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Last Updated : Monday, 19 August, 2002 at 12:05 AM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Monday, 19 August, 2002 at 12:05 AM -0500 |
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Monday, August 12, 2002 |
Happy Monday!
First off, I need to thank Ken Mazur, who has been incredibly helpful for the local dealership in aiding them to find the various problems that my vehicle is clearly suffering from. If someone who cares can do this sort of thing from long distance with a computer, whyinhell can't the fellow getting paid to do so do the same?
Anyway, thank you VERY MUCH, Ken, I owe you big time. The dealership, they might not be so happy, but there you go.
Slow News Day
In the Dominik hovel, at any rate. So I got busy and spiffed up a couple
dozen burgers. Well, OK, 19.
I found a long time ago that fresh burger meat tossed onto the grill, once doctored with all of that which my wife deems necessary for an "edible" burger, fairly slips between those narrow wires and into the heat-producing material faster than you can say "oh, shitake mushrooms" (what, you were expecting something else?).
So I've taken to patty-ing the burgers and then freezing them.
Zip back about two years or so to a restaurant near here called "Roadhouse Grill". Aside from having free salted-in-the-shell peanuts as your pre-appetizer snack (yes, I know, sodium will kill me, but I love it so), they also had a bleu cheese burger. Said burger, a half-pound monster, was done by putting the burger on the grill, liberally coating the top with bleu cheese dressing, and then placing a high-domed cover over the burger to cause the dressing to "melt in" to the meat.
Yes, I studied their methods.
Flip forward to today. Well, last week, actually, when Ann put together some burgers. She included some shredded cheese in the meat, which was a wonderful idea - until it became exposed on the outside of the patty to heat. Then it became gooey and glue-like. Neither thing is good when grilling.
So, one of my personalities said to another, what if we make thin patties, place cheese between them, and slap them together. Not a bad idea, chimed in the crowd. My family thought so as well.
So today, after modifying the meat as I felt appropriate (three pounds ground beef, one large onion, sauted in a teaspoon of olive oil until soft all over and only a little bit browned, plus several secret ingredients (well, since my memory's lousy anyway, half a dozen stale saltines, half a cup of almost-stale ranch croutons, and half a cup of fresh cheddar garlic croutons, run through the little oscar chopper to liquify them, plus about two tablespoons of Famous Dave's Steak and Burger Seasoning, and a quarter-teaspoon of cayenne pepper), I put the burgers (1/3 cup each, flattened to no thicker than 1/4 inch, or hand-size, to me - your mileage may well vary) into the freezer.
Come dinner time, I removed them, peeled off the waxed paper, and Ann placed a slice of cheddar between two burgers - except the last pair, which I put about two tablespoons of Marie's bleu cheese dressing.
Grilled the burgers, and, sadly, I was the only one to finish mine. Rhiannon SWEARS she'll finish hers for lunch tomorrow (which is rather remarkable, actually, because she typically eats about four bites and bags it). Jack put slices of his tomatoes (his plants) on his burger, ate about eight bites, and gave up. Ann ate about 3/4 of hers.
I thought they were terrific. Then again, there are about a million or so ex-chefs who can say the same thing. Oh well.
Damned Crickets
I know, I know, they're supposed to be good. I find them incredibly
annoying.
This is the time of year most of them seem intent on sneaking their crunchy little bodies into my home, therein to squeak the night away.
I have found, oddly enough, that once in a while I'll actually hear one, but for the most part, once the cats find them, they ... supplement their diets.
The sick part is that I don't know whether to be happy about it or disappointed.
"My" Bathrooms
If this keeps up, the rest of the family's going to have to use the one down the
street...
The downstairs toilet, despite replacement flap, careful examination of the lip around the intake, and the added weight of three heavy washers zip-tied to the top of the flap still leaks a bit. It runs about once an hour, adding about two cups (or less) of water to the toilet, then life is fine.
Now, however, the upstairs toilet has taken on this semi-possessed behavior - well, the little hook on the flap lift chain has taken to falling off (after nearly six months here, I say that's a sudden occurrence to have it happen three times in two days, when it hadn't happened at all before). Always after someone else has made a substantial deposit.
I'm thinking I'm going to have to start sleeping with my pliers. Just in case.
