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Last Updated : Sunday, April 13, 2003
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Sunday, April 13, 2003 |
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Monday, April 7, 2003 |
Update At 1345
Dogs...
The more time I spend with my Dog, the more convinced I become that there is, somewhere in our genetic past, a link between canine and human.
No, I'm not suggesting that someone did something funky with a puppy, and a few months later, Dogmen were born. It's more subtle than that.
I think there are a vast number of people who, through past experiences of their ancestors, managed to somehow imprint some of the Dog's traits, and bring them into the "human genome" as a more functional form of human behavior.
When I'm talking about Dogs, I'm talking about working, functional, thinking, active Dogs, rather than the species as a whole. There are some breeds which are bred only for companionship and entertainment. Not a problem for those dogs. But there are some Dogs who have had to work for a living since time immemorial. These are the Dogs (Capital D) to which I refer.
Have you ever seen a Dog question the route to take? Briefly at the beginning, perhaps, but once committed, the Dog keeps going. They may come back and explore the other route later, but for now, they're out in front, leading, but they never, ever forget the back of the pack. They check out everything. Nothing gets past the Dog.
And don't even talk to me about "what's that smell". Dogs know. They never ask.
Leadership is a canine trait. Unswerving loyalty. Supreme confidence that this, what we're doing right now, is the best possible thing we could be doing. Just about nothing in the whole wide world (other than maybe a belly rub and a treat) could beat it.
A Dog is also insatiably curious. "What's that? Where's it go? How do we learn from this?" Dogs are smarter than we are, most times. A Dog will learn from pain, from injury, and not do that again. We, often, keep trying. And when we reach our goal, there's the Dog. "Say, I found a path round the back here which is a whole lot easier. Would you like me to show it to you?"
Dogs aren't lazy. They're conservationists. They never know when they might be called on for long watches, long walks, or a long car ride. So they nap frequently, and sleep soundly - the sign of a clear conscience.
But once it comes time to do something, Dogs do. They do it. They commit themselves, completely (none of this 110% crap - Dogs go flat-out-balls-to-the-wall until done), and they do it.
Dogs are, in many ways, better than we are. More loyal, more affectionate, more passionate, more trusting, more faithful, and more reliable than we are. Perhaps we should seek to emulate them, rather than vice versa.
Didn't See It Coming
"The protections afforded by the First Amendment ... are not absolute," O'Connor wrote for herself and four other justices.
This, coming just ten years after "Under the First Amendment, Justice Scalia explained, the government cannot generally forbid speech 'because of disapproval of the ideas expressed.' The statute impermissibly targeted only hostile symbolic speech about 'race, color, creed, religion or gender' -- not, for instance, all hostile symbolic speech" in a case of a juvenile defendant who burned a cross in the yard of an African-American family in St. Paul, of all places.
I can see both sides of the issue, I suppose. Yes, burning a cross is about the quickest way to convey an entire encyclopedia-set of meanings all at once. Not only to your victim, but to everyone else who sees it, and knows you lit it. Positive messages they ain't, folks, but they're messages - bad messages, and bad reminders of a bad time when otherwise good people did horrible things because they didn't understand. Excuses? Perhaps. Excuse them? Not on your life.
On the other hand, we have now afforded the cross a special legal standing which it should not have. Are we going to pass laws to insure that burning a Star of David receives the same protections? We had better, or the Anti-Defamation League will howl anti-Semitism, which is, I guess, what it could smack of.
Or when I go camping and pound in an iron stake, and set a steel arm across it in the bracket - it looks like a cross. Will I be taken to jail? Sure, it doesn't light, but I'm burning around it - isn't that a finer distinction than "well, I was trying to light the cross, but I couldn't..."
How about the new church down the street with the symbol that starts like a square base, then it's got a couple of angles, see, and then this top thing gets all poofy ... Do they get special protection for their "Schmoo" because the cross has now attained special protection?
Or worse yet, the Masons - say I drop a couple of sticks on a fire, they land in an unfortunate configuration, and a visiting high-Order Mason decides not only to put a hex upon me (Kidding, just kidding, folks), but to also take the case to court. Can't the Masons then sue under discrimination, as their symbols are not as protected as other groups?
