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Update At 1530 The problem with the Democrats is that they see Nader as a spoiler - which is giving him far, far too much credit. If Gore had addressed some of the issues that Nader raised, or if Gore had energized voters more, a 5% showing for Nader would have been "yeah, so?" instead of "HE STOLE OUR ELECTION!" Giving him all the free press now (I heard the governor of Michigan, a democrat, saying "Please Ralph Nader Do Not Run"), and they're back into the soup. Part of it, yes, is the old "saying the name gives it power." If you've got plenty of Democrats out there saying "I'm afraid of Ralph Nader" then you've given him two things - first, a power over your candidacy that renders it immediately ineffective - no one in their right mind would vote for a presidential candidate that they find can be easily frightened by your basic "hey, how ya doin'?" buffoon. Secondly, and more importantly, you've given him the free publicity that he needs - because his cause will be regularly short of money. I should, however, also point out that Nader's candidacy is about as independent as milk is from the cow (I'm talking "real" milk, not this stuff they put on the store shelves and call it "soy milk" or anything else). Nader will draw financial backing from rich Republicans who've tapped themselves out on the campaign limits and through just about every other method, legal or otherwise, that they can think of - and they figure supporting Nader financially will draw more Democrats or Democratically-leaning independents who will want to "make a statement" with their vote. I've never, ever, EVER made a "statement" with my vote. I don't believe in that sort of thing. Voting for a sinking ship is like riding on one. Sure, you may feel you've upheld your values and your principles - but if your values and principles are not represented in the government, then what have you truly done? Wasted a vote. I vote for a candidate I believe in that can take their values which represent mine at least in a majority of areas and make policies and programs within the government conform to those values. I vote, ultimately, for the person whom I believe would best represent my values who is electable. I will NOT spend time voting for someone who knows they're going down swinging, but will do everything in their power to make it to that magic 5% line - because, folks, 5% is where the matching funds come into play. I couldn't tell you what percentage Ralph Nader received in the last election. I know that Nader is only the latest in a twenty-plus-year-long line of "independent" candidates who are attempting to convince us that a third party can be an effective force in the Government of These United States. Candidates who are either pissed off or charismatic or rich enough, or like Nader have just enough name recognition and the gigantically enormous (yes, I know) egos to think "well, if only they could HEAR about me, they'd LIKE me." In Nader's case, the more I hear of him the LESS I like the man - I fear his foreign policy would become "well, if you're environmentally friendly and have good products, we'll like you. If you aren't, we'll pour millions of aid into your country until you BECOME environmentally friendly and make good products. Don't worry, we'll keep the money coming, you just need to get it done... Some day, maybe." As to his domestic agenda, I'm pretty-near certain he'd drive the economy into a depression that would make the 1930s look like a cakewalk - simply by stopping anything that he didn't like or didn't think was safe. It was one thing in the 1950s to point out the problem with a vehicle and say "we need something done". It's entirely another to say "you know, we're going to shut this industry down" and make it happen. Heck, even if he didn't, he'd have enough clout to force a slowdown, if nothing else. Add to that his age and physical condition (yes, I'm sure that if he and Bush had to have a footrace, Bush would win - but if Nader and Cheney had to go twice around the capitol, my money is on Nader in a heartbeat), he's a seventy year old man - I think we need someone younger and more energetic in that job. As to the third party of any stripe becoming an effective force, it would be possible, were the Democrats and Republicans more focused and clearly defined. Sadly, the only thing the Republicans stand for is the fact that they like to have a capital "R" at the beginning of "Republican" and the Democrats, well, they're similarly affected. Sure, they'll tell you that, for example, the Republicans are for smaller government. Which is why Government in all it's forms makes up something like 40% of our work force and economy. And it's grown. Show me a Republican who would vote against bringing a pork-barrel project into his district or state and I'll show you a brave person who will likely be a CEO or higher-up somewhere else in the country after the next election. The Democrats are all in favor of helping the poor - which is why there are all of these welfare and other aid programs that do things like encourage people to remain poor - because if they actually could go out, get a job making a living (not just minimum) wage, and get by, they might someday become Republicans, worried about who is going to come for their money next. Nader is no more a viable candidate than he was the last time around. He's four years older, about twenty years uglier (I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but Nader, I swear, has the kind of face that if he were truly interested in public service, he would hide - a personal attack, I suppose you'll say, and I'll say no, it's my own opinion, to which I am entitled), and four more years out of touch with the rest of us. The truth of the matter is that if the Democrats and Republicans can avoid boring us or pissing us off, Nader won't matter. If they can't (and I can almost guarantee that - it should be another certainty, like death and taxes), then Nader could become a factor. But a third party president will be about as likely as George W. Bush figuring out he's an idiot.
[Link] First, the kids... This one came with the subject "Never argue with a child" - because you'll lose. A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because, even though, it was a very large mammal its throat was very small. The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically impossible. The little girl said, "When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah". The teacher asked, "What if Jonah went to hell?" The little girl replied, "Then you ask him". (ed: And a more polite method of telling the teacher to f-off I've never heard...) A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they drew. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was? The girl replied, "I'm drawing God." The teacher paused and said, "But no one knows what God looks like." Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, "They will in a minute." (ed: Those who can, do, those who cannot, teach, and those who can do neither become art critics) A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to "honor" thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, "Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?" Without missing a beat one little boy (the oldest of a family) answered, "Thou shall not kill." (ed: Which kinda takes all the fun out of it, really... "I'm going to cause severe internal trauma" just doesn't trip lightly off the tongue when running after some sibling who just busted your chops with mom...) One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother has several strands of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head. She looked at her mother and inquisitively asked, "Why are some of your hairs white, Mom?" Her mother replied, "Well, every time that you do something wrong and make me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white." The little girl thought about this revelation for awhile and then said, "Momma, how come ALL of grandma's hairs are white?" (ed: Ba-da-bing. Thank you very much and goodnight!) The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them each to buy a copy of the group picture. "Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grownup and say, 'There's Jennifer; she's a lawyer,' or 'That's Michael, he's a doctor.'" A small voice at the back of the room rang out, "And there's the teacher. She's dead." (ed: This had better have been the kid who never speaks in class, or have a mother like Jennifer...) A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. Trying to make the matter clearer, she said, "Now, class, if I stood on my head, the blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face." "Yes," the class said. "Then why is it that while I am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn't run into my feet?" A little fellow shouted, "Cause your feet ain't empty." (ed: I can't wait until they get to the digestive system...) The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made a note, and posted on the apple tray: "Take only ONE. God is watching." Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies. A child had written a note, "Take all you want. God is watching the apples." (ed: Yes, but SISTER is watching the cookies... Although cookies do not have the unsightly bulge that comes with smuggling an apple in your pocket. Though they do tend to melt and give your mother cause to ask awkward questions ... or so I've been told). And then we have the one-liners...