Besides, reaching into the upstairs tank scares me. Have you ever seen one of those blue toilet water things while it's still alive? I swear, it's in the corner, looking at me, and boy, is it PISSED.
Oops. Sorry.
It's Official
I'm in hell.
I can't tell you from where, and I can't tell you why, but tonight, for some reason, the old Leo Sayer song "You make me feel like dancin'" (why oh why oh why is my brain cluttered with useless information like that? Probably because he had the weirdest hair of any Muppet Show guest other than the Muppets themselves, I suppose) is running through my head.
Yes, that's bottom floor, Disco Hell. I've got to go find a radio and tune to a polka station - that's the only cure disco understands. One pounding, driving beat driven out by another. Of course, disco had falsetto voices. Polka has both the accordian (truly, truly an instrument of the damned, no matter what the church says about a Polka Mass) and the clarinet, which is to rock music as the human sacrifice is to your average suburban yuppie dinner party.
In other words, contra-indicated. Definitely.
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Tuesday, August 13, 2002 |
How Nice
Seems our President is "incredibly
optimistic" about our economy. Of course he is. He can
afford to be. When his dumb ass gets let out of the White House (in two
years or in six, makes no difference) he's got a pension, lifetime security
guards, a book deal (guaranteed), and speaking engagements all over the
world. He'll get honorary degrees, people will be "thrilled" to
have him come and speak, and he'll never have to worry again.
Presidents are like that.
Then there are those of us on whom the economy runs - not for, but on - and I'm worried that I'll have a tough time finding a good job. Once found, will I, and the company, last? What's to prevent some twisted goon of a CEO from plundering the coffers instead of guiding the company higher? The threat of getting caught? Not likely.
It's easy to be confident when you're the president. It's much tougher when you're a peasant.
Damned Cars
As noted yesterday, my car dealership is indebted to Mr. Mazur, who managed to
tag the problem with my Eagle Vision from long distance. "Crankshaft
Position Sensor". Of course, they have none in stock, but will have
one tomorrow. And then we will discuss their charges, etc.
Depending on how they handle this, I may go back there, or I may be working through the entire structure of the dealership organization to get these people to use their heads once in a while instead of their knuckles.
It promises to be a fun day. Not.
Gulp.
Yup. Talked to "my friend with the job" today. We'll call
him Bubba.
Bubba's company posted the position to Dice. Where I, using my superior trawling skills (yes, I've done this before), found it. As I told him the job sounds like fun, in a sick, sick way. I'd be jumping into a pool that's well over my head, and then attempt to swim seriously upstream, without killing myself. And while outracing a speedboat.
Sounds like fun. Then again, I am a masochist, apparently.
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Wednesday, August 14, 2002 |
Frisbee! Oh, yuck...
I heard a report on public radio this morning. Apparently the gentleman
who "perfected" the Frisbee (originally it was just plain old pie tins
tossed around) has passed away. His heirs are looking to make at least
some of his ashes into Frisbees to be tossed around.
Pardon me if I say "EEEEEEeeeeeeeewwwwwwww." Just imagine that poor dog...
"Hey, when I lick mine, it's good grooming. When his ends up in my mouth, that's just gross."
E-mail, I Get E-mail...
Perhaps I'm overly sensitive at times like this, but I'm often in receipt of
mail which I really, REALLY hate. Especially those which end
"Forward on to 1-4 friends, and your luck will get a little better.
Forward on to 5-8 friends and your luck will improve.
Forward on to 9-12 friends and your luck will be fantastic.
Forward on to 13-15 friends and you will have something special happen right
away.
Forward on to 16 or more, and your every dream will come true!"
I'm tempted to send something out and close with "did you know that one in four people suffer from some form of mental illness? And of those, one in four is violent? Please forward onto as many of your friends as you can. If you're not the violent one, maybe one of them is, and they can put you out of our misery..."
Facts? Who needs facts. I can make them up as I wish. After all, this is the internet, and everyone believes everything they read on the 'net.
That's It
I finally had it today.
Presently, I'm using a laptop with 128 Mb RAM (not a lot, I know), and I'm trying to make room to bring up my big box with 256 Mb. But in the mean time, I've got the LT (I really need to start naming these boxes - I've never anthropomorphized much, but it appears it will be needed soon around here).