Growing up where I did and when I did, I was, or so I though, far removed from such types of prejudice. After all, we didn't have anyone other than pasty beige at all anywhere I could see. But just a few years before I was born, as the local community got ready to "welcome" the first Roman Catholic church, a number of cross-burnings took place in Sartell.
Sure, it's intimidation. Sure, it's horrifyingly threatening. But it's also inconsistent. And the law is nothing if not consistent. And in this case, inconsistent interpretation of the protections of the Constitution seems to indicate that perhaps a fair amount of the American bureaucracy needs to be flushed down the toilet and we need to start over.
Radical? Probably. Necessary? Probably. Likely? What do you think?
War News
Well, I guess the good news is that if President Bush needs to rotate in a new crop of economic advisors and such, there will soon be a large contingent of folks available from the Iraqi ministry of information who can assist with getting Bush's message out to the American media. "No, really, the economy, it'll pick up steam here any time now. Honest."
Actually, I'm more reminded of certain Microsoft Public-Relations people when I see the Iraqi Ministry of Information briefings. Think about it.
| IRAQ | Microsoft |
| "We have no weapons of mass destruction." | "We have our client's interests at heart with Licensing 6.0." |
| "We will stop them at the borders." | "The percentage of Linux in the server space is falling." |
| "Iraq has a powerful army." | "Windows XP is the most secure computing environment released by Microsoft." |
| "They are pinned down." | "Our Trustworthy Computing initiative will restore the public's faith in Microsoft." |
| "Our sovereignty is being violated!" | "We're not a monopoly!" |
Scary.
Update At 1715
Don't Know How I Missed This One...
Seems Geraldo is capable of deflation after all. Then again, maybe not.
"I'm sorry that it happened and I assure you that it was inadvertent," Rivera said. "Nobody was hurt by what I said. No mission was compromised." he says. Right.
How can a supposedly intelligent human being see into the future far enough to know that his dimwitted comments would not compromise operational security?
The saddest part of the whole thing is that Geraldo is the only apparent idiot out of the entire embedded press corps. Some five hundred reporters, and he's the only one dumb enough to pull a stunt like that. Thank God for that.
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Tuesday, April 8, 2003 |
Update At 1515
Mr. Murphy
Or Seamus, as I call him - we're such good friends that we're on a first name basis. He calls me "hey, a-hole, bend over, will ya?" And I reply "it's a shame yer Irish."
Seamus. Easy to see how I got that.
The back right brakes on the car started making a funny noise the other day. Couldn't figure out what it was, until I recalled "gee, the front ones made the same noise just before I changed them..." Duh.
Off to NAPA this morning for rotors and pads, and then to the other end of the street to the other auto parts store (Checker) for the vacuum pump (looked seriously at the small one, decided I didn't know how it worked, and went with the big one), and while I was there I literally stumbled over an el-cheapo floor jack and jackstand set. Since I was looking at building jackstands out of 2x4s (no, not very smart, am I?), this made more sense.
So, Thursday is the Day. I'll come home from getting Jack, put the car up on the stands, and do the right rear first. Eventually, all four wheels. But this way, I can make sure that I get the worst one first.
As much as I'd like to say "The Squeak Wheel Gets The Grease" I certainly do not wish to repeat the mistake of Spider Robinson's protagonist in the Callahan's series.
Humor
Apparently, science has finally been able to determine just exactly what the male brain looks like when active. Please, don't click the link when your boss is looking over your shoulder or the kids are around to ask "what's that?"
You have been warned.
Update At 2030
Troubleshooting...
SYMPTOMS
So, the new phone (A Kyocera SmartPhone with integrated Palm Pilot - it was on mega-clearance) arrives. I go to the Verizon store. "Sorry, we can't transfer numbers directly - gotta be the same manufacturer." Lovely. About 70 numbers to be shifted. By hand. How fun.
So, I come home, grill dinner (Steak Chunks and Brat burgers), and the kids help clean up. Then I went to the counter in the kitchen where I plug in my phone. I grab the charger...
What are the four rules of troubleshooting?
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Wednesday, April 9, 2003 |
Update At 1030
Moral Dilemma
Here's one for you.
You're on your daily walk. You're walking your normal route, through your normal neighborhood, where you've walked all winter long, off-and-on. You're in your coat. It's a bright, clear, cool, windy morning. Everyone's gone off to work or school or the insane asylum, whatever, and you're walking along the street.
