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Last Updated : Monday, 16 September, 2002 at 09:31 AM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Monday, 16 September, 2002 at 09:31 AM -0500 |
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Monday, September 9, 2002 |
Well, here's a week that I've not been looking forward to.
Unless you've been living in a mud hut off all of the grids (including spoken word) for the last year, you know what I mean.
Twelve months ago the world seemed an entirely different place. Here in America, the prevailing news stories were the coming economic recession, and the overwhelming focus on Gary Condit, a member of the United States House of Representatives, and his "improper" relationship with Chandra Levy. Ms. Levy, then missing, was presumed to have had a sexual relationship with Rep. Condit, who denied most of it (and later filed for re-election and lost - well there's a "duh" for ya).
We were mostly a generation which knew of the horrors of atomic warfare, for it had played itself out in movies and fictional accounts which we'd read from small children. One of my first book orders in school included a book called "Nerves" by Lester Del Ray. A book about a nuclear power plant melt-down, which led to a whole lot more of that sort of interesting fiction.
But we also knew horror on the smaller scale. We'd seen the Viet Nam war brought into our homes at the dinner hour. Nothing at all like being there, but there was something incongruous about eating your vegetables while watching bodies floating in rice paddies half a world away. "Eat, or you'll be lucky to get dessert." Right. And if they're lucky, that body won't bloat before they bury it.
We'd known carnage through history. We'd known some of the horrors of carnage in our own recent past, as the Branch Davidian complex debacle begat the chilling horrors of a small-minded man who felt he did the right thing in blowing up a federal building that contained a daycare. Fortunately for the rest of us here in America, what that fool (who's name so conveniently escapes me that I like it that way - I've not forgotten his act, nor his cowardice. I do so appreciate having forgotten the small, idiotic man who did it though) did was neither easily forgiven nor slow to achieve justice. Yes, he lived much longer than he should have, but the families of the victims know some peace in that the murderer who killed their loved ones was given a careful sendoff by the state.
But there's a difference between an obscure federal building in Oklahoma and the overwhelming symbols of New York for many people, including myself. There's a huge difference between a congress-critter's misbehavior with an intern and a plane, slamming into the side of the Pentagon. Over ten times the number of dead in Oklahoma City, and the carnage and potential were so much higher.
Fortunately, on a day filled with horrors, the story was later told of those people on Flight 93. Due to incompetence of their captors, good luck, or the hand of God, some of those passengers decided to do something, and in doing so, they saved more lives, more landmarks, and our national pride. Those people who fought back and plowed the plane into a field in Pennsylvania did more for our nation on that day than all of the politicians and lawmakers and other officials could do, or did, in the year since.
There have also been stories of the firefighters, EMS workers, and police. People who could have said "no, I'm outta here" who instead walked into near-certain death, and in doing so, provided us with an example we could look to and say "there is the best of us." Fortunately so, because there were ample examples of the worst of humanity in the world. The feeble-minded brutality of the Taliban, the twisted ravings of Bin Laden and company, and other little hate-mongers who built up groups dedicated to wiping out the larger numbers of people who they saw as "infidels" - those who did not believe as they did.
And since, we've been "at war". A "new kind of war" (aren't they all?) where the enemy has no fixed bases which we can strike at, where they hide among civilians to cover themselves as they lack the honor, courage, and strength of conviction to stand and show themselves in their beliefs. A war that has unfortunately hijacked a religion that has little enough to do with their misguided and confused hatred, and given us something else to question and wonder about.
Certainly, in the years to come, this "new war" will be remembered not so much for the way it started as the fits-and-starts-method of battle. The "stomp here, stomp there" manner of putting out this grass-fire called terrorism. The long, drawn-out debates which will continue for quite possibly centuries regarding what, precisely, does define a terrorist, a freedom fighter, and a lawful combatant.
As a child, I remember the anti-war protests of the Viet Nam era. I remember the chants - "we ain't gonna study war no more." "Give peace a chance."
Nice, naive sayings. Lovely-sounding words on a card, or placard, held by a child complaining about their lack of voice in the decision.
While we may not wish to study war, it is clear that there are, and will always be, some small number who know no other way, nor do they wish to know any other way. They love war, glory in war, for they know that there will be publicity surrounding their actions, and in those actions, they will draw a few more misguided individuals, cowards with beliefs similar to theirs, who will be willing to die, rather than fight. Cowards who will strap themselves with explosives, and blow themselves up in a place where there are few soldiers, mostly civilians, preferably women and children, who will die.
Misguided cowards who lack the intellectual capacity to debate and convince you of the validity (or even the sanity) of their positions, and instead, prefer to die.
This week, we'll mark the commemoration of thousands of deaths. Most nations of the world were affected by the events of September 11th, 2001. Some lost people. Some lost property. Some suffered as suspects, or as targets, for our wrath.
While we are still working through the grief and the horror and the pain that four airplanes wrought, we need to remember that not everyone in a turban or a mosque is the enemy. Not everyone who is Arabic hates America. Not everyone who is Muslim hates America.
In this new war, we need to remember that there are small groups, and individuals, who we must destroy. Not countries, not states, not regions, and certainly not ethnicities or religions.
And in doing so, we must never lose what has made America the place many wish to be - our freedom, our privilege, and our right to lead our lives free from the prying eye of the state, free to say what we want, to whomever, whenever, and without fear of retribution or reprisal.
And that, I fear, is where we will lose this war. We might defeat terrorism. But will we still be America when we're done? Will my children know "The Bill Of Rights" or will they instead remember "The Patriot Act of 2001" and Reichmarshall Ashcroft shredding constitutional protections like they were toilet paper?