Anyway, as I'm recently from the Microsoft Salt Mines, I've got all the gee gaws on here. Office Pro with Photodraw, etc. And, of course, IE 6.0 with the latest patches, etc.
And at least twice a day the last couple of weeks I find myself with one or two browser windows just hanging out there. At first I was suspecting AdSubtract and/or Pop Up Killer, but after a couple of days of one, the other, or neither one shut off, it appears that IE itself is at fault.
Sometimes I could CTRL-ALT-DEL and kill the appropriate sessions, and then restart Exploder. Sometimes I'd be able to run for a couple of hours without a reboot, but sometimes, it was a nosedive into hell.
Since I've got Mozilla on here, and I started long ago with Nutscrape, I decided I'd try it again. And you know what? After nearly a full day (hitting sites that typically caused two or three lockups a day), no problems. There are a few annoyances - IE closed a window faster (I could ALT-F4 and it would snap shut - Moz waits a bit), and the biggest annoyance is how it deals with my portal page...
Long ago, I learned the trick (Target="_blank") to break me out of framed content if I was in it, and I also learned that I could use that to pop a link into a new window - such like most of the links on this page do. So I created a "portal" page which links to various sites and resources I need, use, rely on, or hit for fun.
With IE, this wasn't a problem. With Mozilla, it became a major issue, because I had to hit enter to "confirm" the URL, and then I could use the up-and-down arrows (and PgUp/PgDn) to move through the page.
Oh well. I'm sure I'll get used to it.
Golf
Yeah, I know.
Just a couple miles from here is this year's PGA Tour Championship. Wheee...
Scarily enough, the last time it was out at Hazeltine National, I was working in the area for a client installing timeclocks, as I recall. What a mess.
I'm still surprised that Golf is a spectator sport. Oh well. I guess it's grass without damnedelions...
Something Completely Different...
I figured it was about time...
Today, I decided I might as well get used to having a full-time, on-line, all-the-time internet connection, and make the most of it.
The first step was, at least for me, to find a way to auto-update to the Factory55.com servers. I know what the name of the file is each week, but I needed a way to explicitly insert that in the process.
Now, if this were the good old days and my Win95 box with good old Turbo Pascal were still working, I'd dig out and write yet another QnD little "date" routine. I used to rely on those a lot.
Back a couple jobs, I had a customer who had a problem. She had to generate reports for sixteen departments, and they had to be done each day of a pay period. The reports were actually database files, which were then run through a pre-processor and the totals were extracted, allowing her to give a daily total of hours worked for bonus calculations at the end of the year. The totals were then massaged into a spreadsheet, and away they went.
The problem was, at that time, the preprocessor. It required a specifically named input file (called Fred.in) and produced a specifically named output file (called Fred.csv). Now, you can do the math. I'll wait.
Yes, that's 112 files (7x16). How did I handle that? With an ugly little trick.
You see, the software I was working with allowed me to create what we called "keystroke files" - or macros - to automate events. So I had to create this series of keystroke files (we were limited to 500 characters at first - they later raised the limit to 1500 - I still needed more). Since the dates in the system were relative, I was able to say "4 days ago", "5 days ago", and so forth, for the entire week. Which was good. The bad news, of course, was that I had to do that 16 times for each day.
Since the department numbers were known, as were the other details, I chained a bunch of keystroke files (which was harder than it looked). And of course, I had to do two sets. One set of files for the normal weeks, and another set for weeks where "monday" was a holiday, and edits weren't completed until Wednesday (which was about as far back as I could go - 10 days).
Now, when it came time to create the keystroke files, you had to be careful. We didn't have a keystroke file editor (I wrote one, and then they changed the keystroke file specifications - figures). So we had to record them right.
That was the difficult part. When it came time to process the files, that was easy. The files were named with the four-digit department number and an underscore, followed by a two-digit date - 01 was one day ago. 02, 2 days ago, and so on. Remember, this was back in the "good old 8.3 filename" days. When, oddly enough, I didn't have near the problems I do now with computers.
Anyway, I wrote three batch files. The first said
CALL MAKEPAY.BAT
CALL PRO2.BAT 1234_01
CALL PRO2.BAT 2345_01
CALL PRO2.BAT 3456_01
...
