Update At Once that started, the wee voice in the back of my head said "well, let it get to a right giant pile of messages to read before you process them. Say, 500." And so there we go. Come new year's weekend, and I was nearly at 380. Then a curious thing happened. The numbers stopped climbing so fast. The chimpanzee portion of my brain said "well, freaking duh - if you don't catch up on them right away, you'll avoid reading duplicates of the same message." See, I'm subscribed to multiple CNN feeds - top news stories, science and space, technology, and offbeat news. No, I avoid politics - it upsets my stomach and overall outlook. I've also got the BBC's front page (I have a sister and other friends living over there, after all), plus two local news stations, and one of the local outfits even offers a weather channel - so I'm subscribed to that as well. Overall, I have about 8 news feeds, ten "celebrity" blogging sites (like WWdN), eight other sites, a vendors list, a couple of odds and ends - in total, about 35 feeds. I've kept up with the people I regularly read, the low-volume crowd, and the like - but the news got back burnered, figuring "once it gets to 500, sell - er, read". It seemed to stabilize at about 480. I'd get close to 500, but once I cleared off the low-volume reading list, it would always end up between 450 and 480. And it has stayed there for almost two whole weeks. Daily, I'd log into that computer, check the updates... and notice there still wasn't the 500 limit. I'd turn my back and get to work. This morning, I scrolled the list sideways (usually I don't), and realized that four of the busiest feeds in the news block had exactly 100 articles. "How odd," I said to myself, "that they would all have exactly 100 unread articles. Unless there's a <SMACK> 100-article archive limit that I set when setting up this version of an RSS feed reader." Thank GOD I don't deal with life and death decisions. Just inventory and supply chain management.
[Link] Today a client sent me a file of data I needed to look at. He sent the native database file (it wasn't that big). Outlook says "we're protecting you from potentially deadly files." So I click on help to find out how I can open up my system and get to the file. Microsoft requires that I allow two different ActiveX Controls to run. What's the definition of "unsafe" again?
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Update At One thing I do not like about working from home is the lack of human interaction. It sure makes me productive (when stuff works), but it's kinda lonely. And the other thing - today, the puppy pooped in the house, went through two pigs ears, a rawhide chew stick, and STILL managed to destroy a manger scenery piece (the barn portion). I guess I'd have to blame it on her first experience with below-zero temperatures - and ours, too. Oh well. We're used to it.
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Update At Last night on the news, they had a little graphic which truly surprised me. Our average winters going back over the last 110/120 years of reliable record keeping around here shows that we average 29 days a year with below-zero readings (sometimes that's just a low, once in a while it's a below-zero high). In 2000/2001, we had 34 days of below-zero readings. Why did they mention it on the news last night? Well, last year we had 6 days. Year before, 4. That's it. I know that many people say "well, it's normal climate change, NOT global warming caused by man." Fine. Whatever. We've spent well over 200 years pumping God-only-knows-what into our atmosphere primarily to produce PROFIT. What are we doing about cleaning up our mess? Sheesh. Well-educated, well-intentioned people who insist that we don't need to do anything, or that we should wait a while - they drive me nuts. But there's not enough time in the day for me to allow for that. Fortunately for all concerned. So now that I've used up about 2/3rds of my lunch break typing this, I'm gonna go make myself a salad and a peanut butter sandwich, and go back to work.
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Update At I stood in the kitchen, lost in thought, while my children cackled, giggled, and generally pointed and abused me. While I am considered the champion in that department around here (as are all fathers, everywhere, I guess), my son has on numerous occasions left me wondering if the boy should be hospitalized - after all, a blast as big as some of his should have shrapnel. As far as most odious, I have ceded that title to the newest member of the household. Charlie (the cat) and I used to vie for the honor, but once Lily arrived here, she pretty much retired the trophy (and caused a few painted surfaces to wilt, my wife to suffer a coughing fit, and both Jack and I to leave the room crying it stank so bad - and of course the damned dog followed us, wanting to play - it was like trying to run from a toxic cloud. Except you can drop the "like"). I know a champion when I smell one, and I certainly don't want to compete for the trophy in a building that I have every intention of living in for at least another 30 years. Especially one with any sort of pourous materials in it. This morning as the children were getting ready for school, I was in the kitchen. Jack was doing something in the living room and I loudly announced "TWO!" He looked for a minute, confused, then his face lit up and he fell over cackling again - as did his sister. This afternoon, once the kids were home, I was working, and ... well, "three" made it's presence known (more by audible signal than olfactory warning), and I announced it. Again the children are giggling. I guess I'm either going to have to bite the bullet and crank out at least three more today just to get to the low end of the range, or face facts - I'm below average. I really don't want to risk heading into the midrange at this point in the day - and the laundry cycle. The potential downside is ... well, just horrific. I'll leave it at that. Maybe I can talk Ann into having baked beans with dinner - then I can at least work on getting back towards average tomorrow... Or I'll just have to make a batch or two of Chili this weekend. God help the neighborhood.