You see a $5 bill. It's about five feet off from the street in someone's front yard. It's caught in a small shrub right now. It's right there, where you can see it, and grab it. Moreover, it's right there in broad daylight, and there's no guarantee it won't blow away.
No one's around, outside, watching you. You've no idea who might be watching from inside, but no one's around on the outside. What do you do?
No, I'm not going to tell you what I did. I'm not going to give you the option of shaking your head and saying "stupid thief" or "too honest". What would you do?
Baghdad, Iraq, USA
Well, aside from the fact that Iraq could replace Texas in our nation as home of sand, dust, oil, and the like, it seems that, other than mopping up (and we know there will be plenty of that), the war in Iraq is for all intents and purposes, over.
I wish I'd had the balls to note what happens when Bullies get punched before the war started. But the truth of the matter is that when there's a bully behind you, and a 155mm Howitzer in front of you, and you're being told to make a choice, you tend to err on the side of the guy with the biggest weaponry. And, at the moment, that's us - as in The United States, Britain, and other associated nations in the "coalition of the willing".
We're not done yet, not by a long way, but the heavy lifting seems to be out of the way.
Now, if we're smart, we'll start by taking those people who are dancing in the streets, and asking "who's in charge here?" Have them report to the military commander in charge of the area, and have a chat. Have the Iraqi Civilian work with the American occupying troops so we can start to rebuild their military to defend themselves, and then put them to work policing themselves fairly, setting up a constitution, fair and open elections, and then get out of there.
Now comes the fun part. As "conqueror" the United States and it's allies are responsible to rebuild what they broke, and pay for what they destroyed. Fair enough. It's the old slogan "you break it, you bought it". We co-opted the duty to enforce the United Nations resolutions when the rest of the U.N. was unwilling (never mind the fact that our leadership reacted like a couple of hyperactive four-year-olds - "I want it NOW! Don't Wanna Wait!"), so now we have the responsibility for putting the pieces back together.
And, I suspect, we'll also have the duty to prevent France from sending "competent administrators" to take over and screw themselves tightly into the framework of a new Iraq. Let's face it, if you're unwilling to accept the duty, don't expect to have any of the responsibility.
Cell Phone Update
Yeah, you guessed it. In regards to the cell phone, I failed to even start the "duh" checklist. The charger was unplugged. In my defense ... I have no defense. I am an eye-dee-ott. I could plead distraction, etc., but it just ain't working. I'm an eye-dee-ten-tee problem (write it out, using the letters - I, D, and T, and the number 10. You'll get it. If you don't, then you'll know just when the lodge meetings are. And I'll save you a seat).
I suppose I share the victories, I should share the dumbshit moments as well.
Speaking of Victories, I've updated Daisy's page with more pictures, just in case anyone cares. And yes, I'll get around to thumbnailing that page RSN.
Update At 2200
As God Is My Witness
I swear to you that I never, ever would have brought that dog home had I known.
She seemed a perfect lady and all. Polite. Well-behaved. A little noisy at times, but that's all right if it's in defense of one's home. Certainly we've had no issues with surprises in the house, and she's been a delight (of sorts) to feed, in that she never slops it all over the place.
I'm telling you, though, that given her long history of licking certain portions of her own anatomy, etc., has totally, utterly, completely ruined her for our family.
Why, you ask, have I suddenly taken a pathological dislike towards my dog? Why this sudden change, this violent turn in mood from "Good Girl" to "my God, it's defective!"
She likes pickles.
At least, the ones that come on Pizza.
All right, all right, I suppose I should be more forthcoming. We used a coupon tonight - Wednesday being "get in, get out, get on with it" night around here with Rhiannon's choir practice starting at 6:30 pm, we have little time to prepare a proper dinner. It's usually "fast and furious" rather than "balanced and nutritious". Hey, we do the good stuff at least five other days of the week - gimme a break, OK?
Tonight we were most fortunate. Discovery of a coupon, excessive percentages off (as in half the order free), and the like, combined with speedy delivery got us dinner in 20 minutes from call to delivery (yes, indeed. In the future, if you need Pizza, call Pizza Man. No guarantees he'll get it to you as quick as he did us, but boy, it worked).
