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Last Updated : Thursday, 9 January, 2003 at 10:35 PM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Thursday, 9 January, 2003 at 10:35 PM -0500 |
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Monday, January 6, 2003 |
End Of An Era, Thank God
At noon today, Governor Ventura will become Good Old Pain In The Ass Mr. Ventura again, with his MSNBC Talk Show and other crap piling up on him, and we won't have to deal with him anymore. History is littered with the stories of small men elevated to positions which they were either unqualified to fill or ungracious enough to do the job. Men like Eisenhower, who refused the traditional tea before inauguration with Truman, for example. The big question today was whether or not that buffoon would show up for the handing over of the office. For the record, I was wrong. My bet is that he wouldn't.
Now Governor Pawlenty has the reigns. Boy, is he gonna be wondering why he wanted the job.
Housekeeping
Yeah, a "new" look. Somewhat. I changed the colors a bit, that's all. Other than that, same-old same-old. Works for me...
Labels, Name-Calling, and Peeves
There's been a recent spate of "It's a Blog/It's a Journal/It's A Thingammy" pieces going round.
I've never invested a whole lot in looking for a classification for this place. I learned many years ago as the fat kid on the playground that the other little bastards can call you all sorts of derogatory names, and it really hurts - if you let it. If you look at them and think "gee, what could I do with the time and energy they spend thinking up new insults?" you're ahead of the game. If you're sitting on the bus thinking "how can I grind his face into the turf this afternoon?" well, there's a sure-fire bet that unless you get some help, you're looking at an eventual stretch in that small room with the vertical bars and no worries about bills - for a while. If you're lucky. If not, well, there's that permanent home in a box six feet under which might do just as well should you turn out to be as anti-social as the thinking you've done seems to indicate.
For a few years, I was the great put-down artiste - on myself. I'd set up and fall for every single punch line out there. Every possible put-down, slam, one-liner, or rotten joke, I'd set it up, and eat it up. It was unhealthy attention, but in a period where many of my peers were getting laid, drunk, high, or run over by things that tended to make you unable to do a whole lot of what you did before, I suppose it was a more healthy pursuit.
Things changed, though, as I migrated to a new group of friends - oddly, that "old" group are still my friends today. They've allowed me to grow beyond the mold which I made for myself, and even duck now and then, because they know it's no longer a case of me pulling the pin on the grenade, handing it to them, and then running down field yelling "throw it, damnit, throw IT!" I often carry a tennis racquet and lob the damned things right back at them. Which is when it gets fun.
My "new" friends were a great group of people - nary a one that could be called "average", truth be told. They were all pretty smart people. And they proved it later in life, with a few notable exceptions (there's an old saying that goes something like "it doesn't matter how smart a man thinks he is, until he's married, he's always thinking with his gonads anyway." And if there isn't an old saying like that, there should be, because we, er, they, are). We were all quick-witted, all funny, and when you're in college, especially in classes where you've got no more than fifteen people, and the classroom time is almost always discussion of some sort, you really learn to hone your thinking skills to a fine point. But for some reason, after college, most of that group disappeared through the world, honestly - I know at least one fellow is teaching English - in Japan. Another went back home to Hawai'i - why in hell he came to Minnesota to go to college was far beyond me, but it was his choice.
In that group, we had many nights where we'd sit around, just talking - and at breakfast, and lunch, and after class, and in the commons, and anywhere else. The insult became the tool of choice, the way to prove your superiority in the competition. Second-best tool you had was the unexpected comment - if you could leave them breathless with the reaction to the comment, that was the way to go. I once whispered the explanation for a slang term into Ann's ear - nearly every college student knew, without translation, what it was, but due to a fortunate set of circumstances (which included her first viewing of Apocalypse Now in it's uncut and bloody "glory"), I caused this woman who was never, ever caught off-guard by anything to blush clear down to her toenails.
I think that was the day she decided that I had to be kept off the streets, if only to keep the rest of the population clean. But humor works best, I think, when the target doesn't see it coming. Especially if they don't see it coming, and especially if it veers ever so close to some forbidden subject or topic.
The all-time greatest turn I've ever seen was at a picnic Ann and I attended back before we were married. It was a chance for her to meet most of them in a less formal setting than, say, the inquisition chamber, or a courtroom. Just slightly less formal than that. Most of my old friends were there, including "Fred" and his brother "Bert". Bert had a rather debilitating physical condition which caused him to acquire a nickname which indicated he was a bit advanced in age - he loved the nickname, and had both the greatest zest for life, as well as a God-given gift for using his disease to his great advantage. One night, I asked him what he was going to do. Without pausing, he said he'd planned on going to the women's campus and wandering around until he found a pretty girl headed towards a bar. Then he'd fall down in front of her.
"What good would that do ya?" I asked, all macho, never intending to show weakness before the "fairer" sex, confident in my abilities - mostly, to go dateless for the 178th consecutive weekend night, or thereabouts.
"Well, you dumb shit" he drawled in his slow way of talking, "when she helps me up I can usually get a freebie grope in there, then I apologize, offer to buy her a drink, and maybe spend the night at her place!"
Always the gentleman, he never said whether or not he succeeded to the very end of his plan - however, the first half-dozen steps of his evil scheme were repeated with such alarming regularity and disgusting success that I thought of posting signs all over campus, warning of the pervert he really was. I didn't, but I was sorely tempted. Would have given me a positive pursuit on the 230th consecutive dateless weekend night, for example...
Anyway, Bert was at this picnic, and we were discussing how everyone had certain flaws and handicaps. Ann said "of course Bert's handicapped." None of us had ever referred to Bert as handicapped. There was the unfortunate morning where he came home, quite pickled, from an evening at the bar, and got the bathrooms screwed up. We had two small rooms in the basement of the house we lived in - one was with just a heater and shower, the other was a sink, toilet, and heater. We kept the shower room very warm, the bathroom not so. Bert's inebriation extended to a lack of coordination when it came to many things, which we forgave. However, Bert's overwhelming drunkenness led him to miss the commode by a rather major margin (not in distance so much as quantity - as in 90% missed, 10% hit). "Frank", one of our other roommates, opened the door to the toilet the next morning for his 8 am class, and fairly screamed "Jesus Christ, Bert, you shoulda just pissed in the kitchen." (Upstairs, to the right as you came in) No comment about his disability - just an observation from a man who had opened the gates to Hell.
You see, Bert's drunken state had him forgetting which room was which, and notably, which room we wanted hot, so to make sure, he turned the heater up in the bathroom (with no ventilation in there), and then closed the door. I can tell you for a fact that when I pass away, should I smell any scent like I smelled that morning, I will know that I've been extraordinarily bad, and my lot for eternity will be to stoke the heater in my cell in Hell with rented Colt 45 (Bert's fuel of choice for that evening). Then turn the heater to nine. Burned piss will, I guarantee you, be the odor of hell, should I end up there. No fire and brimstone for me, thanks. I've got worse. Much, much worse...
"Of course, Bert's handicapped." She said. The silence from the assembled dozen or so was practically deafening. She didn't leave us hanging long, of course - one key of comedy is to sink the hook before anyone sees it coming.
