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Last Updated : Saturday, 4 January, 2003 at 10:40 PM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Saturday, 4 January, 2003 at 10:40 PM -0500 |
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Monday, December 30, 2002 |
What A Day
Well, a relaxing day turned into more running around than I'd like, but then again, it was semi-pleasant running, truth be told.
Some member of this household promised two younger members that they would be allowed to view, again, the most recent Harry Potter flick. Now, given the fact that yours truly has not yet seen Star Trek Nemesis, or whatever it's spelled like, that was a rash and rather unfair promise. Or at least, so I thought until that certain someone also informed me that she had a rather hefty stack of coupons, with no expiration dates, for half off or more for movie tickets. So, Christmas money in hand, sort of, we trailed off to visit the Maul Of America.
Mind you, said Mall being in Bloomington, we try hard not to believe that all of America is represented there, but more on that in a bit.
Through judicious use of coupons, what was $24 of tickets (matinee movie my rumpled backside) became something in the neighborhood of $2 each when she got done. Savings which were lost, in part, when we hit the snack counter and someone saw the "snack pack" with the "every flavor beans" in the box. Eldest child insists the first out of the box was simply "gross" whilst youngest child insists his first was "poop flavored". One hesitated to inquire, in public, what made youngest child an expert on the flavor of excrement. One, having some experience in years, if not in intelligence, forbore the opportunity to educate himself, and is hoping said opportunity fails to knock in the future.
So we sat through HP again, and then removed ourselves from the theater to "walk the mall" while I enjoyed one of my favorite past-times - People Watching.
And, through repeated observation, I've finally formulated a theory which explains the clothing styles of the teens of today. In the female form, it seems thrift is in, as most of them seem to be sporting clothes that my daughter has cast off in recent months as too small. This, fortunately, has the side-effect of showing off one's form, fit or not, and seems to be the main purpose to clothing for these girls.
Oddly enough, a fair number of these proto-women sported glasses which, to return to the terms of my youth, were found on the "butt-ugly frames" rack (in other words, the one I shopped on). With some small attention to their glasses frames, these girls would look quite attractive, rather than refugees from a convent run by the Marines. I suppose the idea is to get the less-intelligent members of the species (i.e. "Males") to pay attention to their work and their intelligence, rather than their face, but I'm sorry - if you're obviously attractive but trying to hide it, I can assure you I'm going to spend much MORE time wondering what you're hiding than worry about what you're saying. Call me shallow, but I'm suspicious of such motives.
Older women, now, seem to be evenly split between "comfortable" and "just what the hell were you thinking?" And, for the record, "older" refers to anything that's obviously no longer concerned with being carded, yet young enough to appear interested in the opposite sex. As to the question "what the hell were you thinking?", the mall is about a mile around per level - there are three full and one partial level - and there are a fair number of women for whom three-and-four inch heels on their shoes seem to be "comfortable walking attire".
There was one ... well, she was most obviously female who went past me at one point in the mall. I spent scant moments admiring the relatively new nature of the construction on her upper frontal torso region - new in relation to the rest of the body since such construction, unless sufficiently cantilevered from below, which it apparently had not been, would likely cause major-league ruts along one's shoulders, which were definitely not in view, given the fact that most of her shoulders were - in view, that is, in the sweater she was nearly almost wearing. It was either that, or she'd gotten her boob job done with helium, rather than silicone or saline. If those suckers had ridden any higher, she could have put hair ribbons on them.
As her frontal view departed my eyeline, I was left to ponder the advisability of her outfit from the posterior quadrant. Her low-ride jeans left little doubt in my mind that the woman in question was indeed quite poor, for the strings holding the other strings up that formed a "T" in her lower back left me the impression that despite the expensive-looking four-and-a-half-inch heels on her boots and her fancy studded belt, the poor woman couldn't afford a decent pair of underpants.
At this point, my lovely bride (far more sensibly attired) rejoined me, levered closed my jaw with a well-placed uppercut, thus sucking my eyes properly back into my head as well, and we proceeded down the way at a leisurely pace - well, she was leisurely, I was running after the apparition and tripping over my tongue at regular (two-foot) intervals. While I lay on the floor in some delirium (I might have been struck again just to jog my memory by my loving wife), we were passed by a fairly small group (in this case, the herd numbered less than a dozen) of the male of the younger sub-species, and it suddenly occurred to me much like the lighting of a 1,000,000 watt light in the darkest night tends to improve vision (provided one is not staring into the bulb when it is lit). The 80s sported fashions that seemed designed to restrict bloodflow in the males (witness spandex, nylon, and various other form-fitting outfits) - but they also allowed clear definition of all of a male's assets, if one will forgive the circumlocutions.