We ordered a half-bacon-cheeseburger/half-canadian-bacon-and-pineapple pizza (don't laugh, it's not my fault - I like decent pizza - it's some of the other members of the household who put fruit on a tomato sauce base to be baked in an oven - and no, there is no accounting for some people's tastes - she married me). Sadly, the Bacon Cheeseburger half came with, yes, you heard me correctly, pickles. And no, they couldn't be decent and slap the buggers on over the cheese, oh no. The damned things were in between the mozzerella and chedder cheese layers. Thick, ripple-cut green funky slabs of ... well, pickles. I can come up with no more insulting term than that mostly because I can't stand pickles.
Aside from pickles on a pizza being an abomination unto God (and Saddam, if my reading of government direction on the current devil is to be believed), there is no decent human being in their right mind who would put pickles on a pizza. That's about the equivalent of adding pickles to a plate of Chicken Chow Mein and calling it a Chinese Sweet-and-sour Chicken entree. Don't laugh. I've seen it. Fortunately, not twice.
Regardless, dinner consisted of me picking off at least a pickle and a half for every piece of pizza I had (and no, no proper wedges here - little squares, about 2 inches or so on a side).
Having accumulated a proper pile of pickles on my plate, I noticed the dog's sad-eyed glance up at me. Figuring I'd show her not all that was on the table was good, I offered her a pickle. She ate the damned thing. And looked happy about it.
Incredulous, I offered her another. She ate it. I fed her about twenty pickles (did I mention that, as a family, we are united in our hatred of pickles?).
Of course, now she's laying in the living room, barking from the other end, and glaring at me. "How could something that tasted so good be so bad for your tummy" her look seems to say. I checked, and pickles do not seem to be one of those things you shouldn't feed the dog. Then again, if they willingly eat kitty tootsie rolls, I have my doubts about the relative sanity of the beast to begin with, let alone claims of "gastric upset". Cat shit is good, but chocolate can kill? Oh, thank GOD I'm human...
Anyway, with Daisy in the state she's in, I'm contemplating leaving a window open. I should have known that relative intelligence notwithstanding, we all do stupid things from time to time.
But pickles? Come on.
I mean, she loves peanut butter, and bacon, and liver, and ... Hold the phone. Pickles, peanut butter, bacon, liver...
I'm fairly certain we're safe here, but just in case ... Just exactly where would one look to determine if a dog has been properly spayed?
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Thursday, April 10, 2003 |
Update At 1030
Welcome to Thursday
Or, as we call it here, Brake Day. Yeah, I'm thrilled, but one never knows WHAT one knows until one flies solo, as it were. We'll see what I've learned.
On other fronts, a project that I was 80% completed with for a client was being questioned by others at the client's firm. I sat down to prepare a document noting what we looked at, what we evaluated, and why we chose to go the direction we did. And in the end, I discovered that a number of products which were not cost-effective or appropriate last year are suddenly very, very good fits for what we're trying to do. So, rather than pad my own work out and keep making money, I called and let him know. And there goes a decent amount of billable hours in the coming month, but they'll get the protection they need.
So it goes on the consulting front.
Last night's dreaded "April 9th, Report Cards come home" business wasn't at all bad. Rhiannon improved in one or two areas, but otherwise, stayed the same (which is nice to see after last year's third-quarter slump, and she's above average anyway), but the real surprise was Jack. He improved by two or three levels (I won't bore you with the misbegotten evaluation systems they use in grade school - my kids have two different ones with marks that include (I think I've got this right) N, I, S, G, and E, and then there's the other portion where they mark it on -, /, +, *, and @, if I have the system right) in his worst areas, and maintained across the board. His worst grade this time around was "knows and follows school and classroom rules" - He got an I, for improving, which I think is what every kindergartener does.
So the kids did well.
Elsewhere, it's unlikely that Daisy is pregnant, though I'm still wondering. This morning, on our walk, she got tangled around some mailboxes. Only the second time she's done that. But somehow, it spooked her, and with a shake of her head, she was out of her leash. Not good. I grabbed her, put the collar back on, and for the remainder of the walk (it happened about 1/3 of the way through) she never went further than four feet from me (that's the head, the rear was significantly closer), until we got to the neighbor's house with the Shitzu who thinks she's queen of the neighborhood. And Daisy actually lets her get away with it.
