - not that there's anyplace you can hang it in a Jeep. And I think that, come some time either tomorrow or Monday, I'll be sitting on Cory's scrawny little lap, pointing out to him that while a "five star dealer" might be a nice thing, I can, and will, complain long, loud, and to everyone, including the folks at the state department of commerce, the licensing boards for their mechanics, and the folks at Chrysler to point out that "five star service" doesn't include telling a customer who has spent $1600 with you "sorry, it's your problem."
All I need to do now is see what internal organs are going for on eBay, and see what I can live without. At this point, I'm thinking a lung, kidney, and at least one testicle. Anything more than that might be ... excessive.
I do dearly hope your day was better.
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Saturday, August 10, 2002 |
Murphy's Address
Does anyone happen to have either it, or the one for the BLF? Yes, those
... fine gentlemen and ladies and their assorted minions decided to work
overtime today.
We went to the Farmer's Market this morning, picked up veggies and etc., and came home - made a quick stop for lunch, then back out to visit some friends, who are building a beautiful new home just a bit closer to us. A good thing.
Anyway, we stopped at their current home for about an hour and a half while their kids (both younger than ours) napped, and then went to the new place. We checked that out, top to bottom, and then decided a movie night was in order. We stopped at Mickey D's for feeding the monkeys and letting them run to tire their little bodies out, hit the video store for some fodder, and then returned home. After the first movie, Ann checked her pocket - and her cell phone was missing.
We're REALLY hoping it's at our friend's house - because if not, we're just hosed, seriously. Again.
So I'd like to apologize to Murphy et. al. and ask them to please, PLEASE, go bother someone else.
Urban Development
About a week and a half ago, I was driving past a corner I go past,
occasionally, in Burnsville, which is my former home (for about 12
years).
I've never been too impressed with Burnsville. Aside from being a complete and total "pre-fab suburb" which didn't exist some 40 years ago, the city itself is utterly unaware of it's purpose. In the time we lived in Burnsville, I can point to at least twenty parcels of land which were beautiful, wild, unspoiled and undeveloped areas, which were destroyed in the name of "progress".
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm all in favor of improvements, and getting something for something. What I'm not in favor of is wall-to-wall development with houses four feet apart, enough room for three strips of sod up front and four in back, and calling that a "home".
Burnsville, fortunately, has allowed more in the way of "yards" and less in the way of sanity. This "corner" I went past was heavily treed, thick brush, and a nice, calming buffer on the corner of two busy streets - and it hid the unsightly back of the former K-Mart location from most views.
Until they chopped down and pulped the trees in the area.
Today, at the Farmer's Market, as is typical Burnsville, there was a tent - said tent was set up in the middle of the main aisle, which required people attempting to buy their weekly fruits, veggies, and all the rest to try to get past Burnsville's next big thing - re-re-re-developing the aisle alongside Nicollet Avenue.
Presently the home to an empty lot, a nearly-empty building, a liquor store, two bars, a strip mall, a nearly-empty lot, a couple of gas stations, and a bank, the area will be "re-developed" into "mixed-use" development, including another 113 apartment units, a "cityscape" park, and more three-story suburban-blight architecture than your average architectural firm with half-a-dozen underused apprentices could manage to vomit up in three years of trying. The current mayor and council, apparently people who either do not drive the route or have much, much better vehicles than I've ever ridden in, do not realize that their recent "improvements" on Burnsville Parkway, for example, are a wonderfully noisy and irritating way to reduce traffic on that main-line thoroughfare. "Sorta blocks" or "big bricks" are about the best way to describe six-to-eight-foot wide pavement "segments" which, I suppose, look beautiful if you're standing in the middle of them, or looking at them from about 300 feet up.
Neither of which you want to do or can easily do, of course.
I'll tell you this much - if I were a resident of Burnsville, I'd be concerned that, eventually, the city will run out of acreage to develop, and then the taxes will HAVE to go up. If I were a business/building owner in Burnsville, I'd be looking to move. Quickly.
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Sunday, August 11, 2002 |
Yup. Didn't upload yesterday. So you get to see the whole "cell phone saga" in one dose. It was at our friend's house, we picked it up this morning.
Of course, Father Stupid (that's me) pulled major dipshit move 38 yesterday. The kids had been in a library reading program all summer - and yesterday was the end of it. They had accumulated all sorts of credits, and yesterday was the pickup date. Guess who didn't realize it? Yah. Papa stupid. That's me. So the kids missed out on free ice cream for both, and I think Rhiannon had a free meal at Perkins coming.
Oh well. They got the joy of reading, right? And once Dad gets back to work, they got some serious guilt points to get stuff off me. How lovely.
Not much else to report today (nearly a Phil Hough kinda day, practically). We ran, got the cell phone, had lunch at home, back to the library, grocery store, back home, and we're nearly ready to hit the hay. Tomorrow is the "scream at the service tech" day, wherein I lay it on the line with these idiots, and point out "look, you MUST fix it, or I'm keeping the one I've got."
I'm sure that won't work, but I hate being held captive by a damned vehicle.
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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