"Fred's his brother!"
Fred nearly passed out from not seeing that sucker punch to his squishy parts. Fred's wife immediately undertook damage control - she pushed him off the picnic bench should his well-known weak bladder suddenly cut loose (seems it might have run in the family). I think I might have gotten my mouth closed ... about two weeks later. The remainder of the bunch, with the exception of Bert, immediately took a liking to her.
Bert, however, decided to make sure the deck was still and forever stacked in his favor.
"I like you. If it doesn't work out with him, you come see me." he said to her, indicating me. Did I mention that Bert's rich, too?
Is it any wonder that I love that woman?
Of course, we've run far afield from the original point of the question, which is ever the case around here. Some people have yet to understand that names are nothing, unless they give them power. And if you give every name thrown at you power, you've got nothing to protect. Sure, might sound like new-age bullshit, but think about it.
If you call me fat, I say "yeah, so?" Who walks away embarrassed? Me? Hardly. I'm overweight. I know it. My kids know it. It's a little tough to hide, really. It's not something that I woke up with one morning, like a zit on the end of my nose. This is something that's been hanging around (sorry) for about twenty-five years now. I wouldn't be embarrassed. You, on the other hand, more likely, for pointing out what everyone else saw, and realized, but decided not to say anything about.
If you call me "stupid" I'd laugh in your face - then quote something back at you like "who is smarter? The man who keeps his mouth shut and is thought a fool, or the buffoon who opens his mouth and proves everyone right?" Or "Bray on, gentle jackass, erudite conversation makes me weary at this time of night."
It's not the name. It's how you react to it. If I were to punch the guy calling me "fat" in the mouth, which might be well within my rights, I've simply exhibited a hostility to his observation of an obvious fact - I'm overweight. So? So's half the country. I'd rather be fat than nasty/ugly/stupid, and I can diet.
If you call this a blog, I'll say "so?" What difference does it make? I'm fairly certain that there are two types of people attempting to label this sort of thing.
The first are those feeble-minded folk who follow the rest of us around, yelling "I've got a tool for that!" Otherwise known as "Marketers". Previously, this class of proto-humanoid wasn't fit to fill ruts in wagon trails (a job mostly left to dust or excrement, in some proportion), but now, as we've attained the "height" of civilization (makes me glad we're at the "height" we are - the fall isn't going to hurt much, we aren't anywhere near that high), they're going to try to sell us tools.
Got a big flash for them - I ain't buyin'. I've got "WordPad" which is the "Notepad"'s bigger brother in Windows. Though I could just as easily do this with vi or even edlin, were I so inclined (and my medication was REALLY off). I don't need their stinking tools, their stinking servers, and their stinking gadgets. The idea here is content - my content. What I've blathered about. Not "look at the bells and whistles THIS system has".
Sure, I like the tools - I'm a gadget man, remember? I love it when you can get something for nothing, or cheaply, and it looks good or better than if you'd done it yourself. But remember, the tools aren't the means to an end, though the marketers will tell you THEY ARE THE END. Right. Ass-end, you ask me.
Nothing wrong with Marketers. The world needs them, just like the Army needs privates - someone's got to stop the cannon shot before it hits the officers.
The other group trying to label this? Academics. Academics are most unhappy when a movement or thing or force is unlabeled - for an unlabeled thing cannot be placed into a department and taught for credit. "Is it Computer Science or Creative Writing or English or Journalism or Philosophy or ..."
Though how you could teach this stuff is beyond me - the thought of sitting through a class learning how to do this sort of writing has my mind veering towards it's natural lime-jello-like state, frankly - not at all conducive to a proper learning environment. Then again, I am clearly not the type to be looking at academia for a career - I've got standards which are way, way too low. Then again, I desperately wanted to take a Jazz improv class in college - but lacked the guts to do the solos. There ya go.
So what's the big deal? The key is all in how you react to the names. When little people yell little things at you, and you ignore them, they'll do one of two things. They get nastier, or they go away. Eventually, they all end up going away. Little people want attention, they don't care how they get it, and if they need to go nasty, nasty it is. You grant it validity, and a basis in fact, by reacting to it as if it's true. It's not the name, it's in how you react to it. If you object to the title of "blog" then propose a more appropriate one. If you like it, then no worries, mate. Either way, do something constructive. Weeping and moaning about the names you are called is counterproductive, and much like teaching a pig to dance. Wastes your time, annoys the pig. And likely puts you ankle-deep in pig excrement.
I don't care if this is a blog. I don't care if this is a Journal. I don't care if this is a digital scream for psychiatric help, hurled into the great void of the internet like sheep vomit on spring grass.
I simply care if it's interesting enough to keep you folks coming back regularly.
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Tuesday, January 7, 2003 |
Freight Train A-Comin...
A week ago yesterday, Ann got the sniffles. A week ago tomorrow, she never really dressed
You need to understand the relative constitutions in this household to understand just how devastating that is.
Any passing bug or illness tends to make my acquaintance right off, with little preamble. I'll catch it, feel unwell for a couple of days, and then be fine again. No big thing. About once a year I catch something which causes me to be in-bed sick for a day. About once every ten years, I'll catch something which will flatten me for a couple of days. Back once in grade school, and once just out of college, I was laid low by the flu for over a week. Unpleasant, certainly. But it happens. Fortunately, about three years ago, I spent the better part of a week in bed struggling with some bug or other (well, "in bed" and in the bathroom, in roughly equal measure). Why do I say fortunately? Keep reading.
Ann, on the other hand, gets sick probably half as often as I do. About once every four or five years, she'll actually be sick enough to call in for a sick day. Every so often, she ends up in the hospital for something, and the doctor will look at her, or me, and say "you know, you really should see someone before the pain gets THIS bad."
So, anyway, a week ago yesterday Ann started with the sniffles. Anyone who is, or has ever been married knows just how that works. One partner gets the illness, works it over for a bit, and then passes it on to the other. Inevitable. No hope for dodging. You can wash your hands all you want, boil your eating utensils, all the rest - you can't (as of yet) place an anti-bacterial thing over your mouth when you kiss (and remain married for long, that is), nor can you avoid the germs floating above the bed as she huffs and coughs all night.
So, for a week, I've been short on sleep. That's "short" as in "oh, by the way, that 'normal' night's sleep you get with all the stress? Yeah, cut that in half." I've been drinking plenty of fluids, taking care of myself otherwise.
And woke up yesterday with a sore throat. If Ann's cough does not improve tomorrow, she will be making an appointment to see the doctor about the medications she will undoubtedly need to cure the pneumonia/bronchitis/black death she's managed to pick up and pass to me.
Me? Why bother. This, too, shall pass. Given the accumulated bugs I've got running about my system, this one, too, will end up as just another notch on the immune system, eventually.