And no, for the record, no ugly surprises this morning. An empty doggy bowl, which means she got hungry in the night, but other than that, nothing major.
Moral Dilemma, Part II
All right, I'll fess up - I didn't grab the money.
Why not, you ask? Simple - it wasn't mine.
If it had been in the parking lot, with no one else to claim it, I would have taken it. But in someone's yard, I figured that it was theres.
So I took a rock from their garden (medium one, 2-3 pounds), placed it on their front step with the money underneath, and kept walking.
Did I pass on a free lunch? Perhaps. But you know what? I was thinking about the little girl who gets on the bus down there, who might have lost her $5 for a field trip, or money for lunch, or something along those lines. Sure, it's the people who have lots of money that are careless with it, the old saying goes, but in my book, I'll sleep better knowing that it got back to the rightful owner.
Now, did it blow in from somewhere else? Certainly possible. But then I've done my good deed twice over. I gave the money to someone else.
I look at it this way. Either I gave the money back to someone who had lost it, or someone got a really nice surprise on their front step when they came home. And I felt good.
Update At 1500
Damned Brakes
Yeah, I know.
The last two times I had to do the brakes, I didn't need to worry about the rear wheels. In fact, I didn't even deal with 'em, they were fine.
So, class, can anyone tell me what happens to metal, exposed to the elements, improperly protected, and then left to sit for a number of years? That's right, rust. And does anyone have any idea what happens when there's a lot of rust on both sides? Indeed, that's absolutely correct, you have metal fusion - or in other words, the damned thing's stuck.
Two bolt and a bleeder valve, and I've sprayed two different penetrating lubricants on them (the guys at the auto shop swore they were better than WD-40), and still no joy. I've saturated, tapped, banged, and drenched. No joy, yet. Sheesh.
I'm hoping I don't need to get a whole new sub-assembly. This could get painful.
Clarification
The wife (who says she's too busy to post) says that Daisy was not barking from the wrong end last night, merely looking at her with the "they don't taste so good the second time around" look on her face. Okay, as the person who has spent more time with a dog than anyone else in the family, I defer to her greater experience.
Update At 2130
It's ALIVE...
And so am I.
After a full can of "penetrating catalyst" which also purports to stop leaky toilets and dissolve styrofoam cups (if there's a need for that sort of thing), I was able to loosen the two nasty little bolts I needed, got the clamps off, and determined very quickly what the problem was - I had no freaking pad left on the outer right rear brake. The inner pad had about a quarter-inch of wear left (considering these pads start about a half-inch thick), but the outer one was metal-to-metal.
Banging and most of a can of that stuff later, I got the two nuts removed, swapped in new pads and a new rotor, took the car for a short spin, and it worked. Feeling particularly foolhardy, I then removed the left rear wheel, removed the brake pads (more evenly worn), and replaced those as well. Why the left side sees less wear than the right when my happy butt is typically on the left side in this car, I dunno. But there you go.
So, we got the car put back together and working. Decided not to grill given the fact that my hands will likely smell like this lubricant stuff for another month or so, and that's that.
I'm pooped now, so I'm off for bed, shortly - after a shower of my very own, of course. Gotta try to get the grease out of my hair, etc...
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Friday, April 11, 2003 |
Update At ????
Oh, The Horror...
Sweaty palms. Nervous tics. Jumpy at the slightest sound. Intense observation of key equipment. Yup, for only about the second time since I moved into the house, the cable modem's down.
My friend Bubba said once that broadband would change my life. Um, no. Or at least, I was certain it wouldn't. Hadn't. Until the modem went down.
Much as I rant and rail against those who lack patience to wait for things, I'm just as bad, if not worse. I've tried
I've seen this sort of thing before. The modem will blink power for about ten seconds, then blink the Power and PC Link lights for the same length of time. Then, it will add the Cable light to the first two, blink for about 30 seconds, then go dark, starting over with just the power light.
If you folks see this, the problems are resolved. If not, they aren't. It's that simple.
Update At 2315
And there was much rejoicing...
Clearly, things worked out.
The difficulties with the modem started about 10:30 this morning - just in time for me to send off to a client an e-mail saying "hey, shoot me a reply when you've had a chance to look at this, and then we'll hook up and discuss it". Ah, dependability. Not.
However, I got lucky. They weren't in. So we didn't have to.
