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Update At Today is, in no particular order,
Yes, I know, busy day, I should get to it. Yet the kids aren't up just yet. I find the whole "Martin Luther King Day" thing to be somewhat ... I don't know. Odd, I suppose. Growing up in Central Minnesota when I did, the occasional Italian was cause for remark and concern - we were hardy Northern European - er, Scandanavian - stock, and "colored" for us was Italian. It wasn't until the late 1970s that we got anything close to a "minority" population, when the Laotian immigration (Hmong and other Southeast Asians) started arriving in numbers. There were few black people in St. Cloud at the time, which is understandable. While my parents were, I think, a bit confused regarding racism (the one comment I can remember them clearly making was "I don't get racism, aren't we all the same in God's eyes?"), the area was fairly insular. It most likely wasn't skin color, but rather the simple "you ain't from around here, are ya?" What I do find ... well, disturbing about so many of the African-American leaders of today is they seem to be focused on the past rather than the future - always looking back and claiming "[fill in the blank] is unfair!" I would think that they might be better off if they spent their time working for educational and job opportunities for their children, and working to teach the young men that "being a man" doesn't mean running from responsibility. But that's just me. The more worrisome thing is today's Iowa Caucuses, and tomorrow's State of the Union speech. In Iowa, we're likely going to see that Dean & Co. will not be flying quite as high as the polls had previously indicated - which is find by me. However, we'll also see a fair amount of support for that slack-jawed flea-brained pin-headed worthless lump of flesh otherwise known as "Dick" Gephardt. Why, you might ask, do I heap scorn and abuse on such a worthy as Mr. Minority Leader the Honorable Representative from Missouri Richard Gephardt? Oh, it could be for any number of reasons, but I suppose the most critical of those is the fact that given any opportunity to campaign and show himself in a good light, Dickie shines his light instead on his opponent's mis-deeds, mis-behavior, and the like - missing a good opportunity for himself to Shut Up. These days, with umpteen web sites, talk shows, political punditry forums, and all the rest, wouldn't you expect that bad news would float to the top on it's own? Certainly I do. But wee Dickie has to shovel it up for us - how nice of him. Fortunately, Dickie is unlikely to succeed in his bid for the White House - in a choice between Bush and Dickie, I guarantee you that top section of this fall's ballot will remain unmarked by yours truly (I won't waste a vote on Ralphie-boy Nadar if he runs - though I just might consider voting communist for fun). Other than that, the political landscape is likely to be even more muddled after tomorrow, when the president who campaigned on removing the politics of fear and lies from our government goes to the Hill to shovel more fear and lies down our throats. I do very much wish Bush would do more concerts and galas and big-money fundraisers, I really do, because he spends most of the time (except at the fundraisers) with his mouth shut - which means he's not lying. Of course, that doesn't mean that someone isn't lying on his behalf, but at least he's not pulling out a new load of whoppers for us to deal with. Then again, I fully expect Bush to be re-elected. While I have little love for much of the conservative base, the amazing thing is that there are so few truly intelligent people amongst them. If you challenge the ideas they hold, the foundations crumble. The Rush Limbaugh-ites, the listeners to his radio drivel, can spout continuously, as Rush can, on a topic. When, however, you point out that the emperor has no clothes on, well, that's a problem - for them. Oh well. Four more years of conservative crap before we can get the country back into the middle - assuming the gestapo hasn't installed security guards and metal detectors between here and there. I hear the children stirring - I should get them up, I suppose, and be about my day - whatever the hell that means... Enjoy yours, I may be back later...
Update At 2030 This afternoon, the dog, who usually has a pretty strong stomach, yacked. Granted, we gave her some boiled beef bones (Ann made soup yesterday), so that might have done it - but we weren't done yet. Then Rhiannon came home from the bus stop (Mom had to work, so we got her) complaining of a headache. And yacked. Now I've got a headache. I'm not gonna yack. I am, however, very, very tired.