Today's young males, by contrast, must be lacking in said definition and adequate assets, as witnessed by the size of most male pants. Whereas my daughter would likely be comfortably attired in the clothes I saw on many of the 18 year old females, Barnum and Bailey's Circus might still be under canvas if one of these fellows would merely donate their pants to the cause. These clothes required so much fabric, I was put in mind of a male burkha, which camouflaged the current male's relative fitness.
In other words, today's teenage boys apparently have small packages. How sad. The girls appear QUITE healthy.
Be that as it may, we wandered the mall for a bit, then returned home for an evening television-side, before preparing for tomorrow's debauchery - our first New Year's Eve in our new home. God willing, my tongue will recover from where it has been nailed stored, and I shall be able to both see and taste in some rudimentary fashion come tomorrow evening (or, failing that, some time before the coming year does meet the inevitable end).
You've Got To Be Kidding Me
I suppose the precedent that was set by allowing senile old men, and now women, to occupy the Supreme Court bench, is good enough. After all, we rarely get the government we think we deserve, only the government we truly do deserve.
This morning's paper included a small article that noted that a recent court case was getting tossed back to a lower court for review.
The pertinent facts in the case are these. An individual, hereafter known as "Dad", was ordered to pay child support for a child he claimed as his own with another individual whom he called "Girlfriend" - in this case we will use the legally ambiguous term "Mom". The two apparently thought they'd begat a child, called here "son", and all was well. Until the relationship between "Dad" and "Mom" soured, and they parted ways. "Dad" decided to challenge paternity, and in doing so, found that he was not the father.
Despite the fact that "son" knows no other daddy than "Dad", the court has ruled that the child's best interests should not be a factor in such cases.
Is it any wonder that we have people growing up today who are likely to become axe-murdering tabloid reporters? "The court said the best interests of the child shouldn't be a factor in this instance." That's a bit like saying "we don't care what the Constitution says, we're the law now." Yes, I do feel for the man who ended up playing dad to the child he didn't biologically father, but there is a special place in hell for a man who would say "yes, I'm the father" and later renege on that pledge.
Fatherhood isn't a part-time job. Fatherhood isn't something you can just say "you know what? I'm sick of this, I'm outta here." Fatherhood isn't a choice once the sperm and the egg hit the light of day. Fatherhood is a full-time 200% all-weather all-terrain job. You don't get to "opt out".
What if it isn't your sperm? What if the child lacks your DNA? Are you such a small and feeble man that you feel that you can only teach your own flesh? Perhaps you ARE doing the child a favor in absenting your disgusting lack of character and clearly pathetic ethical judgment from the child's life. Sure, the mother's no paragon of virtue, but you've just shown yourself to be a waste of skin and about $8 in basic chemicals.
And the saddest part is that there are more than enough villains in the story without adding the Supreme Court in the mix, but that's what happens when you remove the American Judicial System from it's fundamental base on morals, logic, and reason.
Some pigs just shouldn't breed. And no matter how many robes you put on the damned pig, it's still just dressing up farm animals.
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Tuesday, December 31, 2002 |
Well, Now
I've got a couple people who've commented on my harsh take on the father above.
I will admit that I feel some ... well, pain for the fellow in finding out that the child was not his biological offspring, and yet it was still his financial responsibility. Sure, that's not fun.
But I consider fatherhood to be two separate components.
The first, the biological part, frankly any idiot male over the age of about fourteen can easily accomplish. Well, "easily" in the sense that it requires an equally brainless female to assist in the procedure. Any moron can donate sperm to accomplish the miracle of life.
The other obligation is one that a father "accepts". It's a promise that's made without words, without reservation, when a child arrives in this world, and that father takes responsibility for them. Perhaps it's chauvinistic of me, or perhaps it's entirely atavistic - but I think that if you're going to say "yes, I'm the father" then you've accepted an obligation that lasts for life. Not yours, but theirs. I've many friends who have lost their fathers, and I've heard just about every single one say, at one time or another, "I wish he were around for me to talk to."
Fathers are not the source of all wisdom, nor are they the paragons of logic and knowledge that we think they are. What they are quite often are the people that know us perhaps better than we know ourselves. They know our scars, our motivations, and our reasons for shying away from thick brush after that time when we were three and the little chihuahua came charging out of the neighbor's hedge, yapping like a wind-up toy. When you're forty and tend to not trim too closely to a hedge, you might not know - your father knows that you're fearing a dog half your size with razor sharp teeth biting you.