So that was that. And I exercised the perogative of any tech support individual when faced with an insoluable problem and the luxury of time. I waited. And it resolved about 4 this afternoon. "Shortly" my aching backside. I shudder to think what small businesses use when the internet goes down - not all of us have the luxury of dual internet connections. But if things keep up like this, I might need to duplicate my access just to get something that will work most of the time.
To be fair, I've heard that most of the DSL providers in this area consider 90% uptime to be something pretty spectacular, unless, of course, you're spending the $350 a month for a business-class level of service, which then entitles you to 97% uptime. Yup. 10 times the price for 7% more uptime. Wow. What a deal. I wonder if I offered my customers 7% more of my effort and concentration for 10 times my hourly rate. I'm thinking that most of the stuff bouncing on the street would be me...
And today's cable modem outage was really the second major notable one in a year - and the first could have been shorter, had I only thought to call earlier.
The remainder of the day was destroyed in working on the door, where yours truly did the mortise for the hinges on the bottom half of the door today, tomorrow I'm getting a countersink bit and a couple of good screws, plus a quart or so of stain, and the door, final stages, starts. The ultimate goal by the end of tomorrow is to have the bottom half ready to hang on Sunday. Both hinges attached, both sides stained, the top ready to be affixed, and life, as they say, will be good. Yes, I'm doing the door in two halves. The bottom is by far the more complex, with a cutout, banding that goes around the opening, a curtain and trim that is also attached, then we follow with the top flat portion which has to be modified to cover the door's unusual characteristics (essentially two eighth-inch sheets of plywood over inch-and-a-half thick chipboard).
So that'll be fun. Possibly, in there, the outside water will go on, the car will get washed, the driveway hosed off, and the garage banged into some semblance of order for future projects (like refinishing a dresser).
No rest for the wicked - nor I.
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Saturday, April 12, 2003 |
Update At 2310
Every which way ...
Otherwise known as "A Lazy Saturday with Nothing Planned". Yeah. Right.
The phone rang this morning about 10:30 am, with the mother of the other young lady in our choir car pool. She was just checking to see if we were planning to do the typical car-pool arrangements. Well, yeah, especially since I thought it was only about 9, and practice started at 11...
So, Ann did the car pool start, then we ran down to Menards for a drill bit and screws. And returned with wood stain for the door, as well. Then we rushed out to get a new dog brush (the old doggie brush being destroyed in a small tangle on Daisy's back, which was, I suppose, my fault), and found a clearance where Rhiannon got her Easter dress (the rest of us will make do with what we have). Then we passed Home Depot, PetSmart (since we couldn't find the appropriate brush at Target), then back home. Lots and lots of running, mostly, with little to show for it. But that's Saturdays, these days.
This evening, I undertook a project that had been long in the planning stages (well, I'd planned it for many months, but it finally took shape today), and I installed lights on the deck. Fun fun fun. Pictures tomorrow, but it was fun. And yes, I've got the door, early church, grocery shopping, and a 5 pm consulting appointment. Yeah. No rest for the wicked nor weary, I guess.
My problem is trying to figure out which one I am.
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Sunday, April 13, 2003 |
Update At 1320
Holy Week
Hmmm. Friday the 13th come late this month.</POGO>
Well, here we go. The annual "wearing'o'the red" in church this morning signaled the start of Holy Week. The period where the Roman Catholic church commemorates the events (or legends, if you prefer) surrounding the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, and his rising from the dead three days (well, two and a half, roughly, but stopwatches were somewhat inaccurate in those days) later.
Regardless of your belief (or lack thereof) in organized religion, most faiths seem to have some positive message that resonates with the faithful. "Well, duh" you say, "If they didn't, they wouldn't last." How right you are. Look at the history of various "cults" and "faiths" that grew, flowered, perhaps even conquered for a time, then piddled out in a long slow fade to black for membership and believers alike.
I can't tell you what makes the current "established" religions great - or successful - or semi-permanent. I can tell you that there's something within me which finds the whole question of faith deeply satisfying. Not the belief part, but the "why believe" questions we find ourselves asking.
Some people believe that the faith they hold is the one true faith. Some others believe there is no one true faith, but many aspects to a divine being. Others hold there is no existence beyond the one here. I don't know. I can't, and I won't, for some time yet. But eventually, I'll find out. I'm in no hurry to leave here, so I'll hang out as long as here will have me.
