Bubble Butt

That would be Bambi.

Given the opportunity, Bambi would eat herself to death. We always have to keep an eye on her; no food can be left within her reach. That skinny nose would be in as small a spot as you could imagine, and would lick and lick her quarry until she couldn't get back out.

But that's her breed - she is, after all, a Rat Terrier. Any space a rat could get into, she'd be after it.

Saturday evening's meal was Mac and Cheese. A favorite around here. And this morning was time for leftovers. Marilee had just nuked a plate of The Cheesiest with sides of green beans and taco salad. And while watching a bit of TV, had an audience: both Lexie and Bambi were in rapt attention.

Afterwards, Bambi took up residence on Marilee's lap. Now, in the evenings at bedtime, Bambi's favorite place is under the covers. And while mornings are times for being awake, Bambi would rather spend more time under the covers than being out and about.

Showing her burrowing nature, her head was the only thing covered on Marilee's lap.

And showing her great love for food, Bambi decided to give us an ample view.

Of her bubble butt.

Sunday Morning Jackhammer

Or at least that's what it sounded like.

This morning, bright and early, it again sounded like someone breaking concrete nearby. That's right, this wasn't the first time I'd heard this sound. First time was yesterday afternoon; I heard it, Marilee heard it, and Bambi and Lexie heard it. Bambi, so much so that she started barking at the sound. At the fireplace.

I know that sound travels in mysterious ways - an echo from far away can reverberate in ways only an audio technician can understand, and I'm not an audio technician. This sound could have originated deep in the earth's crust and found an outlet in...

Like in my old apartment in Murray, I kept hearing a strange buzzing sound coming from one of my walls. It sounded like a 60-Hz AC buzzing like you hear in speakers when the shielding's not quite right. That buzzing ended up being the next-door-neighbor's aquarium pump in a too close proximity to my ear. Or when two AC circuits are too close to each other and the actual wires' electromagnetic induction makes them vibrate, of which there can be disastrous consequences.¹

But this sound was a vibration. Coming from outside. Yesterday I'd heard the sound, stepped out onto the back porch, and heard the sound. And promptly figured it was the aforementioned jackhammer so went back inside; the noise promptly ended, so that was that. Then this morning happened.

Upon hearing the sound again, I went outside and slowly approached the chimney. And heard the sound - FROM the chimney.

A bit closer, and peered up at the chimney. And the sound happened again.

And backed up sufficiently to see the top of the chimney...

I think Woody snickered at me. Yes, a woodpecker has taken up residence atop our chimney.

¹ Back in the day, I recall either a video or a photo - may have been a drawing - of a factory that had burned down because there were wires laying on an upstairs floor. Whenever the machinery below would start up, the electromagnetic induction between the two sets of wires would make the wires vibrate; this happened for a long enough time that the insulation eventually wore off the wires and shorted out, thus causing a fire. And for the life of me, internet isn't playing along and I cannot find reference to the fire. It's out there - somewhere.

Book Sale

Sam Weller's is moving.

A Main Street fixture for 47 years, the store is moving to an undisclosed location, and that new location will be smaller. But according to an article in today's Des News, it will be just as funky as the current store.

Of course, if the new store's to be smaller, that means a heck¹ of a lot of books will need to move before then.

So, starting Monday, used and rare books in Weller's massive basement and elsewhere will be discounted 25%, with deeper discounts as the move approaches.

If you have never been to Weller's Main Street store, now's your chance. And be sure to allocate enough time for your visit - there's much to see.

As the Des News article suggests, a new chapter is beginning.

¹ As the complete name of Weller's is "Sam Weller's Zion Bookstore", I figured heck would be more appropriate...

I Have Too Many Dogomones

What's that you say?

In the same way that some people are able to attract members of the opposite sex without any real effort, I seem to have an ability to turn into mush any female dog that comes into my immediate area.

But "dogomones?"

That's what Marilee calls them. Pheromones that only a dog can detect I guess.

Considering that Bambi, Princess, and Lexie - and Jenn's Lady to a certain extent - all can't get enough of me, I imagine that's possible. Ramin's Belle, not so much; I think that may be the whole Bully breed thing.

So why should I be concerned about my excess of dogomones? Because Marilee says I've "stolen" Lexie from her. Late evening, Lexie would rather hang out with me than spend time with Marilee. Lexie will even have that "save me from this human" look when Marilee is holding her.

Even now, Marilee's gone off to work, and Lexie's sitting next to me on the couch rather than cutting a few extra Z's upstairs in the bedroom with Bambi.

I've tried ignoring Lexie, but she gives me that "I'm so cute look", or does a play bow that's equally cute and I can't help myself.

Traditionally, I've been a "cat guy" and not so much for dogs - male or female - but with three female dogs in the mix it appears I'm screwed.

Marilee says now she wants to get a dog that will only hang out with her - but that's what Lexie was supposed to be.

But maybe - just maybe - I need to get a dog just for ME.

Stay tuned for that brilliantly stimulating conversation.

My Wife, The Dealer

Actually, she's not THE dealer, she's more of a middle-person.

Last Friday she comes home with a box. Smallish in size was the box, containing five smaller boxes. Green in color.

One box for Marilee, one for me, one for Taylor, and one each for Chris and Jenn.

THE dealer is the Girl Scouts.

The actual contents: Thin Mint cookies.

"What's in the box?" is said to Marilee.

"Crack."

It's Not The Heat

Yesterday, I asked Marilee if the printers at her work jam a lot; she said they did. "Why?"

Lately, she's had a persistent cough - one of those little tickle kinds of coughs. Nothing ever comes of it (read produced), but doesn't stay around all the time.

Last Sunday, as she always does this time of year, she went out to Jenn's for the weekly NASCAR race. She said she coughed all the way to Jenn's, but not while she was in the house.

Feeling a sparkle in my eye and a light bulb over my head, I asked "How long have you had this cough?"

"Since about last June" was the reply.

"Do you remember coughing when we were in California?"

A deep thought later, "No, I didn't."

Getting up off the couch and walking over to the mantel, I asked "Did you cough at all after you got back from Jenn's on Sunday?"

"No, only on the way."

I handed her what I had picked up off the mantle. "And you cough all day at work?"

I had handed her a very low-budget humidity gauge. The plastic kind you can get at a home-improvement store like Home Depot; typically they're in the HVAC section.

She took it to work on Monday; she reported the humidity level was about 25.

When she got home last night (Tuesday), she said the humidity level had gone down to 15 percent.

Only when she's in a humidity-rich environment like here at home, or at Jenn's, does she stop coughing. And though the weather in California in December wasn't wet, it wasn't as dry as it was outdoors in Salt Lake City on Sunday.

Or in her office.

And printers are very sensitive to humidity levels. Just a quick look at one of my printer service manuals confirms that - a typical office printer should not operate in humidity levels lower than 20 percent.

...it's the humidity.

Safe Baby Handling Tips

The following book was (sort of) referenced in a post by a friend on Facebook. From the start, I needed to find out just where such gems as the following came from:

Utterly hilarious. Looks humane to me.

The book's available from Amazon.

Shopping Tonight At WalMart

I actually like shopping with Marilee. By myself, not so much. I don't shop - I always know what I'm going to get, so it's in and out without much thought - with the all-important BUY in the middle.

Yesterday, after a brilliantly stimulating conversation, we realized we had nothing substantial in the house to eat, and planned on tonight for our foray into the abyss of WalMart. Big box stores being what they are, this particular WalMart always seems to be overrun with customers and under-staffed. Guess they haven't yet figured out that the majority of people wait until after work to go shopping. As did we.

After shopping the expanse of the store prior to the grocery side, Marilee turned to me and, with a serious look, said "Do you realize I haven't been in a grocery store since before Christmas?"

Now THAT was profound. And made me realize that I had been the one shopping since then. If carrying a shopping list means that I was shopping, then so be it. But again, it's in and out with BUY in the middle.