Only history will tell. Only a history that we have yet to write. A history that I am ashamed to say I'm afraid to see. Fortunately, given the pace of this "war" and the competence of the top leadership, I feel safe in saying that I will be much closer to the dust I will spend much of eternity as before this war is considered "over".
I do dearly hope, however, it ends in my children's lifetimes. My children and great-grandchildren should not be forced to mop up the mistakes of our, and our parents' generations.
This week will likely be difficult. Lots of emotions boiling to the surface, or ones that were never dealt with in the first place. Either way, it's going to be difficult. Please bear with me.
Odd Notes
Today marks the birthday of both Colonel Sanders, he of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame, and Leo Tolstoy, he of "War and Peace" fame. In the long
run, methinks that the Colonel has had more of an effect on western Civilization than Tolstoy. Simply put, think of the cholesterol.
Udder Dan Dat, not much happening. Seems there's a new mail vulnerability out there somewhere, because in the last week, I've seen my level of Spam about triple, nearly all of it bypassing long-standing (and functional) Spam filters.
And I encountered an ethical dilemma today. If I have a quarantined copy of a mail virus, is it wrong to attach it and mail it to a spammer? Yeah, I thought so. I wish I could put together something that would cause the power supply to fry the motherboard and hard drive. But that would be wrong.
Wouldn't it?
Guilty Pleasures
I must confess, I really do not like the Cartoon Network all that much. Most of the shows have a long way to go to get to plain old Lame, let alone
"this really sucks".
One of the most annoying cartoons early on was "Ed, Edd, and Eddy" - three guys who run the gamut. One's bright in a money-grubbing-Bill-Gates sorta way, one's dumber than a box of rocks without the box, and one - I think he's there for comic relief.
I've found myself listening to the voices, which range between a drunken screech to the pathological raving of a disturbed mental patient.
But the writing isn't exactly low-brow. Well, it is, but there are jokes in there that some teenagers don't get. There are some I had to think through. It's no Simpsons, but it is funny.
I gotta get a job soon. My mind is softening...
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Tuesday, September 10, 2002 |
Curious...
You have this group which controls a scarce resource, right? And one of the people in that group gets this idea that the resource isn't bringing in as
much money as they think they deserve, so this guy decides to cause people to think the resource is limited or threatened. The price goes up, he makes
money, his friends make money, and they're all happy. No one's the wiser...
Enron, right? Wrong. Oil. Bush. Iraq.
Think about it. Bush, an oil man from Texas, and Cheney, another Oil Man from Texas - oh, excuse me, Montana - get elected. Bush decides the war on terror isn't quite going in the right direction, so he heads off to blame Iraq.
Now, don't get me wrong - there's more than enough crap flowing out of Saddam Hussein to deserve a good spanking, preferably with an M-16 at full-auto, but there are "unintended side benefits". First of all, the price of gas and oil goes up, and they all make money, right?
Well, maybe not. Because yesterday, when I heard that oil prices were reaching near record highs, I looked, and the corner gas station dropped from $1.399 earlier this week to $1.359. Mind you, this is the low end of the yo-yo. When I fill up Wednesday night (needed or not), I'll catch the yo-yo near the bottom - it went up near Labor Day, came down a bit, then popped up to $1.499 last Thursday.
So if the oil prices are at near-record heights, where are the high prices? Don't tell me that the high prices of two years ago are no longer, just because we have Bush in the White House.
There are times when I wonder if the conspiracy theorists have something... Then again, maybe they're just nuts.
Tuesday, what fun...
Back at the unemployed grind - got out six good resumes yesterday, have a few more to go today, and then I hit Dice tomorrow for more searching.
Somebody asked me the other day how I go about doing my job search, and why I don't send out a whole lot of resumes all at once.
Well, that's pretty simple. When you send an unsolicited resume to a firm, you're taking a chance. If you're very fortunate, your resume will be sitting on the top of the pile on the HR person's desk as someone comes in and says "I need a ...".
The odds of that happening are astronomically small. Typically, the resume ends up in a folder in a cabinet, and it might be looked at if someone remembers it come the next time they have an opening. At the companies I've been at, when I'm the hiring guy, we were pretty good about looking through the filing cabinet - hey, if we had the right resume, we could save ourselves the cost of the ad, right?
The other problem is with the type of work I do. I'm a good small/medium company one-stop IS department. In some cases, these companies know when they're going to replace someone well in advance of when it happens. In most, though, it's a big shock.
So my routine runs like this. I start my "hunt week" on Sunday. The local paper (StarTribune) posts their want ads on the web at literally 12:00 am Sunday morning. I know, I've searched at 11:55 pm, and there's nothing new. At 12:02 am, the ads are there.
So I run the ads. I search through with a search string which invariably returns 500 or more hits ("Network or systems or admin or computer or project or Mac or PC or SQL"). Then I read through the brief descriptions (about the first 100 words or so), and anything that looks interesting or intriguing is checked. Once I've looked through 500 ads, I hit the button to "Display my selections". It does. I save that result off as a file, and then go to work.
I first skim through that list to see what jobs that sounded interesting really are - and what are within my skill-set. This winnows out about 50% of the "interesting" jobs. Some weeks a lot more, some weeks a lot less.
Then I find the list of those I like, and start researching the firms (if possible - sometimes it's a blind reply-to address, so there's not much to run on besides the description in the ad).
After that, I put together the list of those I really want to work for - there are some firms which I wouldn't want to work for for various ethical or personal reasons, and some jobs I just know I can't do. Then I start digging deeper.