Once the original equipment (and various suitable replacement parts) wear to the point of repeated failure, I'm sure my number will come up, and I'll get to ask those questions I want to know the answers to. Whether or not I'll care about them anymore, who can say?
I know, though, that my version of a just and peaceful reward for this life would be one free from worry. I worry now more than I did before September 11th. I worry more now than I did before July 22nd, 2002. I worry more now than I did two months ago. And I'll keep worrying.
The good news, though, is that it seems pretty clear that our "war" in Iraq is coming to a close far faster than most people (including myself) would have believed. Again, the coalition casualties were minimal. The Iraqi casualties are ... well, their figures are suspect, at best. Certainly, civilians have died. Certainly, some were killed as "collateral damage". But some of their figures are likely to be pure fiction.
So it goes.
I've got a friend who will soon deploy to Kuwait - to help with the cleanup. Lord knows there will be plenty of that. And once that's over, he'll get to worry about what he cleaned. At least that will be in this country.
So, here we are at the front door to Holy Week. Hope yours is good.
Update At 2145
"Good Old Days"
I hope many of you will forgive me as I wax a bit nostalgic about the local landmarks I rode past today.
I had a consulting client in the north end of town that needed attention. Well, honestly, what they needed was a bit of education and a newer computer, but that wasn't happening today. But on the way home, I went past the apartment complex I'd lived in fourteen years ago now (wow I'm old), and boy, was that odd.
I lived in a complex that's now called (I think) City Gables. Right off of Larpenteur Avenue in Falcon Heights, and near what I once thought was the worst intersection in the world. You see, Larpenteur empties onto a little chunk of highway called 280. "Empties" is perhaps a generous description, as you make a full two-hundred-seventy degree donut (you start out headed west, and end up heading south. Rather than a simple left turn, you make the whole thing right turns). What's so freaky about it, you ask? Well, this donut is probably smaller than my yard. It's a tight oval, and there's little room for you to negotiate.
I used to go four or five miles out of my way to avoid the Larpenteur-to-280-to-94-to-35W South transitions - I'd head north, get on 35W, and avoid all of that garbage to go ten miles to work in Southdale Mall.
Tonight, I whipped through that little slice of hell like it was nothing major at all, really. Sure, it's Sunday night traffic, but it was a nice chance to look back at where I was.
On the other parts of the day, best if I said nothing. Trying to speed up a Pentium II/400 Mhz (tops) with 96 Mb RAM by adding a 40 Gb hard drive isn't really an effective upgrade. Frankly, they need to move the necessary stuff off the 3 Gb internal drive, pull the 40 Gb, and put it into a sub-$500 special they pick up at Best Buy or Sears or wherever.
But that's the nature of the computer business.
And in other local news, I see that the Minnesota (skating) Gophers won the Hockey version of the Final Four, and the locals celebrated as college kids do everywhere once a championship is attained by embarrassing their fellow students, and the athletes who earned that championship, by trashing a neighborhood, burning cars, dumpsters, looting stores, and getting arrested. Gee. Who needs to go to Baghdad for looting and violence, when you can go to the University neighborhoods like Dinkytown and get it locally. No wonder the travel industry is suffering.
Elsewhere, we insured that by the end of the month we will get our twenty inches of missing snow by removing the hoses from the shed today. In my defense, it was nearly eighty degrees (over, in western portions of the state), and we're drier than ... well dry, frankly. We'd have green stuff, like grass (or as known in my house, that part of the outside where Damnedelions grow), if we had water. Which is a bit like saying "If I had cheese I'd have a Cheeseburger if I had a hamburger."
Of course, later this week, lows are projected to hit the upper twenties. Highs might drop to forty. And inconveniently, the only shot at moisture we have in the next week is, you guessed it, the same days.
Well, that's enough blathering. My day started too early, but with the news that we've managed to find seven more of our missing people in Iraq, so that's a good one. Now we wait to see what tomorrow brings. For Daisy, it'll be food - poor girl's already wondering what she's done to earn our wrath, taking her bowl away. Sorry, honey, but the Vet said no food after 8 pm for a girl getting her teeth cleaned. Especially for a girl with teeth that could take the vet's arm off...
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