[Link] I've got a leaky waterbed. As God (and you folks) is my witness, I swear I will never again buy a bed that can leak. After about seven years of constant leaks (on an admittedly cheap, eventually 10-year-old mattress with frequent abuse of the very worst kind - moving, you perverts) from our old single-bladder king-sized waterbed, back in about 1999 or so we finally bought a real "grownup" waterbed - soft-sider with separate bladders and separate heaters. It's moved only once since we got it, and has had a very, very thick top. See, our previous problems were most often with cats running across the bed with sharp claws. Said claws would get through the 1/8" (official) mattress pad and blankets and drip-drip-drip goes the bladder. So we invested in the thick top to our waterbed to make sure we'd have no more of those problems - the top of the mattress itself is nearly two inches thick even now, after nearly five years of sleeping on it. So anyway, Ann found a leak last night - or more properly, found evidence of a leak - and we decided since it was already midnight, we'd do what we could - or I would - today. So after trying an utterly worthless "roll-flat" hose (those things kink worse than a Las Vegas strip club), I went outside to get into the shed. I slipped on my boots, pulled on my coat, and trotted down the stairs. Mental note - when I become steenken filthy obscenely rich and buy the house of my dreams, the "shed" will have a concrete apron rising up to the front, and at that front I'll have doors that slide to the side, not swing out. My shed faces north, into a low spot in my yard. Which means, lucky for me, that the 16" of snow we've had on the ground for most of January and February is down to about four inches in the rest of my yard and still a foot deep in front of the shed. So I kicked snow out of the way, unlocked the shed, and grabbed a hose. I locked the shed back up, and started to realize that I had encountered "Brian's Law". I have a friend named Brian who observed, at one time, the effects of cold air on someone with a half-full bladder. You gots to go. Which I by now had to. Maybe it was the puddles in the yard, or the moisture in the air, or the liter of water I've consumed already this morning, but there it was - I had to pee. So I trotted up the back steps - followed, as usual, by Daisy - and went inside. Mindful of the scolding I took for mucking up the kitchen floor some weeks ago, I promptly kicked off my boots onto the boot tray. Unfortunately, one sock chose to remained conjoined to the boot, and so I was one-foot-socked, one foot not. Made it into the bathroom, did the deed, and then decided to hook things up before retrieving the sock. I looped the garden hose into the tub, and gently pulled the "female" end over to the sink, where I had - thoughtfully, or so I thought - decided to set the drill and the pump - if the hose ends were to leak, what better place than a sink? So I hooked in the hose and started the drill - only to notice those kinks in the flat hose. Okay, back along the line to straighten all that out, and I decided that it was probably easier to run the hot shower onto the garden hose, warm that up, dry it off, and use that to drain the bed. Okay. That accomplished, I started swapping hose ends. I remembered that the little drill-powered fluid pump I have only works if primed - which means I needed to fill the hose. Rather than do like I did when we moved in (and use an outdoor faucet), I decided to do it properly - and hook up into the bathroom sink. Which was my downfall. Moments later, I was rummaging through my drawer in the bathroom, looking for my channellocks. Why, you ask, do I keep channellocks in the bathroom? Well, because I usually only use channellock pliers on plumbing problems - and so I want them where I know where they are so I can get to them fast - not in the garage, but in the house. Well, it makes sense to ME. Anyway, there I was, flat hose coiled mostly into the tub (and still kinked in spots), round house hooked to the pump, and instead of filling the sink and running the pump backwards (one of those thoughts I could have used twenty minutes ago), I tried to remove the "disburser" on the end of the faucet. Tried once. Tried twice - the channellocks slipped. Tried three times. Four times. Got serious. The seventh time, I felt movement. I gave it another spin . . . and this big old hunk of brass with a hole in it comes out along with the disburser. Yes, I broke the freaking faucet. I do dearly hope this day improves.
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[Link] Anyway, 'nuff about that. The faucet is what has me pissed right now. Perhaps I was brought up wrong - but I thought that every place that water ran in a home was supposed to have primary and backup shutoffs. Primary being the gadget on the counter or sink edge or whatever that you used 99.995% of the time to turn the water on and off - and underneath, in the cabinets somewhere, were two shut-off valves used to turn off the flow if for some reason there was damage to the faucet. Well, not only are there no shutoff valves in the cabinet below, there are no shutoff valves I've found out to the water heater, and nothing on the cold water at all. Lovely. I got some good news today, anyway - the company that skrooed up our check order (that we didn't notice until we HAD to start using the box) said they'd reprint the order - great. So now we wait for them. That and I received not one but two checks for $13.86 for some class-action settlement - I'm sure I signed up for it, but don't remember why - and yes, for you trolling lawyers out there, one was to my wife, and one to me. I guess it's the big bad against multiple small goods today. It would be nice to stack a big good up against it. Oh well.