We shopped for an hour. At least. Then came the reminder that this store is understaffed.

Only four registers were open, and I swear the cashiers were all trainees. Seven-deep past the registers the customers stood. Mentioning that the wait was easily going to be a half hour, I had to agree. And then I saw my lovely wife do something I was NOT prepared for.

She did an about-face and headed for one of the clothing areas.

I followed, not really knowing what she was up to, until she turned, talked to me imperceptibly, and walked AWAY from the cart. And soon the store.

Without the BUY in the middle.

"I taught you a bad habit tonight" was all she said.

I had to agree.

No More Hunchback For Me

Over the course of the last few years, I'd had this odd back problem - no, not that back problem, the other back problem. Not like I had a mop handle up my...

No, this particular back problem made me look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame - I had a Blackberry. Crackberry for those of you in the know.

Today, I stopped using my CrackBlackberry cold-turkey. Even President Obama couldn't do that, as we've been told. Why would I want to cease my addiction to the little device that's been my pal for so long?

Because I had to.

I really had no choice - either the Blackberry had to go, or the laptop's AirCard. The AirCard only runs at the blistering speed of 115K, but it's full internet capable. Wirelessly. Nice to have out on a late night call waiting for some help-desk or other to decide whose problem it is. In the meantime, I can check my GMail or play Scrabble with a friend over at Facebook.

The Blackberry's limited internet speed and limited screen size made the choice easy. But I already miss the little bugger. It's been clipped to my belt for a long time.

So now I have the high-speed AirCard and a real phone. And, as with the Blackberry, it STILL has a California area code.

Don't get me started on that travesty.

You Just Never Know Who's Going To Visit

While I use the ClustrMap service over on the right-hand side of my blog to get a general idea of who is reading me, I use a bit of embedded code on said blog to give me a bit more detail. While it's more detailed, it does not show actual names. But after many months it has become clear just who visits. To wit:

Hi Nanci!

Hi Chris!

Hi Jenn!

Anyway, I had a visitor this morning from somewhere in Texas. Houston, to be exact.

The web works in mysterious ways - all I had to do was mention the red panda story that Texas' Houston Press ran, and who should visit, but someone from THE Houston Press.

Imagine that.

Hi, Houston Press!

In The Trib This Morning

According to Benjamin Edelman, a Harvard Business School professor, broadband Internet users in religious conservative states subscribe to on-line pr0n sites in disproportionate numbers, and Utah leads the nation with 5.47 subscribers per thousand.

Likely won't see mention of this in the Des News.

Read the article.

Got An Email Last Week

It appears that time has accelerated over the past year. As we all know - and some of you being younger have not realized yet - as we age, time seems to go by much faster than when we were young.

So that email I got last week came rather more quickly than I ever imagined. The email was from GoDaddy - an official email, no less. An email that tells me my domain name registration is about to expire.

Actually, that's not entirely true. When I originally grabbed bobsbs.com, I set the re-registration to automatically renew. Now that the one-year anniversary of this blog is coming up next month, I'm contemplating letting the registration run out. Oh, the blog will still remain at blogger.com, just without the bobsbs.com part.

I had this dream, when I started out this blog, that I'd make some money doing it. I've got some ads over on the right-hand side that no-one ever clicks on, but just their presence makes me money, although as of today my sum total "earnings" from said advertisements adds up to a whopping $5.55.

That gives one pause when you consider there are folks making tens-of-thousands of dollars writing a blog. Some hundreds.

Part of the problem, and it's something I hadn't realized until Marilee and I went book shopping this week, that if someone reads your blog via a feed, they never see your ads. Even so, shouldn't there then be folks hitting your blog in the first place to get the feed?

I got a book while shopping called "ProBlogger". Maybe it will provide some insight on how to make this thing worth my time.

I know I can write. YOU know I can write. But everyone else doesn't seem to know, or at least want to read what I've written.

So what to do? Dunno. Over the next few weeks I'll decide if I should keep this up, or devote my time to writing other things.

I'd appreciate your comments.

Houston Zoo To Unveil OH DEAR GOD THAT IS CUTE

Red Panda-monium at the Houston Zoo (with video).

Photo Credit: The Houston Press

Bizkit The Sleepwalking Dog

A word of warning: Do not drink ginger ale or root beer before or during your viewing of the following video.

Nose explosions aren't pretty.

Music Appreciation

The drive to Taylorsville High to drop off Taylor this morning offered some insight into the mind of a teenager - no, I'd rather not know ALL the things that go on in a teenager's mind, I've been there - and how music affects them.

This particular conversation which was marginally brilliantly stimulating had to do with some current band that had remixed "You Spin Me Round" by Dead or Alive in 1985. Taylor said they'd made it sound better.

Blasphemy! told him. "No, the words are the same, and has the same baseline, they just added drums and a guitar."

Baseline?

Jeebus, he gets crap grades in school and knows baseline?

Hell, I don't even know what the hell baseline is.

Maybe I do want to know what goes on in his mi...

No, not really.

I'm Reading A Book

About writing a book.

The title is "Telling True Stories", an anthology of original contributions from many of today's leading journalists and non-fiction writers. I'm not even a quarter of the way through and know this might be THE best book about writing non-fiction.

My decision to read about writing began last year with this post. Marilee and I were talking again about the subject the other night; she said she'd ask her Mom for ideas, since her Mom was a teacher in an earlier life. Maybe that's why I seemed to like her Mom, since I came from a family of teachers - my Dad was a high school teacher (and Principal) as was my Aunt Shirley and several others that escape me just now.

Marilee also suggested I check out what classes might be available from SLCC, though I already knew one class that was a good starting point: Humanities. At that point, I showed her a keyword search I'd used on the TiVo last year. There were a couple upcoming shows on the humanities, so we set them to record.

One such show was to be on KUEN, titled "Humanities Through the Arts"; I watched it Saturday afternoon while Marilee was at work. I intended on watching the whole episode, but stopped about five minutes in - I had seen the phrase I was missing in trying to find books on my own about writing.

That phrase is "Narrative Non-Fiction." With that phrase in hand, off I went to a book store - specifically, the Barnes and Noble in Sugarhouse. I like the way that particular store is laid out and figured that was the best place to find what I was looking for.

And I wasn't disappointed.

I found three books that are getting me started on my narrative journey. The above-named book about telling stories is the one I'm reading now.

A second book by Stephen King (yes, that Stephen King) titled "On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft" I started reading first in the book store, but stopped at the Foreword; he said in one short sentence that "...every aspiring writer should read 'The Elements of Style' by Strunk and White."

So I picked up a copy of that as well. I'll save the King novel for later.

Thus begins anew my desire - no, need - to write. I've an idea for a book but don't want to let on - yet - what the subject is. Mayhaps you'll just have to wait to see it on the best-seller list.

Made In Heaven

Tomorrow - Monday, March 2, 2009 - is the five-year anniversary of when Marilee and I met.

And we'll be celebrating it at the same location, doing the same thing we did five years ago - browsing the books in the basement at Sam Weller's.

[As it turns out, we may not be going after all. Marilee and Chris typically go to the gym on Mondays; she just reminded me of that. I'm hoping she decides instead to forego the gym visit.]

There will be only one real difference, of course - we'll get there in the same car. That night, I'd parked my van at the 21st South Trax station and rode it downtown wile Marilee drove her Grand Am and parked around the corner from Weller's.

After finding several books that struck our fancy, as we were about to go our separate ways, she asked where I was parked. I told her, and she offered to drive me down to the Trax station. I gladly accepted.

Arriving at the station, I took a bit of initiative, and leaned in for a kiss and caught her not only by surprise, but on the cheek as well.

Thus began our journey.

And how did we meet?

On match.com. A match made in heaven.

Bargaining Chips

I have friends. Friends who would be more than happy to carry out a dastardly deed for me. Dave is one such fellow. And Dave plays WoW.