I Think I Owe Someone An Apology... It is the most addicting, exasperating, frustrating, annoying game I've ever played. Which, I know, isn't saying much, but there are times when I really want to stick my foot in the TV over this one. There are a number of options, including stadium races, off-road races, and dirt-track sorts of races. Most are fun, but the Enduro type are my favorite. Mostly because they aren't the stadium races where you've got four other computerized drivers bashing into you all the time. If you back off out of the pack to get your bearings and at least try to figure out how to drive the track, the computer will drop back two opponents. Just to keep you company and run into you. I think I liked computers more when they didn't employ such "adaptive" techniques... |
Update At 1530 I started this site because I wanted to ... write better, I suppose. Find a voice, I guess. I wanted to ... Be Somebody. No, that's not it. Wrong movie. Start over. I started this site because I liked the idea. A way to look back at what I did, combined with personal observations, mentally challenging myself - because no one else can make me think. I guess that part's worked out. But when I read things like stuff Dr. Harry Turtledove's The Center Cannot Hold, I get quite caught up in the work... And lose sleep cycles because of it. When I decided "time to go to bed" it was 11:30 - WTF? I was "heading to bed" about nine-ish... Of course, I laid down, turned off the television (Ann had nearly fallen asleep to caucus returns), and then the "rumbly in the tumbly" decided "you need to go. NOW." Up, out, at 'em. Of course, I'd left the book in the bathroom. Regrettably, I finished it. Actually, doubly regrettable. Now I'm done with it, and it was nearly 12:30 am. On my way back to bed I heard Jack STILL playing in his room. I closed his door. Then crashed. Which made six am awful early for me, and even more so, I'm sure, for Jack. But yelling won't get him to sleep - only him getting tired. And we've tried the run in the back yard thing and just about anything else we can think of. He'll either figure it out or become exhausted.
Iowa's Done, Thank God He's been "on the radar" around here for a while - partially due to his internet presence, and partially due to his candidacy being one of my wife's favorites. As yet, she's still in the "leaning" category. After last night, I think she's standing a bit straighter and looking at the now-front-running fellows. Gephardt, on the other hand, was a buffoon. By trying to build on his labor credentials (um, Dickie-boy, WTF were you when the manufacturing jobs made a giant sucking sound? Poo-pooing Ross Perot, I'd guess), he managed to swing into line behind him the labor leaders. What Gephardt and the labor leaders have both failed to recognize is that while labor "leaders" often try to lead, they're also regularly viewed as "part of the frigging problem" - as it were. So Labor leaders zigged to Gephardt. Labor rank-and-file zagged to Kerry and Edwards. I'm not at all sorry to see Gephardt go - his politics are the worst sort of "stick it to 'em" sort which rely more than anything on the negativity of the past. Granted, the past is about the only way you're going to be able to evaluate someone, but when all you do is tell me "he sucks" I'm going to say "thanks for the info, now, is there a third choice?" Fortunately, at this time, there's a third, fourth, and a fifth, though as you go further down the list, the ... well, let's just say "the smell test" is exceedingly unpleasant. Though I'll go out on a limb here...
You read it here first - guaranteed to be wrong, but who knows. Every idiot has his day - look at the White House. Update At 2230 Bush saying "Stay The Course" is a little bit like saying "well, I really, REALLY screwed the pooch, but I remember where all the pieces are." Right. I won't tag Bush with the economic news - I think that if we were all honest, we'd admit that the simple fact was we had a long, long boom during the Clinton years - and we were due for a bit of a bust. I do not think Bush's tax cuts have amounted to ... well, I was going to say a hill of beans, but that's not pungent enough. They haven't amounted to shit-all, frankly. If he's claiming that his tax cuts are helping the economy, that's a bit like taking credit for the "tock" in "tick-tock" - sorry, George, what goes down must come back up. I will blame his sorry excuse for a presidential ass for everything from September 11th (failure to protect the nation from harm and failure to carry out his duties as commander-in-chief). I will blame him for five hundred (and likely more) dead in Iraq, in a useless war that didn't need to be fought. I will blame him for ignoring the "birth" of the most unstable nuclear power on earth - North Korea. I will blame him for wrecking any good will we might have engendered after the 9/11 attacks. Most of all, I'll blame him for being a lying, thieving bastard. He's pro-life, he says - and pro-death penalty. Sorry, George, you gotta be one or the other - anything else is a lie. He's an honest man, he says - who lied to us about weapons of mass destruction. He's a good man - who counts among his friends people who steal, cheat, and figure they're gonna get away with it. Is anyone else out there actually thinking about what this guy did? Several years ago, we had the spectacle of impeachment - not because the President put his wee willie where it wanted to go, no, but because