[Link] I guess what stings is the knock-down-get-up-again routine. I can do it. I will do it. I can't afford not to. But it's the continued today-tomorrow-next week-who're you? cycle that bugs the crap out of me. Perhaps I'm supposed to learn what that's like. If so, I totally get that. There are a number of companies which I will not be doing business with after this - and some I'll go out of my way to use. I guess the whole problem comes down to one of what I would call "setting the proper expectation". You don't say "hey, we'll call you next week" and then don't. It's weird. I wonder how many organizations truly listen to their questions and the answers they would have to make. Sure, I talk a good game in the interviews, I suppose - it's putting it in action that counts. And when I worked in a regular business setting, I had weekly meetings when needed with the appropriate individuals (on things like Y2K updates or software testing) so long as a project required it. On a monthly basis I had a face-to-face meeting, updating my boss on all ongoing projects. When I was in a heavy project-intensive environment, I spent a few minutes each day updating a spreadsheet (all before Microsoft Project came out) for all my projects with issues and events, so that I could at a glance pull down and filter out the other events and give my boss a list of "what's up with..." or dump all with "hey, what're you workin' on?" The fun part comes when they ask about customer service. In one of the interviews I've had, they asked what the three most important parts of customer service are. I said first off that the very most important (and not one of the three) was to either solve the problem or get the individual a work-around ASAP. After that, the keys to effective customer service were communication - clear, concise, and both ways; setting the proper expectation - no one likes to be left hanging; and making sure the solution continues to work. And yet here I am, hanging, upset, and wondering. Gee. I'm sure there are many potential excuses - hey, Fred was sick today, or we had an unexpected outage, or we're just trying to take the time to do it right, or ... whatever. I dunno. If they call tomorrow morning, I'm sure I'll forgive all of it, but right now, I'm a wee bit upset. Add to that the wonderful bit about me not being able to sleep in my bed because we can't find the leak yet, and it's going to take until tomorrow to drain the damned thing, and yeah, I'm a bit cranky. I would like to think that this is one of those "darkest before the dawn" moments, but I know it can get a lot darker. And I really do not want that. Rather than end the day on such a downer, however, I had to show you this one which I found in one of my job searches. I couldn't link to it, so I did a screen capture. And I swear to you that I did not alter the image one leetle bit. Go to the site and search for the key terms - well, you'll know once you take a look at the larger image...
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Update At 1345 "WE hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness" Unless, of course, you stick your willie where we don't want it to go. Is, or can, George Bush and company really be so painfully, utterly clueless? Rod Paige, the "education" secretary (ain't that a kick in the pants - we're cutting budgets locally because the "federal" government decided they "needed" a giant bureaucracy which is staffed by bureaucrats and former teachers) declared the teachers "terrorist organizations". Right. Mr. Paige, get in line, the clues are passed out over on your right. Speaking of "the right" is it me, or is it the Market - whenever Bush opens his mouth on "policy" the markets take a dive? It's just been one of those mornings, you know? I see Bush is now coming out (no, not of the closet) in favor of a constitutional amendment in favor of a male-female definition of Marriage. Mr. Bush, keep your frigging laws and your freaking hands out of my religion. I was joined by a priest in the sacrament of marriage - and you have in your very constitution (you know, that thing Reichmarshall John "Rabid Chihuahua" Asscroft wipes his butt with?) the separation of church and state. I don't care what you want to do, but keep your hands and prejudices out of my religion, ok? We've got enough of them. Oh, and by the way, what is it about gay people that scares you so? I'm not gay, I'm sure I know people who are, and I'm sure they're PEOPLE. I don't happen to think what they're doing is right, but I also know that I'm not exactly perfect either. As I recall, in the bible, Jesus didn't say "Let he who is without a BIGGER sin cast the first stone" - he said "let he who is without SIN cast the first stone." He didn't differentiate between the size of the rocks, either. "Look, Jonah, you've committed adultery, so you're on the sidelines for this one. You, Peter - you stole once, so rocks no bigger than a hen's egg. You, Simon, you've been pretty good, so you get these rocks over here the size of my fist. You, Jedidiah, you've been darned close to cheatin' on yer wife, so you can only fling sand." Right. What it boils down to for me is discrimination. Why, when married people break up, are they required to divorce? Why can't they just walk away? Why do they have to retain lawyers and all the rest. Sure, I mean, we get this nice benefit of filing one tax return for a pair of people, but we're not going to go anywhere far on that. I just get the feeling that either I didn't drink the Kool-Aid, or I'm utterly twisted when it comes to looking at the world. We fork over boatloads of money in aid (gee, we used to call that "bribery" when I was a kid), then we expect people to act a certain way - if not, we'll come over and stomp yer ass (when I was a kid, that was bullying). No, I haven't forgotten September 11th. I haven't forgotten the people who died, nor have I forgotten the evils of the Taliban. Nor have I forgotten the pussycat Saddam Hussein is. But frankly, folks, there's that fine line again - if the bully is on your side, that's good. If the bully is on the other guy's side, that's bad. The problem, sadly, is that no matter which side you're on, there's still a bully involved.
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And on that note I'm going to walk away from this idiot box for a while. My eyes are crossing and uncrossing - I'm either tired, exhausted, or having a stroke (and while I may be wearing sweatpants at the moment, both hands are firmly attached to the keyboard. Damned superglue...). and yes, I'm aware that tired is a form of exhausted, as is exhausted, come to think of it - but the stroke? Nah. I don't even like Billy Squire... Ba-Dum-Bum. But before I go, Mr. Paul Hampson reminds me (with a polite shoe to the back of the head) that Mr. Nader rose to prominence with "Unsafe At Any Speed" - the Corvair - in 1960 (see, Paul, I knew the name of the book - or article? Argh - the brain's gone again, leaving me here holding the bag). I was listening to the radio last night coming home and there was a comment by the local guy who did Nader's advertising four years ago... He gave Nader point-blank advice NOT to run, because the coalition Nader was going to TRY to build included conservaitve Republicans, liberal democrats, and some independents. Which is going to work about as well as Jesse Ventura growing a mullet.