For the uninitiated, WoW is World of Warcraft. Popular game. If you want to call it a game. Me? I'm a first-person-shooter type. I'm the first to admit I like playing old-school games like Heretic. Still play it on occasion, but only against monsters. Another friend has gotten Heretic to run over the internet and plays against his kids over his home network; really need to get that going on one of my PC's.

But back to WoW. I've written about WoW in the past, and this particular entry is again about Taylor - no surprise there. So Taylor's room has come under scrutiny lately. Toxic waste dump. Talking to Dave this morning, we devised a devilish plan. It has everything to do with deviousness. And the conversation with Taylor would go something like this:

"Taylor, clean your room."

Time passes.

"Taylor, clean your room NOW."

More time passes.

"Taylor, clean your room, or I'll sic my friend Dave on your WoW character."

That grumbling sound you will hear will be Taylor cleaning his room.

The Jonas Brothers And The Beatles

I'm always very cognizant of the content I provide here on my blog. I'm interested, as I should be, of who my target audience is. If you're reading this now, YOU are my target audience.

But I should always be looking for new ways to draw other interest groups in.

One day last year, there were 26 unique visitors to my blog. Considering I typically get four or five visitors per day (and that's during the week), twenty-six is quite a bit.

And what happened on that day?

I wrote about The Jonas Brothers.

So imagine if you will, if the web were around when The Beatles were THE hot property. Or vice versa. And if I were to write about them.

I wouldn't have to include volcanoes - my blog would be the hot property.

Mail Call

Recently received in the mail - the traditional kind, not the electronic kind - was an invitation to attend a seminar.

Oh, sure, I've received hundreds of offers over the years to attend seminars, most were for a time-share you'd never e able to get rid of, or a one for some new piece of computer hardware or the like. You know the ones.

But this one was different. Waaay different. And I can't even hazard a guess how I got to be on this particular mailing list. Well, I can, but we won't go there, mkay?

From a local hospital, this particular invitation is for a urology seminar. For MEN.

Imagine that - I've been invited to attend a urology seminar. Why? Three reasons:

A) I am a guy
B) Guys have urology problems as they age
C) I'm older than dirt.

Am I inclined to attend? Not really. I can get all the information I need from my own physician and likely would, since Marilee wouldn't allow me to forego any such problem.

But who would go to such an event? Probably some guy having urinary problems.

And how would the physicians know any of the men attending were having those kinds of problems? Simple.

Refreshments will be served.

More On The Comet

Well, it turns out that other than a cloudy sky last night, that article at Sky & Telescope said to look in the south-southeast sky for Comet Lulin.

As it turns out, the original viewing area was in the south-southeast, but as this photo at BigHugeLabs suggests, the comet is now in the south sky.

Maybe tonight...

Comet Lulin

Gleaned from a friend's note on Facebook, there's to be a heavenly body in the sky for the next couple weeks.

Called Comet Lulin, it'll be in the east-southeast sky, near Saturn on the 23rd - that's tonight!

See all the details and more pictures at Sky & Telescope's website.

As It Should Be

It never ceases to amaze me how the system we get our calls on works.

Calls are placed in our queues first thing in the morning - provided we actually have any calls. Once one communicates with the host, those calls are then committed and we have to go do them, unless something else might get in the way of actually going on the call, like a parts delay, or...

OK, I told my co-worker I wouldn't blog about this topic. At issue is not that we get our calls in this fashion, but that the system knows where we so as to get the closest person assigned to the call in the first place. As an example, if a co-worker is in Layton, then any call in, say, Ogden gets assigned to him, rather than myself in Taylorsille. It just works better that I don't have to drive so far when someone else is closer.

The system is great, when it works.

And is set up properly.

Buttars In The News

That's a foregone conclusion.

Insightful article in the Deseret News this morning. Which in my humble opinion is a remarkable thing, as I've said previously.

The article in question speaks of whether Buttars, in his position as a state Senator, can ever speak as a private citizen when he has his Senator hat on.

According to Kirk Jowers with the Hinckley Institute of Politics at the U, the answer is no.

Read the entire article at the Des News website.

Aren't They Married?

Marilee commented on the Oscars early this evening, when the camera zeroed in on Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, during Hugh Jackman's intro:

"Where's her wedding ring?"

Justification For Two Monitors

It's Sunday night, just before 8pm MST. This moment, Marilee and I are watching the NASCAR race from Fontana, CA on channel 13.

Over on channel 4 is the Academy Awards.

And in about five minutes is a special on channel 5.

While that's more than enough justification for a new TiVo, without the new TiVo it's justification for two monitors.

And right now, two monitors would be far more economical.

Live from the internet: NASCAR's live leaderboard at www.nascar.com, and awards as-they-happen at www.oscars.com.

More than enough reason for two monitors.

You Don't Want To Piss Them Off

You might get a lump of coal from them.

They might kick you in the knees.

To hear a good friend speak of what happened this last week, it was a time of excitement and closure. "About damn time" could have been a quote from her, but was not.

Years ago, this good friend took a photograph of a sign. Yes, photos are taken of signs all the time. Jay Leno and Dave Letterman - and Johnny Carson before them - used to highlight them on their shows. But what was on this particular sign was unintentional, but then again maybe it was.

She had submitted the photograph to High Country News (no, not that High - I know what you're thinking, I did too, at first); they, like other such publications, take submissions from their readers and use them as they see fit. Why it took so long for them to use the photograph is anyone's guess, but it was time.

She said it got to be a running joke between she and her husband. Every month, upon the magazine's arrival, a quick flip through the mag elicited a "snubbed again" comment and the monthly tossed aside. Not to say High Country News doesn't have useful or even provocative prose; it has both. Written by and "For people who care about the West", their mission is to "...inform and inspire people to act on behalf of the West's land, air, water and inhabitants -- to create what Wallace Stegner called 'a society to match the scenery.'"

So it comes as no great surprise that the photograph, taken just outside of Jackson Hole, Wyoming, was just such a piece of the scenery. Not the grandeur of the Tetons, or of the surrounding National Parks, but of a dilapidated sign that most folks would pass by without a second look. And it was a second look that made this photograph. Almost shouting "Back up", she had her husband go back to the sign after having passed by. Taking the photo with an "old-fashioned" film camera, she caught that bit of Americana, and after processing, sent it in to the magazine.

And last week, the whoopin' and hollerin' could have been heard across the Salt Lake Valley; she had been published! Right there, on the back page of High Country News' February issue, was her photograph.

Advertising a self-storage company, several letters were missing from the sign. But not just any letters. Were they intentionally removed? No one will ever know.

So instead of advertising a self-storage lot, the sign had been transformed into more of a statement:

ELF RAGE

STFU

Having been a long-time fan of Utah State Legislature goings-on, I spent many a day roaming about the Utah State Capitol in my job. In twenty-some-odd years, I've seen a lot of things that made me wonder.

I got most, if not all of my knowledge of what goes on at the Capitol from School House Rock's "I'm just a bill". Really.

As far as that goes, there are two things you should never see being made - Sausage and Laws.

But lately, there's something else you gotta wonder about. How did this:


Become this?

Or this?

I'm no expert in state politics. Hell, I must have slept through Mr. Rolfi's Civics class in high school.

So how did Chris Buttars come to this juncture? I'll let Jon Armstrong - one of my favorite bloggers at blurbomat.com - tell it in his own words:

Add Homophobe to Racist - February 20, 2009

Utah’s Republican Governor Enjoys Coddling Racist Senator - February 15, 2008

...and from the Deseret News (et al):

Amended evolution measure dies in Utah House - February 28, 2006

Buttars want to prohibit gay clubs - December 15, 2005

Utah Legislators Edit Gay Marriage Ban - February 2, 2005

At issue is not what Buttars speaks about; rather it is about how he speaks. For that, Senator Buttars needs to STFU.