I think you get the idea. That was called "CONVERT.BAT" and took about 14 hours to run, initially. After she upgraded from a very slow 286 to a very fast 386/33, we cut that time to almost 3 hours. Wow.
The second batch file was a bit more complicated.
DOPAY > PAYDATE.BAT
CALL PAYDATE.BAT
All "DOPAY.EXE" was was a program which read out the current calendar date, including the day of the week (DOWK). It then went back to the previous Sunday, subtracted seven days, and created an output line :
SET PAYDATE=20020804
(obviously, if I'd run it today, that is).
This was what was "echoed" into "Paydate.bat" which was then executed - creating an environment variable called "PAYDATE" which I could then use in other batch files.
Which the THIRD batch file then made use of.
PKZIP -EXA .\INPUT\%PAYDATE% .\%1.OPF
IF EXIST .\FRED.IN DEL .\FRED.IN
COPY %1.OPF FRED.IN
CONVPROC
IF EXIST %1.CSV DEL %1.CSV
COPY FRED.CSV %1.CSV
PKZIP -EXA .\OUTPUT\%PAYDATE% .\%1.CSV
And that was the "motor". It used PKZIP to archive the input
and the output to separate files (each week's input was nearly a megabyte, all
told, when compressed. It ended up being archived both to a fileserver and
a floppy disk. The output file, on the other hand, was frequently under
70-80K when compressed. Uncompressed, the data often occupied 2-3
Megs. Remember, this was back when a 120 MB hard drive was HUGE).
The processing was done and then the end of the first batch file came into
play...
...
U:
CD U:\USERS\PAYROLL\BONUS
MKDIR %PAYDATE%
c:
COPY *.CSV U:\USERS\PAYROLL\BONUS\%PAYDATE%\
Why this long digression, you might ask? No, not to show off. I
managed to create a batch file to auto-update this site. Once I get comfy
with it, I'll expose it to the real world, and away we go. I hope. 
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Thursday, August 15, 2002 |
The Job Hunt
I've been kinda quiet about my job hunt lately. Nobody really wants to
read about how an out-of-work person goes about finding a job. I remember
watching the old "Roseanne" show with Rosanne
Barr/Arnold/"blank", and it was funny until they started to have
experiences that mirrored ours of the time - running along the edge of the
budget knife with cutoff notices, promises to pay, payment arrangements, and all
the rest. It was funny, but cut a little too close to the bone.
There are two "tricks" I'm using that I'm willing to share a bit about, though. The first is a "networking newsletter".
I've been told (and believe) that 80% of the jobs out there aren't on the internet, in the want ads, or posted somewhere for you to find. They're "well, I'm looking for someone but I'm not sure I know what I want yet". That sort of thing. It's a case of "you gotta know someone."
So I figured I know quite a few successful people locally (and elsewhere), who might know someone who has a job. So I started a "newsletter". A chatty little "hi, sorry about this, here's what I've been up to, here are some of my skills, here's what I'm doing, how about you, thanks, bye" type of e-mail. Yes, I know, it's near-spam like, so I do a couple of things.
First, I write every one completely - no cut'n'paste. I'm not trying to bother people into hiring me, I'm trying to get them to help me. Which is why the first section is "I'm sorry to do this to you, please let me know if you'd rather not get this at all or at another address, I'm really sorry" type of thing.
I also note those places/positions I've sent resumes for - two reasons. The first is to see if anyone knows anything about those firms/jobs, and the second is to let those getting it know "I AM Serious about this, this is what I'M doing".
I also include a little recap of my skills - sort of a "well, I can do this" and highlight some of those abilities which might stick in people's heads. Face it - if you tell a non-technical person "I'm a Network Administrator/Systems Analyst" they'll look at you and say "ah, that's nice". When their neighbor says "yeah, I'm looking for someone in my IT department" they'll grunt and say "Cool."
If, on the other hand, I say "I've built computer networks, I've done some programming, some database development, hardware repair, web site development, testing, etc., etc." they might reply to their neighbor "Really? What kind of help?" And see if my skills would fit their profile.