Most companies post additional job descriptions on their web site for a job. I read and print those. I tailor my resume and cover letter to those specific needs. No, not lie. Let's say they emphasize the support aspects of the job - I mention my support duties in previous positions, and what I did that improved the company's overall performance. Say they emphasize innovation; I point out what I've done that might be unique (heck, I've got trouble some days thinking INSIDE the box - thus is the nature of IT) or "innovative" - yes, I've done it. If they point out "adherence to policy" I point out that I do that, and have done so in the past - I've even written policy manuals.
Once the cover letter (or e-mail) and resume are sent off, I wait. If I can, if the employer does not say "no calls allowed" I do call the individual (if there's a listed number - if not, I ring the switchboard and ask for the individual) and ask if they've received the resume, and thank them for their time. That's all.
Monday through Friday I check the state jobs bank for jobs; I also get an e-mail Monday through Saturday from the State of Minnesota for job openings there. Wednesdays I check Dice.com, and Thursdays, I send out a newsletter to my friends/acquaintances/former bosses/former co-workers/etc., letting them know I'm looking. Friday, I kinda take off to do various chores, etc. Though I try not to do anything that would kill me when just the kids are home...
Weird Kids
My son has reached that rare and delicate age where, if he survives, he will be a wonderful little boy. At the moment, he's walking a knife-edge between
pervert and twisted psychopath.
Let's see. First is his enjoyment of the shower head. Some weeks ago we first noticed his giggling and shrieks of laughter while taking a shower. Someone, we know not who (I'm pretty sure it was Ann) handed him the shower head, and he ... experimented. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
Then there's the sudden and rather noxious enjoyment of bodily functions. He used to be rather ... suppressive about those, and suddenly, in the last two weeks or so, has developed the ability (or lost the ability, whatever) to burst into laughter whenever ... "the moment takes him".
For some reason, the audio volume seems to be the overwhelming and determining factor in his enjoyment. I've seen him, in public, tear one off and then collapse in a giggling heap, enjoying the moment. People who didn't hear the initial "charge" come over and think he's cute. Perhaps it's the lure mechanism he seems to need.
At any rate, avoid small boys who giggle to themselves without apparent stimulus. You probably don't want to know what caused it. Trust me on this.
Oh, Boy.
Today at lunch, I decided to take the bull by the horns.
"Jack, do you know what tomorrow is?"
"Wednesday?"
"Well, yeah, but do you know what else?"
"Sissy's got Choir, so we get to make pizza!"
"Yeah, but it's also September 11th."
"So?"
"Do you remember last year when the tall buildings fell down?"
"Yeah. They aren't going to fall again, are they?"
"No honey. But there's going to be lots of stuff on television tomorrow. Stuff about those buildings and all the stuff that happened."
"Why?"
"Well, they want us to remember what happened."
"Would you forget, Daddy?"
"No, honey, I never will. I can't."
"I know. Why will they show it on TV?"
"To remind us, and to tell us again how bad it was."
"Do they think we're stupid?"
"Why's that?"
"We know what happened. Bad people flew planes into the buildings."
"Yes, they did. And people are probably going to be kinda sad tomorrow."
"Okay. I'll give lots of hugs."
"That'll help."
"And Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Why do they celebrate the anniversary of the buildings falling down?"
"Well, we don't celebrate it. We remember the people who died, and the people who were hurt, and the people who are still alive."
"How long will it last?"
"What?"
"The Anniversary."
"Just a day, honey. One day out of the year."
"How long will we remember?"
"Well, you know how old you'll be when you get to be as old as Grandpa?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you. A Long long long long time from now."
"Okay."
"People will still remember 9/11."
"Oh. OK."
I didn't want him freaking out if he saw more coverage of the event, but then again, he seems to be handling this better than I am.
Go, Buzz!
Oh, this article's just too precious for words.
An "independent Film Maker from Nashville, Tennessee" - right. Tennessee has produced it's share of gentlemen. It's also produced a fair number of inbred morons. Guess which column I'd apply this gentleman to?
On the other hand, the fact that a man a year younger than myself was clouted by a man nearly my father's age really says something both for the condition of those astronauts we have and for the rather poor constitution of the pissant moron in question.
Considering that this fellow wanted to conduct an "ambush interview" I think we stuff the bush back up this fellow's backside, along with the equipment.
As for his "we never went to the moon" theory, prove it. The time delay on signals back and forth to the moon could not be faked. There was a time delay. The moon rocks have a composition which is not found on the earth. That can't be faked, either.
Then again, this fellow may have relatives from Kentucky...
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Wednesday, September 11, 2002 |  |
It's been a year. This morning, I woke up and heard jets rather loudly (happens when you have dry air and it's cool and the windows are open for the first time in a couple of weeks). I was afraid, at first.
But it's been a year. There's an ache inside me. The closest I'd come to knowing someone directly affected was a class I took, freshman year. Tom Burnett was a face in one of my college classes. Someone on campus. 2000 other men, and he was one of the faces. That's all.
It's been a long year. There are times when the ache opens a hole, and the hole threatens to swallow up days. I can watch television and be happy and laugh and push to the back of my mind what happened, but then a trigger. Sometimes without warning, like this morning's airplane sounds. Sometimes when I sit in front of the television and watch the interminable pounding retrospectives.
It's been a year that seems like yesterday. I want to scream WE KNOW, ALREADY, but I can't. What frightened me more than anything else, I guess, was the camera. The video camera, or film camera, that had, since Viet Nam, brought horrors unwelcome into my life. Steady, either on the back of a strong, silent, stable person, unseen, but there all the same, or a solid steel tripod, ready to show the world the images seen behind the reporter.