Photo credits: Top photo, Deseret News; Middle photo, Salt Lake Tribune; Bottom photo, Deseret News

Note To Self

When taking extended vacations, be sure to turn on - and use - the work laptop more than once every two weeks.

Just ended, an excessively long call to work's help desk, a task best analogized to watching paint dry and grass grow. My virus definitions were two weeks out-of-date - not surprisingly the length of my vacation - and could not do anything network-wise.

"Just" a 120-some-odd-megabyte download, thankfully done via my home network connection and only took about 5 minutes; otherwise would have taken several HOURS via the air-card.

So I'm back from my vacay and numerous other posts such as this should commence forthwith.

Does Jerry Reed Know About This?

Early evening, on the way home from the 7-11 around the corner. No, not a service call, just goin' over there to pick up some ice cream for Marilee and I.

NPR's on the radio - they're talking about a new series on HBO. Since we don't get HBO at home, I'm only half-listening.

And when I hear the name of the series, I get a major flashback - my mind races so fast, I'm home sooner than I think.

The flashback sent me back to the mid 1970's. Had me a 1971 Datsun 510. And it was just around the time of the CB Radio invasion; I even drilled a two-inch hole in the side of my car and mounted a 9-foot whip antenna on the rear-end. Even had a real CB radio license, not that ridiculous K (or W), two initial, and zip code monstrosity the FCC came up with. No, I was KNM 0454. No, I don't have my certificate any more. Or a CB radio for that matter.

About that time, everyone was talking about the Smokey and the Bandit movies. Burt Reynolds and Sally Field. I even later had a 1979 Chevy Camaro. Just sorta like the Bandit's.

Gawd, those old songs from back then were awesome. You couldn't help but crank the volume. EVERYONE on CB radio back then loved that music. Especially the Jerry Reed song about "...movin' on and truckin'..."

Those days are gone, and here we are, thirty years later. And there's a new HBO series about... baseball?

The title? Seems to me the writers aren't old enough to remember the CB radio revolution. Or they would have chosen a better title than "Eastbound and Down."

Yup, the same title as the Smokey and the Bandit CB radio song from thirty years ago.

Good job, HBO. Good job.

East bound and down, loaded up and truckin',
we're gonna do what they say can't be done.
We've got a long way to go and a short time to get there.
I'm east bound, just watch ol' "Bandit" run.

All Sugar 'N' Spice - And Blogrot

That would be my Marilee.

We've been testing her blood glucose lately, since the doctor has been suggestive that she's pre-diabetic. But since the blood-glucose tester we have has suggested otherwise, well, let's just say that after testing her for the last week or so has upped her level of spicy expletives towards the doctor.

She has an appointment tomorrow to get an official blood-glucose test done, replete with a vile vial of Glucola - good luck with finding out what that vile vial contains, albeit overflowing with 50mg of glucose. And apparently with an orang-y taste, but not much else.

In an exercise that produced not much substance this morning, we both were searching for caloric information regarding Glucola. Commonly administered to pregnant females to ascertain if said female has gestational diabetes, that is not the case with Marilee. But imagine a pregnant female who has not eaten anything for eight-plus hours and is forced to consume an overly sweet orang-y concoction mixed up by some guy in a white coat, well, according to what we read this morning, most if not all pregnant females can't keep it down and resort to straight Coke or jelly beans. But I digress...

While the combined information that we DID find was helpful, not a single source provided what we were looking for. I couldn't say if, while searching for information, we would have hit on the same web pages, I did find one site that spoke of the joys of mis-communicated blood-test orders and the aforementioned Glucola.

I would otherwise have skipped over that web page if not for the fact that it was someone else's blog. And I love reading other folks' blogs - but not as much as my own.

But as I read that blog, and marveled at how similar it was even to my own, it slowly became clear that it had a serious flaw. While there were numerous entries between the years 2005 and 2008, it had not been touched since March of last year.

Yes, dear readers, that blog is a victim of BlogRot.

Adventures In Futility

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. So far, so good.

And did I have a present for Marilee before today? No.

Yikes!

So in my typical style, I waited until THE worst day to get a Valentine's Day present, the day before. And what did I get?

[Note: There is no reason to worry that Marilee will see this post before tomorrow - she doesn't read my blog.]

I got such a fun present for her. One that took a lot of thought... wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

OK, perhaps you've seen the jewelry store ad that's been on TV lately - the guy gets his gal a pair of earrings - and the earrings are inside a musical jewelry box, complete with ballerina that spins when the top is opened. Says she "I had one just like that when I was a little girl."

"It is the one you had as a little girl - I got it from your Mom."

She opens the jewelry box, ballerina starts spinning, removes the box containing the earrings, fade to "Every kiss begins with..."

The first time I happened to see the commercial with Marilee in the room began the adventure - in a voice I'd never heard her utter, she said "I never got a jewelry box like that when I was a little girl".

That was about a week ago - I figured there was plenty of time to get the perfect music box.

Yeah, riiiiight.

OK, so this is the first time I've been in the market for a wind-up musical jewelry box with spinning ballerina. Preferably the last time for a while, anyway. Hopefully, the as-yet-unborn grandkids will get one that's more easily attainable. Music box attainability is the point of this little exercise.

The search started a few days ago, actually. A quick internet search suggested that K-mart would have said music box, and if not there, then Sears. Since Sears owns K-mart, that seemed likely. Otherwise, just about any store would have one.

As an aside, the first stop this morning was to get new batteries for our wireless phones. Not that that is important, but it got me in the shopping mode.

From there I was off to Sears at Fashion Place. Traipsing about the store, I came up quite empty. A circuit of the mall proper turned up NO wind-up musical jewelry boxes with a spinning ballerina, though a salesperson at Things Remembered was lost on the whole jewelry part of the equation and offered a snow globe. Ballerina, yes, jewelry box, no.

Shapiro, no. All the damn jewelry stores? No.

Nordstrom? Dillard's? No and NO.

Sat a while in the parking lot thinking, and then it dawned on me - That backwards R store! Toys R Us!

For naught. While they did have a cheap-o plastic musical jewelry box, ballerina and all, they would not sell it to me - apparently, it had been recently recalled and had not been removed from the store shelves yet. Crap!!

Shopko across the street? Nope.

OK, now, this is getting ridiculous.

The saleslady at Toys R Us had suggested that Walmart might be a good choice - so I headed there. Besides, the nearest one was across from a K-mart. So off I went to Walmart.

As you can see at this point, there's a LOT of words above this point, and a heck of a lot below. Suffice to say, Walmart wasn't happening, either. But what sent me skyrocketing was what the jewelry department lady said at K-mart - "Oh, we don't put out stuff like that until Easter."

[So as to not offend my readers who consider Easter as an event having more meaning than coloring chicken eggs and biting off chocolate bunny heads, I'll refrain from writing what I was thinking about K-mart and their sales practices.]

At this point, I was running out of options, until I remembered a toy store in Foothill Village called Nifty Cool. I was soon headed north.

[Note to those who might want to go to Nifty Cool - they're gone. Don't know where. Shame.]

In a bit of foresight, while I was at Fashion Place, I did go into one of my favorite stores - Brookstone. And got a backup gift, just in case. Not exactly Valentin-y, but still think it was worthwhile, if not for the name of the product. Read through to the end for the backup.

And while I'd gone to several big boxes, I still hadn't hit Fred Meyer Smith's Marketplace, downtown. Off I went.

I'd spent a lot of time in that store last year, so didn't have to roam too much, and started out in the sparse toy department. That was the basic game plan for all the stores; toys then jewelry. And while the jewelry department wasn't much better in terms of choice, they did have the holy grail. A frickin' wind-up, musical jewelry box, with spinning ballerina. Ta-da!!

And it gets better. The price was mismarked by an order of magnitudes and after paying for a music box Marilee never received as a child, I walked out of the store with a smile on my face, a spring in my step, and not too much of a dent in my wallet.

And that gift from Brookstone? It's the perfect backup:

A five-function clock - with timer, alarm, calendar, and temperature gauge.

