Update At Remember when the operative word in "underwear" was "under"? Remember when you could look at something/one, raise an eyebrow, and not get slammed/sued? Remember when you could ask a question without worrying about the political ramifcations of "are you nuts?" Sure, the "Good Old Days" weren't always good. Child molesters still molested. We probably institutionalized some, and others may have been "shot while being arrested" or "shot attempting to escape." We had more sense than to take guns into schools, mostly because we didn't need them. I went through nearly all four years of high school with two or three pocket knives in my pockets. I had a short knife/tool for tightining screws, getting into my locker (it needed help), and general utility. I had a three-bladed longer knife that had a long blade, a scaler (used to flick the scales off fish), and a hook remover (which most often was used to pick up stuff that was in spots it shouldn't have been). I had a big buck knife that was probably 9" long unfolded. I was probably slightly above average in my high school - most guys only carried a small and a large knife. In junior high school, we had a quarter of wood shop. Yes, we used all sorts of high speed power tools. Band saws, table saws, jig saws, you name it. And before you used that tool, you, and every other guy of the 25 in the class, had to pass a safety test. And if you did anything - and I do mean ANYTHING foolish - the teacher banned you - to the HALLWAY. Where you sat, bored, watching your classmates work. 25 guys - that's 250 fingers, 50 eyeballs, 50 ears, and probably 6 functional brains - but no one got hurt worse than a sliver (another reason I carried a pocket knife). Once we finished that wood project, we had metal shop for a quarter. Fewer power tools, more sheet metal. 250 fingers, 50 eyeballs, 50 ears, 6 brains all survived. Then we had electrical shop - only one kid ever got tossed (That I knew about) from shop class. He wired a transformer from an outlet to another kid's metal shop stool. The kid sitting on the shop stool might have experienced the full effect of 2 amps of electricity (the numbskull doing it didn't know his electricity very well, and had dialed the transformer fairly low), but the shop teacher sent him packing anyway. No appeal. In high school, I got away with something not nearly as dumb (and far, far more "educational"). My chem partner, an older female student, had "sabotaged" my chem lab stool (the old fashioned wooden stool with the bowl tops) by filling it as far as she could with distilled water - no bubbles, no indication that there was something on the seat of the stool. I sat in it, of course. And so I waited, and waited, and waited, and made her think that I'd forgotten all about it. Then I got her back. And ended up in the principal's office. Look, I'm a fairly bright guy, but at the age of 16, I wasn't thinking all that clearly. It never occurred to me that a girl might wear those stupid white cotton painters pants with something other than white underpants (look - I was sixteen, and underwear was just plain white - that's what it was in my house, and if anyone had any color other than white, it was my father, who was an eccentric, and we shan't go there). It never further occurred to me that the incident might cause severe repurcussions. After questioning by the Chem teacher, the principal, and the school counselor, it was pretty obvious that I was either a complete idiot or good at sticking to my story. The former proposition rather quickly moved to the accepted resolution when the girl (again, a year older than me) indicated that no, I probably wasn't going for the cheap thrill that everyone else thought I was, because I was a sweet guy who had just gotten her back for her TWO soakings of my chair (I'd forgotten the first one, which I guess clearly pegs me as an idiot, as she soaked my chair twice, and I only got her back once - which got ME in the principal's office!). These days, I'm sure that the chem labs no longer contain those water bottles that allow you to squirt out water and control your delivery to produce a "bubble" that stood easily 3/16" of an inch over the rim of the chair. No, I have no idea how much water - exactly - it was, but I do know that those water bottles held a quart, and we would regularly have to fill them at the beginning - and end - of class. And you could get two chairs quite full before even worrying about having to refill. You might get three - though you wouldn't get the water tension experiment working properly (which was our standard excuse). I guess every kid looks back at their childhood and dreams of how idyllic it was. Of course, when I was talking with my father this weekend, he was scanning a picture (on a glass negative) of his late brother - who died when he was about 12. Of a disease that we easily cure today. I was muttering about the inability of the scanner (a common HP model) to focus on the writing on the front surface of the glass and the image (printed on the back surface of the glass), when it occurred to me - the little boy in the picture wasn't too much older than my own son is now when he died. We've made progress. Some of it has come at a terrible price - some of it has come at a price that nitwits are making us pay. But I need to remember that all of the "good old days" weren't, and that progress is not necessarily evil. Sometimes, it's a life-saver.
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Update At I was towards the tail end of my filling up (the part where I have to stand and run the hose myself because the designers of this fuel system were too busy playing with their own testicles to figure out why the back pressure of the fueling would cut out 4 gallons before the fuel system was FULL - yes, 4 gallons - the pump auto-shut off at $30.12, and I ended up with $39.89) when this fellow garbed in outdoor working gear came up to me. He was older, probably six foot in height, and probably well-able to kick my ass. Like that's any reason to brag. He started by congratulating me. I looked confused for a second, and he pointed at the bumper sticker I have on the back of the van which says "Defend America - Fire the Republicans." It's been on there since about a month or so before the last election. I said "Thank you" figuring he was being honest and forthright about it. He said "thanks to you, our taxes will go up, people will lose their homes, and we'll all be tracked by transponders." We exchanged barbs for a while, and I finally said "well, buddy, that's what makes America great. We have a difference of opinion, and you're entitled to yours, and I'm entitled to mine." "Yes, and yours is wrecking this country" he said as he walked away. I'm sure he is a literate man. I'm equally sure that he doesn't realize what he's supporting. In his world, it's OK for the president to lie, so long as the results are something like we wanted. It's OK for the government to place taps on our phones, read our mail, and spy on us - because it makes us safer. Me? I do not agree. I want to be left alone. If I choose to sharpen my pencils with a knife, rather than an approved sharpener that is child-safe and guaranteed not to maim, it is my right. If I slice my finger off, it is my right - and I cannot sue the company that made the knife, or the place that sold me the knife - because the damned operator is the problem. If I am sold a drill that is designed to work for drilling holes in wood, and the first time I use it it explodes and the shrapnel seriously injures me, I should have the right to find out if the drill was designed poorly, built poorly, or if there was a flaw in the operator. In my nearly 40 years of working with wood, I've only seen two tools "explode" when used improperly (one was a chisel that was being used to pry apart a stump to free a stuck wooden axe. The chisel snapped into about 10 pieces plus metal dust when hit with a sledgehammer at an odd angle - in cold temperatures. The other was an air hammer that looked ancient before it was hooked to the air hose, and just flew apart when the mechanic pulled the trigger. In the mechanic's defense, he looked stunned. Fortunately, no one was injured in either incident). But my rights go deeper than that. And I guess I figured people would understand that. But it's easy to prey on fear, and it's easy to hide behind fear as a reason for doing things. It's also not the American way. But our President doesn't understand that.
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Update At From the first time I heard "Don't Look Back" (off Boston's second album, actually), I was hooked. They were my favorite band. Others came and went, but Boston was, well, Boston. It never failed to perk me up when it came on the radio, through an MP3 rotation, or whatever. It was, well, Boston. This summer they were going to be at a nearby rock festival, and I was actually contemplating getting tickets for one day to go see them. Now I'm guessing they're going to cancel that performance. Oh well. I guess that's one more thing I'll take from the list of my life and put onto the "never going to happen" list. Beatles live, McCartney live, Lennon live, Walk on another planet or the moon, and Boston live. So far, it's a short list.
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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.