Sure, fathers are often "stuck with the bag" when two adults cannot reach agreement and are faced with negotiating a split in the family. The fathers end up paying the lion's share of the expenses, and often must negotiate unusual visitation agreements with an aggrieved spouse. Fathers often carry the financial burden - because, historically, they had the higher income, and as we all know, the law is always "reactive" rather than "proactive". It will be years before the financial burdens are shared equally, as custody should also be shared equally.
I guess, for me, the bottom line is that there are people in this world who view the obligation of fatherhood, or parenthood, as something to be cast aside when it becomes too painful or inconvenient. Certainly, there are times in my life where having children or a wife are "inconvenient" and expensive. They cut into my navel-gazing time, I suppose. But there are many who fail to understand that a family isn't forged in convenience and through the cheapest methods available. Family often means putting up with a great deal of pain and heartache - with accepting the loss of dreams and plans because someone requires orthodontics. Someone might need new shoes - and that means someone else goes without something else.
Familiies are all about making tough choices. They aren't about "I'm outta here" they're about "how can we make this work?" Certainly, there are points at which you must call it quits. Abuse, fighting, or just plain "I need to leave" reasoning - there is little point in one continuing to make a relationship work if the other chooses not to participate. Or seeks to actively sabotage the work.
But regardless of the behavior of the adults involved, someone needs to look out for the kids. Kids need to be exposed to real-world situations, but not in full force and with all of the venom of many of today's divorces. They need to have the situation explained, and they need to know that mom and dad love them, even if they don't love eachother.
Otherwise we're creating yet another generation of people for whom their word is their way of getting out of the obligation as soon as possible, and for whom "commitment" is exhibited by the "Hollywood Marriage" which begins with the first date and ends shortly after the honeymoon - for examples, see Jennifer Lopez, et. al.
I'm old fashioned, I freely admit it. If tomorrow my wife told me "oh, these kids aren't yours, I want a divorce, and you can see them every other weekend" I'd do what I could to make that happen and stay in their lives because they need someone to show them that no matter what happens, they're going to remain a priority. They know it, now, but the simple fact is that you can say you will a million times - if you fail to do it once, they'll remember that.
Trust is a very simple thing. It's difficult to establish, and hard to keep. Very easy to break. I'd much rather be thought of as old fashioned than untrustworthy. Regardless of the other end of the bargain, I'm the one who has to inhabit my skin and mind, and for my own piece of mind, that's what I've got to do.
EOY
Yup, the end of another year. Good thing I'm here to note it, or nothing would get done, right? 
No major plans for the evening. Stay home, watch some movies, go to bed. Nothing major or stupid. Best to stay alive, though I'm near-certain I shall not live to see the next palindromic year. Having lived through two, I think that's quite enough - especially for all those who never hit a single one.
Before this year passes unmourned, I should take a moment to thank all four of you regular readers who stop by here. There are times this last year where you formed the motivation for me getting out of bed. Well, that's not properly true - my lovely bride was the primary motivation, and my children were the motivation for me seeking refuge in the basement at the computer, but I do want to thank you for your continued visitation and friendship as I babble along through my life.
Let's hope the New Year of 2003 is one that is at least as successful as the past year, and if I might be greedy, I for one hope the coming year improves over the soon-to-be-past.
Here's hoping yours is the same...
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Wednesday, January 1, 2003 |
How-Dee-Doo
Welcome to yet another year of my babbling. Isn't that a creepy way to start?
Last night was indeed quiet. I did manage to determine that the stock Bacardi Strawberry Daquiri frozen base, when mixed with Vanilla Rum, does tend to produce a drink that is a bit too sweet for my tastes. That and Ann insisted last night that I halve the rum that goes into it (we're already at a half-can per recipe, folks, so there's not much one can do to back off while maintaining that proper alcoholic content required for "a good buzz").
Oddly, the children were tired by 11 - Jack was doing his maniac running (which took us a while to diagnose as the last fitful gasps of an energetic boy, as the years have gone by), while Rhiannon was crashed on the couch with her mother. The kids were in bed by 11:10 pm, and we went back to watching something-or-other on TV - Ocean's Eleven, I think, and were a bit surprised at the banging and booming outside. We went out, and for the first time in many years, were able to enjoy a fireworks display from Buck Hill.