I got a red one. And for a limited time, it's buy one, get one free.

Yes, you can get two Bob's for the price of one!

Take a look.

Blog? What Blog?

What with my Facebook addiction and not doing anything (officially) for the last two weeks, I've neglected my blog for about as long.

So while this entry isn't as "deep" as my recent posts, I'll likely be back on track next week.

In the meantime, I'll be wearing my new shirt...

...so as to have fresh blog fodder.

See you soon.

I Don't Do Tags

I have been tagged on Facebook. I don't do tags. I do a blog.

As of this morning, there are 282 random facts about me on my blog, far more than the 25 specified in the Facebook request I now have in my notes.

The problem with "tags" on Facebook is that if you provide twenty-five random facts to one person, those facts may be geared towards that particular person - in other words, they'll be facts that that particular person doesn't know about you. And the next time someone tags you, it'll be a whole new set geared towards another person. Ad nauseum.

Admittedly, I've only replied to a "tag" once, last August.

That one tagging will have to suffice.

Nerves

Raising my eyebrows in mock surprise last Tuesday, what seemed like an electric shock coursed through my body, from the tip of my right foot to the top of my head. To say the least, it startled me and I cried out not in mock but utter surprise.

Well now THAT'S different, I thought.

I'm beginning to appreciate the finer things in life - when I can remember them, that is. And I couldn't help but wonder if there was something I was forgetting, that made this new shocking discovery occur.

The pain in my noggin can be recreated at will, I've found - all I need do is apply pressure to my right eyebrow and the pain shoots not from my toes but from my brow to the top of my head. I otherwise don't feel the pain unless I again raise my eyebrows. And that's not all - my scalp now has reduced feeling where the pain has been previously. So what's the deal?

Last Saturday - my birthday - after a wonderful evening at Café Rio where Jenn, Ramin, and Chris magically appeared as Marilee and I pulled in to our parking space, my lovely wife and I went over to Ross for some home decor shopping. Perusing the wall decorations at the rear of the store, reaching for a piece of "art", I bumped my head against an upper rack. Yup, you guessed it, not my head but my brow had impacted that shelf. Not tingly was the feeling, but a sharp, pointy pain. And just as suddenly as it had occurred, I'd forgotten about it. Until I mentioned my peculiar shooting pain to Marilee on about Wednesday. She remembered the altercation at Ross at nearly the same time I did.

I only half-mentioned the pain to my new PCP on Thursday, but at that point I wasn't concerned about it. Now, four days later, there's even less feeling in my scalp, even when there's no pressure on my brow.

I'm not terribly worried about it, though you might get another impression from the above. As with any time I've pinched a nerve in my back, the pain ultimately goes away. I'm inclined to believe that this pain will diminish in time. Happy I'm on vacation for another week.

And how to keep the pain from reoccurring?

If I just relax and continue to do nothing, I'll be fine.

No surprise there.

What's For Dinner (Redux)

Two weeks ago in this here blog, I wrote about Marilee wanting a really good hamburger, on a Saturday of all times. This afternoon, Marilee and I did actually find such a place, and to my surprise, it was Crown Burgers.

What's that you say, Bob? Didn't you say two weeks ago that Crown Burgers isn't open on Saturday?

Yes, I did. And yes, I was worng.

OK, consider that whole scenario. You go to a fast-food joint late afternoon/early evening on a Saturday. There's a sign in the window that says simply "Closed Saturdays". One would assume that this sign would be true, then, for ALL Crown Burgers. Wouldn't one?

Marilee chose to work today. A Saturday. I dropped her off at her work at about 8:30 this morning. Picked her up at about 3:30 this afternoon. She asked if I was hungry; I said yes.

Says me, "Where shall we eat?"

"Just go to 3rd West and North Temple."

While driving to that address, I started going through my repertoire of eateries in the area, and could only think of three - a Subway on the northwest corner, a Dee's a couple blocks to the east, and... Crown Burgers on the northeast corner.

I was overcome with the prospect of telling her "I told you so", but I played along. Approaching the intersection, she said to get into the right hand lane, and I knew I had her. Slowing for the inevitable turn, into the parking lot we went, and I HAD TROUBLE FINDING AN OPEN PARKING SPACE.

Damn place was OPEN. ON A SATURDAY.

Marilee explained that she'd figured that the other Crown Burgers - on 3200 West - wasn't open on Saturday due to the lack of open businesses in that area.

I allowed this as a possible answer, but countered her with another: if the 32nd West Crown Burgers is indeed closed on Saturdays, are they open on Sunday?

And if they're not, why doesn't the sign just say "Weekends"?

Yes, I'm going to Crown Burgers tomorrow.

Even though.

What Has Been Seen...

...cannot be unseen.

You know the type of image. Like a mugshot that's painfully painful.

The best evar picture of that icky feeling we all have:

Blast From The Past

Before my vacation, one of my co-workers said that I'd go stir-crazy before the end of my first week.

Not quite, but I'm real close.

Of all the myriad things I've not been doing, I've been watching a lot of TV - but I draw the line at watching soap operas. Life's difficult enough without watching fake people with all their fake problems. REAL people have enough fake problems.

On TV today is Blast from the Past - with Brendan Fraser, Christopher Walken, and Sissy Spacek. It's one of my favorite movies, though for some reason I've never admitted that to anyone.

I bought it as a VHS video tape years ago, one of those "previously viewed" types of deals, but essentially un-returnable. I mention this because there were wrinkles on the tape, and being un-returnable, it was also un-viewable. It sat on my video shelf for years; one day, I thought, I'd get a new copy of it.

So earlier in the week, while looking for stuff to record on the TiVo, found it was to be on today. I'd forgotten about that until a few minutes ago, and I'm watching it now.

Earlier today, I'd also found another blast from the past - or future, as the case may be. It was an episode of Star Trek, but it wasn't on TV - it was at the Internet Movie Database. If you've never been to the website, you really should. It is THE quintessential site for all things movie and TV.

Anyway, I'd been searching at IMDB for the actor who played Hermie in Summer of '42, because I'd have sworn that he was in an episode of Star Trek, the one called "Miri". It's possible, since Summer... came out in 1971, and the original Star Trek was from 1966 through 1968. While I still haven't found what I was looking for, I did find something far more interesting.

I watched the whole episode of Miri at IMDB's web site!

Can't embed it, but here's the link. Check it out:

Star Trek: The Original Series - Miri

Yeah, I'll be watching a lot more Star Trek episodes this week and next. I still may go stir crazy, but I'll enjoy it a bit more.

Neuropsychology

neuropsychology (noun) - The identification of strengths and impairments in several areas of cognitive and motor functioning to pinpoint regions of cerebral dysfunction.

Doctor's appointment was today. Full-on complete physical. Gown with the open back and everything.

Last night, Marilee helped me write out the list of my concerns; short-term memory loss was at the top of the list. With list in hand, I detailed the list to my new PCP. Nice enough doctor, 20-years since his residency. Even told me his first name, though that seemed just a little weird. Particularly for someone who would soon be administering a prostate exam.

Detailed my meds and why, how long I'd been taking them. Surgeries and allergies. Smoking and drinking. Regular stuff.

Then we got down to the crux of the matter - memory and/or the lack thereof.

While he did say that some form of memory loss is to be expected since I'm old as dirt, he had the nerve to ask "...so what do you want me to do about it?"

I wasn't expecting to hear that. Then again, not sure what I really did expect to hear.

He did say that other than overly-expensive testing with brain scans, a more appropriate course would be to set me up with a neuropsychologist, for some preliminary testing. I agreed to that.

Additionally, he suggested that friends and family watch out for incidents where it is noticed that I'm forgetting short-term stuff. Hell, if no one else notices and I do, what the hell does that mean?