the President lied, under oath, about putting his wee willie where he wanted it to go. So, in this country, we're seriously, seriously screwed up. We'll impeach a president for lying about sex, while we'll let off without comment a lying bastard who gets us into a war with another sovreign nation - one that had been allowing inspections for weapons of mass destruction - and then we find out that they didn't have any WMD after all. And we find out that this jerk lied about his evidence.... Personally, were I Colin Powell, I'd kick his ass and then resign. While Powell may be - or have been - an honorable man, continuing down the tubes with this idiot isn't the smart - nor the honorable - thing to do. I'm still trying to figure out, though, why we'll happily impeach Clinton for lying and not Bush. Oh. Never mind. I just figured it out. It's called "Congressional Majority." Ah. As in, if you're in power, you can do what you like. How nice. I'd emigrate, but Canada's too bloody cold for me, and Mexico, well, I can't speak the language. |
Update At 2215 This one? This morning brought the latest case in point - on the radio this morning I heard of a fellow in the Winston-Salem area who insists that he has the right to put the Ten Commandments on display because they're the basis of this country's beliefs. A little Google-sleuthing led me to Mr. Vernon Robinson who is, I'm sure, a good, upstanding man - with half the brains God gave a rabbit - or less. Now, let's first dispose of the facts as noted in the CNN Article. Mr. Robinson, a City Councilman who is running for Congress, just put up the monument because he didn't know the procedure? If he doesn't know the procedure for getting approval for a monument IN HIS OWN CITY, which he is AN ELECTED REPRESENTATIVE OF, why in the hell should he be elected to Congress, where there are many more rules? Or does he think to flaunt them with equal impunity? Secondly - this man spent, what, $2000 on the monument? No, he didn't. He spent $2000 for national publicity to get all the fine folks from around the country to donate to his congressional bid. Sadly, he's using religion, rather than what he believes in or stands for, to do his fundraising. Then again, many people who lack principles hide behind religion. Mr. Robinson, like the Alabama ('scuse me, do I hear banjos?) Supreme Court Justice whose name escapes me now (fortunately, he's been bounced from the bench, so we don't have to worry about him until Bush appoints him to some job in the justice department this summer - yes, I know it's Roy Moore) is trying to frame the political system in this country in terms of a religious battle - and, frankly, I'm surprised that someone running on a Republican ticket - pro-gun, pro-death penalty, and all the other things that the Republicans stand for - can say "And yes, I'm a believer in the Ten Commandments as well!" Let's take a look at this supposed basis for our political system.
Then again, if it had been a Talmud, or part of the Koran, put out there in front of the city offices, would everyone be happy? Why not? I submit that, based on scientific proof, they're at least equally as valid as Christianity. Or is it that these numbskulls want to be seen as being pro-Christian so they can quite obviously avoid being identified as Jewish or Islamic? Hmmm?
BRRRrrrrr... This morning we had temps over twenty degrees - the wind, however, has decided that's entirely too warm - especially since tomorrow we start the Winter Carnival. So it blew in here this afternoon, shoving chairs across my deck and rolling the entity formerly known as "The Christmas Tree" across the back yard. Not far, but given the amount of work I had to do to get it out there, plenty far enough for just wind moving it. Tonight they're expecting windchills in the -20 to -40 range - which probably means that we'll get "old style" wind chills of -50 to -70. What's that? Old versus new? Ah. Last year, the Weather Service (at least locally, I don't know about nationally) changed their method of windchill calculation. Previously, they had an anemometer - er, wind-speed indicator - mounted about ten feet off the ground at the weather station. This, in theory, allowed them to measure the wind "in the worst conditions". That means that it got plenty of straight-line winds (the weather station's out at the airport), and that meant colder temperatures. Now they've switched to a lower, partially shielded method to measure wind speed, which usually means fifteen to thirty degrees (or more) have been taken OFF the scale. So, Brrrrr... |
Update At I spend a fair amount of time agonizing over today. What it means, or should mean, to me and my family. On the one hand, had abortion been an acceptable alternative, I have two friends who might not have had families. I may not be married to my wife, who might not have been here. I saw a video for a song by Kenny Chesney yesterday - something like "It's my life" or something along those lines. Starts out with a father looking out the window, then cuts to a girl in a car. Then flips to a couple of kids - a boy and a girl, and the words of the song let you know right off that the football player and the girl (perhaps a cheerleader, you never do find out) have "a problem" - "how am I gonna raise a kid when I am one?" is one of the lines. At the end of the song it shows the boy and girl, now twenty-plus years older, and it's somehow turned out all right. Wouldn't it be nice if that was guaranteed?