Business Decisions
Went looking the other day at getting business cards printed up. The prices seemed very reasonable, given what I would get. 250 cards of the most basic sort would run me about $27.43. If I wantd 750 more looking the same, I would pay a whole five and change more - obviously, the major cost involved is not the cards themselves, but the setup expense. If I upgrade to the range I want, which would be black plus one color for highlights, a graphic, and a thousand cards, I'd pay almost $50 for them ($48.47).
I mentioned it again to Ann, and she, again, pointed out the possibility of getting an inexpensive color printer to do some of this work. Granted, I've got two color printers in boxes around here already - the problem isn't the printers, it's the ink. I've a moral objection to paying more for the ink than I did for the printer. My first printer, the Canon BJC-4200, was a very nice printer, with dual-tank design. The problem was that it didn't run at all well with Windows 95 and the parallel port interface. A ruddy great pain, it was.
So I managed to acquire an Epson printer through a fire sale a few years later. Figured hey, I can always give it a shake - and since it used a USB interface, it was worth a try. Lo and behold, it worked. Granted, by this time I'd upgraded from a 486 and Win95 to a Pentium III 550 and Windows 98 SE, which might have helped.
But Ann suggested that a color printer would allow her to print pictures to give out to people, plus I could use it for brochures, reports, etc. And so could the kids.
Okay. So far, it makes sense. So I started to research the options. I'm seriously thinking of the Canon S820. Comments to the usual address. I need any pertinent information you might have, either good, or bad, regarding this product.
It Starts
Back about twenty years ago, a friend of mine enlisted in the military. He'd been a partner in a furniture business just out of high school, and it had done well - until the "accountant" had managed to abscond to parts unknown with the "well" part and the remainder was unpaid bills, no money in the bank, and plenty of worries.
He was fortunate - the business was bailed out, and he chose to enter the military for student loan repayment, amongst other things.
A little over twelve years ago now, Ann and I were planning our wedding. Unfortunately, it coincided with Bush The First's Desert Shield buildup. My buddy was in the Army reserves at this time. He was also the photographer for our wedding. And he was preparing to possibly go active overseas for the Desert Storm portion of the exercise.
Fortunately, the "active" list stopped just short of his unit - they were top on the list when the callups stopped. He was a materials handling specialist, back then. Since then, he's remained with the reserves, and was recently promoted to First Seargent of his unit.
Five days ago, now, his CO and one of his staff seargents were transferred involuntarily. 85% of his unit is now transferred out to active status. He expects his orders in the next week to ten days.
It's all well and good to be talking about the coming war with Iraq as a "theoretical" undertaking. The prospect of removing a "bad" dictator from a region where we have few friends, sure, I suppose. But when one's friends get put in harm's way because of an assinine desire to finish what pappy started, I swear that if my friend is harmed in any way, George Bush will never, EVER hear the end of it.
What Bush doesn't get, either through a lack of mental capacity or a limitation brought about by his simple inability to remove the blinders of family loyalty, is that Iraq and North Korea are standing in the same spot - both are seeking weapons of Mass Destruction, to use the over-used phrase, and both present a "destabilizing influence" on the regions they are a part of.
What sickens me to no end is how Bush will say "well, Iraq is a danger". Sure like an unstable Korean meglomaniac on the northern border of a US Ally with 37,000 troops in-country isn't a danger? Bush probably believes the old ethnic slurs that Kim Jong Il might well open a laundry in Seoul or something - har har har. Open it right up with explosives, sure.
In calmer moments, I can see the reasoning. Hussein has publicly pledged financial support to Palestinian suicide bombers in Israel - and the Israelis are our friends. He's used chemical weapons on the Kurds, and we'd like the Kurds to be our friends. He's invaded Kuwait, and we want the Kuwaitis to remain our friends. He's sitting on a great big bunch of oil, and we ant the oil to be our friend.
Korea? Well, the North Koreans are starving, represent a huge untapped pool of labor and a market which, if properly built, could cause the American economy to recover literally overnight. It''s also a block of land right close to the Chinese mainland which, since the Chinese are both inscrutable and potentially dangerous, we'll never be able to call "friendly". Finally, there's nothing under North Korea except dirt and more dirt and eventually magma.
Honestly, it's quite simple to see where Bush is going. His friends in the Oil industry will benefit. Just like his economic proposal today to cut the dividend tax. Boy, George, that's gonna help me a whole lot. I own 31 shares of stock outright, plus a few hundred more through my 401K. My 401K doesn't pay dividends. The $27.40 I get annually in dividend form from the other shares I own certainly shouldn't be subject to tax. And I can see where not taxing your buddies who live off the dividend income would make a whole lot of sense. But where the hell will the rest of us get the money to invest in the stock market? Especially when the same crooks are still running the companies?
Some day, it would be nice to have a president who had to balance his own checkbook. A president who knew what it was like to go grocery shopping for himself. A president who understood that most of America doesn't live off of dividend income - it's the freaking paychecks, George. And no matter what you do, the state, or cities, or counties are all going to take what you giveth this year anyway.
Sounds like trickle-down economics to me, and we all know how well that bullshit worked. Don't hassle me with "but the eighties were" - yeah, they sucked. "Greed is Good" wasn't funny then, and isn't funny now. What's amazing is that the vast majority of voters in this country during the last election seemed to forget they are enot the fortunate folk of Republican stuff - for the Republicans aren't the party of the people any more than the Democrats are. Sure, the Democrats would like to be, but the problem is that they have to promise something to get the votes, and the problem is that they seem only to be able to propose increased spending. Then again, Bush seems quite happy to destroy the progress that was made during the 90s in reining in the federal deficit spending. Sure, we've still got a national debt that would choke a whole species full of horses, but that's no never mind.
Bush is going to borrow to pay for his Homeland Gestapo, borrow to pay for his nationalization of the Iraqi oil fields, and borrow to pay for his feeble-minded attempt to get the economy off of dead-center.
Here's an economic program which would work - Give a tax credit to every firm which hires someone - someone from unemployment to a job would get one year of no income tax on that employee. Given the employer pays half the tax (which works out to about 20% of the employee's wage rate), that's a significant savings. Then give tax credits to firms for investing in employee training, infrastructure improvements, added health-care spending, and new business initiatives, and big credits to those firms which open new facilities and employ new workers here in the United States. And spread those incentives out over ten years - give them a 15% cut the first year, 20% the second, 25% the third, 33% fourth, and 50% the fifth and sixth years, then 33$ the seventh, 25% the eighth, 20% the ninth, and 15% the tenth. Why that way? Most companies incur incredible expenses in opening a new location. It's not cheap. Then there's the new worker training and all the rest. Most of the problems are experienced in the first 18 months. But why not front-load the credits to be in the first 18 months? Simple - after two years they'd shut down the location. And a two-year stint ANYWHERE looks like crap on a resume. Trust me, of this I know. So encourage them to keep the facility open for ten full years. After that, it should be making a good profit if it's run right with a good product. If not, well, you know long enough in advance to shut it down.
But that would make too much sense.
As does my friend who is about to be mobilized. In part, he says "I am not asking for anyone to agree with the course of action our country is taking" and I don't. But we'll look out for his family, and pray for him, until he comes home safe. Hopefully soon. Unfortunately, as it appears his unit is chemical-related, I've got a bad feeling he's not going to be anywhere safe.