The other tool I'm working on is a "Personal Performance Profile". I've got a lot of things on my resume. I once heard it said that "the greatest fiction written today is on resumes" and I will be able to back mine up. I'm pulling together documents and pictures of what it is I've done, and how I've done it, over the years. This should, in the long run, give me much more to work with. When I go in and sit down in front of a perspective employer and say "yes, here's the evidence" they might go through it in detail.
Or they might be impressed that I took the time to put it together and bring it in. Or they might think I'm a pathological nutcase. Oh well, two out of three ain't bad.
Anyway, that's the type of thing I'm trying to do, so that when the calls come for the interviews, I'm ready. We'll just take it from there.
Low Day...
Yeah, I'm a bit bummed.
My previous employer, when laying me off, tendered a letter which said "you'll be paid." I confirmed this via e-mail on my last day, down to the amounts and when. So, today, on payday, I was a bit disturbed when 20% of the expected amount arrived. So I placed a phone call. "Oh, that other amount comes out in a separate paper check we mail to you - less taxes." Lovely. So I get to pay less taxes, and my mortgage is late. Lovely.
Luckily, the mortgage company is understanding. It'll cost me an extra $50, but they're understanding. How pleasant.
So, combine that with the other "ooches" and "ouches" today, and I'm not doing too well. I am, however, in full control of my faculties. Rhiannon and Jack had floor duty this morning - sweep and swiffer the kitchen/dining room. Rhiannon was sweeping, and Jack decided to do his "moronic cat" impersonation - and jump on the broom. Snapped it right off. Broke the spiral screw-end of the handle off in the socket.
Rather than thump him with the broken handle, I sent him to his room. We'll discuss suitable punishments when his mother gets home.
Right now, my biggest hope is that I get back to work in time to make sure their birthdays are good. Jack has been asking for a gameboy advance since about last Christmas. I'm not sure a $70 toy is appropriate for a six-year-old, especially one that encourages slack-jawed drooling at a little screen (what, computers are different - I can run SPREADSHEETS on a computer - though I vaguely remember someone making some noise about turning a Gameboy (original) into a PDA of sorts... Either that, or my mind has gone completely colly-wobbled, as they say). But when the fellow has been so incredibly focused and so insistent, every time we ask, it's tough to ignore.
Ah, parenting. Walking a fine line between "give them the stuff I didn't have" and turning out materialistic little punks with little regard for those around them.
Sometimes I think I should have stuck to something simple. Like artificial intelligence. That blows, and you can just erase and start over. Theoretically.
Keep Yer Fingers Crossed...
Got an e-mail from my friend (the one with the job) this afternoon. He's
talked to his boss, and I should expect a call in the next couple of days for a
phone interview, and possible in-office visit with them.
I should note that this is by no means a certain thing - it's a good fit for me, but it's also doing stuff that's at present over my head - well, I know theoretically that it works, and I know theoretically how it works, but I don't know yet if I can put it together and make it work...
But you know what else? I'm going to keep trying until it's proven that I am a chimp, or that it works. One way or the other I will succeed...
That much, I am certain.
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Friday, August 16, 2002 |
Well, here we are. Past (or at) the midpoint of the last "summer" month (at least here in Minnesota).
As a kid, I was always living in semi-terror of August 20th. No, not because it's a friend of mine's birthday. It marked the "desperate times" of summer. Yes, there was more than a little boredom, but there was also the desperation to get things done if at all possible - by "things" it could be anything. Work on a tree house, go see this spot on the creek, climb that tree, etc.
August was always a sad month here on the northern plains. It marked usually the part of summer when the blast furnace doors popped wide open, and you were baked mostly alive. Little rain did compensate a bit by reducing, somewhat, the mosquito population (except in our yard. Living over a freshwater swamp meant you had your very own captive breeding program for the buggers). But the lawn invariably browned, the garden went dry-crunchy (until we got the river pump), and it was often too hot to move.
But you had to. You knew that soon, you'd be stuck in long pants, not shorts. Long-sleeve button-up shirts, not short sleeve tee shirts or tank tops. You'd be stuck inside, staring out at the warm, sunny days, trying hard to forget the "summer fun" and listen to the drone of this year's teacher explaining something or other.