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Update At My wife and I regularly have a similar disagreement. Seems Ward happened to pick up the phone when the second-lowest form of life on the planet (a telemarketer) called, representing a newspaper. Now, aside from the fact that I think that telemarketers have yet to prove that they should be given the legal protections extended to the human race (such as no hunting season on the species, and it being illegal to run one over with your vehicle, etc.), I think Moogie's being just too damned hard on Ward. You see, as a male and head of household, like myself, Ward sees telemarketers for what they are - an absolute waste of resources, and a threat to my way of life. I know that some people take up the job as a way to make money. I also know that prostitution, while illegal, would be a more honorable occupation. Telemarketers are a threat to our families. If I were interested in purchasing whatever it is that this sadly misguided former sperm wished to sell me, I could damned well find it myself - after all, this is the age of "The internets" where we have things like "the google" to find stuff. If I have not found it, asked for it, or inquired about it, why are you, oh giant pile of dung that has developed linguistic skills, wasting my time when I am not interested in it? And if it is something so newly developed, revolutionary, and utterly unique so as not to exist out there yet, what in the holy name of Christ Himself makes you think I wanna be your beta tester? I work in technology, fine example of why some mothers should eat their young - my every FREAKING DAY is awash in "beta" - even if it is not so labeled - why would I want to add to that nightmare? I mean, when Jesus walked the planet, yes, he had to poop. Doesn't mean I'm going to enshrine crap because it came from a divine sphincter. Poop is, after all, poop. As for the manners used to dispose of the telemarkets who call, I simply submit to you that I only subscribe to the philosophy "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Were I an asshole who walked up to you, started talking in the middle of your conversation/TV show/chores/whatever, I would expect no less than a rude response from you saying "look, dipwad, leave me alone, I'm not at all interested." Treating impolite people with polite and civilized behavior does not work - this has been proved time and again. When they barge in, and you say "no thank you" and they keep talking, there are only two remedies - neither of which is, at the present time, considered legal - or nice to do in polite society, and, I suppose, eventually expensive in terms of either 2x4s or ammunition (unless you get to be a good shot, in which case you can merely note that you're keeping in practice, I suppose).
For those that care - my typical conversation is as follows:
ME: Hello? Before you hop on my back and start screaming at me that I am belittling the only truly American export we have left (advertising), I would remind you that my father spent over 30 years of his life (and the time that raised me) working as an Advertising Manager for - and here is where my head nearly spins at the mind-boggling combination - a Publishing Company that was part of a religious order. I have great respect for those who advertise, and promote, their products. Telemarketers, on the other hand, should roundly be stomped on, hauled out, beaten with a fork, ground to a pulp, and interred with nuclear or toxic waste as an environmental improvement. If the average human belches X tons of carbon into the air yearly, if we simply entirely eliminate an unwanted segment of the population, we could all breathe more easily. Consider if we eliminated the equivalent of the population of, say, Canada, what that would do to our natural resources? It's concern for the environment, pure and simple, folks. However, as for Ward's problems with his wife, the only - and I do mean ONLY - recourse he has is to get naked (not like that Ward, settle down, settle down), crawl across broken glass for a quarter mile, and then see if she'll forgive him. Odds are she'll yell at him for the hospital co-pay, the recovery will take months, and be quite painful - but she might have eased back from 100 to 90 on what she calls the "I'm so pissed at you" meter. Ward, in the mean time, start working those Valentines Day plans. It's a freaking WEDNESDAY this year, but if the spirit - and budget - so moves, you might wish to check out, in order,
Do it soon, do it right, and you might actually back her down to the "Sex Unlikely" on what husbands call the "oh-shit-meter". Same meter, different scale.