"Blind Links" Back when I started these pages, I used FrontPage. I started using "highlight" tags for things I thought were noteworthy - but I also did like Dr. Pournelle, and included a list of those things up top. While using FrontPage, there was a nice dialog box that popped up when you wanted to insert a link. It gave you a place to type in (or paste in) the URL, along with a list of targets within the current page. Being an anal (as in retentive, you sick, sick puppies) person, I wanted my "highlights" to stay organized. So I got into the habit of making sure the tags would sort properly. My "individual day" tags started with a number, then the day of the week - 1MON, 2TUE, 3WED, and so on. When I started inserting highlights, I used 1MON_Interesting and 1MON_Stupid and stuff like that - but those wouldn't sort in text order. So I found myself doing 1MON1INTERESTING, 1MON2STUPID, and so forth. It was clumsy, but it worked. After a while, I realized that me determining what's worthy in my work is the equivalent of the Hollywood movie producers acting as movie critics. I stopped doing "highlights" because there were often not too many of 'em around.
Since Mr. Hellewell is concerned that I should have internal links, I'll start the following "conventions" around here - like I've seen in the blogging software, I'll insert a "[PERMALINK]" text label, which you can right-click on, and get to the actual "target" of the link. In the case of the above, I'm linking to the top of this particular section. Does that help, Rick? When you right click, it will expand the "relative" target I've inserted into a "fully qualified" URL you should be able to use. Will that work? |
Update At 1300 MoveOn.Org was founded by a group of admitted liberals back when Clinton was undergoing impeachment. They felt that the proper thing to do was to congressionally censure President Clinton and ... move on. The people who started the organization didn't intend to start one - but they did. Some months back, they put together a rather diverse group of judges who sat on a panel and reviewed several THOUSAND submissions for a thirty-second ad spot. The idea behind this was to get political advertising that didn't come from any zip code within Washington DC, or any brains based there. The idea was to see what sort of talent existed outside of Washington. And yes, to "Bash Bush" as some of you will no doubt be saying. Well, considering he's the first president to preside over a net job loss during his term, considering that he's a president who presided over the worst intelligence "failure" that ever existed (and I put "failure" in quotes because there's more than a little speculation that those fine folks in the White House were seeking some way to galvanize the population towards their way of thinking - and a "Pearl-Harbor-Type Event" was what was they needed - they said), and considering that he's putting pressure on even the little-known economics group that determines the beginning and end of a recession, so he could move the start of the recession up to when Clinton left office - not that it makes any difference whatsoever. If you can't avoid an accident, it matters little what sort of flopping and gaffing about you did beforehand - it matters how you stand up for and take responsibility after the fact - and this smacks very much of "it's not my fault, blame him!" Move On's contest resulted in an ad (not the best one, in my opinion, but good) which they then tried to place in the Super Bowl. Whoops. More facts. The Federal Communications Commission, or FCC (otherwise known as Bush's media-conglomerating lapdogs) has been working towards a rule which would allow all networks to grow larger - CBS and FOX are the ones that are currently most hampered by the rule. And CBS's parent, Viacom, has given boatloads of money to the Republicans - and very little to the Democrats. Now, of course, the Super Bowl ads aren't cheap. Not even close. At $2 million for a 30-second ad, I can assure you that I could find plenty more than thirty good things to do with $2 million - but when you are the eight hundred pound gorilla who has all the bananas, the rest of the monkeys have to beg - that's just the way it is. I wonder how some of the people in charge of these organizations can look themselves in the mirror - given that they've enabled a group of people who have enacted laws which make the word "draconian" seem a little weak. Secret jailings, no access to counsel, don't bring an almanac to the airport, don't joke about a bomb, don't question the competence or motives of the government, or you'll disappear so fast it's not funny. I don't care if you've been in this country for forty years, and led a clean life for most of it - if you've got an unpaid parking ticket, you'll be jailed and deported if you're a foreign national - just because you're a foreign national. In about fifty years or so, when we finally get the Patriot Act and the assorted detrius it brings with it repealed, I'd like to propose a statue of George Bush - about three times the height of the Statue of Liberty - to stand astride New York Harbor. And it should be placed so that Lady Liberty's torch is frying George's ass for all eternity. I don't even care what the expression is on George's face.