Those of you long-time readers might remember last new years when the "party" took place less than a half-mile from the place we called "home" and while we couldn't see the fireworks (they were going off over our heads), they were incredibly loud. Loud enough to wake both kids out of a sound sleep - and myself as well, the first year it occurred.
This year's display, viewed from a distance of roughly 2.75 miles away (comes from timing the flash to the "boom"), was rather nice. Not too loud, and it looked rather pretty, given the high ceiling (skies were not clear, but I'm guessing the clouds were well above 5000') and the fact that we saw it from our back yard.
Today there's absolutely nothing on the agenda that can't be handled. Well, I mean, aside from a shower, repairing the toilet-paper roll in the main bathroom (some genius attached a toilet paper roll with a couple of screws into 1/4" plywood. No backing, nothing. Sheesh). And since those things are done, there's nothing left to do but watch TV, plan for food for later, and stay out of trouble. What do you want to bet I hit two of three?
Survived, Sorta...
Well, Ann came down with a cold earlier this week, and tomorrow she heads back to work. Maybe. I'm hoping to avoid the former, and acquire the later.
For my part, I amused my children for much of the afternoon, and when that ended (my amusement can ran empty - happens, sometimes, at my age), we resorted to basic goof-off stuff. I rescued a package of hot dog buns and we made submarine sandwiches. I promptly stuck them in the oven for 6 minutes at 350, then 2 minutes at 450, then pulled out the slightly browned cheese and crispy buns, and away we went.
Dinner solved, I plopped onto the couch for an evening's television, only to realize that it's two-double-ought-three, which, in the land of content creation (which I flatter myself by imagining membership thereof), means time to update the copyright notice.
Oddly, previous years relied on a Frontpage Search-And-Replace which failed miserably last year (most of the pages lacked a 2002 on them). This year was more ... difficult. First, I dropped into my favorite editor - Program Editor (PE) which came with WordPerfect lo these many years ago. PE has macros and other fun useful things that I haven't found in other DOS editors, and since I'm not looking at new DOS editors, I guess it'll do.
The one thing it doesn't do well is long file names. It snarks them back to 8.3. A fact which I didn't notice until late in the game (Late being late 2001, to be precise). So I had to connect to the server, get a list of the files there, and translate. Said "list" turned into a simple "transfer what's there, get a directory listing with both short and long names, and dump the files". Converted the dir output to a batch file (again with PE), then ran another batch file to rename the files. Then, since I was in my batman costume, plugged all of the files into a batch file for uploading, and then let the fun begin.
So, now that's done, and the dreaded "update the calendar" pile is the only remaining bit left. And to decide on a new look for next year. Despite all my efforts at making a new, spiffy template, I'm probably going to stick with what I've got, albeit with a few color changes.
Other than that, I think I'm gonna look at heading to bed early in the hopes of getting plenty of rest, drinking plenty of fluids, and avoiding the floating crud that's making it's way around. Be well.
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Thursday, January 2, 2003 |
Search Phrases
You know, every time I begin to think I'm leading a near-normal life, crap like this comes up...
is Leonard Nimoy alive?
Yes, as a matter of fact, he still is. Or was, the other day, when I saw him on TV, and I would have heard had he passed away. But why ask me?
yorba linda
A city in California. What's my prize?
act of defiance
Getting out of bed, some days, can be one, yes, but why are you looking here?
astro van
No, not me, Bob Thompson, and he's got an Astro truck.
aphrodisiac
I'm flattered that you think I might know something about them, but I assure you, I'm not one.
traveler dc4300 linux
Uh, no, you've obviously taken a wrong turn. My Kodak digital camera is a DC-40, not 4300.
metrodome souvineers
Other than stale popcorn and sticky shoes, you mean? I haven't been there in years, though. Sorry.
idiot
I resent that implication.
hospital
Uh, no. Home, actually.
dominik the christmas donkey
Lutefisk
Obviously, no one listens to me. I think the stuff ought to be sold only through licensed dealers, by prescription only, and you'd have to prove both the extent and depth of your mental illness before purchasing a package (Note: Lutefisk is fish soaked in LYE - stuff your great-grandmother made SOAP from. Soapy fish. Get it?).
coleman open marriage
Yes, it's a rather poorly kept secret (well, I knew about it, and I'm no big wheel) that Norm Coleman and his wife have marital problems. So it goes.
TENT FOR INDOORS FOR CHILDS TWIN BED
Um, WHY? AND WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?
hero cards
If I could get a card that said "Hero" you think I'd be unemployed?
ve/vj day
Sorry - way, way too young for those. My father was there for them, I wasn't.
redskin jerseys
Good Lord, why? I mean, the Vikings have sucked for the last two years, but they were occasionally good prior to that. Don't the Redskins uniformly suck?
rccvdl 56acv/sp
Ah. And Glitzblick Vanderhooven to you, too.