Now, time for me to go back to bed. It's 2:30 am, and I've got to be up in less than four hours. At least I slept mostly from 5:30 to 11:30, so that helps. As does word that I might have an interview soon. Let us pray...
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Wednesday, January 8, 2003 |
How Weird
Yesterday's high temperature was 52. That's above zero. And a new record high - beat the old one by seven degrees. Todays? 54. Slaughtered the old record by another six, I think. Which is why both my children were out bike riding and rollerblading. Partially because I was cleaning out the garage and storing the tools after the last major project of the year (a pair of shelves on the garage wall that I didn't have to worry about - Brackets rated for 500 pounds, attached to the wall with 2 inch long, 1/4" lag screws - yes, I had to drill the brackets out to accept the screws, with shelves that were 3/4" boards, not 1/4" plywood. And I reinforced them with 1x4 edges, just to keep stuff from raining down on me).
This January weather is nuts. Brian Bilbrey's seen more snow than we have, as has Chris Ward-Johnson. We're looking at brown yards, still. My rhododendron (well, okay, Ann's) is looking to get ready to bud, I think. That could hurt. I grilled out tonight - the biggest pain being the lack of light more than anything.
I did, finally, get good with grilling steaks. Since I don't eat them, they're a bit tough. But I learned, and through tips, got pretty good at it - which is good, since Ann likes steak. Ann typically thaws and then marinades them (the only thing I'll put on the grill frozen are meat patties - by the time they thaw on one side, they're cooked on the other). They go on the grill, in the hottest part, for twenty seconds. Then flip. For twenty more seconds. Turn over, rotate 90 degrees for that nice criss-cross grill pattern, for another thirty seconds this time, flip over, and another thirty seconds. Then move to the outer edge of the heat, and wait ten minutes. Flip. Wait ten minutes. Flip, and put the burgers on. Wait 3-5 minutes, flip the burgers, flip the steaks, wait 3-5 minutes, remove the burgers, put the steaks back on the hot spot for a minute, tops, to sizzle. Toss 'em on the plate, toss 'em on the table, and then wait for someone to say "eeeeewwww. Daddy burned it!" Kids. Gotta love 'em.
And yes, I put the car in the garage for the first time since last March (since the night before the night of the lumber purchase). It's still a tight squeeze (something like a cruise ship in a bathtub, really), but it fits. And it's a lot warmer in there with the car there. Doubt I'll be spending a whole lot of time warming the car up in the mornings. Damn. I used to enjoy the quiet. Oh well.
Since this is neither a blog nor a journal, I suppose I should throw a bunch of links with comment at you today since I've time for little else.
Let's see.
My friend Ken Scott from Colorado is posting again. Though he's drooling after Apples today, he's normally a fairly stable fellow. Unlike that other guy, Rick Hellewell, who chooses, for some odd reason, to connect me with bathrooms. One really has to wonder at what's going to happen when Googlism gets hold of that gem. My reputation will go further into the toil... Never mind.
News? You want news? Well, I was thinking I had it bad, then I hear "Moss breaks 130 years of celibacy". Figuring there'd be a viagra joke in there somewhere, I followed the link on CNN. And, sadly, it was moss - you know, that green, spongy stuff? Apparently it has a sex life. Who knew? I'm starting to think that skipping the high school biology class in favor of chemistry might not have been such a good move. I could have learned all about sex at a much earlier age - in the same building where there were NUNS, no less! Oh well. Better rocks and explosions and water fights in chem (my lab partner was kinda cute, too), rather than snakes and ferrets and disections. Some things I won't do for sex. Now, I've got a friend who might consider his options...
I figured that sooner or later someone would come up with a "well, DUH" on this one, but any system that relies both on Microsoft AND human input is going to be by definition unstable. I'm not surprised it went down. I am surprised that it recovered so quickly. Then again, if Bill Gates couldn't IM, I'm sure the whole "gee, I dunno, it worked for ME" trick tech support people are trained to use just doesn't work. Oh well.
Now, for a serious moment, this is one of those things I never would have thought of needing. If you would have told me five months ago I'd still be looking for work, I'd have popped you one. It's disgusting to need this fallback. Worse when the president doesn't even get the point. If the guy would just say "folks, I'm going to give every company that hires an unemployed person the opportunity to pay ONLY the social security tax on this person for the first year, and only half of the tax the second year." It's a thought.
And, in closing, it would figure. We move out of an apartment, and this occurs. Of course, as I recall, our rent was a bit higher than the $841 average, we didn't have a heated year-round pool, we did have underground parking, and that was about it. Oh, and a nice view. But you know what? I'll stick with my house, thanks.
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Thursday, January 9, 2003 |
Why The Hell Not Department
Yeah, I know, but it's my site...
I got an e-mail from an anonymous contributor today (well, he wasn't anonymous, but if his wife finds out what he's been surfing, I'd really rather not be involved in the court proceedings - or hospitalizations). He sent me a link to a site called "GiveBoobs.com". No, you can't get your own. Apparently it's a young lady who feels that she's been robbed in the ... well, boob department. Her campaign is to collect charitable donations to enhance her bust size through the rather non-natural surgical methods.
Further embellishment here would only serve to get various of my body parts squeezed, unpleasantly, I hasten to add, in effort to give up the culprit. Something I will not do. Therefore, I'll just suggest you take a quick troll through her site (no, nothing dangerous on the web site, work-wise), and make up yer own mind.
And before anyone cracks wise out there, no, I do not get a cut of the proceeds. Nor a peek, either.
I Wonder
Today's bad mood has been brought to you by disappointing news on yet another "good looking" resume that is in the process of going nowhere, apparently, and a couple of observations which have dawned, albeit slowly, on me.
The first, non-work-related, has to do with eating habits. As a kid, I was told "eat the stuff you don't like first, that way you'll get it out of the way and still have room for the stuff you like." But I think what happened was whether or not I had room for the good stuff, I ate it anyway. Just one of my many dietetic bad habits.
The other, slightly work-related, has to do with career choice. I'm wondering, hard, if I want to stay in IT. It started as a hobby, which grew into a career, which has grown again. I'm wondering if I'm better off doing something else.
Like many people who fall into career choices, I was fortunate. Despite having no proper training (as in coursework, degrees, and all of that) I was at the right place at the right time years ago, and took advantage of my logical bent, natural curiosity, and some not-small amount of skill, and got good with computers.
Now I'm wondering if there might be another field I should look into. I enjoy building things, working with my hands, and all of that. I've spent years listening to my mother talk about dollhouses and the rest, which I could do easily. I can even make good furniture for the dollhouses (I even know the secret to the cabriole legs - they're not difficult in large or small form if you know the secret). But how to market them? I know that the prevalence of sites like eBay would make some think that this sort of thing is EASY to sell - hardly. eBay's only good for items that people know - few will take flyers on stuff they've never seen before, or don't know the quality of.