[Link] Went to Menards this evening to look for a faucet. I decided that while I may be poor, the bank account could handle it, and we'd go for the good faucet. I didn't want to have to repeat this - again - anytime soon. I'd heard good things about Delta, and Moen, and Price Pfister - the others were also-rans. I grabbed a Delta - very heavy box. I grabbed a Moen - lighter. I grabbed a Price Pfister - about the same as the Moen. Now, mind you, it may be that the Delta folks tucked in a few lead weights - I dunno. All I do know is that when I looked at the faucet and where the diffuser attached, there was no loose bit - it was a solid hunk of metal that I screwed the piece into. So that was good. I asked the fellow behind the desk what other parts we needed. <ASIDE> I've been that poor fellow. I've been the guy stuck with the stupid questions. Once, at the tender age of nineteen, a little old lady in her perhaps late seventies accosted me in the auto parts department of Shopko, where I worked. "Young man, I need an oil filter for my car." Hey, stranger things have happened. I figured she was picking parts up for her son, or maybe doing it herself, I dunno - but yeah, this was a little old lady in my store on a Sunday early-spring afternoon - pea-barf green cloth coat, little hat staple-gunned to her shellacked hair, and - really - white cloth gloves. Okay, then. "All right, ma'am, let's head over to the oil filters. Do you happen to know the make, model, and year?" "What's that?" "Do you know how old the car is?" "How should I know?" "Well, we might not need to know that. Do you know the model?" "Why do I need to know that, it's an OIL FILTER." Like the very act of saying it LOUDER would help me get with her program. "Well, ma'am, I don't know if it makes much of a difference, but you see this side of the aisle? From here up to the top, all forty feet of this aisle, these are all oil filters. I've got three brands here - the blue ones on the end are GM parts, the orange ones in the middle are Fram, and the white ones here are our own brand. There's quite a bit of overlap on these, but I would guess I've got about fifty different types. They're all different, for different cars." "Why?" "Well, ma'am, because if they used all the same one, it'd be cheaper, and Detroit and Cheap don't go in the same sentence." We went back and forth for a bit, and I finally got her to agree that the car was making a funny noise that MIGHT not be the oil filter, and I suggested (rather smugly, I suppose) that she seek professional help. And I went on my merry way. Two weeks later, back, stocking the oil aisle, and I hear the tap-tap-tap of little-old-lady shoes. I look up. This time it's a lace doohickey on her head, the coat is a faded light blue, and no gloves - but it's the same little old lady. "Young man, I should speak to your manager. You were absolutely wrong about my vehicle." "I'm sorry, ma'am, I really am, but I'm not a mechanic. What was wrong with it?" "It just needed an oil change." "Well, that's good news then! Whenever I go to a garage, I figure I need an oil change and I end up putting about $700 in parts and labor under the hood!" "And I know" she continued as if I hadn't said a thing "that you carry my filter!" "Great!" I figured I could get the model number and warn everyone in the department - hell, the whole freaking store - that if crazy old lady comes in on a Sunday afternoon, sell her oil filter X and run. "Do you know the model number?" "Yes" she said triumphantly. "It was ORANGE." I looked back at a nearly half of my aisle. Every single Fram filter we had was bright orange with black lettering. "Well, Thanks." She walked away, head held high. I wanted to crawl into the trash compactor. "It was orange." Anyway, idiot questions: I've been there. </ASIDE> So I ask the guy about the fittings I've found (1/2" compression copper stem valves with some oddball sort of adjustment on the side). Told him what I'd measured (the copper under my sink measured out at .644" which was fairly close to .625" or 5/8"). Explained what I needed. "Well, if you want to do it the easy way..." I followed him as we picked up a couple of shutoff valves that adjusted from 5/8" to 1/2", two hoses, which did the same, and that was all I needed. Jeez. Back home, and my buddy calls. "I'll be over." He arrived at 7:40 pm. He left at 8:10 pm. If I'd had the water turned off, all the wrenches already inside, and adjusted, I might have saved 3 minutes. And all he brought with him was his pipe-cutting tool. The shutoffs were compression fittings, so that was almost the hardest part. After that it was a piece of cake. And he stood around and we chatted for ten minutes after the job was done. I don't know why I got the idea plumbing was so difficult. So, other than that, "fat" Tuesday was rather not around here. I did cook up a batch of dirty rice - I hadn't done that in almost a year, I think. I nearly ruined it, but salvaged it in the end. Be warned, if you're taking cooking tips from me, I'm not going to be responsible for the multitudes vomiting about the landscape. With that warning out of the way, here's one for the "burns going both ways" cookbook. First, I brown the ground beef with habenero, cayenne, and some old-fashioned chili power and a pinch or six of salt. Drain it, and then set it aside. While I was doing this I should have had water boiling (I'm very linear when I cook - finish step four before starting step five. Ann is "start on step 6, because that doesn't need steps 1-5 yet, but it'll be ready when we need to do step 6"). I didn't, so I did 3 1/4 cups of water, and measured out an extra half-cup of rice. I added garlic powder, more habenero, more cayenne, and a little curry powder to the water. Once it got boiling, Ann started coughing - not good for asthma, but certainly due to clean my sinuses (and lead me to be yelling "Fire in the hooooooooole" for the next couple days as I dash for the bathroom...). I then grab the box of Zataran's "Dirty Rice Mix" - there's chili powder, dried sweet red peppers, cayenne (both ground and flaked), and some other spices. Once the water is boiling, dump in the rice and spice packet, the extra rice, and the meat. Wait for it to come back to a boil, turn to low, and put the lid on. 10 minutes later (the box says 25) check it, and stir - turn down the heat if there's not much moisture left. Then start buttering bread (maybe even spread a little peanut butter on it - peanut butter kills some of the pepper in the mouth), get a big glass of ice-cold milk, and a bowl. Yum. One problem - I've got a half-pot left, and tomorrow's a no-meat day. Argh. I hate Lent. |