That camera showed me man on the moon. The camera showed me Three Mile Island. The camera showed me earthquake's devastation, Mount Saint Helene's explosion, the shooting of the Pope, President Reagan, the fall of the Berlin wall, Communism, Challenger, Oklahoma City. All steady, solid, and after-the-fact reporting. No shake or wiggle. Square image in a square frame. Solid, firm, believable.
But with this tragedy, even the cameras ran. The world turned into jello and dust. No one could stand still watching a quarter-mile of steel and glass come crashing down without fearing. No one sane could do so twice.
It's been a year. I want to move on. I want to get back to "normal" or "the new normal" or whatever it is. And yet I'm reminded that there are still people out there who would seek to deprive us of what we have, for no other reason than that they lack the capacity to rationally explain their beliefs. They would rather kill.
It's been a year. I want to scream, I want to destroy, I want to break shit and make something happen. I also want the sane people who followed a madman to know that I'm not looking to kill them - I don't want to harm them - I want to make their lives better, because that's the only way we're ALL going to get better. I don't want to live off their labor like a fat, amoral, corrupt CEO.
It's been a year. I want to hide in a corner, alone, holding my old teddy bear and cry until the tears stop. But I worry that they never will. Over 2800 of my countrymen and women perished through no fault of their own. People just doing their jobs. And out of the blue, came that wonderous invention, that perfection of modern travel and commerce, the Jumbo-Jet. Invented in America, improved and often built elsewhere, the symbol of a lifestyle few of us can afford to maintain.
And it became a weapon. Bigger and more destructive than a bomb. More deadly to us and our way of life than any idea or person or belief or enemy or opposing state. It destroyed two buildings, thousands of lives, millions of illusions, and has broken our country.
I can't believe that it's been a year. It seems like yesterday. We claim to be strong, yet we cannot show the body of the one man we say is responsible. We point to a country that was the presumed source of our troubles, and say "see, we have new leaders!" New leaders who cannot be guarded by their own people, no less.
It's been a very, very long year. And at times, it seems like yesterday. I feel like a lake - frozen on top, but boiling below - afraid to crack at all, because if I do, I don't know where it will stop.
It's been a year. I'm no more or less a person because of it. I'm one of two hundred sixty million Americans, one of six billion people, most of whom were horrified by the events, by the senseless, brutal attacks, by the scale of death and the range of devastation - I'm no different from anyone else.
I'm just one of six billion people. It's been a year.
Since I first heard it, I've liked James Taylor's "Fire And Rain". It's been one of those songs that have been like a friend to me. In the last year, though, it has said so much more.
"Fire And Rain"
James Taylor
Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone
Susanne the plans they made put an end to you
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song
I just can't remember who to send it to
I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
Won't you look down upon me, Jesus
You've got to help me make a stand
You've just got to see me through another day
My body's aching and my time is at hand
And I won't make it any other way
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
Been walking my mind to an easy time my back turned towards the sun
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around
Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you, baby, one more time again, now
Thought I'd see you one more time again
There's just a few things coming my way this time around, now
Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you fire and rain, now
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Thursday, September 12, 2002 |
Damned Annoying, That...
Yup. That, actually.
This is one of those "long story for small annoyance" deals. Skip ahead if you get bored. Warning, HTML Technoweenie stuff ahead...
All right. Assuming you're still here (Hi Keri), you must really need some thrills in your life.
HERE is the problem. It's a temporary file I put together to test the "horizontal rules within tables spacing" problem I've been having.
WARNING : Here starts the long lesson...
Back about two jobs ago, when I would bounce between five main computers (Mac Desktop, Mac Laptop, PC Laptop, PC Desktop, and PC Backup Server) and a whole raft of other ones, I found that simple "bookmarks" just did not work. I'd have a bookmark on the PC Laptop that I needed on the desktop. I had a bookmark on the Mac laptop I needed when I was on one of the Mac servers. You know how it goes.
Anyway, this being the age of the almighty portal, I decided a portal was nothing but a home page full of useful links. If I found a link useful, interesting, enjoyable, or productive, or it was something I needed, I put it in the list.
So I started with an 800x600 screen, assumed a maximized browser window, and proceeded to pack just about as many links as I could into one screen. When it became apparent (early on) that "just text" was wasteful, I went to tables (Yet another one of those fateful decisions that have defined my life in so many unusual ways).
Therein lies the problem.
I first thought I'd group links together, and have a cell for each type of link. Then I quickly realized that some groups would be big, and other cells would be lots of empty space. Rather than do that, I thought hey, let's just break up each group with a heading and a horizontal rule (HTML's simple <HR> code).
Works great, except for one glaring pain in the arse.
I've got three browsers installed on my machine - Mozilla, Netscape 6 (yes, I know, they're nearly identical), and the Browser of the Damned (aka IE). In Moz and Netscape, the gap between the first link in the first column and the <HR> is larger than any of the other gaps in that column. EVEN THOUGH THE SECOND APPEARANCE IS THE SAME IDENTICAL CODE WITH NO CHANGES AT ALL! What's driving me nuts, of course, is that IE renders the gap the same as all the other places - which is, to my mind, proper. In Netscape, it's off.
I've stripped out everything I could think of that might be funky - no CSS, no <DIV> or anything else to get in the way. Remember, this is simple hand-coded HTML - no FrontPage editing here (hell, I accidentally tried to edit the page in Netscape's "composer" and then spent about two hours fixing the problem - it inserted a whole lot of extra spaces. Sorry, folks, if I WANT a space, I'll INSERT a space. Otherwise, DO NOT think for me).