Therefore, it's got to be hand-to-hand marketing. Or in other words, in person. I've got to find flea markets, craft shows, and the like. And few people are going to push to spend $400 or more on a good 1"-1' scale dollhouse, or $150 on a Barbie-Doll-Sized dollhouse. But it could work. One never knows.
No, I've not abandoned the consulting business. I'm just looking for a diverse income stream, so that when the next leg falls out from under me, I can wobble a little and move on, rather than fall on my ass and figure out how to stand up again...
Basic Housekeeping
I've been a bit behind in testing.
I've been whacking at the weeds on another site, and then got an e-mail today. "Love the blue, the salmon sucks." Uh, Salmon? Not voluntarily, color-wise. So I pulled it up in IE (Don't run IE much any more. Much safer this way. I use Netscape. It's annoying, like the controls dialog being wholly inadequate on my machine - it's not sized properly, no way to adjust it, but it's safer than Internet Exploder). Yeah, uck. Salmon.
So I adjusted. And thanks to suggestions from many readers, I've adjusted the CSS for that page. Those of you who use Netscape might not see anything different, but those using IE should notice things are a little nicer. Well, I like them. Links are blue text until clicked, then they change to italic, with a yellow background.
Oh well. I like it.
Oh, All Right, HUMOR
First, Office Vocabulary.
ADMINISPHERE: The rarefied organizational layers beginning just above
the rank and file. Decisions that fall from the adminisphere are often
profoundly inappropriate or irrelevant to the problems they were meant
to solve.
Fascinating. Now I know why sometimes things didn't always make sense. I was stuck in the muck.
ASSMOSIS: The process by which some people seem to absorb success and
advancement by kissing up to the boss rather than working hard.
Clearly, I should have done this more.
BLAMESTORMING: Sitting around in a group, discussing why a deadline was
missed or a project failed, and who was responsible.
Yup. We held them shortly before Come To Jesus meetings. See Below
COME TO JESUS MEETING: The entire house of cards you've constructed is perilously close to failure, and you need to bring all of the concerned individuals into a room together and convince them, again, that the decision they made was a valid one.
Yes, Praise the Lord, we had many of these. Sometimes they were for noble purposes. Sometimes they reapplied lipstick to the pig.
CROP DUSTING: Surreptitiously farting while passing thru a CUBE FARM,
then enjoying the sounds of dismay and disgust that leads to PRAIRIE
DOGGING.
I'll just say "Guilty" and move on.
CUBE FARM: An office filled with cubicles.
Yup. Been There, too. Helped grow a few, in fact. Did you know that what we call "styrofoam peanuts" are really cubicle seeds? Me neither.
404: Someone who's clueless. From the World Wide Web error message "404
Not Found," meaning that the requested document could not be located.
No Comment. Moving on...
GENERICA: Features of the American landscape that are exactly the same
no matter where one is, such as fast food joints, strip malls, and
subdivisions.
I never traveled enough for this to become a problem.
IRRITAINMENT: Entertainment and media spectacles that are annoying but
you find yourself unable to stop watching them. The O.J. trials were a
prime example.
Oh, Goodie. More O.J. Flashbacks.
MOUSE POTATO: The on-line, wired generation's answer to the couch
potato.
I like this one.
OHNOSECOND: That minuscule fraction of time in which you realize that
you've just made a BIG mistake.
I once wrote a corporate policy which made use of this term, in a formal manner. How weird.
PERCUSSIVE MAINTENANCE: The fine art of whacking the crap out of an
electronic device to get it to work again.
Back when I worked on the VAX, we had a fire extinguisher case with a three-pound maul behind it. I thought it was a joke. Then I was scoring tests in the computer room one day, my boss comes in, goes round behind the Maxibus cabinet, and KICKS the thing. Walks out. Comes back. Does this about four times. I ask him what he's doing. "Percussive Maintenance!" The next day the DEC tech was out to replace some cables pinched in the cabinet. My boss had been watching the error count display roll up each time he kicked the cabinet. He didn't tell me (or the other support goofs) that he'd unplugged the entire network, first, which explained why everyone else was having problems... But Percussive Maintenance" does work. Sometimes you gotta kick it is all.
PRAIRIE DOGGING: When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cube
farm, and people's heads pop up over the walls to see what's going on.
Guilty. Of Both.
SALMON DAY: The experience of spending an entire day swimming upstream
only to get screwed and die in the end.
You know, even as a consultant I get that sometimes. And you know what? Either way, you get paid.
SEAGULL MANAGER: A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps on
everything, and then leaves.
Wow. They DO have a name... Unfortunately, no hunting season as yet.
SITCOMs: Single Income, Two Children, One Mortgage. What yuppies turn
into when they have children and one stops working to stay home with the
kids.
In our case, involuntarily. Actually, I see more often three kids as the line - or four.
STRESS PUPPY: A person who seems to thrive on being stressed out and
whiny.
Yeah, I worked with a few.
SWIPEOUT: An ATM or credit card that has been rendered useless because
the magnetic strip is worn away from extensive use.
That could have been me in a former life...
WOOFS: Well Off Older Folks.
That Ain't Gonna Be Me
XEROX SUBSIDY: Euphemism for swiping free photocopies from one's
workplace.
I've never heard it put like that...
And some more funny stuff...
1. Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think
I'll squeeze these dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out"
I've often wondered about that one...
2. Who was the first one who thought that the white thing that
came from a hen's butt looked edible?
You know, there's a certain level of ignorance I'm just willing to let exist in this world, just because it's fun to watch that level of idiocy bumble through life
3. Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to
a horrible crisp which no decent human being would eat?
Hmmm... Value judgments? On Toast?
4. Why is there a light in the fridge and not in the freezer?
Well, there's a light in both my freezers. No working bulb, but a light.
5. If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a song
about him?
Because his momma did, and she wrote the song. What, you got a better idea?
6. Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane?
Why not? There's nothing in the law that says the second passenger must be alive.
7. If the professor on Gilligan's Island can make a radio out of
coconut, why can't he fix a hole in a boat?
Think about it. Trapped on an island with an idiot, an overweight boat-owner, an old, married man with his wife, and you've got a movie star and a cute girl-next-door type, well, gee, I think I'd have some problems fixing the boat too...
8. Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time,
but don't point to their crotch when they ask where the bathroom is?
Speak for yourself.
9. Why does your OB-GYN leave the room when you get undressed if
they are going to look up there anyway?
Well, I don't have one, but I couldn't tell you.
10. Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours?
They're both dogs!
Goofy slouches
11. What do you call male ballerinas?
Be careful. They'll likely disembowel you with a simple plié
12. Why ARE Trix only for kids?
Could you function in a meeting with a sugar buzz like that?
13. If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that Acme
crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?
Ah - buy a man dinner, he eats for a night. Catch a damned roadrunner, he sleeps soundly for the rest of his life.
14. If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?
Testic... Oh, nuts. Never mind.
15. If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made
from vegetables, then what is baby oil made from?
Oh, come on. You really think I'd fall for that one?
16. If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from
morons?
Sometimes I wonder...
17. Is Disney World the only people trap operated by a mouse?
Perhaps the mouse is, say, Satan?