[link] The daily routine around the house before I started school, and during the summers, was often the same. Get up in the morning early - typically before my father (which had horribly unintended consequences, which I won't use to terrify you). I'd eat breakfast. Sometimes oatmeal (yuck), sometimes cereal (not quite so yuck, but Mom never bought the "really cool" aka "sugar-overload" cereals), more often toast - with peanut butter. I'd try, very hard, to be done with breakfast before my father arrived. Coffee, dark toast, and half a grapefruit were his standard morning fare. Problem was if you weren't away from the table in the mornings, you were still in-range. And those grapefruit could squirt. Once, I got hit square in the eye. I think it took the better part of a day before I stopped crying. After breakfast, the first up (and others) would be allowed to camp out for a while in front of the television. There were morning cartoon shows, Captain Kangaroo, and then Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. Then the TV would go off until 11 or so, when we were getting ready for lunch - then we'd watch Casey Jones and usually the Rocky & Bullwinkle show. The TV would go off again for naptime, and say off until Sesame Street, Electric Company - and then the nightly news came on. Mind you, we did lots of other things, but when you have five children all within eight years, those winter mornings could be a bear unless you had something for them to do. And so we watched TV. For some reason, the "educational programming" back then taught me a hell of a lot more than today's "educational programming" seems to. Granted, this was pre-Star Wars when George Lucas figured out how to hang his licensing on everything from glasses at Burger King to bed sheets to toys, and then some. But I regularly watched The Captain. I couldn't tell you what it was about his show - the silly antics, the skits, the different bits - but I learned to persevere from him. "Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again." I remember that tune, to the backdrop of various crashing weird aircraft and birds, and ... well, it helped to form me. There were moments on that show where I did cry - and I was embarrassed. I rembember one time getting myself wedged between the couch and wall because I didn't want my younger sisters to pick on me - but the skit the Captain had done was so very sad... Once, when I was probably in grade school, Bob Keeshan came to St. Cloud. If my memory serves me correctly, it was during the time when the fine folks running the planning division were in the process of putting up the "Mall Germain" - which meant paving over main street so people "could walk on it". In other words, "to kill off businesses". The Captain went into Fandel's department store (they're very long gone now), and came out - and ended up climbing up on a van. He reached down to shake hands. Somehow, I shook his. I'd forgotten, until today, just how bright and big his smile was. The look of sheer joy on his face to be in the middle of nowhere, practically, surrounded by what had to be at least 3500 people. And now, he's gone. God Bless You, Captain Kangaroo, where ever you are. You helped to make me the man I am today - higher praise I cannot offer.
[Link] Please - the timing wouldn't be perfect, but it would be better than nothing - keep yer fingers crossed. I could use a little luck right about now.