Homer Hanky
Yeah, they made the rounds briefly again this year.
swedes
Shhhh... It's a little known fact that I was once a member of the Swedish Bikini Team. Yes, sadly, it's true. Airbrushed out for facial hair. Alas.
little oscar chopper
Yup, we got one, and use it more than the bigger food gadgets. Think powered chopping - the only problem is the cleanup.
lost pass code to my dell latitude CPx
Yeah, I did that, I think. Dunno if there's a way around it, and have no way to check, sorry.
camping
Yup. Would like to do that again this summer, God and income willing.
how much money does the normal hair cutter get paid
I've no idea, but it can't be a huge amount. Then again, it's more than I'm making.
hours of work
Huh?
models
Yup, I liked doing them. The plastic type, you pervert. Hopefully I'll be able to get back to them soon.
free antivirus
Granted, I'm one of the cheapest son-of-a-guns you're ever gonna find, but you do get what you pay for...
Cloning
I got into a "Discussion" with one of my friends the other day on the phone regarding cloning. She was taking a rather paranoid tack, which I figured was a bit out there.
Her concern was about determining guilt or innocence. If you have a clone, they are DNA-identical to another person on the planet (in theory), and therefore, DNA evidence becomes suspect. If you've got two beings with the same DNA and one committed a crime, how do you tell which one did it?
Good question. The above was her rationalization for preventing cloning.
I responded with a rather simple question. "Do you think that, if an enemy of the United States, like North Korea, had the technology to clone, they would be prevented simply by our banning of it?"
I would not be surprised if there were a couple of near-clones wandering the globe already.
But I'm not too worried about the whole process. The ethical implications are serious, indeed. But as to the issues she raised, I'm not too worried.
Her first complaint was the health and well-being of the clone. Given that most of the cloned animals we've studied so far have had serious health problems, it's entirely likely that the cloned humans will experience similar problems. Why am I so cavilier? Simple. Insurance companies won't insure expensive individuals - such as clones - if they think there will be problems.
And make no mistake about it, Clones will be "PC-protected" and yet a substandard second class in society. Whether for right or wrong, they will be an isoluated group of some form.
Her next worry was that a clone might commit a crime and get away with it.
My response? Yeah, so?
We've got people in prison who insist they didn't do it. We have DNA evidence which regularly proves that a small number of them weren't lying.
But when the criminal sciences first moved from "art" to "science" you didn't have the tools we have now. You had eyewitness testimony, you had physical evidence, and that was about it.
Then, like something of a miracle, you had the fingerprint. Fingerprints were, so we were told, a guaranteed match. No way to weasel out of it. Then, as the science of the fingerprint became more refined, fingerprints were determined to be "interpreted" rather than guaranteed matching.
Now we have DNA. We can match it down to the point where there's a one in five billion chance that you'll have an identical match. Now, given the fact that there's a little over six billion of us on this mudball, so the odds are very, very good that you won't be a duplicate. Not a certainty, but very, very good.
Along comes a clone. Identical DNA - really? I should think that identical DNA would be absolutely identical, not "nearly" there. But if clones of animals have all these health problems, but yet have the same DNA as their ancestor, if you will, is the DNA identical?
Besides - given the stakes, I'm certain that by the time cloning becomes widespread, there's also going to be a widespread testing method to determine if a clone is the original, or a clone, and to what degree.
I've got a fair amount of faith that science will untangle the tangled web they weave for themselves.
Basic Housekeeping
Well, tomorrow is the last day of the insanity, sorta. The kids are out of school one more day, and then, fortunately, we are back to abnormal (instead of "really weird"). I've got to clean the garage out this weekend, as the weather-guessers are finally, finally threatening cold. Not "brutal" cold but cold enough to be uncomfortable. Which means after I get the garage in order, I've got to get the new thermostat in place. Then we shall see if that investment of $40 last summer finally starts to pay off. Let us hope.
Ah. Before I forget, last night's news had the state's first use of the Amber Alert system. While I'd like to give the woman the benefit of the doubt, I just can't.
A woman in St. Cloud left her 9-month-old child in the minivan as she ran into the liquor store (you just KNEW it was gonna start like that, didn't you). A thirteen and fifteen year old hopped into the vehicle and took off.