The weather would even act as if it was unwilling to let summer go. Typically we would get our worst (as in, most damaging) storms in June. But in August you'd get the long, long nights with the thunderstorms lined up like waves coming on the beach, running in from the west and hammering us. Somewhat like this evening...
Just a brief disruption - why is it that the people who control the local cable product will put a crawl along the bottom of the screen, right where most radar pictures would show this portion of the metro area (the local cable company has, as far as I've been able to tell, only this particular suburb under it's greasy thumb for control - whyinhell can't they put the crawl at the TOP since we're a SOUTHERN suburb? Gee, I thought that made sense...)? </Disruption>
It was as if the storms knew "hey, three months from now this piddly two inches of rain will become two feet or more of snow - so enjoy it now." When what you really want to do is anything that will reduce the humidity, reduce the heat, and let you enjoy the days you had remaining in your reprieve.
I would hit this point in August with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The dread that soon, I'd have a new teacher nagging me to do things that I really didn't want to do, and the anticipation of seeing my school friends (we lived about 2 miles away from school, and the closest classmates I had were about a half-mile away in a straight line - of course, it was across the river. The next closest, also just a little over a half-mile away, were actually nearly a mile and a half by road, and involved crossing one of the busiest roads in the county. So no, I didn't see them either). Also, the anticipation of getting my new school books, and reading the interesting bits of them from cover to cover. That typically took about a month or so. Then I was bored for another school year.
In the years since, the feelings haven't much changed. Given the type of winters we have around here, you do tend to hang onto every nice day like it's the last. But you also realize that there's little you can do to prevent it from coming. With fall just around the corner, we up here know that it's time to start cutting the grass a little shorter. For me, the Scott's Turf Plus Two is in the garage, waiting for the early part of September to get put down - along with more grass seed. Local wisdom seems to indicate that there are many ways to get rid of weeds and other nasty problems - but the best (according to the guys from Toro who are showcasing their favorite lawn this week at the PGA Championship) is to seed, reseed, and keep on overseeding. The best way to get rid of the stuff you don't want in your lawn is to make sure you've got the stuff you do want.
So we'll try that.
Fall has always struck me as an end. Don't get me wrong. I really love living in an area where we do have four distinct seasons. I do, however, wish that the extremes weren't so extreme. We regularly get upper nineties, to 100s, or even higher, during the summer. We will also be able to count on lows of at least 10-15 below zero at least one week out of the year, if not more. And windchills which drop the temperature considerably below that. So while it might be nice to live in some place warmer, I'm not willing to put up with the real blast-furnace/front-porch-of-hell type places like Phoenix, or really anywhere in the Southwest.
In an ideal world, once I make my billions, I'll purchase a home in New Zealand, "winter" there (in their summer), and head north for the "summer" season up here. Probably stick around for Christmas with snow, then high-tail it out of dodge before that blasted third week of January, when our average temperatures bottom right out and start creeping up.
Today has been much better than yesterday, other than weather, that is. Actually, yesterday started looking up late in the day - I'd been working with one friend's web-site needs, and he's starting to make progress in wrapping his head around the issues and what he wants it to say, and another friend said "hey, I need something really special, do you think you can do it?" We're still chatting, but I've got some ideas which I'm going to spring on him soonish-like (you have been warned, Bubba), and see what he thinks. Of course, if he likes them, my monster calendar pages will be minor inconveniences compared to some of the templates I'm creating. Yes, it IS likely I will develop a drinking problem, but when bills need to be paid, you do what you gotta...
I also got an e-mail last night from my friend from the reunion with the job (future code name for this one will be "Mac"), and he said "you'll be getting a phone call, and as long as you don't belch, drool, or otherwise embarrass yourself, you should get an interview." I also got a few e-mails from him today detailing his boss's hot buttons (yes, I'm getting as much information as I can).
The really sick thing is that if you take away where he works, Mac's boss and I are practically separated at birth. Same gadget freak tendencies, same computer interests, same likes/dislikes, same capabilities with tools and the like.
So I have a pretty good feeling about this potential job.
Of course, if that fails, I also got an e-mail from another firm I resume'd. They needed salary information (which wasn't stated in the ad). I provided it, and hope I haven't under-priced or over-priced myself. Oh well. We'll see. It's a director of IT position for a firm (a local non-profit agency, actually) that's looking for their first IT Director. Which would be one of those "yeah, I've done that" jobs... As in "have you ever...?"