Hell, I even removed the hard returns in the DOS text just in case that might have tossed it off a bit (yes, a DOS line break is seen as a space by some HTML - that's the level of anal-ness I'm seeking here).
I tell you, there are times I doubt my sanity.
Frankenputer...
Yes, my old computer lives.
I've got to make the decision how to resurrect it - I've got a spare 20 Gb drive for it, which I can install, put the OS and applications on, and then decide how best to proceed. I took a look at the contents of the old drive, and it appears that once I subtract about 6 Gb of applications, I've got about 7 Gb of data.
I'm thinking the smart thing will be to bring that hosed drive up as a secondary drive, copy the 7 Gb of data over, count my installation of FileMaker Pro a total loss (lost the serial number - it used to be on a sticker on the disk, and somewhere it flaked off - no, not in the drive), and move on.
Oh well.
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Friday, September 13, 2002 |
"We, the Citizens of These United States, In order to form a more perfect union, establish domestic tranquility, insure for the common defense, and promote the general welfare, to hereby declare the former state known as Florida to be up for bid. Interested parties willing to collect Florida and administer it are hereby urged to contact the United States Department of Commerce prior to midnight, October 31, 2002.
The Entire State of Florida, with the exception of a region around Cape Canaveral and most of the Panhandle region, plus areas around all military bases, will be open for bid. This includes beaches, cities, bridges, islands, and a couple of large tracts of land in the Okeefenokee Swamp where individual ownership is in doubt.
Please note that further election results from the state of Florida will no longer be counted in national races, and that the citizens of Florida who remain there after October 31, 2002, have 90 days to sell their property and return to the United States of America. Persons remaining in the region after that time will be stripped of American Citizenship."
Well, what would YOU do? Clearly, these people can't count to ten using the same hands and get the same sequence of numbers or totals two times in a row. More voting shenanigans down there, and they're still "finding votes". Good grief.
Personally, I don't think Janet Reno would have made a good Governor. I don't care who wins or looses, I'm just irritated that these thumb-fingered morons can't figure out how to count to ten without getting a committee involved. Oy.
Then again, our job here was a little easier. I think our turnout for Tuesday's primary was something in the neighborhood of 18% - the lowest turnout for a primary election since they've been keeping track. Makes you proud to see the changes in this country since Last September 11th, don't you think?
And yes, for the record, I voted. Early. I tried, but could not vote often, though my children both came out with "I VOTED" stickers. Rhiannon put hers on a catalog, while Jack I think put his on his bear.
FINALLY!
For those of you seeking what to do with your tomatoes, here you go. An entire page devoted to "catchup ketchup".
My mother got it from somewhere, I had it but could not find it - Now I gots it. And so do you.
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Saturday, September 14, 2002 |
Delos Harriman?
Well, Dennis Laurie is close, I guess...
Running Like Crazy...
It really started yesterday at 11:50 am.
I had been working on the computer since seeing the kids off. I'd leaned back to rest my eyes for a bit. The phone rang. I'd started resting my eyes around 9:45 am, as I recall, and here it was two hours later. And I was face down on my computer. Ouch.
So I picked up the phone (wrong number, thank God), realized I needed to go get Jack, and tore out of here. I got to his school just as the kids were coming out of the doors, so I pulled down the street, parked on it, and ran back to get Jack. Finally corralled him (he was apparently all jazzed up because of his Mom spending the afternoon with us). So we walked to the car, got into the car, and encountered disaster #1.
My cell phone was dead.
Removed the battery, reinserted it. No workie-workie. Tried every button on the thing (these damned Audiovoxes have some sort of "Hold - Button - A - Face - West - Push - Button - B - Six - Seconds - Extend - Retract - Antenna - To - Power - Up" startup cycle), and then looped back (through serious road construction) home, to call Ann and let her know A) we were on our way, and B) my phone was dead, so I couldn't let her know when we got there.
Fine. While I was talking to her, I plugged in the phone. It charged, but as soon as I removed the charger, it went dark again.
Okey-Dokey, I guess it's gonna be one of those things. After all, it WAS Friday The Thirteenth. So Jack and I headed up to St. Paul, and waited for Ann. Got to the street below her building, and since I didn't have change, I pulled into the waiting area. Sat there for about ten minutes and then realized, suddenly, that the "Check Engine" light was on. Yes, I am an idiot. Idling with the A/C on in humid conditions. No, the car did not overheat, it's one of it's little "let's really make him panic" tricks it does.
Finally, Ann came out, and as I thought of the prospect of spending the afternoon with my wife and son, she said "Pull around the corner - Jon wants to do lunch." Oh, all right.
Jon works about two blocks from where Ann does; used to be a block until Ann moved.
So we went around the corner, found exactly no parking spots, went into the big parking "Jail" as Jack called it, back down five flights of stairs to the street, across the street to Jon's building, and back up.
We got there, and he was discussing his computer woes, and said "hey, do you want that? It's a Pentium 133." I looked at SWMBO, knowing full-well that I was far beyond my allowed quota. She said "sure, go ahead". So I've got an AT&T Golbalyst something or other with network card, on-board and added video card, modem, and a Travan QIC tape drive. It'll likely become some sort of server.
Then he said "lunch?" We wandered back down to the street (leaving the computer in his office for the time being), and back to the food court a couple of skyways from where Ann used to work. Or still does work, I guess. Jack and I had Tacos, Ann had a salad, and we chatted. Then we came back, dropped off Jon, and picked up my computer.
Back down to the street, across the street, and ...
Whaddya mean there are no elevators in this ramp? Well, none convenient. So, up five flights of stairs, WITH the computer this time, yelling at Jack the whole way.