Some two hours later, the kids were picked up, the child was found safe, and now everyone's saying "it's a good test of the AMBER (America's Missing Broadcast Emergency Response) system". No, it's not. It's called "retrieving an idiot's kid".
I can count on the fingers of one hand (even if I didn't have more than a few of them) the number of times I've left the kids in the car - both times, they were locked in, I was less than fifteen feet from the vehicle, and had the car keys in my pocket. As well as the vehicle in full view the whole time. Never left the car running with just them in it, never EVER done it when I couldn't see the vehicle, and I never will.
Call me paranoid. I'd rather be called "fortunate".
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Friday, January 3, 2003 |
Tool Questions
Got a weird question the other day. No, this one had to do with tools. Specifically, "What tools are essential for a home workshop?"
Well, I dunno. Whatcha gonna buy me?
Seriously, though, it all depends on what you're doing, or planning to do. Are you fed up with the crappy quality of the "Pressboard" furniture you can get for $29.99 at any Target/Wal-mart store and want to build your own? Are you looking to build yard furniture? Are you planning on remodeling your home? Or are you looking for good, general purpose stuff?
See? There are no easy questions for me...
But in the interests of going through the exercise, here's my list;
HAND TOOLS<
That's about it for hand tools. When it comes to hand tools in general, take care of them. For saws, wipe the blades down when you're done using them. Preferably with a cloth that's been sprayed with WD-40 or some other lubricant. Same with the hammer, tape measure blade, and other tools.
POWER HAND TOOLS
OTHER TOOLS
This really depends. Mostly on what you're doing. I've got a radial arm saw with all the goodies (moulding cutter, drill attachment, stacked dado head cutter) coming once my father finishes cleaning it out, and that will be most helpful. Radial arm saws are dangerous, massive beasts. The motor travels along the heavy arm which sticks out towards you, and the blade cuts by rotating "forward" - in other words, if you've got the wrong (or dull) blade for the work, you end up trying to push the motor back so it doesn't run ahead into the wood and jam. There's no more frightening feeling than that of standing in front of a motor with a ten-inch whirling blade that's suddenly coming right at you.
Which is why table saws are more popular. Less versatile than radial arm saws, but safer and more accurate, Table saws are great. With the Radial Arm saw, I need to square it up every so often - first, square the motor in the mount, and verify that "vertical" is vertical. Once that's done, and the arm is set to a true 90-degree angle to the rest of the frame, then you need to square the table. Then I can just assume I've got true cuts - at whatever angle I need, in either of two axis (the motor tilts in the frame to allow cuts at an angle, and the arm can be locked at any angle from either side of 45 degrees off straight-out).
For the most part, saws are the most important, unless you're getting kits. You will ALWAYS need to cut a piece to length, or to proper size. Or both. After that, there are more tools than you can shake a stick at. Jigsaws, band saws, planers, joiners, shapers, moulders, compressors for air-powered tools like air nailers, etc. Once you get to that level, you sure as heck don't need my advice - I'll come see you.
Ah, What Fun
Last day of vacation for the kids. Their voices have become something like fingernails on a chalk board. They refuse to go outside in daylight, but once the sun is down, their excess energy demands I throw them out there in the back yard to do something.
And, of course, life wouldn't be my life without a few minor bobbles in the road. Major client for the consulting firm and I had discussions yesterday and today. Seems he ran afoul of a genuine nitwit in his accounting department. Seems they do not do invoices submitted during the last part of December for some reason or another, as it damages the year-end cash position of the firm.
Or at least this was their policy last year. Now that he is aware of it, the policy has been changed, and those minor but annoying problems he's occasionally had with January product and supply orders have been cleared up, and will not happen again. All I have to do is wait until mid-January for that check. This is not a major malfunction, just a minor annoyance. Irritating, but annoying. It shall pass.
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Saturday, January 4, 2003 |
WEEKEND!
And a chance to sleep in a bit. Ann's cough/cold/plague thing has her coughing, regularly, through much of the night. No, I don't mind - I'd rather have her coughing and blowing her nose next to me - if she's sleeping in another part of the house and doing it, I'd be laying there listening for her.
Today was largely successful. I got up and got about half of what I needed cleaned out of the garage, and made progress there. By Monday night, I should have the garage in a state where, for the first time since last April, I can park indoors again. Which will be nice, as they are threatening very cold weather (well, maybe single digits) by the end of next week.