One other thing he said is something I don't believe a word of; I don't think he meant it as a put-down, but it sure sounded that way. He said that testing in such matters isn't necessarily conclusive, that the neuropsychological tests are geared specifically to your level of education. A separate test is administered for, say, someone who'd only had a little college and a trade school (me) versus someone who's had professional education and extensive college training (the doctor, his comparison). So I guess that means the higher your cognitive skill and IQ the more important your mental state is, and whether something can or should be done about it.

Or maybe that's just Bob's BS.

So while I wait for my blood and urine tests to come back for my physical stuff and a more detailed prognosis with suggested meds in ten days, he will be sending along the contact information for a local neuropsychologist he knows of.

Wonder how much her brain is worth.

Systm

That's not a typo.

Systm brings out the geek in me ad infinitum. It reminds me of my beginnings in the electronics world. Back in the day, I woulld have killed for the information presented in Systm. Back in the day when being a hacker was a good thing, when the word hacker meant something entirely different than it does today. I loved being a hacker then - to some extent, I'm still a hacker. And having Systm to provide that outlet makes me all tingly.

I started out in the electronics business repairing battery chargers - April 1976 to be precise, at a company called MSI Data Corporation. No, don't bother looking for their website - they don't exist any more; they were later absorbed into Symbol Technologies and since into Motorola. Wonder how much that ten-share certificate of MSI stock would be worth now. Anyway...

The battery chargers I worked on so many years ago were designed for MSI's products. The "Fast Charger" - part number 128314-000 - could charge a 12-volt battery in about two hours, then switch into trickle charge after that. I knew that damn battery charger inside and out. Truly a marvel of engineering. For the day anyway.

So last week, anticipating my vacation this week and next, I started poking around upcoming shows on the TiVo, looking for shows to record to keep my mind from rotting, and found Systm. New shows air⁽¹⁾ on Mondays; TiVo also allows for downloading older shows from the Video on Demand menu, then to Browse free videos, then How-To, and finally Systm.

I became mesmerized by all the choices, particularly the episode entitled "Three Portable Battery Packs You Can Build". My mind went flying back to that simpler time repairing battery chargers, and immediately wondered where my soldering iron was. And would I need to go buy a few other accessories. And parts. And Altoids...

The Altoids mints themselves aren't intrinsic to the design or construction of the battery packs; it's the Altoids container that's important here - you need something to encase the project in. And the project is designed to fit in an Altoids tin.

So I'm hoping that this thing will work for my Blackberry - will let all of you who have BB's (you know who you are) if it works out!


Added note: Silly me forgot to include Systm's website address where you can download all the videos: Systm


(1) Air is a term from the before time, particularly since, because of cable television, we don't get our television signal via an outdoor antenna. Air is similar in many ways to the term "dial" when referring to telephones, "turn" when referring to tuning in a radio station, and "crank" when referring to windows in your car. And even though all three of those functions have been replaced with pushbuttons, we still use dial, turn, and crank. So even though the signal is received through a cable, it still is referred to being over the air, even though it's not.

What Is This, A Remake Of Johnny Five?

Yeah, you know the movie.

Short Circuit was made over twenty years ago. Yet everyone remembers a confused, naïve robot asking for input - more input. And more.

So I have been asked to provide input - I presume about the vacation I'm currently on.

While my last vacation had profuse amounts of narrative (and pictures), this one will not. My lovely wife, Marilee, suggested I take this particular vacation and do nothing. Even when I suggested I do such mundane things as clean out the garage - lord knows it needs it - I was told "No, you are to do nothing."

"Nothing?"

NOTHING.

She's convinced that the problems I say I'm having with my memory is all about stress. Not sure that I believe that. Hell, it's more stressful thinking about things to not do.

The good news, however, it that my doctor's appointment - where I'll detail all my memory problems - essentially occurs halfway through my vacation.

The appointment is for Thursday. Will you see any more blog posts before then?

Can't say for sure. I'm not supposed to be doing anything.

Does This Kind Of Reporting Ever Stop?

George Obama has come out of the woodwork. In Kenya, fer chrissake. The President's half-brother. A frickin' ocean and a continent away.

Obama's half brother arrested on charge of marijuana possession

Jeebus!

Penny Wise...

...pound foolish.

That's a British pound, for us colonists on this side of the pond.

A British chap is conducting a contest - apparently legitimate - to win his £675,000 home. All you need do is solve a simple Sudoku puzzle and pay an up-front entry fee of £50. Sounds easy enough.

Details here:

The £675,000 Sudoku

and here:

win-free-home.com

I'm not a Sudoku fan as it is, but I may be if I could win a house for my efforts.

And if I win? I'd go to the UK for that.

Besides - getting there is half the fun.

Whats Wrong With This Picture?

Youd think the worlds gone crazy.

Whats wrong with these people?

Good grammars the norm, not the exception.

Oh, its in the United Kingdom?

Then never mind - its their problem:

The city where apostrophes arent welcome

I Just Love Crap Like This

From a recent episode of "It's Me or the Dog" from Animal Planet:

Inauguration Day - From SPACE

Awesome picture at NASA's Earth Observatory.

Inauguration Day Crowds in Washington, D.C.

Click on the image after the jump for a much larger photo.

Rings Of FIRE

Not the rings themselves, but whoever designed these should go to H-E-double toothpicks.

Sinfully ugly:

Crystal Cocktail Ring

Dream A Dream

Peculiar dream last night.

For those interested in my mental state, I have an appointment next Thursday to see my new doctor. Marilee's PCP, as she calls him. When she first used the term, I was a bit wary of what he might prescribe. I was reassured, when I gave her a meaningful stare, that PCP stands for Primary Care Provider.

The dream had to do with said appointment. What transpired during the dream was a bit frightening - instead of telling just the doctor of my symptoms, I also had to relate them to a roomful of spectators, including a few extra patients, since the hospital (or care facility, I'm not sure) was quite full.

Now here's the weird part, as if there was a need for anything more or less weird:

Why in hell can I remember all those details? It WAS a dream, after all, but those remembrances should have gone away once I woke up, with my short-term memory being what it is.

Weird.

Sad State Of Affairs

This is the reason there's a need for animal rescue groups.

WARNING: This is a really sad story...

600 rescued dogs and 80% are pregnant

- from The Seattle Times

What's For Dinner?

Saturday night brilliantly stimulating conversation:

ME: "What do you want for dinner?"

SHE: "Food."

ME: "What kind of food?"

[crickets]

ME: "Edible food?"

SHE: "Edible food."

ME: "What genre of edible food?"

After a lengthy delay, she said "A really good hamburger" and "Didn't we have this conversation last Saturday?"

Yes, we did. That evening, Marilee said exactly the same thing.

And in the Salt Lake Valley, that means Crown Burgers.

I'd headed off toward Crown Burgers at about 7pm. Not late, mind you, but early enough that they would surely still be open. Yeah.

Upon driving into the parking lot, I suddenly remembered that this conversation had indeed happened previously, but not twice - this was the THIRD time this conversation had occurred. Unfortunately, the same thing happened upon arriving at Crown Burgers. On a Saturday night.

For you see, dear readers, CROWN BURGERS IS NOT OPEN ON SATURDAY.

The first time, the second time, and now the third time.

God help me remember that the next time.

The Art Of Marriage

This little ditty was included in a recent email I received and thought I'd share:

The Art of Marriage by Wilfred Arlan Peterson

Happiness in marriage is not something that just happens.
A good marriage must be created.
In the Art of Marriage, the little things are the big things:
It is never being too old to hold hands.
It is remembering to say “I Love You” at least once every day.
It is never going to sleep angry.
It is at no time taking the other for granted; the courtship should not end
with this day, it should continue through all the years.
It is having a mutual sense of values and common objectives.
It is standing together facing the world.
It is forming a circle of love that gathers in the whole family.
It is doing things for each other, not in the attitude of duty or sacrifice,
but in the spirit of joy.
It is speaking words of appreciation, and demonstrating gratitude in thoughtful ways.
It is not looking for perfection in each other.
It is cultivating flexibility, patience, understanding, and a sense of humour.
It is having the capacity to forgive and forget.
It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow.
It is a common search for the good and the beautiful.
It is establishing a relationship in which the independence is equal,
dependance is mutual, and the obligation is reciprocal.
It is not only marrying the right partner, it is being the right partner.