Update At 1115 At least, she's hanging around. I can feel the bitch. Sorry. But you long-time folks know the Bad Luck Fairy (or BLF) looks much like a black, hairy gorilla (think Grape-Ape, all black, and not as cute), in a pink tutu with fairy wings, a wand, and devil horns. And a suitcase with stuff hanging out all over the place. I slept poorly last night - which is odd, since I slept like a log the night before. Woke up a lot, probably with worry. Then, this morning, The Car of The Damned (yes, that car) did it to me again. Back a few months ago, one morning on the way to work, all of the dials and gauges just shut off. No warning, nothing - the lights stayed on, even the dash lights worked - but the light showing the gear I was in went out, too (yes, it's auto, but it's nice to know I'm in Drive rather than neutral). (Weird aside - the television is on (see below), and I just heard the line "it's hard to grow giggle-melons in my hoo-haw." Surreal? No. I think we're past that, don't you?). All the gauges, from gas and temp to speed and tach, went flat. As I was doing about fifty at the time, it was a bit ... disconcerting. We pulled into the parking lot, turned off the car, turned it back on, and they came back to life. Last week on the way to take Ann to the bus, it happened again. This time it was a drop-and-up thing - three-to-five seconds, or thereabouts. Since then, it's been happening on average once a day - sometimes three seconds or less, sometimes as long as a minute. I think of it as a computer restart - the car runs fine, there's no effect on anything else (well, the car does have one of these super-fancy thermostats which means I can set a temp rather than "blow hot air until my eyeballs have baked, then we'll turn it down until my toes have frozen...", and that kept blowing hot air - and thought the AC was on - right, February, outside temp's about 26, and I need the AC. Right). But this morning it did it twice. Which is not nice. Add to that the reason the TV is on - the eldest has a batch of stomach flu she's going to share - with me, I'm sure. What I really need is a vacation. Well, no, I need about $25,000 and a vacation, but neither is forthcoming soon. And that's not really true - I don't need "a vacation". What I need is a break from the routine of being lied to and buttered up and chasing opportunities and being told "hey, thanks for thinking outside the box" and GIVING AWAY great ideas - only to receive, in turn, silence. Argh. I guess what I need is to clear my head. Which may be the cause of another major annoyance. Warning - Disgusting Personal Health Issues Ahead... I've had a bit of a rash across my chest for a few weeks. I didn't notice it, but Ann says "oh, Lotrimin will clear that up." Whatever. The thing is it doesn't bother me, didn't itch, or anything. Then, about a week and a half ago, I started getting an itching between my first two fingers on my right hand. It happens every so often, usually in the winter when it's dry. I'm fairly certain it's not "poison anything" because I haven't been around any plants other than what we have in the house. Sorry - had to stop and scratch. Anyway, it started between the first two fingers, and yes, I've noticed that it tends to spread a little bit - usually to the fingers that wear a ring (I usually wear my wedding ring on my left hand, third finger, and my engagement ring right hand, third finger). Then it goes away. The "rash" is usually some under-the-skin bubbles. Not unlike blisters, but smaller, and without the pain. I can pop them with pins or a knife or by simply scratching, and some clear fluid comes out - I wash my hands and it goes away. Well, a few days after it started bugging my right hand, my left hand started itching. Then, horribly, the inside of my left elbow. Them my right. Then down to my wrist, along the back of my arms, and on the back of my knee. Yesterday, the areas around my eyes started itching. Hydrocortisone seems to put the stuff into remission, but I don't want to use it near my eyes. So I suppose I'll have to go to the doctor and get it cleared up with a prescription. Lovely. Oh well, it could be worse. Next weekend we're going to visit my folks (if the car survives the trip) and come back with a mini table saw and Dad's router table and router. Both tools I could use for some profitable work around here. Things like picture frames and the like. Oh well. We'll see what we'll see. But before I go, Mr. Hampson points out that the Corvair started production in 1960, and the book "Unsafe At Any Speed" came out in 1961 - so that'd be that then. I guess we'll just close with the words of wisdom given to me by Carl the Groundskeeper. Gunga alunga. Gunga Gunga, alunga.
[Link] Frankly, I'm not interested in seeing TPOTC. One reason is that I do not like, and have never liked, the idea of subtitles. Call me a philistine, call me prejudiced, call me what you will, but I'm just not interested in reading - it's a MOVIE, right? I go to watch the MOVIE, not to READ the movie. But it got me to thinking about how much religion suddenly is playing a part in the rest of the news. And it occurs to me - The Constitution of the United States says
Amendment I. Tonight on the local news, there was a story about the city hall in some town in the state (I want to say Duluth, but I'm not sure), where there's a beautiful old granite block with the ten commandments on it. The general point of the story was the Minnesota branch of the American Civil Liberties Union is pushing them to take it down. Rhiannon said "that's wrong". "Why?" "The Ten Commandments are good." Ah, the self-assurance and certainty of ten. "You're right, they are. But what if they had something written in Arabic up there from the Koran?" "Why would they do that? This is America, and it was founded by Christians." "Well, most of the founding fathers were atheists or agnostics." "What's an Agnostic?" "Well, an Atheist believes God doesn't exist. An Agnostic isn't sure." "I'm sure." "I know you are honey, but that's beside the point. The founders of our country wanted to make sure ANYONE could practice ANY religion - because the countries they left, they left because they couldn't practice their religion." "Why not?" "Some of them, it was because the king or the leaders would kill them. Others it was because they were discriminated against." "But what's that got to do with the ten commandments?" "Why should we have the ten commandments up there and not something from the other religions?" "I don't know." So she's thinking about that, but it's not the "total cosmic enlightenment" the Dalai Lama promised Carl the Groundskeeper (why is Caddyshack tearing through my head? Help me - especially not to puke into open sun roofs). But our government can't meddle in organized religion. Which is fair and right. Why can our religion meddle in politics? Why can religions try to influence the workings of government? Isn't there something reciprocal here? I know damned well there isn't. I read a few months ago (in our local Catholic newspaper) of a bishop over in Wisconsin who sent letters to several legislators in his diocese (a diocese is the church's equivalent of a state, with a bishop calling the shots. An archdiocese is just the same, only an archbishop (or sometimes a Cardinal) calls the shots). The legislators in question were voting their consciences and their constituents' wishes on issues like birth control and abortion - and the bishop told them that if they didn't stop, he would essentially excommunicate them. They didn't. He did. Part of the problem we have in this land which so highly respects diversity is that we do not respect also highly respect the separation of and the practioners of those diverse ideas. Perhaps it comes from the "missionary" idea - perhaps it comes from somewhere else, I don't know. What I do know is that I am sick to death of a sanctimonious, lying, hypocritical bastard standing up and telling ME that my MARRIAGE has to be protected by a Constitutional Amendment - or it will be wrecked by "activist judges". What a crock of very smelly shit. "Activist Judges" is another way of saying "we didn't appoint him, so we don't like him, so he's a shit" (note: "him" in the generic sense - applies equally to females in this sense). As to what my marriage is, there is nothing the government, nor the church, nor anyone else in the whole wide world save one single solitary person on this planet who has a voice in my marriage other than myself - and that would be my wife. A marriage is what you make it, not what is legally defined, mandated, commanded, or arranged. Why am I so worked up about this? I'm not entirely sure. I'm not gay, not interested, and not excited by