Back to the car. Back to Burnsville, where the first stop was the Verizon store. If this wasn't a company plan we're on, I wouldn't be relying on these people. There were about ten or twelve people in groups of no larger than three waiting for assistance in this place - and three guys who spent a whole heck of a lot of time in the back room.
The upshot is the fellow who helped me yanked out the battery, put it back in, and viola, it works. I know. He's a telecommunications professional, I'm just a user. I know. Of course, this took nearly 40 minutes to accomplish (well, that and the order for a replacement cell phone which they will be FedEx-ing to me on Monday or Tuesday). We needed to get to Target (which shares a parking lot with that Verizon store, but of course, 40 minutes for a five minute job means we didn't have the 45 minutes we needed to get into the store, back out, and on our way home in time to beat Rhiannon to the bus stop.
So anyway, at this point, we had no choice but to race over to school to pick up Rhiannon. We decided this was better than waiting the 25 minutes for her to travel the three minutes from school to home. We did manage to pick her up, and go back to Target, where we picked up a birthday present for the neighbor boy, and sweat pants for Jack for soccer (he'd outgrown all of his others - little boys tend to do that when you're not looking).
Turned back around, went home. Re-read the invitation, which said "family" not just kids. Lovely. Into the bathroom for a shower for me. Ann headed over with the kids.
The young gentleman who's birthday party was held Friday was turning seven and his name is something that I'm certain I cannot spell correctly, but the name sounds like "rye-you". We'll call him "R".
"R", being the typical small boy with the huge extended party thing going on, was all over the place. When we arrived, they were just pulling out the chicken wings and quail from the deep-fryer in the garage.
I suppose it would help if I mentioned that they are A) Cambodian, and B) some of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet. Also, if you discount the high heels all of the ladies were wearing, some of the shortest outside of honest-to-God midgets. I swear, most of the women hit my shoulder in four inch heels. And these were the ones of child-bearing age.
And I discovered that I'm not a huge fan of quail. At least, not deep-fried quail. Of course, in my zest to avoid chicken wings, I ended up with, you guessed it, quail. Oh well.
Anyway, we hung out there for a while, until the mosquitoes decided that we just weren't donating enough blood to the exercise, and we retreated. In doing so, we had informed Jack his bike had been taken back to the garage - he was in dark clothes, it was dusk, and we were pretty sure that with the number of cars in the neighborhood up about 700% (yes, that is an ACCURATE count), we didn't want him becoming pavement pizza.
Of course, about twenty minutes later, I hear in the basement the plaintive moaning howl that is Jack's "Something TERRIBLE has happened" cry. "Someone stole my BIKE!" This is a big thing, this week, as one neighbor boy was grounded for a couple days until his parents could replace said mode of transportation. Which they did.
After calming Jack down, reminding him the bike was in the garage, we got him ready for bed, and into bed before 9:30 (and he went right out despite a can of coke and another of mountain dew).
I proceeded to check my e-mail and found that at roughly 2 pm Friday I'd received a questionnaire from a firm I'd applied to. So I sat down and filled that out, finishing that around 11:30 pm, and staggered back upstairs to see what the heck was left of the evening. Little enough, apparently.
Even at 1:30 am we could hear kids and adults still chatting away at the party across the street.
This morning dawned misty and too damned late, as we had to get to Soccer. Fortunately, we are not quite 4 minutes from the field, so that helps. Got everything packed - snacks, water bottles, chairs, breakfast, all the rest, and the critical fellow was in uniform because today was, of course, picture day.
Got to the field, and the kids played their usual. One tip for any budding soccer coaches out there - do yourself a favor. In the first couple of weeks of teaching kids soccer, let them play the full first session. Even most of the second. Otherwise, they just have no idea why on earth you would want them to run towards the goal kicking the ball back and forth to EACHOTHER.
So that little ... well, riot was out of the way, and we headed to the Farmer's market.
Where it was customer appreciation day. Free roasted corn, hot dogs (Of the Oscar Meyer "snouts, lips, assholes, and assorted non-crunchy bits" variety - oh well. Free is free), cookies, and apples. Picked up more tomatoes, more other food, and returned home.
The first batch of "ketchup" ended up in two five-gallon pails out by the garden (due to a mis-communciation somewhere along the line, we ended up getting that batch of tomatoes practically free - since some of them went bad the day after we got them, and most had gone by Thursday, we figured we'd paid for what we got, the flip side of "you get what you pay for"). The second batch sat on the table, The neighbors were just starting to stir as we left to do the "City to Country" tour.
Said tour being an effort by the county Ag and Extension services to bring people out to the farms. Which we, of course, did. And, fortunately for you, without the camera.
Being smart folk, I said "we'll start at the far end and work our way back home" assuming, of course, that we'd have gotten to Farm #5 at the far end long about noon-ish. Foolish mortal. We left the house at 12:55 pm, and through a minor blunder in navigation (I should have gone further south), we encountered the seasonal blockage on-line that is Minnesota's Renaissance Festival. Renfest occurs on a permanent settlement between Shakopee and Jordan - much closer to Jordan. The problem, unfortunately, is that 169 is a nominal highway, and is a four-lane divided road which carries a heck of a lot of traffic.
Most of it came to a crashing halt about two miles from the first stoplight west of Shakopee, and it took us nearly 40 minutes to go five miles. So we got to the fifth farm at a little after 2:15 pm (corrected - Thanks, Mr. Bilbrey).