[Link] Target, for those of you on this planet as yet bereft of such a thing, is your basic big-box retailer. I've noticed over the years (having been in a large number of Target stores) that they tend to have a remarkable similarity of construction about them. For example, Targets are designed with most of the "infrastructure" up towards the front of the building. Offices, snack courts, photo development, customer service, pharmacy, bathrooms, and what have you end up towards the front. The rest of the store is essentially mobile furnishings which could be moved or removed with a few day's notice - and the entire place turned into a warehouse. Tonight, while we were at Target, the old "rumbly in the tumbly" started again. I've noticed it tends to coincide with occasions where I might spend money - which, come to think of it, makes sense. So while we wandered Target (or more precisely, I attempted to stick to the list, while the other parties were adding things like "oh, Monday's Silly Sock day, so I need some silly socks!" things), my stomach got less and less happy with things. Eventually, it decided it must be emptied. As is ever the case in situations like this, I was in the farthest reaches of the store - well, not really. We were actually pretty close to the front - though it FELT like the deepest darkest corner by the time I reached the bathroom. I was walking on my tip-toes, sort of, attempting to retain that which needed to be retained - at least for a few more feet. I made it into the bathroom and the first stall was closed. I moved to the second stall (which was open, thank God), dropped trow, and planted. But first, a short digression. My first vehicle was a 1973 Pontiac Luxury Lemans - a two-door, green, with white vinyl top. It wasn't my favorite, by far, but it was a nice vehicle. And, as young men are wont to do, I had used some of my money to add to the vehicle a stereo system. I'd spent some time in High School mucking about with sound equipment (in other words, yes, I was an AV geek), and I had some small experience with speaker design. Specifically, bass speakers, now referred to as "woofers". Back then the speakers tended to be an all-together design, but they were starting to come apart. Anyway, I had managed to acquire a 50-watt stereo graphic equalizer/booster (remember, this was in the day when fifty watts was more than enough to do the job), and on-sale a pair of six-by-nine Jensen speakers for my back deck. It didn't take ten seconds of looking at the situation for me to figure out that it was going to take a lot of work to remove the old speakers and install new ones. So, temporarily, I set the speakers on the back deck - and was happily surprised with the results. So I got to work with some quarter-inch plywood, and built some three-sided boxes - bottom, front, and a side (one left, and one right). I spent some time with a coping saw, fitting the wood as closely as possible to the curve of the glass, until I had a near-perfect seal. But the sound was ... worse, somehow. I then did more research, and learned that you needed air movement, not a sealed container, to improve the sound. So I trimmed a bit more wood off the sides, added a few holes near the back, and there I had it - a nearly-tight-sealed box for my speakers. It was from that experience that I learned not from books, but from practical experience, that hard surfaces provided a better sound, and that airflow was essential to good sound. Why is this digression here? Well, you'll see in a minute. Before our digression, I was about to take a seat in the Target Throne Room. Back to our story... I planted myself on the seat, and ... well, gave vent to all that had been frustrating me. What came out was, according to my watch, six seconds of ... well, not quite air (the trace elements were quite present), but close enough so as to make no difference (and to make me quite glad I wasn't in a sealed environment such as an astronaut's space suit). Seven seconds of a rather loud ... expulsion of trapped ... well, gas, I suppose. The combination of the porcelain, the typically-echoey effects of a bathroom, and the volume of air trapped beneath me combined to create a rumble the likes of which only King Kong or Godzilla may have experienced. I know I hurt after the blast, but the pain had moved quite a bit lower in the relief tube, as it were. Just as the thought "how do you spell relief? F-A-R-T" crossed my mind (yet another one of those terribly-dating-myself moments), an old, trembly voice spoke up from right next to me. "Good heavens. If I'd have farted like that, I'd have blown my balls clean off." I looked down to my left - where the voice had come from - and there were the brown polyester pants and velcro shoes - yup, only a kid out for a costume party or a man who hadn't shopped for clothes since the Carter administration would wear something like that. I stiffled a snort. I wasn't really sure yet that it was safe to breathe, to tell you the truth. Though I felt a good twenty pounds heavier... "Young man, are you OK over there?" That voice again. What's he gonna do? Come over here and give me CPR? My next thought was "how does he know it's a guy? Oh, duh, never mind, it's the men's room." I can only plead oxygen deprivation. Or hallucinations caused by ... well, self-inflicted hallucinations, I suppose. After all, I'd made the ... byproduct. Deliberately raising my voice a few octaves, I said "Fine, thanks" and then proceeded with the rest of my duties. Which, though they did not rival the Great Vent, were rather audible. It occurred to me that I was then trapped. Should I leave at once and chance running into the man in the store? What if he tosses on a burst of speed and makes it out in time to see me? Good heavens, what if it's someone I know? Or worse, someone I could end up across from a table for an interview? Oh, the horror... I sat tight. Which is both an understatement in one direction and an overstatement in another. It helped that I had more work to do than I'd thought (as it were), and eventually the gentleman in the Handicapped stall to my left got up and shuffled off. Phew. Literally. One down. I began to worry about the fellow to my right, however. Younger fellow, with relatively new Nikes. Nylon workout pants (dark blue) with the double-white stripe up the side - and not a sound from the stall next to me. Had the shock wave from the blast killed him? Or had the smell overcome him? Just as I was contemplating phoning in an anonymous tip ("dead man in a bathroom stall in Target in Savage" - er, it's 911, dummy, they'll track it - must have been the fumes getting to me), the fellow quite literally hopped up and left. No, he didn't wash his hands, either. I waited a few minutes, until I felt the coast was clear - then finished off, up, washed up, and got out. No crowds waiting outside the restroom to crown me King of the Gasbags, or whatever, no security guards looking for potential biological terror weapons, everything was perfectly normal - copacetic, as we used to say. I managed to find Ann and relayed to her my desire to leave quickly. We made a last pickup or three, hit the deli counter for sandwich meat, and then went for the checkout. I'd made the comment to Ann that the only thing going through my head since getting out of the bathroom was "It's the end of the world as we know it." We finished with the groceries, got them to the car, hopped in, and what came on the radio?