it. I'm disgusted by anyone, anywhere, at any time using the "us versus them" thing to drive a wedge into people who really, really don't deserve it. Perhaps it comes from growing up with a handicapped father. My dad grew up, and raised us, long before special protections for the handicapped existed. Dad parked where he could find a spot, and walked in, or he didn't go at all. When it came to places we knew would be crowded and difficult, like the basement church we went to until I was fifteen and they completed the new above-ground church, Dad would get there early, get a good spot, and then leave early. When I got old enough to be useful (about nine or ten, I suppose), I started going with him just in case. There were some twenty stairs going down to our basement church - on a wide, wide stairway for the main door (there were two other doors, one half as wide as the main set, and one half that wide (about your regular stairway wide)). I know for a fact because when I got older, about every six weeks or so Dad would come home with bulletins and missalettes in the back of the car - it was his way of getting our church a deal on shipping and such for the bulletins and missalettes they used - that the company he worked for produced. No, he got no commission for it, and no tax write-off, either. But every couple of weeks I'd have about twenty cases to bounce down those stairs and store in a back storeroom. Each Sunday (or Saturday night) I'd go back to Dad after communion, and we'd head out. Much safer that way. But my father's reluctance to ask for special considerations just because of what had happened to him that he had no control over is what, I think, affected me the most. Dad only asked to be judged on his own merits - not as a handicapped man, just as a man. Sure, there were special considerations. He parked close to the door - because he got there earliest. Eventually, with the tradition established, he didn't have to be there at the crack of dawn. But fair treatment is all I think anyone really asks for. Just being fair, just playing fair. That's all. And putting up roadblocks because some couple doesn't conform to your idea of "marriage" is, I think, a pretty sad sign of what you think of your own marriage.
[Link] "Thank you for your time, energy and effort. We have found someone who is a better match for our needs. Good luck." It wasn't that terse, but it was sure short. I won't give you the name, but the industry was in residence care, assisted living, and group homes - a growth industry, for sure. No, it wasn't with a big nursing home chain - it was with a local firm that had grown up and was doing very well by focusing on the people they cared for. Well, duh, you say, and I say "look at all the bigger firms that are focusing on 'PROFIT'." Profit isn't all bad, but I believe that if you focus on your product, on getting it right and taking reasonable precautions with your production, and treating your customers the very best way you know how, you won't have to worry about profit - you'll have to hide your profits.
The investment of time, When they said "I think you might be a little over-qualified for this job. We're not paying a lot, we're not expecting the pay to go up a lot, and we're a long way from home, why would you want to work here?" "A couple reasons. The job is a challenge, and I can find a challenge in just about anything. Technology is moving so quickly these days that there are many, many ways I could challenge myself within the organization. I've not worked with phone systems, for example, and we've discussed LDAP and other areas I need to grow into. But I think in the end, what it really comes down to for me is the opportunity to make a real, substantial, solid difference in people's lives, daily. I can help the people who are really making a difference - and to me that's worth the drive, the money, it's a different challenge altogether." So, obviously, that was the wrong answer. Chalk it up to Resume #1634 failing late in the process rather than early.
[Link] "Too bad I don't have some stop-leak." No, seriously - why don't they make something that could be added to waterbed water and it would act as a temporary patch on the inside until you get the permanent one done? The other idea was, I hope, more practical. We've got two bladders in the bed. My side is higher, because I slipped a couple of pieces of half-inch plywood (salvaged from the old waterbed) under the mattress frame when I put the bed together when we moved. I figured if I could put my foot through the top of the (cough)"box spring"(cough) while walking across it (look, I know I'm no flyweight, but when I step on something and I go through like it's cardboard, it's probably not good enough for me - wait, strike the "probably"), it needed help. Ann didn't want that done to her side, so I, more the fool, did not. Now I've got quarter-inch waferboard in the garage, and if I can't get this hole figured out with this trick (see below) the next step is to haul the damned things out into the garage, set them on the plywood (covered in towels), surround them with flat 2x4s (to keep them from rolling around) and fill them up to find the damned leak. Back to where I was before - my side of the bed is "higher" due to these 1/2" plywood sheets. But my bladder (mattress bladder, wisenheimers) was wet, as was the liner on my side - could be my mattress bladder leaking, could be hers, we don't know. So I put about forty drops of red food coloring (and some additional water) into Ann's side of the bed. I put about forty drops of blue coloring into my side of the bed. Now we wait and see. If I see red, it's her mattress bladder leaking. If it's blue, it's mine. If it goes purple, I'll be the fellow on the 6 pm evening news, screaming and running naked in traffic in February. I can't take much more o'this... |
Update At 2145 First - many years ago, I had an uncle (who has now passed away) who did a fair amount of business traveling. One trip saw him back home with some horrid mask from somewhere or other. Family legend (you know, the stories they tell at Family Reunions) states that the children of my aunt and Uncle were assembled, and the pronouncement made - the child who could come up with the best name of the mask would win it. As none of the children wanted to be aflicted by said mask, the quicker-witted of the bunch hopped up and said "Sam I lose!" You know how the rest goes - the rest of the children, siezing upon the foolish move their younger sibling had fired off, said "hey, yeah, Sam's great!" And he was stuck with Sam for opening his mouth. Now, if I have the participants right, that would be the one who "won" the contest ended up chief of IBM's Federal Systems business until he retired a few years ago. Of the other two, one's a now-retired Neurosurgeon (which reminds me, I need to get in contact with him about a Christmas Ornament he has for my father), and the other one, their sister, had a college education, and ended up raising her family with one boy a big shot for IBM in England, and the other becoming a priest. Yeah. End, tangent one. Tangent two - I've wanted a dog since forever. When we got Daisy, I was prepared, or so I thought, for every eventuality. Sadly, this is so not true. End tangent two (well, shucks, that was a lot shorter than I'd planned). Today, it being Thursday, I grabbed my "dirty rice" leftovers for lunch and let the dog out to romp. (Unplanned tangent three - I recall back in college there was a band that locally was billed as "That Band" because the papers didn't want to print their name - "The Flaming A-holes" - since I'm trying to clean up my language, you get the idea. Saw a local poster