The only other major undertakings were a sudden (well, first request for proposal went out early this week) shelf-building enterprise, where I added a shelf to the ... I hesitate to call it a shelf in the kitchen - let's just say "thing". It's hanging from the cabinet on the wall. So it's a "scary thing". I'm going to rebuild it in the next year or so to give Ann a little more storage,which would be nice. That shelf, that is, and the long-planned addition of 100 pounds of raw meat to our freezer. Some relatives chipped in and picked out a deal at the nearby meat market, and we picked it up today. 40 pounds of chicken, 30 pounds of pork, 20 pounds of ground beef (we paid the difference to upgrade from Lean ground beef to Extra Lean - it was $4), and 10 pounds of steaks. It all fit. Barely.
We attempted to make plan to do something with some friends (planS being those things we think might happen - Plan is a better description, for if we actually carry it through, we'll be quite OK). They're in a bit of a boat, as their new home in Wisconsin is nearing completion, while their current home in St. Paul (nice neighborhood, close to everything, nice house, e-mail me for details, I get a cut if it sells (not really)) is still on the market. Granted, after the recent housing "boom" (I really should spend some time researching where the money's going next - figure the dot-com bust came when the comillionaires realized they'd yanked the money chain about as hard as anyone ever did without pulling it out by the roots and they'd best hide the cash while it was still theirs, rather than roll in it like Enron/WorldCom/Etc, and rolled into real estate, driving those prices up - now, where does it go? I'd guess back into the stock market where the prices are now quite low), they're stuck in a bit of a bind, but then again, this time last year we were stuck in an apartment and worrying if we'd ever find something in our price range and our travel range, combined. Thank God we did.
Anyway, plan was not able to be established, but we'll keep trying. With tomorrow as Epiphany, marking the "Official" end of the Christmas Season (yes, the presentation of Jesus), we're just settling into the idea of a tree (which does not fall over) in the house. Said tree will be departing some time later this month, though I did make some progress with "light storage reels" today. Very, very little point in spending $8.99 for a reel to hold the damned things when I already have scrap lumber and dowels I can use to store them on. Just takes a little glue...
Not much more than that going on. I think. Tomorrow Rhiannon's got a church choir concert, and then we get back into the swing of things for school/work on Monday. Which will be nice. The kids back in their uniforms, back to school, and everyone back in a routine. Except for me, I guess. But this, too, shall eventually pass. Enjoy your weekend...
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Sunday, January 5, 2003 |
I've A Confession To Make...
While I was born in 1963, I seem in some ways to be a serious throwback.
I enjoy working with technology and computers, and do desperately wish I'd been about twenty years older (and lived in Texas) when the space age came around so I could play some small part in it. I enjoy working with my hands (where a lot of my similarly-aged peers seem hell-bent on shuffling papers and talking their way through life), and like to see the results of my work, be it a woodworking project, completed computer, or three-ring-binder of documentation I've written.
I guess the biggest area I feel like a throwback is in my musical tastes. My parents were a couple of ducks behind the times when I was born, as they favored big-band music (notably Glenn Miller, who looked a lot like my father at the time), among other things. Some classical, lots of musicals (Camelot, for example, was one).
Me? I liked the fifties music, partially for the beat and melody, partially for the unpolished sound of it, and partially because it was just plain fun. But my all-time favorite tunes? I've got to confess a weakness for "bubblegum pop". Personified by one of my favorite songs - "Sugar Sugar" by the Archies. I like a lot of the stuff the Monkees did. Sure, I also like the Beatles and some of the other late sixties/early seventies groups. Disco is definitely NOT part of that, however. Journey, Styx, Rush (I like a lot of their earlier stuff, like 2112, for example), and of course, AC/DC and Van Halen (before they turned Van Hagar). So my musical tastes are somewhat odd, I suppose.
Yesterday when we were in the grocery store, I happened across a stack of CDs that had been marked down in the post-Christmas retail meltdown. We had a number of the other CDs in the series (Billboard Top Rock'n'Roll Hits) covering the period from 1980-1989 (Ann's doing), but there, all by it's lonesome, was 1969. And what a find. A few clinkers, but of the ten songs, there was Dizzy, by Tommy Roe (I worked with him once when I was in High School - seriously - Bobby Vee had kids at my high school and wanted to do a fundraiser. So he brought in a couple of friends. One was Tommy. He also brought the Coasters, Little Richard, Herman and his Hermits, and plenty of others). Two by Tommy James and the Shondells - Crimson and Clover and Crystal Blue Persuasion (I've already got a couple versions of I Think We're Alone Now, including Tiffany's. Hey, I'm a sucker for redheads). Steam's greatest hit - "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye" - don't recognize it? Listen at the end of most sporting events which boast an incredibly one-sided score. "Na na na na, hey hey hey, good-bye".