18. Why do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
have the same tune?
Because the people who invented the alphabet were cheap, and didn't want to pay to buy a new song. Since the copyright on Twinkle Twinkle lapsed and it fell into the public domain, they were able to pick it up for a ... well, real cheap.
19. Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?
I dunno. What sort of "full effect" are you talking about? Do you smoke your alphabet soup, perhaps?
20. Why is it that when someone tells you that there are over a
billion stars in the universe, you believe them, but if they tell you
there is wet paint somewhere, you have to touch it to make sure?
Well, cats clean themselves with their tongues. All over. Do you think they kiss their mothers with that mouth? Who checks? And which mouth would they use? If they've got a spare, why would they use the obvious one for eating, drinking, AND cleaning? Ask me a rhetorical question, boy, and I'll fire 'em right back at you...
And finally, with no verification or claim to authenticity, Top 8 Morons of 2002
8. Will the real dummy please stand up?
AT&T fired President John Walter after nine months, saying he lacked intellectual leadership. He received a $26 million severance package. Perhaps it's not Walter who's lacking intelligence.
Um, are they hiring? I can lack intellectual leadership just as well as the next guy...
7. With a little help from our friends:
Police in Oakland, California spent two hours attempting to subdue a gunman who had barricaded himself inside his home. After firing ten tear gas canisters, officers discovered that the man was standing beside them in the police line, shouting, "Please come out and give yourself up."
Well, he gets points for originality on that one. And promptly looses them for sticking around to find out what happens. I suppose the idiot showed up on TV, too, as a "Man In The Street" talking head...
6. What was Plan B???
An Illinois man, pretending to have a gun, kidnapped a motorist and forced him to drive to two different automated teller machines, wherein the kidnapper proceeded to withdraw money from his own bank accounts.
I'm telling you, it's so much easier to catch criminals when their parents are closely related.
5. The Getaway!
A man walked into a Topeka, Kansas Kwik Stop, and asked for all the money in the cash drawer. Apparently, the take was too small, so he tied up the store clerk and worked the counter himself for three hours until police showed up and grabbed him.
Clearly one of those people on whom the effect of Alphabet soup was lost. Do you suppose he missed the big sign which said "Store has only $50 after dark?"
4. Let's be clear about this...
Police in Los Angeles had good luck with a robbery suspect who just couldn't control himself during a lineup. When detectives asked each man in the police line-up to repeat the words: "Give me all your money or I'll shoot," the man (who had as yet not been identified) shouted, "That's not what I said!"
Aha. His family must be so proud. Two in the top eight. Helps when Mom and Dad are brother and sister in this sort of thing...
3. Are we communicating??
A man spoke frantically into the phone, "My wife is pregnant and her contractions are only two minutes apart!" "Is this her first child?" the doctor asked. "No!" the man shouted, "This is her husband!"
Communicating, yes. Conveying useful information, perhaps not. Then again, having been there, I completely understand the poor fellow's panic.
2. Not the sharpest tool in the shed!!
In Modesto, California, Steven Richard King was arrested for trying to hold up a Bank of America branch without a weapon. King used a thumb and a finger to simulate a gun, but unfortunately, he failed to keep his hand in his pocket.
Um. Yeah. Make that three in the top eight for that family...
1. The grand finale
Last summer, down on Lake Isabella, located in the high desert, an hour east of Bakersfield, California, some folks, new to boating, were having a problem. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't get their brand new 22 ft. boat going. It was very sluggish in almost every maneuver, no matter how much power was applied. After about an hour of trying to make it go, they putted to a nearby marina, thinking someone there could tell them what was wrong. A thorough topside check revealed everything in perfect working condition. The engine ran fine, the out drive went up and down, and the prop was the correct size and pitch. So, one of the marina guys jumped in the water to check underneath. He came up choking on water, he was laughing so hard. Now remember... This is true .... Under the boat, still strapped securely in place, was the trailer.
Okay. First off, note the seven commas in the first sentence. A bit breathless, methinks. Second, I'm assuming they found a lake which was utterly deserted and no one was nearby when they put the boat in. Third, the "thorough topside check" was apparently conducted by a dust puppy - didn't they notice the straps over the boat from the trailer? If the boat's not strapped down, then the trailer would sink off, therefore there's SOMETHING showing above the waterline, unless it's bolted to the boat, and in that case, how long can you tread water? Lastly, "now remember, this is true" is a bit hollow by this point.
I'm such a party pooper...
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Friday, January 10, 2003 |
Bumbling Along
That would be me. It occurred to me the other day that there are some built-in medical difficulties when it comes to
One side-effect of marriage is a shared immune system. That is, when one's spouse gets sick, one suffers. And vice versa.
Of course, when one's spouse supposes she has the constitution of an iron maiden, and in fact has been coughing and sniffling nightly for the better part of two weeks now, there's little wonder that one is dragging one's ass when it comes to getting things done. And there's no wonder as to when one wakes up with keyboard impressions in one's forehead from literally falling asleep at one's computer.
Further, one has detected that one would really like to go back to bed for a few hours after all of the other residents have left the home, but one is predisposed to being productive in the mornings. Besides, one enjoys the quiet that exists without small voices or TV chatter in the background.
Not me, you understand, but some people...
It occurred to me...
I was channel surfing this morning (I try to take Friday mornings off, since I end up working a lot on Sunday), and caught "Catch Me If You Can". It was a little high-school type movie back in the late 1980s which was basically a "save the school" movie.
If you folks EVER want to know what St. Cloud was like, and especially what most of my high school looked like back when I was in it (with the exception of the Chem lab, which was remodeled), check that movie out. Yeah, it might be a little tough to find, but then again, you might find it in the el cheapo bargain-basement section, as well. Maybe even available for rental.
Couple things - there's the first scene where "Dillon" goes drag racing behind a manufacturing plant with a large smoke-stack. That smoke-stack is actually in Sartell (so is the trailer park, albeit about a half mile up the hill from where the guys were sitting), and is still visible from my parent's house. The pool, shop, and football game scenes were filmed elsewhere (I think the pool was at the St. Cloud YMCA, or maybe Tech High School. The Shop was almost certainly at Tech. The football scenes were at Apollo, which is where we played some football games.
Almost all of the scenery was local - a lot of the extras in the movie were either kids I knew or younger siblings of kids I knew. I saw one of the final scenes this morning (in a mirror, admittedly), and it looked like one of my friend's younger brothers ended up in the final scene.
But yeah, they used nearly the identical logo for the school (our nickname, as befitting about two-thirds of Catholic schools anywhere, was "Crusaders". Makes one wonder how long it'll last before the PC Gestapo figure out what happened during the Crusades, and denigrates that term into the same bucket as "Redskin" or "Indian" or "Warrior"), as well as our band uniforms (yes, those band uniforms). The only key difference was that most of the movie takes place in the central building in the in-school shots. I recognized my old Earth Science classroom, among other places. There's also plenty of shots of the school from the outside.