or two for them, then they disappeared. I'm sure there were other groups that had similar (perhaps even the same) names, but I recall the school paper having "That Band" ads in it. Why is this important? Read on. End, unplanned tangent three). I finished it and let the dog back in, and kept reading. Moments later, as it came to all in the family, the stomach stuff came to me. (Unplanned tangent four - I know, this is getting annoying - but if I re-wrote it logically, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun - last night I walked past the old microwave cart we have next to the back door. It's for storing snacks and soda on. I found an open bag of beef jerky there. I grabbed the back, pulled out a piece, and the dog, who assumes any opaque plastic bag with a "zip-seal" closure contains treats for her (and it's possible they do) sits right in front of me - we've used treats to get her to sit on command. Daisy, no dumb dog, hears a ziplock bag open and she will sit in front of you and get this excited look on her face. "For me? Please? Really!" I hate to disappoint her. So I handed her a small bit of beef jerky. She chowed it down. I had a piece in my mouth, handed one to Ann, and just before I chomped down, I looked at the calendar. Oops. Ash Wednesday. Damn. Despite the drool that had pooled on the Jerky, out and into the trash it went. No point in blowing it on Day one of forty-plus...) So I went into the bathroom and closed - or so I thought - the door. (Unplanned tangent five - this is pretty much expected, by now. Daisy has learned that she can open doors with persistence. When you weigh 85 pounds, you can push on things. Sometimes they open. Otherwise, she'll just lick the doorknobs). Just after that second blast of relief came over me (and the air below had changed four or five times, so the room was fully, utterly polluted - hey, I'm no saint, my poop do stink) Daisy pushed the door and came on in. (no, no more tangents)
Now, I won't bore you with the strength of my poo - I've made grown men cry just by farting, and caused the evacuation of a vehicle on a freeway. I've plugged toilets that required sticks and beer bottles to unclog (my friends being college students, and their furnishings extending to nothing so frivolous as a plunger), and I've done other things I'm not proud of. But hey, it's all part of being me - a treat you get to miss out on. But I will say that the pain of my lunch's leaving was nothing compared to the stench of burning nose-hairs from the fire below. And when that dog came in, my nose started to melt, just like Michael Jackson's. That I could smell Wet Dog over my own death-poo is both disturbing and frightening. In her defense, we gave her some ... unusually odd food over the last two days. First was the gift of lasagna, which she got from Jack's "Mardi Gras" dinner. Second was the scoops of salmon that were ... well, frankly, just nasty - so she got that. So it's entirely possible that she's got the same tummy issues we all have. Ugh.
[Link] Ann wasn't feeling well this morning, so I got a bit of a lie-in, as my British Friends say. All of about ten minutes. Then the damned dog starts licking the back of my neck. Mid-dream, that's wonderful. "Hey, baby, let's ... wow, you've got a tongue longer than .. WAIT A MINUTE, WATCH THOSE FREAKING TEETH!" Men. We're all pigs. Anyway, after I got over that disappointing wake-up, I got Rhiannon moving towards the breakfast table and the like, while Jack just needed to be hauled out of bed. In near-jig time, Rhiannon had finished, and was watching out the front window for her Thursday morning ride. Jack got dressed, and we made the bus - with about two minutes to spare. They've got a new bus driver who is, I swear, five minutes ahead. Were I in the school district management, I think I'd get GPS trackers on each bus - yes, it's expensive, but it's also a great pain to miss the bus. This week, Bus Driver Dweeb V.0304.03 is doing a fairly lousy job. Bus Driver Dweeb V.0304.01 was notoriously dangerous - varying her route arrival times by as much as twenty minutes. When ten will get you frostbite, twenty is beyond - and I do mean BEYOND - criminal. Bus Driver Dweeb V.0304.02 was quite good, arriving within about four minutes of his scheduled time (which is a relatively small window for us). Dweeb V.0304.03 has come through this week REGULARLY five minutes EARLY. Yesterday he was so early I had to take some neighbor kids to school because they missed the bus and their folks were already at work. Today, I had to hold the Dweeb back so he didn't drive off with the two laggards just across the street. Once that was done, I came back in, hoping to enjoy a nice quiet day with my wife. Nope. She got up and showered, and I left about 9:30 to haul her in to work. Amazingly, those fine folks at SA (which used to stand for SuperAmerica, but we will further more read it as SupergreedymoneygrubbingA-holes, by order of, well, me) took the "opportunity" to pop those gas prices back up there. Last Thursday (like clockwork) the prices went up to $1.799. Yes, I know, some are paying more - but I find it just a little disturbing and disgusting to watch gas prices go from $1.499 (or lower - the lowest I'd seen was $1.439) to $1.799. Then they "slowly" drift downward, until this morning I saw $1.539. Then, between 9:30 and 10:30 this morning, boom - back up. It was nice to see a BP/Amoco station right across from an SA raise their prices only from $1.539 to $1.699. The SA was still at $1.799 tonight. Greedy ... well, you know. Then, just for fun, I decided to fully drain Ann's side of the bed. The "let's dye the water" trick didn't work (Note to Self: Next time, four full bottled of red food coloring. We want that thing to leak BLOOD, not "do you think this might be red?"). So I drained her side, re-plugged the old leak, and we're looking around. I also slid some 1/4" masonite in under the top mattress. We'll see if that'll help out. Tomorrow morning I refill her mattress, and hope. We did get one piece of good news tonight - we thought we'd broken the dryer (no, wait, the good news is at the end). We'd been using towels to sop up the water, and then realized that the problem was that our children take two or three towels - EACH - to take a bath or a shower. Now, I'm a 300-pound man. I stand about five-foot-ten. And I use ONE not-quite-beach-sized towel when I shower. And when I'm done, I fold it and hang it over the rack - once a week or so I switch to a new towel. My son is not quite four feet tall. He weighs maybe forty-five pounds. And he needs a beach towel for him, a thick bath-sized towel because his legs are cold, another towel for his hair, and one for the floor. Rhiannon seems to just grab the bottom towel on the stack, and then find uses for the others that follow it to the floor. Kids. Anyway, we had about five towels that were "wringing" wet. Rhiannon put them into the dryer and turned it on. About an hour later I came down to see how things were going. Plenty of moisture inside the dryer, plenty of wet towels inside the dryer - dryer no work. Check the top. Spin all the spinny dials. Push each one in. Pull the knob off each one, reinsert. Check the breaker box. Nope. Clue one there would have been that I open the dryer and the light still came on, but you never know... Doh. Climb on the table next to the dryer, look for the idiot-breaker that popped out - no joy. Lovely. So we wait about three hours. And it works. I take my victories, small as they come, where I find them. |
Update At 1215 Six in a minute is one thing. "They came out like popcorn..." Well, Keither, so do your testicles, when heated to roughly 3500 degrees.