Farm 5 had llamas, Bison, and a nice breeze. When we left, I'd had a buffalo burger, soy nuts (free), we had two bundles of bison-burger patties, Ann had two packages of Bison Rib-eye steaks (note that bison is about 50% more lean than beef - and better for you to boot. I'll spare you the extensive literature we received), and I may have talked the bison farmer into participating in next year's Farmer's market in Burnsville. I hope. Farm 4, about a quarter-mile up the road and on the other side, had cows. Dairy cows. Which produced the first "wow-ugh-yuck" of the day.
Jack got out of the car and said "what's that SMELL!" Silly boy. Rhiannon was petting a calf, who had been born the previous day. The calves that had been born that morning were still sleeping. Can't say as I blame them. And, of course, Rhiannon saw the cows ready to give birth and wanted to know how it happened. I gave a brief explanation ("the cow bellows and the calf comes out. Do you want more details?" "NO!" "Thank God."), and we moved on.
We skipped farm #3 (veggies), and hit "farm" #2, which was a house originally destined to be the first home in the city of St. Lawrence, and instead ended up as one nearly-forgotten stone house on a dirt road that went nowhere because the railroad bypassed a "town". Then we moved on to the "first" farm (the closest one) where they had plain old beef cattle.
Aside from the image of Jack "sacking out" in one of the tractor wheel hubs, the funniest thing I saw all day long was Jack, tearing down the hill after leaving the port-a-potty on farm #1. Some sixty head of yearling (or less) heifers backed off the feed trough as one as they saw him hurtling at them. I announced (over the wind) "Jack, slow down, you're scaring the cows!" He giggled, and then I said to Ann "well, they're smarter than most people." Which got a fairly loud laugh.
Then we hit the grocery store for garlic, cinnamon sticks, and cheesecloth, and then came home for a quiet evening - wherein I made ketchup using Recipe #3 with too much cinnamon, a touch too much sugar, and altogether "close" when it comes to ketchup. I think next time I'll go with one or two sticks of cinnamon instead of three, and more garlic (I had "three" cloves which came off the garlic we got at the store - the three "cloves" turned into about eight or nine individual cloves when they were peeled - and there's almost no garlic flavor in the ketchup. Go figure).
Oh well. I hope tomorrow turns into a Phil Hough kinda sunday, but the bad news is that there's a parish picnic we're signed up for a block from here, plus church, plus other things going on.
And I must do the Want-Ad wander, plus we need to get Rhiannon a black skirt for her children's church choir (why does that remind me of the start of David Bowie's "Changes"?) debut next week.
No rest for the wicked, I suppose, means I must be one evil, evil person. Explains so much, don't you think?
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Sunday, September 15, 2002 |
Well, Then...
Small piece of advice. When assisting with a rubber duck race, be certain to know EXACTLY where the edge of the creek-bank is.
There's a beautiful little park near us which has the "Credit River" flowing through it. The Credit River is a creek, compared to most rivers I know, but the creek does, at times, run quite fast.
As it was today.
And the kids were dropping ducks, five at a time, off a bridge, and racing them down-creek. Where there were a couple of brave boy-scout types in the river, snatching the ducks from the water, and noting who won (apparently there were several heats).
As things progressed, several ducks got stuck on the far side of the creek. One young fellow of my acquaintance went across the river to fix that, and ended up complaining that his underwear was wet.
So I thought to help him by bringing a broken branch over to his side of the river. I crossed the river and went through the very thick brush near the bank, and tossed the branch in - where it stuck on some brush. I leaned forward, pushed the branch, and slipped.
I dropped about three feet, landed on my right side - I hit something with my head, and something else with my hip. I'm fine - sore, but fine.
Of course, since we walked over (and down, I might add - the park is about sixty or seventy feet BELOW where we are, vertically. Savage is like that), I had to walk back.
By the time I returned, I realized that my calf, hip, and head hurt. My shoulder was sore and wet, and I was pretty fed up with myself.
I showered off and cleaned up (took a fair amount of time), and then waited for the remainder of the gang to return from the picnic (noon-to-threeish). When they returned at 5:30, I figured (correctly) that the last dog was hung...
Local Sports Scene...
Yesterday could not have been a more dichotomic (is that a word?) - okay, schizophrenic - day in the local sports industry.
On the one hand, with another White Sox loss, and a (Finally) Twins win in Cleveland, the Twins clinched their first central division pennant, and the first playoff spot since their 1991 season, which ended in victory over the Atlanta Braves.
While I'd like to see this team perform similar miracles, I just do not know. The 87/91 Twins were running under the collective genius of Andy MacPhail, and had a solid core of spectacular talent. These guys are solid, hard-working, but there are few experienced old-timers, and they really haven't got much of a killer instinct. They tend to coast way too often.
Which is more than can be said for the Minnesota Vikings. Yesterday's game against Buffalo was a comedic tragedy that Shakespeare himself might have written, and then said "nah, no one would believe it if I did".
I tuned in just out of the shower at the end of the first half, in time to see Buffalo tie the game at 13-13, and then Mr. Brien's kick for the go-ahead momentum go wide. So into the locker room they went at 13-13.
Distracted by both children and ketchup production in the second half, I found, much to my surprise, that the seemingly defensive struggle that had prevailed during the first half was replaced by a collection of Shriner clowns, some wearing Viking Purple, others in official uniforms, who paraded up and down the field just like it was a real football game.
First of all, Buffalo seems to have some decent receivers. I hesitate to say great, because any decent high school with a half-way banged up receiver lineup would be a challenge to the Viking's secondary. It's not a case of talent, it's a case of work and effort and mental ability. The simple fact of the matter is that if you leave a receiver with a 10-20 yard buffer around him and no one covering him at all, he's going to get yardage. If you do it time and again, you're going to deserve to lose the game.