So things is moving and looking up and so forth. I just hope that it progresses faster than it has - then again, when you're running ninety miles an hour and everyone else is doing fifty, they all look like slowpokes. When you're standing still, they're all a bunch of raving maniacs.
So I figured I would take the latter portion of this evening off and relax to one of my favorites - Animal House. No, Ann does not enjoy it. Yes, it's true, I tend to physically resemble Blutto more than anyone else in the film, though I think my behavioral tendencies are a bit better than that.
And so, with water bottle (too late for a beer) and popcorn in hand, I settle down, just in time for the Toga party and ... the cable goes out.
It's a sign from God. You'll see this if and when it comes back. And since you're reading it now (whenever "now" is, depending on where you are), it did.
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Saturday, August 17, 2002 |
"Nurse, I'll take that lobotomy now..."
My children are the greatest thing ever to happen to me. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Of course, I must note that "great"
has many meanings. For example, Josef Stalin was a "Great" ruler. He even said so. Was he a nice guy? Well, I dunno. My
opinion is that the guy was a bit on the rough side, and I'm not entirely sure that he didn't invent paranoia, the art form.
So now that we've got that settled, this morning, over breakfast, the topic of marriage came up. I don't know how, I was damned lucky not to bite either my fingers, cheeks, tongue, nose, or toes (I have no idea how the last two might get in the way of the eating process, but when I end up with teethmarks on them, that's my only valid assumption). Rhiannon was going to find a nice boy, like me (but rich, I keep telling her). My son said "Nope. Not me."
Ann says "So, you aren't going to marry a nice girl?"
"No."
"Not a boy" says Rhiannon.
"Yup." says Jack.
"Oh, great. A gay brother."
"Jack, you don't want to marry another boy, do you?" asks mom, chuckling (whether it was from the rather unusual shade of purple I'd turned or the
fact that I'd stopped breathing and my eyeballs were doing a fair imitation of the rollers in a slot machine, I don't know).
"No, I guess not. I'll marry Sissy!" (his nickname for Rhiannon).
"I don't think so." (stereo from Rhiannon and her mother).
Regardless of the relative breadth of your family tree, there's a special blow to the base of the skull you just can't get any other way when a five-year-old asks that plaintive question...
"why not?"
Problem and Solution
I was my father's 41st birthday present. On October 9th, 1963, my mother came home from the hospital, let Dad get settled, and set me in his lap.
"Here. I didn't have time to shop." Went the family joke.
Now, for those of you who have some passing acquaintance with mathematical theories and whatnot, follow the bouncing math.
Rhiannon was born in 1993, the day AFTER my 30th birthday. So my daughter is my personal yardstick. I know how old I am by asking her how old she is. Then adding thirty.
She will, of course, turn 9 this year. This momentous occasion is notable because it will also mark the last full year of my thirties, which, in other words, means "yer just not a kid no more, bud."
And, for those of you quicker on the uptake, yes, that means my father will turn the big eight-zero this year. 80.
Big whoop, you say? Well, kinda.
Dad was born quite a long time ago. Prior to a number of advancements, not the least of which was the polio vaccine. At the age of three, he contracted polio. I'm sure his parents were feeling a bit snake-bit. They had four girls, and two boys, by that time. The oldest boy, Robert, passed away from what is believed to be leukemia at about the age of 12.
Some years later, my father had a little brother, Joseph, who also died, at a much younger age, only a few months old. Dad did have a younger sister, which gave him a slight leg up, but with Catherine, Louise, Marion, Bernice, and his little sister Luverne (called Luzzie), he had plenty of competition.
But my Dad was, and is, a stubborn cuss. He learned to walk with the help of a built-up shoe and braces, and made it through high school in a couple of three-story buildings several blocks from his home. The same high school all of his children later went to.
My father also went to college - where he got rid of the unusual shoe and the extra hardware and damned the consequences. Since my father was the ... well, victim of some medical experimentation (they cut a number of tendons and ligaments in his legs, supposedly to help), he had an unusual gait. One that would lead to a number of rather serious "falls" over the years. Many people trip and fall - with my father, he didn't "just fall" - there was always the specter of him smacking his head on a curb or some other rather frightening event, which usually caused more than a little concern (and some embarrassment for a young man, the oldest of his children, who didn't understand at the time that the courage was not in the falling or the getting up, but in coming out into the world like he was in the first place - but he learned).