Back in the early 1960s, Cathedral added a "South" building to handle added expansion, and that was where most of our administration was located by that time. The Central building (which was new when my father was still going to Cathedral in the late 1930s and early 1940s) had the Junior High office, which seems to be the principal's office in the movie - though the interiors were definitely NOT from that office.
But yeah, it's nice to have a flashback like that. Especially when they're taking the jukebox out at the end of the movie and they take it into the "courtyard" - the area between the North and Central buildings. We did all sorts of stupid stuff there. What I really, REALLY miss is the big set of granite steps outside that building. Nothing fancy, nothing hugely decorated - just steps with a ... dunno what it's called, but the half-wall beside the stairs was about two feet wide - plenty wide to sit on and get some sun on those spring days when it was sunny enough to make a difference.
It's amazing what you remember after twenty-some years... You forget (or bury) the bad stuff, and remember the fun - like the time we had a "stuff the volkswagen contest" for homecoming, and a couple of other seniors and I recruited freshmen (very smart move on our part) for the team (there were no rules - that year). It worked great - we had sixteen of them in the vehicle. We'd been able to talk almost twenty of the smallest freshmen into the deal (at two buck a pop, it was an expensive undertaking, believe me, but spreading the $40 bill over five guys worked out OK, as I recall).
And then some poor bastard on the bottom started yelling "smoke - fire - ouch - hot".
I didn't know the old volkswagen bugs had the car battery under the rear seat... Nor that the seat would be depressed by that much weight to the point where the seat's springs would contact the battery terminals and short the battery. I did know the rough consequences of what happens when you connect the terminals of a big battery, though - heat.
It was rather funny to watch us invent safety procedures on the spot. One guy on the roof pulling them out of the sunroof, I was on the passenger side, hauling them out by whatever part I could grab (I suppose I could have slowed down and enjoyed it, but at the time I was too worried about burning up the kids), and another guy was on the driver side, yanking out that door. One guy was on the front of the vehicle, yelling "where's the freaking engine!?!?!" and another guy was trying to get the trunk open and get to the engine (uh, the battery would be in front of the engine, from the back of the vehicle, so it didn't do much good. Hey, we were trying, right?). Total damage was one guy had a scorch mark on his pants, another guy had a bloody nose (the guy on the roof hauled a bit hard and thumped his head on the edge of the sunroof), and three or four clothing tears.
Minor problems, mostly, compared to the alternative. But yeah, it was still, mostly, fun.
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Saturday, January 11, 2003 |
To Blog, or not to Blog
On the Daynotes backchannel, the emotional rhetoric has decreased and the intellectual content increased to a point where there are several Daynoters considering conversion to "CMS" -Content Management Systems.
While it is certainly their choice, there are significant drawbacks which I've not seen addressed. Being a stubborn old bastard, I've no intention of implementing a CMS. My e-mail volume from this results in a rather robust five-to-ten messages a week about what I've done here, thus comments, etc., may not be all that useful to some.
Another consideration is apparently "Google Rank". Were I getting money from this site, or competing for a score in a contest of some sort, I'd certainly look into a way to raise my google rank beyond where it is now. Sure. But who am I competing against? There's the rub. I'm not the writer Dave Farquhar is, though I hope to be, some day. I also lack his training. So where's the competition? I'm not competing against a competitor - I'm trying to improve my quality - and quality isn't exactly in a race, if you know what I mean.
Then there's the inevitable "Time To Upgrade". CMS systems are essentially databased systems. Sure, that means that once in one database, it's relatively easy to export to another database without a whole lot of convolutions. So, should today's back-end of the moment be superceeded by the next great back-end, you've got it made. That's not a huge concern (just another headache between me and my information). Where my major concern lies is in the upgrade of the software that controls the HTML end of things.
In e-mails, it's been pointed out that I could, if I so choose, modify templates and all of that to make it work better. Yup. Do that now. I modify the file called "blankweek.html" and save it - the change becomes permanent for the future. But do I want to convert all of the old stuff over to new stuff? Well, there's a good question. My older layouts looked, mostly, like crap (not that this one's much better). But there's another problem I have with CMS. It shows no progression. "See, I started as crap, and moved on from there!"
We're all a product of our experiences. We're all growing beings (unless we've attained some measure of success and what we percieve to be perfection, then we migrate to dictatorial leadership in some form or other and go into government, apparently). We continue to learn and evolve and grow. What happens when you reach a point where your template appears "dated" and no one's supporting your CMS of choice any more? You get to do the work yourself... How nice. Save work? Yeah, but for the two-or-three times annually I want to change something, in which case, I go back to the drawing board and re-rip things apart and start all over.
What else? Well, my experience is that most "blog" sites are (again, my opinion only) visually unattractive and very, very busy. I regularly visit four sites using various CMS tools, (Al Hawkins, Randy Van Der Woning, Phil Hough, and Dave Farquhar) and I find the screens very busy - almost overwhelming, and I tend to get in, and get out. They don't tend to lend you to thinking and wondering, like Dan Seto, Jon Sturm or Dr. Pournelle's sites do.
Certainly, there's something to be said for convenience and widgets and all that - remember, I'm Mr. Gadget - I just love 'em. But I look at this site an awful lot like food. There are many, many areas where the theory "if a little is good, a lot must be better" does apply. Money, sex, and free time come to mind. But there are other areas where that idea falls plain old flat on it's face. Like spices in chili, for example. A wee bit of habenero pepper is good. A whole lot is ... well, too damned hot, frankly.
Now, I realize the idea for web sites these days is to be "all about [blank]". Whether it's the tools or the content, you get to pick. I find myself preferring to concentrate on stuff like the content. My site might change every so often to accomodate a wild hair, something I've learned, or to show I've grown in design principles. When I started using CSS some years ago, I got the greatest portion of the education in the first three days after I'd implemented it. I fixed the font sizes, so I could have total control of my layout, and promptly got spanked.
One reader howled in protest that I was shrinking the fonts to blind him. Another SHOUTED that I was using HUGE LETTERS and THERE WAS NO NEED FOR THAT. All with the same number of pixels in the font size. Sometimes education comes in a classroom setting with much time to experiment and determine a course of action, and other times, it's at the side of a baseball bat as it takes a swipe up side your cranial structure, saying "Nope, I don't THINK soooo" in a rather Robin-Williams-like voice.
So it goes. I have found that if I keep the layout simple, provide simple navigation, and simple controls (back to the top, search, and the rest), the site works. Sure, there's no way to zip back in time and find everything I've written about "chocolate" for example - is that a desire of yours? If so, let me know. I'll investigate that sort of thing.
One other consideration which I have is that if I rely on a Content Management System, said system would then lie on the server I'm using. As would the content. And there are moments where I want total control over my content. I like having a local copy that I can refer to if need be, check for how big my total site is, and etc. Sure, I could run the CMS from my home, for about two weeks - then the fine folks who allow me to use their cable-modem network to access the internet might get ... well, beyond a bit upset, and have serious fits with me - and serious fits does tend to translate into "Yer's done with us, fella. See ya."