If the quarterback has a fourth of the brains the Good Lord gave chimpanzees, you will lose the game, and your fans will most likely start coming to the park wearing paper bags on their heads.
The mental lapses, such as the Vikings facemask at the end of a long Buffalo run, were inexcusable. The physical mistakes, such as the failure to cover Buffalo's supposed rookie receiver (who was having a Randy-Moss-Like day) were criminal. Even the officials felt that the game might take off at any moment, and judiciously threw flags when the game seemed to be on the verge of breaking out. There were a couple of penalties where I asked Ann if we were watching that portion of "Remember the Titans" yet again.
And it certainly helped that CBS picked two high-school football announcers to do the play-by-play and color for the Vikes games this year. Pathetic though they are, it was nice for the last few years to have access to the better talent in the booth on game day. The digital drop-outs during what I did see of the first half were annoying. The fact that the director could be counted on to focus on the official huddle rather than run the playback from the camera that caught the penalty was particularly frustrating.
But we persevered. And pulled ahead, despite the kicker blowing five points, despite Culpepper handing over at least another 21 in fumbles, etc., and despite oftentimes not appearing to know which end of the field was which, the Vikes were in it to the end.
I could not believe, however, that with 26 seconds left, the Vikes could snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, but boy, they showed again just what they were made of. The kicker missing his second extra point - the one that would have required a Buffalo TOUCHDOWN instead of a field goal to win, and there we were (I'm sorry - kicking from the three yard line? Heck, I should think JACK could make that kick - Lord knows I can and have).
But the Buffalo 54-yard field goal that, if it had been a sixteenth of an inch shorter, would have fallen IN FRONT OF, rather than behind, the goal post (thus being a failed, rather than a successful, field goal), at the end of regulation? That was a great kick. It sucked that Buffalo could find a fellow who could hit 54-yarders while we have a problem finding idiots who can kick it 13, but these things happen, I suppose. Especially with million-dollar athletes.
I fell on the floor when Buffalo missed the 20-yard field goal in overtime. I knew, of course, that the Vikings had shown all the offensive spark of a weak fart, but I figured that close call would motivate them. I told Ann that "God isn't a Vikings fan, but Loki certainly is."
And did he ever prove it. Especially with the rather long catch that the Buffalo receiver picked up off the turf, and the myopic official who reviewed the play then announced "there is no incontrovertable evidence" - well, hell no. The ball didn't say "GROUND" - though it was on it before the fellow's arms were.
The good news is that, being 0-2, the Vikes are now required to have a win. Due to the complicated methods of weighting the NFL officials use to determine "competitive seasons" we're guaranteed one next week. Of course, so is the opposing team.
I don't know when it happened that the Vikings stopped being "My Team". As a child, football was THE Sport, baseball was there, yes, but as a teaser. Football was at least fourteen (or more, if they did pre-season) weeks of seeing my cousins, uncles, and all the rest, as my father would go to one of my uncle's homes (typically Bill or Larry, though there was at least one game per season at our house out in the country, and one at Lorraine's as well). My uncles would drink beer, dad and I would have pepsi, I would eat far too many chips, too much of the garlic dip, or the braunschweiger dip, and learn all about football and how to curse officialdom without using profanity.
Those, fortunately, were the "glory years" of the Purple People Eaters, "Sir" Francis Tarkenton and his scrambling feet, Chuck Foreman, and an offense and defense that never quit until Super Bowl Sunday. Four tries and out - as in we tried to win the Super Bowl four times, and then apparently gave up. Haven't been there since.
Thank GOD for the Denver Broncos. For a few years they had five losses in the big game, which helped a bit. Then they went and won a couple, which kinda ruined the whole thing all over again.
I know that once Bud Grant left, I lost some interest. It helped that "tough man" Les Steckel came in and ran the "Marine Training Camp" and then managed to win three of sixteen games.
Grant came back to provide a quick recovery year, in which the Vikes decided to promote Jerry Burns ("Coach Uncle Burnsie") to the job. And a more opposite from Grant you'll never find. Grant was granite on the sidelines. Burns was a firecracker, foul-mouthed, and a heck of a coach.
After his tour ran it's course, they brought in Denny Green, an absolute master at distraction, sideshow, and squandering of talent in so many wonderful ways. How he could take people like Randy Carter, Chris Carter, Robert Anderson, and others, and keep them from even appearing in another Super Bowl should be required study for management professionals everywhere, as it is well known that one learns more from failures than from successes.
Green was an absolute wet blanket over my enthusiasm for the team, and what little fire remained went out.
Now, I'm left with faint memories of better days, and the occasional spectacular play which is shown on highlight reels to let you know there's still SOMETHING there - unfortunately, then they do dumb things like having Randy Moss throw the ball on a reverse.
I guess the good news is that I can save money on Vikings tickets (given the fact that the cost of one seat at a Vikes game would pay for the entire family to attend a Twins game is one clear advantage), and free up Sunday afternoons for something more ... important.
Perhaps I'll take up knitting.
Ketchup, Round 2
Tonight's batch was another challenge.
In the back-and-forthing I did watching the game, I suspect that my 12 pounds of tomatoes turned into about 14-15, and that explains why the fine job I did on seasoning the first batch was lost in the second.
This time I did try things a bit differently. For one, I tossed in five cloves of chopped garlic under the onion before I put the tomatoes in the pot. I also tossed in three good-sized garlic cloves OUTSIDE the spice bag (I've been using recipe #3), along with the whole cloves and one stick of cinnamon. I left that loose and cooked that up, then boiled down (and over, of course) the tomato mixture.
Tomorrow, we'll see if I can do it better...
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