My father had a sort of affinity for the hospital and holidays. I say that in a joking fashion, but growing up, whenever Dad had to spend time in the hospital, there was a holiday involved. There was the kidney stone which occurred around Christmas time one year, there was the tick bite which turned into "something else" (I'm still not sure what) another, and the fourth-of-July heart attack in 1980.
That was when I was forced to grow up. Literally in a 30 minute car ride.
I'd been in marching band, and we'd been at our one big local parade for the year - St. Joe's Fourth Of July parade. It was followed by a picnic at my Aunt Lorraine's. We got home, and had decided not to hit the fireworks, because it was just too crowded. I'd gone downstairs to finally shower (trust me - walking a mile and a half in a black wool suit coat, tall plastic fur-covered black hat (think British Changing-of-the-Guard castle guard type hats), and carrying a fifty-pound drum strapped to your back - oh, yeah, and it's about 90 and humid), and my mother pounded on the bathroom door. "Come on, we're going to the hospital."
Dad had come downstairs and said he didn't feel good. His pasty-grayish color decided the issue (and it was fortunate that Mom had gotten her driver's license a few years before). I rode into town in the back seat of the station wagon, wearing my stinky white "Darth Vader" Tee Shirt and a pair of jeans, watching my mother drive and watch my father.
We got to the hospital, mom pulled into the ambulance/emergency entrance bay, and without thinking I was out of the car before it stopped moving, over the railing (I later measured - it was about five feet up from the floor to the top of the railing. No, I don't know how), and into the ER before the doors had half-opened. Doctors and nurses came out, and I was shuffled off to a waiting area. I called my sisters, let them know what was up, and then spent the next 48 hours in that smelly tee shirt, sitting on uncomfortable, poorly-padded vinyl chairs.
The most painful part of the experience, though, was when the doctor came out of the cardiac ICU and said "I just don't know how well he's going to do. Few polio patients live this long. By rights, he should have died years ago."
Chalk it up to stubborn.
Good thing I've got it. I need your help. With Dad's 80th birthday, we're facing a bit of a problem. My father has, or can buy, anything he wants. There's not much that he wants for any more, so there's little point in shopping for him. In fact, the SOB has, on many occasions, gone "birthday shopping" for himself just before his birthday, and ruined a "perfect" present we thought we had for him. No, he's not rich, none of us are, but we could spend hours finding the perfect gift - then he'd buy one just like it (or a little off). Oh well.
So we've come up with an idea. Dad was excited when he found out that he could get a card from the President now that he's 80. I know how to request one, but I'm looking for other programs or ways to get Dad a birthday card. Famous people, non-famous people, whatever. I want to get Dad deluged with cards.
If you've got an idea, or want to help me out, let me know - I'm not going to post my parent's address here, because in this day and age of 911 road-mapping, what used to be "Rural Route 2, St. Cloud" has become quite a specific spot. But if you know a good one, let me know.
This Had Better Work
Well, now I'm in the soup.
We went out today and Ann decided she wanted to play with dolls again. However, since that would be immature, she decided I needed assistance with my "interview wardrobe". We went to the Men's Wearhouse, and picked out a beautiful black suit (with faint burgundy pinstripes). She also got a cream (not white) shirt and burgundy tie, "braces" (not the suspenders I'm used to - these button in, not clip on), and all the rest. She also got a pair of charcoal pants to go with the sport coat I've used as my "interview" suit for the last two rounds of interviews.
Though I'm really looking forward to picking up the burgundy shirt and other ties she set back on hold for later. That'll look nice. I'll get her to take a good picture of me (and yes, I'll shine my shoes).
The good news is that this is a good investment. I haven't had a "suit" since about 1990. The bad news is that if this DOESN'T work out, boy, am I gonna be in trouble. Not really, in the short run - but in the long run, I'm fundamentally hosed.
Oh well. This will work out for the best in the end.
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Sunday, August 18, 2002 |
A Day Consumed by mosquitoes...
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