[Link] I, meanwhile, dropped the kids off at chess club then stopped in at Menards to apply. They're not anticipating hiring at the moment. So I picked up a couple of broomstick holders to work on Mom's walker tray, and went next door to Cub. Filled out their computer application, and I will ... "be notified if your skills meet any of our needs." Nice. Next wandered back up the hill to Rockler, to see if they had anything to help me finish off the pens a little better. Ran into a gentleman who gave me some pointers on the finishing, and we'll see how it goes. So then I came home and got to work on the waterbed. Refilled it, got to work cleaning, and found the bed is STILL leaking. Damnit. So empty the bed - again - and keep cleaning the house. Then we had blue and gold, followed by animal entertainment, then we came home - with two spare girls, which should make tomorrow morning's wake-up ever so much fun. Since it's well past when I wanted to go to bed, I'll just say "goodnight" and we'll deal with the rest (God Help Me) tomorrow. |
Update At 1000 At the moment, they're discussing the difference between blush and coverup and base - which I'm guessing is about the equivalent to stain, varnish, and base coat - but I dunno. I suspect putting it into a sprayer wouldn't help any - though some of the stuff they're using (I think it's nail polish) sure do stink. Speaking of stink (and that's one of the weirder ways to start a paragraph, unless, of course, you're near me), I'd like to thank you folks. I do a LOT of whining here, and you people keep coming back, keep providing feedback, and often, keep me going. I do appreciate it. Sadly, not enough to stop whining, but there you go. I'm beginning to positively HATE water. First there's the water bed leak, and now we have The Toilet From Hell. It's leaked a bit since we moved in, but after replacing and weighting down the flap, it still leaks. Specifically, the leak is from the upper tank into the bowl (I can see the water running in), and it had been a fairly slow leak (phew - nail polish and whatever else they're using over there smells worse than wet Daisy). This morning, however, it's moved from every few minutes to at least once a minute. Lovely. Oh, great - now they're talking multiple coats in multiple colors. Time for me to finish clearing off the camera and head upstairs... More later, if I live...
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Phew. Last night, we had two kids hanging out and sleeping over. I wrote the above while Ann was out getting the Girl Scout cookies with the daughter. Once she returned, things started moving fast. I got a shirt laundered and ready to go, and then at about 11:45 we started moving - well, milling about the driveway, at any rate. We got the appropriate individuals in vehicles, and took off for St. Paul. One small problem. Dummy, here (that'd be me) forgot that this is the season of tournaments. And the science museum is right across from "The X" - or the place you hockey fans know as "The Xcel Energy Arena". Yup. So this weekend is (apparently) Girls Ice Hockey and Dance Line. Next weekend would probably be Boys Hockey, followed by Girls Basketball, then the boys. Or as we know them, "The Hockey Blizzard, The Girls Buckets Blizzard, the Boys Buckets Blizzard". And so when we got to St. Paul, there were a few detours in getting to where we were going. I followed for a bit and then said "you know what? I know this town better than having to follow blindly." So I left the tail-end-Charlie spot and doubled back, took the "Exchange Tunnel" and found the Science Museum parking entrance. Miracle of miracles - the topside sign said "$10 event parking". The underside sign said "$5 event parking." I'm pretty sure it's the same ramp. Go figure. So we pulled in, found a spot, and about thirty minutes later we were in the Omnitheater. I'm not going to go into the differences between the Omnitheater and IMAX Theater experience. I've seen both. While the IMAX tends to have a better experience no matter where you sit in the theater, I infinitely prefer the Omni - even though there were many times I had to close my eyes to remind myself my hind parts were firmly planted in my seat. We saw "Lewis And Clark" which is a wonderful film about the Lewis & Clark expedition. You'll learn more about it in any History Channel program covering the period - you'll also learn a whole lot more from Google. But the point of the Omni isn't to teach - not really - it's to awe you. You, in the back? Technical differences between IMAX and OMNI? Well, the Science Museum has both - they primarily use the Omni, however. From my somewhat limited experience, the IMAX uses a much larger flat screen. The Omni screen is, I would guess, about 200 feet across, about the same high, and curved like a bowl. This wraps the image around you. I was seated about five rows from the top and way to one edge, so the image was a bit skewed, but I had one friend who had to leave, the image was so disconcerting - and these guys were in canoes! Yeah, there was a lot of flying over rivers and hills and mountains - spectacular scenery and a few special effects (there was a herd of about two million buffalo in one shot - they had to be using special effects on that one). But there was an awful lot of close-up river shots, as well. The Science Museum's unique (I'm told) because of their combination of both systems in one theater. How did they do that? Simple. The Omni screen slides in front of the IMAX. Or, perhaps more properly, the Omni screen is rotated down in front of the Imax. The Omni screen fits inside the theater and swivels on these two gigantic arms with counterweights. The clamshell viewing surface swings down from the ceiling and hits the floor, so you go from floor to about six stories up (or directly over your head) and during the movie, that entire area is filled with the film. After the movie, we browsed the exhibits for a bit, then pretty much came home to unload our many accumulated charges. Oh, and sort cookies. |
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