Being A Good Sport

Now that's a phrase I hadn't heard in a long time.

I was a good sport yesterday during a late-afternoon service call. Coupon printer call. At a big-box department store. Not a Wal- big box, rather a K- big box.

It was a daily ritual for my Dad to make someone laugh or at least smile once every day. After having introduced myself as the guy to fix the coupon printers on three registers, I commenced on the first two, which did not have cashiers. The third register had an "older" lady working (I have to be careful when I say "older" any more, since I'm getting "up there").

I said "I don't mean to be fresh (again, another word from before the before time), but I need to get under your register."

Seeing the smile on my face, she smiled as well.

After completing my work, she thanked me for being such a good sport.

Guess I'll have to be a good sport from now on, at least once a day.

Change

There's an article over at CNN that says volumes about what having an African-American president means. It's the same sort of thing that made Bill Cosby speak out about a decade or two ago, that of the stereotypical black family in America. And how they'd been portrayed over the decades.

Which made me realize - that of all the African-Americans in the public eye, I haven't seen or heard one single comment from Bill Cosby himself.

Though he's mentioned in the article:

Black first family 'changes everything'

...there aren't any comments from him.

The Huxtables would never stand for that.

Say Cheese!

Marilee's been feeling under the (winter) weather the last few days. Full-blown cold. Stuffy, snotty, the whole bit. I don't think it's the same crud I had, but Taylor stayed home on Tuesday for something similar. Hope I don't get it.

Since she was feeling so out-of-sorts yesterday, I opted to make dinner - spaghetti. Pasta was boiling, sauce was bubbling, all was well. And it occurred to me that I needed to grab the Parmesan cheese from the fridge, and did so. And realized there were two containers therein.

While combining the two containers was the most obvious course of action, the execution was, at best, a scene from the Three Stooges.

Both had massive clumps of cheese at the bottom, so I shook one to break up the clumps, then dumped the contents into the other.

Then shook agai...

And Marilee started laughing.

She'd heard me in the kitchen, and, as she later told me, she thought "It really sounds like he's shaking that a bit too hard." As she thought that, she looked up, and watched me in the reflection off the fireplace window screen.

As she does this often enough, you'd think I'd be prepared. It's not infrequently that she'll ask "What are you looking for?" when she's looking in the opposite direction. Sitting in her chair, she really does have eyes in the back of her head.

As any good wife will.

And, yes, if you're wondering, the Parmesan cheese went flying everywhere.

Close Your Eyes

the before time (noun) Any time previous to now; primarily, any time previous to when I met Marilee.

Early morning. Bedroom. Really dark. Alarm has just rung beeped incessantly. Marilee has control of the remote. She says "Close your eyes."

Thus has begun a new tradition I taught her from the before time.

In my earlier days, the woman I was married to previously (aka my ex wife) knew all too well that when one's eyes are not accustomed to the bright light of anything, particularly if you're not expecting it, it can be downright blinding.

The antique cathode ray tube of the television in the bedroom is just such a blinding light. Illuminating the entire room, it actually hurts when the thing comes on, it's so bright. The HDTV in the family room, not so much, as the technology is different. Having no tube - in the before time that would be called solid state, but you don't hear that phrase much if at all any more.

Similarly, the bathroom light off the bedroom is even more painful; she doesn't say it when she goes in there, since girls don't need to use the light for nocturnal peeing. Not fair. Not fair at all, since it is I who says "close your eyes".

And, yes, if you're wondering why she doesn't need the light on, it's because the toilet seat is always left down.

I learned that from the before time.

Washington to Obama Morph

VERY Cool:

A Shot In The Dark

It ain't Bugs Bunny or Wile E. Coyote.

Or Penelope Pitstop for that matter.

Lilo and Stitch was on the tube this morning. Taylor was watching. I was dawdling. And only half-listening.

What caught my ear was a scene where the big fish thing was pouring some concoction of an aqueous nature - not really liquid, but more of a molasses in January consistency. In Hawaii I assume. The fish thing then started rattling off the ingredients. A bit of this, a bit of that, and two jiggers of...

I stopped listening before the actual ingredient.

Jiggers?

Lilo and Stitch is rated for seven-year-olds, fer chrissakes!

Admittedly, "shots" wouldn't have been allowable, since that refers more to hard liquor. Jiggers does too, but even more so.

Then again, jigger is from an older generation - mine or perhaps my parents' - where a "jigger of whiskey" was allowable, but only for someone of drinking age. Twenty-one or more.

But not a seven-year-old.

Goosebumps

Have you been feeling them, too?

Every time a story appears about what's happening today - and there are multitudes of them - I get all teary-eyed. That this could never happen. That this is the best thing that's EVER happened.

Like a really good story about the moon landings. Jeez, that was forty years ago.

No one will be able to think of anything else today. In a way, that's sad. There will be likely more people tuning in to an inaugural speech than any time in history. With the help of the internet, the number of people listening in will be in the billions. World-wide. Amazing.

I've got numerous calls to do today; too numerous that I don't know if I'll be in a place where I'll be able to just sit and listen.

It'll be interesting to watch if other people - at the appointed hour - will just stop everything.

Just wait. What an amazing day!

Middle Of The Night Mental Illness

Late evening service call Sunday.

No, that's not entirely true - it was a planned call, an install at a local convenience store. Been waiting for it for a month or so. These calls start at 9pm and end, well, whenever you get done. I was home at 3am.

These installs are fairly consistent, hopefully only a couple snags here and there. One was a CD-ROM drive that wouldn't open, and another was a disruption that kinda trapped me in the store, since I needed to go out to the truck at one point.

Sitting on the floor behind the front counter, I became aware of an argument happening off in a corner. Aware of loud conversation piqued my curiosity, but since this was a place where popping your head up from behind a counter could make one a target a la shooting gallery style, I stayed where I was.

I soon became aware the argument had moved to within inches of the front counter, and realized there was only one voice. Cautiously standing, the gentleman wearing a black stocking cap, black slacks, and a gaudy-as-hell too-long necklace adorned with stars and moons was arguing not with the sales associate but with himself.

Complaining that there were no mini-marshmallows for his hot chocolate, the employee calmly stated "We must be out". Gotta give convenience store employees credit - it's a whole different world behind that counter. Standing or sitting, doesn't matter.

I commented about the argumentative gentleman, but rather than issuing his own comment, the employee simply said "Just wait."

He was right. About 45 minutes later, the necklace was back. And pissed off. Seems he'd left his change on the counter and THANK GOD it was still there. Rambling on about anything and everything, including his time as a police officer and again as a Green Beret, and how he'd customized his van: "See, it's right out there. Wanna take a look?"

Uh, no.

Gaudy made five total appearances last night; the employee said he stops in a few times during the week as well. Each time last night there was one more thing he had to buy. "Hey I need some duct tape!" A cup of coffee another time. Some gum after that.

But was it coffee then duct tape, or was the gum first? Like his mind, it was difficult to keep track of what he'd said, and in what order.

I mentioned all of this to Marilee this morning - multiple personality disorder, schizophrenia, any number of maladies. And lest you skimmed over a bit of the above prose, yes, this wacko drives.

So if you should ever see a blue van around 45th South and 9th East in the middle of the night, and there's a stocking-capped guy driving, keep back a bit.

He may talk you into an argument you can't win.

Awesome Photos From New York In The '90's

The 1890's to be exact, and beyond:

New York Architecture

You Know You Want To

Oh, I sometimes hate myself for continuing a legacy of people effing off at work. But sometimes you just have to get away from those stupid forms your bosses have you fill out.