It's the end of the world as we know it. |
Update At 2355 The worst, of course, is the gleam in little Calvin's eye when his mother explains "those loud bangs? those are cannons." "Wow. In crowded concert halls." Yes, that was me in my youth. Such as it was. Other than that, Happy Birthday, Macintosh. The commercial was great, the promise was greater, the delivery? Well, so-so, I guess. Tomorrow I spend the afternoon trapped in a basement - this is, mind you, with near-decent weather outside, so I could be working in my garage, and also with the prospect of 6" of snow tomorrow night - and a high, Wednesday, of zero - if we're lucky. Ah, winter - it's back for a few months... |
Update At 2235 After that, we had the cleanup, and then the "meltdown". Rhiannon was assigned a project on Thursday - a display board, "Quadarama" (see below) or Shoebox display about a favorite hobby. The space they were to be given was limited, and Rhiannon wanted to do a more elaborate display - so "Jigsaw Puzzles" it was. I put together the board for her - admittedly late in the day (or evening), because I'd forgotten. Of course, as we were heading off to put Rhiannon to bed, she suddenly admitted she had a book report due - Monday. Er, tomorrow's Monday, that is. Okay then. We need to finish that up in the morning. But first, to report on the books, we need to ... er, read them? Okay, she reads nearly constantly - but somehow, she's a book behind. Well, not quite a book - two, actually. Well not two FULL books - she's nearly through the second-to-last, just one left after that. Okay then. Tomorrow morning she's going to finish her book report AND the "Quadarama" thing? Not. Quadarama - n. From the Greek - Quadoramai, "to confuse or frustrate persons who seek to assist you." Or something like that. What the "Quadarama" is, I guess, is a diorama in four parts - though it doesn't need to be a true diorama. It displays four facets - in this case, a favorite hobby - but is essentially a board blocked into four quadrants. Nothing fancy but the name, I suppose. And before you ask - no, I'm not doing her freaking homework for her. My daughter will soon enough be on her own, and if she cannot manage fourth grade, how is she going to manage the expectations of an idiot boss? She needs to learn how to do it for herself. I'm more than happy to provide technical assistance or give her some tools to help her succeed - I'm not going to do the work for her so she can sit back and know that someone will always come along and bail her ass out. Sorry, but my feelings on this are very strong. The sooner my children learn to do for themselves, the safer they will be in this world - and the more successful they will become. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that my parents would give me anything in the world necessary to help me succeed - so long as I could do it by myself. If it required them doing the work for me? No, Not. My father would help with my pinewood derby cars. The first one I did the paint job by myself - and it looked pretty poor - but I learned. He helped thereafter with anything requiring power tools. That was about it. Mom would help me by finding books in the rather large stock we had for me to read - would she read them to me, provide a plot synopsis, or suggest subjects for the report? No, not at all. I had to do that. When I got older, my father would turn my chicken-scratch words into typewritten pages. Partially because he knew if he left me alone in his office to type things up, it could take YEARS for old hunt-and-peck to find the letters - if I ever did (which is odd, now, because I can type much faster than I could ever write legibly (ahem), and I am a touch-typist. Well, I use primarily my thumb and first two fingers on each hand - occasionally the pinky on one or the other, and no, my hands DO NOT rest upon the home row keys - sorry, folks, they float. That's the way it goes...). When Rhiannon has to start turning in typewritten (or word-processed) homework, I'll start doing that for her. After a while, we'll change to her typing her own. By the time I was in junio high school, I was allowed to type my own. I hope she's doing rough drafts on the computer by then. Anyway, that's pretty-much that. Tomorrow's another day. Or something like that. |
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