Sure, I could attempt to negotiate a "business-class" arrangement with them. I'd be just about as likely to create beautiful music through blowing my nose - while the odds are indeed slim, anything is possible. Most cable-modem providers haven't got experience with businesses. They're used to dealing with individuals, homes, and homeowners. Businesses throw them into a tizzy - I know, I've tried.
Back to CMS, though. I'm sure there are
I'll stick with the system I have. I know every nook, every cranny, and while it might brand me a techno-luddite, I'm much more comfortable with that than I am with something else in between me and my work.
Don't get me wrong, though. I think CMS systems are excellent tools for people who have no real desire to do all of the above. I'm working on a concept which might well turn into something rather valuable in the long run, simply through the use of stuff like a CMS. But more on that later.
Pet Peeves Yeah, verily. There are many times where a minor annoyance grows to a point where I feel much aggrieved, and I sit down here and take my frustrations out in this digital format for you good folks to read. It's cathartic, keeps me from beating my wife, children, cats, and assorted neighborhood urchins that wander around (if any), and gives me something to vent about instead of my real frustrations.
Today's peeve is the fellow who, somewhere, required garage door sensors for motorized garage door closers.
I suppose I should enlarge my target to include the potential female designer of such a system, for it could well have been invented by a female idiot of our species, but I digress.
You see, when I was a kid, the first garage door I knew of came on my parent's house. It was a small, one-car garage, with a few feet to spare. My dad had a workbench which consisted of an old solid-core door for the surface, in one corner of the garage - next to it was the radial arm saw (yes, it goes back that far). In between was a table with a switch and an outlet on it (first use I'd seen of remote electrical distribution - which I'm going to borrow and expand upon next summer when, God Willing, I build my workbench storage units, but I digress). The station wagon, when pulled into the garage (which was a bit of a feat), would nose up against the table in order for the garage door to close. There was plenty room on the side of the vehicle for people to get in and out, and there was a two-foot deep shelf on the side of the garage for storage.
After we moved, the garage on Grandma's house was taken down, the concrete removed, new footings laid, and a two-car garage rebuilt in it's place. The new garage had the rear wall flush with the back of the house like before, but the other wall had been gently removed (including the window), a new door opening added, and the wall was replaced on the side of the house, three feet on the other side of what had been an exterior door - and now opened into the garage. Even the original concrete steps were re-used.
And, since the door to the new two-car garage was much heavier than the old one (the old one was wood, with windows, uninsulated, the new one was fiberglass, insulated (unlike the rest of the garage), and very, very heavy), we got an automatic door opener.
I remember the afternoon one of my uncles came out to help put it in. As it required people up on ladders to be doing things, my dad was unable to do any of that, and so supervised. As I was nearly old enough to be useful (I was almost 11 1/2 at that point), I was the fellow who had to stand there and let the door hit him. The door had a rudimentary detector which would allow it to reverse if it hit "resistance". Since there was always "some" resistance, this wasn't always a standard amount.
But somewhere in the recent past, some genius wrote and passed a law which states that the fine folks who sell you garage door openers include electric-eye detectors which look across the threshold of the door to detect objects in the way. The door will fail to close if it detects an object in it's way.
Which is where the problem arises. I drive a fairly large (by modern standards) car. It's an Eagle Vision. In my garage, my front bumper must be over the first step to the back door before the garage door will have enough clearance to close. Which means that it's going to take some time before I get there and get comfortable with where I need to have the car. And since my wife prefers the car seat in a different location than I do, there's no guarantee that the item I line up on on the workbench now will be the same item I line up on tomorrow.
So what's the big problem? Well, it's cold. And cars have exhaust. When it gets cold, cars have MORE exhaust - the steam that normally condenses out stays just that - steam - moisture. Which means, when I pull into my garage, there's a cloud of exhaust which will, OCCASIONALLY, obscure the detector.
So I either guess, stop the car, and when it's not far enough in, pull ahead, or find a way to short out the damned detectors. I'm tempted to get a laser pointer and a couple of mirrors and set myself up a little set of re-direction. No doubt I'd void the warranty, double my home-owners insurance, and in many other ways incur other debts to society, but considering that I'm wasting gas stopping the car short, restarting, pulling ahead two inches, stopping, and so forth, I'm almost tempted to risk it...
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Sunday, January 12, 2003 |
Sorry About That
Well, I didn't finish yesterday's post enough to get it up on the server, so it's up there now. Sorry.
And of course, our entire state is quivvering in something close to Jello-like wiggles as the new Terminator - er, Governor - prepares to release his plan to correct the state deficit. The wonderful rumors going round include the possibility that the deficit could go as high as $6 billion. To put that in perspective, the total state budget would be about $27 billion this year, but for the $356 million shortfall coming down the road at us - this budget biennial (if that's spelled right) ends the end of this coming June, and the best part of it is that the previous State House and Senate leaders got together and worked out a compromise. Said compromise is the one that used all of the budget reserves, the "one-time" money, and various accounting tricks to shore up the holes in the ship of state.
Now, normally, I'd be thinking "poor bastard" to any idiot dumb enough to walk into this sort of problem. Normally. The fact that our current Governor is one of the two leaders (Ventura was cut out of the equation), that made that deal (the other leader, Moe, lost in the last election), and I've got little sympathy for the idiot. Further, since the fellow "promised" that he wouldn't raise taxes ("promise" is in quotes because as a politician, we all know what that means). Now, Pawlenty might not, but there are numerous other entities with taxation authority that may well decide they aren't getting enough and they'll raise taxes anyway.
So the bottom line is that tomorrow or the next day, the covers come off the plan to "balance the budget" and then we all get down to determining which limb we're going to miss. The current $4.65 billion shortfall, if put in perspective, means that we could lay off all of the current state employees, for the year, and still not cover the holes. I'm not sure how that would work, because I learned long ago in business classes, as well as government, that your largest single expenditure, unless you're a financial institution or jeweler, is for labor.
But the key problem here is the thing the federal government refused years ago - a balanced budget requirement. In this state, when the government goes into the red, it stops. Period. End of story. No "borrowing authority".
And the really lovely part is that the state, for many years, had a poor bond rating. Through careful fiscal management (under mostly liberal Republican leadership, oddly enough), that problem was corrected. We had a great bond rating.
But this is all going to be water under the bridge. So it goes. There are times when I really wonder just what the heck it is these people are trying to do to us. Then again, we elected them to do it, so there we go.
Small Successes
It appears, he said, with some small pride, that I got the garage cleaned out just in time. The weather-rumorers are threatening high temperatures that might break into the teens, and lows that will dip below zero. It's been almost two years since we've had two consecutive below-zero low temperature days, so it's been a while.
And it's a damned good thing that car's in the garage, now. It stays between 40 and 50 in there, and that's plenty warm. Not as nice as the fully-heated underground apartment garage, but I can do woodworking in my garage. So that's a good thing.
Other than that, it was a completely slow day around here. Some housework, some paper-reading, some attempts at relaxation (when you have a six-year-old with the inability to sit still, the relaxation portion only occurs after dark). An all-around Phil Hough Sunday.
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