BTW, if you know me, you'll know why I chose St Francis for this sign.

Hi, Chris!

Video From Flight 1549 Crash

From CNN:

Your Cat May Be Trying To Kill You

Found this on another website, had to rip it off share:

Costco Coupons Are Evil

Last weekend, on a pilgrimage to Costco, Marilee took with her the latest mailer. Coupon savings galore. Amid the dollar signs dancing in my brain, the question became "Where the hell are we going to put all this sh!t stuff?"

Admittedly, the pork ribs we bought were good, coupon or no coupon. But would we have purchased them otherwise? No.

And since our storage container collection has disappeared into the black hole of Taylor's room, we really did need to buy the 32-piece assortment of Rubbermaid products. But without a coupon, would we have even given the box a second look? No.

Of course, Costco coupons aren't solely to blame for the fiscal decay of our country. Supermarket coupons - of the ilk provided by Catalina, for example - suggest that savings can be had if you buy multiples of products. Just buy two of these, one of those, and a few more of another thing, and you can get a coupon for five bucks off your next purchase. But did you really need this, that, or the other thing?

Hell, you can probably save five bucks right there.

Facebook's Entertainment Value

Not the cheesy games.

Not the laughable photos.

Not of finding old friends.

It's more immediate. Quotes in near-real-time.

George W. Bush's farewell speech was tonight. To which one person commented:

"January 20, 2009 - the end of an error."

Wow, I Have A Following

Yes, I'm still here.

Some of you have wondered where I've been. OK, one of you.

Pay no nevermind that it has been a full six days since my last post. That, in itself, is a record.

My disappearance is, in part, due to my new addiction to Facebook. Damn drugs. I've been torn between, uh, playing on Facebook, or updating my blog. Hard choices.

One advantage, given my current mental state, is that I'm reconnecting with friends from high school. Why? It's keeping my mental processes from deteriorating any further than what I've been experiencing lately.

I've been keeping a journal of sorts (this helps) where I keep track of what I forget on a daily basis. For example, yesterday morning, after some parts wrangling at home, I almost drove out of the driveway with the back door of the truck open. Twice. And Monday, I misplaced my keys, my coffee cup, my phone (four times) and tried to remember to turn off the inside-shell light, also four times.

It's starting to scare me.

Even last week I left one of my prize screwdrivers at a 7-11. Somewhere. Don't remember yet which one.

This isn't a new thing - I've been forgetting things over the course of the last couple decades. Some of you might remember calling me on the phone and saying "You forgot something at..." But it never got as bad as it did last week.

Marilee says that one possible solution is to take a couple weeks off, that I'm just too stressed. So, depending on my team's activities, I should be able to accomplish that in a week or so. And that's somewhat convenient; I have another doctor's appointment at the beginning of February.

But not with Doc Fuller.

As Marilee said on Monday, after telling her what had transpired during my Friday appointment with him, that my forgetfulness is stress-related. Already having moved up my appointment by a half hour, he pretty much brushed me off, saying that my forgetfulness could be triggered by the meds I take for depression. Though after consulting the med's website, forgetfulness is waaay down the list for side effects. That, and I've only been taking them for the last four years or so. This stuff has been going on for decades.

My next appointment, for February 5th, is with Marilee's general practitioner. So much the better if I can associate my vacation around that date.

Anyway, I'm still here. I haven't forgotten about my readers.

Yet.

Out Of The Woodwork

So I was finishing up my last call of the day last evening. Expecting this to really be the last call of the day, I only sort of looked at the new call in my queue. Succumbing to the prospect of getting home that much later, I opened up the new call and started laughing hysterically. "You have GOT to be kidding!"

What had popped up in my queue was a nightmare from years ago. The company had had this belief that there was money to be made in the copier business - repairing them, that is. They went through all the hoops to be in bed with the manufacturer, accredited technicians, the whole thing.

Time passed, and the parent company, realizing something that was all too obvious, said "Get rid of it - it doesn't make any money."

That meant selling off all the equipment - not to mention the people - to another company. Short-term, that also meant a too-long period of telling callers wanting copier service that they needed to call another company; they'd do the service. Those calls continued for a year.

Fast forward to early 2008. Apparently, this little history lesson wasn't communicated, if at all, to the new transitional teams when we "changed" companies.

Now, a good three years after the fact, a [expletive deleted] copier call is in MY queue.

Calling the only powers-that-be at that late hour proved a wonderful experience. Basically, it amounted to "I don't care what you do with it, just get it out of my [expletive deleted] queue!!!"

What transpires today from this mis-directed nightmare is anyone's guess.

Note: The use of "[expletive deleted]" is SO Watergate era, but I'm old, and remember the excessive use of that phrase from back then.

Also note that there's likely only about a tenth of a percent of my readers who will find this whole thing funny, but I figure that she needed a laugh.

Brain Fart

I had a major brain fart tonight. I'm not sure if it was brought on by letting the light fixture in the kitchen fall upon my noggin last night - which I'm still feeling the pain of - or if it's something more serious. Thankfully I'm seeing Doc Fuller on Friday for a general checkup; I'll ask him what he thinks about my apparent problem, to wit:

I had a late-night service call tonight; I got home about a half-hour ago. While I did get the call completed, it took a bit longer than it really should have.

It was a simple call, really - just a bad power supply in a server at a 7-11. Diagnosis complete, I then had to find the part. Not really wanting to dig through the truck in blistering-cold weather, not to mention slippery as hell around said truck, I opted to go to the office to pillage a whole server for the power supply contained therein. But to do that, I'd have to call the boss to see how to get into the office without setting off alarms and have men in black with guns drawn show up.

So I leave the 7-11, and head to the office. Upon arriving, I reach for my phone.

And it's not there.

I'd left it at the store.

Fortunately, it's a short eight-ish mile drive back to the store, then back to the office, then back to the store with the power supply.

OK, so maybe I'm overreacting by thinking I have a problem. It could all be just that I'm getting on in years - I'm only 51, dammit! But I've been noticing my short-term memory (or lack thereof) is really starting to bother me.

"First" Cat Dies

How this is relevant to the "transition" I'm not sure, but a sad story nonetheless:

First Cat Dies - FOXNews.com Transition Tracker

New Addiction

I have a new addiction. There's no real 12-step program for it, though I haven't really searched for one yet. Not excessively, anyway. Maybe because I don't want to.



It's an internet-based addiction. There's no surprise there - I've been addicted to the internet in one form or another since about 1980, since I got my first CompuServe account. Almost thirty years, I guess.

My current addiction is Facebook. Lest I be labeled a pusher, you should try it.

You'll become addicted, too.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

I Hear It's A Good Book

Lately I've been "reading" the book Your Heart Belongs To Me, by Dean Koontz. I haven't yet completed "reading" it, so I'm not sure if I like it or not.

The use of quotation marks above is necessary, since I'm reading it as an audio book. A little bit here and there as I drive to and fro during work.

Last time I did an audio book was during our (Marilee and I) 2004 2006 (sorry, brain fart; Marilee and I have been together as a couple for almost five years now) California trip, the one when we got married in Las Vegas. The book was The Davinci Code; I'd already read the book while Marilee had not, and we both figured listening to the book would help make the time go by faster. It really helped.

We had planned on listening to Your Heart... during our last trip, but the Audible copy I'd loaded on the GPS was rather tinny and difficult to listen to. And near the end of the trip we picked up the CD version, but never got around to listening to it. Now I am, albeit alone.

I try not to listen to critical reviews of books, and have not (yet) seen or looked for any reviews of Your Heart...; maybe I will once I complete it.

And just maybe I'll post a review of my own here.

Happy New Year To You And Yours!

Marilee and I are watching the Rose Parade this morning - as usual, it's another Chamber of Commerce day in Pasadena, as my Dad used to say. Considering it "never rains in Southern California", it also hardly ever rains on New Year's Day.

Some day, I really, really, want to see the Rose Parade in person.

Some day...