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Update At We were in Target today (socks and underwear - didn't get it for Christmas, so guess what we need now?). While there, it occurred to me to attempt to replace Rhiannon's boots. Her old boots (new this last fall, or perhaps last spring, I'm not entirely sure) fell victim to the Puppy Chewing Machine (I swear, it's getting to the point where I'm going to throw the damned dog a hunk of firewood covered in bacon fat every morning, and then watch for the wood chips all over the yard). So we're in Target. We're in Minnesota, the week before Winter Carnival starts. It's snowing out side. Target is a Minnesota-based company (I can see their freaking headquarters from 20 miles away in my back yard - yeah, I have to climb into the tower to see them, but I can). Did I mention it's snowing today? And Target has swimsuits all over their store. Sandals, tennis shoes, women's spring shoes. Did I mention that it's freaking JANUARY? The coldest week of the year, historically? IN MINNESOTA? AND IT'S SNOWING? I do not understand the mentality of these people. Sure, I can comprehend "we don't want to get caught with excess inventory" - but come on, people - we are at LEAST THREE MONTHS away from marginal sandals season - given that our snowiest month (lately) has been March. But I suppose you don't get to be a multi-billion-dollar company by, say, doing things INTELLIGENTLY. Rhiannon came home with boots. They aren't her favorites, they aren't cool or attractive or anything like that. They are sturdy, leather, waterproof, and should last until next July or so, when Target will, like clockwork, start selling winter gear. Morons. And speaking of, since when is it acceptable to stand for the national anthem with your hat ON? I know the people in Chicago aren't the most intelligent in the world (let's be honest - they may be the hardest working, but when it comes to brains, the bucket they get theirs from is a bit leaky - at best). But come on, people, it's the national anthem - it's not like you will freeze solid if you expose the top of your balding head for the 2 minutes it takes for some whack-job to sing the national anthem before the final home game of the season. Sheesh. Then again, Chicago's going to the Super Bowl. Ann will be wanting to watch every second of that game. Now I have to root for the Colts - I'm sorry, Brian Bilbrey, but I think the Patriots (and your cuz) have been there enough. Not that the Dolts have much of a chance of winning, but I'd sure like to see Dungy play his old assistant. Other than that, the world has been just weird lately. With Hillary, Obama, and Edwards running for President on the Democratic side, I'm not surprised that boneheads like Brownback (there's a PAC I should start - Boneheads for Brownbacks) are throwing their heads into the ring. My wife did point out, however, that by the time the election rolls around (in, dear God, two more freaking YEARS), ANY of the three (Hillary, The Bamster, or Edwards) will have more experience as an elected official in the federal government than the previous five presidents - COMBINED. So my desire for a political leader with significant foreign policy experience (we're going to need someone to mend the bridges upon which Dubyah shit) may not be likely - but we'll be in a better place
[Link] Think that your family ought to get you an early Father's Day present: the "Flatulence Filter Pillow". Yes, it's really a product (don't you wish that you thought of it?). From the NBC news site (here http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16656061 ): "Flatulence — it may cause uncontrollable giggling among kids, but for the rest us, it's no laughing matter. Now two entrepreneurs have come the rescue with a seat cushion that also *silences the sound and stanches the stink of breaking wind*." Their web site (here: http://www.gasbgon.com/home.htm ) says "Clear the Air, Not the Room". They say "You no longer have to be embarrassed by the untimely passing of intestinal gas among your friends or family. GasBGon has been designed and tested to absorb the odor and sound of flatulence. Malodorous gas is a naturally occurring event, obviously affecting some people more than others. Yet, clinical studies show that the average person produces one to three pints of gas and passes gas 14 times a day." Yes, I know that you are probably (and proudly) above average. In fact, you might want to contact them to become one of their advanced testers. And you could sign up your son Jack as a junior tester. They might even have a doggie diaper model for your dog Lily. Or you could become a distributor ("I don't just sell it, I use it!"). Think of the possibilities! Just trying to be helpful. ...Rick....
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This is not a Web 4.0 site - nor 3.0, nor 2.0 - hell, it's barely 1.0. It is static HTML code, written and refined by hand using the internet-age equivalent of bone hammers and flint knives - the venerable WordPad under Windows and Firefox (that's at least a 2.0 release, actually). So no, there are no nifty-shifty whiz-bang things here. Frankly, there's only the written word, written (mostly) by me, of things that occur to me, or thoughts I occasionally (and some will say allegedly) have, and when it's fiction, I shall be sure to alert you as such. Other than that, I shall simply inform you that here, content is King. I've been doing this not as long as some, longer than others, and, as some long-time readers will tell you, I regularly and consistently piss people off, irritate them, and expose my ignorances for all the world to see. This is me, this is who I am, and this is why I put myself here - to see if it is possible for me to ... improve mine own self, as it were, since evolution is most assuredly done with me. With that said, on to the more standard verbage - I presume we're all adults - or at least fairly mature beings - here. The opinions contained herein are mine, wholly, and do not represent those of any organization, group, or other collective of other beings / people / things / whatchamacallits to which I belong, am associated, or appear to endorse. Truth is, folks, I am one of those square pegs constantly being smashed into roundish holes. Unfortunately for me - unfortunately, for the holes, as well, as I am often more akin to the granite that comes from where I grew up than something more malleable and ... well, workable. I have sharp edges, which are, regrettably at times, revealed here. Given that I am a unique individual, and that I am a collection of opinions and such, it must be noted that you are hereby legally provided notice that you can't blame those organizations for my thoughts. Unless I'm running such an organization (which, I assure you, is utterly unlikely - I much prefer to organize and work behind the lines), those groups should not be blamed for my jerkisms. However, feel free to take your frustrations with those opinions out on me, and leave the rest of the world alone. If you do e-mail me, I freely reserve the right to publish your e-mail if I choose, ignore it at my peril, or, in certain cases of gross stupidity or clear evidence of serious colo-rectal inversion (that's head in your butt for those of you without bigger dictionaries), add you to my kill file. Please do not take it personally, nor as a sign of your unique value to my world - my kill file is not exactly empty. You would, in fact, be joining a wonderful group (according to them) of people who dislike me and/or my opinions. We differ in that particular. As any sane being would. You have been warned. And Thank You for visiting.