It also had Take a Letter Maria, another one of my favorites, Good Morning Starshine, which reminded me of hearing it on Sesame Street (yes, Bob sang it, don't ask me why it stuck in MY head, but it did), and the holy Grail - Sugar Sugar by the Archies. The absolute epitome of bubble gum pop music.
Yeah, I know, but I like it.
End Of The Year
Yeah, though others celebrated the "new year" earlier, this marks the end of 2002 for me. Right here at the end of the week.
It's been a long, busy, eventful, stressful year, overall. Nearly losing my job in January, then finding the house, was something of a miracle for us. February passed in a blur as we got ready to move (and I organized to move my office). March was "the big one". My office moved the first couple of days of March, we celebrated Ann's birthday in there somewheres, then we moved. Then things sped up. Snow and 90, and then more snow, in April, followed by a cold and rainy May left us with no garden going until Memorial Day.
Said Garden started well until the Rabbits From Hell found it and ate all of the bean shoots we'd been fortunate enough to get up. I'm certain Bugs Bunny wasn't with them, as we later hauled out massive amounts of carrots from the place after we'd given up on it. Our sunflowers boasting 8 and 12 foot heights had two which peaked over the six-foot fence. The corn was the only unequivocal disaster - not a single cob formed. Just some ugly-looking black fungus.
Which did not affect my chili pepper plants, nor, Jack's incredibly productive Tomato machine. We have two five-gallon pails of half-rotten tomatos frozen, upside down, in the garden.
June was hot and muggy (expected after the wet spring), and we settled in nicely to the neighborhood. July started well enough, then came crashing down on July 22nd with the word that my office was laying off people, er, person, er, me. No hard feelings, and I do feel bad for those folks - the company was sold in November to a competitor. Of course, there was also my 20th Annual High School reunion, and I don't care what anyone says, there are certainly wonderful ego boosts to get when you stand there and someone who couldn't stand you in high school comes running over to talk to you because you're there, or one of the prettiest girls in the class (still good looking, but nowhere near your wife, of course) gives you a huge hug just because you said "hey, hi!"
Makes you feel like those few really horrid days never really happened, and most of the time was as you want to remember it - really, really great.
August has so far held my one and only job interview, as well as a lot of stressful time with my children. They are wonderful kids, but they do well at getting on people's nerves when they really want to. September saw the kids starting back at School, with Jack in his first classroom. Fortunately, with the same teacher Rhiannon had for Kindergarten. Rhiannon, on the other hand, got the absolute worst teacher at the school (everyone we've talked to agrees with the assessment), and is still managing to persevere.
October was Birthday month and the month when things started looking up a bit on the "make my own job" front. November saw the final push for Rhiannon's Loft completion, which did, finally, get done - as did Jack's storage cubby (pictures below), and a few other projects besides. Then there's December, with the Untippable Christmas Tree Stand (put a thirty-pound cat four feet up in your tree, have him jump out, and see what happens to yours. Mine barely wiggled - of course, when he went two feet up the four foot tree and hopped out, we were finding ornaments in the dining room, kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms - yes, one of the disadvantages of apartment living), a real, live Christmas Tree (well, it was until we killed it), and more pressure on the job front.
It's been a long year. And I'd like to thank you for sticking through it with me. You folks have often come to my rescue (like with the Car Of The Damned this summer), made me laugh, or more importantly, made me think. That is often more important.
Now, I've got to go to a choir concert - pictures later, if I'm lucky. I promise.
Seems to me, he said, blushing, that one should make sure of one's priorities when heading to a concert. Like remembering the camera...
Oh well. It's been another one of those very, very long weeks. On the positive side, there are again interesting and desirable jobs in the newspaper, so this is good. And there were 48 new job postings over the last three days on the state jobs board, so that is good as well.
Here at the bottom, near the end of what I call 2002 (which reminds me, I must still buckle down and deal with the calendar of the damned, 2003 version), I've got the last of the pictures...
First - the reason why every woodworker should take pictures of the project BEFORE putting it in it's final resting place... I managed to cull most of the clutter by judicious cropping. The cubby-holder sits next to Jack's dresser for his clothes. More storage.
Secondly, Rhiannon received a "wee enchanted garden" present from someone (she remembers not whom) for Christmas. On the positive site, it grows, looks good, and it's a lawn I neither have to mow or worry about damnedelions...
And that's the end of that. Enjoy your Monday!
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